Voyage Of Shame	Back to D	Back to main page

Collected by Djian

Another story from Africa "Third World Debt"

Voyage Of Shame


1. Commander Arthur Berman's aristocratic features registered incredulous disgust. Thirty years of iron discipline struggled against choking fury and almost lost. It was as though the navy had planned this as one final insult, the last plunge of the knife into the career to which he had devoted his life since the tender age of sixteen.
"You must be joking, sir!"
Admiral Harrington shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Berman." He held up the signal sheet. "A detachment of five wrens, plus one officer, arriving to join HMS Virago, to form part of seagoing crew." He shook his head regretfully. "I don't like it any more than you do, Berman. Women serving at sea! Absolute bloody nonsense! But there we are. Sign of the times, eh? You know, in a way, I don't blame you, getting out of the service. The Navy's never been the same since they stopped the rum ration. Christ knows what you're supposed to do with this lot. Go round with a marlin spike every night prising the matelots off them, I shouldn't wonder!"
He grinned suddenly, punched Commander Berman lightly on the arm. "Virago's your last seagoing command, so make the most of it, eh? Give 'em Hell, what?"
Once outside the C-in-C's office, heading back through the busy dockyard to the ship, Berman ground his discontented teeth together. Those first days as a cadet in Dartmouth seemed centuries away now. Since then, he had served Queen and Country faithfully, risked life and limb around the world. And for what? Disappointment after disappointment as each successive Navy List told of his failure to make the grade, to reach those illustrious heights he had striven so hard for, while others, like the good Admiral Harrington himself, had overtaken him on the ladder.
And now, even on his last command, Virago, they were making a mockery of him, sending him off on a voyage to a distant continent in charge of a pack of females. 'Give 'em Hell! By God, he would, too! Those bloody misbegotten feminists who wanted to play sailors with the big boys would wish they'd never been born!
"You know, I'm not at all happy about you going off on Virago!" Lieutenant Andrew Hesketh-Grym muttered petulantly, his mouth curling like a pouting child. His long, pale, naked body was stretched out on the tumbled sheets of the hotel bed, his thin legs crossed at the ankles. Second Officer Julie Hindmarsh drew her gaze from the squat little shape of his hooded penis, draped darkly over the fold of a thigh. It looked so shrivelled and helpless. And TINY, her brain shrieked at her, even as she blushed for shame at her vindictiveness.
It was true, though. She had just emerged from the shower after washing the sticky residue of his discharge from her. Fifteen minutes ago that prick had been burrowing away furiously inside her, and yet her vagina felt nothing except the still faintly pulsing desire for fulfilment which had been nothing more than a distant sail on the horizon when he had so calamitously shot his bolt inside her. As their final love making for what would be a long nine months, it had not exactly made her earth move for her. She was shocked to find herself looking forward to later that night, when, alone in the room and the bed in which she had spent the majority of her nights during the twenty three years of her existence, she would put her old faithful non docteur vibrator to the test and give herself the rogering her handsome fianc' had so signally failed to provide.
So what was new?
Still, he was a sweet man, dishy to look at, with a brilliant naval career ahead of him. And sex, as she had learnt after those heady days of hot experimentation at boarding school, was not everything. Certainly not with Andrew Hesketh-Grym, anyway. Dream on, she thought, as she stepped into the black satin French knickers and fitted them snugly into place. Her momentary gloom was replaced by that stomach tightening throb of excitement.
Tomorrow!
A shiver of anticipation ran through Julie's slim frame at the order which lay even now in her neat shoulder bag: 'Second Officer Hindmarsh to join HMS Virago.'
"Squad, squad, Shun!" Leading Wren Mags Gold called the four figures to attention, and Julie noticed with keen appreciation the smart turnout, the pert thrust of straining bosoms, the pretty faces staring earnestly to the front. Were they looking forward to the voyage as eagerly as she was? She felt the solemnity of her responsibility all at once. She would be accountable for their welfare and their happiness during the long months of the voyage out to the East African coast.
She glanced with some relief at the tall competent form of Mags Gold. Well named, for her tanned complexion, the tawny waves peeping discreetly forth from beneath her round cap, gave her indeed an athletic, sun kissed goldenness which betokened solid strength and reliability.
Julie overcame her nervousness, introduced herself and addressed the small group confidently. "I've seen all your service records. I know you've been chosen for this great honour because you've all shown great promise and skill at your jobs. I know none of us has had any sea time. It's up to us to show the navy what we're made of. I know you won't let me down. Right, let's get aboard!"
The small party trooped self consciously up the gangplank, all too aware of the many pairs of avid male eyes staring piercingly at them from various points on the upper deck. Any of the crew who had an excuse to be present up top were there, eager for the show. Hoping that their blushes wouldn't show under the carefully applied make-up, the girls swung to face the quarter deck and snapped off their smartest salutes.
A very boyish looking individual, whose single gold ring on his sleeve denoted the humble officer rank of Sublieutenant, stepped forward, returned Julie's salute. He grinned widely. "I'm Officer of the Watch. Sub Lt. Scott. Welcome aboard, ladies. I'll get one of the sentries to take you aft. The captain's waiting for you."
Commander Berman's handsome but lined face was a mask of cold impersonality.
"Take your men" - he emphasised the word harshly - "take your men and line up on the starboard side, up on the flag deck. That's the deck way up above the bridge," he added insultingly. "That's as far out of the way as it's possible to get. That will be your station for divisions and for entering and leaving harbour. You may have realised we're about to get under way. Now that you have kindly condescended to join us. Carry on!"
Julie's face flamed as she turned away. She could see by the almost identical expressions of dismay on the faces of her charges that they had heard the brief exchange all too clearly.
"Don't worry, girls!" she urged them, sotto voce, when they had finally found their way to the breezy heights, after a nightmare of a climb up the long exterior bridge ladder, during which generous portions of their darkly nylon clad legs were on display as they struggled with the tight restrictions of the uniform skirts. Such was the awkwardness of their manoeuvres that the hot faced Julie suspected she might even have afforded glimpses of her pale thighs over the tops of her self support stockings and silently cursed Andrew for having persuaded her how much sexier she looked in the aforementioned stockings than the tights which her subordinates clearly favoured.
The flag deck was also the rendezvous for the communications division, of which they were to be part, and the signalmen and radio operators lined up a few yards away with many surreptitious glances and penetrating whispers which did nothing to ease the girls' discomfit.
They stood shivering in the stiff breeze, growing steadily colder, standing to attention on the commands which came tinnily over the loudspeaker system as they passed the various shore establishments, then the other navy ships lining the twisting harbour entrance. The unaccustomed but stirring rise and plunge under their feet, the buffeting spray, indicated that they were out of the shelter of the estuary and in the open sea.
Their great voyage had begun!
When the order was at last given to fall out, a tall darkly handsome individual came across to them. He flashed a wicked smile. "I'm Sub Lt Attwood, the comms officer. You're in my division, I think. How d'you do?"
Julie shook hands. As a second officer, the equivalent of a lieutenant, she outranked him, but she did not feel any necessity to point this out.
"I think the captain was going to have a word," she said.
"Yes. In the radar office." His smile faded, he eyed them speculatively, seemed about to speak, then subsided.
The radar office was below the bridge. There were only three ratings on watch, sitting at the long bank of screens. The girls whispered eagerly, examining the equipment which was comfortingly familiar to them, for the impressive technology was their specialised field, and this was where they would spend their working time. Their inspection was abruptly halted by the captain's entrance, and Julie called them to attention.
"At ease."
The girls planted their hands, one over the other, behind them, over their buttocks, their feet six inches apart, and stared ahead.
"Right! First things first. We've had all the knicker flashing we're going to have aboard this ship. Understood?"
They gaped, blinking foolishly at him, as the voice resumed, cutting through them like a laser.
"I personally witnessed the disgusting display you provided on the upper deck as we left harbour. I only hope to God no one else did. I don't know what you've been used to ashore, but my men do not wish to be presented with panoramic views of your privates and posteriors every time you move about the ship. Second Officer Hindmarsh! I take it your men have been issued with regulation trousers?"
"Yes, sir," Julie stammered, "but - that's working dress, if circumstances -"
"From now on, you will wear trousers at all times. Skirts are banned aboard Virago as of now. This applies to you in particular, Second Officer Hindmarsh. If we ever sail into combat with YOU aboard, I'd expect to hear the enemy shouting: 'Don't shoot until you see the whites of their thighs!' Do I make myself clear?"
There was a sudden muffled cough from the unnaturally still figures of the sailors with their backs to them at the monitor screens.
"Yes, sir!" whispered Julie faintly.
"Have you ever heard the maxim leading by example, Hindmarsh?"
His voice was like a scourge!
Julie swallowed, wondering when she was going to wake up from this nightmare. She nodded, whispered her affirmative once more. "Lift that skirt of yours!" She gazed at him blankly, he barked out the command again, and she flinched visibly. "Lift it, I said! Come on! You were keen enough to show the entire dockside what was underneath when you shinned up the bridge ladder. Why so modest now? Not a big enough audience for you? You men! Face this way!"
The pale figures in the background swivelled round on their chairs with commendable alacrity. "There! You see! MY men know how to obey an order!"
Thoroughly demoralised and confused, Julie struggled to pull the hem of the thick skirt up. It cleared her knees, she got it to mid thigh. Because of its tightness it could not be raised any higher. In spite of all her efforts, the tears stung, then spilled down her cheeks,
"I - it won't come any further, sir!"
"Very well! Drop it!"
Her face was paper white now, her eyes huge as she stared hypnotised at his implacable features. Her hand stole out, fingers fumbled for the zip at her side, drew it down, then unhooked the waistband. She gave a little push, her hips did a little wiggle, and the skirt fell heavily about her feet. The tiny scalloped edges of the dark nylons showed entrancingly against the full whiteness of her upper thighs. She was wearing a pair of satin mini briefs, of a bold orange colour, but they were hidden beneath her loose shirt tails.
Until, that is, Berman's hand shot out swiftly and raised the white material, to reveal the small shining triangle of the knickers clinging huggingly to the swell of her mons. A broad lace panel ran down the front, and a thin piping of lace edged the cut away legs.
She stood there, hands hanging at her sides, clenched into fists. Her head was lowered. She felt her chest heave as a sob erupted, but she could do nothing to prevent it,
"This has gone far enough sir!"
The voice rang out passionately, and there was a collective gasp of fear and electric anticipation. Mags Gold had stepped forward. Her blue grey eyes shone brilliantly, her face was flushed. She was almost as tall as Commander Berman as she faced him, breathing deeply.
"I beg your pardon?" His voice was dangerously quiet, and gave the impression of a coiled serpent ready to strike.
"This is outrageous. You can't -" In spite of all her bravery, the voice quavered.
"Silence!" he roared, and the tall blonde, too, flinched and shrank back.
"Stand to attention! I'll have you put in irons if I hear another word!" Mags stood there, trembling, gazing fixedly ahead of her. He came very close. Their eyes locked, his blazed into her, his nose almost touching hers. Without taking his gaze from her, he lifted the front of her uniform jacket, felt for her side zip, undid her skirt. His fingers hooked in the waistband, he gave a sudden, vigorous tug, and the garment dropped with a swish, so that she too stood revealed, her splendidly muscular legs and hips swathed in the sheer material of the tights, through which showed the ghostly white shape of her tiny bikini briefs.
"The rest of you! Off skirts!"
Ludicrously synchronised, the girls' hands rose to their left sides, fumbled, drew down zippers, unhooked fasteners, and the skirts fell about their ankles. He moved down the line, lifting shirt tails to have a clearer view of the garments covering their loins. Some were black, some white, all cutely feminine, and hiding only the essentials. Sniffles, and smothered sobs, came from several quarters, as the five figures stood there miserably, their skirts forming circles round their feet.
He thrust a thick book under Julie's now wet and blurred gaze.
"You know what this is?"
She squinted, nodded, gulped. "QR and AI, suh - sir!"
"That's right. Queen's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions. I draw your attention to Section 24, Paragraph 5, sub section vii. Apparel. Regulation panties. WRNS personnel, for the use of. Need I say more? Of course not! You're all on a charge. Improperly dressed. You'll appear at defaulters tomorrow. On skirts! Get this parade of whores' underwear out of sight! Tenshun! Right turn! Dismiss! You men! About face! Strip show's over! For now!"
Blindly, whimpering softly, the girls stumbled to the door, jostling one another in their eagerness to escape.
"Hindmarsh!"
The dreaded voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Not you! I want to see you aft, in my cabin. Right away!"

2.
Julie's stomach was churning, her legs trembling, when Commander Berman closed his cabin door. She saw him slide the bolt home. The cabin, though twice the size of hers, was still comparatively small. The neatly made up bunk under the round scuttle against which the spray was dashing in a constant, heavy shower was the most immediately noticeable piece of furniture.
"I don't want you here. You don't belong here. Women do not belong at sea, You haven't been aboard five minutes and already the whole discipline of the ship has been subverted. Flashing your legs about, your sexual parts!"
Once again, the severity of his full frontal attack left her weakly quailing, her mouth opening and closing ineffectively. She had encountered masculine prejudice, had met the challenge gladly, won it over more often than not during her brief career, but this was so shockingly blunt. Like being run over by a tank, her reeling brain suggested.
"Please, sir" she stammered, blushing furiously at her inability to muster a defence. "What happened up there - you've no right -"
"I am the captain! I run this ship! It's mine! YOU are mine. Under MY command! Get that into your minuscule brain!"
Once again, she actually reeled, wilted visibly under the violence of the assault. "Yes, sir," she whispered abjectly. Oh God, she prayed, don't let the tears start again. But she felt them, her vision blurred and danced.
"Stand up straight when I'm talking to you!" the voice roared in her ear. "Stick those tits out! That's what you've got 'em for, isn't it?" Appalled at herself, she felt her shoulders strain back, her back hollow, her behind clench, while her lifting breasts pressed against the confines of her bra.
"Well, Hindmarsh! You've got off to the worst start imaginable . We've got nine months of the commission ahead of us. Can you visualise what it's going to be like? Your wrens will be on defaulters tomorrow. Our first full day at sea! I can't put an officer on a charge, you know that, this will have to be recorded, a blemish on your service sheet. Such as it is!" he added contemptuously.
He sat on the edge of the desk, noting the distinct trembling of the slim form standing before him, and he felt the savagely triumphant throb and rise of his prick straining against the confines of his clothing.
"Unless you're prepared to accept punishment in the time honoured way of the service. The way it was dealt with at Dartmouth, and in the gun room on board ships when we had a REAL navy, before you lot made a mockery of it!"
Julie's cheeks burned. "I love the navy, sir!" she gasped, gulping back a sob. "I'll do anything - whatever you want. Just give us - a chance, sir. Please!"
He laughed softly, and the sound chilled her. "Very well. Come over here. Undo that skirt of yours again."
She stared at him, eyes wide with shocked understanding. My God! He was going to shaft her! Right here and now, in his cabin, as though she were some tart in a brothel! The thought took her breath away. Then, even more shocking, came the totally unexpected and deeply stirring quiver of desire from the tight crevice between her thighs, its insidious fires spreading through her lower belly. God! The absolute bloody wickedness of him! How dare he! It went against every code of conduct and decency she knew. Yet, almost as though her hand had nothing to do with her will, it crept up to that hidden zip, pulled it down, fumbled with the metal hook.
Once more, she felt the heavy whisper of its drop as the skirt fell at her feet.
He took hold of her cold hand. "Come. Over here." His voice was quiet now, inexorable. She felt as though he had hypnotised her.
She lifted her feet, stepped out of the pool of her skirt, aware of her nylon covered legs, the rather incongruous ugliness of the solid black lace up shoes. All at once came the shocking wish that he would undress her completely, discover the beauty of her vulnerable nakedness.
But he hadn't even removed her gold buttoned jacket, below which her white shirt tails flapped, hiding those pretty little orange knickers. His hands pressed firmly on her shoulders, pushing her down to a kneeling position, and her face burned with shame as it came into contact with the cool cotton of the bedspread. She was lying half across the bed, her bottom raised provocatively. And now she felt the coldness of the air on her prominent flesh as he lifted the hem of her jacket, and her shirt, rolled them tightly until they nestled in the hollow of her back.
His fingers were hard, cruel, as they hooked into the elastic of her briefs, nestling just above the crack of her behind, from whose curves he now eased them deliberately down, baring the curved cheeks which hollowed enchantingly as she tightened them instinctively.
Now his warm hand was passing iingeringly over the taut rounds, pressing, pinching, delving even, briefly, into the deep cleft itself. Then it was gone and she hung there, shamed and ridiculous, feeling the tight cling of her knickers at the backs of her thighs, above the dark stocking tops. All at once, a dreadfully shocking thought assailed her. He was going to use her in the way men used one another. She had heard often enough all the worn out jokes about naval sexual diversions. Or perversions. Rum, bum, and baccy. Oh God ! She had never been buggered! Her buttocks clenched even harder at the thought.
What happened took her entirely by surprise.
"This is how we learned discipline in the old days. Let's see if it still works, shall we?"
There was a terrifyingly loud crack, then, all at once, a line of fire burned right across her bottom, and she screamed, her upper body arching up off the bunk in horrified incredulity. He was standing over her, had just struck her with the leather scabbard of his ceremonial sword, issued to all naval officers.
"Bend over!" he hissed, towering over her, brandishing the unusual weapon like some mad mullah.
Every muscle, every fibre of her well nourished but beautiful body was outraged. Her parents had never chastised her physically, not that she could remember. Once, at boarding school, when she was fourteen, she had been caned by the headmistress in the presence of the deputy.
It had been humiliating, as well as agonisingly painful, three cuts, delivered hard, with swishing bamboo, but equally bad had been the degradation of bending over that polished desk while the deputy hauled down the green knitted knickers to her knees and lifted the grey skirt over her behind. She would never forget the chill air on her bare bum, the shock of that exquisitely sharp pain biting into her, flaring, at the first whistling stroke. The girls in the dorm had been awesomely impressed, staring at the angry criss crossed lines on her skin, which had taken days to fade.
Since then, one boyfriend had put her over his knee, with her half laughing, feebly kicking resistance, and delivered a spanking which had both irritated and titillated her, so that, despite her throbbing backside, the consequent love play had been satisfyingly fierce and fulfilling.
But this!
The pain was burning excruciatingly. She wanted to scream, to kill him, to run shrieking from the room. But the door was locked. She was kneeling there, her knickers round her thighs, her hands rubbing at the stinging flesh. And, like another blow to all her liberated beliefs, shaking her with genuine astonishment at its force, came the urgent, beating thrill which she could feel wetly apparent in the narrow sheath behind those fleshy lips which seemed to press together with increasingly tempestuous excitement.
Shocked at herself, sobbing piteously, she found herself bending over once more, pressing her face into the disturbed coverlet, muffling the screams she knew would struggle to emerge from her throat at the next blow, which fell with equally blinding force. Her bottom quivered, blazed with the pain, her body jerked, thrusting her belly savagely against the edge of the bunk. She felt its hard wooden rim biting into her thighs.
She steeled herself, her arms spread now in front of her, her fingers clawing convulsively at the bed cover. The third stroke fell, crackled out, her face was smothered in the material, her mouth stretched, she gave vent to her muffled scream, but the dark head stayed down.
He struck four more times, until her cheeks were a crimson pattern of angrily glowing weals, swelling red on the white surface of the trembling rounds. Her shoulders heaved as huge sobs tore through her. She remained prostrate, clutching the covers, spread out, enduring the steady burn, the blazing throb, of the abused flesh. Until, all at once, she felt his hands, fingers hard on her bare hips, raising them, until she was half standing, her fiery bottom thrust upward, her head and upper body still resting on the bed.
He slid the tiny orange silk down, off her stockinged legs, dragged the flimsy garment clumsily over her shoes. He kicked her feet further apart, and she obeyed, splaying her long limbs, waiting, her agony temporarily forgotten as a new fear set her body trembling violently.
Without undressing at all, he unzipped his flies and drew out his long, gleaming, rigid penis, already agleam with shining emission. He steered the massive dome to the dark crack of her behind, where it nuzzled gently, wetly, and he felt her cheeks tighten, grip the potent girth of the invader as though in welcome.
The folded submissive figure shivered with renewed dread at the prospect of sodomy, but the helm grazed over the hidden bud, slid down to the base of the buttock cleft, found the dark slopes leading to the well lubricated passage of her vagina. At the same time, the fingers of his left hand crept round her hips, slid through the tight curls of pubis, ferreted among the upper folds of her labia, then eased into the greasy inner surface at the top of her sheath. The sensitive pads made tiny circling motions, stretching caressingly the slippery tissue about the tiny madly beating centre of her desire. The enflamed bud of her clitoris erupted in overpowering sensation. She felt the flow of her juices, her own ejaculation of passion as his oiled and massive prick drove exultingly home from behind, into her eagerly convulsing cunt, which closed about him.
With another sob, she drove her scorched bottom back into his pistoning plunge, welcoming the flaring pain as his belly slapped against her hot skin. "Yes, yes!" she wept. They rode to a rapid but timeless ecstasy, thrusting and plunging as one.
"God, yes!" she screamed, feeling the gush of his release, perfectly timed to match the rippling explosions of her coming tearing shatteringly through and through her.

3.
The girls, deprived of their officer, were thoroughly devastated and stunned by the crude sexual assault of the captain's male tyranny.
Now, shaken and tearful in the safety of their tiny quarters, hardly bigger than the kitchen of an average sized suburban house, they felt intimidated and inferior. To make matters worse, this alien and unreal world was already moving about under their feet in a most unstable and uncomfortable manner as Virago ploughed her way down the Channel in a lively sea.
Mags Gold did her best to provide some sort of leadership, as befitted her leading rank, denoted by the gold anchor on the left sleeve of her uniform, which she was quickly shedding. She glanced about her. There was a three tiered section of bunks on one metal wall, and a two tiered section on the other, a few feet away. She dragged her suitcase onto the lower bunk of this last arrangement.
"I'll take this. Buck, you kip above me, all right?"
Despite her own unease, her heart went out to Jilly Buck, the youngest of the four wrens, and the most petite. She was looking like a lost child now, her brown eyes huge, shining with tears, which sparkled on the long curve of her lashes.
Mags had already thrust down the dreaded skirt. Now she dragged off her tie and unbuttoned her white shirt. The girls' eyes moved with automatic admiration to the splendid sight of her full breasts, encased in the straining cups of a white bra. The darker shape of the large areolae, with the central thrust of the generous nipples, showed mistily through the cotton.
"You heard the captain. We'd better get into our working gear. And by the way, I hope you've all got some regulation knicks and bras with you?"
She saw them glance in dismay at one another. "Well, never mind. If we're in our denims all the time, that should do the trick."
Marie-Anne Soulis shook out her soft fluffy brown hair, and tossed her head with tremulous defiance. She, too, swiftly stripped down to bra and pants. The latter, her comrades saw when she turned in the crowded space, were no more than a small black triangle fitted over her mound, for the thin thong was hidden in the deep cleft of her superbly rounded buttocks. Her skin was of an even olive shade, indicative of her Mediterranean origins. Marie-Anne was strikingly beautiful. Now, her dark eyes were alive with wounded indignation.
"I've never seen anything like it! How dare he! Stripping us off like that! In front of those matelots, too! He can't get away with it. He -"
"Oh, come on, Soulis," Mags cut in. "Remember Wetherton?"
Wetherton was the shore station where they had done their navy technological training. During their first full watch, new girls were subjected to some rough, at times extreme, horse play, which included being pinned down on their backs over the logging table, having their shirts pulled out from their skirts, and their bare midriffs stamped with the official insignia of the department. The blue ink had to be scrubbed off vigorously in the showers, but it was the groping hands while the victims' legs waved inelegantly and revealingly in the air which caused most distress.
A sudden sob from the slender figure of Jilly Buck startled them. "But here!" she murmured, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. "We're all on our own now! I mean - where can we go? What can we do? The captain - he really scares me!"
Forgetting discipline and rank in her eagerness to comfort, Mags gathered in the girl, hugged her tightly to her, her hands moving caressingly down the slim form. The feel of the slight figure against her scantily clad frame was both reassuring and rousingly exciting. Jilly, too, appeared to derive considerable pleasure, as well as solace, from the contact, and pressed her face gladly against the imposing swell of Mags' breast, where it billowed from the confines of its cup.
Wren Beth Morris suppressed a groan at the rebellious heave of her stomach. Her head throbbed abominably, too, and the air below decks, despite the constantly pumping air conditioning, appeared stale and carried on it unpleasant whiffs of oil, paint, and cooking. All the girls except Mags were suffering from sea sickness already.
Morale was deteriorating rapidly as they waited in vain for Julie Hindmarsh to return to them.
"I bet she's sucked up to the old man and is leaving us to our fate," Beth drawled languidly, in her upper crust tones. The tall, willowy figure, the rather long, refined features beneath the close cap of strawberry blonde curls, were at one with her educated accent in marking her privileged background. Since she had entered the navy over a year ago, family, friends, and her superiors in the service, had regularly encouraged her to put in for a commission, but, laughingly or politely, she had firmly refused. "I'm not officer material, believe me. I thrive on irresponsibility!" She had proved her point on more than one occasion, so that, in spite of her socially superior upbringing, she had become a popular figure with the other girls.
The influence of boarding school showed now as she unselfconsciously peeled off her clothes, tossing them onto her bunk, to stand nonchalantly naked before them all. Idly, her elegant fingers played with the brown curls of the pubic hair.
"Well, I reckon everybody's forgotten about us, including our brave leader, Hotlips Hindmarsh. I'm off for a shower."
"Don't call her that!" Mags said loyally, feeling it incumbent upon her to defend Julie.
"Oh, come off it, hooky!" answered Beth, using the navalese slang when referring to leading ranks. "You've just got to look at her to see what she's like. A right randy little piece, I'd say. And a very nice piece of ass, too, eh?"
Mags coloured, for that had been her thought exactly.
The watertight door was firmly pinned back, secured against the bulkhead, as were all messdeck doors, so that only a flowered curtain across the open space gave them privacy. It was now swept vigorously aside and a giant of a man ducked in. The top of his head was entirely bald and shone under the artificial light. The fringes about his ears, clipped very short, were iron grey. His breadth was of the same impressive proportions as his height.
The grey eyes in his ruddy face lit up with appreciation when he saw Beth Morris's nude form. She gave a small cry and assumed the standard startled nymph pose of right arm crossed over her breasts, left hand spread over her fleece covered mound, to which she added extra cover by crossing one thigh over the other.
"'Tenshun on the messdeck!" he bellowed, grinning broadly. All five girls had got out of their best uniforms and were thus in various stages of undress. Jilly Buck was still wearing her white shirt, which covered her nylon clad legs almost respectably to mid thigh. Mags was still in bra and pants. Marie-Anne had pulled on a short towelling robe, which she now tied tightly about her middle.
The fifth member of the group was Jo Reeves. Jo's black hair was cut extremely short, shaved at the neck and over the ears so that it was shorter than most of the male ratings on board, giving her a boyish appearance which was belied by the small but clearly evident high breasts, whose tiny nipples poked pertly through the material of the thin vest, which, reaching only to crotch level, nevertheless hid completely the white bikini briefs she wore beneath. She had discarded her tights, and her sturdy legs were revealed in all their pale splendour.
"I said 'tenshun!" the giant roared, as Beth made to grab her robe. Blushing hotly, she sprang erect, and somehow managed to force her hands down, thumbs aligned, to the sides of her thighs. The others, terrorised by the thunderous command, obeyed, their blushing faces advertising their embarrassment.
"Well well! And aren't we a pretty sight? Like pick-a-number time in a Bangkok brothel! Good evening, ladies! My name is Chief Tel Roberts. You can call me Chief, right? I'm the chief petty officer in charge of the comms division. You've already met our divisional officer, I believe. Pretty boy Sub Lt Attwood. As you'll soon gather, he knows fuck all about communications. I run the department, so you lot will be working" - he paused, with an expressive leer to register the full horror of his words - "so to speak, under me. As far as I'm concerned, females at sea are good for only one thing, same as they are ashore. It begins with 'f' and it's not fighting. Unfortunately, the entire ship's company, apart from the poufters, feel the same way, so I warn you now. Any of you lot caught shagging with anyone below the rank of chief petty officer will be in the rattle quicker than shit from a shovel, Do I make myself clear?"
There were stunned murmurs of "Yes, Chief."
"Good. Here's to a happy trip then. I hope to get to know each one of you intimately over the next nine months. Report oh eight hundred hours tomorrow at the radar office."
As he turned to go, he suddenly reached down and, with a broad thumb and forefinger, he seized a few wiry curls of Beth Morris's pubis. She squealed as he tugged so vigorously that the white skin beneath lifted.
"You! Get your hair cut!"
With a raucous laugh, he spun round and left them gazing mutely in his wake.
Beth rubbed at the triangle of hair ruefully. "Anyone else fancy a shower?" she asked hopefully.
"Right!" Mags announced. "We'll all go. The more we stick together the better, I reckon. Come on!"
A partition had been quickly put up in the bathroom opposite, dividing two shower stalls from the rest of the compartment, where a noisy group of sailors could be heard sporting under the steaming jets. Similar arrangements had been made in the heads, or toilets, where two lavatories had been sectioned off, though the girls were soon to learn, from the rich variety of crude noises coming through the thin partition, that these fragile temporary barriers were far from sound proof.
Soon the five girls were crowding companionably under the hot water spouting plentifully from the roses overhead, their seductive bodies gleaming and flowing with the suds with which they liberally lathered themselves. Only Jilly Buck, a shy eighteen year old, was a little reticent about displaying her nudity so publicly, but even she found more comfort than embarrassment from the fact of their togetherness under these new and frightening circumstances.
"Turn round!" offered Mags, grinning down at her. The leading wren's magnificent breasts, the dark red nipples peaked, almost threatened to poke the blushing girl's eyes out.
"I'll do your back for you."
Jilly obeyed, and Mags let her hands move lingeringly, with a keenly felt pleasure, over the slim flesh, down to the slight curve of the tight little buttocks, while Jilly quivered with a new sensation of delight which made her forget the misery of her churning stomach for a few magic moments.
The second communications den, deep in the bowels of the ship, intended mainly as an alternative should the offices above be put out of action during combat, was packed out with sailors in various informal dress, the air blue with cigarette smoke and language.
"Steady down, lads!" Petty Officer Telegraphist Hanson called out. At one end of the room was a large monitor screen, and he bent and fiddled delicately with its mechanism. The set flickered, then was suddenly filled with the delightful spectacle, in glorious colour, of the five naked girls performing their ablutions, their pleasing figures foreshortened just slightly by the position of the camera, which was discreetly hidden among the pipes and lighting of the ceiling over their innocent heads.

4.
Only officers enjoyed the luxury of baths. Julie winced and stifled a groan as she lowered herself into the foamy water contained in the steel tub. Because of the cramped confines she could not stretch out. Even sitting upright, her feet were almost touching the end of the tub. Her bottom was throbbing uncomfortably, while the stinging of her vagina was an all too powerful reminder of the dramatic sequel to the beating she had received. Her brain was still numbed, unable to accept the reality of what had happened, though her sore and aching body did its best to convince her.
She had expected something, some change in Berman's attitude, if not tenderness then at least some acknowledgement of the fact that they had had sex. But he had pulled out of her with brutal abruptness and turned away, leaving her hanging there, her behind ridiculously raised, with the cold and clammy residue of his come oozing from her and trickling thickly down the inside of a thigh.
"Now get out! Dinner promptly at eight in the wardroom. Be there!"
Unable to help herself, she had started to snivel, the tears coming more and more copiously, while he snarled his disgust. Feeling utterly worthless and degraded, she had grabbed her knickers, staggered into them, hauled up her skirt and clutched it to her, before hurrying out, face averted.
Now she soaped herself wearily. She knelt and gingerly let her fingers play over the hard raised weals which lay across her buttocks. She still had this weird sense of dreaming. She could scarcely believe that about this time yesterday she had been reflecting somewhat bitterly on her fianc's failure to satisfy her eager body. The thought of how she had reacted to the captain's beastly assault on her made her cheeks glow with a heat equal to that of her hindquarters. She couldn't recall a coming which was anywhere near the consuming orgasm which had shattered her at Berman's savage usage of her.
She climbed out, released the plug, watched the water level tipping alarmingly at the sudden plunging sway of the vessel. She wrapped a towel a round herself, then slipped on her flowered silk robe, and tied it tightly.
Her stomach performed a highly unpleasant set of gyrations as she stepped out of the bath. The thought of food nauseated her afresh, but she did not dare fail to turn up for dinner. She squirmed at the ordeal of facing her fellow officers, with Berman there smiling with his knowledge of what had passed between them.
She wondered miserably if he would tell anyone.
Back in her cabin, a stab of guilt assailed her as she thought of the other girls, and her desertion of them. But she could offer no crumb of comfort for them tonight.
She delved for her fresh underthings. She would have to remind Gold that she had promised to select one of the girls to act as her steward. After all, she could hardly expect one of the male crew to wash her knickers and lay out her smalls. She dropped the towel, turned in the tiny space, squinting over her shoulder. The broad, slightly curved outlines of the beating stood out vividly on her white skin, the redness already shading to darker bruising in some places, Tenderly, she massaged some cold cream into the raised welts. Didn't he realise she could have him court martialled for this? And for the rape which followed! Except that her conscience sent out a ringing denial of her accusation that brought the rush of colour back yet again to her tear dewed cheeks.
She had not yet unpacked her things, hoping that one of her subordinates would do it for her. She chose a plain white bra, and a workaday pair of high waisted cotton briefs, very close to the regulation panties so dear to Commander Berman's heart. With a sick Lurch of her stomach, which had little to do with the pitching of the vessel, she wondered what further sadistic tortures he might have in store for her.
She lifted her feet, one after the other, onto the hard chair, and fitted on a pair of the sheer stockings, stroking them carefully into place, adjusting the decorative tops and blushing as she did so at the recall of his cutting remark about her thighs. She was still in a state of shock, for she had never encountered such blatant sexual aggression - and hatred, she guessed. In spite of her fear, she found herself intrigued with the handsome, spare figure of the man who had suddenly assumed such a tyrannical role in her life.
She surmised from his distinguished looks, the immaculate silver hair, as well as his seniority in the service, that he would be about the same age as her father. Helplessly, her thought drifted back to the wild act of sex they had shared. To her chagrin, her thoughts locked on to the odious comparison of that performance with those she had recently endured with her fianc'. Crimson faced, she pushed them away, and instead grappled with the problem of what to wear for her first appearance in the wardroom.
Dress uniform was required for dinner, but the serge navy slacks were not part of a wren officer's formal dress. The garment swathing her lower limbs should be a skirt, according to the regulations the captain had flourished under her nose. Yet his words still echoed in her troubled mind. "Skirts are banned aboard Virago as of now." The words were clearly meant to apply to her as well as to her charges.
She envisaged a new nightmare scenario: the captain ordering her to remove her skirt in front of the whole of the wardroom. She whimpered softly at her dilemma. Finally, she plumped for the trousers, and pulled them on swiftly. She had to admit their comprehensive cover gave a much needed sense of reassurance.
With a deep breath, heart pounding, she took a last look in her mirror and left the cabin.
The wardroom was long and narrow. The officers stood in a laughing tightly knit group around the small bar at the after end. The conversation died magically away at her entrance. The old Julie would have handled the situation with poise and confidence, charming them with her grace and wit. 8ut a lot had happened to her this eventful day. She stood there, tongue tied, face glowing, for what seemed an age, until a stocky figure with a piratical full beard in rich chestnut stepped forward with a wide grin. He had the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. She felt them boring through her, seeing into her innermost recesses and thoughts.
"Ah! Second Officer Hindmarsh. I'm the Jimmy. Number One. Jock Murray. Let me introduce you." He took her hand, held it high like an old fashioned courtier, escorting her to the centre of the group. Names were murmured, faces smiled, heads bowed. They meant nothing to her whirling mind.
Almost immediately she heard the coldly cutting tones of Berman from the doorway.
"I see you're already in there, revelling in my sniffing pack of randy sea dogs, As I might have expected. Can we tear you away for a bite to eat?"
Her throat closed, she swallowed hard, felt the prick of those tears once more at his barbs. Head down, glad of Jock Murray, the first lieutenant and therefore second in command of Virago, who gripped her tightly above the elbow, she let herself be led to her place at the long table. She sat, and winced, a fleeting spasm of pain twisting her face at the contact of the chair's surface on her smarting bottom.
The captain pounced, with merciless glee. "What's wrong, Hindmarsh? You're shuffling about as though you're in agony there. Can't be the old sailors' scourge, piles, surely? You're far too young. Besides, you haven't got any sea time in yet, have you?" He gave a barking laugh, nodded wisely. "I know! Those flaming orange knickers of yours are too tight and have ridden up the crack! That's it! Go on, admit it!"
There were some startled, deep guffaws. Julie's face crimsoned, she bent her head, the tears welling up. Again, she felt stunned at his remorseless cruelty. And newly helpless against it. Her breath caught on a sob. She began to lift herself out of her chair.
"Excuse me," she muttered wretchedly. "I feel -"
"Sit still!" His hissed words cut her like another blow. She sank back, with a smothered little cry. "I shall tell you when you may leave my table, madam! You should have gone to the heads before you came. You'll have to learn to hold your liquor better aboard Virago, eh, gentlemen? If you can't wait, then you'll just have to sit there and piss yourself, but you don't go anywhere without my say so. Understand?"
The dark head remained lowered. When she made no reply, he roared the last word again, and she jumped visibly.
"Yes, sir," she whispered, as two tears fell and splashed onto the pristine whiteness of the table cloth.

5.
"I'm not sitting cooped up in this hutch all bloody night!" Beth Morris suddenly exploded. "We're not prisoners, are we?"
No one answered. They had just faced their fellow crew members for the first time, when they had made their way to the crowded ratings' dining hall on hearing the pipe: 'Hands to supper'.
In Jilly Buck's case it had been an extremely brief ordeal, for, as they stepped nervously through the doorway to encounter those closely packed rows of male faces, all turned in their direction as the buzz of conversation magically died, the waft of cooking swept over them and Jilly turned green and fled.
The other four ran the gauntlet, feeling those eyes piercing through them, stripped bare despite their working rig of smartly pressed dark denim trousers and thick blue shirts with the winged badge of the communications branch prominent on their right arms. The aura of suppressed sexuality was more powerful than the aroma of the food. It gripped them, surrounded them smotheringly like the air itself, so that each of them felt it, reacted secretly to it, feeling the pulse of their own physical response in their snugly concealed crotches.
They smiled widely, even tried to strike up conversation with their immediate neighbours, with dismal lack of success. Meanwhile, those predatory male eyes, glittering as hard as diamonds, remained fixed on the blushing girls, clung to every inch of their slim figures when they lined up at the counter, collected their trays, walked back to the narrow, padded bench lining the formica topped long table.
They had been glad to flee back to their quarters, where Jilly's hunched shoulders showed in the upper bunk. Mags stood, abstractedly stroking the curved shape."I think I'll turn in myself," she announced. "Not feeling that hot. You three have a wander if you like."
Beth looked at them, half challengingly, half appealingly.
"We've got to let them see we're not scared. That we belong here as much as they do." With a certain degree of reluctance, Jo Reeves and Marie-Anne Soulis nodded. The three of them pushed aside the curtain and left.
Mags had been stroking the miserable shoulders of the girl in the top bunk. Now, she dipped her head close, until her lips brushed the ear beneath the black hair. "You'll be all right, Young Jilly," she whispered, her voice husky with tenderness. "I'm going to look after you. I'll be your old sea mammy, I promise."
The figure turned with a loud wail of misery and suddenly she was clinging to Mags, sobbing heartbrokenly, the tears soaking their cheeks as their faces pressed tightly together. Then their lips met, and Mags' tongue drove with claiming sweetness into the wet cave the youngster yielded so eagerly. Mags let her hand drop, under the warm cocoon of the sheets. Jilly was wearing a loose T-shirt as night attire. It had ridden up, and Mags' hand passed over the warm belly, her fingers played with the small bush of wiry pubes before descending between the hot thighs to stroke the puckered folds of the outer labia. She parted them and discovered a crevice almost as well bedewed with moisture as the mouth she was kissing, and which surrendered just as willingly as Mags' capable finger pushed into the pulsing welcome of the narrow sheath...
The three exploring figures moved nervously along the brightly lit central alleyway which ran almost the length of the ship below decks. They heard music, an open hatchway showed a group of sailors, in relaxed evening attire of the short sleeved T-shirt like garments known as 'white fronts' and the dark serge bells', the traditional wide trousers. The blue badge on the sleeves was the winged insignia of the communications branch, identical to their own.
"Ah, oppos! Come in and have a drink. We meant to come over and ask you along, didn't we?" The speaker appealed to his compatriots, who grinned and nodded. On his left arm was the anchor, the symbol of his leading rate. "I'm Fred Lucas, killick of the mess. Here you go. Sit down, have a wet. Welcome to HMS Virago, or HMS Knockin-shop, as she's now popularly known throughout the fleet!"
They should have known from the brittle hardness in his tone, the harshness of the laughter which erupted at his remark. But they were still disoriented, too benumbed by their eventful day. And too eager to accept the first sign of friendliness they had been offered in the endless hours of hostility they had endured since coming aboard. They sat, wedged in, at the long table running along the curving ship's side, the buttons of the leather upholstery on the narrow bench making indentations on their tender bottoms.
They were offered glasses of foaming lager, filled from the abundance of cans spread in front of them. Oddly enough, the beer, gassy as it was, seemed to help their queasiness. The glasses were being constantly refilled, they were urged to drink up. Presently, with a dramatic glance towards the doorway, a bottle of aromatic rum was produced, and the girls were given large tots of the fiery spirit, topped up with coke.
"Get that down you! All highly illegal. Only the pigs are allowed spirits." The 'pigs' were the officers. "But this is a real special occasion. Got to celebrate our new oppos, ain't we!"
The girls, their faces growing more flushed, smiled and nodded.
They were feeling woozy, had even started to relax a little, when the leading hand, Fred Lucas, spoke. "Here! Come down to the LRR a minute. Got something a bit special to show you, seeing as how you're comms div, same as us!"
They stared blankly. "Lower receiving room," he explained, grinning. "It's our own private pad, like. None of the other matelots are allowed anywhere near it. Just for us. Come on."
Innocently intrigued, the girls followed him, and four others, back along the corridor, down a flight of steel steps, then another. It was quieter down here, for there was no accommodation near. Only the incessant hum of machinery, and the sound of the buffeting water along the sides of the ship broke the silence.
Lucas swung back the long handles of the heavy door, opened it onto blackness, then a switch activated some dim lighting. The girls clung nervously together when the door clanged shut behind them. They saw the banks of radio receivers and screens lining the sides of the silent room.
"We won't be disturbed down here. Now to give you your proper welcome to Virago. All right?" His smile was transformed. The three horrified figures could read all too clearly the message it contained.
Beth, as the natural leader, spoke out. Her voice was shrill, its unsteadiness revealing the alarm they all felt. "I think we'll turn in, if you don't mind. It's been a long day."
"My thoughts exactly. Who you going to turn in with first, love? Your choice entirely!"
"Get out of our way!" Beth's voice was even higher, even more tremulous.
Fred Lucas sneered. "My word! You talk like a real toff, don'tcha? Should be a bleedin' pig, you should!" He put his finger to his chin, as though considering. "I really dunno. I was gonna give the dark bird a go first" - he nodded at Marie-Anne, whose dark eyes were huge with her fear - "but I reckon you'll be a bloody good ride an' all. Mebbe I'll have you for starters!"
"You - you'll go to jail! You'll be court-martialled!"
"You reckon? With the whole ship's company to back us? You three tarts come along yourselves to our mess. Started boozing, getting pissed. Stripping off. Flogging yourselves at us. What could red blooded matelots do, poor lads? We'll have more than fifty witnesses lining up to tell the story. You've met our skipper, haven't you? Who'd you think he's gonna believe?"
"Just let us go!" Beth faltered, her ragged courage draining. "We won't say anything."
"Oh no!" He shook his head, grinning like a shark. "We got to welcome you aboard first. Right, lads!"
They closed in on the cowering figures. "Let's give you a hand with that gear, eh?" Although there were only five of the sailors, the girls, demoralised as they were, were no match for their roughly urgent lust. Two of them caught hold of Marie-Anne, tossed her to the deck and in a few seconds had torn off her shirt, then the denim jeans. Her legs kicked hopelessly in the air, shoes went flying, then the pants were hauled off her struggling limbs. The navy ankle socks followed, then, in a trice, the bra and briefs, and she curled up naked on the floor, her hands thrust down between her thighs to hide her genitals.
Two others dealt with Jo Reeves in similar manner. Jo, her short hair enhancing her boyish appearance in the uniform which was no different from the male working rig, put up much more resistance. She was strong, her muscles well developed, for she exercised regularly, carrying out a rigorous training routine. She thoroughly enjoyed the service life. Since adolescence she had discovered that she greatly preferred her own sex, both for company and for physical satisfaction. Although gay relationships were officially illegal, lesbianism was discreetly but widely practised. She had never been happier. Which gave added strength now to her lashing struggles as her two assailants set about her.
But they were rough - and determined, A punch to her stomach knocked the fight from her and she folded. Her wrists were pinned above her head, then one of the men knelt agonisingly on her stretched arms, while the other, grinning malevolently, fiddled with deliberately cruel slowness at the waistband of her slacks. She spat at him, sobbing, which only served to add to his delight. He loosened the denim pants, trapping her flailing legs beneath him as he drew them down.
He left them clinging around her threshing ankles, and lifted her shirt above her waist, to expose the neat little white triangle of her briefs, which hugged the swelling contours of her mound, and showed the dim shadow of her dark pubis through the thin cotton. Wickedly, he let a finger trace gently the groove of her sex, making the fissure stand out beneath the material where, presently, a growing moist patch came up in relief.
When he tore open the buttons of the shirt and flipped up the nylon cups of her bra to bare the small, pointed breasts, her twisting struggles ceased completely, and the quivering rounds shook with the force of her abandoned weeping. The nipples were tiny, and very pale, like an adolescent, and her attacker gurgled with pleasure as he twirled them between thumbs and fingers to a hard, rubbery erection.
Meanwhile Fred Lucas faced the tall form of Beth Morris alone. His eyes shone with the prospect of the violent confrontation. Suddenly, Beth seemed to wilt, her rigid body relaxed. "Christ! If you're that desperate, wait." Quickly, she pushed down her trousers, kicking off her shoes before pulling them free. She shrugged off her shirt, and her elbows jutted as she bent her hands behind her and snapped open the catch of her bra. She stooped hastily, peeling down her knickers, and finally, her socks.
"Where do you want me?" she said simply.
There was a baize covered pool table at one end of the room, and whilst Fred Morris debated the question of where he wanted Beth, the other two girls were made to bend over it, their torsos resting on its tickling surface, side by side, their hips rubbing as their bare rumps were prominently raised in the air. They snivelled quietly, and held hands as they lay there, their buttocks hollowing in fearful and accurate anticipation of what was to follow.
A canvas gym shoe was the chosen instrument of punishment. "Stings like buggery and gives a nice rosy glow. But it don't leave a lastin' mark, see?" Fred explained pleasantly. "Warm the cockles of your arse, this will!" The men took turns, eager to strike at the delectable rounds of divided flesh rearing before them. The blows echoed with a loud splat in the humming quietness, which was pierced by the shrieks of the victims.
"Squeal away, girls!" Fred invited laughingly. "Sound proof down here."
It must have been, for soon the girls' rears were burning, covered with the red imprints of the slipper, their backsides clenching and squirming, the backs of their thighs scissoring as they fought to stay doubled over, for they had been warned that the more they struggled, the longer and fiercer their chastisement would be.
Marie-Anne was the first to plead. "Ow! Oh! Please! You can do anything - anything you want - but - puh please stop!" It was only when the scorched flesh was burning steadily that the sobbing girls realised the beating was over.
Marie-Anne was dragged round to one of the narrower ends of the table, Jo to the other. Their dark heads touched in the centre as they were laid on their backs, their hot buttocks aligned with the table's edges. Their legs, knees drawn back, waved aloft, as two of the matelots stationed themselves between the gaping thighs, which they captured and tucked under their arms like the handles of a wheel barrow.
Arranged thus, the long slits of the hair capped vulvas were totally exposed and available to the men, who had stripped down already.
Their penises jutted like lances, their hard little behinds dimpled as they plunged without ceremony into the moist tightnesses. The girls whimpered with pain at the sudden piercing to the hilt, but accommodated the thrusting members easily enough, for their vaginal passages had been well lubricated by all that had gone before.
The men rutted furiously. It was painful, but, inevitably, both girls felt themselves beginning to respond, and, beneath the shocked surface of their minds, were disappointed at the swiftly spectacular conclusion of the act. But their sore and gleaming orifices were immediately occupied by equally potent, stabbing weapons, and this time, the threshing heads tossed in unison, their cries at the climax almost simultaneous echoes of the passion fired through them with a force which exploded through their arching bodies and which they were helpless to resist.
Meanwhile, Beth was dealt with by the resourceful Fred alone. She could not stop herself from weeping as she stood before him, legs slightly apart, massaging her hot stinging bottom and awaiting his command.
"I think we'll have a seat, eh, love?"
He drew her to one of the softly upholstered swivel chairs with curving back, similar to those used by typists, which lined the room in front of the screens. She offered no resistance, her long pale body limp as she gazed with frightened yet roused emotions at the thickly stirring rod of his penis, thrusting proudly from the black bush of his pubic hair.
The helm was exposed , the tiny slit glistening with juice already. He sat himself down on the chair then held her wrists, pulling her round in front of him, forcing her to straddle him.
She whimpered as he pulled her down.
The muscles stood out on her thighs as she lowered herself gingerly, trying to prevent a too sudden descent.
"Get it in there!" he hissed through clenched teeth, releasing one of her arms. She felt the mighty surge as she seized the thick column near its base, and put the dome to her crack. She rubbed it gently along the length of her labia, smearing his juice over the sensitive tissue, which was oily with her own fluid. As slowly as she could, she let it nuzzle into her crevice, pushing forward her belly, moving her hips to accommodate him. The helm gained a fractional entrance to the slippery flesh as it parted, then she moved once more, and it slid deeply home, into the clamorous heat of her vagina. She lowered herself further, spearing herself on his driving prick, gasping as her stinging buttocks came to rest on his working thighs.
The chair spun from side to side, his hands came up, the fingers curling painfully into her shoulders, then his hot face was thrust between her pointed breasts. His mouth closed over an engorged nipple, and he sucked furiously before transferring his attention to its companion. Beth groaned, gathered in the chestnut head, mashing it against her yielding flesh, the remorseless pulse of the impending orgasm stirring within her belly. The plunging grew wilder, her heels skittered on the polished deck, she rode him madly, her nails clawing him.
She flung back her head. "Fuck! Fuck! Don't stop, please Don't stop!" Over the assorted grunts, moans, sighs, and rising screams, her cry rose above them all, triumphant in its raw urgency.

6.
Dinner dragged on interminably. Julie never raised her head. The tears rolled unchecked down her face now. The captain's verbal scourging was as sadistically painful as the beating with the scabbard. Worse, in some ways, for her humiliation this time was in public.
"I'm ordering you to eat, Hindmarsh! Are you disobeying me again?"
Blindly, she picked up her soup spoon, put the hot liquid to her lips, took a sip and lowered it.
Some of the more junior officers, like Sub Lt Attwood, and 'Randy' Scott, who had been Officer of the Watch when they came aboard, were clearly embarrassed on her behalf, and made several valiant attempts to divert attention from her with over loud, jovial comments, but Commander Berman silenced them cuttingly.
"Don't feel sorry for Second Officer Hindmarsh, or her merry crew!" the hated voice declared to the table in general. "I think I'd better put you wise to our snivelling little addition here. I was hoping to keep this to myself but I can see she'll soon have you eating out of her dainty hand if I don't set you straight."
A quiver ran through Julie as she fought to stifle the welling sob in her bosom.
"The reason Hindmarsh is shuffling about so miserably is that I've had occasion already to chastise her in the time honoured naval tradition when dealing with young snotties who step out of line. Her choice, I hasten to add. I gave her the option, and she chose not to have an official blemish on her record. So she has a blistered backside instead, haven't you, Hindmarsh, and richly deserved, too. Isn't it?"
The weeping Julie knew by the fiercely barked question that he required an answer.
"Yuh - yes, sir!" she managed chokingly, before the lashing tones went on.
"I think you ought to know that she and her pack displayed a calculated disregard and lack of respect for the service and the ship by coming aboard improperly dressed. Namely by clothing themselves in undergarments more befitting to whores in a bordello than members of HMS Virago. It confirms all my worst fears about the wisdom of allowing their kind to carry out sea duties. You notice I used the word 'calculated'. I'm afraid it is all part of a deliberate policy to undermine the service. I want all of you to be on guard against it and to treat Hindmarsh and her subordinates accordingly. Clear?"
"Aye aye, sir!"
The dutiful chorus burst about the lowered head and Julie wished earnestly that a tidal wave or some such disaster would wreak its vengeance and have done. But the meal, and the tongue lashing, went on and on, until the captain took his last sip of port an age later. The others stood as he did. Julie, her face shining with her tears, shuffled to her feet also.
"Hindmarsh! You come with me. I will not expose my officers to you unnecessarily. Number One, could you come to my cabin?"
Julie wondered if her shaking limbs would support her as she stumbled, handkerchief clutched to her face, in his wake.
Her face was suffused with fiery blushes when she saw the bunk over which she had prostrated herself for the ignominious punishment. She had time to reflect, for she was left to stand there, crying softly, totally ignored, while Berman got bottle and glasses from his cabinet and poured two large measures of whisky for the first lieutenant and himself. When they were both seated, he said abruptly, "Now, Hindmarsh! Do you wish to prove me wrong and make some sort of useful contribution to Virago?"
Julie stared at him, her brown eyes luminous with tears, and nodded fervently.
"Yes, sir!"
"Good, There's only one use for wrens, at sea or on shore. I don't need to tell you what that is," She gazed in horror as he turned from her once more. "Number One. I want you to make out a roster. Hindmarsh will service one officer per night, preferably in order of seniority, starting with yourself tonight. If any officer doesn't wish to make use of her, that is of course up to him, but let it be known I shall take a dim view of such anti-social behaviour."
"What about yourself, sir?" Jock Murray asked, with perfect poise, while Julie gaped open mouthed.
Berman waved his hand in noble self denial. "No, no. Don't worry about me."
"You can't do this!" Julie gasped, finding her voice at last. She moved forward, bent towards him. "What do you think this is? I'll have you court martialled!"
"I can do any damned thing I like!" Berman roared, in that sudden bellowing tone which made her draw back instinctively. His voice quietened again. "I am captain. Your captain. While I am in command, you belong to me. You obey me, implicitly. Your body is mine, That is what serving at sea means. That is what I will teach you to understand. I am in complete control of you."
He glanced at his watch.
"It is now ten o' clock. You will report to Lt Murray's cabin at ten thirty, bathed and perfumed, and ready to serve him in any way he may desire. Like the good little tart you and your kind undoubtedly are. If you fail to do so, I'll have you put in irons and placed in the cells. Now get out!"
Brain whirling giddily, Julie found herself carrying out his order. She stood outside in the dimly lit officers' flat, almost too stunned to think at all. This couldn't be happening! What should she do? She had a powerful urge to rush weeping to her fellow wrens, to cling to them for comfort and help. But she was their officer, she was the one who should protect them. Instead, she had deserted them, not seen them since that shameful prologue up in the radar office.
The door of the captain's cabin opened and Jock Murray came out. She flung herself at him, sobbing violently and shaking from head to toe.
"Oh, please! You've got help me! He's completely mad! I can't - it's absolutely unreal!"
She felt his hands like iron on her upper arms. He held her off him, shook her gently. "Not here!" he hissed, glancing about them. "Come with me! And pull yourself together!" His words penetrated her panic, and she blubbered softly. Obediently, she followed, as he turned into, a cabin only a few yards along the alleyway. She noticed, in spite of her distress, how quiet the ship was now, for the 'pipe down' for Lights Out had gone a considerable time ago.
Blinking, wiping the tears from her streaming eyes, she found herself in a room not much larger than her own cabin, but clearly more comfortably appointed. The rapid semi-hysterical words poured from her as plentifully as the drops down her weary face.
"He's crazy. He made us - he lined us up made us strip - take our skirts off. Then - in his cabin - he beat me, on my bare bottom with his scabbard. Then he - he - raped me!"
She flung out her hand dramatically towards the neatly made up bunk, on the edge of which she suddenly collapsed, shoulders bent, while a torrent of convulsive sobs ran through her.
Only when the storm had passed was she aware that Murray had stood there, waiting, observing her in silence. She groped for her sodden handkerchief blew her nose. Her dark hair shook.
"What are we going to do?"
She looked up, saw, through the blur of tear drops, those striking blue eyes, that gaze which seemed to pin her down somehow with its brilliance, and she lapsed into sniffling silence.
The well modulated voice, when it spoke, was all the more sinister for its soft, inexorable tone. "You have to realise, Miss Hindmarsh, that most of us in the navy feel the way the captain does. That women do not belong on Her Majesty's warships. That your presence here offends and makes a mockery of our finest traditions."
"But that's nonsense! We have every right to take our part! We've been appointed by the Admiralty -"
That piercing stare was turned steadily on her, and again she retreated into silence, shaken by its cold intensity. "You've got to help me"- she stumbled brokenly, her grief rising once more. "Protect me. Us," she amended hastily, "till we can get ashore. Lodge our complaint - when we reach Gibraltar."
He gazed down at her in silence for so long that she felt herself blushing anew. "Come with me," he said abruptly. "And be as quiet as you can. We don't want to rouse half the ship's company."
Puzzled and afraid, yet seizing eagerly on some crumb of comfort from his mysterious words, she rose, followed him out.
It was a long journey, through the entire length of the ship, below decks, along empty, dimly lit corridors, on either side of which lay the crowded mess decks, where men snored and moaned and farted in claustrophobic proximity. The pitching of the vessel grew more pronounced the further forrard they went, until, at last, they stood in the extremely narrow wedge shaped dimness of the bow itself, which heaved up and down sickeningly at their feet.
In a ghostly blue light, Julie stared at an iron door directly ahead, which Murray was heaving open. He stepped through the coaming, and she followed. She clung to his arm, bumping intimately against him at the plunge of the ship. The sound of the smashing waves was thunderous in the tiny compartment, dank and echoing, no bigger than a broom cupboard.
"These are the cells," he shouted above the din. A single light glowed in the low ceiling. He showed her a series of large iron rings fixed to the metal plates of the bulkhead, then gleaming steel handcuffs, and slightly larger leg irons, linked by a short length of chain. "Hold your hands out." Mesmerised, she obeyed. He pushed up the cuffs of her dress jacket, clamped the cold bracelets around her wrists, adjusting them to fit her slender dimensions, then secured the other end of the chain through one of the solid metal rings in the bulkhead.
"I won't put the leg irons on," he said, with a chilling smile. He nodded at an evil smelling bucket to one side. 'That's your lavatory. You'll be stripped down to your underpants of course and given a blanket. Prisoners have tried to hang themselves with their clothing before now. I've seen hard cases reduced to gibbering wrecks after three or four days of this. It's not for you, is it?"
He smiled reasonably, while she stared, appalled.
"Let me go!" she whispered, holding up the manacles.
He nodded. "In a minute. Now - like I said. What we need is a little cooperation. You've made your bed. Learn to lie in it." The grin widened. "Or anyone else's the captain sees fit to put you in. All right?"
She nodded mutely.
"Good girl." He looked around them, nodded at the grim setting, and the chains about her wrists.
"Quite atmospheric, what?"
Unmoving , except for the involuntary ague like trembling which shook her frame, she stood there while he unbuttoned her jacket, fumbled at her waist to undo the trousers, which he hauled down to her ankles. He lifted her feet, and she stepped out of them. Reaching up under her shirt, his fingers hooked in the white briefs and drew them down. Again, she stepped out of them, and stood, legs braced, slightly apart, while he ran his fingers over and through the damp length of her vulva, toying with the moist labia, parting them to stroke their slippery inner surfaces, which caused her to draw in a deep, hissing breath as her belly thrust forward, her sore buttock cheeks tightened at the arousal of his caresses.
He withdrew his hand from under the shirt, held the fingers under his nostrils and inhaled luxuriously.
"Ah, yes!" he breathed, as though sampling a fine wine's bouquet. "Hot stuff all right!"
The gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder made her kneel. The short length of the chain securing her arms to the wall meant that she could not crouch on all fours. Her hands were held, prayer-like, in front of her. Carefully, he eased up her jacket over her back, rolled up the shirt to expose the curved shape of her bottom, on which the weals left by the captain's thrashing stood out in dark, purpling swathes. Below, the dark contrast of the sheer nylon, ending at that finely scalloped edging on her upper thighs, with the white smoothness of the flesh above, made an entrancing picture.
He removed his trousers and underpants swiftly, moved her legs, her feet still encased in the solid black laceups, then knelt behind her and fitted his sword-like prick into her exquisite cleft, searching out, and eventually locating, the tight wet hole of her throbbing vagina, driving home to the hilt, while she pushed her aching bottom back welcomingly into his buffeting thighs and belly.
In the silent night time of the ship, three slim figures stood wearily under the soothing warm jets of the showers, clinging together for comfort in their state of after shock. The three pert behinds were marked with the same angry redness over their surface, and their hands were gentle as they soaped the stinging area. Of all of them, Jo Reeves was the most vehemently expressive in her anger and grief.
"I'll report them first thing!" she sobbed. "I swear! I don't care what they say! The doc can examine us. I'll drop those bastards right in it!"
Marie-Anne pressed her gleaming body against that of her friend. "It's hopeless," she murmured. "You heard them. Can you imagine the skipper believing OUR word against theirs?"
Their breasts, nipples hard, nuzzled together like friendly animals, and Jo appeared to derive a measure of solace, for she calmed considerably, until, somehow, her mouth became glued to that of her comrade, and her tongue dove in to the open, warm recess, as did her soapy fingers to a lower, narrower recess, a demonstration of affection Marie-Anne seemed more than willing to allow. Indeed, she drew as much pleasure and reassurance from this as the performer of the action, for she was nothing if not catholic in her tastes.
They were not the only ones to appreciate this exchange, for, high above them, in the upper reaches of the radar office, to which, by the magic and skills of technological knowhow the hidden camera's signals had been transferred, the members of the night watch gathered about the screen with true connoisseurs regard for the finer points of the spectacle unfolding before them.

7.
"Whu - what is it? What's wrong?" Julie fought up from the depths of an exhausted sleep to see the tanned face of Jo Reeves hanging over her. Jo's hand was still laid on her bare shoulder. Momentarily lost, unable even to grasp her alien surroundings, Julie struggled to sit upright. The sheet fell away to reveal her naked breasts, whose nipples peaked at their sudden exposure to the chilly morning air.
"Very nice - ma'am."
Jo grinned involuntarily, despite her own agitation, and, with a muffled gasp, Julie grabbed the sheet and held it against her chest.
"What time is it?" she asked blearily. Her limbs stirred, and she realised she was completely nude beneath the covers. At the same time, the fierce throbbing soreness in her lower belly and her vagina reminded her of the hectic night's action which had been conducted in the first lieutenant's cabin, after their opening skirmish in the cells up forrard.
"It's half six," Jo answered impatiently. "Mags Gold detailed me off to act as your steward." She shrugged. "I, well, actually she asked for volunteers and I got in first. But listen!" she went on urgently. "You've got to do something! Three of us, me and Marie-Anne and Beth Morris - we were gang banged last night. Taken off down below somewhere - they flogged us with a gym shoe first, Stripped us stark naked!"
In her emotion, she had again seized Julie's shoulders. She blushed deeply at her belated awareness of this breach of discipline, and pulled her hands away. Her lips quivered, the eyes were moist with tears.
Julie's solemn brown eyes stared back at her in a long silence, then flickered towards the closed door. Suddenly, she flung back the bedclothes, kicked them clear of her long legs, then rolled over onto her stomach.
"Look."
"Shit!" Jo whispered, staring aghast at the livid marks across the pale cheeks of Julie's bottom.
"Our gallant captain did that!" Julie said unsteadily. "Before he - well, you can guess!"
"Shit!" repeated Jo. "What are we going to do?" she asked desperately.
Julie was sitting up, her legs together, bare feet touching the deck. Her shoulders lifted. "There's nothing we can do, until we reach Gib. We're cut off from the rest of the world. The captain's completely mad - and most of the officers aren't much better." Her head hung down, the beginnings of a sob shook her. "He, he's going to make me sleep with a different officer each night - there's a roster he says that's all we're good for."
"Sounds familiar," Jo muttered bitterly. Julie could not hold back the tears. Her frame shook, and all at once, Jo sat beside her, slipped her arms round the slim figure, cradled the dark head against her slight bosom, whose outlines were all but invisible beneath the loose folds of the blue working shirt.
They remained embracing for a considerable time, until Julie became conscious of the fact that Jo's lips were tenderly nuzzling behind her ear, and a hand was gently cupping a warm breast, the fingers playing with the roused nipple which tingled responsively. Julie's face was wreathed in new blushes, and she struggled free.
"Yes, er, thanks, Reeves. Pass me my robe, will you? Perhaps you'd put away my things? I haven't had time. And lay out some undies and things. And my uniform. I'll have a shower. See you on watch." Pulling on the robe, she grabbed her towel and toilet bag and fled.
Jo fought down her frustration. Definitely not of the sisterhood, she decided, with keen regret. Hindmarsh was a good looker all right. And having an officer for a chick would be very useful. Never mind. Marie-Anne was cute enough - and a swinger, though a bit of a passive, she guessed. One of your lie-back-and-do-it-to-me types . Still, more pressing matters to think about right now. Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as she considered the day ahead while she stowed Julie's clothes in the narrow wardrobe and the drawers.
Chief Roberts was waiting for them up in the radar office when they reported at the start of the forenoon watch at eight. "I hope you're going to give my girls a fair crack of the whip, Chief," Julie said, then could have bitten off her tongue at her unfortunate choice of phrase when she saw his leering grin.
"I expect so, ma'am," he drawled, and Julie reflected that she had never heard the term of address for a female officer given quite such an insulting inflection. "Oh, by the way, I don't want 'em on watch keeping, all right? I prefer to have them daymen duties only, at least for now. No knowing what they'll get up to if they're up here at night, and I've some young innocent lads in the department."
Julie's face was burning, "Yes," she replied tightly, her voice choked with her rage. "I gather three of the girls met some of your innocents last night! They gave them quite a welcome!"
His bald pate shone as he gazed back at her impassively. "That's nice, eh? I bet it made 'em feel really at home. Just what they're used to, I expect!"
Shaking with anger, she turned away, addressing Mags Gold and the others, who were lined nervously at attention, all in their blue working rig of denims and shirts.
"You could mebbe give a hand in the crypto office, ma'am," the chief said, the contempt evident in his voice. What he clearly meant was that there was no place for her here. "I'm sure Sub Lt Attwood will know what to do with you," he added, then chuckled salaciously. "Leastways I hope so!"
Ashamed though she was, Julie felt a deep relief at being able to escape and leave her girls to their fate.
The crypto office was tiny, tucked away behind the bridge. There was just room for the coding and decoding machine on a narrow bench, with two feet of working space beside it to serve as a desk on which to do the paper work. She sat there, shifting uncomfortably from one buttock to the other, both of them still painfully tender. She was looking through the logged signals when she heard the curtain swish and turned to see Henry Attwood's tall form in the doorway. "How's it going?" he asked. His face was almost as red as hers, his eyes darted guiltily away from contact with hers.
"How do you think?" she asked bitterly. "I expect you'll be seeing a lot of me one of these nights. You've heard about my new role aboard ship?" Her voice caught, quavered on the edge of yet another weeping attack.
"Be a while yet. I'm way down the list!" The words were spoken unthinkingly, and his colour mounted.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she hissed. "Never mind. Perhaps you could manage a quickie right now! There doesn't seem anything else for us to do."
"Look, it's not my fault, I don't make the rules round here."
"Rules?" she squeaked incredulously. "Rules! Since when has it been a rule that wrens have to sexually service their fellow officers every night at sea? How many officers in Virago's wardroom? Twelve, is it? The commission lasts nine months. That means I'm supposed to to have sex with each one of you more than twenty times. That's when the captain doesn't fancy it, or he's not lashing me across my bare backside for kicks!"
Her hysteria rose through the course of her outburst, until she found herself clinging desperately to the tall figure, her head against his jacket, her body heaving with tearing sobs, while he clutched her awkwardly in his arms. He felt wretchedly sorry for her. He also felt his penis rising imperiously, thrusting against his clothing until he was sure she must be able to feel it pushing into her thigh.
At that moment, the curtain swished once more, and the ruddy features of Chief Tel Roberts leered down at them.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, sir!" he exclaimed, making plain his familiarity and good humoured contempt for his young superior. "If you two want a shag why don't you go down to your cabin? You're fuck-all use up here anyway, the pair of you."
Attwood sprang away from her, his face flushed, his eyes downcast. "That's all right, Chief," he muttered shamefacedly. "Second Officer Hindmarsh was a bit upset. I'd better go. See you later."
When the sub lieutenant had left them, the huge figure stood gazing down with the same sneer on his open face. Julie sank exhaustedly back into the chair and put her head in her hands. She was almost beyond caring now what bind of spectacle she presented. She wept bitterly, wondering where on earth she found all these tears. But she started, alerted by the sound of the steel door clanging shut, the heavy handles being swung into position to lock it securely. With this menacing giant on the inside!
"What are you doing?" she shrilled, in fresh alarm. There was scarcely room for her to stand now that he hung so threateningly over her.
"It's all right," he grinned, his rough voice as near to gentleness as he could manage. "When this door's shut it means there's sensitive material being handled. Top secret. No one can disturb us."
Her insides turned to jelly. "Please!" she whispered faintly, her eyes huge and pleading, all thought of rank or propriety fled from her reeling brain. She could feel the stiffness, the soreness and aching in her lower muscles. She had never indulged in such hectic sexual activity in all her young life so far. "You can't! I'm too I'm exhausted! Let me go. Please!"
"You're never too tired for that," he chuckled. "I saw you with young Attwood. He don't know what it's for yet. Still thinks it's for pissin' out of! I've heard you know different!"
"I'm an officer!" she blubbered, shivering violently, still gazing helplessly up at his bulk.
"That's all right, I ain't fussy. What's wrong? Don't officers have fannies, then? That's not what I heard! I heard you took the old man and Number One fore and aft at the same time and spit the pips out for breakfast. So let's be havin' yer!"
"I'll scream'"
"That's good!" he guffawed. "I like a tart what makes a bit of noise. Can't stand these silent types! Scream all yer fuckin' want, darlin'! This bastard's sound proof."
He plucked her out of the chair and set her on the edge of the tiny strip of desk. His fingers were enormously thick. They curled about her white shirt and with one easy tug opened it to her waist. Her black tie dangled ridiculously between the embroidered nylon cups of her bra, until those same stubby fingers dug into the underside of the dainty garment and flipped it clear of her breasts, to dangle uselessly round her neck with the aforementioned tie.
Her nipples were a little small, a light pink, like the areolae around them. Her breasts, too, were far from large, but they were high and pointed, and his eyes glinted with pleasure as he beheld them.
He tweaked playfully at her peaked teats before those massive hands dropped to the waistband of her trousers and, with similar careless disregard for their wellbeing, ripped fiercely at the thick cloth until the hook fastening gave and the flies parted. The violence of his movement pulled her forward off the bench and to her feet, so that he was all the more easily able to haul them down her legs.
He lifted her back onto the bench, sitting her on its edge so that her feet dangled just clear of the deck. He dragged off shoes and trousers, and her toes scissored rapidly while he laughed at the enchanting view of her shapely limbs in the navy ankle socks.
Quickly he transferred his attention to her shirt once more, popping open the rest of the buttons and peeling it back from her shoulders, until it hung from her wrists, her slim body bared completely, except for the tiny white satin triangle over her mons. He did not even lift her buttocks to remove this last delicate item, but simply yanked the elastic from her belly and with one heave tore the flimsy knickers in two, to expose the neat little patch of dark pubic curls beneath.
"There! You see? I knew you had one all the time!"
She sat there, hunched forward, trying to hide herself, with the ruins of her shredded clothing about her neck and at her back, dressed only in the absurd short socks. His face glowed, his eyes lit now with lust as he stood before her and slowly unbuckled his belt, pushed his own trousers down, then the tiny under briefs, bending to drag them clumsily over his feet.
The great thick column of his penis was bent, curving in semi tumescence. It was massively in keeping with the rest of his proportions. The huge red strawberry of the dome glinted with emission, the brown shaft was roped with swollen twisting veins. As she stared through her tears, the head lifted, as though seeking her, and grew more rigid.
"He's a bit scared like. Never shagged an officer before. He needs a bit of encouragement, know what I mean?"
As he spoke, one great hand reached out and seized her by the hair, dragged her forward again off the bench, pulled her towards his thighs until she fell against the vast whorls of hair at his crotch.
"No!" she gasped, in terror, trying to twist her face away from that giant prick bobbing in front of her. "Please, no!"
But, remorselessly, the fingers dug into her scalp, held her there, and she knelt submissively while it thrust blindly into her. She felt its heat, the fierce beat of it, its swell against her, the cold slime of the emission as the spongy helm pressed over her cheek and the side of her nose, nuzzled into her closed eyelids, slid sickeningly over her compressed lips, her chin.
Her arms were up now, clinging to his hips, her head was half hidden under his flapping shirt. He released his cruel hold on her hair. Instead, the broad pads of his thumbs groped at her neck, felt under her ears, located the hinges of her jaws, then pressed into the softness of her slim neck. His pressure forced her mouth to open, and the gleaming tip of his helm drove in between her parted teeth. Its girth filled her mouth, she felt faint and dizzy, his prick blocking the scream which stayed trapped in her throat.
Then, suddenly, shatteringly, she experienced an entirely novel sensation, a thrill which quivered right through her nude frame, so that she shivered convulsively. The whole area about her vulva spasmed, and she felt a flowing wetness on the insides of her thighs, which clamped together as she squeezed to heighten the thrill pulsing through her.
She stretched her mouth as wide as she could, straining now to take in the swelling glans. Her lips slid over its smoothness, her tongue working furiously. There was a shockingly audible slurping sound, but she was beyond shame, beyond consciousness of what she was doing, except for that consuming physical excitement, the taste and texture of him, the plunging potency of his rock hard manhood literally filling her.
Lost for breath, nostrils flared, she suckled until, almost swooning, she was compelled to drag her mouth clear with a great smacking gasp. The smell of his aroused maleness was overpowering. Her cupped hands came round, palms supplicatingly turned upward, cradling the sweat-moist, heavy fecundity of his balls, their satiny weight. Now her lips and tongue slobbered, made rapid nibbling movements around the base of glans and down the brown column to the hanging testicles at its root.
The juice was oozing thicker now, was greasy, shining on her uplifted chin.
She cried out with wild dismay when he plucked her away from his loins, her mouth still hung open, her tongue lolling in vain, then the edge of the desk was cutting painfully into her buttocks, and she was leaning back, cradled in his linked hands. She drew up her legs, knees raised high, thighs spread about his solid trunk wedged between them. In fascination, she watched the pink dome of his prick nestle into her damp pubis, prod her mound before sliding to the wet groove of her sex lips.
She reached down, pulling them apart, opening herself, thrusting out her belly and loins frantically, feeling him entering her.
She stared, watching that great appendage, a bridge between their closing flesh, felt her vagina stretched to the uttermost to take him in, felt the stab of his painful entry draw a whimper of agony, yet still she thrust herself forward, spearing herself on the divine burning of his invasion, until he was deep in her, pressing against the hard narrowness of her cervix, and still there were several inches between their straining bellies.
He moved slowly at first, with enormous control, and the burning agony grew, as did the spreading excitement, until pleasure and pain fused into one mad ride. She wept, and bucked, and pleaded for final consummation, which came at last, engulfing her in the force of its surging release.

8.
Mags Gold put up a terrific fight in spite of the hopelessness of the odds against her.
Her tall athletic frame thrashed, her legs lashed out, her arms swung, fingers clawed in fury, her teeth snapped as the blonde head tossed back and forth. It took four of them, grunting, cursing, and occasionally crying out in sharp pain, to spread her on the deck and pin her down by her spread-eagled arms and ankles. Her belly still heaved up wildly when Fred Lucas, grinning hard, knelt across her and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. With his seaman's knife, he leaned forward and cut through the thin straps of her bra, spilling the magnificently rolling rounds of her ripe breasts free from their confines. At once, the large red nipples hardened, and his mouth watered.
In contrast, young Jilly Buck's slender frame stood shaking like a leaf in the wind, her dark eyes wide with horror, and, at a single nod from one of the men, she quickly struggled out of her clothes, to stand huddled naked, her arms crossed over her breasts, hands on her shoulders.
"No!" Mags wept impotently. "Not her! Please! She's just a kid! She's - she's a virgin!"
There was a kind of collective sigh, a gasp of startled pleasure at the shocking word. It's true, Jilly's giddy brain urged, even though an inner voice wickedly reminded her of the vivid memory she had constantly striven to block out over the past three years.
John, her mother's latest boyfriend, had entered her room almost as soon as she had come fresh from her bath and climbed into bed. "I'm baby-sitting tonight," he grinned. "Your mum won't be back till late." Jilly lay there, holding the sheet up to her chin, her stomach churning with the sick knowledge of what he wanted. She had seen it, felt it before in his hot eyes as they followed her around. "Relax. I won't hurt you. You'll love it."
She was wearing a T-shirt, that was all, and he sat on the edge of the bed and slipped his hand under the blankets, feeling for her. His fingers crawled up her leg, across the slim but nicely rounded thigh, brushed the softly damp curls of her pubis, before tracing the tight line of her sex lips, gently prising at them.
She shivered.
She knew what it was to be roused, to be brought to a climax, for her cousin Rona and she did exactly the same to each other. She had pushed a timid finger deep into Rona's wet clinging sheath, discovered the tiny raised button of the clitoris, teased and stroked until Rona's belly lifted and she wept for release, which eventually came so shatteringly. Had known that release herself, been awed and shamed by its power.
Now, despite her shame and her fear, she had felt the pulsing response to John's caress. But he was too hotly eager for his own desire. Peeling off his clothes, he slipped naked into the bed, and the wickedly rousing finger was replaced by the tearing thickness of his rigid stabbing penis. What followed was a brief nightmare of agony and messy degradation.
That, so far, had been her sole experience of heterosexual coupling. It had driven her back even more firmly to Rona's gentle arms, and hands, and tongue, as the girls learned the more comprehensive techniques of loving. When she left school at sixteen, Jilly had seen the women's services as an answer to her almost maiden prayer, and embarked enthusiastically on the joys of life as a female sailor. That was before she had stumbled into this new and seemingly unending nightmare.
After waking in the deeply comforting arms of Mags that first morning, she had listened incredulously to the three girls' sobbing tale, stared aghast at the red marks on their bottoms.
Then Jo had gabbled out the equally astounding account of their officer's own tragic experience. The vituperative tongue lashing administered by the captain at the humiliating publicity of defaulters' parade had been expected, the sentence of eight days' stoppage of leave meaningless in this novel floating captivity.
But then, at the end of their long day of duty in the radar office, had come the mind numbing interlude with the bald giant, Chief Roberts, who, like a medieval overseer of a slave market, had announced that the five girls would daily, or rather nightly, alternate in serving as objects of sexual gratification for the entire comms department. That consisted of the chief himself, his four petty officers, and the fifteen subordinate operators.
And here they were, she and Mags, down in the subterranean fortress they called the LRR, cut off from all the world, and about to be enjoyed by Leading Radio Operator Lucas and his three grinning henchmen.
Lucas smacked his lips, gazing up from the absorbing task of playing with Mags' breasts. "A virgin, eh? I find that very hard to believe. I didn't think the wrens had any of them left. Not after the first twenty four hours! Still, better check it out, eh?" He grinned at his companions, who were crouched beside him, holding Mags down. "Don't want to pull rank, oppos, but I AM the killick of the mess!"
He leaned forward and put his face close to the tear stained face glaring wildly up at him. "I'll tell you what, hooky. I bet you've had your finger up her, though, eh? Got her all nice and ready for us, have you?"
Mags spat up into his grinning features. He drew back his hand and slapped her hard with his open palm across the side of her face, leaving a flaring imprint and causing the blonde hair to fly as her head rocked sideways. He hit her again, on the other side, and her weeping redoubled. He also felt the tensed body beneath him sag, the fight ebbing from her. He curled his hands about the warm softness of her ample breasts, and dug his fingers in, squeezing hard, crushing them, and she whimpered in fresh torment. The marks stood like flaming brands on the whiteness of the flesh when he released his hold.
The hands slid down, fumbled open her denim trousers. roughly dragged them down to her ankles. He sneered at sight of the plain white cotton briefs. "Not them sort of knickers, darling! Reckon we'll have to pass the word around. When you're on shagging detail, you gotta make a bit more of an effort." His fingers curled about the elastic, and he tugged them down to join the pants gathered about her ankles. He plucked playfully at the tendrils of sandy hair over her mound. "OK. Finish her off, lads. She's all yours." He leaned close, his hand pinching at her thigh. "Be back, hooky. I like a bit of meat on the bones. And a fighter, too. I reckon you'll turn out to be the best shag of the lot, eh?"
He left the sobbing Mags to the other three and crossed to where Jilly stood still as a pale statue, except for that involuntary trembling. "Come on, doll!" he murmured softly. His hand was light as he put his arm around the hunched shoulders and steered her towards the green covered table. "You're gonna love it, sugar. See what you been missing all these years!"
She made no attempt to resist, sobbing quietly all the while as he laid her on her back, positioned her with the bottom of her spine at the slight lip of the table's edge, and parted her thighs. Her muscles were locked, her body tense as a coiled spring as she waited in dread for the stabbing agony to come. She gasped, quivered in shock and in melting sensation at the startlingly familiar feel of the gentle mouth, the feathery kisses of lips touching her spasming vulva, the tantalising caress of a lapping tongue on the tangy fold which flowered open to the consuming stimulation.
The dark capped mound lifted, the buttock cheeks nipped tightly against the tickle of the baize, as she automatically thrust belly forward, squeezed her thighs about the stooped shoulders between them. Her hands, too, were light, as they rested on the clipped head nestling at her core. She shook now with hunger, moaning for more.
Gradually a finger slid into her pulsing sheath, to add to the arousal of his busy mouth, and tongue. "Please!" she sobbed, and he knew what it was she was asking. His nostrils filled with the delicious scent of her sex, his jaw and chin were deeply stained with it. At last, he raised his lips, rich with her juice, and covered her eager mouth with them. Lifting her thighs about his hips, he slotted his prick into the tightness of her sheath, and she sighed with lost bliss.
Mags Gold's emotions were vastly different, at least initially, as her transgressors tore the remnants of her clothing from her, and the first sailor fell between her pinned thighs. The urgent rutting was agony. The hard deck bit into her naked back, pounded her buttocks, his weapon tore into her wet softness like a ram. He discharged within minutes, and pain flared at his brutal withdrawal. Then came the shame, followed by yet another thrusting, plunging penis, her belly buffeted by a new onslaught.
In spite of her revulsion, her body moved, instinctively accommodating its invader, her thighs lifting about him. And, inside, too, her most intimate flesh began to respond to this rough treatment, until, by the time the third of her assailants entered her, her Vagina was pulsing with its own urgent need.
"Please!" she gasped, lifting to meet him. "I'm - sore. Not so hard. Please!" Whether in response to her soft pleas, or in realisation that his own pleasure could be prolonged thus, the sailor immediately eased off and gentled his movements. His hands cupped her splendid bottom, his mouth closed over a nipple and smothered gloriously in her proffered flesh. They rocked together, making love, and Mags felt the unaccustomed rise of excitement mounting, while part of her reeling mind registered its horror at her body's treacherous betrayal.
"God, no no, no!" she groaned, head threshing, then tossed her partner high on top of her at the mighty burst of the orgasm exploding within her.
Afterwards, the two naked girls were allowed to huddle together in comforting embrace. "Stand easy!" Fred grinned, using the naval term for a short break.
Mags mothered in the weeping figure, hugging her tightly. "Never mind," she whispered in Jilly's ear. "Two more days and we'll be in Gib." And what difference would that make, Mags wondered grimly to herself? Exposure of their scandalous treatment would rock the navy to its very foundations. Careers would fall, the publicity would be tremendous. Berman couldn't possibly allow it to happen. Yet how could he prevent it? He couldn't hold them prisoner for the rest of their lives! Could he?
But Chief Tel had already mockingly remarked, 'What a shame! You slaves are gonna miss a run ashore in Gib. You'll still be on stoppage of leave, won't you?"
Desperate times, desperate measures, Mags decided. Julie Hindmarsh was no better off for all her two gold rings. She would have to talk with her. They would have to devise a way of jumping ship for at least one of their band. They had to get word out somehow.
"Right, ladies. Change-over time, eh?' Fred grinned, and chucked the shrinking Jilly under her chin. She blushed scarlet at his knowing look. "See? I told you you'd love it, didn't I?" He turned to the other matelots, who were naked, too. In dread fascination, Jilly's eyes fixed helplessly on their swollen penises, already stirring in lifting eagerness. "Go easy on her, oppos. I reckon good-as-Gold here was right, near enough. She's tighter than a bank manager's arsehole. She's not used to anything thicker than hooky's finger."
"Please no more!" Jilly began to blubber. She tried to cling to Mags, but Fred Lucas unlinked her hands with gentle firmness.
"You'll be all right, kid. They'll take their time, won't you, lads?" His eyes turned appreciatively to Mags. "Now for ol' big tits herself!" he smiled. "Gonna put up a fight?" Her bosom heaved and shook at the sigh which ran through her. Her eyes failed to meet his challenge and lowered in miserable defeat as she shook her head. She did not struggle as he pulled her into him and savagely closed his mouth over hers, thrusting with his tongue deep into her, forcing her head back. Her hands came up, rested weakly on his shoulders, her breasts cushioned against his chest. She felt his prick rear exultantly, press into her yielding mound, fitting between her thighs, then, with a laugh of triumph, he suddenly plumped down into a chair and spun her round, dragging her face down across his knee.
Her feet waved in the air, sawing rapidly, but she made no real resistance as he spanked her quickly and lightly with his palm, slap-slapping until her behind was a glowing red and squirmingly hot, and she whimpered softly. Then he abruptly pushed her from his knee, and she fell heavily to the floor. He caught her by the ankles, twisted her over onto her back and held up her feet. The deeply arched soles showed a pale dusty brown as he parted them widely, and knelt between them. He placed them on his shoulders and pushed his belly slowly forward, allowing his rigid prick to slide inch by remorseless inch into her wetly beating vagina.
In the narrow compartment of the petty officers' mess. Beth Morris's long nude figure was stretched out on the table. Her feet, too, were waving in the air, and she grunted at the driving weight of Bill Hanson, who lay on top of her and jerked in the latter stages of coupling. She tried hard to concentrate against the rising tide of her own excitement, for, in each of her delicate hands, she held a rampant penis which she was massaging feverishly as their owners stood facing her. As if this were not enough, her aristocratic features were transformed as she strained upward, her long tongue curling to lap at the throbbing prick which jabbed back and forth like a mad violin bow against her face.
The heavy, sweaty bag of the testicles gently swayed against her brow, her blurred vision was filled entirely with the smothering genitals. Her skin shone with her own tears and sweat, and the increasing oily emissions from the rampant see-sawing cock.
There was a guttural cry, the penis was jerked back hastily, then a blinding, thick flood of hot semen fell across her eyes and nose, a further potent eruption flowed over her lips, its thick sweetness invading her tongue and the inside of her gaping mouth. She was bathed in its cloying contact, the residue oozing into her hairline. Seconds later the prick in her right hand went off, its contents jetting powerfully over her ribs and onto her right breast. As the hardness died magically in her coated hand, its counterpart on her other side erupted with similarly spectacular results.
Bingo! her mind screamed crazily at the sensation of gushing release deep within from Hanson's plunging frame. Then all thought dissolved. She convulsed and kicked and arched, torn by the joy of the coming which ripped through her to complete the symphonic climax of flesh harmoniously combined across the shuddering table.
Two decks below this convoluted tableau, another sexual union was taking place, gentler but just as stirring, under the soft patter of the cascading shower. Deeply appreciative of their blessed night 'off duty', Jo Reeves and Marie-Anne Soulis were making the most of their rare privacy. Their supple bodies gleamed, the foamy suds slid and clung in exquisite patterns over their skin. Marie-Anne, head lifted, eyes ecstatically closed, mouth open, was sprawled against the metal wall of the shower stall, arms out wide, legs opened in similar abandonment.
Jo knelt, her lapping face buried equally ecstatically in the thrusting belly, her fingers curved round the clenching buttocks to draw her partner even closer into her.
Their pleasure would no doubt have been tempered somewhat by the knowledge of the heavily breathing audience of the night watchmen, gathered about the large coloured set up on high in the radar office, where even the exigencies of duty did not prevent the gallant crew from enjoying the delights which the exotic additions to their society had brought them.

9.
Julie gazed through eyes dulled with despair and weariness at the towering outline of the Rock seen through the rain spotted windows of the bridge. It wasn't just the incessant aching of her abused body, it was the utter hopelessness of her defeated spirit which weighed her down most heavily. In her mind, she could still hear the desperation in Mags Gold's hoarse tones the previous day: "We've got to get ashore - one of us has to!"
Julie could see from the stiff movements of the tall blonde that the leading wren was suffering, as she herself was, and from the same cause. She knew that the girls were being used as she was - worse, perhaps.
Jo had told her, with customary directness as she attended her in her cabin: "We're being fucked two nights out of three, sometimes three and four times."
So I'm lucky, Julie told herself, with grim, gallows humour. I only get fucked twice - and usually by the same bloke. So far she had been screwed by Jock Murray, Martin Walker, the navigator, a two ringer like herself, and, last night, by the surgeon lieutenant of all people, who had even given her some cream for her soreness. "The more you do it, the more used to it your body will get!" he had told her comfortingly. That list was, of course, apart from her initiation in the captain's cabin, and that weird session with the not-so-gentle giant of a Chief Tel. She had diffidently tried to protest to Commander Berman, so far gone in her demoralisation that she had not really minded about the eager attention paid to her murmured words by the fellow officers around the table. It seemed hopeless to wait for an opportunity to see the captain alone. She should have known how brutally he would metaphorically slap her down.
"Chief Roberts runs the most important department on this ship. He knows more about our equipment than the whole lot of us here put together. His kind are the backbone of the service. You should be proud to be shagged by him, so don't come snivelling to me about being fucked by a mere rating!" The thin smile had played with refined cruelty about his lips. "Besides, I hear he's hung like an elephant. From what I know about you, I'd have thought you'd be up there every night begging for it."
Mags' desperation was had not been for herself. "I'm worried about young Jilly," she told Julie. "She'd never even had sex before." Julie noted the colour mounting up Mags' face, and thought wryly to herself, not with a bloke, anyway, but she said nothing. "She'll crack soon, if they don't let up on us." The frown deepened. "I don't know if any of us will be able to stand the pace for much longer," she added darkly, and this time Julie nodded in heartfelt agreement.
"I'll try myself," Julie told her. "First chance I get, I'll try to sneak ashore. I swear I won't leave you. I'll bring some help." Mags had already told her that the five ratings were officially banned by the captain's punishment from setting foot off the ship.
"Anyway, they'll watch us like hawks," Mags had ended gloomily.
As for herself, the problem was, Julie discovered to her sinking dismay, that she too was to be kept under the closest scrutiny. "I'm confining you to the ship, Hindmarsh," Berman had announced baldly. "Your conduct has been most disappointing so far. So no jollies ashore in Gib. All right?" Surprise, surprise! she thought bitterly as she returned the obligatory "Yes, sir."
However, she had not been prepared for the constant surveillance that had been her lot since they had docked, first by the first lieutenant, and now by Berman himself, who had kept her at his side all the long morning. She had even been made to eat lunch with him, in the privacy of his cabin, subjected to an unceasing tirade against her sex in general and female sailors in particular.
Now, ninety percent of the ship's company had been given shore leave and would not be back until late at night, or the following morning. "We'll go up to the bridge," said Berman. "Time you started familiarising yourself with the layout and what goes on in other departments."
Virago seemed strange, being so silent and deserted. There was no one on the upper deck, apart from the small group on duty at the gangway and the quarter deck. "Well - how are my officers finding you?" he asked, as though he were making perfectly normal conversation. "Are you proving satisfactory?"
She blushed and shrugged, totally at a loss for any reply.
"God! You're an insubordinate little cow!" he exclaimed impatiently. "This surliness really will not do, Hindmarsh!"
"What do you expect me to say?" she burst out, stopping to stare at him, her eyes brilliant with emotion. "What can I say? I'm being forced - forced to - to sleep with a different man every night!"
"Word in the wardroom before you showed up was that you were a randy sod! Bit of a nympho. They reckoned you were wearing out poor old Hesketh-Grym like a fiddler's bitch on heat, they said!"
She gaped open mouthed, blinking back the tears. She was amazed how he could still wound her so deeply with his insults. The hated voice went on in the same good humoured tone. "I must say that was the impression I got when I fucked you the other day. I may have been mistaken, but I thought you came like Niagara Falls. Thought you were going to snap my poor old John Tom clean off the way you were jumping around."
"Oh - oh - you -" she gasped, her mouth working, then turned with an anguished wail to run away.
"As you were!" he bellowed, and, somehow, through the curtain of her sobbing misery, the force of his command penetrated, and she stopped, her head bowed, shoulders shaking. "The bridge, I said!" And she stumbled after him, the tears pouring down her cheeks.
There was a single sentry on duty, but Julie was past caring what she looked like or what he thought of the sight of a wren officer blubbing her heart out. Besides, she was sure every single matelot knew what she and her girls were being used for by now. Berman spoke briefly to the sailor, who saluted and moved smartly away. "There. All alone," he said, as though this were some pleasant tryst. His next words astonished her even more. "Do you know, I've never actually seen you naked? I think I ought to get in quick before half the wardroom's been through you. Strip off, there's a good girl."
She gaped helplessly, gazed around at the wide space, the high chairs, raised on their metal pivots, the wooden wheel, the gleaming brass of instruments, the dials, the bank of modern electronic equipment in its long panel. "I can send for two of the sentries to do it if you need any help," he said, in that same light, pleasant voice.
Slowly, feeling as though this was all part of some sinister erotic dream, she reached up, undid her tie, pulled it free. She was wearing a short sleeved white shirt, with the epaulettes at the shoulders. She unbuttoned it, to expose the front of the lacy light bra beneath, then unfastened her trousers, bent and slipped off her shoes before stepping out of the pants. She left them crumpled on the deck, shrugged off the shirt, and dropped it on top of them.
Now she stood in bra and knickers and the short blue ankle socks, facing him. He stared at the tiny white triangle of embroidery that outlined the her mini briefs, the fine piping cut away legs of the tiny cotton garment.
"Oh dear, dear!" he sighed, on a note of whimsical regret. "Still disobeying my clear orders, I see." He clicked his mouth in disapproval and shook his head.
The breasts in their light casing heaved as she struggled to subdue her weeping. She wiped at her glistening cheeks. "I don't have any regulation panties, sir," she muttered. "Nobody bothers any more."
"I don't think that's quite true, is it?" he asked, in silky tones. "I bother! And I am your captain, after all."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded, waved his hand at her. "Carry on.
She unsnapped the bra, bent slightly as she shrugged her breasts clear and dropped it with her other clothing. There was only a split second's hesitation before her thumbs hooked in the elastic at her hips and she slipped the briefs down, to step out of them. She straightened, forced herself to keep her hands at her sides. He chuckled, nodded down at her feet, and her face flamed when she followed his gaze and saw the navy socks, the sole item of clothing she still wore. It brought more tears as she quickly stooped and dragged them off.
"Over here! Put your arms out in front. Grab the spokes. About ten to two." He was standing by the wheel, and she reached out obediently, positioning herself. "Keep a firm grip. Don't let go."
His hands were cold on her hips as he pulled her back, so that she was standing bent forward at quite a steep angle, her behind thrust back, her feet well astride. All at once, she knew what was coming. The marks of his earlier beating were still clearly visible, though the bruises were fading to paler pastel shades.
"I'm just an old softie, really. I ought to put you on report. But I keep on plugging away, like the old fashioned codger I am."
He was behind her, she couldn't see him. Her legs were braced, the muscles standing out, her buttocks deeply dimpled as they, too, clenched. Prepared as she thought she was, she was startled by the loudness of the crack when the first blow fell, and by the wide area which burned with the pain of his vigorous strike. She had anticipated the thin cutting line of fire she had felt when the scabbard had fallen across her flanks. This time, the whole of her bottom appeared to be burning at once. It was only later she realised that he was using a short handled wooden panel, rather like a table tennis bat but much larger, one of the pair used to signal the helicopter when it approached the vessel to drop or pick up gear.
It was, in fact, a rather suitable instrument for paddling someone this way. Although he hit hard, and her bottom was soon a fiery red and scorching abominably, it was nowhere near as agonising as the previous thrashing. Ashamed though she was, she could not ignore the pulsing excitement deep inside which the chastisement was rousing. Nevertheless, she was soon writhing wildly, twisting her hips about and yelping shrilly.
Try as she would, she could not keep herself still, or her hands gripped on the wooden spokes. With a curse of impatience, he paused long enough to seize her tie and, binding her wrists tightly together, tethered her to the wheel.
He left her hanging there, doing a little, thigh scissoring dance of agony while the air cooled her blistered bottom and she sobbed out her degradation. She was quiet, sniffling like a child, by the time he untied her. Though it hurt to do so, she could not stop herself from gingerly fingering the tender throbbing skin of her backside. She stood in front of him, weeping, and shockingly aware of the steadily mounting desire pulsing through her lower belly. However outraged she might be, her body clearly expected, and wanted, more from him. His words, when they finally came, were therefore as cutting as the blows he had dealt her.
"I'm not going to shag you. There's too many ploughing you as it is. But you can service me. Chief Roberts tells me you're a prize sword swallower, so come and do your stuff!"
He gestured unmistakably to the bulge at his crotch, then settled back in the high captain's chair on its steel pedestal. She gave a small wounded cry at his cruelty, then, suddenly, with a strange, challenging expression on her tear stained face, stepped forward. The chair was too high for her to kneel, so that she had to crouch, knees half bent, which powerfully added to the supplicant element of the act.
He did nothing, simply lounged back. Her unsteady fingers unzipped him, and fought to free his prick from the constraints of his clothing. It was no easy task. It uncoiled, came shyly into view, not erect, but swollen, the pink glans peeping from the thick rim of foreskin still half concealing it. But the mouth shone with his fluid, and it stirred as soon as she delicately picked up the flaccid brown column between thumb and fingers, then uncoiled further, like an emerging animal.
Her brow pressed into his belly, she poked out a timid tongue and licked at the tip, tasting the salty tang of his fluid, then her lips formed a small 0 and encircled it. Her teeth grazed at the satin smoothness, she lapped with quick, feathery movements. Her hand grasped more boldly, slid to the root of the column and moved rhythmically up and down. She felt the shaft swell mightily, a great surge of strength running through it, and it thickened, grew hard.
Her hand worked rapidly...
It was erect now, sticking up stiffly from the dark cloth, splendid in its length and girth, and she bent humbly, worshipfully, right over him, and stretched her gaping jaw, taking in the now fully exposed glans, which swelled to the roof of her mouth. She stretched her lips further, her cheeks hollowed as she sucked strongly, felt his surging strength filling her. The breath whistled through her flared nostrils. Somehow, she got her lips down, over the rim of his glans, to the potent column, and even down the shaft, choking as she did so, feeling him pressing against the very back of her throat.
She had more than half of him inside her now, and she bobbed her head desperately up and down, stabbing, to take in as much as she could, snorting and choking to do so, sucking furiously, loudly, until she was forced to withdraw, almost collapsed across his lap.
Her breasts rose and fell as she drew in air, her heart and blood thundering. His prick was huge now, and gleaming red, glistening with her saliva and his flowing juices. She rubbed her breast against it, her nipple hard, and shivered in ecstasy at the feel of his fluid on her soft flesh, which yielded to its hot pressure. Bending right over him, lying in his lap almost, she took it and fitted it between her breasts and mashed them savagely about it, until her skin gleamed with his emission.
It was beating passionately, throbbing, hot, and her open mouth worried at it frantically. Julie was on the point of coming herself. All she wanted was to experience that blessed eruption of his come over her eager flesh. He groaned, suddenly his fingers were tearing agonisingly at her scalp as he lifted her hair, and she strained to him, taking him once more.
It came, a fiercely sudden bursting of his pearly semen, pumping over her mouth and throat, falling onto her chest, and she held her mouth avidly open, wide, searching, and shuddered at the unique taste of it filling her, sliding down her chin. Another thick gout erupted, and her mouth sought it, her tongue licked like a greedy child with ice cream. She felt the shudder pass through him, felt her own cunt spasm and shook at her own climax, while, sobbing freely, and overcome with a wild joy she could not understand, she lapped at every drop of his juice she could find, while the hot afternoon sun burned through the wide expanse of glass and bathed her slim body in its uncompromising heat.
They stayed like statues for an age, then she laid her weary head on his lap at last, his wet, shrivelled penis resting against her shining lips, his hand gently stroking the dark head at his loins.

10.
Only the cat-like hum and the steady vibration indicated that Virago was back at sea as she nosed through the dazzling summer waters of the Mediterranean. That sun was pouring sensually now through the scuttle above Julie's bunk, falling in a solid bar of light, bathing her in its morning caress.
She kicked off the single sheet, and lay with one knee drawn up, studying her nude body. There was the large double bracketed imprint of a love bite, already deep indigo, high on the slope of her inner left thigh, just to the left of the dark pubic triangle, almost in the fold where her limb met her belly.
She shivered at the vivid recall of Lt Cdr Motson's mouth on her. The senior engineer officer was of the same age as the captain, possibly older. A cold aloof man to whom she had hardly spoken, who looked at her with that same cold, depersonalising contempt which so demeaned and undermined her. As soon as he had turned towards her, his frame looking startlingly plump and boyish without its clothing, she had tensed, expecting a viciously hard assault, perhaps even a thrashing or some such infliction of pain as a preliminary to the sex act itself.
Instead had come a sweetly torturous, timeless interlude when, his greying head bowed over her slackly proffered flesh, mouth and hands working with infinite skill and patience, he had roused her to such a degree that her back had been arching, lifting from the narrow bed as she cried out for fulfilment. That, too, had come, with a shattering intensity that left her weepingly helpless, with tears of sated joy as she drifted to sleep in his arms.
Memory of that physical release brought a staining blush to her now. She heard again his mocking voice before she left him three hours ago to return to her cabin.
"You've obviously missed it over the last three days, my dear."
His cruelly taunting words referred to the fact that during the stay in Gibraltar her nightly duties had been suspended. Most of the crew, officers included, had been ashore anyway.
She found herself gently stroking the still tender folds of tissue about her labia. She had been too numbly exhausted to take a shower when she came back in the early hours, and now her face wrinkled with fastidious disgust at the pungent stickiness which her soft touch revived. She must have a long hot shower, she promised herself, with keen anticipation. Yet, somehow, she made no move, just lay there, her leg drawn up, feeling the hot sunlight bathing her flesh, stroking, playing with herself, her mind drifting almost unconsciously.
She was startled at Jo Reeves' sudden entrance. "Come on, ma'am!" the dark haired girl said chidingly. She put the cup of fragrant coffee down on the little desk. "It's late. After seven. I thought you'd be up and showered by now!"
Julie sat up, slowly, and stretched her arms high above her head, arching her back like a waking animal. She yawned noisily. Jo glanced with surreptitious delight at the pert lift and thrust of her breasts. the slim desirability of the bare body. She turned to the drawers, laid out fresh clothing. "There's no rush," Julie murmured. Her cheeks reddened, her eyes did not meet Jo's direct gaze. "I don't have to turn to yet. I'm - off duty now in the mornings."
"What?" Jo stared at her. "Since when?"
Julie gazed down at her hands, twisted in her lap. Her narrow feet, the nails newly painted a vivid red, rested on the rough matting of the deck.
"Yesterday, after we sailed. The captain told me."
"So! You're on nights only now, are you?" The bitterness of Jo's voice made the blushes deepen. Julie's head stayed down. The hotly accusing tones continued. "They started on with us again last night, too! Me and Marie-Anne - we were in the petty officers' mess. Poor young Jilly she had to go to Chief Roberts. The kid can hardly walk! She'll have to report sick! She's in a state of shock!"
Julie's head lifted now, her eyes glistened with moisture. "I can't do anything," she said.
"We gather that!" Jo answered, so dismissively that Julie could no longer hold back the tears. Her shoulders trembled, her head sank again.
"I'm suh - sorry. I know I should - I can't help -"
At the picture of utter despair the limp figure presented, Jo's anger fled, and, with a penitent cry, she moved swiftly, gathered up the slim form, hugging her to her. Their mouths closed together, Jo bore her back onto the dishevelled bunk. Her hands moved, hastily, greedily, her lips too, trailing from throat to pink tipped breast, to sweetly hollowed belly, down to those regions, branded clearly with the previous night's attentions, which lifted in newly eager surrender to the loving caresses.
"No!" Julie wept impotently. "I don't - I'm not -" But she no longer knew what or truly who she was, and her thighs parted, the hands that fell on the dark head between them were light, and cupped rather to hold her amorous assailant to her than thrust her away.
"Where've you been?" Mags queried frantically. "We're on watch in ten minutes!"
"I had to see to Hindmarsh!" Jo answered quickly. She avoided Marie-Anne' s gaze, which she could sense directed penetratingly on her. "She's in quite a bad way. She's been told the skipper says she doesn't have to turn to for work in the mornings."
There was an explosion of outrage from the other four figures. Jo shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know - she seems different. I think she's cracked."
"Probably having the time of her life!" Beth Morris put in. "You know what the officers are like. Ex public school boys. Not a decent shag among them, unless they're rogering one another!"
"She's taking it pretty badly," Jo replied defensively. "Anyway, I don't think we can rely too much on her."
"That's pretty obvious, after Gib!" Beth came back scornfully. "Our only chance, and what did she do? Sweet f.a., that's what!"
"Cut it out!" Mags' voice rang out authoritatively over all of them, She nodded towards the dressed figure of Jilly, who was lying on her bunk, taking no part or interest in the angry conversation. "Fair enough. You lot go on watch. I'm taking Jilly to the sick bay. Then I'm going to see the captain."
Twenty minutes later the leading wren stood before that strange, commanding figure, even more forbidding in the tropical uniform of dazzling whites, the shorts with their knife edge creases, the immaculate white three quarter stockings, the shirt with its gold braid at the shoulders.
She was quaking!
"I told her she couldn't just barge in, sir!" the red faced seaman muttered pleadingly. Berman nodded him out.
"I'm sorry," Mags began, desperately, "but my girls can't go on like this. I've just taken Wren Buck to sick bay. She's in great pain -"
"What's wrong with her?" Berman enquired coolly.
Mags stared at him in disbelief. "Sir! Practically every night, we we're made to have sex. With three or four different men! Last night - Ji - Wren Buck was - was with Chief Roberts. She - she's -" I Mags gestured hopelessly. Her face was crimson. She lapsed into silence, her splendid bosom evident even in the unflattering lines of her work shirt as it heaved with emotion.
"Three or four men a night?" The cultured voice was rich with scorn. "There are prostitutes who manage thirty clients a night, no bother at all."
Mags gaped at him. Naively, she was still shocked at this figure of authority speaking thus. "We we're not prostitutes, sir!" she managed faintly.
"No! Far from it! You're far less honest than working tarts, aren't you? She'll soon get used to it, young what's-her-name," he said dismissively. "The rest of you, including your beloved officer, seem to be well used to it. Fulfilling a role you're eminently suited to, I'd say." He turned away. "I'll see you on defaulters tomorrow for this breach of discipline. Be careful. You might lose your hook, if you go on like this."
"Stuff the bloody hook!" Mags cried. She could feel the discipline going, the rage taking over, but she no longer cared. The tears gushed out now, but she didn't dash them from her cheeks as she faced him bravely. "You can't treat us like this! You'll go to gaol for it, the whole bunch of you! You'll put us ashore at Malta or by Christ you'll regret it! Meantime, we're not putting up with it any longer. We're not your slaves. We're not carrying out any duties - of ANY kind, from now on."
She stood there, magnificent in her fury, breasts heaving, great sobs tearing through her at this cathartic release. He remained all the while motionless, facing her tirade. Still perfectly in control, he gave a small nod. "I see," he said quietly. "Just a minute." He made to pass her, moving towards the door, then, with lightning speed, he swung his fist in a viciously accurate jab to her solar plexus. The blow, delivered with all his strength, drove into her unprotected stomach and she folded dramatically, with a soft gasp, and fell to the deck.
A strangled retching sound emerged, her jaw strained as she sought for air, while her legs and arms moved feebly.
"Sentry!" he called, and issued a stream of rapid instructions.
Mags did not become fully aware again until she felt the cold air upon her skin, and realised he was quickly undressing her. Shoes and socks were followed by shirt and trousers, then bra and briefs. She was hauled back and forth on the floor, absolutely helpless to prevent his stripping her, or his dragging her, arms intimately locked about her, to the bunk, on which he spread her, face down. She felt her wrists being bound painfully tightly to the head of the narrow bed, her ankles to the lower corners. By the time he had finished, he was panting heavily.
He gazed down with deep pleasure at the vista of the nude figure, admiring the long planes and hollows of the back, the superb rounds of the flexing bottom, the sturdy fullness of the thighs, the potent yet shapely curve of the calf muscles leading to the delicate slenderness of ankles, the cutely pink rounds of the heels.
"I find it best to deal with insubordination from you women in this informal, old fashioned way," he said, in a pleasantly modulated tone of instruction. "You appreciate it more. It leaves more of an - impression!" He chuckled, let his hand trace gently the swell of her buttocks, which dimpled, the muscles hardening under his caress. "And you, my dear, have an arse simply made for such correction. To think I've been missing all this for a week and more . Still, I'm sure I'll be seeing plenty of it in the future. You've shown much more spirit than Second Officer Hindmarsh. And you make her skinny little rump look like a boy stoker's."
"Fuck off!" Mags wept inadequately, though even that seemed to add to his pleasure.
"Later. Meanwhile..." He picked up her white knickers, dragged her blonde head up from the counterpane and thrust them in her face. He pressed them against her lips, and nipped her nostrils together, forcing her to open her mouth. He wedged the cloth in securely, making a very effective gag. His stroking fingers continued to linger over her quivering backside, following its contours, parting the deep cleft until he could see the delicate darkening shades of the inner slope, the dark blonde curls about its base, which he tweaked playfully, drawing an extra loud muffled protest from the scarlet face and straining neck. Fingers and toes curled as she threshed hopelessly against the cutting bonds.
"You'll only hurt yourself," he teased, laughing as he tapped her lightly on her bottom. "I was top of the class in knots and splices!"
Taking his time, he rose, went to the drawer, and selected a short whip with a plaited black handle. Its three strands were made of thin rubber, knotted at the ends. He let these lashes trail suggestively down between the curves of her shoulder blades, down the hollowed spine, and across those wonderful buttocks, before he stepped back, and with an expert flick brought them down across the centre of those trembling rounds. He watched them flex and hollow, saw her hips writhe, her body quiver and fight against the restraints which held her.
Thin angry lines came up red on the flawless skin. He struck again, with measured strength, and again came the exquisite struggles, the muffled scream. The network of red lines grew.
He let some of his blows fall on the scoop of the back above her behind, and on the backs of her thighs, which reddened, too. Her bottom was soon glowing. It looked as though a cat had been let loose upon it, for the skin was criss-crossed now with those vivid red marks. He was out of breath, sweating lightly, before he stopped. The leather handle was slippery in his grip. He let it fall and stood there, savouring the sight of her marked body, the trembling which shook her, the heave of the sobs, the sounds of which were trapped in her working throat.
Slowly he unbuckled the shorts, carefully eased them off, folding them meticulously before laying them across the back of the chair, then slipped off his underpants. From the folds of his shirt his penis jutted rigidly, its red helm exposed and gleaming with its juice. Still wearing the white stockings and white shoes, he leaned over and, with some difficulty, unpicked the knots in the bonds with which he had tethered her ankles to the supports of the bunk. He had used a couple of his black ties, and as he allowed them to fall he could see the twin rings of angry skin about the thrust of the delicate joints.
He lifted her feet, observing the ligaments at the backs of her knees as they bent. The soles of her feet were pink, they smelt sweet and fresh. He was deeply stirred by the sight of the underpads of her toes. She was not resisting at all now. He lowered her ankles, bringing the rounded heels together, and laid his throbbing prick between them, slid its pulsing length along those narrow soles, using them to masturbate himself, kneeling there, watching the tautly quivering rounds of her reddened bottom only inches from that gleaming torpedo head of his penis.
He put her feet either side of him, leaned over her and dug with his fingers, dragged the soaking knickers from her mouth and pouched cheeks, and she coughed at the release, her sobs deep and hoarse. He leaned further, dug his fingers into the fragile hollow of her shoulder bones, felt the base of her long neck. Now he was lying on her, his penis slotted between her bottom cheeks, whose hot rounds he could feel on his thighs. His prick, trapped between her flesh and his pressing belly, pulsed madly.
He was near coming.
His mouth nuzzled at the hairline He breathed in her subtle perfume, the sweet nakedness of her. His fingers pressed mercilessly into her neck. "Tell me you're sorry for your insolence!" he whispered.
He felt the great convulsive shudder which passed right through her, felt the sudden, distinct relaxation of defeat beneath him.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"I should fucking think so!" His hands left her neck, reached down to her hips, lifted her, while his knees pushed her thighs widely apart. Her bottom drove up into him, raising itself in automatic assistance, and his prick slid remorselessly through the deep furrow of her behind, into the well lubricated hole of her vagina, spasming wickedly to receive him.

11.
"Just what the fuck d'yer mean by this?" Chief Roberts tossed a bundle of envelopes down onto the nearest bench. The girls gaped in dismay, belatedly recognising their own handwriting.
All had been ripped open. He grabbed the top one, pulled out the folded sheet of paper. "Listen to this. 'My dear mum,'" - he mimicked in a cruel falsetto, and grinned evilly at Jilly Buck, who gave a muted whimper of fear. "'Please take this to the nearest police station and make someone listen. We are being kept as prisoners, treated like slaves. We are beaten, forced to have sex every night, with lots of different men'."
He tossed the letter back onto the pile, with another harsh laugh.
"Jesus Christ, girlie! You'll have your mum jumpin' on the next plane beggin' ter be let on board! Best recruitin' campaign the wrens could dream of if they let people see this lot! You obviously don' know 'ow lucky you are, you ungrateful little tossers!"
"You had no right to open our mail!" Jo breathed, scandalised. The tall figure of Mags Gold was blushingly silent. Since her solo interview with the captain, she had scarcely spoken at all. The girls had seen the red pattern of thin weals across her bottom, had conjectured, but been deterred from questioning her by her tearful withdrawn mood. Only Jilly had been able to get close, and then only in a purely physical sense. The young girl had crawled in beside her in the narrow confines of the bunk, and held her while the tall figure shook in silent grief. Everyone accepted the sexual relationship, just as Jo and Marie-Anne's pairing was openly acknowledged.
"I feel quite left out!" Beth Morris had quipped in her languid way, then held up her hand hastily in case anyone might misinterpret her words. "Only joking! I never went in for that sort of thing, even at my school, where two-in-a-bed was practically a rule!"
Whatever the captain had done, it had knocked the stuffing out of Mags. Only Jo now showed any spirit of resistance as she faced the towering figure of the chief. He gazed down at her with grinning contempt. "Shut your fuckin' hole, dyke!" he said,
She gasped, choked off a reply, staring with wounded accusation across at the others. Who on earth had told him about her? She and Marie-Anne had been as secretive as they could be about it. How could he have found out? Ah! Wait a minute! Of course! That stupid bitch Hindmarsh! That was what he was referring to, obviously. Jo had given her a good going over the other morning, moved largely by compassion for the state of the distraught girl. Well, not just because she felt sorry for her, Jo conceded to herself. She was a right good looker, true, even if she was a bit of a wet. And a blabber-mouth it would appear. She would deal with her later, she vowed grimly.
Her attention was taken by the chief's growling tones. "It's not fuckin' good enough. We're gonna start again. You're all gonna write another letter home, tellin' em what a nice time yer havin' an' how we're just one big happy family aboard Virago. Got it? And yer gonna do it now. First, a little encouragement." He raised his voice. "Lucas! Evans! Smart!"
The killick and his two subordinates had clearly been waiting within ear distance. They appeared at once, grinning in anticipation of the fun to come.
"Over the chairs, lads. Bare bums. I'll take the butch here. Away yer go!"
Not even Mags put up any resistance. Jo tried, but the giant chief caught her wrist, twisted her arm up nearly to her shoulder until she subsided, yelping in agony, and collapsed, sobbing. All five were made to kneel on the swivel chairs and bend forward over the curved backs until their heads were dizzily near the floor. Their wrists were bound tightly with short pieces of rope to the pedestal supporting the chair. In another second their denims had been unzipped and, together with their knickers, dragged down at the back off their behinds. The blue shirts were rolled up into the small of their backs. The girls hung there, weeping ignominiously, their bottoms upended, the cheeks taut as they waited tensely for what they knew must follow.
Smilingly inviting Fred Lucas to begin at the farthest end of the row, the chief took up a rope's end and swung his mighty arm at the nearest rump, which was Mags'. "You must love it, darlin'!" he sneered, for the expanse of flesh was still bruised by the captain's whip. Mags bit her lip painfully, grunted at the burn of the pain, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. The others, apart from Jo, were not so reticent, and the radar office echoed to the shrill yelps as the two men moved energetically down the line, setting the chairs swinging with the struggles of their victims.
At the second line of fire rippling across her taut posterior, Mags' crumbling defiance broke, and she gave a sharp cry. After that, she howled with the rest. The chairs swung wildly, for they could not keep still against the fierce agony, and this added to their suffering, for the swinging meant that the vicious blows began to fall across their hips, and the outsides of their thighs, which soon bore the reddened marks of the beating. It lasted several long minutes, then the two men paused, and the screams died to a pitiful assortment of sobs.
The girls' bottoms were hotly glowing, and when their hands were untied, they flew at once to the throbbing curves and massaged tenderly. They stood in a forlorn line, their pants bunched ludicrously about their knees, their hands rubbing away at their backs.
"Now, sit down, ladies, and do your letters home again. And make 'em good, otherwise you won't have any skin left on your fat arses. Right?"
There was much painful squirming as they obeyed, the tears subsiding to occasional sniffles. The chief moved among them like a school teacher, glancing over their shoulders as they worked. "That's more like it!" he grinned encouragingly at their latest efforts, which he gathered up. "Now we won't have sweethearts and loved ones worrying their heads over you, will we?"
A basically similar scene was enacted below, in the captain's cabin. Julie reflected how foolish she had been to imagine that her mail wouldn't have been checked when Berman gestured at her opened letters to Andrew. 'What will he think of you, telling him that you're shagging with a different officer every night? He's your fianc'. Don't want to hurt the poor chap's feelings, do you?"
Julie was wearing a uniform very like his, with the white tropical shorts, coming to a primly respectable halt three inches above her knees, and white three quarter stockings with white shoes. Though she wondered why, for she had no duties other than the imposed sexual ones, and she was permitted to lounge in her bunk or sit about in the wardroom whenever she was not required.
"What will you do with us, sir?" she asked. "Even if you keep us on board as prisoners for the whole of the commission - what then? Next April, when we're due to return to UK, what'll happen?"
"Don't worry about that." He smiled coldly. "Don't worry about anything, except how to fulfil your role aboard ship. And you know what that is by now. Who knows? By the time April comes, you might have decided there's nothing better than sailors. It's what you're made for. The only thing. Which reminds me... you can rewrite that damned letter later. Right now..."
He was unzipping his shorts as he spoke. "Get out of that stupid get-up!" he said curtly. He shook his head. "I think we'll have to put an end to this farce of uniform. It's a desecration. We'll have to think of something more fitting to your station."
Without any hesitation she undressed, placing her things on the hard chair. "No! Leave your shoes and socks on. Everything else off." She blushed deeply, but did as he commanded, aware of the strangely erotic spectacle she presented as she stepped out of her briefs and put them on top of her other clothing. She was aware, too, of the deeply throbbing excitement within her, which was already making her vulva wet with her hunger.
In contrast, and to her deep chagrin, he had not undressed at all, but merely pulled out his thick penis, which hung from the shorts, swollen and elongated, though not yet erect.
"Put your mouth to its proper use!" he said huskily, and she moved at once, dropping to her knees between his slack thighs, while he lounged on the flowered upholstery of the narrow sofa under a scuttle. The afternoon sun fell fully on her dark, bowed head, and her slender shoulders as she reverentially took his prick in her hand, gently manipulating it, drawing down the thick collar of foreskin, feeling the responsive quiver and beat of his arousal stiffening the long column. Her mouth bent, too, formed a delicate 0, and bestowed feathery kisses on the emergent tip of the dome, lapping delicately at its salty emission.
She took her time, working with all the skill she had not known she possessed, until his prick was jutting up, hard as a mast and vastly swollen. She had to stretch her jaws to their utmost to encompass him and take his pulsing length into her mouth, which she did, gulping and snorting as she bobbed, her lips sliding down the shaft as far as she could. She could feel his crisis near, even before his iron fingers dug into her hair and twisted painfully.
Gasping, her face bathed in sweat, her chin glinting with his juice, she withdrew, gazed up imploringly at him from between his thighs.
"Please, sir, don't you want to fuck me?"
She could feel her own spasms, the tension of her body's need for him to possess her. She wanted to beg as she crouched at his feet, bathed in the sunlight.
"Swallow me, bitch!"
His fingers yanked savagely at her scalp, pulling her back to him. With a convulsive sob, she bent once more, stretching her gaping mouth wide. She thought she would panic, be sick, when she felt that mighty surge, then the hot choking thickness of his come flooded her, and she worked, swallowing, sucking, and it slithered from the corners of her mouth, spilling down her chin, but still she suckled and swallowed, spluttering, lost to everything except that urgent need to endure.
Another violent flood almost choked her, but she survived, finally, with a massive shudder, withdrawing her shining lips, and lapping tenderly at the residue which still thickly coated the huge dome of his helm.
It was much later when she rose stiffly, walked over to the tiny recess of his shower, bent over the wash basin, and rinsed her mouth carefully, spitting again and again, before gargling with the deep blue mouth wash he kept on his shelf. When she came back, he had put his prick away, was once more correctly dressed. He grinned and, following his gaze towards her feet, she blushed again at her garb.
"We'll be three nights in Malta. Anchored in Grand Harbour. You'll be confined to the ship, of course. Tell your girls. I'm sure you'll find ways of amusing yourselves."
She was standing still, resisting the urge to place her hands protectively over her front. That coldly intense stare enveloped her, she felt herself lost in its power.
"I gather you're still feeling somewhat hot, yes?" he asked, with a smile that turned out sinister. "I'll see what I can do for you."
Her heart leapt then sank as he picked up the phone and called the wardroom. "Ah, Wilkinson," he murmured, addressing the duty steward. "Anyone there at the moment? Right. Send him along to my cabin, will you?" He put the phone down and grinned at her.
"You're in luck. Randy Scott's off watch. Has he had you yet?"
She blinked, stunned at the casual cruelty of his remark. Her throat closed, she fought desperately to keep her tears at bay.
"No, sir." Her voice was a husky whisper.
There was a tap at the door and Scott came in, his eyebrows shooting up into his head at the sight of Julie standing there, naked except for the socks and shoes.
"You're in luck, Scott. Jumping the queue, so to speak. Hindmarsh here is as you see stripped and ready for action, so you're it, you lucky dog! Away you go. Take her off to your cabin and give her a good shafting."
As the blushing Julie reached for her clothes, Berman added nonchalantly, "Don't bother with that ridiculous clobber, Hindmarsh. We're going to stop having you dressing up as sailors anyway. Bloody nonsense! Here. Slip this gown over you. You'll be all systems go then when Scott gets you in his pit."
She clasped the short towelling robe over her nakedness and padded after the eager sub lieutenant.
Jo Reeves crept out into the waist of the ship, glanced fearfully towards the brightly lit quarter deck and the accommodation ladders reaching down to the water, around which the strange gondola-like little craft of the ferrymen bobbed.
"It's too far!" Marie-Anne wept. "You'll drown!" She gazed at the terrifyingly distant lights of the shore around them in the balmy night.
"Rubbish! I've swum miles further than this!" Jo told her, with far more confidence than she felt. She was wearing a simple black one piece swim suit which clung alluringly to her slight figure. "Watch out for me! This time tomorrow I'll have you out of this." They clung together, mouths locked, for long seconds.
"Good luck!" Marie-Anne sobbed, then waited trembling while the slim figure slid over the low rail, and agilely wriggled down the rope to the oily black water. She entered with scarcely a ripple and struck out competently from the ship's side.
Sick with tension, Marie-Anne watched the dark head, which seemed alarmingly visible in the dazzling lights flickering on the calm surface. Then, suddenly, she was gone, and Marie-Anne was even more afraid. With a silent prayer, she turned and hurried back in through the doorway.
Jo was near to exhaustion when she reached the stone steps, around which unsavoury bits of rubbish floated. She sprawled there, half in the water still, shivering and gasping, until she had recovered sufficiently to drag herself up to the roadway at the top.
Directly across from the landing steps was a bar, from which noisy music blared. There was a shout of astonished delight at the vision of the slim girl who staggered in.
"Get me the police!" she panted, and collapsed in the nearest chair. The customers, all male, crowded round, a glass of burning spirit was set before her. Someone brought a grubby towel. "You should get out of those wet things!" a leering face suggested. One look at his glittering eyes and Jo decided not to follow his advice.
She was laughing and weeping hysterically, trembling now with weak relief. She had done it! She was safe! She would rescue them all before the night was over! When the white belted and gaitered ratings of the shore patrol turned up, she was ready to fling herself in their arms, sobbing with joy.
Until she saw the gold lettered name of Virago on their cap tallies!
"No! No!" she screamed. She clung to the proprietor of the bar. "Please! I won't go with them! Help me!"
At his insistence, they left her crouching behind the counter. A Maltese civilian policeman was with them. "Police station!" she cried desperately. "These bad men!" She jabbed a finger at the embarrassed ratings from the ship.
When the policeman eventually agreed to take her with him, she wept again with gratitude, and hung onto his arm. In the car, his compatriot gave her a rug of some sort to drape over her shoulders. They put her in a bare cell, with only a wooden shelf for a bed, but even this she did not mind, for she kept telling herself she was safe at last. Someone in authority would come soon - a doctor, someone from the British Embassy.
After a long time, she heard deep male voices outside. She stood up eagerly, throwing aside the rug.
Commander Berman entered, resplendent in evening dress uniform. He was accompanied by the surgeon lieutenant, and with them was an impressively uniformed Maltese police official.
"Yes, that's the girl," Berman said smoothly. "High on drugs. We've had a lot of trouble this trip. Bloody women, eh? We'll take care of her, commandant."
"No!" Jo shrieked. "You don't understand! They've kidnapped us." She flung herself forward, trying to get past them to the door, and Berman caught her, grabbed at her flailing arms, his fingers digging in.
"Something to calm her, Doc, I think."
"Right, sir." She felt herself seized, the Maltese official helping, and she was flung face down on the wooden shelf. She felt hands holding her bare leg, there was a slap, then a sharp prick as a needle was jabbed into the generous portion of bare buttock showing below the black costume. Voices faded, her struggling ceased, and she surrendered almost with pleasure to the oblivion which descended over her racing mind.

12.
"Your breakfast, ma'am!" Julie blinked owlishly at the grinning features of the captain's steward, who was standing holding her tray and gazing with evident appreciation at her nude body, revealed almost to the line of her pubic hair by the displaced sheet. Hastily she grabbed at it and held it over her breasts.
The grin widened. "You're to stay in your cabin."
"Why, has something happened?"
She almost reached out unthinkingly to take the tray, just held onto the sheet in time. She blushed as she thought how ingrained her habit of obedience towards males had become in a matter of only two weeks or so. Though in truth it might well have been two years.
"One of your gals done a bunk," he burst out with enormous relish, as he set the tray down. "Gone over the wall!"
Oh no! She was shocked at her immediate reaction of dismay. What on earth was the matter with her? Why did she feel that sick lurch in her gut? She should be shrieking with joy at the news, surely? Or was it simply fear that gave her this feeling? For the captain, she knew, would have to resort to some extremely desperate measures if he was to prevent his whole world from crashing down about him.
When the steward had gone, she got up, pulled on her silk robe. Her stomach was turning cartwheels, she was far too upset to eat any thing, but she picked up the hot coffee eagerly. She saw that her hand was shaking. She was trembling violently. Her mind whirled. In an hour or so she would be free. Free! She couldn't comprehend it. Away from here, from this strange world in which she had been sealed so completely, cut off from all reality for what seemed like a lifetime. It was that other, outside world which seemed so unreal to her now.
Last night had been in many ways the strangest of all she had passed since she had stepped aboard Virago. Being anchored in Valeta's Grand Harbour, she had anticipated a night of rare solitude, for she knew most people would be ashore. Or perhaps she hoped - how she shied away, horrified at herself, at that word hoped - the captain might send for her. He DID summon her, it was true, but only to inform her, with that stabbing grin of his, that the roster was in operation and that she should report for 'duty' as usual. "The last name on the list," he chuckled. "Time flies when you're having fun!"
She had assumed it was a sick joke, for someone had added, in pen, the name "R.W. Ferris, Padre." She had hardly seen the chaplain, a thin, bespectacled figure of indeterminate age, who rarely appeared in the wardroom, or indeed anywhere about the ship other than the small room he had been allocated as office and chapel under the twin guns of X-turret. Chaplains had no official rank, but were granted honorary officer status. It struck Julie forcibly now that she had never even considered seeking out the shadowy figure for help as a possible ally.
She gazed now at the captain in stunned disbelief. His cold eyes sparkled. "He's looking forward to meeting you. Perhaps he's after your soul." He chuckled again. "Although in Ferris's case, I doubt it!"
Ronald Ferris stood in great awe of his captain. He had feared a good number of men in his time. In his convoluted personality, fear was a strong element. It went hand in hand with excitement. When the wrens had first come on board, he had, of course, quickly realised what was happening, at least to the pretty young officer. Shivering with fright, he had nevertheless felt driven somehow to remonstrate, in his mild, almost obsequious way, and had appeared in Berman's cabin, sweating and pale, his adam's apple bobbing with emotion.
"Listen, padre," Berman snarled, pinning him with that merciless glare. "I know all about you. I know how much you enjoyed that training establishment in Hampshire, and what you got up to with the boy entrants. I know what you get up to now with young Richardson among your gold candlesticks and surpluses. I can put up with your bum boy romance as long as you keep it discreet and out of sight. Just don't come preaching to me, you sanctimonious little arse bandit! Got it?"
Julie had no idea what to expect when she tapped nervously on the door of the padre's cabin late that night. The ship had that strangely deserted air, for the vast majority of her crew had long ago departed to the shore. Ferris' eyes looked huge behind his glasses, the white showing like a frightened animal.
"Come in."
He was fully dressed, in his black coat and trousers, and Julie blushed furiously, deeply conscious of her freshly bathed nakedness under the thin silk of her robe, which she clutched tightly about her.
"Sit down."
She was also painfully aware of the amount of leg on view when she obeyed him, and tried in vain to hold the robe's hem over her. She could feel his acute nervousness, see it in the pale shine of his sweating face and jerking movements. He had a bottle of gin and two glasses already set out. He filled both glasses almost to the brim with neat spirit, added a dash of water and bitters.
"Have a drink!"
Some of it spilled onto her thigh as he thrust it at her. She gulped it down, in an effort to dispel some of the screaming tension between them. It seemed suddenly to release some spring in him, for he began to speak, high pitched, nervous at first, then it developed into a singsong rant, while she listened in growing astonishment.
"I know what's going on, what you women are doing here. The wickedness, the evils of the flesh. Fornicating, with the whole crew. You, with your list up in the wardroom, like a common prostitute, flaunting yourself. A Jezebel, a painted harlot!" He gestured wildly at her limbs, the painted toenails showing daintily through the open mules she wore.
She blushed even more deeply, partly through anger. "You think I want - that I - no, no, I'm forced to - to have sex. Every night! So are my - the other girls! It's rape. You should help us."
"I see you every day. Flaunting yourselves about the ship, going from cabin to cabin. I don't hear the screams of protest. Moans of lust, more like!"
She forgot herself in her quivering rage. Springing up, she turned, and bending forward from the waist, lifted up the robe, pushing her behind in his face. "Look at that! That's what happens if we DO protest!" The marks of her last beating, though faded to pale bruising, were still visible.
"How dare you! You - you slut!" She saw the mad gleam in his eyes, the tiny flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth. "That's what you need! The scourge!"
All at once, she realised what this was all about. She felt the anger, every emotion, drain from her. He stood blinking at her. She saw a shudder pass through him. He looked very young, like a dirty little boy.
"Kneel across the bunk!"
The words sounded trapped in his throat. She shrugged off her robe, letting it fall whisperingly about her feet. She stepped out of the mules and, naked, arranged herself on the narrow space. She tucked her feet together, behind her, placed her head on her folded hands and raised her bottom high in the air.
"Please don't hurt me too much," she whispered. In contrast with her previous rage, her tone now was softly pleading submission. In fact, it was the most shamefully titillating spanking she had received. He used, of all things, a red plastic fly swat. The thin, springy instrument flapped like a wand. It stung, left a red imprint, but it raised no weals and the fire which soon burned, the glow which spread rosily over the whole enchanting area of her backside, became fused with the desire the pain fanned in her belly and the tight crevice of her vulva, which was soon beating oilily with hunger for fulfilment.
The thrashing went on for a considerable time. She could not keep absolutely still, her hips and thighs wriggled, she squirmed at the increasing burn, but she kept her head down and her bottom up, her soft whimpers muted by the counterpane which she bit as the weird fusion of pain and pleasure swept through her.
The glow steadied, throbbed, and she realised he had ceased. She was weeping quietly and he shivered with delight, as she knew he would. She remained kneeling, her red behind raised. With a smothered sob, he plucked madly at his clothing, tore it from him until he stood as naked as she was. Through the blur of her tears, she saw without surprise the pathetic little curl of his penis, its unprepossessing proportions.
"Please don't hurt me," she said huskily, blushingly ashamed of her knowledge, and hope, that the gentle plea in her voice would rouse him. It did, but not to the end her clamorous body desired.
When he climbed onto the bunk behind her, she parted her feet accommodatingly, spread her thighs as she felt his thin frame coil round hers, folding over her. She gasped at the touch of his hard thighs on the throbbing flesh of her buttocks, but she thrust back at him, her own flesh urging her on now. The cold wet prick nosed into the crack of her behind, like a rooting animal's snout. It felt soft still, the shaft buckling at his pressure, and the helm slid greasily along the cleft.
But then his fingers were searching, seeking out with wicked knowledge not the palpitating folds leading to her well lubricated vagina, but the tight little pucker of the anus, which shrank violently from the invasive prod of his finger.
"No!" she gasped, in genuine shock and rising horror. But all at once, his scrawny frame was pressing on her with awful determination, his thin hands scrabbling, clawing open her divide, that finger delving, somehow insinuating itself into her tightness. She could feel the ring of muscle striving to repel the invader, but he gained a fractional entrance. Again, her strength seemed all at once to desert her, the hard ring of her final privacy surrendered, and she shivered at the hitherto unknown experience of such a penetration. "Jesus!" she cried, but he appeared not to notice the blasphemy.
The finger was replaced by that nuzzling dome, magically stiffened now. Once more she felt her resistance, the stabbing drive, the painful yielding, and she sobbed in abandon as the alien flesh claimed her.
It was not as agonising as she might have imagined. His column was squat and short, his intense excitement brief, and, after a few madly grunting thrusts, he ejaculated with a high whimpering cry, and it was over: he was expelled from her.
There was only the cold wet degradation, the shame of it, as she knelt there, and heard him retch and gag as she grabbed at some garment and hastily fled the cabin.
She snatched her hand away from her labia in crimson self anger now, as she sat reliving the weird events in the morning sunlight pouring in through the open scuttle. She could see the sun, hot already, painfully dazzling the water, smell the hot, foreign dustiness of the shore. Her thoughts returned to the present, her heart beating rapidly. She gasped, hastily clutching her gaping robe about her as the door opened and the steward's grinning head reappeared. "Finished? Cap'n says you're to go up to the flag deck right away. Track suit, he said. Nothing underneath. You know! No knickers or bra or anything!"
"Yes, all right. Thank you!" she managed, her jaw stiff, writhing in her shame. She pulled on the loose pants and top, and slid her feet into the solid trainers. She felt physically sick as she made her way through the crowded corridors and up the ladder to the upper deck. The sun's rays beat strongly, stirringly, through the cloth. When she reached the lofty height of the flag deck, she saw four figures dressed like herself lined up near the rail, facing inboard, and standing tensely in the at-ease position, feet apart, hands linked behind them. The captain was there, and the first lieutenant, both dazzling figures in their tropical drill uniforms. Chief Roberts was there, too, his bald head covered by his white cap.
"Ah! Hindmarsh. Padre beat the devil out of you last night, did he?" She blushed, avoided the eyes of the girls as she approached. "You heard about the disgraceful goings-on last night, I suppose? Damn bad show."
Julie had already ascertained that Jo Reeves was the one who was missing. She was not surprised. A few days ago, she would have bet any money Mags Gold would be the one to make such an attempt, but, since the captain's brutally effective interview, the leading wren had caved in. Like herself, Julie thought, with painful honesty, for she had given up everything. Certainly she had lost any right she might have had to claim authority over the silent figures beside her. Her heart lurched as the normality of the captain's coldly cutting banter registered. He did not seem like a man about to face ruin.
He raised his voice, addressing all of them. "One of you committed an offence yesterday which carries with it the extremest form of punishment. In normal circumstances, this would mean a maximum of ninety days' detention followed by a dishonourable discharge from the service. However, these are not normal circumstances. You are not normal members of Her Majesty's Navy. Thank God!"
All the girls were staring at him intently now, the insult in his words totally disregarded as they hovered in an agony of suspense and hope. He nodded towards Chief Roberts, who stepped from the open deck to the doorway leading back into the superstructure. He said something, and two ratings appeared, carrying what looked like a large, blanket covered bundle. They tossed it onto the deck and unrolled it, spilling out the dazed and distinctly grubby figure of Jo!
She lay there, propped on one elbow , blinking up uncomprehendingly into the bright sunlight, the dark shapes hovering over her. She was still wearing the black swim suit. Her dirty face was furrowed in a puzzled frown. She hardly seemed to know where she was.
"Prepare the prisoner for punishment!" the captain barked.
"Aye aye, sir!" The two ratings stepped smartly forward, and hauled the girl roughly to her feet. With synchronised movement, the men dug their fingers into the shoulder straps of the swim suit and tugged it vigorously downward. It stuck at crotch level, and they dragged it down over her hips, revealing the black little patch of her pubis. She swayed back and forth, offering no resistance, as they hauled it down and off her legs, but, instinctively, her hands folded in front of her genitals as she stood helplessly between them.
"No!"
There was a wounded cry, the girls were sobbing and made an instinctive movement towards her.
"As you were!" roared the chief, and they stopped. "Your turn will come!" he said, his lips parting in a huge grin at his promise.

13.
Julie recognised the wrist and leg irons which were produced and swiftly secured around Jo's limbs. None of the watching girls moved any more. They stood rooted to the spot, staring in horror.
A stout length of rope was passed through the chain which linked her wrists, and another through the chain between her bound ankles. These ropes were passed up through pulleys hanging from one of the struts of the steel radar mast. The two ratings took a rope each and hauled, until Jo's inert body was suspended horizontally face down, about three feet from the deck. She had made no struggle, but now she swung, and groaned in pain at the pressure on her stretched limbs and the deep hollow of her spine as her belly sagged towards the floor.
"I suppose in theory you're her divisional officer." Commander Berman had stepped forward, his glittering eyes burning into Julie. He was holding out a short handled black whip with three thin tails. "You have the honour. Give her a good thrashing."
Julie heard the girls gasp. "No!" she whimpered, her eyes huge, begging. "Please, sir." Her face was drained of colour.
"I might have known!" he murmured quietly, and his contempt washed over her. "Perhaps you'd rather receive the punishment yourself?"
Julie tensed and gulped. It was up to her to redeem herself in the eyes of her wrens. What else could she do? "Yes, sir," she whispered.
"Of course, you kinky slut." He laughed, still softly. "Strip off then, and quick about it."
The scene was like a dream. The hot sunlight beating down on them, the pale yellow buildings, shimmering distantly in the heat haze, the sparkling sea, boats plying to and fro, the wash of blue sky overhead. Julie was extremely conscious of the men's eyes on her, and those of the four girls, as she peeled the track suit top up over her head, pushed down the baggy pants and stepped out of them, staggering a little as they caught on her shoes. She used the toe of one to prise off its companion by the heel, then performed the same operation with her bare toes to remove the other. She shuffled, startled at the uncomfortable burn of the hot steel plating on her soles. Somehow, she managed to force her hands to remain stiffly at her sides.
The captain glanced round, There was a carley float secured to one side, the oblong box standing only two feet or so above the deck. The idea was that the box's mechanism released the float on striking the surface of the water, and the life raft automatically inflated. Now, it made a handy support over which Julie could prostrate herself. He nodded towards it.
"Bend over."
Julie moved at once, with a shy gracefulness, stepping high on her toes, gingerly placing herself over it, her back and bottom prominently displayed. "Hold her wrists and ankles," the captain ordered the eager seamen. "The bitch won't be able to keep still."
"I will!" Julie vowed resolutely. Her body tensed, she quivered, waiting for the first stroke to fall. When it came, she let out an agonised scream, and bucked madly, so that the two men had to hold onto her threshing body tightly. The slender strands cracked over her quivering flesh, scorching wires of fire ran through her, and she sobbed, open mouthed, at the fierce bite of the pain. Berman waited, sadistically giving her ample opportunity to savour the torment in full, and to tense up anew in dread, before he struck again, and she howled, her head jerking up, her body shuddering, writhing madly. The fine lines came up wickedly on her taut cheeks, the men exerted all their strength to hold her down.
"Puh - please!- she blubbered. "Nuh - no more!"
"Nonsense! You were keen enough to play the martyr, weren't you?"
"No! Sir! Please! I a-a-agh!"
Her throat ached with the violence of the shriek, as the fire flared unmercifully, and she wondered dizzily if her skin had been laid open. Then she was choking, great sobs engulfing her shuddering frame. He gave her three more strokes, with that lengthy, torturous pause between each, to allow her to sob and beg for mercy. The watching girls were faint with fright, yet they could not tear their gaze away from the spectacle of the pale figure, twisting madly, the livid scars rising like brands on her quivering flesh.
She lay gasping an the hot deck when they released her, her whole body twitching, her fingers moving stiffly towards her bottom. It was on fire, the pain so intense she could not bear even her own lightest touch. He stood towering over her, still holding the whip, whose strands trailed the floor.
"So much for your noble gesture!" he said, with dismissive contempt.
Jo had been hanging there, her curved body swaying gently. She was keening softly, the acute discomfort of her position filtering through the cloudiness of the powerful drug she had been given ashore. But awareness came shatteringly, all at once, with the first whistling crack of the whip across her behind, and the chains chinked as her body convulsed, leapt and threshed in its confines at the knifing agony.
Her feet waved and scissored, the metal restraints jingling. She swayed violently, so that some of his rapid blows fell either above or below her buttocks, the ends of the lash curling round her hips or thighs to add further to her ordeal with their angry sting. Though he did not use quite the strength he had put into his strokes when whipping Julie, he struck vigorously enough, and Jo's howls rose, too, in wild abandon, and her body was vividly marked by the thin red weals.
He stopped at last, breathing heavily.
Jo's great, gouting sobs merged weirdly with Julie's quieter weeping over the normal sounds of the morning. The four girls were still staring in mute, wide eyed terror.
"Are you beginning to get the idea, you slaves?" the captain asked.
Silence.
"Answer me!" he roared, and there was a collective whimper. "Yes, sir!" came back the appalled whispers.
He nodded with grim humour. "Over to you, Chief. I' m knackered!"
With a rattle of chains, the sobbing Jo was lowered to the deck, where they left her, lying near Julie, in the same abandoned pose, still with her irons on. "Right, ladies!" the chief smiled chirpily. "You seem a mite overdressed compared with your mates on the deck there. Strip off!" There was only the faintest of hesitation before they obeyed, elbows jostling as they pulled off the tops, bent to remove the baggy bottoms, the shoes.
Only Jilly Buck was making any noise. She was snivelling quietly, like a child, murmuring over and over, "Oh no, please! Don't whip me! I'll do anything, I swear. Please! I couldn't stand it!" She gave a muted cry of fresh terror as Roberts suddenly moved in close. But his giant hands were gentle as they lighted either side of her tear stained face, which looked even more fragile in that massive grip.
"Not stand it? Oh yes you can, girl!" He nodded at her. "It's amazin' what you CAN stand when you have to. Show us what a brave girl you are, eh?"
Like a favourite uncle, he led her gently to the rail and bent her over the chain guard, facing outboard, her arms stretched down over the chain.
"Touch your ankles, there's a good girl."
He had two short lengths of rope, and he used these now to tie each wrist to an ankle, so that she was doubled over, the heavy chain of the guard rail running over her lower belly at about the level of her pubis. The two ratings had done likewise to the other three trembling girls, who offered no fight at all. Not even the tall statuesque Mags, whose splendidly solid backside rose temptingly at the end of the line of presented buttocks.
Their legs were straight, the thigh muscles locked tensely, the cheeks of their bottoms hollowed with tautness as they waited fearfully for the punishment to commence. The captain and the first lieutenant stood gazing admiringly. The chief's chosen instrument was a broad leather seaman's belt. He began with Mags. There was a loud crack, and her humped back rose, the guard rail shook as she strove vainly to stand upright at the fiery pain blazing across her cheeks. A dark red imprint glowed lividly.
"No!" she sobbed, and the chief nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, hooky!" he whispered, bending towards the back of the red neck, at the base of those tawny curls.
The flawless olive skin of Marie-Anne was next in line, and her scream pierced the bright air at the blow, and she, too, jerked madly, her hips swaying, colliding with the taller, paler shape of Beth, so that all four cannoned into one another and stumbled. The blonde girl was the next to receive the belt. Of all of them, even in their new, terrifying circumstances, she always appeared the most laid back, coping with their bizarre situation with habitual sang-froid. But there was nothing languid about her movements now as the long, narrow cheeks of her behind were lividly lit up by the broad weal and she thrashed and howled in frenzy, just like the others.
Jilly was last in line. If she had thought because of the chief's gentle treatment of her to receive a less severe chastisement, she was sadly disabused, for her tight little bottom flamed with agony, her consciousness became a red throb of refined pain. She was not even aware of the shrilling screams which were torn from her throat.
"Jesus God! Please! Stop! No! No!"
Their assorted wails and frantic pleas rose like a mad prayer, their raised rumps shook, their tethered frames bumped and bored against one another, while the chief, his great moon face glistening, moved swiftly up and down the line, the belt whirling and crackling. He was like a lion tamer in some wild beast circus. When it was over, the sobbing forms sagged, the hot chain cutting into their bellies, their hands pulling against the unnoticed burn of the ropes in their need to caress their scorched and throbbing hindquarters.
All of them were released and made to stand in a tragic, weeping, shuffling line, their nakedness forgotten as their hands hovered over the blistered rounds of their behinds. Even Jo was hauled to her feet, the shackles removed, and she was forced to stand swayingly with the others. Julie, too, was in the line, no distinction of rank made now. Breasts jiggled and quivered, their bodies shook with the sobs they fought hard to stifle as they lifted their wet faces in obedience to the summons of the implacable brute who faced them.
"I hope you've all learned your lesson today," said Berman. This was a gentle reminder to you. I hope there will be no need to carry out a real punishment. As of now, we'll cut out all play acting. You're here for one thing, and one thing only. And that we can see quite plainly now."
He stepped close, moved along the line, reaching out and seizing Mags' right breast. He tweaked the long dark nipple, which swelled immediately to his touch. He pulled it, elongated the full mound. He moved on, caught hold of the small dark patch of Jilly's pubic hair and tugged, lifting the white skin beneath.
"Can't we?" he said, an eyebrow lifted.
Yes, sir," they murmured.
"There'll be no more disobedience. I'm not bothered about your souls, but your bodies belong to me, entirely. How intact you keep them depends entirely on your acceptance of my complete authority, your unquestioning and total submission to it. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's the only way you can possibly survive this voyage. I've spoken to Chief Roberts. Although he'll continue to be responsible for the five of you wrens, you'll no longer be taking part in any of the radar watch duties or any duties connected with the running of the ship. You're here for our fucking pleasure, that's the only reason for your continued existence."
His brutal words fell on them with all the cruelty of the lash from which their bodies still burned abominably. But already they had learned to keep silent under such verbal assaults.
"If you fail to provide that, we'll get rid of you." The very air seemed to grow chill, despite the bathing sun on their naked flesh. "All kinds of things can happen at sea. Accidents. People disappear, fall overboard. A boating accident, perhaps. We know how wrens love to play sailors. All of you could be out in the ship's cutter - a sudden squall turns you over..." He clicked his lips, shaking his head, while they stared in dumb horror.
"Now you!" He turned coldly to Jo, who looked as though she might collapse at any second. "You don't think you're going to get away as lightly as that, do you? A tanned backside for desertion? I think not." He turned to one of the ratings. "Take her forrard. Put her in the paint store. Sling a mattress in there. Tell the killick of the stokers' mess she's available for off watch personnel as of now. They can organise their own shagging roster!"
"Aye aye, sir!" He took Jo's arm and the dazed girl moved off docilely at his bidding.
The other nude figures hesitated, and Berman gestured irritably. "Confined to quarters. Cover yourselves. Track suits only to be worn. We'll do away with this farce of uniform for once and all."
He turned to go, nodded curtly at Julie. "You. Come with me.
"Yes, sir." She had already pulled on her track suit. Grabbing her trainers in her hand, she padded barefoot after him.
Julie stood once more naked in front of Berman in his cabin. "Turn round." She did so, and he studied the livid scars curling over the curve of her bottom, running down to the tops of her thighs. They were thin, but raised from the surrounding skin, and hard. She flinched, and he heard her gasp at the light touch of his fingers as he traced their outline.
"Funny how beating a female turns you on. And for you, being beaten, yes?" He stood very close behind her, let his lips graze her slim neck. His breath stirred her dark hair, she felt it at the back of her ear. His hand came round and fondled her right breast, tenderly exploring, teasing the small nipple to tingling erection.
Her face was burning, those breasts heaved delightfully as a sudden sob erupted. "Sometimes," she gasped faintly, feeling herself on a rack of shame, yet unable to lie. "Not when it's as hard as today." Her head was down. She saw his hand shimmering through her tears as he toyed with her stirring breast.
"I think you're lying," he murmured thickly, his lips still touching her. "Open your legs." She obeyed, parting her thighs a little, and his other hand pushed between them, still from behind. His fingers traced the line of her vulva, strolled at the swell of her mons, found the puckered tissue at the upper reach of her sex. He pressed with gentle insistence, parting the soft outer lips, caressing the slippery inner folds, moving on, and in, deeper, until his fingers penetrated the throbbing entrance of the vagina itself.
They curled, stroked her until she shuddered, and, despite the scorching agony, her buttock cheeks tightened in response. Her belly jutted forward a little, she could feel her urgent desire flowing. His fingers were thickly coated with her releasing, pungent fluid.
He drew his hand away, then held it to her nose, insisting, and she kept still while he rubbed the tangily aromatic digits against her nostrils. His other hand was still working away at her breast. She was weeping freely. "It's buh - because I'm here like this - nuh - naked - with you!"
"Liar!" he chuckled, but without any trace of anger or accusation in his deep tones. "Your cunt was dripping already, as soon as I set your arse on fire!"
Her breasts quivered at her weeping. He let his left hand return between her thighs, which parted again at once, and he delved once more in the moist divide of her sex. He bit lightly at her fragrant neck and felt her lean back against him, shivering. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he whispered.
"Yes, sir!" she sobbed, sagging against him, ready to fold limply to the floor if he had not held her. Her head swam, her body was thrumming with a desire so strong she wondered if she was about to climax there and then. Please, yes, yes! she begged inside her head, ready to swoon with bliss.
She was shocked to the core when he suddenly thrust her away from him, with a playful swat of her behind which sent the scorched flesh throbbing with new agony. The coldness of his laugh was worse than any bite of the lash.
"I think not!" he said lightly. "Go and fetch me your leading wren. Mags, is it? The one with the big knockers. Now there's a slut I really fancy fucking! Hurry, while I'm still randy!"
She gazed at him, stunned by his ability to wound her. Then, careless of the tears streaming down her cheeks, she stumbled into her track suit and went off blindly to do his bidding.

14.
It was more than forty eight hours later when Jo rejoined her companions in their quarters. The ship had left Malta and was heading through the increasingly fierce summer heat towards Port Said and the Suez Canal.
The girls still could not get used to the amount of free time they suddenly found on their hands since the captain had banned them from taking part in the duties for which they had been trained, and which they had so looked forward to participating in. For the real reason for Virago's lengthy stay around the Somali Peninsula and the East African coast was a highly confidential one the monitoring of any military activity, particularly in the air, in the southern Gulf and the Horn of Africa.
"Not just Arab and native forces," their commanding officer at the barracks had proudly told them. "We need to keep an eye on our allies, too. The Yanks are getting deeply involved. We have to know what's going on."
They had thrilled to the glamour of being a vital part of such an important, hush-hush mission.
Now, the brutal taking away of their role stung them as much as the raised and throbbing weals on their behinds. And did just as much, too, to crush their spirit and drain away their will. "He's right! We're good for one thing only on board this heap!" Marie-Anne declared, with weeping bitterness. They were no longer permitted to eat with the rest of the crew in the dining hall. One of them had to go along to the galley and collect their prepared meals, which they ate in the cramped confines of their quarters. "Just like the old navy!" the duty chef had mocked the first time they did this. "You're proper matelots now."
No one bothered to get them up now. When the time honoured shrilling of the bosun's pipe and the call of 'Hands off cocks and onto socks!' came at six, they could sleep on in their bunks if they wished. And they needed to, for their evening 'duties', carrying on as they often did until well after Pipe Down, left them weary to the point of exhaustion, even though their services were carefully scheduled.
"So that you don't fuckin' overdose on nooky!" Chief Roberts said, grinning when he gave them their orders. "An' that's why you've got ter keep yerselves tucked away out of sight durin' the day, right? It's bad enough keepin' this rabble off you, as it is. If they had their way, the whole bleedin' ship's company'd be lined up and through you every day. You'd be shagged out inside a week! You wish, eh?" he added, with a final, leering wink.
Under the new regime, they had to report up on the flag deck at ten am. There they spent the long day, lounging about in this neatly hidden spot, sunning themselves or lying in the shade, on the sun loungers provided for them. "Our own Mediterranean cruise!" Beth quipped sourly. Hence, this morning, they were sprawled indolently on their bunks after a leisurely breakfast when Jo appeared among them, with dramatic suddenness.
Her face looked drained, and deathly pale, except for the dark circles about her tragic eyes, and was etched with lines of pain. She was walking stiffly, her entire frame seemed clenched somehow. She was dressed, ludicrously, in a matelot's white front, and a pair of baggy, naval issue men's underpants. Her feet were bare, She burst into floods of tears as soon as she saw them, and groaned as they crowded round her with sympathetic cries, easing her onto her bunk. Tenderly, they removed the clothing. Her body and limbs were a mass of bruises, and red marks, as well as the vivid scars of the whipping, which still stood out in raised welts over her flanks.
"It was terrible!" she sobbed, her body shivering. "I don't know how many it just went on and on, practically non-stop, except for a few hours' Sleep. It feels like the whole crew's been through me."
"Come on," Mags murmured. "Let's get her in the showers."
"I'll do it!" Marie-Anne said, too quickly, then blushed and laughed through her tears. The others nodded in perfect understanding.
In the privacy of the stall, under the soothing flow of the hot water, Marie-Anne washed Jo gently, bestowing many light kisses on the abused flesh as she did so. However, when the passionate girl began to rub herself against Jo, and to seek out her mouth with altogether more fiery embraces, Jo began to weep afresh.
"No!" she pleaded, the old, wonderful aggression of her loving entirely gone. "I don't think I can. Sorry."
Marie-Anne was not the only one disappointed. The boys up in the radar office, who had not long ago taken over for the morning watch, had looked forward to an entertaining diversion to alleviate the monotony of the hours ahead, and gave colourful vocal expression to their frustration as they turned away from the suddenly empty screen.
The girls knew better than to be late, however relaxed their new days might appear. At ten o' clock, once more five in number - 'the infamous five' as Beth had mockingly dubbed them - they climbed the long ladders up to the heights of the flag deck.
"No formality up here, slaves!" one of the duty signalmen grinned. They understood what he meant, were already peeling off their track suits, underneath which they wore nothing. Then began the lengthy and, for participants and any spectators alike, diverting procedure of slathering one another in protective lotions or oils against the now fierce rays of the sun, until their bodies glistened in the bright light. There were more than a few winces, and sharp gasps, no matter how gentle the hands, when their striped buttocks were given the treatment.
"Bums and tits, gals!" Chief Roberts advised, when he came for his lingering inspection of the row of bodies. "Slather it on. Don't want you crispin' up the best bits, eh?"
They had not been settled long when a shadow fell briefly over them, and there stood Julie. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, blushing a little.
"You know the rule!" came the chief's voice from behind her, and everyone noted the harshness of his tone, and the omission of the word 'ma'am'
"Yes, Chief," she murmured softly, and at once peeled off her track suit, to stand palely naked. Then she sat, and began to rub lotion slowly into her arms and legs, her shoulders. No one offered to give her a hand, and the atmosphere of unease was apparent in the way the girls' conversation lapsed.
Julie was excruciatingly embarrassed. She had had to force herself to brave her colleagues, in particular the athletic frame of Mags Gold, revealed now in all its shining splendour. She blushed and was unable to meet her gaze, remembering all too vividly the scene of two nights before. The girls had glanced up in surprise at seeing Julie's sudden appearance in the doorway of their quarters. "The captain wants to see you, Gold," she had said stiffly, her face crimson. "Right away."
They had stripped off their track suit pants, and were tenderly bathing the burning welts of their beating with cold face cloths. They were still shaken by the events which had just taken place on the flag deck. "You're his messenger boy now, are you?" Beth drawled, with studied insolence.
"I'm like you. I have to do what I'm told!" Julie retorted hotly, stung by the criticism.
Back in the cabin, the situation had grown bizarrely worse. Although by now she thought she knew just how cruel the handsome captain could be, Julie was shocked and dismayed when he said, "No. Don't go, Hindmarsh. There are some things you CAN do well, even if shagging isn't one of them." Mags was staring from one to the other, her mouth open in disbelief. He began deliberately to undress. "Join me." It was an order rather than an invitation, and both girls had swiftly complied. Berman was completely unselfconscious as he lounged back naked in his arm chair. He spread his thighs, and Julie recognised the pose.
"Come on then. Do Your job. Or should I say, blow job?" Julie heard Mags' astonished gasp as she moved, crouched quickly between his knees and took his stirring prick in her delicate touch.
Tormentedly conscious of the tall figure standing motionless behind her, Julie bent her head, opened her mouth, and let her lips and tongue work alongside her fingers, until, soon, his throbbing, swollen member was blocking her mouth, stretching her jaws and throat to the utmost. The breath whistled through her nostrils, she gagged as her head bobbed rapidly, slurping at the potent manhood filling her. Once more, she felt her own mounting excitement, the thunder of her need, and she worked more frantically at her task, to bring him the fulfilment her own body craved.
She was still aware of Mags watching them, but now she felt wildly different about being observed. Now that was part of the consuming thrill stirring her, she had to show the blonde girl what she could do for him, for the man who ruled their lives.
When he dragged her away from him brutally by the hair, she gave a cry of frustration and loss. He flung her roughly to one side, so that she sprawled on the carpeted floor, sobbing breathlessly. He stood, his penis jutting like a lance, magnificent in his rampant power. Mags was weeping softly, shaking her head, but she made no effort to resist as he caught her by the arm and pulled her to the bunk. Somehow, Julie had expected him to bend her over face down, and penetrate her from behind, as he had with her the only time he had fucked her. She was stunned now to see that he laid the blonde figure on her back, gathering her thighs under his arms, drawing up her legs, letting the red dome of his weapon graze along the fold of the vulva, holding his belly off her for a long time before he allowed himself to ease slowly into her.
Then, with a mighty thrust which caused his taut buttocks to hollow deeply, he drove in to the hilt and their bellies came together with an audible slap.
Julie stared, her whole frame quivering. She was confused by the emotions flowing through her, uppermost of which was a keenly consuming jealousy of Mags. Shocking as this was to digest, Julie could not help but recognise it in the bitter tears which sprang from her eyes, and the savage hunger throbbing through her. Why not me? her brain, and body, shrieked in wounded protest. Please, please, make it quick, she found herself praying madly. Be brutal. Hurt her!
As though malevolently aware of her very thoughts, he controlled the ferocity of his passion. She actually saw him ease the vigour and speed of the thrusts, holding back until the blonde head beneath began to thresh frenziedly from side to side, the sturdy, long thighs gripped him with a new passion, and her belly heaved him upward. She began to cry, her voice rising, desperate.
"Oh no! Please! No! I can't can't I'm coming!" she screamed, appallingly loudly, as their bodies rose and fell in the final wild consummation.
Julie was sobbing, too. She was horrified to feel and see two rigid fingers thrust deep within the pulsing walls of her vagina and feel the streaming abundance of fluid flowing over the entwined figures on the bunk.
Then time stood eerily still. The turbulence subsided. He lay inert on Mags' full breasts, the tawny curls were turned away as Mags faced the wall. The only sound was her soft weeping - and Julie's, too, as she lay on the floor, propped on her elbow, gazing at them through her tears.
After an age, he at last moved, lifting himself off Mags. "Fix us a drink," he smiled, looking with that direct, disturbing gaze at Julie. "Two horses' necks, I think."
"Yes, sir."
Julie's despairing tears were redoubled as she rose at once to do his bidding, cut to the bone by this last exclusion, which hurt every bit as much as all that had gone before.
She had not seen Mags since, nor any of the others, which was why she had driven herself to cone up to the flag deck now. She could sense their hostility, and guessed that Mags must have told them all about the scene that had taken place in the captain's cabin. She had this great weight of guilt, the feeling that they believed she had let them down somehow. Yet there was a smarting sense of injustice, too. Surely they could see how helpless she was, that she was just as much a slave as they were?
"I'm glad you're back - Jo!" she blurted into the charged silence, at the last second switching to the first instead of the surname. "How was it?"
"How do you think it bloody was?" snapped Marie-Anne tensely, but it was Jo herself who shushed her.
"It was pretty grim, actually," Jo told her. The voice shook, had lost all its old defiant confidence. "I was screwed by the cooks. Dozens of them, it felt like."
"I'm - sorry." Julie blushed at the crassness of her words. She sat up, hugging her knees. "Look - I know you think I've let you down," she began nervously, and no one contradicted her. "I suppose I have. I'm not very brave." Her voice grew even quieter, more confessional. "I've learned a hell of a lot about myself since we got caught up in this lot. And I don't like much of it. But we've got to get through it. Survive. We've just got to be patient. Wait. One day we'll get away. I'm sure of it. But there's nothing we can do while we're here. Except - just do what they want. However horrible it might be. I don't think the captain was joking when he threatened us - our lives. When you think about it - he can't let us go, can he? So we've got to make them think we'll do anything they tell us, Perhaps for a long while. Until they believe they've really ground us down. Then we'll take our chance - and escape."
The others were listening, and nodding. She could sense their hostility ebbing away. She drew in a deep breath. "Like the other night. Mags - what we had to do -"
"I didn't tell them. Not everything!" Mags cut in strongly.
Julie gazed at her with surprised gratefulness. "But that's what I mean." All eyes were on her now. "They can do anything with us. We've got to stick together, whatever happens. Help each other."
"Brave, ma'am!" Beth drawled, with cutting irony, applauding with mocking slowness. Of all of them, she was the one Julie least expected such opposition from. Ashamed though she would have been to admit it, Julie felt that the girl's speech, and her privileged background, placed her closer to her than any of the others, and she flushed, deeply hurt by the sarcasm.
"Cut it out!" Mags said. But her voice lacked its former authority, and Julie felt afraid. Suddenly the clear cut quality of their service hierarchy seemed to have vanished.
As though to emphasise that point, Chief Roberts chose that moment to emerge onto the open deck once more. His moon face lit up when he saw Julie's slim form stretched out on a sun lounger. "Well, well! Still slummin', are we, ma'am?" The term of address was as full of mockery as Beth's had been. "While you're here, might as well make the most of it, eh? Step this way, madam!"
With exaggerated gallantry he indicated the doorway with a flourish of his great hairy arms.
"Go on! Duty calls!" Beth murmured softly.
Julie followed him. Her heart sank when she saw that he moved past the radar office and headed for the open doorway of the crypto room. His bulk seemed to fill the tiny space. When he pulled the steel door clangingly shut on them, Julie's sense of deja vu was oppressively powerful.
"Here we are again then!" He was already undoing the shorts from his solid waist. He let them fall, kicking them awkwardly clear. He was wearing the naval issue sandals, and no socks. His toes were massive, with bunches of black hair sprouting from the joints. The great prick, already hugely swollen, hung below his shirt. This time, he sprawled carelessly in the swivel chair, his great backside filling it, His knees fell slackly apart, he waved her down to him with lordly disdain.
All at once, Julie's revulsion was in abeyance, fled from the forefront of her mind, conquered by the stronger, more primitive sensation which spread its insidious power through her trembling frame. Its centre lay deep at the base of her belly, she could feel its potent throb moistening her, weakening her with a wicked desire. The hard deck cut painfully into her knees, but the pain fused with the melting thrill taking her over. She bent her head, closer, seeing the brilliance of the black curls thickly nestling at his loins, her nostrils were filled with the odour of his manhood.
The great arc of his penis bobbed before her, the massive red dome lifting as though seeking her out. The slit shone with silvery emission, its strength was transmitted pulsingly throughout her as she took it worshipfully in both hands, leaned in with a moan of longing and tenderly parted her lips, tongue lapping, to bestow the first adoring kiss in her homage to the mighty phallus.

15.
By the time Virago had passed through the Suez Canal and had reached the narrow straits at the southern neck of the Red Sea, the girls had acquired an even deep gold to burnt toast tan covering every inch of their glistening skin. They spent the indolent days moving to and fro from the shade of the awning spread over the flag deck to the fiercely consuming sunlight, slathering one another in a rich variety of fragrant oils, creams and lotions.
Although Julie still slept in the stuffy confines of her cabin, the others no longer had to endure their cramped quarters but enjoyed the luxury of lying beneath the stars, stretched out on their mattresses, still snugly hidden in their lofty perch from the rest of the crew, who had also taken to sleeping in the open, to avoid the furnace like heat trapped below decks.
Canvas screens had been placed along the outer rails of the flag deck while they were sailing through the canal, and these were left up afterwards, so that there was no need for even the pretence of clothing. Not that the girls had any choice. Chief Roberts informed them that track suits would no longer be worn, so that they remained naked day and night.
Commander Berman came himself to address them the day the ship passed through into the blistering heat of the Red Sea. The girls, including Julie, were lined up in the shaded area of the deck, still somewhat self conscious in their state of total nudity, though they managed, under the vociferous advice from Chief Roberts, to remain in the correct military stance, feet apart, hands linked firmly over their buttocks, while the captain spoke to them.
"Your duties will have to be slightly extended, I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear. Up to now, you've mostly been the comms department, while Hindmarsh here has been dealing with the officers, They say variety is the spice of life, so we're going to have a bit of a shake around. I know you'll be pleased to have some new pricks to plough. New rosters are being drawn up as I speak. You girls will all get your chance to be shagged by my officers and gentlemen, as Hindmarsh will have her eagerly awaited chance to get to grips with some of our lusty matelots. We're also going to ration you out to the other members of the crew, in the other departments, who are, as you can imagine, less than chuffed at not having had the chance to have a crack at you yet."
He smiled his cold, brilliant smile. 'This means you'll be rather busier in future, but don't worry. It'll all be highly organised. Like most things in the service, it'll be done by numbers." He chuckled, "Or perhaps I should say you'll be done by numbers, but I know you won't be complaining. And you'll have all day to lie about getting your strength up, or whatever it is you do. Oh yes. One more thing. Up here of course you'll wear what nature intended." He nodded at their nude bodies. "But for moving around the ship, should you need to do so, you'll wear this new tropical kit. It's very practical and easy to dispose of."
He nodded to his steward, who had come with him. "Right, Matthews." The steward tossed down a bundle of clothing. "Hindmarsh, you can act as our model. I want you to come below with me anyway. Get the new rosters and bring them up to your fellow slaves."
The girls recognised the mini length, cherry red wrap around skirts which were standard issue for the wrens sports and PE equipment, and also the thin, sleeveless cotton singlets which were part of the same kit in summer. When Julie pulled the clinging upper garment over her head and eased it down into place, the points of her nipples and the circles of their surrounds showed plainly through the material. The wrap around's hem came only a few inches below the tops of her thighs, so that she was extremely conscious of her nakedness beneath. She guessed from the captain's knowing grin he was well aware of her discomfit.
"Still very handy, you see!" he smiled. "Bend over, Hindmarsh. That's it." The hem rode up at the back. With one flick, he bared her bottom entirely, leaving her standing there, straddle legged, her exposed buttocks raised high for all to see and admire. The cheeks tightened in anticipation. She waited. The expected blow did not fall. She grasped her ankles, her dark head almost touching the deck.
"What do you reckon, Chief?"
It was only when the captain spoke that she realised Roberts had joined him and was gazing at the comprehensive view of her behind she was offering. "I'm not sure about all this sunbathing," Berman said. "See how brown her arse is already? Do you think the thrashings are going to show up at all?"
"They'll still feel 'em as much, sir," the chief rumbled. "Let's see what it looks like, shall we?"
"Good idea. Do the honours, will you? Stand still, Hindmarsh!"
Pain flashed across her rump as the rope's end cut across the centre of her cheeks, and she jerked upright with a shrill scream. "I said keep still, damn it!" roared the captain. "You're a miserable snivelling little tart, aren't you?"
"Yuh -yes, sir!" Julie sobbed, biting fiercely at her lip, and bending over once more. Her bottom throbbed, but she seized her ankles convulsively, determined to stay down this time. The fire flared once more, and, in spite of all her determination, her body jerked, and she capered about in agony, clawing at her backside, before she managed to fold over yet again to receive the third and final stroke.
She somehow managed to keep her head down, though she let out another yelp. Once again the short skirt was folded up over her back. She whimpered at the light touch of his fingers over the fiery weals the rope had raised. Her buttock cheeks hollowed deeply.
"Hm! I suppose it's still quite pleasing."
She gave another short yelp as Berman slapped her rear with playful hardness and pushed her staggering forward. "Come on then, slave. Come along and get the new schedules. Bet you can't wait to get to grips with those hairy arsed stokers' cocks, eh? Built like donkeys, most of 'em!"
"Nuh - no, sir!" she wept, wincing as she set off dutifully in his wake.
Down in his cabin, despite the wide open scuttle and the constant purring of the punkah louvres, the air was hot. Julie felt it moving sensuously against her skin, which was damp from its heat. The thin singlet clung like a second skin to her breasts, whose nipples rubbed and thrust against the cloth, through which the areolae showed ever more darkly. The steady burning of the fresh cuts across her bottom, throbbing beneath the tiny skirt, added shamefully to the moist desire she could feel pulsing at her crotch. She had an almost overwhelming urge to caress herself there, and she stood, her mind drifting in a waking dream of erotic fantasy until the captain's tones jerked her roughly back to the present.
"Matthews. Poor Hindmarsh's arse is sore, I'm sure. The chief lays it on pretty thick. Why don't you get a cold flannel and bathe it for her?"
Julie had not even noticed that the steward had followed them in. Although she blushed deeply, she swiftly obeyed the captain's gesture and bent over the back of the arm chair, while the grinning steward fetched the cold cloth and, lifting up the back of the skirt, dabbed gently at the three angry welts across the smooth quivering curves of her bottom. The wet cloth did indeed bring immediate relief, and she soon relaxed under Matthews' competent ministrations.
Her head resting on the flowered pattern of the cushions, she heard Berman's deep, knowing chuckle, then his voice, rich with his amusement. "Why, Matthews! What's that suspicious lump in your trousers? I've heard of keeping your mind on the job but that's ridiculous! That looks like it's in urgent need of attention. I'm sure Hindmarsh won't mind obliging. That's what she's here for, after all. And don't mind me, either. I've got some paper work to be getting on with. Carry on, Matthews. Don't be long, though. The first lieutenant should be along soon with the new shagging schedules."
Although she fought hard to stifle it, Julie could not hold back the huge sob which shook her frame as, aglow with shame, she hung there, her face buried in the cushions, her backside thrust up in the air.
In spite of his assurances to the steward, Julie could sense the captain's piercing eyes drinking in every detail. She heard the soft rustle as Matthews quickly pulled out his rampant prick and, with scant ceremony, drove it like a bludgeon into the crack of her behind. She arched up on her toes, spreading her legs widely, lifting her hips to take him in. The wet dome of his penis nuzzled along the deep cleft, found the entrance, and slid home into her beating sheath, which was greasily ready to receive him.
The pain of her smarting buttocks buffeting against the front of his thighs added to the wild sensation of arousal. He plunged furiously, and she drove back against him, the hardness of the chair back slamming into her belly, driving the breath from her with rhythmic grunts, which his pumping body echoed.
In a few minutes she felt a new urgency in his stabbing prick, felt it spasm as he spurted deeply into her, then her own inner world exploded in a flowing series of orgasms which tore madly through every part of her, to leave her hanging over the back of the chair as limply as the discarded cloth which lay at their feet, while she wept desolately at the perfidy of her body and the shame it had brought to her.
"All done, are we? My word, that was quick!" Berman's voice was worse than any physical pain she could have endured. She knew well that he had witnessed every thrust, every quiver of abandoned pleasure. Matthews had already withdrawn. She could feel the gaping emptiness, the cold trickle of his residue oozing from her, yet she still hung there, splayed out, her degradation plain to see.
"She's good, isn't she? Now that you're feeling better, Matthews, perhaps you'd pop along to the first lieutenant's cabin. See if he's got those schedules ready."
She jumped as she felt his light slap on her behind. "And you, my dear, can shift that grindworthy arse of yours! Put it away, before you wear yourself and the rest of us out with your lechery! I suggest you use that cloth to clean yourself up a bit. I don't want your come dripping all over my carpet, thank you!"
She couldn't help herself. The pain of her humiliation, of what had taken place before him, his utter contempt for her, her own twisted feelings, which she could scarcely understand herself - all welled up massively, and, with a tormented cry, she sank in a heap on the floor, and gave way to a paroxysm of grief which swept through her, shaking her body in its consuming grip. The hoarse cries were wrenched deep from her gut, her mouth hung open, the tears ran freely, adding to the sweat which shone on her face. She was helpless in its power, though she knew he was standing there, towering over her, could sense the cutting scorn which was only heightened by this display.
She half expected, half hoped, to feel cruel blows, to feel his boot crashing into her, but he stood there impassively while the force of her grief dashed itself to a weary soft weeping, and she finally picked herself up off the floor, took up the discarded cloth and dragged herself over to the small washbasin, tardily beginning to obey his earlier order to clean herself. She hardly minded now in her misery that those cold eyes observed every intimate detail as she stood there, splay legged, in the ludicrously short little skirt, and sponged away at the still tender and swollen tissue of her vulva.
He sat at his desk. 'Come here." Her breasts lifting with the residue of her weeping fit, she came and stood as she had with the others on the upper deck, feet apart, hands folded behind her over her rump. Her eyes were red, puffed with her distress. She felt and looked a mess, and the thought added to her despair
He shook his greying, handsome head in mock perplexity. "I don't know what to make of you, Hindmarsh, I really don't! Seems to me you've got the ideal set up here. All the nooky you want, whenever you want it. No worries, no responsibilities. And don't tell me you don't enjoy it. I've seen you. You came until your eyes almost popped out just then, when Matthews was shagging you. Didn't you? Eh?"
Once more she felt the huge, choking sob rising from deep within. Her dark eyes were fixed beggingly upon him, he could read the tortured plea contained there. He waited, cruelly, and saw her trying to form the words, saw her mouth curve, open and close, before she managed the faintest of whispers in response.
"Yes, sir!"
"Yes! So what's the big deal, eh? Why all the agony and tears afterwards? Why won't you just admit to yourself that you like being shagged - you revel in taking pricks up there, and it matters not whose! Good God! You suck off like you were born to it! You're a first rate slave! All of you are! Why not own up to it and be proud, damn it?"
"Why won't you?"
His eyebrows flickered at her startlingly passionate outburst. "Why won't I what?" he demanded coolly.
"You know!" she cried. She was in torment. The tears started spilling over again, but she ignored them. Her eyes blazed into his. "Do it! Shag me! Fuck me! Call it whatever you want! Why won't you?"
She was still standing there, feet apart, hands twisting convulsively behind her back. He saw again that intense pleading look suffuse her face. He thrilled to it, felt his prick leap with excitement and beat against the confines of his clothing.
"And what would you call it?" he asked softly, his stare mercilessly penetrating her to her wounded depths. She shook her head hoplessly, a sob engulfed her, sending her neat breasts on that delightful, jiggling little dance.
"Making love?" he pursued relentlessly, and saw her body quiver and wilt, in defeat. "No, my little slave. I gave in once. That was a serious mistake, but everyone's allowed one slip up. No. You can beg for it all you want. I want you to. And I know you do, I can see it, however much you try to disguise it. No, you're far from ready yet. You've still got to learn true obedience."
"I do everything you say! Tell me to!" she sobbed, gazing with helpless longing at him. She shivered at the coldness of his smile, the gentle shake of his head.
"It's the reason behind your obedience that's all wrong. Why do you do it? Because you want me, don't you? You want me to fuck you, but not the way my officers do. Or Matthews there. It's different, isn't it? You think it'd be something special. Making love, like I said. You think I'd be in your power, just as much as you're in mine."
He laughed whimsically, and again came that little shake of the head. His voice was soft, hypnotic in its effect. "First you've got to realise - believe - that you're just a cunt. That's all you are, pure and simple. Your raison d'etre. Nothing more. And nothing less." He chuckled. "My cunt! You belong to me. And if I fuck you, or give you to Matthews, or the whole of the crew, to fuck you, it makes no odds. That's how I want you to feel. Understand?"
She stared at him, appalled at the storm of emotion thundering through her. She held her breath, time stood still, before the sob erupted from her throat and her chin sank down to her chest. There was a tap at the door. She heard Matthews' voice, the rustle of papers. All the while, she stared down through a film of tears at the dancing image of her bare feet, the toes painted a vivid red, curling as they gripped the thin matting.
"Here you are," he said, his voice transposed to a brisk, business like tone. "Here are the schedules. Take them up to your fellow slaves. Off you go." She was almost at the door before he went on, with finely timed cruelty. "Oh yes. This afternoon about four o' clock - bring the dark haired one - Jo, isn't it? down to my cabin. The one that did the runner. She's got some spirit, that one. Strong looking girl, too. Makes me feel quite randy! Best stay on the right side of her, Hindmarsh. She'd make mincemeat of you! Bet she's quite a goer! Dykes often are once they've got a taste for the old pork sword!"
Julie's face flamed. Her mouth hung open as she stared at him in astonishment. How had he known about Jo's lesbian proclivities?
"And close that sexy mouth of yours. At least until this afternoon!" He smiled. "I want you along as well, of course. You make a great warm up man. Leave the door open. The place is still rife with the whiff of your shagging. Gets everywhere, doesn't it?"

16.
The girls clustered together nervously, seeking comfort from their close proximity to one another. Mags had her arm quite openly around Jilly Buck's slim waist, while Marie-Anne and Jo held hands.
Julie was again pricked by a sense of alienation from the close knit group and smarted from the injustice of it. She knew that both Mags and Jo regarded her presence and her preliminary participation in the sexual acts they had been forced to perform with the captain, as a kind of gross perversion for which they somehow held her at least partly responsible, as though she were a willing contributor to the shocking scene.
The really painful thing was that, secretly, she suffered an enormous guilt that, in a way, she was. She could not deny the powerful erotic thrill it had given her to crouch subserviently between his slack thighs and take his potent instrument in her fingers, to use her mouth in such a wickedly rousing way, knowing all the while that those other eyes were fastened on her, the naked bodies, tense and waiting for the summons.
Of course she had to do it, she told herself indignantly. Did they expect her to refuse, to receive a whipping, or worse? But still she had to endure the painful pangs of conscience as she recalled the sickly masochistic yet undeniable thrill it gave her to feel his manhood, stiff and throbbingly erect, already tangy with the juice of his excitement, as he pushed her brutally away from him, and she lay curled on the floor, forgotten, her eyes and body burning while she watched avidly the beauty of the entwined couple plunging and thrusting before her.
But right now she had other worries to occupy her, and she wished she, too, could derive some comfort from a surreptitiously clutched hand, or an arm supportingly around her waist. She glanced at the tanned frames of her compatriots, clad in the exotic attire which the captain had insisted they wear for this ceremonial occasion.
Her own outfit consisted of her peach coloured French knickers, with the matching silk camisole, both garments edged with a broad band of embroidered lace in deep cream. The thin elastic ribbon of her suspender belt peeped above the waistband of the knickers, and ran down the fronts of her thighs to clip onto the sheer tops of the flesh coloured nylon stockings that clothed her legs, and swept down to the elegantly simple black shoes, with the slender three inch heels.
"A real high class strumpet!" Berman had smiled approvingly, when they paraded in front of him the previous evening. He had made them assemble all their most exotic underwear and model it for him, before he made the final selection for the great day.
Marie-Anne was wearing the tiniest of bikini briefs. The deep blue triangle of shiny satin and lace hugged the swell of her pudenda, the slender back all but disappearing in the pronounced cleft of her splendid bottom. A strapless half bra, of the same material and colour, held her pert breasts invitingly aloft and the darker hint of the areolae just peeked over the wired upper edges of the cups. Her lower limbs were clothed in a pair of patterned black stockings, and she, too, wore slender high heels, also of black.
The long, languorous figure of Beth Morris sported an amazingly waist slenderising Basque of scarlet and black slashes, and aflutter with lace and ribbons, from which the honey hued upper half of her breasts and flawless shoulders rose invitingly. Ribboned suspenders bisected her long thighs and were fixed to sheer stockings, black like the others, and with suitably heeled shoes to match.
Jo's supple form was coveted with a very plain black body shaper, cut high at the crotch, so that her hip bones showed, and most of her taut buttocks were on view also. At the captain's insistence, she too had suspender ribbons hanging from the garment, to which were clipped her sheerest dark stockings. She had no shoes with high heels, so, again at their captain's insistence, she wore no shoes at all, and her toes could be seen peeking mistily through the fine material of the stockings.
Mags had claimed that she possessed no 'sexy' underwear, but the plain white bra which held her magnificent breasts was made of a gauzy stretch knit material which showed the deep red circles and thrusting nipples in exquisite detail. The high cut mini briefs, although perfectly plain as well, clung alluringly to the proud swell of her mons, and, again, the misty outline of the dark pubic triangle revealed itself temptingly through the sheer cloth. Like Marie-Anne, she wore no suspender belt, but her elasticated stockings were also of delicately filmy texture.
"You're tall enough anyway, my fine Amazonian whore!" the captain told her, dismissing the lack of high heels.
Julie's eyes fell at last on Jilly's slender frame. Jilly looked suitably virginal, thought Julie, though she knew that state had long been surrendered by the youngster, whose face denoted all too clearly the anxiety she felt. She was wearing wide legged lace fringed knickers, very similar to Julie's, except that they were of a delicate pearl grey shade, and the top which matched them was rather more substantial than Julie's camisole, hanging as it did loosely below the elastic top of the knickers. Berman had insisted she wore a suspender belt and Julie had lent her a white one. White, too, were the prettily embroidered stockings which graced her legs, as were the narrow shoes which the captain had deemed just sufficiently heeled to pass muster.
The occasion for this fancily provocative dress, or undress, was the ceremony of Crossing the Line, for, on this day, Virago was passing over the Equator. The Indian Ocean sparkled and dazzled in its summer peacock shade and the distant coast of Somalia was lost in the shimmering haze to starboard. It was to be a day of mad merriment, though, to the six scantily clad females huddled in the waist of the ship, it was a time of frightening uncertainty. They knew they would feature prominently, and no doubt painfully, in the entertainment which was to follow.
They were called forward as a fantastically garbed, giant figure emerged, cloaked in a robe of trailing shells and seaweed strands and sporting a long flowing beard similarly decorated. A cardboard gold crown adorned the shining bald pate which, together with the imposing and entirely natural bulk, proclaimed the real identity of King Neptune as their own Chief Roberts.
"Come, my sea sluts!" he intoned majestically. "You shall be my assistants."
A canvas and steel pool had been erected on the upper deck and filled with water. The members of the crew who had not previously crossed the line were called forth and subjected to a number of humiliating rituals, including the ceremonial shaving and dunking in the pool. An innovation occurred now, in which the girls were required to play their part. The first six male victims were seized by large numbers of eager helpers and swiftly stripped of all garments below the waist. A wooden bench had been placed on a low dais and on this the six struggling semi-nude figures were seated and firmly tied down by ankles and wrists. A framed canvas screen was then placed directly in front of them, which hid their upper features completely, and whose lower edge rested on a level with their bushy pubis, so that all that could be seen from the front were their bound legs and their genitals.
The girls were brought forward and made to kneel in front of the pinioned matelots, whose pricks, of varied girth and size, hung on a level with the girls' blushing faces.
The purpose of this new diversion was soon evident. One of the petty officers ran a book, and numerous bets were placed as to who would be first to succumb to the treatment about to be meted out. The girls shrank back, reluctant at first to engage in the task of oral stimulation they were being urged on loudly to perform, until a couple of Neptune's lusty henchmen stood behind them with knotted ropes' ends and encouraged them to begin by striking smartly at their flimsily clothed bottoms.
"Use yer hands" roared the crowd enthusiastically, and soon the six figures were leaning forward, fingers flying, lips and tongues slurping, lost in their ministrations to the dangling penises, strangely disembodied, which twitched and leapt in their shining faces.
The process was a lengthy one, especially as the crowd insisted not only on having a winner but on seeing who would 'come' second and third, before the hand bell rang and the race was declared over. Soon, the girls' chins all glistened, their breasts rose and fell enchantingly under their flimsy coverings, as they gulped in the balmy air, for no sooner had one heat been completed than another six victims were strapped in to take the competitors' places, until it seemed to the panting, wild eyed, sweat dewed figures who knelt there with agonised knees that they had spent a lifetime crouched thus, lapping at the procession of rampant pricks which bobbed endlessly under their noses.
Their buttocks, as well as their skinned knees, were raw when at last they were allowed to rise stiffly, the 'Gobblin' Goolies Stakes' finally over.
The captain now rose from the front rank of chairs where the officers had been sitting to view the proceedings. "We mustn't forget that our own charming sea sluts have not themselves crossed the line before. I'm sure they would be the first to claim that they, too, must be treated with equal courtesy in the new navy." He turned towards the magisterial figure of Neptune, once more seated on his high throne above the pool. "Therefore, Your Majesty, I request that these slaves be accorded the traditional ceremony associated with this great occasion."
"Yes, indeed, captain," Neptune roared. He nodded to his band of willing assistants. "First, we have the traditional shaving!" he grinned. "And I see all our little darlin's have a full set of whiskers to get rid of!" He nodded again, and the girls shrill screams rang out as they felt themselves lifted high then pinned down flat on the deck in a line, their legs widespread, their ankles held in painfully tight grips.
The flimsy coverings at their crotches were plucked away to expose the tufts of their pubic hair. A foamy mass of lather was smeared thickly over their mounds, then a matelot set to work on each captive figure with a gleaming cutthroat razor.
The terrified girls needed no further urging to lie still. Scarcely daring to breathe, they felt the razor's edge passing over their flesh, scraping away the body hair. They were rinsed, lathered, shaved again, several times, before Neptune finally declared himself satisfied and the weeping figures stood, shivering, their hands clasped over their freshly denuded loins.
But not for long!
Next, they were grabbed by arms and legs and flung into the pool, one after the other, their bodies arcing through the warm air. They gasped and floundered, struggling to heave themselves, with considerable difficulty, over the high sides. The wet scraps of their clothing were torn from them. Naked once more, they lined up miserably. Now they noticed a high round metal bin being dragged forward. It was almost as tall as they were, and clearly heavy.
"Officers first, eh?" Chief Roberts smiled, nodding at Julie. Two of the matelots picked her up easily, swung her legs over the rim of the bin, and dumped her feet first into its interior.
She felt the thick, evil smelling, glutinous mixture rise up over her limbs, her body. Rough hands on her shoulders and head thrust her down. Her scream was dramatically cut off as the obnoxious substance closed over her head. The crew roared in savage delight at the apparition which emerged. Choking, coughing, she felt herself hauled out and stood once more on the deck. She was a gleaming uniform black, every inch of her, from plastered hair to wriggling toes, thickly plastered with the vile coating of oily filth. She could feel it tightening, sealing her. She felt weirdly hidden, as though she could no longer be seen, though her gummed eyes and teeth showed starkly white as she stood there, blinking and spluttering.
The others fought and screamed, all in vain, as, one by one, they too were seized and dunked in the foul concoction of old engine oil and other unsavoury ingredients. Soon all six stood there, alien, shining black, like strange tar babies, while the crew cheered and recheered deafeningly.
But the major part of the entertainment was yet to come.
Powerful hoses were now turned on them. Jets of sea water struck them full force, bowling them over, spinning their helpless bodies round and round on the flowing deck, battering them with their force, knocking them half senseless, so that they could no longer even scream, while the filth was slowly washed from their stinging bodies.
A wooden framework had been constructed, which looked rather like the framework of a small hut, or greenhouse. There was a thick horizontal beam which ran round all four sides, at about crotch level, a significant height as the girls were soon to discover. They were tethered, two to each side, their ankles fastened at the lower bars. Then they were made to lean forward, resting their lower bellies securely against the thick beam, and their outstretched arms were secured to the inner upper bars. Thus, legs widely spread, arms stretched forward and above them, they were doubled forward, their bottoms thrust prominently out behind them, in the ideal position for the punishment they rightly guessed was about to fall.
Brawny arms wielded the short ropes, until soon the frame shook as the six bound figures threshed wildly, heads tossing, their abandoned screams piercing the heavy air to add to the delight of the many onlookers. Slowly, the sobbing girls became aware from the steady burn of their scorched flesh, that the beating was at last over.
Fresh panic gripped them as suddenly their world went dark, and a stifling canvas cover was flung over them. Circular holes had been cut into the material, and the alarmed girls felt the warm air on their backsides as these were manoeuvred to permit their bare bottoms to emerge.
They had little idea of what was to happen as they hung there, snivelling softly now, sealed inside their fetid world, the sweat streaming down to join their tears.
"It'll soon be over, my love!" Mags croaked, hoping that Jilly would hear, and know that she was addressing only her.
But it seemed an age, for this last diversion was yet another gambling game, and a highly popular one, in which practically all the crew seemed eager to join. Six players at a time, the participants were blindfolded and paraded round and round the canvas hooded frame, just in case they had managed to memorise the positions they had seen the bound figures in. They were then stood in front of a protruding behind, and encouraged to 'roger away, me hearties!' They needed no second bidding. When they were done, they had to state which of the six girls they believed they had just fucked. There were lots of takers, and the ship's book did extremely well, boosting the welfare fund to a small fortune.
The sky was a wonderful fiery blaze of salmon pink and deep red, with a few darkly bruised clouds on the horizon, when at last the canvas hood was removed. The six bodies, pale in the fading light, hung there, not moving, moaning softly, their whimpers increasing as now gentle hands untied them and lifted them down. The murky surface of the pool did not deter them as, with help, they lowered their aching bodies into the blessed caress of the cool water and sat there, apathetically gazing ahead, silent except for the sobs which occasionally shook their weary forms.
They had to be lifted out again, and assisted below decks to the bathroom.
Alone at last, Julie stretched her legs in front of her in the small tub. Her vulva was swollen, puffed up grotesquely every inch of her skin ached. She wondered dazedly how many pricks had been through her.
Twenty? Thirty? Forty?
The door suddenly flew open - it could not be locked from the inside - and there was the grinning face of the captain. He was wearing his immaculate evening dress uniform.
"Just came to see if you need your back scrubbing," he said pleasantly. "Painful business, eh? I could have done with you to help me earlier. That engine oil gets everywhere, doesn't it? My John Tom was absolutely covered in it. Still, my fault. I had a go at that final 'Guess the Fanny' contest. Could have sworn it was you I was shagging. Bet a fiver on it! Lost, of course, needless to say! Some other time, eh?"
He left with a cheery salutation, and she sat on in the tiny compartment, the tears trickling down her face.

17.
"Jo! Please! Wait a minute! Don't go!" Julie's husky voice was soft with pleading, her throat ached with longing and loneliness. She stretched out an arm, let her hand fall lightly, caressingly, on the brown thigh temptingly on show beneath the short red skirt. She let it slide up over the smooth flesh, to the round of hip, and the crease of belly and thigh.
"I thought you liked me," she whispered.
Jo stood absolutely still for a second, her body trembling with tension, then she moved away abruptly, as though the invading hand had burned her.
"I don't do that any more!" she hissed, her face flushed, contorted with emotion. The short, dark hair shook vigorously. "Not since since Malta. I can't! Not even with Marie-Anne!" she added spitefully. "Anyway," she resumed bitterly, rattling the breakfast things on Julie's tray with unnecessary force, "I should have thought you were getting quite enough as it is, being fucked half a dozen times a night like the rest of us."
Julie had cast aside the single sheet which had covered her nude frame, and was now lying on top of it, her long legs slightly parted. A fine black stubble of new growth appeared on the pale rise of her mons, to which, in spite of her brave words, Jo's eyes were drawn as she made a pretence of tidying the cabin.
Julie's voice was still low, humble with her need. "That's just it, Being fucked! When you - that time you and I - it felt like like you were making love. I could - that's what we all need, I reckon. A bit of love. Gentleness."
Jo gave a raw, ugly laugh. "Christ! You don't half tart things up, don't you? You posh birds are all the same! I fancied you, that's all! I was having a bit! You're choice, I'll give you that. And I'm butch. Or rather, WAS! I've had all that well and truly shagged out of me. I know my place now all right! I'm just a cunt, like we all are!"
Her echo of the captain's ugly epithet for them made Julie wince. "No!" she cried. "You mustn't say that! With each other we've got to help - stick together."
Jo laughed wildly again and gestured at Julie's stretched out form on the narrow bunk. "And you want me to stick to you now, do you? Why don't you mention it to your precious captain? P'raps he'll order me to do it. P'raps he'll make us do a turn in front of the whole ship's company! That please you, would it?"
Julie sat up, her face flaming. "Of course not! How dare you speak to me like that?"
"What you going to do? Put me on a charge? You make me puke, ma'am!" The word rang with heavy irony. "You're the kinkiest one of the lot, you know that? It's real sick the way you grovel in front of him. Berman! Our lord and master! You love it! Captain's cocksucker!"
"Stop it!" Julie gasped, staring at Jo, her eyes huge and tragic.
"Don't pretend you don't! I've seen you. Watched you. We all have! The way you stand there. Jump to his bidding! Everyone can practically smell you on heat whenever he's around." Once more, that strident, ugly laugh rang out, while Julie sat there, trembling, lashed by her words. "All the cocks you're getting up you, and the one prick you want - dream about, day and night - is the one you can't have. Our gallant captain!"
Julie gave a tortured cry and flung herself around, burying her face in the pillow, her body shaken by her anguished sobs. "Get out!" she shouted, her words distorted and muffled. "Leave me alone!" Then she cried out in alarm as she felt cruelly hard fingers dig into her shoulders and drag her over onto her back again. She stared up into the furious face hovering over her.
"Leave you alone? I will, don't worry! And you can have your precious captain toss me in the cells in chains if you like, but I'm not skivvying any more for you, all right?" Julie squealed with pain as Jo took a small pink nipple between finger and thumb and pinched it. "And don't you ever lay a finger on me again, or I'll kill you! Got it, ma'am?"
When she left, Julie let the weeping fit surge through her. There was almost a kind of sensual relief in the violence of its passing, though it left her weary and puff-eyed, head throbbing. And left her, too, still with the disturbing knowledge of Jo's harsh words echoing round and round in her head. What had shocked her was not their content, but hearing her own tormented thoughts expressed by someone else. Was it true? Was her nature so perverse that she actually responded to this bizarre situation?
As though to reinforce her startling reflections, she felt the remorseless stirrings of indolent desire, despite the hectic use of her body that had been made by the members of the seamen petty officers' mess the previous evening.
She found herself stroking with gentle feathery fingers at those tender outer lips, which blossomed open, beating insistently, to reveal their gleaming inner surfaces. She groaned, rolling once more onto her stomach, thrusting her belly and loins into the yielding mattress as her fingers became bolder and more urgent in their movement.
That night, much much later, as the darkened ship pulsed steadily through the gleaming, hissing sea under the amazing spread of stars above, Jilly Buck smiled and wriggled over to make room on her narrow mattress for the expected and eagerly awaited bulk of Mags to slide in beside her. With a sigh, Jilly turned on her side, embraced the athletic figure, reaching up with her open mouth to exchange a long passionate yet gentle kiss, then to pillow her warm face gratefully in the smothering delights of Mags' ripe breasts.
"OK?" the tawny haired figure whispered tenderly to the dark head she was mothering in to her ample frame.
Jilly nodded, glad of the darkness which hid her sudden blushes. "Yes," she whispered shyly. Mags felt the slim form shiver in her embrace. "I had it from Cdr Motson tonight. You know - the Engineer Officer. He's older than my dad." A catch came into her voice, and her eyes filled with tears, as she thought of the father she had not seen since she was a little girl, and of the many temporary and highly unsatisfactory replacements her mother had offered throughout her adolescence. Her voice even more hesitant, she nevertheless continued. "He was nice. Very gentle. He didn't even do it - you know - not till near the end. He - made love to me - like you do. With his mouth, and his fingers, till - it happened. First time - except when I'm with you, of course."
All at once, she began to sob, and Mags, her own tears stinging, held her even tighter, and kissed the top of the dark, burrowing head, crooning softly, and smothering her own fiercely burning desire at the feel of the smooth naked flesh pressed so trustingly against her.
At the other end of the line of mattresses, Jo felt a hand come groping out to seek hers, and she clung to it companionably. She heard Marie-Anne sigh. "Mind if I just lie close?" There was a soft rustle then she felt the perfumed body nestling down beside her.
"I told Hindmarsh what I thought of her this morning," Jo whispered, lying on her back and staring up at the vista of the night sky. "That's why she hasn't been near the flag deck. And I told her what she could do with her steward's job, too. So I'll probably be in for a flogging pretty soon, I reckon. Still, I don't care. It was well worth it!" she went on, with tremulous defiance. "She only tried to tap me up!" she added indignantly. "Put her hand up under my skirt!"
"Ooh, the forward hussy!" Marie-Anne muttered, with a twisted smile, and Jo was forced to laugh. Then she tensed as she felt Marie-Anne's leg rest against hers, her other hand coming around to slide about her waist. "Would you belt me if I tried it on with you?" Marie-Anne whispered seductively. The hand moved over Jo's midriff, found her small breasts and began to follow their contours.
Jo's shoulders moved. "Don't!" she said, in a small tight voice. "You know - I can't - I don't - not any more!"
Marie-Anne's head moved even closer, until Jo could feel her warm breath in her ear. "So you're not butch any more! You don't fancy me! Well, maybe I'm not fem any more! Maybe I fancy YOU!"
As she spoke, her tongue snaked out, lapped at the delicate orifice of Jo's ear, and Jo shivered violently.
"Don't!" she hissed urgently. She made to move, to thrust Marie-Anne away, but, all at once, a powerfully erotic thrill stirred her, a weakness which was part of the sexual excitement spreading throughout her trembling frame, and she lay there, helplessly in its grip, while Marie-Anne's leg came possessively over hers, the hand at her breast moved, traced a feathery,path down across the palpitating belly to the quivering thighs, which parted slowly at its insistence. The fingers found the already moist, beating groove of the labia, parted them too, and a spasm of captivating pleasure passed right through Jo at the delicate, unstoppable invasion of her melting core.
"Homosexual acts are, as you know, forbidden in Her Majesty's Navy, and are punishable by law. These perversions have been going on, night after night, under our very noses, and, as captain, I now exercise my right to carry out appropriate punishment for all those involved."
The six nude figures lined up in front of the ranks of eagerly grinning sailors blanched in dawning dismay. Julie just had time to see the blazing look of pure hate flung her way by Jo, and to hear the heartfelt cry of "Fucking bitch!" before Jo, Mags, Marie-Anne, and the whimpering Jilly, were seized and dragged forward, leaving only Julie and Beth remaining where they were.
"Nice one, ma'am!" Beth murmured out of the side of her mouth, the scathing sarcasm of her whispered words registering with horror in Julie's numbed mind.
"It wasn't me!" she whispered desperately.
"Shut your fuckin' hole, ma'am!" Chief Roberts hissed, also sotto voce, and Julie stared mesmerised at the unfolding scene before her.
Four pairs of long ropes dangled from the high bridge superstructure. They had large metal rings attached to their lower ends, and looked just like the ropes used for exercise in a gymnasium. However, their purpose today was far more sinister. The girls' arms were raised, their wrists bound tightly to the rings, and the ropes adjusted until their arms were stretched fully over their heads and they were forced to stand on their toes to maintain their balance.
Two ratings, muscles bulging under white fronts and their denim working trousers, each wielded short handled black whips, with several long strands of thin leather, which had been soaking in some briny solution prior to their use. They moved along the line, taking their time, flicking their wrists expertly, exerting nowhere near their real strength, but with enough force to sting painfully, and bring up thin red weals, clearly visible even on the brown skins of the twisting figures dancing on the ends of the rope.
Gradually, the pace and strength of the lashes increased, the blows falling not only on the clenching buttocks, but on the backs and thighs and even bellies of the writhing forms, who threshed, their long legs capering like mad marionettes. Their heads arched back, they screamed and howled blindly, sobbing and begging for mercy as the beating went on and on.
Julie stood there, appalled and horrified, rooted to the spot, unable to call out a protest, though every cry of agony cut deep into her sensitivity. Go on, an inner voice urged her. Fling yourself down at his feet. Beg him to stop. He'll do it, for you. Beg him to let you be beaten instead. But she knew this inner voice was wrong, was only the expression of her disordered wishes. One look at the carved set of his handsome face as he stood there, watching impassively, was enough to convince her of her foolishness. He was a rock, hard as granite, against which their soft femininity must plead in vain.
The beatings finally stopped and the screams died down to a soft desolate weeping as the four figures hung there, swaying now, unable to support themselves, scarcely aware of the discomfort of their pinioned arms as their bottoms and upper thighs throbbed with the fierce burn of their abused flesh.
"Don't you like the way their tits are raised by having their arms over their heads like that?"
Julie gaped at Berman's features as he leaned confidentially towards her. She had not even noticed his approach. She swallowed hard, his face dissolving in the tears which filled her eyes.
"Yuh -yes, sir!" she whispered faintly, and he nodded, satisfied at her abject reply. Other pain filled eyes regarded this intimate little exchange, as Jo lifted her head and saw them together...
Julie felt the massive wall of their hostility. It had taken a great deal of courage to climb up to the flag deck. Her legs were shaking unsteadily. She stared at the livid signs of the beating on their tanned skin. "It wasn't me!" she pleaded desperately, but they turned away from her in silent contempt. "I swear it wasn't me!"
She heard a deep chuckle behind her. "Not exactly flavour of the month up here, are you, love?" Chief Roberts stood there, grinning insufferably. "No wonder we haven't seen much of you up here lately. Still, now that you ARE here, we might as well make use of you, eh?" He nodded towards the doorway of the tiny crypto office, and made towards it, already unzipping his massive shorts. Julie followed, her bare shoulders sagging in defeat.
Jo bided her time. It was two days later when Julie woke blearily to see the lithe form, clad in singlet and red skirt, standing there at the door of the cabin, which she had closed behind her. "What?" Julie blinked uncomprehendingly. "I thought you said -"
"I'm not here to valet for you," Jo announced grimly. "I'm here to beat the shit out of you!"
"No!" Julie screamed in fright. She tried to leap out of the bunk, but her feet caught in the sheet and, besides, Jo was far too quick. She pounced on her, in a trice she had the twisting figure caught in an effective neck and arm lock, thrusting her head down into the pillow and sealing off her further screams of alarm, then pain, as Jo's clenched fist got to work, pummelling at the unprotected ribs and soft midriff, until Julie had no breath left to scream. When she felt the writhing body go limp beneath her, Jo released her hold, and, picking up a handy rubber soled sandal she found, began to thrash the quivering rounds of Julie's bottom until they glowed hotly, while the sobbing girl, all thought of fight knocked out of her, clung to the dishevelled bedclothes and gave vent to smothered cries of agony.
It was only the sound of the resounding slaps as the rubber sole made contact with her behind that saved Julie from further torment, for Matthews heard it on his rounds and investigated. Soon both girls stood, Julie still whimpering and massaging her burning bottom, in front of the captain in his cabin.
"Not a lovers' tiff, is it?" he mocked. "If you slaves want to fight, we'll have to arrange something more suitable."
That evening, after dinner, Julie was summoned to the wardroom. She found Jo already there, standing at ease. The officers had drawn up chairs, forming a small circle.
On the floor, at the captain's feet, was a strange looking device. Julie's face crimsoned as she looked more closely. Its central feature was a large thick disc of what looked like hardened rubber. From the centre of each side of this disc projected two long, thick black rods, also of some sort of rubber, shaped unmistakably in the form of erect phalluses.
Both girls were quickly stripped of skirts and singlets and their hands tied loosely behind them. Berman ordered them to face each other, legs astride. Though Jo's eyes blared into Julie's with unaltered hate, she knew better than to disobey, and stood there while the phallus was carefully and slowly manipulated until she was fully impaled upon it, as was Julie on its companion.
Though Julie was an inch or two taller, their naked breasts rested against one another, the nipples rubbing and peaking at this strange stimulation.
"Right!" Berman chuckled. "First one to come is the lucky loser! Away you go!"
Julie stared at him, uncomprehending, until, with a savage grunt, Jo suddenly thrust belly and thighs against her, driving her back, and Julie felt the painful yet weirdly rousing stab of the phallus plunge deeper into her moist sheath.
The twin phallus became a regular and much welcomed diversion aboard Virago. The six girls were paired off in various combinations, heavy bets were placed, and a league table kept of the results.
"Christ! You're useless, Hindmarsh!" the captain teased her one morning, after her latest bout with the redoubtable Mags. "Bottom of the league! Five matches and not a single point scored. Level pegging with young Buck. She's a zero, too. When do you play her? Next week? It'll be over inside a minute with you two!"
She stood silently, arms folded behind her. She was used to his invective now, though it could still raise a fiery blush to her cheeks. A tremor passed through her at her vivid recall of Mags Gold's amply pneumatic frame glued thumpingly against her. Although it pained her to admit it, even to herself, Julie was desperately ashamed of the fact that she was always the first to succumb to the overwhelming tide of physical excitement mounting within her thrusting body during these bouts, and she was desperately anxious, too, not to be the howling loser yet again.
So, this time, she had gone all out, from the very start, bucking madly, grinding herself against the splendid golden body of the leading wren. Her furious effort had unfortunately achieved the very opposite to the effect she had hoped for. Her own wild frenzy had merely served to drive the unyielding phallus deeply inside her lubricious passage, which beat frantically at every buffet and thrust against the sturdy belly and thighs opposing her, so that she was at the point of orgasm even sooner than before in these weird contests.
Then, to the accompaniment of roars of amazed delight from the closely packed ring of spectators, Mags had suddenly leaned forward and sunk her teeth into Julie's straining neck, sucking furiously in a fierce love bite which sent Julie into a wriggling, wailing, lost ecstasy from which she emerged, sobbing and devastated, endless minutes later, to discover that yet again she had been vanquished.
Her hand flew instinctively now towards the vivid, purple brackets of Mags' amorous conquest. The gesture was not lost upon Berman, who smiled appreciatively.
"I must say you make a great pair, you and our glamorous Amazon. What have we got on tonight? A little overtime for you, I think. Bring old Good-as-Gold down here at four. You won't have much to do, don't worry. Just a little nibble or two. The very thought of her makes my John Tom stand to attention. I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that our Mags is the best shag of the lot of you. What do you reckon, eh?"
Julie swallowed hard. "Yes, sir, I think you're right," she answered, with commendable promptness.

18.
Julie no longer made any attempt to protest her innocence or to ingratiate herself with the other five girls, though their solid ignoring of her whenever she was in their presence still hurt her. She was not surprised when no one even glanced at her as she came onto the flag deck one morning, in obedience to the summons delivered by Matthews.
She prayed that Chief Roberts was not in a randy mood. Surely not? She had serviced him and the other three senior ratings of the comms department in their intimately small mess just last night. And worn herself out in the process, for they had a strange communal ritual whereby she was expected to deal with all four at the same time, using straining mouth and flying hands while coping with Roberts' enormous prick spearing her with its fierce rutting. She felt like some crazy juggler in a nightmare, trying to keep four plates spinning on the ends of their slender sticks - except that there was nothing slender about the appendages she was having to deal with.
Her reflections were cut short by the arrival of Berman himself, and her heart, and those of the other girls, fluttered with renewed dread.
"I've got some very good news for you, slaves," he announced, beaming at them, after the chief had stood them at ease. "You're going ashore tomorrow!"
An audible gasp passed through them, they stared wildly at one another, while Chief Roberts growled at them to keep still and silent. "Yes, that's right. A little jolly for all of you. Not one of the world's best known resorts. It's a little place on the south Yemen coast. Sayhut. But there's a real treat in store for you. I'm even going to buy you some jewellery. A nice souvenir of your visit. So be good. And don't forget - if you ARE naughty, they still practise slavery in this neck of the woods. You don't want to end up in some Arab's hareem, do you?"
His final words chilled them, but they could not prevent their excited chatter as soon as he had left. Even Julie was included, though not in a very complimentary way.
"What's his game, cocksucker?" Jo asked aggressively.
Julie flushed, but decided, wisely, not to take offence. She shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea. He doesn't confide in me. I didn't even know we were anywhere near the Yemen coast."
Ten days before they had put into Djibouti to take on stores, but the crew had been allowed no further than the strip of stony desert alongside the ship's berth. As for the girls, they had been confined below, in their steamy quarters, with a sentry stationed outside who had orders to accompany them everywhere, including trips to the toilet, so they were quite glad when Virago put to sea again after twenty four hours. They had not been ashore since they had joined the ship at Portsmouth.
"Three months!" marvelled Beth, shaking her fair head. "Seems more like three years, doesn't it?"
"More like thirty!" Mags commented bitterly. "I wonder what the bastard has planned for us?"
They were sick with apprehension and jittery excitement next day, They gathered early at the rail of the flag deck, staring out at the hazy, palely arid coastline appearing through the morning mist ahead.
"Jesus! It looks bleak!"
They turned as Julie approached and at once shed her skirt and singlet to stand naked beside them. "I'm scared," she murmured simply, and, for once, they nodded in sympathetic agreement. The coast drew nearer, until they could distinguish a few low brown buildings, which blended with the featureless landscape. Then they heard the engines die, the rattle of the anchor chain. The ship seemed oddly quiet without the constant thrum of motors. Every sound, every voice, was shockingly loud. The girls spoke in almost whispers.
The captain's small motor boat was swung outboard, lowered into the oily, calm sea, "Here we are, girls! Glad rags!" The sailor's voice boomed as he tossed down a bundle of black cloth. "Gerrem on!" he urged. They were astonished to see that they were garments, voluminous black gowns such as the Arab women wore, which covered them completely from head to foot. There was even a loose cowl which could be drawn over the head and thus hid most of their faces too.
They stood there, draped and shapeless bundles, while the captain, dazzling in his tropical whites, slowly inspected them. "Excellent! My own little hareem. Let's go."
They were helped awkwardly into the boat, clambering uncertainly, their bare feet painful and tender on the hot wooden rungs of the ladder, struggling as they negotiated the unaccustomed, billowing clothing, very much aware of their nakedness beneath the flowing robes. There was hardly room for all of them in the small open waist of the boat, with its two man crew and the captain himself, and they sat, knees bumping, for the short ride to the shore.
"Keep yourselves covered and keep your heads down," the captain ordered.
Again, they hobbled painfully over the stony ground, but their journey was mercifully short, for they were led to the back of an open pick-up truck, into which they climbed, the two crew members with them, while the captain got into the cab beside the driver. They drove in a cloud of orange dust through the straggling, unimpressive one and two storey buildings of a small township, though the girls saw little of it as they sat, heads bowed, feeling the sun burning fiercely through the thin cloth to their naked bodies beneath.
After a short bumpy ride they climbed down and were led across a wide wooden veranda, to find themselves in a large airy room, surprisingly cool. It had long window openings, glassless, whose ornate wooden shutters were turned back.
Two wooden propeller fans turned in the high ceiling. The floor was of cool polished cement, but with a number of richly woven rugs and cushions scattered about. There was a long low table, beautifully carved, on which were set out some bottles of soft drinks, and a tall brass coffee pot, with tiny cups circling it. The aromatic scent of the strong coffee, flavoured with cardamum, fragrantly filled the air.
Then the girls saw the long high couch, like a doctor's operating table, at one end of the room, and their fear returned.
The room began to fill with white gowned figures, all male. Some wore the chequered headdress with the woven black band encircling their brows, others were bare headed. Most were elderly. A fat little man, with unshaven jowls and a luxuriantly sprouting heavy black moustache, appeared to be the senior figure. Berman rose and saluted smartly before shaking his hand. In turn, the corpulent individual stepped forward and embraced him with a ceremonial hug. He introduced a taller, stooped figure, who looked far more distinguished, with a hooked nose and a white goatee beard.
"This is Al-Badri. He is the best. Shall we begin?"
Berman nodded and turned to the girls, who were standing clustered together at one end of the room. He smiled pleasantly.
"You must be hot, girls." He turned to the audience. "They are not used to wearing clothes. OK, off gowns."
They glanced hesitantly at one another, the ghost of a former shyness which belonged to the world they had abandoned hovering over them, until they saw the icy gleam in the captain's eye, and they hastily discarded the gowns, which fell whisperingly at their feet. There was an appreciative sigh from the audience. The girls stood, blushing, eyes modestly cast down, feeling the hot male eyes devouring their flesh. Tardily, they remembered to keep their hands clenched at their sides, and not to try to conceal breasts or genitals.
"They are very brown, Captain," observed the fat leader, with a note of regret.
"We like our women to be brown , Sheikh," Berman answered easily.
The sheikh tutted as he shook his head. "And for us the fairer the skin, the better. Never mind. To business." He clapped his hands, and one of two black men, clearly servants though they were dressed in the long white gowns identical to the others, stepped forward, bearing a large wooden box.
"These are the rings for the sex lips," the sheik said. He picked out a shining silver ring, about an inch in diameter and of pencil thickness, while the girls stared in dumb and rising horror. "They pass easily through the outer flesh." His fingers moved and the ring sprang apart. "And open easily for removal. Or there are these."
He picked up a much smaller, fine ring of metal. He chuckled salaciously.
"These are for the clitoris. Much more delicate. And much more sensitive for the wearer. Your girls are not circumcised, I think?" Berman shook his head. "They will constantly be on heat when they wear these. Al-Badri is very skilful. It will be no trouble. We take the clitoris in a small pincer and pull it -"
"The vaginal rings will be fine, Sheikh," Berman said easily. "And the nipples?"
"Ah, yes." The stubby fingers delved, held up another ring, no larger than the one he had shown before. He reached into the box once more. "And these are very useful." In his hand he now held a larger ring than all the others, about two inches across, from which three short lengths of fine silver chain dangled. "This rests in the middle of the belly. So all three rings can be fixed to it, from these chains. The pudendum - the cunt, you say, yes? And the nipples." He smiled politely at the captain. "Which is first?"
Berman's gaze fell on Julie. "Lead by example, eh, Hindmarsh?" He nodded towards the high table. Deeply aware of the other girls' gaze, and of the many male eyes fixed on her, Julie tried not to show her fear as she walked over to the table. Its leather surface was cold on her skin as she sat on its edge, at the old man's bidding.
"Relax," he said quietly. "It will not hurt at all."
One of the black attendants moved forward. Julie stared down at his dark hands against her lighter skin as they firmly and impersonally pushed at her inner thighs, opening her legs widely, exposing her private parts. Al-Badri nodded his approval. "I see you shave your concubines, Captain. Very sensible." Julie's blush deepened, as all eyes were fixed on the fine stubble covering her mons. She gasped involuntarily as the black hand now probed intimately at the folds of her outer labia, parting them before coating them liberally with a liquid whose iciness caused her to flinch, and to draw her thighs instinctively together, before the attendant pushed them open once more.
She was made to straddle the narrow leather bench, to thrust her lower belly shamefully forward to the very edge of the surface, while the dark fingers peeled back the outer lips of her vulva, stroking, pinching, then holding them tightly together at the swelling uppermost fold. Heart hammering, she watched in fascinated terror as the elderly Arab now brought what looked like a large pair of gleaming pliers to her. He placed the open instrument over the pouting fold of the labia, and pressed firmly.
Julie felt a sharp nipping sensation, then a pulling, but there was no actual pain. She had Looked away, closing her eyes, wincing as her breath hissed through clenched teeth. When she looked again, the instrument had gone. Through the swollen, darkened labia, she could see two neatly drilled holes, through which, even as she watched, the doctor, or whatever he was, now slipped the thick silver ring and snapped it closed.
The black man teased her small nipples erect, while Julie blushed at what she imagined were the disparaging comments in Arabic regarding the size of both her breasts and their nipples. More of the icy liquid was dabbed on the teats. A smaller, finer instrument was used, though this time Julie jumped as she felt a sharp prick through her sensitive little paps. She stared in confused wonder at the small, thin rings which were inserted immediately into the tiny holes. She felt the black man gently lift her, lead her away from the table.
"I go next!" Mags said strongly, stepping forward, almost elbowing Julie out of her way.
"Good girl!" Berman's tone was warm with approval and Julie turned her wounded gaze on him, startled at the depth of envy and hurt she experienced at his words.

19.
The two naked figures rolled about on the deck, locked in an intimate embrace which made it seem as if their bodies had been glued together inseparably.
Their dark brown skin glistened with its coating of oil and sweat. The small knot of men stood around the writhing couple, cheering them on. Two of the sailors wielded short lengths of knotted rope, and lashed out at whichever pair of clenching buttocks came within their reach. Both bottoms were already liberally striped with the red marks of their efforts. It looked as though Marie-Anne and Jo were plastered together in indissoluble passion.
They were, indeed, highly roused by the soldered contact of flesh on flesh, but their togetherness had been enhanced by the fact that both sets of tiny rings through their breasts, and the larger rings at the base of their bellies, had been interlocked. The stinging pain of the swipes across their behinds, delivered with increasing pace and vigour, were meant to encourage them in this weird love match. Arms clasped fiercely about each other's shoulders they turned and twisted, mouths clamped together also, in an entirely voluntary union, until the crowd had had its fill of entertainment.
Jo pulled her lips away from her partner, and gave a convincingly dramatic cry. "I'm coming!" There was a final great cheer, before the further diverting task began of trying to release the slippery, panting bodies from their pairing, and each was borne off for the next stage in the proceedings.
Julie had been watching the spectacle from the guard rail a few feet away, as had the other three girls. They had little option, for all had been tethered to the rail by means of the silver chains which were attached to the rings through their labia. As Julie stared down now at the shining metal nestling below the newly fine dark triangle of her pubis, she felt the insistent pull of it stirring her as always with shameful excitement, and she realised, with something of a shock, how familiar it already seemed, a part of her, as well as a clear demarcation of her status.
The body piercing had been a kind of watershed in their present existence. None of them had comprehended the psychological as well as the physical significance of the rings which pierced their flesh, nor the cleverness of the strange individual who had caused it to be done to them. It stamped their bondage as powerfully as any brand on their bodies, or any deformity.
For Julie, personally, it had produced a deep and permanent change in her character. For a start, it had made her aware, in a completely new manner, of her sexuality and how important it was to her. She was roused by the rings, found herself constantly touching them, stirred by the contact to a painful yet irresistible excitement.
The captain had taken to keeping her by him during the long mornings while he did his paperwork after the daily rounds. He used the device of the larger ring, settled at her midriff, with the three short lengths of slender chain running to her breasts and down to her labia, whose thicker ring was thus pulled upward by the tension, glinting among the curls of her pubis, and considerably increasing the sensation of physical arousal she suffered - or enjoyed. To the steel circlet just above the little recess of her navel he clipped the long silver chain, like a dog leash - why did that image stir her with such a frisson of guilty excitement? - to the bulkhead beside his desk. At which he worked absorbed, totally ignoring her presence, while she stood there, absolutely motionless, except for the occasional tiny tremor, hands folded over the swell of her buttocks.
The deep throb of the engines, the vibrations of the steel deck plates, passed up through her bare feet to every nerve of her still body, until she almost felt part of the vessel. She let her mind drift, increasingly caught up in an erotic fantasy concerning the handsome man who worked on at her side, or, even more frighteningly, entirely blank, passive, waiting, in a state of suspended animation as though she had been asleep.
The others, she was sure, had changed also. There was a new passivity about them, too - an apathetic acceptance of their lot. Or maybe - who knows? - a willing acceptance. She shied from the painful thought that this was becoming more and more the case as far as she was concerned. Of course she wanted this situation to end, she told herself, with occasional panic. After all, it just couldn't go on, could it? It had to end somehow, some time.
"Ahoy there, Virago! Good to see you again!" The girls gaped down in silent wonder at the spectacle of the elegant power yacht moored alongside the warship. Its immaculate deck sparkled, the white planking dazzled in the fierce sun. The hull was a rich deep blue, the superstructure of the neat bridge and the cabins aft a pristine white.
The speaker was a short, roly-poly figure, a jolly, elderly man, whose carefully groomed silver hair, viewed from above, showed glimpses of pink scalp through its disguised sparsity. His plump hairless body was tanned, its girth highlighted by the foreshortened perspective the girls had of it from the height of the flag deck. It was covered by a loose baggy pair of tartan shorts. The feet, almost ridiculously tiny and delicate, sported a simple pair of blue rubber thonged sandals.
There were a few surreptitious whistles, and grunts of lustful appreciation, from the matelots within sight as this rotund figure was joined by a vision which made the girls' eyes widen in wonder. A tall stunningly beautiful figure, with long white-gold hair flowing straight and rich to the middle of her back, her fair skin gleaming with expensive potions, tanned only to the palest of honeys, loped to his side. Her hands were behind her, still fastening the thin cord of a white bikini top of such brief proportions that the girls, gazing down as they were, could see the hint of pert nipple over the white cups. The white triangle at her loins hugged minimally the swell of her pudenda, while her beautifully formed bottom appeared entirely bare, for the bootlace thin thong had vanished entirely in its enchanting crack.
The watching nude figures, though respectably hidden by the canvas screen at the rail, which allowed only a perfectly decent view of their heads and shoulders, were still recovering from the astounding fact that they had not been hustled out of sight when the yacht had been approaching. Only two days previously, Virago had left the port of Mombasa, after a stay of a week - an endless week as far as the girls were concerned, for they had had to spend a large part of each day - and night, too, when visitors were aboard - locked in their quarters. An added refinement to their imprisonment had been that they were shackled to their bunks by means of the chain and their rings, and had to wait for release from the appointed guard, or beg it, should they urgently require to do so.
Julie, though allowed the luxury of remaining alone in her cabin, was not spared the indignity of the chaining, a task which the captain's steward, Matthews, carried out with lingering delight each night and even more lingering delight each morning, while Julie fidgeted and fretted with the desperate need to relieve herself.
It was deeply significant, she felt, though none of them commented on it, that there was no talk this time of any escape, or even of trying to communicate their plight to anyone from the outside world. She sensed a feeling almost of relief when, at last, the ship nosed its way out of Kilindini Harbour, and there was no need for even contemplation of such drastic action.
It was doubly amazing now, therefore, that they had not been swept out of sight for this clearly prearranged rendezvous at sea with the elegant yacht, but merely tethered to the rail to keep them out of harm's way. All six were together. Julie still went up to the flag deck after the captain had released her before making his way to the bridge. There was a grudging acceptance of her now, though she was still unsure whether they believed she had been innocent of betrayal. Her officer status had been eroded. She was a slave, like them, and any reference to her rank now was made with pointed sarcasm. She didn't mind. She needed the comfort of their company, whether they despised her or not.
Thick rope fenders had been placed over the side to prevent the two hulls from rubbing together, though in the millpond of a sea there was hardly any movement. A rope ladder was dropped from Virago's waist, and the rotund figure, and the beautiful blonde, who had slipped a white towelling robe reaching only to her thighs over her scantily clad frame, were assisted aboard by many willing hands.
Young Jilly was the one who ventured to speak, when Chief Roberts came to untie them. He was generally more tolerant with her than with the others. "Who are they, Chief?" she asked, with just the right amount of diffidence in her soft tone.
"That's Lord Staith," he announced grandly. "A right nob, he is. And a right randy old goat, too, by all accounts. The skipper met him in Mombasa. They're old mates. The cap'n knows him from England, way back."
"Who's the girl?" Jilly ventured.
The chief smacked his lips, in a slobbering grin of pure lechery. "She's a toff and all. That's Lady Astles. Pippa, to her friends! And one or two others! Cor! You should hear some of the stories about her! Makes you poxy lot look like the nuns' chorus from the Sound of fuckin' Music!"
The distinguished visitors had disappeared below, no doubt being entertained in the captain's cabin or the wardroom, but the girls, excited and, in a way, disturbed by this exotic change from routine, could not resist staring down at the luxurious craft tied up alongside. The yacht's name, 'Lady Jane', was intricately scrolled at its bow, and, in simpler lettering, across the forefront of the bridge.
"Must be named after his wife, or one of his family," observed Jilly innocently.
Beth Morris gave her languid chuckle. "Or after the female genitalia." When Jilly gaped at her in surprise, she added, a trifle impatiently, "Surely you've heard of Lady Jane and John Thomas? Haven't you read Lady Chat? Cunt and cock, you ignorant child!"
Jilly flushed deeply, and Mags' arm at once moved protectively a round the slim shoulders. "Cut it out, Morris! We're not all as brainy as you. Nor as filthy minded!"
The yacht appeared to be crewed by Africans, of a deep brown complexion, and with the features of the East African coastal tribes, not that the girls had had much opportunity to familiarise themselves with any of the local population. Now, they drew back in sudden confusion when they saw several widely grinning faces gazing up at them. Though the men could not see it, the girls were very conscious of their nakedness, and stepped back with instinctive shyness, in spite of the fact that they were so used to being seen nude by Virago's crew.
All at once, Matt hews' grinning form appeared on the flag deck. He gave a mockingly elaborate salute at Julie. "Begging pardon, ma'am, but the captain requests the pleasure of your company in his cabin, chop chop! Just you!"
Blushingly aware of the others' suspicious gaze on her, Julie quickly pulled on the thin vest and red skirt and hurried in the steward's wake.
Julie was trembling violently, her heart thumping, when she tapped nervously on the closed door of the captain's cabin. "Ah! Come in, slave!" he called cheerfully, and Julie gaped foolishly, her face a vivid scarlet, before she dropped her confused gaze and stared at her brown feet, the painted toes curling in embarrassment on the thin matting.
"How perfectly charming!" she heard a low, well modulated female voice declare.
"So this is one of your famous retinue, eh?" Lord Staith chortled. His plummy voice was bluff, redolent with good humour and easy living.
"Hold your head up, Hindmarsh!" Berman's taunting voice said. "You look like a fourth former who's been caught diddling herself in the showers! Come over here, girl!"
Wishing that the floor would open and swallow her, Julie padded across to him.
"What on earth's all this? No need to be so formal!" He reached out and, with one deft tug, unhooked the short wrap around and plucked it away from her. "And get that damned vest off!" Suddenly, Julie recognised the ghost of a former self at the hot wave of inhibition and shyness which overwhelmed her as she peeled off her last garment in front of these two strangers.
The captain hooked a forefinger through the silver ring nestling discreetly between her thighs, and tugged her forward by it, towards his guests, who were exclaiming with delight. They both rose and came over to stare closely at her.
"Splendid! Where did you say you had them done?" Julie was mortified to see, and feel, Lord Staith's beautifully groomed fingers reach out to fondle the tiny metal circles through her small nipples, then the bigger ring hanging below her pubic hair.
She shivered anew as the long slender hands of the blonde girl brushed against her sensitive skin, lightly, but with clearly deliberate teasing. "Exquisite!" the rich voice murmured. Julie stared hypnotically at the rise of breasts spilling from the tiny half cups of the bikini, beneath the short robe "How I envy you, my dear!"
"Be careful, Berman!" his lordship chuckled. "You'll find yourself with a stowaway. I've a feeling Pippa would just love to be the latest addition to your hareem, wouldn't you, my sweet?"
"Too true!" the girl sighed, while both men laughed. "Especially if I could be chained up next to you, you angel!" To Julie's amazement, she cupped her soft palm under Julie's chin as she spoke, and drew her mouth to her. Her lips closed over the astonished girl's in a slow, passionate kiss. Julie felt the wet tongue slide expertly and deeply inside her mouth. She held the kiss for so long that both of them were gasping when the embrace was finally broken.
"Get us some more drinks, slave," the captain said casually. "Pity to bring Matthews in to spoil the intimacy of our little party!"
Still newly aware of her nudity, Julie did as he requested.
"Stand at ease, Hindmarsh!" Berman ordered. Julie took up her stance, as directed, and was ignored by the two men, though she could feel the frankly appreciative gaze of Lady Astles lighting on her from time to time. However, the startling subject of the conversation soon captured the whole of Julie's attention, as she listened with growing disbelief, and dread.
"It's a wonderful idea!" Lord Staith said reflectively, rubbing at his shining lips with a finger. "They all have some basic idea of seamanship, as you say. A yacht crewed entirely by female slaves! It'd be marvellous!"
"As long as you can guarantee to keep them safe and secure. No breath of it to the outside world."
"You've been to Lowlands old boy. I have a houseful of 'em. Not just the Philippinos. European girls. Brits. And that's in UK. Oh yes, I know how to take care of my gels, don't you worry!"
Berman nodded. "I know. You'd be doing me a favour, taking them off my hands." He laughed harshly. "Not that my gallant shag-happy crew will think so, mind you. We'll have to arrange things a little. The motor boat missing. Girls sneaked away in the dead of night, so that I can claim they've deserted. That's the story I'll have to put out in any case. It'll cause a hell of a stink."
"Small beer," Lord Staith assured him confidently. "I have some influence with the media barons." He laughed knowingly, tapped the side of his nose. "And half the Admiralty board have been my guests at some time or other."
"I couldn't hope to get away with keeping them much longer," Berman confided. "Letters home, that sort of thing. And some damned woman journalist is pestering to fly out, to do an article. New navy, women sailors, dish up a bit of dirt." He chuckled, shook his head, glanced round easily at the naked figure standing motionless at his back. "If only they knew, eh?" It seemed as though he had only just been reminded of her presence there. "So what do you reckon, Hindmarsh? How'd you fancy becoming the all female, all naked slave crew of the Lady Jane and spending the rest of your life out here in these sunny climes as the property of his lordship?"
As the full import of his words struck home, Julie forgot the eminent guests, forgot everything except the engulfing tide of misery which swept over her. She flung herself at his feet, pressed her tear streaming face to the spotless white shoes, and sobbed brokenly.
"Please don't send me away! Keep me with you!"
In a daze she heard Pippa speaking.
"My God, captain! You'll never have a more faithful slave than this one! My dear girl!" Then the gentle hands on her quaking shoulders, drawing her up, until she stood, shaking with uncontrollable grief, against that beautiful, fragrant body, while those arms soothed, the mouth bestowing light kisses on her face and neck all the while.
"You can't let this one go, captain!" Pippa declared vehemently. "She's yours, entirely. Devoted to you!"
"Absolutely, old boy!" Lord Staith's blue eyes twinkled as he added his persuasion to that of the lovely blonde. "You've certainly broken this little filly in good and proper! A splendid job! She's a treasure!"
Julie could have flung herself afresh at her captain's feet as she listened dazedly to his next words, spoken in that same light, mocking tone, as though he considered the whole matter a huge joke. "Very well, slave. I'll keep you - for now. I suppose you might come in useful for a while. Needless to say, you'll do anything - ANYTHING - I order you to?"
A spasm of joy shook Julie as she hung weakly in Pippa's arms.
"Yuh - yes, sir!" she wept fervently.

20.
Julie was undergoing her first real test, she realised, and strove to push aside the stabbing pain of her treachery as she watched the hurried activity taking place in front of her. It was after midnight, the ship was silent, except for that constant electric hum. Their guests had long since departed. Julie had quivered at the long, blatantly sexual kiss from the beautiful Pippa, the whispered promise of her final words.
"We'll meet again soon, darling. I must get to know you better. Be a good slave, you lovely creature!"
Julie had been left in the cabin after they had gone. She stood there, still shattered, dazed by the momentous events of the last hour, listening to the muted noises indicating the yacht's leaving. It was a long time before Berman had returned to the cabin. He gave her a long, silent look, which she endured in trembling submission.
"Well, we've really burnt our boats now, eh? Looks like I'm stuck with you. Guess we'd better establish ourselves."
Intrigued, she watched him go over and lock the door. "Let's see if you can live up to your fine promises. Bend over the bunk. Don't move, and don't make a sound!"
She knew what was to happen. She heard the chink as he took down his ceremonial sword, the hiss as he freed it from the scabbard. She spread her legs wide, locking her knees, the muscles of her thighs. She stretched out her arms, dug her fingers into the edge of the mattress, thrust her breasts down into the coverlet, felt her tingling nipples harden against the rub of the material. She tensed herself, biting at her lip until she almost drew blood.
The crack echoed like thunder. The fire blazed, burning across her behind, her back hollowed, jerked in reflex action. She clawed at the bedding, bit savagely at the counterpane to stifle the scream trapped in her throat. The quivering flesh scorched. There was a timeless pause, while her taut flesh throbbed, then came the second blow, cutting into the hollowed rounds, raising the second livid brand on the resilient brown curves. She sobbed, her shoulders heaved, she quickly stifled her whimper.
By the time the sixth and last stroke fell, her bottom felt flayed, the agony a steady burn, but her belly was pressed firmly against the yielding mattress, the sobs still muffled deep within her working throat. Then, the pain was transfused, flowed into the mighty surge of joyous release, as she felt his naked body cover hers, felt his hardness press against her throbbing buttocks, his prick thrust imperiously into the deep cleft. The alien hardness of the metal ring at her vulva wildly increased the sensation of excitement. She could feel herself coming after only two or three spearing plunges went deep into her pulsating vagina.
She jerked as she found herself even now gingerly touching the hard raised welts across her backside with her fingers. On the deck, five pairs of frightened eyes gazed up at her, with shock, with wounded reproach, and, in two instances at least, with blazing hate, as the first lieutenant, Chief Roberts, and the captain himself, wound the final strips of broad tape about the ankles and wrists of the five naked figures stretched out on the floor.
"I'm sorry!" wept Julie, meeting the wild gaze of Mags.
"Mmmf! Mmmf!" Julie could guess what the leading wren was trying to say, behind the thick band of tape which passed across her mouth, effectively sealing off anything other than this inadequate response.
"You've packed their things?" the captain asked tensely. Julie nodded. "Right! Let's get 'em into the boat." Awkwardly, each of the three men stooped and lifted a bound figure, hauled it over their shoulders, and headed for the waist, where the motor boat bobbed alongside, already in the water.
Julie was left with the two remaining girls, Marie-Anne and Jo. Moved by a sudden impulse of excitement and vindictiveness, Julie crouched. She let her hands fall between Jo's tightly pressed thighs, her fingers stroking through the springy curls of the small pubis. The girl writhed, drew up he bound knees, tried to roll away, but Julie held her easily. An insistent finger probed, entered the soft tissue of the labia, penetrated into the slippery inner folds, until it discovered the tiny lip of the clitoris. The captive form stiffened, then all at once relaxed weakly. Julie felt the thighs slacken, saw the breasts heave in a convulsive sob. She bent, her finger working all the while, and took a small nipple in her mouth, sucked hard, felt it swell against her teeth, which nipped it grazingly.
"You had your chance with me," she whispered raggedly. "You shouldn't have turned me down, bitch!" At her side, she saw Marie-Anne twisting furiously, felt the blaze of her tormented eyes. Guiltily, she snatched away her soaking finger as she heard the men returning.
Julie stood there facing the three imposing, elderly figures at the table opposite, their shoulders heavily encrusted with the gold braid of their seniority. In spite of the solemnity of the proceedings, she could see the hidden appreciation, and lust, in their eyes as they gazed at her trim figure. She knew she looked good in her tropical rig. Her breasts pushed subtly at the front of her dazzlingly white shirt, the black tie following the gentle contours of her bosom. The brownness of her tanned arms showed up well against the short sleeves. The white skirt was stiffly immaculate, its hem reaching to her knees, allowing only a couple of inches of tanned leg to show above the white three quarter stockings and smart white shoes and stockings which added a schoolgirlish touch, and doubtless raised hot fantasies of romping nubile adolescents in the minds of the august members of the Admiralty's Board of Enquiry.
Julie's mouth almost twitched in an involuntary smile as she thought how surprised and delighted these senior officers would be if they could see beneath her skirt, for they would discover nothing there other than herself. Her naked, evenly brown flesh, except for her bottom, of course, which was criss-crossed over its twin surface with a network of multi-hued bruises, and more livid fresher red weals.
Since the start of their newly intimate relationship, the captain insisted on a regular reminder of her subservience. Ashamed though she was to admit it, she welcomed these demonstrations, for to her it showed his need of her every bit as much as the furiously passionate sex which followed. If the lashings were a necessary preliminary to their making love - God, how he would make her flesh burn if he knew she used that phrase for it! - then she would endure them gladly, glory in them.
It felt so strange, the first time she had worn her proper clothing again, though in a way it merely emphasised her new status, for, apart from the rings through her body, he had forbidden her to put on any underwear. She was very conscious of that fact as she faced the board members and gave her carefully rehearsed evidence. Yes, the girls had proved increasingly difficult to manage, then almost impossible. Yes, there had been frequent illicit sexual activity, with crew members and with others ashore. They had purchased drugs in Mombasa, threatened violence when she had tried to discipline them. They must have known she had reported them to the captain, had seized the opportunity, while the ship was at anchor off the coast, to steal the motor boat and make their escape. They had even drugged the sentries somehow, both men being found unconscious at their posts.
Julie had to give other interviews, to reporters, but she was amazed at how little attention was focused on this after all quite startling event. But in the comfort of his hotel room in Mombasa, where the inquiry was taking place, Berman shook his head in amusement.
"Jacky Staith's an amazing feller. He can pull strings in all sorts of places. You should see his place back home. Lowlands, it's called." When Julie looked blank at his chuckle, he said, "You know what the Lowlands are, don't you?"
"It's the Netherlands, isn't it?" Julie asked innocently, and his grin broadened.
"Absolutely, The nether lands of the female region. An old naval term." He nodded at the region referred to, newly bared by Julie at his command. Her belly and thighs were a deep toast brown, her dark patch of pubis had a bronzy, bleached look about the tips of the fine curls, because of their almost constant exposure to the sunlight. The brownness of her skin stood out in enchanting contrast to the spotless white of her knee stockings and shoes, which he had insisted she keep on, though she felt they made her look rather ridiculous.
He shrugged off his silk robe, sprawled naked on the wide bed, propped up by pillows. She brought him his drink and obediently squatted by his feet at the spot he indicated. Carelessly, he tossed a letter at her. "Latest missive from your fianc'. Andrew sounds a mite peevish. He's whining on that he thinks you're having far too good a time, that you're not exactly pining with love and longing. You'll have to compose a hotly pash reply, get his little cock standing up like the Victory's bowsprit. But not now. Speaking of cocks -" He pointed to his own member, which, brown and swollen, stirred between his spread thighs. She knelt gratefully, bowed low, and took it in her hands, then bent to lap softly at its smooth texture. It leapt to greet her caresses, and she shivered with happy excitement at the throbbing surge.
"You'll soon have a chance to see more of Lord Staith. And that lovely nympho, Pippa. She's got the hots for you all right." He grunted, lifted his hips and settled himself more comfortably as Julie got to work, with softly audible slurping sounds. "He's got his own island. Kendu. In the Indian Ocean, too, handily enough. Virago's going to put in there for a spot of R and R after this lot's over. You'll love it. Anything goes there. Be a chance to catch up with your old chums again, too. You'll enjoy that, won't you?"
In spite of her busy hands and tongue, Julie's heart gave a lurch at his last words.
"A-a-agh! No, please! I beg you!" The scream from Jilly's tormented throat passed right through Julie. She shivered, despite the humid heat beating down through the grass roof and wicker walls of the large hut. Through the wide opening, she could see the hazy shimmer of the ocean, between the tall slender trunks of the coconut palms fringing the white beach. A tropical paradise, and a startling contrast to the smell of sweat and fear, the pain racked sobs going on inside.
The five glistening figures all stood facing the thick timber of the central pole, to which their raised arms were fastened, with iron shackles at the wrists. Their writhing buttocks were redly marked, as were their lower backs and the backs of their thighs, but bore little evidence of older scarring, thanks to the texture of the pale, thick strand of the whip being wielded vigorously by the sweating, brown skinned native.
Julie stared. She was appalled. Her shame and guilt were heightened by the fact that she was once more immaculately dressed in her tropical uniform. She knew now why the captain had insisted she be so, saw it in the murderous hate of the pain filled eyes turned upon her so accusingly.
"They're coming along nicely," Lord Staith was saying, in that jolly accent of his, for all the world as though he were showing off the exotic blooms of his garden. "I have 'em whipped morning and evening, of course. But that'll stop soon, won't it, gels?" He addressed them cheerfully, like an affable uncle.
"Yes, my lord!" came the unified chorus.
"We're off on our first cruise next week. Should be great fun. Pity you and your filly can't come along."
Julie jumped as she felt Lady Pippa's slim arm slide round her waist. "Great shame!" Julie's ear was tickled by the warm breath from the lips brushing her. "Still, we must make the most of you while you're here!" Pippa was wearing a brightly patterned sarong, tied loosely at her lower belly, so that a few stray sandy curls peeped above the cloth. Her upper body was bare, her pale nipples hardened by the excitement of the scene they were witnessing.
"You should try this whip," Lord Staith told Berman, taking it from the grinning native, "See? Bound in silk. It doesn't scar. Hardly leaves a mark after a few hours." He moved carelessly to Mags Gold, turning her hanging body so they could all see her striped behind, over which he ran his hand, as though stroking an animal. "Feel," he invited. "Not a sign of a welt."
Berman hefted the whip in his hand and grinned wolfishly. "No time like the present."
They trooped out to the beach, in the mellowing evening light. Berman nodded curtly, and Julie started to undress, in front of the eager little group. A pretty girl, her short blonde hair bleached by the sun, a short fuzz of hair almost as light at her pubis, stepped forward to take the clothing as Julie removed each item. The girl's nude body was an even gold. There was a stillness about her, an air of obedience Julie recognised. "This is Sas," Lord Staith said easily. "She's been mine for a while now.
It didn't take Julie long to strip naked, for she wore nothing under the white shirt and skirt. Still in her stockings and shoes, she glanced interrogatively at Berman, and felt a grateful relief when he nodded once more, and she was able to remove these last articles of clothing. The fine sand was still warm beneath her bare feet. It gave her a sudden powerful surge of sensual arousal.
She was led to a palm tree and made to stand embracing it. When she passed her arms around it, her wrists were fastened in a pair of metal handcuffs, linked by a short chain. She tensed for the first blow. The captain did the whipping himself. She could not help the quickly smothered cry which burst from her at the first hissing stroke, for, as well as the rippling fire the lash sent flaring across her bottom, its thin end curled wickedly round and stung at the crease of thigh and belly. She thrust painfully against the rough bole at its force. He struck with measured accuracy, She couldn't stop herself from crying out each time, and she began to sob.
It was soon over. "Good girl!" she heard Lord Staith say warmly. "Now for your reward!" Through her tears, she saw a slim young man step forward. His smooth body was naked from the waist up, and, as she watched, he pushed down the loose jogging pants to stand completely naked. Like the girl, Sarah, his body was an even brown, but what drew Julie's gaze was the long hanging tube of his penis. She had never seen one, in all her consider able recent experience, of such length when not erect. Even more astonishing was the shining bullet nosed projection which extended from its helm, and which lifted now with unmistakable intention as it advanced towards her.

21.
Julie lay on the sand, her head cradled in Pippa's lap. She stared up at the pointed breasts, which bent close as Pippa leaned intimately over her, her hands soothing, her lips murmuring tender endearments.
The violence of the weeping fit had passed and Julie was slowly returning to an awareness of her surroundings, after the explosion of pure sensation which the young stranger's fucking of her had stormily aroused. The strange fusion of such excessive pleasure with the still agonising throbbing of her bottom engendered by the whipping from the captain and the wild abandonment of control in such humiliatingly public circumstances, all these made her tear stained cheeks glow now with fresh shame.
In the weeks since Berman had got rid of the other girls, no one had fucked her but him. Even the thrashing he had just meted out to her she had borne with some kind of pride, for once more it was a demonstration of how utterly she was his. But then had come the overpowering emotion of that rod-hard, perfectly strange penis boring into her, with that shining, metal cone adding greatly to the weird dehumanised feel of it. Their had been great indignity of the physical position. She had been left chained to the tree and he had entered her from behind, lifting her stinging buttocks, holding her under her thighs while the blonde girl, Sas, had come around the trunk and helped support her from the front, holding her firmly at the backs of her knees while he ploughed into her.
She was deeply conscious of the act being performed under all those watching eyes, and, in particular, his, her captain's. She could visualise his detached amusement as he watched another man's penis drive into her.
And how her own body had abetted in her shame. How swiftly she had begun to respond to that strange alien shafting, the pistoning remorselessness of it, until her spinning mind had shot away and her feet had kicked, her limbs struggled in the other girl's grip, the insides of her scissoring thighs rubbed raw on the rough bark of the tree she embraced.
It was as though she had swooned, recovering only now, to find herself released, lying there in Lady Pippa's arms. And discovering just why that brief act of sex had been so shattering in its impact, as she listened to Lord Staith's chuckling explanation.
"This is Pete," he said, beckoning the young man who had done the deed. Julie recognised the same quick obedience, that same quality of still attentiveness and acceptance which marked him as a creature of this strangely compelling, powerful figure, just like the naked girl who was his companion. Yet Julie felt a vague stirring of shame on his behalf, a discomfit at his subservience and its hint of unnaturalness which was not at all apparent in the case of the females - herself included, she realised with shocked wonder.
Julie saw with reawakened interest that his prick, hanging limply and still glistening with the fluids their sexual activity had roused, was of its former impressive length. She blushed as she recalled vividly the feel of it inside her. It had not seemed of an extraordinary length then - scarcely longer than it was now. As he spoke, Lord Staith casually reached down and lifted it gently for all to see. Even more delicately, he unscrewed the bullet like projection, and removed it altogether, revealing a thin shining rod which had been been passed right through the urethra. The open end showed, protruding from the slit in the still fully exposed helm.
His lordship gave that rich, plummy chuckle as he hefted the long brown tube of the shaft. "Look. You can fit anything you like into the end of the knob. We've got all sorts of wonderful devices, haven't we, Pete? And see the hole there? We usually slip a ring through it. Just like the one your filly's got through her cunt."
He let the penis go and chortled once more. "The gels love him. They all go mad for it, don't you, Pippa, my love?"
Julie felt the beautiful body stir slightly. "Fuck off, Jacky, you beast!" and there was a chorus of laughter.
"Right, you two. Off you go!" Lord Staith commanded, and Sas and the young man walked off hand in hand along the beach. Lord Staith smiled reminiscently as he watched their retreating, naked brown forms.
"Pete's my pet writer," he told Berman proudly. "Bloody good, too. He could make a castrate come with his prose! I keep him and Sas here on Kendu permanently, They love it. She used to belong to him, you know. Poor little sod couldn't get it up in those days. Could he, Pippa, eh?"
Once more, Julie felt the slight movement, sensed Pippa's embarrassment.
"Even for you, my luscious slut!"
It was not until the two girls were alone together, a situation Lady Pippa eagerly brought about as soon as she was able, and after a hectic session of mutual loving which left both of them pleasantly exhausted as they lolled back on the tumbled sheets of Pippa's bed, that Pippa offered an explanation of Lord Staith's taunting words.
"That bastard Jacky got some rather compromising pictures of me back home. Ones that would have embarrassed not only my poor hubby, Tommy, but probably Her Majesty's Government as well! So he blackmailed me into coming out here and appearing in a ruddy porno movie of his. I had to shaft poor Peter in my big scene, and as Jacky said the dear lad couldn't get it hard for love or money. He wasn't Jacky's slave in those days, of course. He'd just come out to do the script for the blue movie - that was the excuse, anyway."
She laughed softly.
"He'd just sold Sas to Jacky, and I remember the adorable little sweety was climbing up the coconut trees - going mad because in all the time he'd had her, Pete had never fucked her. Don't suppose he could. From what I remember his cock was like a piglet's tail. Different now, though, eh?" She giggled, pinched Julie's breast playfully. "Mr Steel, eh? He certainly brought the bacon home for you, didn't he?"
"Please!" Julie pleaded, burying her red face in the smooth thighs, which readily parted to accommodate her.
The clouds of insects softly whirring round the hissing gas lanterns added a further surreal touch to the scene Julie was witnessing. Lord Staith and his guests, which included a fair number of Virago's officers - the crew were no doubt having an equally wild time across the island, in the native village - were dining outside the sprawling collection of thatched buildings that made up his residence on the cropped lawns that sloped down to the beach.
They were sitting on cushions, the masses of food were laid out on brightly covered cloths on the ground.
A number of the pretty brown skinned island girls had been called in to attend, as had Julie's five former shipmates. Her heart had pumped fearfully when she first saw them again, freed of their chains. But, apart from several well concealed glances of smouldering hostility, they had offered her no harm. They stood now, like exotic sculpted statues, at the guests' elbows. From the shining rings at their loins hung large cloths, dampened with rose water, which functioned as napkins, on which the diners could wipe their hands when required, a service they were called upon to perform more and more frequently as the splendid meal progressed. They stood there, their bellies thrust slightly forward, the rings tugging teasingly at their labia while the guests used the squares of cloth.
Perhaps their anger towards her had been slightly appeased by her own bizarre role in the proceedings, Julie reflected, as Jock Murray, sitting next to the captain, held up his wooden bowl. "More seasoning!" he called, grinning widely. Julie crawled carefully down the centre of the patterned cloth, on hands and knees, the latter splayed to straddle the wide dishes scattered in her path. From her swinging breasts hung small containers, attached to the rings through her nipples. They held spices, while, from the labial ring, two heavier pots holding salt and pepper dangled, and bounced lightly against the insides of her thighs. Between which, Murray now held the wooden platter. "Bit of each!" he smiled.
Extremely conscious of Berman's amused gaze next to her, she murmured, "Yes, sir," and gyrated her belly and loins obediently, spilling out a small amount of the condiments.
"Oh, I'll have some of those, too!" Murray chuckled, and Julie moved, cupping her breasts and shimmying them over his plate.
"What a charming salt shaker!" Murray declared.
"You should see it from this angle!" Lord Staith's cultured tones announced, and Julie felt her hot cheeks flush, for he spoke from directly behind her, staring into the cleft of her behind, which she was presenting to that end of the 'table'. His remark raised a deep bellow of laughter.
Beside him, Lady Pippa was one of the diners, too, but, unlike the others, she depended on his lordship, for her hands had been tied behind her back with steel bracelets. He had, indeed, kept her liberally supplied with morsels of food, stuffing them into her mouth with cavalier enthusiasm, so that the evidence of the meal could be seen on her greasy chin, and her shapely breasts, and even in the sandy patch of her pubis, for she was naked. In fact, her jut-kneed, crossed ankles, position had proved a powerful distraction for the ogling figures who were sitting opposite.
"Untie me, Jacky, you beast!" she coughed and spluttered now, as copious dribbles of red wins flowed down her chin, between those pointed breasts.
His stubby, perfectly groomed fingers rummaged teasingly through the light curls of her pubic hair, then foraged extensively in the fold of her vulva beneath, until her teeth showed as she nibbled at her lip with a gusty sigh.
"Don't, Jacky!" she protested, less firmly, her lovely frame shivering dramatically. "You don't want me to pop off right here and now, do you? Bad form at the dining table!"
Julie felt the swinging weight of the implements dangling from her crotch and breasts, and realised, with something of a shock, that she was close to 'popping off' herself. She was shocked, too, to find that she was no longer caught in the grip of that shrivelling embarrassment at the degradingly ludicrous situation she was in. Kneeling naked in the centre of a table, acting as a human salt cellar! While, around her, the girls who had marched so keenly on board Virago that day a lifetime ago stood naked, too, reduced to mere objects in the eyes of these males, who ruled every aspect of their lives now.
At a suitable interval after the leisurely meal was done, Lord Staith, eyes shining like a mischievous child, announced the entertainment.
"I know how much you chaps enjoy contests. So we'll have a home and away fixture. HMS Virago versus our own Kendu. Now! How many fillies have you got?" He pulled a face of mock regret. "Oh dear! You've only got the one now, haven't you?" He nodded with a beaming grin at the suddenly anxious Julie, who stood, freed of her recent encumbrances. "All right! Fair enough. We'll put in Pippa to bat far the home side."
The lovely blonde allowed herself to be stretched out on the soft sand at the fringe of the beach without struggle. As did Julie, who was positioned similarly a few feet away. "How many a side?" his lordship called, his voice even more like an eager kid. "Five? That's enough. Not for the girls, I'm sure," he added, to a burst of merriment, "but, as a spectator sport, shagging can quickly pall, don't you think?"
And that was what it was. A relay race, in which, one after another, opposing team members flung themselves on the sprawling girls and humped away at a furious pace, until they came, and their place was immediately taken by the next.
Though it lacked finesse, the numbers and the pace of the activity ensured that both girls soon derived as much from it as their male participants. Julie scarcely knew who made up her team from the ship's officers. She only knew who didn't, and, despite her undeniable and quickly evident physical excitement, she was bitterly aware of his detached gaze as his subordinates fell upon her with such avid haste. She took little pride or comfort from the fact that the visitors proved easy winners, while, beside her, the lovely Lady Pippa, her pale knees raised towards the leafy silhouettes of tall palms against the night sky, the tight brown buttocks of an islander rutting between them, seemed in no way distressed that her ordeal was continuing unabated.
Julie gave a small scream of fright. Her eyes strayed towards the white sand, where the captain, his host, and others of the party, were lying or strolling in the morning sun. The five nude girls surrounded her closely, jostled her almost playfully a little further out in the warm clear water of the lagoon.
"Listen! It was nothing to do with me!" she babbled, the tears starting. "I couldn't help it! You've seen I'm just as much a slave you are! He wanted to keep me that's all. I don't know what's going to happen."
They had closed in, two of them were holding her arms, and they were laughing. From the shore, it would look as though they were a happy group, sporting in the dazzling water.
"Please don't hurt me," she blubbered abjectly.
"It's OK," Mags said contemptuously. "We know you're not worth it." She nodded at Jo. "She's all yours, mate."
Jo sank to her knees in front of her, so that her lace was on a level with Julie's midriff. She let her fingers creep slowly up the insides of Julie's legs, shimmering palely under the water. "Spread 'em!" she murmured, and Julie obeyed. The grazing fingers moved higher, parted the cleft of Julie's vulva, tugged at the ring before peeling back the tissue, exploring the inner surfaces.
"I didn't think I'd enjoy this any more. Didn't think I could. But I owe you one, don't I, you little cow? Don't I?"
"Yes!" Julie whispered. She gasped as she felt two fingers slide deeply within her beating sheath. She tensed, clenching her muscles, waiting for the agonising bite of tearing pain. It didn't come. Instead, the knowing, stroking caress of the throbbing clitoris made Julie shudder with an altogether different emotion. Her trembling limbs spread wider, she sank down further in the embracing water, her arms came up automatically to fasten on Jo's brown shoulders.
She moaned as she saw the red lips, the open mouth descending towards her. Her own lips opened, yielded, as those lower lips had already surrendered, and she gave herself gladly, glad to be conquered, rising and falling on the welling tide of passion until she exploded with a sobbing cry, and the two figures, clinging together, rolled and sank beneath the sunbursting brilliance of the sea surface.

22.
Julie gazed out from behind the net curtains at the rain swept expanse of the parade ground. A fresh rattle of drops spattered on the small panes from the louring English April sky. She felt the stirring weight of the solid silver anchor against her labia, the coldly delicate scratch of its crosspiece on the bareness of a thigh above the stocking top.
The unaccustomed thickness of her serge uniform skirt rubbed against her nakedness beneath. The thin raised lines of the welts across her bottom throbbed, and she shivered, fighting the sudden urge to slide her hands under the skirt, to explore the tender cuts Berman had given her with a bamboo cane just the night before.
Andrew Hesketh-Grym came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. He cupped the shape of her breasts under the white shirt. She felt his fingers struggling to pluck it from the tight waistband. "Oh God, darling! I've missed you so much!" His lips nuzzled hotly at her neck, and she wriggled free.
"Don't!" she exclaimed, then blushed at the look of shocked hurt on his handsome features. She reached for his hands, held onto them, batting her eyelids, and treating him to one of her coyest expressions.
"Andrew I know this sounds silly after we've been lovers and all that. But now that we're going to be married - would you mind awfully if we waited till the wedding before we you know?"
She gazed up at him winningly, saw his jaw clench, wanted suddenly to turn and fling her skirt up about her waist, show him the anchor dangling from her knickerless crotch, turn and thrust her lividly marked backside in his face. A numbing despair welled up inside her at the recall of the previous day, and night, the last she would spend aboard Virago, with the man who possessed her, body and soul.
"Please!" she had begged, prostrating herself naked at his feet, as she had those months before in the Indian Ocean. "Just let me stay with you. I don't care where, what -"
He had picked her up quite gently, led her to the couch. That was when he produced the emblem of the anchor, about an inch long, which he had clipped to her vulva, after removing the thicker steel ring from the pierced fleshy lips.
"It's spring loaded, see? And I'm the only one who can remove it, OK? So you'll know you'll always belong to me."
"Huh - how can I?" she sobbed brokenly, clinging desperately to him, 'Whuh when you're suh sending me away?" She flung herself down again in anguish, unable to believe even he could be so cruel.
She had stared aghast when he had first outlined her future, during the return voyage to England. "You'll go ahead with your marriage. You'll make a perfect service wife, and Hesketh-Grym has got a great future in the navy."
"No!" she cried, utterly revolted. "Never! I never want to see him again!"
He had beaten her really severely, actually breaking the skin in several places, so that for several painful days she couldn't sit properly and hobbled stiffly about the ship.
"You belong to me, don't you?" he demanded icily.
"Yes, sir," she croaked exhaustedly.
"I've told you what you will do."
"Yes, sir."
Somehow, she clung desperately to the hope that this was just another of his tortures, that, when the time came he would not send her away. When at last she realised that he intended to, her desolation was unbearable. One last time she pleaded with him, the tears streaming down her face, quietly imploring.
"Sir, I don't think I can bear it if I'm not with you. Just keep me. Please."
She had fully expected, indeed fiercely hoped, that he would flog her mercilessly for that, so that she was completely unnerved when he picked her tenderly from the floor, carried her to his narrow bunk. His voice was gentle as his touch. "If you are truly mine, then I may dispose of you how I will. Yes?"
Shuddering, she raised her tragic eyes, nodded wordlessly.
"You will always be mine. Wherever you are, whoever you're with. You know that."
"Yes, sir." Her reply was the faintest of whispers, but he heard it, and smiled. "Good. Now go and fetch me the cane, there's a good girl."
She rose at once, dashing the tears from her cheeks, and went to the corner, brought the bamboo back, spread herself obediently, legs stretched wide over the desk, and clung to it. She whimpered at the exquisite fire which bit into her quivering rounds, forced herself to remain doubled over while it flared throughout every nerve end, hung there, gasping, open mouthed, waiting to receive the second scorching blow. She knelt, her bottom ablaze, sucking worshipfully at his rearing prick, filling herself chokingly with his potency, swallowing gratefully the mighty surge of his semen, lapping greedily at the cloying residue as it spilled liberally about her face and working throat.
When, later, he laid her on her back, opened her thighs and drove onto her lifting belly, she forgot the agony of her flayed bottom, forgot everything except the glory of his fucking, sobbed in an excess of happiness in his arms afterwards, wishing that she might die then, in a fulfilment she had never known.
Next morning he was as carelessly proprietorial as he had ever been. When the grinning Matthews brought their breakfast, their last meal together, the captain said, with a casual nod towards Julie, "Bathe Hindmarsh's arse for her, will you? I laid it on a bit thick last night." And turned away to read the morning paper, while Julie lay face down on the bunk, wincing at Matthews' light touch as he carried out his captain's orders.
Julie felt she had come through a fiery ordeal. Though she still felt the despair like leaden inside her, she knew for the first time the truth of what he had told her. She was his. She would go wherever he sent her, do whatever he told her. She had no choice She had no will. That was the inescapable fact of her existence.
"You're different!" Andrew said now as he moved away from her. "I don't know." He shook his head in his confusion. There was a stillness about her, an inscrutability, which both worried and excited him. Of course he would do the decent thing as far as the sex went, and agree to lay off until their wedding. Bit late for her to come the shy virgin, he thought wryly, but girls were odd that way. Let her pretend to a virtue she'd lost a while ago. Before his time, he speculated uncomfortably. Still, he'd had the odd fling or ten, and how! He felt quite noble facing a vow of celibacy for the next month!
Julie was relieved at his ready acceptance of her strange request. At least it postponed her having to explain the silver anchor dangling from her cunt. No doubt she'd face some awkward moments on their wedding night, but sufficient unto the day. Even more difficult would have been the explanation of the livid and tenderly swollen stripes across her behind! "Oh, he's a bit of a martinet, Commander Berman. Very keen on discipline!" She doubted whether Andrew would have bought it, even though he WAS navy through and through.
"Well, darling! Three more days and you'll be Mrs Hesketh-Grym. I can't wait!" Andrew's voice lowered, Julie heard his salacious chuckle in her ear. "And neither can our friend John Thomas! God, he's almost forgotten what he's for. And don't say for peeing out of!"
Julie managed a dutiful giggle into the receiver. "Well, I'd better go," she breathed. "Not long nuh - yeow!" She struggled to muffle the yelp as, with a loud splat, the hair brush descended on her buttocks and sent a deliciously fiery throbbing through he clenching globes. She was lying on her stomach on the wide bed, and her feet scissored the air at the burn and at the growing excitement knifing through her. She thrust her hips hard into the springy mattress. The brush fell, with another loud rack, and Julie gasped.
"What's that?" Andrew queried, from three hundred miles away.
"Dunno! This line's awful. Must be something wro - a-a-agh!"
Her words gurgled to dying nonsense as Berman's hand moved searchingly between her clamped thighs, brushing the metal anchor as his fingers homed in on the dewy cleft of her pouting sex lips.
"I'd buh better go!" she panted frantically, involuntarily parting her legs and almost swooning at the thrill of the fingers sinking deeply home into the narrow passage of her vagina.
"Not long!" Andrew crooned repetitively in her ear. "I can hardly wait. It's been a helluva long month! Night, darling!"
"Nuh - night!" Julie groaned, before the phone slid from her grasp, and she shuddered in melting ecstasy, while, with his left hand Berman continued to finger her and with his right, brought down the smooth back of the hairbrush in yet another satisfyingly crisp and stinging blow on the resilient lifting bottom beneath him.
"Ah! So you two know each other! Splendid!" Admiral Harrington's face lit up in surprised delight. Julie felt herself colouring under the amused and steady gaze of those unforgettable blue eyes. "So good to see you again, Lady Astles!" Harrington almost drooled.
"You didn't meet my husband, did you?" Pippa murmured, the laughter evident under the surface of her polite tone. "Come here, Tommy, before you get absolutely bloody hopelessly pissed. This divine creature is Julie - er Hesketh-Grym, isn't it?"
"Yes," Julie stammered, adding belatedly, "this is my husband. Andrew."
They left Tommy and Andrew chatting amiably, drinks in hand, and mounted the wide staircase. In the bathroom, Pippa unselfconsciously lifted the hem of her short black cocktail dress, revealing a pair of sheer stockings and the absence of any knickers. She perched on the lavatory and grinned at Julie eagerly. "Christ! As beautiful as ever. So where's your lord and master these days?"
Julie blushed uncomfortably. "Scotland. I haven't seen him for a month. Hardly at all in the three months I've been married." Julie's voice quavered a little.
"He's a naughty old captain, isn't he? Now come here, you gorgeous thing! Let me look at you!" As she spoke, Pippa rose and advanced on Julie. She reached down, slid her hands under the wide hem of Julie's evening dress, lifted it, exploring eagerly. She gave a cry of delight when she saw the little silver anchor nestling between the thighs, at the base of the tufted pubis, innocent of underwear.
"How divine!"
When Julie came down the stairs some twenty minutes later, her lovely face was a little flushed, her gaze somewhat distracted.
"You all right, old girl?" her husband asked curiously. Julie nodded. "Nice chap that Astles feller. A full colonel, you know. He's invited me off for a spot of shooting next weekend. You don't mind do you, darling?"
"No, not at all," Julie murmured, her thoughts returning with difficulty to her surroundings. Her heart was hammering with fear, her loins beating with a fiercely elemental excitement. Since Pippa's car had called for her to bring her to Lord Staith's country stronghold, these two warring emotions had struggled within her. She had tried to phone the captain at his distant home, becoming increasingly desperate as she failed to get him, or to succeed in passing on a message.
"I can't go without his permission," she told Pippa anxiously. "Not to Lowlands. He - he told me about it."
But the beautiful blonde had insisted, rode roughshod over her protests, almost dragging her into the car when the weekend came.
"It'll be all right, you silly goose. Take my word!"
A wild hope had begun to beat in Julie's breast, so that as she stood at last in the elegant drawing room, drink in hand, among a crowd of well dressed men and stunningly lovely girls, her heart sank when she did not see his face anywhere in the throng.
"Time for the revels to commence!" Lord Staith announced. He took her glass from her. "Take her up and prepare her."
At his word, two striking Philippine girls, who had been serving drinks dressed in an extremely abbreviated version of a Raid's outfit, with black silk dresses which came just below crotch level and allowed glimpses of honey coloured thighs over the sheer black of suspender ribbon and nylon stockings, now led a shaking Julie up the impressively curving staircase into an opulent bedroom on the first floor. She stood there, embarrassed but unresisting, as they quickly and competently undressed her, carefully folding her discarded clothing and putting it away. It did not take long, for under her dress she was naked. They giggled and reached out admiringly to touch the silver emblem nestling at her crotch.
Then her heart raced once again as, with reassuring smiles, they produced an eye mask of black satin, whose thin elastic band they slipped over the back of her head, sealing her in darkness before they led her by the arms back out into the corridor.
She felt the thick carpeting give way to cold marble beneath her feet. She gasped softly, and flinched, as her hands were fastened with metal bracelets and her arms drawn high above her head, until she could feel the lifting strain of her breasts. She was left hanging there, balancing on the balls of her feet, blind and vulnerable. The air felt cool on her slim body, she had the impression she was in a large room. She listened hard, could hear the faintly distant sound of voices and music. She wondered if she were alone, or if there were silent observers watching her.
Long minutes dragged by, until her muscles ached, and she felt she had been standing tethered for an age. She wanted to cry out, but she knew she must not. Then she heard shuffling footsteps, very soft, and now she did call out, her voice hushed with nervousness.
"Who's there? Who is it?"
There was a whistling disturbance of the air about her, then her frame leapt, twisting madly at the burst of fire across her flanks. Her neck arched, she let out a full bodied scream as the whip swished and cracked again, lashing across the centre of her hollowed buttocks, and she swung wildly at the ends of the restraint, capering in a dance of agony, while an unseen audience laughed and murmured with appreciation. The lash fell on her hips, across the backs of her thighs, bit again and again into the tortured rounds of her bottom, until she sobbed and begged for mercy.
Then, through the pain, she had a sudden powerful premonition of who it was whipping her, and she stifled the cries in her throat, whimpering at each fresh torment, until the beating finally ceased and she hung, a mass of throbbing pain.
She felt her abused body lifted, several pairs of hands supporting her, parting her legs, holding them widely open, while a rampant prick nuzzled at the moistened entrance to her wildly pulsating vagina. Delicate fingers gently lifted the tiny anchor, pushing it up against the swell of her pubis. There was a soft murmur of laughter, then the penis slid deeply home, and she sighed.
Her head lolled back against someone's shoulder. A male, she guessed, from its muscled hardness. She could feel the soothing coolness of the soaking cloth against her eyelids. The man fucking her moved gently inside her, back and forth. A mouth - his, or another's? - closed about her nipple. The tongue flicked at the tiny ring through its centre, and she felt the inexorable stirring of the crisis deep within her belly.
Her back arched, the muscles bunched in her thighs as she clung to the thrusting body, and she wailed as the consuming orgasm burst upon and within her.
She was released, willing hands laid her gently on the cold floor, the mask was plucked from her. She screwed up her eyes against the stabbing light.
There he was, her captain, his grinning form emerging through the shimmering tears. Was it his come she could feel oozing thickly from her distended still throbbing vulva? Or one of the countless others who towered over her, smiling down at her spread-eagled body? She was devastated at the realisation that she did not know, had been unable to recognise his conquering touch inside her. But then, like an absolving blessing, came the thought that it did not matter. That whoever it was who had whipped her, fucked her, it was by his will alone that these actions had been done.
Everything that happened to her happened in his name, by his desire. Even her marriage, her congress with poor Andrew.
Later, she stood naked at his elbow in the sumptuous dining room, silently tending to his wants, utterly happy, while he chatted easily with his neighbours. It was Lord Staith who caught her eye, smilingly recalled her to a sense of her individuality once again.
"Soon you'll have a whole month with your captain," he said, while she gazed at him incredulously. "Their lordships at the Admiralty are going to require young Andrew to serve on a hush-hush far eastern mission. You and Pippa will be invited to spend a month with my good self out in Kendu. And of course cruising on the Lady Jane." His cherubic countenance twinkled. "The new crew are shaping up fine. They'll be overjoyed to see you again."
The look of mischief deepened, as he nodded towards Berman's relaxed features.
"Of course, it all depends on your lord and master there. He hasn't said yes yet, so you'd better prove pretty damn satisfactory to him this weekend, my sweet."
"You heard that, slave?" Berman said easily. His arm snaked out around her hips, pulled her in close to him. His fingers played over the still hotly stinging welts raised by the whip, and she shivered. "Are you going to be pretty damn satisfactory, do you think?"
"Yes, sir," Julie answered, her gaze locked into his with adoring submission.

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