by Mark Andrews
The collar with its four rods turned quite easily - unless you screwed down the brake that applied pressure on the shaft underneath the collar.
The rods were long enough to take two girls each and when a girl seemed to be a little slack in her approach to her duties, I ordered her to endure a morning or afternoon on this machine. We usually waited until we had eight girls and if a punishment was urgent, we simply selected more girls to make up the eight.
They were brought in by their trainers and made to stand with their back to the capstan bars, each of which was angled so the four sharp edges face up and down and to front and back. They thus dug into her upper back although the rear edge fitted nicely into the crook of their elbows once they had raised their arms and fitted them over the back of them.
Once this was done, their hands were roped together with a very coarse sisal rope that started with their right wrist, went across their lower bellies to the other wrists then came back to the centre, was knotted and then led down between and inside their vaginal lips, over their anuses and up to the top of their buttocks, across to the right wrist, back to be knotted around the section coming up from the crack between their buttocks and finally to the left wrist where it was tied off.
I’m sure you can imagine how horrible walking was going to be as this scratchy rope worked down at their vaginas and anuses, both to excite their clits and rub away at the sensitive flesh down there.
Once all eight were securely (and tightly) tied to the rods, the overseer, one of their trainers, now armed with a nasty whip, enjoined them to walk. He followed along behind them, watching for any slackness - which met with a nasty lash of his whip to their backs and buttocks.
He let them walk with the brake off for a while, but then moved in to the collar and screwed down the little wheel that applied the brake and made it more difficult for them.
Then he ordered them to run! I’m kidding? Don’t you believe it. Running was horrible for them and with the brake partially applied it made the work diabolically hard - but it also exacerbated the rubbing of the coarse sisal rope against the soft flesh of their inner thighs and even worse, that inside their vaginas and between their buttocks and anuses.
They were not gagged or blindfolded and we, sitting in the chairs to watch them for an hour or so could fully appreciate their distress as the pain got worse and worse by the minute. All the while a couple of girls nominated as PR stewards moved between us, taking orders for drinks and offering canapés and of course they had to submit with good grace to our fingers roving over their bodies as they passed by.
But mostly we just sat and watched the eight girls struggling under the pain of the rope down between their legs and the strain of being made to walk - and periodically to run for a minute or so, dragging the bar under the crook of their elbows round behind them.
It is not an easy method of applying force to such an implement. The body is designed to push, not pull. Having them grasp the bars in their hands and push on it would be far more efficacious - if that was what we desired. It was not. What we wanted was to enjoy their pain and suffering and forcing them to drag the squared off bar did this beautifully.
Here, too, we had been cruel. If the bar had been rounded, it would have been much more comfortable for them. In its square form, the sharp edge dug painfully into their backs, pulled there by the pressure of the sisal ropes connecting their hands together in front of their waists.
They strained and sweated and the trainer applied the whip readily, its crack as it connected with the soft flesh of their backs an aphrodisiac to our ears - as was the scream from the girl that followed it.
All this while, the ship plied the Mediterranean, the Indian and Pacific Oceans and all the seas in between. We put in at ports as required, to re-victual and fuel and to take on and discharge our guests, all of those to whom we said goodbye, promising to return soon.
Of course every time we neared a port, the girls were all herded below to the slave deck and the entrance to the companionway and lift well that led there closed and sealed. Customs officers coming aboard would not find it, even if they searched every nook and cranny on the ship.
But we stayed as short a time as possible in port. All of us wanted to get back out to sea and to begin again the delightful pastimes then available to us. When we passed through the Suez Canal (and later, the Panama) everyone was at their wits end, all anxious to emerge into the Red Sea so that the hidden portal could be opened and girls allowed up to serve us again.
And all this while I delighted in my Allison...
Chapter 7
She continued to exult in her now very much awakened sexuality and in her new-found masochism to the extent she wanted to try it all. Every time she heard of a slave being tortured on a particular machine, she wanted to try it.
At first I indulged her, delighting myself in her agony and in the way she responded to the pain sexually, for there was no doubt that in her case, the pain raised her libido to new heights every time.
And it wasn’t only pain. Some of our activities involved the slavegirls in acts that were hardly painful at all and yet they hated them just as much as those that did. Such a one was the Urinal. Personally, I couldn’t imagine anything worse, but once she heard of it from another girl, she begged me to let her try it and of course I did.
The Urinal was set up on the slave deck in a small male toilet. But the regular, stainless steel model had been adapted so there was room for two girls to kneel side by side in the drain, facing outwards. A pole had been set in a horizontal position a few inches out from the splash wall of the urinal and three feet up from the floor of the drain.
The two girls were ordered to kneel in the drain facing out and hook their arms over the pole. To keep them there, their wrists were manacled together behind their back and attached to a spring that was itself attached to a U-piece that had a big fat dildo on one arm. This went up the girl’s rectum and once inserted deep within her, the spring on the other arm kept it up there, nice and tight.
To keep her head pointing straight ahead, a metal collar was placed around her neck. This item was particularly nasty. It was high at the front and back, and its upper and lower edges were serrated as in a saw blade. It forced her to keep her head up high and facing directly ahead. It was hinged and once affixed around a girl’s neck, it was impossible for her to move her head at all - up and down or sideways - at least without doing her flesh a great deal of damage.
One further item was needed to complete the ensemble: A jaw spreader. This was a nasty little gadget that could be forced into a girl’s mouth and then the mechanism screwed so that the two parts, hinged at the back, opened, forcing her mouth open wide - and kept it that way.
Our guests as well as the trainers, could now come in and relieve themselves over the girls. Most aimed for their mouths of course but some like to spray their whole bodies with their urine. The girls thus stank to high heaven and I know most hated this duty more even that being chosen to be the subject of a horrible torture.
Of course the stink offended some of our guests and so we had adapted the flushing mechanism for the urinal as well. Instead of the water being directed only to wash down the splash wall, two roses had also been added directly above the two girls and so when a guest pushed the button, they were doused all over. It wasn’t fresh water of course. That was too precious to be wasted on a urinal. It was sea water and thus when some got into their mouths, its salt added to that in the urine of the men she had served and they became extremely thirsty.
Allison knew all this for when she first asked me to try it out, I took her down there and explained it all to her. Her eyes sparkled however. She wasn’t in the least put off by the horror of the duty.
“I still want to try it, master. Can I take her place now,” she said pointing to one of the girls kneeling in the urinal drain.
I
sighed. “Alright, if you must...” I called on my communicator for a free trainer to come in to the toilet and gesturing towards the slave on the right, told him to replace her with Allison. He did and now my lovely personal slave knelt in the smelly drain with her arms hooked over the pole behind her and kept there by the dildo up her arse; the collar forcing her to keep her head up high and facing out towards us, while the jaw spreader kept her mouth open very wide.
While waiting for the trainer and as he fixed her into the urinal, I had already drank four large glasses of water and once the trainer had removed the duty girl and replaced her with Allison, I was quite ready to demonstrate to her personally, how horrible this little torture was going to be for her.
I extracted my cock and aiming it at her mouth, let loose a heavy stream of my piss. Some went into her mouth but I also made sure her face and upper body was well covered as well. I grinned as I tucked my cock back into its proper place and thought how she was going to be after a whole morning on this duty.
I stayed and watched for a while. I was finding it more and more difficult to leave Allison each morning. By now I had come to a realisation of what the strange feelings she engendered in me were. It is understandable that it had taken all this time for the concept was alien to me.
Love! It had never touched me in my whole life. I had never had it from parents for I had never known them. The people who staffed the various institutions I lived in and a succession of foster parents had been kind - but they hadn’t loved me. Nor had I ever felt that emotion towards another human being. Adam Harris was my employee and my friend but of course I didn’t love him. And so it took a long time before the weird churning feelings in my gut and in my head made themselves known to me for what they were.
Love.
What a strange word and an even stranger concept. But when I began to realise I didn’t want to leave Allison in the mornings and was always finding excuses to go back to my stateroom to see her all the time, it hit me like a hammer.
I wanted that girl as my lifetime partner!
I wanted her as my wife.
I said nothing of course. Not to her and not to Adam who was the only other person I might have confided in. But after the first emotions of the revelation had settled down I began to wonder what I was going to do about it. What did I want to do about it? What would Allison say if I told her how I felt about her? She would probably reject me out of hand, I thought. I had bought her, enslaved her, degraded her and used her. No way, even though she was required under pain of punishment to be pleasant towards me, would she accept me as a partner-for-life, I knew.
And so I did nothing. I said nothing to her but each night, as I snuggled into her beautiful body and made ardent love to her, my love for her grew. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do about a problem. Always in the past, I had known exactly how to respond to a crisis. Now, I could only stew over it in a ferment of indecision.
But because of those feelings, I now stayed and watched as a succession of men entered the toilet and used my girl as their toilet, spraying her copiously with their water, then winking at me as they tucked their organ away and left the room. Most didn’t bother to flush, the idea of leaving a girl covered from head to toe in their stinking urine being a big part of the pleasure they derived from the scene.
Allison knelt there, looking at me most of the time and in her eyes, even through the degradation she was undergoing, I could see what seemed to be adoration in her eyes. But was it really? I had heard of the effect in certain prisons where torture and degradation were the norm, that a prisoner formed a weird attachment and even a love for his or her principal tormentor. Was that what Allison was now showing or was it a real love for me?
Again I didn’t know and had no means of judging. This whole love thing was so new to me - foreign really, and I had no idea how to make any sane judgement for I had nothing to go on.
I had a chair brought in and sat there, watching her (and sometimes the other girl) as they were subjected to one after another of the men who came in to relieve themselves. The slave deck and particularly the Punishment Room were in constant use by our guests and since we had steward/slavegirls dancing constant attendance on them, plying them with drinks of all kinds at all times, their need to relieve themselves was just as constant. Every few minutes or so, another man would come in, nod to me and perhaps say a few words, and then take out his cock and spray either Allison or Joan, the other girl (a red-head beauty from Ireland), with his water, then turn away, replace his member in his pants and take his leave.
If they didn’t flush the urinal, then I didn’t either. Allison had asked for this and she would suffer it at full value. She knelt there, in acute discomfort now for she had been forced to swallow a good deal of the men’s urine and her position kneeling on the hard stainless steel was not comfortable either. Both girls stank horribly, partly because the urine was now being absorbed into their bodies and exuded from their skins, and partly from it drying on their skin.
I stood it for an hour but then I got up and left. I couldn’t bear to see her in such a position any longer! Indeed, it was all I could do not to order her removed from the urinal and sent to be thoroughly cleaned out. I didn’t, but only because it would be bad for discipline if I had.
That night though, she smelled horrible. She had been carefully washed on the outside but the urine she had been forced to take down inside her was now causing her to stink from the inside as it oozed from her skin.
That wasn’t the trigger that made me change though. It came about from another torture, the last one Allison - or any of the girls on the ship suffered, as it happened.
A favourite punishment was one in which a girl was hung by her neck from a real noose. Her hands were tied behind her back of course and she was made to step up onto a bottle lying on its side on the deck after which the noose was drawn up so that she was in considerable distress. Her master-of-the-moment then armed himself with a cane or switch and proceeded to lash at her buttocks, thighs (back and front) and her belly, including her sex.
She found it more and more difficult to hold her position on the bottle of course and the audience chortled at her antics as she attempted to manipulate it with one foot while the other, temporarily displaced, sought urgently to find it again.
I had refused Allison’s constant requests to try out this punishment. “No, my girl,” I said sternly, “it’s much too dangerous...”
“You let the guests make the other girls submit to it,” she accused.
I grinned. “Yes, but not you. You’re my girl...”
She looked at me strangely for a few seconds. “I am, aren’t I? What are you going to do with me, master? I mean when I no longer appeal to you?”
“You will always appeal to me, Allison. You’re my girl,” I repeated, staring foolishly at her.
“Nevertheless, I feel I should be as subject to the punishments on this ship as they are and I want to feel that rope around my neck while you whip my bottom...”
“Oh all right,” I said.
I nearly lost my Allison over that decision, but then, on the other hand, I also found her - found her as my wife... It happened this way.
We were by now in the Atlantic Ocean, heading east, towards Africa. Allison had been brought down to the PR by Henry who was still, nominally at least, her trainer. I had informed the guests of her coming punishment and the PR was about half full.
Henry placed the noose around her neck and tied her hands behind her back then while I held the bottle at her feet, she stepped up onto it and he drew on the noose until it was snug around her neck and the rope fairly taut. If she stepped off the bottle, she would strangle.
I armed myself with a light switch and approached her. By now, I derived no joy from punishing her. I just wanted to love her to bits - all the time. I lashed at her buttocks but i
t was a mere tap and she turned and looked down at me reproachfully. “Hurt me, master,” she said softly.
I hit her harder and she smiled. That was obviously more to her liking. I hit her a few more times, warming to my task as the stripes formed over her velvet-smooth flesh - flesh that was still quite magnificent for her position as my personal slave didn’t mean she was relieved of the necessity to exercise - and hard, keeping her lovely body in perfect fettle.
Just then, the ship was hit by a giant wave. Not a tidal wave, just a very big one. Normally, the Helot’s stabilisers looked after such an even but they were out of action for the moment - and no-one on the bridge had bothered to inform us. If we had known, there is no way we would have engaged in such a dangerous practice as hanging a girl in this manner.
The wave threw the ship’s bow violently to port and heeled her over on that side causing every one of us on the slave deck to go sliding down the deck towards the port bulkhead. All of us that is except Allison who now hung by her neck, the bottle having rolled away down the deck. I tried desperately to scramble up the sloping deck towards her but it was very difficult, what with bodies strewn all over the place, all struggling to regain their feet.
She very nearly died as her body swung this way and that as the ship slowly righted herself. Henry and I made it to her at the same time and while I grasped her now unconscious body, holding it aloft, he released the rope. I rushed her up to William and he looked concerned for a while as he ran his stethoscope all over her body, but then he smiled.
“She’ll be alright, Brian,” he said at last. “It was close, though.”
I don’t own the Helot any more.
I paid the girls off with substantial grants - or at least I offered to. About half took me up on the offer but the rest, when I explained to them all what Allison and I were going to do, wanted to join us...