“Now you know what will happen if you slack off!” Mrs Podlock glared at the panting females who staggered sullenly away from the capstan, leaving the sailors to finish the skilled processes of making fast the anchor and loosing the sails. The she-captain had not finished, however, and as further punishment for the theft and to further daunt the convicts, Harriet was condemned to have her head cropped. Hair long enough to sit upon, in lustrous dark ropes, was soon dropping in coils before a matron’s scissors into a linen bag. “That will fetch a good price from fashionable wigmakers back in London!” Mrs Podlock said with satisfaction. “I will make a profit out of these sluts, no matter how!”
The last of the shore duly receded into the mists. Once truly clear of the land it seemed that it was the custom for the crew to take temporary wives.
“You sluts are being given a chance to volunteer for these respectable positions,” Captain Podlock announced. The women were allowed no such choice in fact, though some were hopeful that by being assigned as a ‘wife’ they would escape the nightly terror of the prison gang and find a more comfortable bed, even with a man in it, to have his food scraps to supplement their ration, even a chance of exercising feminine wiles upon the man they were given to. There were now only a dozen adult sailors in the crew and twelve of the women were simply chosen by the acclamation of the men from the rest as being more bed-worthy, to be shared amongst them by the same means used to allot portions of meat. The bosun stood with his back to the deck while the captain led forward one of the selection, calling out, “Who shall have this fine piece?” The bosun would call out a name and a smirking man came forward to claim his prize.
Harriet was left to last, she supposed because of her cropped and disfigured skull, only to be claimed by Mrs Podlock on behalf of the cabin boy, Benjamin. The men thought this very funny and Harriet dared not protest even when told that she was to share his quarters, though she felt shamed by the prospect of being subordinated to a mere boy, however temporary. After being given a thorough inspection by Mrs Podlock, she was informed that since Benjamin had now been made up to sailor, it would now be her duty to clean and serve the cabin in his place, filling her youthful husband’s needs in her spare time. At least, she reflected, she would be moved out of the clutches of the female gang.
“I’m going to make a respectable woman of you, Harriet!” Benjamin leered, undeterred by the scoffing of his elders. Conducted below, she found the berth they were to share lay close to the saloon and the Captain’s cabin, but was a mere cubbyhole with room only for a very small cot. To Harriet’s dismay she found she was to be further humiliated in this unwilling first marital encounter, for they were followed by the other ship’s boys too young to qualify, envious or admiring, before whom Benjamin swaggered proudly, fully determined to set about celebrating his official promotion to manhood.
“Now let’s see what you can do as a wife!” For lack of space in his cubbyhole, he began clumsily to undress her out in the alleyway before the audience. Seeing the figure of Mr Bones, the mate, peering down the hatch, Harriet looked to him in appeal but the officer merely waved his pipe.
“Now then! If the lad is to do a man’s work, he is due a man’s reward! If you refuse your wifely duty to your husband, he should give you a thrashing!”
“You don’t want to feel the weight of my belt, do you, Harriet?” Benjamin sniggered. Husband struck Harriet as an utterly demeaning relationship in which to regard a boy younger than herself, but since the alternative was a thrashing and a probable return to the tender mercies of Big Aggie’s gang, she was evidently without a choice.
“Let’s see how you go at it!” In the background various boyish voices encouraged or taunted. “You never dipped your wick before! How do you know what to do?”
Benjamin abandoned the attempt to undo his reluctant partner’s recalcitrant laces and, pushing her over to the bunk, shoved Harriet forward so that she was bent right over with her bottom thrust up at him. He threw her skirts up over her back instead and slapped her exposed bottom smartly when she made as if to rise from this position. Harriet groaned, remembering what Mr Bones had said about a husband’s right to discipline his wife. Benjamin, meanwhile, was instructing his juniors.
“You’ve got to get her ready first,” he said. “There, see? You stroke the lips like, up and down to get her hot.” The boy’s fingertip, though roughened, sent trickles of sensation through Harriet’s belly and thighs, so that she couldn’t repress a wriggle. “Then you have to tickle her little love bud. See that teeny thing?” Unable to close her thighs with Benjamin’s shoulders thrust between them, tears of humiliation trickled down Harriet’s cheeks as she felt the boy’s finger sliding up and down between her sex lips, touching and trembling upon the sensitive button of flesh at the very top, youthful voices commenting upon her exposure.
“Look how her bum wobbles!” “She’s really hairy down there!” “Let’s see it then!”
Harriet squeaked nervously beneath her bundled-up skirts as the finger tentatively probed between the soft crinkles of flesh. “Her hole is in there. That’s where your cock goes, see?” Benjamin’s clumsy fingers splayed the loose lips and she felt her inner channel exposed to view.
“You have to make her wet,” a voice advised importantly.
“She’ll soon be wet enough.” Hesitantly at first but then more boldly, conscious of the admiration of his audience, he ducked his head and flicked out his tongue, teasing the moist pink crinkle. Harriet squeaked and the tongue dived in between the lips with increased confidence. Benjamin was growing in excitement as his agile tongue roved up and down, easily recognising the sensitive places by her brief squeaks and squirms, concentrating upon them with long circular licks. The twin rounds of her bottom began to bob up and down as if to escape, but Benjamin’s work-hardened hands captured her, manfully holding her down by the hips. “Are you getting excited by that, wife?”
She heaved herself up onto her elbows, but the only way her body could go was backwards onto the exploring probe, so she was forced to remain where she was with no way to resist.
“Y-yes...” she faltered uncertainly.
“Yes, husband!” Benjamin said sternly.
“Yes, husband...”she groaned. Where had the boy picked up this skill, from playing games with some harbour whore? Below her, both breasts had popped into view bulging from amid the sagging folds of her gown and from being squashed into long ovals beneath her ribcage had been elongated into full ripe roundness, the nipples seeming to stand proud brushed the rough blanket with astonishing effect.
“Let me do her tits!” a boy begged and another squeezed in on the other side, reaching out so that from opposite directions, grimy hands slid beneath Harriet’s breasts before she could restore them to safety, inexpertly palming and squeezing the soft globes. Harriet would have begun a complaint, but more primitive instincts had seized upon Benjamin.
“Get out of the way!” He bobbed upwards from between her thighs and shouldered the would-be helpers brutally backwards. “I’m going to do it now!” he announced. “She’s really wet and juicy in there!”
“Ahhh...” Harriet bit down upon the cry she began when she found the stimulation of her sex suddenly cease, but then could not repress a little whimper of assent when the tongue was replaced by the immediate, unmistakeable pressure of the boy’s cock knob poised just within her wetly receptive lips as if in want of such a signal. He was only pausing to adjust his stance, shuffling with his trousers around his ankles and, almost before the sound left her, he began to thrust with his hips, back and forth, driving with every stroke deeper and deeper into Harriet’s moist inner tightness. Sweat trickled from Benjamin’s brow and little yelps of excitement escaped him. He cast his eyes down in front of him from time to time, watching with fascination as his lust-lengthened red shaft pistoned wetly, in and out of Harriet’s pink-lipped slit, the soft fleshy folds se
eming to pulse back and forth around his sliding stem. The wooden bunk creaked and groaned. The rich smell of youthful arousal filled the narrow space. Benjamin’s groin came up with a regular wet smack against Harriet’s plump bulge, their pubic hairs momentarily intermingling, the impact throwing her clothing further up her back and burying in her own skirts.
“Like sliding your cock through a hot meat pudding!” he yelped excitedly. In the background necks craned and eyes goggled, amid sounds of rustling and gasping. The presence of an excited audience seemed only to incite Benjamin to greater efforts as if he was intent upon reaching to the innermost recesses of Harriet’s belly. Their arousal even affected Harriet herself who found it both alarming and disturbing to be the focus of such attention. Though he might not as big as the black cook, she found that Benjamin’s unfaltering youthful vigour made up much of the difference. How could she remain indifferent to it, she thought in desperation? If she had no choice over what was done to her, surely she must be free of blame? She thus entirely failed to maintain her reserve and, encouraged by the spasms that her tightly clasping vagina made around his surging cock, Benjamin, either from juvenile inexperience or simple assurance that he had plenty more to come, began pumping with frantic energy. She cried out, desperately wanting him to slow down, uncaring what the hearers thought, but he went into her at high speed, shortly burying his stabbing manhood deep within her and erupting with a huge groan of elation and satisfaction. For only the third time in her life, Harriet felt a male cock spurt inside her.
“I fucked you like a proper husband, didn’t I!” Benjamin boasted, while Harriet squirmed unhappily, feeling the need for something more but telling herself that she should be properly grateful not to have got it.
Angry shouts from above dispersed the red-faced, squabbling boys. The mate leaned in at the door in their place, finding Harriet bent over the bunk, still panting hard, with her hair coming down over her face. Bones brushed it back to examine her expression.
“For a governess you seem to know your business as a whore, eh?” He started to play with her exposed and flopping breasts, cupping them in big warm horny hands, flicking the stiffened nipples. Red in the face, Harriet only provided confused jerky answers. “Oh sir! It’s not... Ah-uhhh... I mean... Ah-uhhh... I don’t...! ” she groaned.
“You can take a lot more than the boy can give!” the mate assured her, his fingers teasing her mercilessly. Benjamin had slid from between her thighs and gone too, but with a groan of dismay she felt Bones take his place at once, unopposed by her official possessor. The officer played Harriet wickedly, stroking her flanks and breasts, letting her feel his much bigger cock head just nudging her pubis from behind however she wriggled and manoeuvred. She was sure the boy had left her oozing wetly, certainly she now throbbed with unwanted arousal, her opening agape between her legs as if now inviting a second fulfilling thrust. At last, she gave way helplessly, almost shrieking as he drove in where he desired with a grunt of satisfaction. He was not only her young husband’s superior in rank, but in size and length, skill and control.
“No... No...” She collected her wits too late as she sank down from the heights of her orgasm. Bones grunting his indifference to that drove on mercilessly and then, at the last possible moment, jerked out, spurting instead over her backward waving fingers.
Harriet, on hands and knees, crawled slowly across the floor of the cabin, scrubbing the bare planking, performing the chores Benjamin had relinquished in a state of some trepidation. She felt self-conscious in her present garb about the inescapable way her bottom wagged as she moved. Benjamin had come off watch and tossed her a bundle of clothing.
“Put these on, girl, Mrs P’s orders, see!” It had dawned upon Harriet that being chosen last of the ‘wives’ had been fixed in advance. Mrs Podlock having announced that she must have a girl to attend her, her husband had arranged for her to acquire Harriet to do the services of a ‘cabin boy’. Harriet had unwrapped a shirt and breeches from the bundle, clearly Benjamin’s going-ashore best. It seemed as well to do as he said; two of the ‘wives’ had already been given a hiding for trying to be cheeky to their husbands. She had slipped the breeches on under her petticoats, finding them very tight about the seat and hips, while Benjamin undid her stays, intricate lacing no problem to a sailor, then she quickly stripped off her prison gown to replace it with the shirt, fortunately looser than the breeches.
“I must look like a boy!” she had ventured; her hair was now only a short fuzz. Benjamin‘s work-hardened hand squeezed her bottom hard. “Nothin’ like!” he sniggered. “Not that old Podlock would care, he’d fuck anything that was warm and had a hole in it!”
The rearmost compartment was lit by a long range of squat windows with small square panes and a long, leather-cushioned seat beneath. The most obvious furnishing was a massive 4-poster double bed handsomely furnished that occupied a good deal of the space. The captain entered and seated himself in a stout armchair set at an angle before a folding desk littered with papers and rolled charts. Beyond a canvas screen Harriet could partly see a claw-footed bathtub and washstand, but there was no immediate sign of Mrs Podlock.
For a few minutes, feeling nervously exposed without her skirts, her legs feeling naked and her tautly sheathed bottom she was sure, looking quite enormous, Harriet scrubbed on, conscious of the captain watching her every move.
“Boy!” then more sharply. “You, boy!” It was she who was being addressed.
“Y-yes, sir?” Harriet bleated. Surely he knew that she was not a boy?
“You wouldn’t want to be bent over a gun and have the bosun take the skin off that fat bottom, eh?”
“N-no sir,” Harriet squeaked.
“Good, then get your breeches down quick and bend it over that desk.” Harriet looked desperately for signs of his wife arriving to save her.
“Come, come!” he said hoarsely. “You did it for the black cook and you’re going to have to do it for the boy every night, aren’t you?”
“Yes but...”
“I can have you flogged, you know!” He reached out and drew her to his side.
“Yes sir, but...” Memories of her birching made submission easier. Humped over the desk with her bottom out-thrust, Harriet had awful premonitions of what more drastic punishment she might incur if she rebelled, her imagination running through the thwack of a knotted length of hard salty rope-end across her quivering bottom, the sharp repeated bite of the matron’s rattan cane, or the whistle and meaty smack of the captain’s stiff leather belt. She was going to be sodomised, just as she had heard men did to boys who of course only had the one opening. She jerked her bottom upward almost instinctively, thinking to make it clear that she had another available and then ducked her head, hot-cheeked, and stayed where she was, ashamed of so whore-like a gesture. She thought of screaming dissent, but a vision of being made to scream much harder under the cat o’nine tails stifled that idea.
His large hands had closed upon her hips when Mrs Podlock’s crisp voice was heard above addressing the mate. The Captain flung himself back, hastily stuffing his shirt in and doing up his breeches. “If you say anything about this, my wife will certainly have you flogged!” he hissed, as feet sounded on the stairs. “I must see if they have set the foresail properly, my dear!” He lurched hastily through the door and past his wife, whose aquiline nostrils briefly twitched. She turned her attention at once upon Harriet had been less successful with the unfamiliar fastenings of her boyish attire.
“You have been playing games with my husband, you little bitch!”
“No ma’am! No ma’am!” Harriet dithered, fearful of enraging both parties by telling the truth, but finding lies no safer.
“ I know what you filthy whores are like! You have been waggling your tight little bottom at the Captain! Even when I dress you like a boy, you try to insinuate yourself between man and wife! I shall deal w
ith you like a nasty little boy! Get over my lap!”
“But ma’am... please... ma’am...” Seizing Harriet abruptly by the neck of her shirt, Mrs Podlock flung herself into the chair and in turn hurled Harriet forward into the posture required, face down over her lap. The Captain’s wife seemed to possess a man’s strength and Harriet had barely time to gasp before the unfastened breeches were down about her knees. Discovering then that their unaccustomed presence below her knees hampered her instinctive desire to kick, Harriet made one last nervous attempt at resolving matters. “But ma’am!” she wailed. “I’m not...Owww!” she was silenced by a hard hand smacking her bottom with heedless vigour. “Owww!” Smack! “Ohhh!” Smack!
Harriet shut her eyes, feeling that this humiliating position did indeed reduce her to the level of a naughty child, but perhaps this was better than the cat o’nine tails. The smacks were quite gentle at first, though stinging and tingling, making the plump rounds under attack, shudder and wobble, warming quickly under the multiplying progression. One of the female thighs beneath her thumped upward, shunting Harriet forwards and head downwards, the shirt sliding over her back towards her shoulders. Confining her cabin-boy-substitute tightly under one firm arm, the Captain’s wife then set to work in earnest with the other, delivering rapid spanks at full swing to the unprotected curves of a very un-boyish bottom. In no time at all Harriet was reinforcing the childish effect herself by wriggling and squealing without reserve, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. As the smacks multiplied and redoubled, Mrs Podlock began breathing hard but her arm continued up and down like a metronome. Harriet’s bottom felt more and more like one round swell of throbbing flame,and her legs in kicking wildly worked the boy’s breeches down about her ankles and then off.
Harriet Page 4