by Aran Ashe
'Princess ...' she whispered lazily, 'you must be punished.'
Anya shivered. With her cheek still pressed against the planking, she looked up. Travix held a soft brown pouch. Its long cords dangled down and Travix's thumb was already moving up and down inside the pod to shape it. Looped round Travix's right wrist was a strap.
Running wild, she called it, breathless running, running with her lover through the ship, with the instrument of punishment always available, fastened tightly to her wrist, yet her hands always free to touch her lover's skin, to squeeze her bulbous breasts and milk her full wet pouch and to search into the deep crease of her buttocks. For this tender touching was so necessary to love and the smacking was so integral to pleasure.
Travix therefore smacked her prodigal lover across the deck, she smacked her down the stairs. On the first landing, she held the cord of the pouch and twisted it and smacked her hard again. She smacked her so the tears kept coming, so the cheeks upon that face stayed wet, so the backs of her lover's legs glowed angry red and her buttocks felt hot to the touch. When she drove her down again, the girl collapsed forwards on all fours, head down on the steep stairs, gasping, her breasts swelling down to brush across the step and her bottom high in the air. Travix grasped the waist cord yet again and smacked. 'Open your legs,' she cried and smacked her buttocks, smacked between them, smacked the dark fleeced outer lips of that sweet pouched sex, which forced the encapsulated inner lips to bulge even harder. Then she smacked until the bottom lifted up so far that the girl overbalanced and Travix had to hold those hips to prevent her tumbling down the stairs while she smacked that sex again.
Then having smacked her lover numb between the legs, she ran her on to the crewdeck and there she smacked her breasts; amid the wild activity and the music, a small circle formed and grew as the girl was made to kneel up, push her tongue out and hold her breasts up for this smacking, which soon gave way to touching, warm caresses - the hand of a blue-clad wrist beneath the armpit, feeling the dampness there, then on the breasts themselves, the smoothing of the fingertips over heat of the bulging skin, the gentle nipping of the polished round black bulbils of the nipples and the smacking of the down-swell underneath. Then the breasts were gathered from behind in a forearm and one hand and held up, pressed together and caressed again while the strap smacked down repeatedly between the open legs. And to make that pleasure more delicious, Travix made the girl lift her belly and push it out to greet those very smacks; then she made her kneel up and hold the outer lips apart to expose the pouched lips for the milking. The pouch felt hard and wet, but the wet was thick and the fingers slipped up and down it easily. When the pleasure was on the verge of yielding, Travix dragged the girl up and sat her on the edge of the table and smacked her sex again to take the urgency away.
In a kind of intermission, the girl - the lover, rather - was hung from the hook in the rafters by means of a cuffed short leather shackle which permitted only the very tips of her toes to reach the floor. She could have been smacked immediately, but Travix preferred to look at her - her breasts and buttocks an even red, the skin blood-warmed beneath, the sweet dark curls of her underarms glistening, her hair tangled, her cheeks tearstained, the legs pointed straight to the floor and, pressed between them, the dark brown pouch which sealed only her inner lips, only those lips that lovers love to kiss, held them tight, so tight and swollen that the impress of the gold ring could be seen pushing up and out, driven by the stiff erection of her nubbin. And at this sight, Travix's bosom swelled until she could hardly breathe. If this was not love that she felt for the girl, then she did not know what was.
She looked about her, at the scenes of sweet debauchery - naked girls, girls being shared, bodies being touched and tasted, young heads being cradled in ancient laps, slim legs locked round the back of a chair. Beside her was a girl lying back on a bench, holding her sex lips open to form a trembling cup that reached to kiss a bulbous cockhead spilling milt, whilst across the way a girl was being taken on the table.
Travix liked the crewdeck; she liked to watch these gentle juxtapositions of the flesh. She liked to watch the old men too - craggy, shrunken, salt-dried bodies, withered fingers, dappled with age, exploring the tender rounded warmth of young fresh flawless skin. Watching a young girl deliver her pleasure into an old man's hand was nectar to her mind.
She therefore had her lover spread her legs in the air and smacked her belly and inner thighs, but did not smack her sex lips; these she rubbed, then kissed and licked and gently nipped them with her teeth - then, having had her lover taken down and spread upon the table, she called an old man over. She removed the pouch herself, then watched. It took many sweet minutes, for the lover was reluctant at first to acquiesce. Travix stood, deaf to the music, blind to the other activities all around her, just watching her lover's breathing rising and falling, her body becoming heavy with a deliciousness Travix could almost feel, her thighs lying open, tense at first, innocent and frightened to be thus addressed by the gaunt, withered fingers, then in the end, soft and wide and shameless as the old brown hand, steeped first in olive oil to soften its ancient edge, worked liquid smoothness into that living open sex until the small ringed bud was the only hardness in a delicious pastel pink black-fringed sea and the pleasure came flooding in powerful pulses. But when the eyes were fully opened, that same pleasure was followed by a wave of perfect shame which seemed to suffuse the whole of her neck and face with warmth and could be atoned for only by the refitting of the pouch and a renewal of the smacking until the imprint of the ring could once again be seen quite clearly through the leather skin. Travix then kissed her lover and delivered her up into the sunshine of that bright warm day to be dealt with further by the leather-shirted men, using straps at first and then a rather keener instrument of sexual torture, Travix's 'kitten', which was a thin and very supple greenstick crop.
Anya lay on the deck again, though she could see it not, for the stinging tears which burst again though the punishment had ceased. Between her legs, her sex lips bulged within the narrow confines of the pouch. The backs of her legs burned; her buttocks were striped with overlapping inch-wide weals; the mouth of her bottom throbbed; the creases at the top of her inner thighs were scalded from the whipping with the kitten. Not an inch of skin without the pouch had been spared from these depredations. She had been forced against the mast and bent across the rail. But now at last the men had stood aside. Travix's voice came in her ear:
'My precious ...' Anya shuddered. 'I have to do these things to you. You understand?' Anya did not understand; she did not understand at all. Travix was kneeling beside her now - crouching on the deck, speaking softly, looking into Anya's eyes. The ruffled blue sleeve lay close to Anya's cheek. The slender fingers reached and stroked; though not soft, they felt cool against her hot flushed skin. 'I love you - you understand me?' And at the first three of those words, Anya's eyes widened. The face was very close now. Anya watched the lips moving, not hearing what they said for they were whispering so softly. Her eyes were fixed upon the small swollen distortion beside the line of the sever incised into the upper lip. The fingertips brushed against her neck, then found the heartbeat there. The lips approached, the small contusion went out of focus, then it disappeared, then she felt it touching - smooth coolness against her own rough dry lips, hot from the dried tears, while the fingertips touched her pulse-beat, until Anya took that small contusion voluntarily between her own lips and she sucked it. Her eyes closed and she touched it with the tip of her tongue. The feeling in her belly, still pressed against the deck, was sweet. She wanted Travix to take her in her arms, so the soft loving skin of Anya's breasts could press against the smoothness of that pale blue suit.
But Travix drew away, that she might look upon that face, its freckles ripened by the sun, its lips so warm and sweet and that she might cup her palm against the breast and press it to the woodwork and thereby feel its fullness tighten to her palm. She looked upon that so-delicious red-streaked
bottom and the swollen purple mouth that she had ordered not to be spared the lash and she touched it with the coolly moistened tip of her middle finger. She watched the cheeks try to edge apart in submission, though they were wide already, and deep within her belly, Travix felt true warmth for this girl although she did not fully understand her. When she bent down, she could see the outline of the ring still protruding through the skin of the pouch. She touched the pouch - it was hard and hot; when she squeezed it, it yielded up a silky wet that tasted of ripe buttered honey. 'Turn over,' Travix whispered and the girl obeyed. Travix kissed her. 'I will whip you with the kitten ... Shhhh,' said she when the girl murmured, 'do not open your eyes. Savour it upon the soft skin where this belly meets these thighs.' She opened the thighs, she took the greenstick switch from the man and, holding the pouched lips to the side, she whipped it down - not upon the pouch itself, for that would be quite pointless - but on the living, bare, stretched skin to the side, between the sex lips and the crease. Three times did she whip on one side then, folding the pouch across the other way, twice upon the other. The third stroke was not delivered. In its stead, she wetted her fingertip and painted the wet along the line the crop would have taken, and the belly bucked more strongly than if it had been cut again with the lash. Then she squeezed the pouch again and it extruded honey more freely than before.
Travix appeared above Anya's face. 'I love you,' Travix murmured and Anya felt her belly melting as Travix stroked her brow. Then Travix stood up and instructed the two men: 'Smack the insides of her thighs. Use your bare hands; wet them first. Be gentle with her nipples.'
Travix's love was evil - and she knew it. She loved whipping her girls and tasting their bodies afterwards. She loved pleasure frustrated, innocence besmirched, true hearts helplessly enslaved. She had broken every woman aboard this ship. And now she would break another. This woman now before her should surely hate her - but before this day was out, she would love her more profoundly than she had loved anyone, and Travix would be satisfied. Then she would cast her aside, and Travix's joy would be secure.
But love is not rendered shallow by reason of its evil, nor is it sapped by witnessing a lover used. Travix watched her lover lifted on to the broad surface of the hatch. She stood by the mast, distancing herself, finding such distancing coolly appropriate, while the bucket was raised and brought. She watched the girl's head being cradled in one lap, the thighs being held open at the knees - by the girl's own hands - then the wetting of one man's hands, and she listened to the harsh cracking smacks, which made the water droplets sparkle through the air, and the gasps against the hot shivering sheets of pain. Then she watched the nipples being carefully stroked. And to Travix, it was the contrast in this scene that was so spellbinding - the tenderness in one lap, where the head was cradled, and the cruelty perpetrated so blatantly in the other. The long red hair was smoothed, the tears were collected up on tender fingertips and the breasts and nipples brushed and teased, while other hands lashed down, rewetted and lashed again upon that tender skin until both inner thighs were ruby red and dripping, yet the nipples stood out like velvet-coated beads.
Travix approached and the smacking stopped. Her lover's hands were limp now; they no longer held her knees apart, but her knees lay as widely open as if invisible hands were pressing them to the surface of the hatch. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. A dark stain, like a heart, was in the wood, for the water had run down her thighs and into the hollow between the cheeks. But apart from a few stray droplets, her thighs themselves were dry; the water had now evaporated, driven to flight by the deep red glow of blood beneath the skin. The pouch was wet - dark brown - though the water had not touched it there were two pale untouched bands at the creases, then close beside the pouched lips were the distinctive fine purple welts from the crop, the claw lines from the kitten. Travix lifted the kitten again; her lover gasped, but her belly stayed open. The belly was offered freely to the whipping, delivered so precisely on those parallel claw lines that framed the sex so perfectly to either side of the pouch. The salt-sweet tears of love were silent as they trickled down the freckled cheeks. 'Peg her,' said Travix. 'Make her bottom bum.'
The wicked instrument to which she had referred was fitted towards one side of the hatch. The women were placed against or, more cruelly, upon it, for punishment. It was about a foot long, stout and angled, the end few inches were polished from use, and it had an egg-shaped bulge half way down.
The men hauled Anya to her knees. Then the taller one spoke. Remove your pouch,' he said. 'Pull it down.' Her heart was sinking endlessly, like a heavy slug of salted honey sliding down her throat. He lifted her chin. She saw eyes that were wide and black as wanting. She looked to the other; he was oiling the cruel stick; and her heart continued sinking, down into her belly. And behind the two men, she saw Travix. Anya looked down at her bare belly, at the pouch. It was wet; her sex was wet because Travix had made it so. And Travix had forced her tears; time and again that day, she had done it. With the strap and the greenstick switch, she had squeezed those tears from Anya's eyes and she had squeezed that honeydew from her belly. The ghost of wicked, perverse, honey-sweet pleasure was disinterred. Anya would give her belly freely again, as she had just done, to be smacked or whipped, if only Travix would kiss her and caress her and make her pleasure come. 'The pouch,' said the man again, then he whispered: 'How are we to peg you else?' She could not breathe. She felt as if a cool blue-wristed hand had cupped her sex and squeezed. Her knees turned weaker, turning to jelly. Her hands were shaking as they went to the back; her fingertips could not cope with the knot. Her head lifted up - as a person drowning, yet her lips were not wide open, gulping air, but trembling, as her fingertips trembled too and could not grip.
The slim arms tensed, the breasts, thrown forwards, shook in perfect roundness - overfull, with thick black cherry tips, and hollows in the underarms begging to be licked. The knot came free; her belly bulged; she looked at Travix. Then her fingers clasped round the cord at the front and deliberately pulled it down, straight down, for it would not come away on its own. It peeled from her wetness. The cords and the sticky pouch lay angled across her thigh and knee. She was lifted and the pouch dropped to her ankles. Then, open-kneed, she was pushed forwards against this peg until her sex lips touched the bulge and the rounded tip was level with her navel. Her arms were pinned behind her; her ankles lay tethered by the twisted leather. The men waited. Travix nodded. 'Make it burn; make it kiss; make her know it happens.'
Anya knew that it happened; the men were not put off by sobs or pleas or broad red marks or sweet wet tears. They smacked her bottom with the broad strap, taking turns to make her belly jerk, to make her sex lips kiss against the bulge in the wood. They smacked until her sex lips felt hot and thick and damp to the touch and her nubbin, nipped by the ring, felt fully distended. Then they smacked again until her belly jerks came on so strongly that her swollen sex lips burst about the bulge and suckered to the smoothly polished wood. Then she was lifted, her sex was opened and she was fitted to the wood. She had to bow her belly forwards to accommodate its slope. It slipped up until her sex lips gloved about it to the bulge.
While the men took off their clothes, Travix approached again. She knelt on the hatch in front of Anya, looking at her, then she stood. She forced her lover's knees apart using the toes of her boots, not stopping until Anya cried out with the pain of penetration. Then she walked round her and pulled her hair back sharply. Travix stared down from above. Her lover was softly whimpering, her body strongly curved back, impaled on this wooden peg. Holding the hair quite firmly, Travix now touched the cheeks that had just been smacked. They were hot and the earlier lashes were still visible under the skin. She pinched the newer welts to make them redder, to make the blood flow freely into these rivulets beneath her lover's bottom skin, to keep it slowly burning and constantly on the move. She spread the cheeks; the dark fleshy ring was pushed out and the bridging skin beneath was shiny, distended from the p
eg inside. She touched the fleshy ring, moistened it and slipped her finger in. At the same time, she touched her lover at the front. She could feel the peg pushing out the lower belly, making it hard, and she could rub her finger against it from within. She held that hard round flesh about the sex; her lover moaned. She touched the warm bare sex lips, squeezed the ring. She rubbed gently, smoothed wetness there, teased the ring, wetted the belly with water from the bucket, made her lover move her flesh while Travix held the ring, then when her lover was ready, fully ready - close - Travix rolled her sleeve up, then dipped her hand into the bucket, and the girl was breast-smacked, wet. Then Travix left her to the men and went below to collect the body sling.
When she returned, she found the girl - her lover, that is - on her back. Her head was pillowed on a coat. Her legs were open and in the air. The cock deep in her throat withdrew but her belly began to pulse and writhe as the sides of her mound were sucked and bitten, the mouth of her bottom was licked, then finger-smacked, then penetrated with a cock. Her lips reached towards the cock above her. A hand rubbed between her legs. Her neck began to arch and her mouth opened wide. The man above her placed both hands under her neck and lifted, so her head tilted fully back. When the stem pushed deep this time, it reached to the ballocks and her body was bowed between the cock pushed down her throat and the cock pushed up her bottom. And the hand between her legs kept rubbing. Suddenly she jerked, tried to close her arms around the thighs of the man above her and tried to close her legs above the other's waist. But both cocks withdrew and their milt spilled, full and thick. When Travix massaged it into the breasts and into the thighs, she saw that there were two large violet love bruises, flecked with red, in the sensitive rounded flesh of the mound, close beside each crease. They pleased her. She pressed her thumbs into them till the colour drained, then watched it seep back in. Then she took up the kitten, opened the legs quite fully and whipped the belly and touched the girl - touching and whipping alternately - until the pleasure almost came. Then she fitted the sling.