Ship of Remorse

by Chris Bellows

  Thus I was positioned beneath one and felt as if I was standing on a stage. The room slowly became silent as more and more of the businessmen looked my way. My breasts were enormous compared to the slight Asian girls. And in my hairless shaven condition with my arms bound behind me and my nipples erect and ready to lactate I’m sure I looked like one large set of mammary glands.

  Since I was given no instructions I did not move. But eventually the men approached. They examined me and were free with their hands. One finally pinched a nipple and when I soaked him with milk there was a rush of Japanese spoken and much laughter.

  One of the naked waitresses appeared with a tray of towels, for every hand that touched me came away with the residue of mineral oil. For several minutes I was the showcase of what I presumed to be cocktail hour. Even the girls were amused.

  Finally Madam Chang entered. I was surprised to see the reverence with which the misogynous Japanese men welcomed her. She was treated like a Queen but I detected some communication difficulties and her greeting to each was brief. Japanese was not her native tongue.

  It became my turn to be greeted. When the emotionless woman approached I felt weak at the knees. Bound and collared, I was hers to do with as she pleased.

  She stood to my side, pinched both nipples and sent to streams of breast milk arching across the room. The voices buzzed with amazement. She spoke softly.

  “It will be an easy night for you. You just lie where I place you and let things happen. I do all the work.”

  She hooked a finger through a ring in my collar, turned and stepped toward a peculiar table with posts at two corners, pointing toward the ceiling and holding aloft a crossbar.

  “Interesting, is it not, how much the Japanese disdain femininity yet respect a woman with a whip? Except for me, every girl here is naked and you should consider yourself fortunate. Your little cohorts have been zipped closed. A few piercings and a locking chain keeps them chaste and eager to serve.”

  So, the glint in the pubes area was not from decorative jewelry. It was no wonder the girls seemed so subservient.

  I soon found myself prostrate on the table with my ankles secured and forcing apart my legs. I thought about my exposure. I know my oiled labia were peaking out below my buttocks and between my thighs. Then I learned of the utility of the stanchion over my head.

  “Nose clamps. The Japanese love them. It will help you show off your breasts for them.”

  Two strange hooks dangled at the end of an elastic cord held by the sturdy

  horizontal bar over my head. The bar was in turn held in place by the vertical posts to the my right and left.

  Madam Chang cruelly inserted a rubber coated hook into each nostril then lifted and tightened the cord forcing up my head and making me bend at the small of my back. My breasts hung freely and a soft feminine hand smoothed over my backside.

  “It so nicely presents the buttocks, don’t you think. Two nicely rounded globes shining in the light and begging for attention.

  “They requested the cane by the way. But not to worry, Ernie will overlook the welts. He even tells me that some peeps like to look at the marks.”

  The night’s entertainment began. Madam Chang proved to be even more relentless than she appeared. My caning was strictly business for her. And the more I howled, screamed and begged, the more enjoyment I seemed to have provided. A semi circle of a half dozen or more Japanese men formed in front of me, some just standing and watching. Others sat in chairs while receiving fellatio from kneeling, naked serving girls.

  Though my arms and legs were immobilized and the nostril hooks made me keep my head very steady, my upper torso was free to spasmodically twist and thrash about as each well-placed stroke of the evil cane caused an insufferable burning sensation. And my oiled skin caused a frighteningly sharp crack, somewhat like the sound of a gunshot. The first blow made the room go silent and during the ordeal I did not hear even the clink of a glass. Only the swish, the crack, and my entreaties for mercy that followed each stroke.

  Sometime at about the fourth or fifth blow, the centrifugal force of my earnest twistings caused my nipples to give up milk. This brought sounds of astonishment followed by laughter as my white essence was strewn about like a prizefighter’s perspiration. This seemed to be the goal of Madam Chang’s fervent efforts... to have my own spasmodic movements force milk from my breasts. I was reminded of Maria during the more exhaustive exercise periods aboard The Scarlet Letter.

  Swish after swish, no one counted the strokes. Therefore I did not know what culminated the session. I doubt if it was compassion. More than likely Madam Chang could not locate unblemished flesh and as an accomplished flagellatrix knew that further caning would cause permanent marks.

  It just ended. And a very obeisant serving girl appeared with a wet towel to sponge away the milk, which I had given up with such anguish. I remained secured to the table. With my head up and face forced forward I had no choice but to watch as two of Madam Chang’s clients were fellated to climax just a few feet before me. The girls were charmingly obedient and took the time to right the recipients clothing and dutifully close all zippers.

  My buttocks felt intensely heated. My nipples continued to drip. Madam Chang noticed and moved to stand in front of me. She pinched my nipples and began to milk me.

  “Think about what you feel between your thighs. Your breasts give away your true feelings.”

  She did not completely drain me and instead left me strapped down for further display. Others approached and tried their hand at extracting milk. As I laid helplessly subjected to such humiliation, I realized Madam was correct. I was aroused.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  As written, I have never become acclimated to moving about naked among the fully clothed serving staff. Now with collar and leash and hands bound, Ms. Powers seems to take great care to select the various hallways where our little parade is certain to be seen. Some of the male servants are returning from an evening at the local restaurant in town. Alcohol has emboldened their normally reserved glances. Two off duty guards stop and stare while Ms. Powers takes particular time to slow our walk and wish them a good evening.

  Though somewhat embarrassed, overall I am happy at the Fatipton Estate. I recall our first meeting and her initial offer of employment.

  It was during my third week of employment at the peep show that I spotted the advertisement. The mounting quarters from my daily pay were not mounting fast enough and I was searching the want ads for other work or perhaps a second job.

  Wet-nurse needed. High pay. Plus room and board. Idyllic country setting. Must be single. Leave a message with Ms. Powers at...

  Well, the words certainly got my attention. But my past experience with unusual advertisements gave me reason for caution.

  Though wary, I called the number and left a message. Perhaps it was a good thing that I openly described my desperate circumstances on the answering tape, for I was called for an interview within two days.

  It took place in the office of a mid town doctor where I changed into a hospital gown and was professionally examined, both me and my breasts. A sample of milk was drawn. I was then directed into an office and introduced to the amazing Ms. Powers. She sat behind a desk in a well-cut business suit. When she stood to shake my hand I looked up into the handsome face of a black woman of six feet. Her firm grip evidenced her strength.

  “Please remove your gown and sit, Alexi.”

  If she was testing my shyness, I passed, tossing aside the gown and sitting before her without a stitch. On the written application, I had given vague answers concerning the exact nature of my current employment. When she spotted my well-used nipples, her questions became very specific and direct. Within minutes she understood I had been working at the peep show.

  “There is not much point in lying or being evasive, Alexi. I worked as an interrogator for the FBI.”

  So I told my story, avoiding details about ‘The Scarlet Letter’ unless she ask
ed. But she seemed more interested in my aptitude and was enthralled by my hairless body.

  After some thirty minutes a nurse entered and handed Ms. Powers a sheet of paper. Ms. Powers nodded and smiled.

  “Well, Alexi. Someone’s been taking good care of you. The consistency of your milk is just what we’re seeking.”

  She made me a very lucrative offer.

  It was then, while I considered, that Ms. Powers described herself, Mr. Fatipton and her responsibilities with the Fatipton Estate.

  The whole setup was more than I could ever imagine. My vast paycheck could essentially be banked. Room and board came with the job.

  “And,” Ms. Powers added, “what little clothing a girl in your position will need will be provided.”

  Interesting to think back concerning that facet. The one thing I had difficulty with was clothing. I had very little that was presentable and that fit. The peep show’s daily bag of coins just didn’t allow for exotic tastes in attire.

  I agreed to the terms. I had one week of free room remaining from Dr. Helga. And I did not want to take the chance of taking time to consider then subsequently learning that the next girl examined could provide better sustenance than me.

  “Fine. I will pick you up tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Check out of the hotel. Be ready with everything you wish to bring. The limousine is large and I think you’ll find that Mr. Fatipton’s mansion can accommodate your possessions. Be ready to lactate.”

  The next morning a stretched Mercedes pulled up with the uniformed driver asking for me. The wizened clerk looked aghast, envious of the wealth evidenced by the size and deep shine on the car but also concerned about my departure.

  Yes, I had over the weeks stooped to request the services of Maurice on several occasions. As written, the brief periods of lactating in the booth were both dissatisfying and harmful for the long term care of my glands. And utilizing the breast pump was depressing. Thus many times I sought refuge by way of Maurice’s aged but experienced fingers, despite the extreme subjugation of kneeling for him... naked and spread.

  It did not take him long to realize his toy would not be returning.

  ‘Better book another cruise,’ I felt like saying. But I remained silent and assured myself that all the hotel charges were in fact covered through Dr. Helga’s floating clinic.

  After loading the car with my worldly goods, I had the ride of my life.

  Not having spent much time outside of the city, I was not familiar with the countryside. Whenever I glanced out the window the road signs indicated ‘north’ and Ms. Powers confirmed that the Fatipton mansion was situated atop an impressive mountain at the base of the Catskills.

  “Seclusion yet with proximity to New York City,” Ms. Powers summed up the advantages of the location.

  She talked more about her role and Mr. Fatipton’s worthless son Randy. She also took me through the hierarchy at the well-staffed mansion.

  “You’re on the bottom. When not tending to Mr. Fatipton you’ll report to me but

  also be respectful to the staff, right down to the boy who walks and feeds the dogs. Understood?”

  I nodded.

  Her unctuous tone of voice was changing as the limousine got further from the city and closer to our destination.

  “You’re to address me as ‘Ms. Powers’ or ‘ma’am’. There is also the matter of the dress code. In view of the nature of your duties I’m not sure you need any.”

  She paused, looking out to see the mileposts whizzing past.

  “And we may as well start now. Put your clothing in that plastic bag.”

  She turned her head back to me with a diabolical smile.

  “As I explained, Alexi. I’ve been trained as an interrogator. Do you really think your need for submission doesn’t stand out and shout at the skilled listener?

  “And car seats are reserved for ranking staff. There’s plenty of room for you here.”

  The rear of the stretched vehicle had some four feet between the two sets of facing seats. She was pointing to the floor in front of her.

  I stripped as I had so often done in the past, placing my garments into the bag. Within a minute I knelt before Ms. Powers completely naked.

  “Lick my boots. I like the idea of having them cleaned my a young white girl. I think that will become one of your duties. And maybe in front of the staff. Yes, that’s how I’ll introduce you to everyone at the mansion. Naked, kneeling and licking my boots.”

  She never did, of course. But I know she noticed the goose bumps caused by the excitement of the very thought. And I believe that was the purpose for her comments.

  I licked. Up and down. Ms. Powers watched with a smug smile then picked up the intercom receiver.

  “Pull over at the next rest stop, Arthur. I have to dispose of some trash.”

  The car slowed. The window opened. Without exiting, Ms. Powers tossed the plastic bag containing my clothing into a garbage bin.

  “Remove the clothing from the trunk, Arthur. Alexi won’t be needing any.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Being walked like a pet causes a strange reaction. Traces of my arousal begin to flow down my inner thighs and as we pass one obnoxious, newly hired guard he sniffs noticeably, making it known that he detects my strong fragrance.

  “Alexi is trying on her new jewelry,” Ms. Powers explains. “Most of it you can’t see. Bend for the gentleman, Alexi.”

  I obey and she looks downward and nods to where part of the second ball peeks out between my reddened, excited lips. The male eyes follow then glance to Ms. Powers with an understanding smile.

  We move onwards.

  “I have to release Randy. Then it will be time for bed.”

  Our journey has taken us far from the servant’s quarters where Randy has been assigned a small room. After encountering more of the staff, including two teenaged girls from the laundry room who titter uncontrollably, we find our way back toward Randy’s fourth floor room.

  Although he is the son of the incredibly wealthy Master of the house, Ms. Powers has assigned him a room the size of a large closet. It symbolizes the power and trust with which Mr. Fatipton has entrusted her and the judicious manner in which she chooses to exercise it. No employee of the Estate questions her authority knowing that she can so treat the Master’s son with impunity.

  She opens his door without knocking and leads me into the darkened room. Slipping my leash onto a hook she turns on a light.

  There hangs Randy comfortably confined in Ms. Powers’ punishment harness. His under-developed body is naked, hands held behind his back, legs drawn up and secured to the belt encircling his waist. He is hooded, covering any looks of anguish. But his small penis is engorged and pointing toward the ceiling. Dangling between his knees are sizable weights, attached to his scrotum by way of clamps.

  “Good evening, Randy. I’m going to let you down, would you like that?”

  He nods as best he can.

  “Yes, I’m going to have you spend the night in the harness. You may get some sleep. Or you may find the floor rather hard. It does not matter.”

  She releases a rope tied to a wall fixture. Her powerful arms slowly lower the smaller male until his knees touch the floor. Ms. Powers towers above the prospective heir. When standing he is more than half a foot shorter than Ms. Powers. And his young life of profligacy has left him with little muscle structure. When the two stand side by side it is a comical juxtaposition... tall, puissant, imposing female versus the short, weak, and stooped male.

  “I see you enjoyed the weights.”

  Ms. Powers is pushing her foot against his erect penis as she speaks.

  “Tomorrow you will tell me what you think about as you helplessly hang in my harness. Yes, you can talk between licks to my boots. I’m sure you’d like to share your fantasies. Thoughts of getting that backside reamed by some big stud? Hm? Or sucking on a nice sized uncircumcised penis?”

  She laughs.

  “Arthur tells me whe
re you like to be driven. Yes, I know about your little trips to New York. I understand you’re quite the hit at the gay clubs. Randy Randy, is that what they call you? Randy Randy with lots of money for sex and drugs.”

  Ms. Powers lifts her foot then steps downward, pressing Randy’s erection into the carpet. She shifts her weight to slowly add pressure. Randy cries out.

  “Yes, you protest. But if I was a big leather clad stud you’d be begging for more. Begging to be allowed to lick his shaft.”

  She lifts her foot and applies a firm kick to Randy’s testicles. He lurches with pain and yelps. When he settles, the toe of Ms. Powers’ booted foot carefully maneuvers the small scrotal sac so that it lies on the carpet. Just as she pressured his erection, she begins to push downward with her toe.

  “Such important organs.. yet so vulnerable. Hard to believe that the future of the Fatipton dynasty is contained herein. Small, pusillanimous, withered from disuse... rather pathetic, Randy.

  “Tomorrow you’ll tell me everything. I’ll know when you’re lying so don’t think about anything but the truth. I’ll want to know names and places Randy, particularly where you get all that white powder you so generously spread around.”

  She kicks again then turns out the light.

  “Have a nice night,” she sarcastically coos as she releases my leash and firmly tugs.

  She leads me out and shuts the door. The small room is windowless and Ms. Powers selected it for Randy after surveying the three dozen or so bedrooms at the mansion. She picked what was originally intended to be a laundry closet.

  I marvel at the power and determination she displays. Her plan had better succeed, I think to myself, for in less than five years, when the estate is passed on, Ms. Powers will face the wrath of a very wealthy and enraged Randy.

  It is late. Ms. Powers knows I need rest in order to properly lactate for Mr. Fatipton. Returning to Ms. Powers’ apartment, she removes the leash and points to her bedroom. I know the position to be assumed, lying on my side to await her.

  I think about tomorrow when one of the many maids will take me to the fourth floor washroom. There she will shower me and shave what little of my hair has escaped the weekly electrolysis appointments. When finished, Ms. Powers will be summoned. She will callously inject me with hormones then inspect the expensive but highly effective iridescent powder. It is tantalizingly smoothed over my pudendum by the maid with a very soft and tickling brush. And I find it ironic that the application of the powder, intended to inhibit my masturbation, arouses me to the point of insatiable need. It is only the thought of Ms. Powers’ discipline that holds back my eager fingers.