Enslaved on an Alien World Ch 02
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Forty eight hours later, dressed in a cool linen suit, Quentin Osman was strolling along the deck of the ‘Paradise’, heading towards the stern where a helicopter stood poised on its platform. Behind him came Julia, carrying a pair of suitcases.
Her lovely face had a drawn, almost gaunt, look about it and her lustrous eyes were brimming with tears. The strains of the last few days were beginning to tell.. and now a moment of crisis was approaching.
The departure of her Master.
Would he, or wouldn’t he, take her with him?
Certainly Quentin Osman had given no sign of having come to a decision. He had simply gone on treating his new slave as he had done on the first day of his arrival. That is to say, heaping one humiliation after another upon her and accepting her grovelling submission and absolute obedience as something now perfectly natural. In addition, to his immense satisfaction, Quentin had succeeded in his policy of ‘rejection’.
In this connection Melissa had helped considerably. And so had the curvaceous young Danish girl, Birgit. On several occasions Quentin had sent for the girls, either singly or as a pair, and enjoyed them as the mood took him. On each occasion, Julia had been a silent, enforced spectator of his
uninhibited lust.
As a variant, Quentin had twice more asked Ahmed and Jason to come to his cabin... and handed Julia over to them. The first time, the negroes took her in turn and upon enquiry, they informed Quentin that Julia was now ‘co-operating’ better.
But then, Quentin had but to use his own eyes to see that this was so. On the second occasion that the two black giants were called in, Quentin had Julia perform fellatio on Jason whilst Ahmed took her from the rear. He was gratified to observe that both men reached a climax at virtually the same moment.
It was Gunnar Svenson who announced he would have to cut his stay a little short, as urgent business matters had come up. Quentin decided to leave on the same helicopter, for there would not be another one arriving for several days. He was already well-satisfied - if not to say slaked - after his stay as Madame Vesta’s guests. For all those marvellous pills she gave him, a man of his age could take only so much dining, wining and womanising at a time.
And there would always be another time.
Besides, there was Glenda Heine, his fiancee, to be consulted about Julia’s future.
Gunnar Svenson was already standing by the helicopter, talking to Madame Vesta.
“Just leave all the arrangements to me,” Quentin heard her say. “I should reckon your wife will
be safe and sound on this vessel within a month.”
Another satisfied customer in the making, thought Quentin.
“Put my bags on the helicopter, Julia,” he ordered.
“Yes, Master...”
He watched with pleasurable amusement as the naked figure struggled up the small ladder with the two bags. What a most delightful backside the woman had! And... perhaps even more delightful... there were still times when he found it difficult to believe that this was the same arrogant woman he had once known.
Oh God, Julia was praying, please make him take me off this terrible, terrible ship...
Please... oh... please...
Anything would be better...
Anything must be better...
Surely!
As she stooped to put the bags in a luggage compartment, Julia felt a hand clasp the golden chain about her waist.
“Hallo, beautiful,” came a leering male voice, “I see they’ve changed you from silver to gold...”
Julia gasped with shock, turned, and saw the pilot’s grinning face close to hers.
“So we’ll be able to have some real fun and games next time I stay aboard,” he continued.
“Y-Yes... S-Sir...” Julia croaked. And her tears brimmed over and began to run down here cheeks. Yes... now that she wore the gold chain, anyone could have her. And that included crew. It was one of the perks of all these trusted members of Madame Vesta’s team, that they could spend three days in any month enjoying themselves with the girls on the ‘Paradise’.
It was an incentive that not only made them keep their lips tight shut about operation but also made them exceedingly loyal.
The pilot patted Julia’s bare bottom.
“I look forward to that,” he said.
Julia, blind with tears, stumbled back down the small ladder. As it happened, that brief encounter, and all it implied, was the final straw. Despite all the training, reason left Julia. Nor surprisingly, perhaps. At all events, she lost control.
Suddenly the naked figure was sprawling at Quentin’s feet clasping his ankles, sobbing and wailing hysterically.
“MASTER... OOOOOOHHHH... M-MASTER... T-TAKE ME WITH YOU... OH FOR GOD’S SAKE... TAKE ME WITH YOU... YOUR SLAVE BEGS YOU... YOUR SLAVE... BESEECHES... YOU!”
Interrupted in his farewell thanks to his hostess, Quentin looked down. For him, it was a most superb moment and he simply couldn’t keep the smug smirk off his face.
He looked at Madame Vesta, whose face was granite hard, and shrugged his shoulders.
“The girl seems to have become quite devoted to me,” he said.
“MASTER... MASTER... I’LL DO A-ANYTHING... TAKE ME... OH FOR P-PITY’S SAKE TAKE ME!”
“Unforgivable behaviour,” said Madame Vesta.
“Well... yes...”
“MASTER... MASTER...” Julia was clasping Quentin’s ankles in almost vice-like fashion, as if to indicate he and she could never be separated.
“She will, of course, go on Report,” said Madame Vesta with steel in her voice.
“Yes...” mused Quentin. “I think a really sound thrashing might meet the case...”
Something of the enormity of what she had done just was beginning to get through to Julia. Also, so were some of the words passing between her owner and Madame Vesta. Suddenly her mind was ablaze. I must be mad, it screamed” To do what I have done, in front of her! Quite mad!
“MERCEEE... EEEEEEEEE!” screamed Julia, her lungs at bursting point.
“At that moment,” said Madame Vesta, “I have in mind a severe birching.”
“Whatever you say,” replied Quentin easily. He looked down at Julia’s juddering white bottom and wondered what state it would be in that evening. By which time, he would be safely aboard a Jetliner on his way back to the States.
“I’ll just leave the matter to you...”
“MERCEEEEE... EEEEEEEEE!”
“Thank you, Quentin. Any idea of when you will be returning?”
“Not too long... and I’ll be bringing my fiancee with me, as I have said. In fact, she’ll be my wife by then.”
“MERCEEEEE... EEEEEEEEEE!”
“Have a nice honeymoon...”
“Part of it will be spent here, I reckon.” Quentin turned and took Gunnar Svenson by the arm. “All set?” he enquired.
“Ready to go,” said the Swede. He was obviously quite fascinated by the scene being enacted.
“MERCEEEE... .EEEEEEEE!”
Julia’s voice was cracking. Callously, Quentin kicked himself free from her weakening clasp and moved towards the helicopter. Then he turned back.
“Oh, Madame Vesta,” he said, “I think, in addition to the birching, I would like to have Julia scrubbing these decks every morning for a week.”
“A very good idea, Quentin...”
“And I think you might also put her on the treadmill. Once a week, for an hour, will do...
“Certainly, Quentin. And, if you have any further instructions, just cable me.”
“Will do...”
Quentin was mounting the ladder to the helicopter, behind Svenson, waving farewell. Horrible, a****l-like retching sounds were coming from Julia, but they were lost as the plane’s engine burst into life and its blades began to whirr.
Faster and faster they went, until the sound became a roar, and the down-draught from them swirled wildly over the platform. Then the helicopter lifted off and soared easily away into the pale blue sky.
Julia did not see it go.
Only heard and felt it.
But Quentin, from on high, looked down for as long as possible at the small white figure he could see still sprawled on the deck. Smaller and smaller it became. It was incredible, he thought, that so tiny a thing, could contain so much torment.
Soon the figure was no longer separately discernible... and the ‘Paradise’ became a toy boat on a silver sea.
Back on deck, Madame Vesta was giving orders for Julia to be taken below and chained in her cell. She would have most of the day to contemplate what lay in store for her that evening.
* * * * * *
“Marisa on Report!”
It was Miss Judith’s voice which echoed through the dreaded Punishment Room... and it was the young girl who faced the dais upon which Madame Vesta sat, flanked by her two negro assistants, Ahmed and Jason. Marisa was weeping profusely and trembling like an aspen tree in the wind.
By contrast, the only other occupant of that room stood stock still and silent. This was Julia. Ever since the morning she had been in a kind of trance, shocked into mute numbness, it seemed. Now, not even the barest flicker of hope remained within her. Once, she had imagined, she had plumbed the depths; now, it seemed, there were still yet further depths to descend.
To contemplate that was more than her mind and her emotions could cope with.
However, it was not she with whom Madame Vesta was immediately concerned.
“Facts, Miss Judith,” she said with her usual icy severity. “A report from Mr Svenson, Ma’am,” replied Miss Judith readily. “When he made some attempt to fondle Marisa she tried to evade him and gave vent to what he describes as ‘hysterical protestations’.”
Madame Vesta frowned. Her black, basilisk eyes took in the weeping figure, which looked as if it might crumple to the floor at any moment.
“Reprehensible behaviour,” she said. More to herself than anyone else, it appeared. “Are you not aware, slave,” she continued, addressing Marisa directly, “that it is your duty to accept - and accept gracefully and willingly - the attentions and fondlings of any of my guests? That you do not attempt
to avoid them? That you do not recoil? That, in fact, you proffer yourself to them?”
“I.. mmff.. I.. couldn’t h-help it, Madame.. I.. I’m just not used to it.. oh p-please M-Madame.. you must under.. understand...” sobbed Marisa.
“I do understand,” said Madame Vesta icily. “You found these attentions not to your liking - and you strove to avoid the. Quite contrary to orders you have received. In other words, you were disobedient. This I will not tolerate.”
Madame Vesta paused; the girl swayed and moaned. “I will make some allowance for your youth and the fact that you have been here a fairly short while,” resumed the black-clad figure.
“On this occasion, you will receive ten strokes of the medium birch...”
“Oh God.. NO... NO... not the birch!”
“...but Marisa,” continued Madame Vesta, quite unmoved, “I shall not be so lenient if this sort of behaviour recurs.
If it does, next time you will receive twenty strokes.
Understand that quite clearly, here and now!”
Whether or not Marisa fully understood it, was not apparent. She was more concerned with the present.
“Mercy... mercy... M-Madame...” she cried as she fell to her knees. “I couldn’t help it... I c-couldn’t...”
“Ahmed... put her into the Whipping Pillory... Jason, fetch a medium birch. Miss Judith will administer the punishment...”
Relentlessly the punishment ‘machine’ rolled into action.
There was no resisting it. Once Madame Vesta had made her pronouncement, it was carried out. No matter what. Only Death could have intervened. And he was not going to!
Shrieking with terror, Marisa was secured into the Whipping Pillory - neck and wrist clamped, her tightly-rounded hindquarters curving over a bar.
“NO.. NO.. P-PLEEEE.. EASE... NO... OOOOOO!”
Julia still stood silent to one side. Very soon, she thought, I will be where Marisa is. But to receive something far worse. Perhaps, she thought, this time I actually will die, rather than think I am going to if I receive just one more stroke. It would be a blessed relief. Yet, even as she thought it, Julia remained in the same trance-like state. It was almost as if she were
outside herself. A stranger looking impassively as Miss Judith measured Marisa’s clenching nates with the medium birch. She knew the instrument well enough. It consisted of ten green birch-slivers, each two feet six inches long... each sliver a whiplashing, biting-burning agony.
“Begin...!” ordered Madame Vesta complacently.
Miss Judith, tall and powerful, birched the shrieking girl with cruel efficiency. Also with obvious enjoyment. She flayed the writhing bottom with strokes which slashed down at two or three second intervals. Fast and savage punishment which drove Marisa into a paroxysm of screaming torment.
It was all over in little more than half a minute, but what the young and tender Marisa had endured during that time would always be etched on her memory. One always remembers
most vividly the first time one is birched.
“Leave her where she is,” ordered Madame Vesta. “It will do her no harm to stay there a while and reflect on the error of her ways. Just move the Pillory aside, please Jason.”
The negro shifted the heavy wooden contraption still containing its weeping contents.
“Julia on Report,” announced Miss Judith.
Automatically, Julia stepped before the dais upon which Madame Vesta sat... as immovable as stone, as relentless as doom. Yes, thought Julia, I am sure that this time God will be good and let me die. She felt a strange calmness. Normally in the Punishment Room she was a quaking jelly of terror, and had sometimes had to be forcibly held by one of the overseers.
“I know of this case, of course, Miss Judith...”
“Yes... Ma’am.”
Madame Vesta regarded the naked woman before her stonily.
She felt no pity; nor did she feel a great deal of pleasure either. This was her profession. She carried it out as efficiently as possible in order to achieve the objectives originally laid down. And they were the transformation of Julia from her peaks of pride, will and stubbornness to the lowest depths of utter submission and complete obedience.
Madame Vesta was not quite sure whether those very lowest depths had yet been plumbed.
“It was my original intention to have you birched, Julia,” she said with solemn severity. rather like a judge; as if there were right and justice in what she was doing. “Severely birched, I may say. Because I consider your uncontrolled behaviour on the deck this morning quite outrageous. Quite unforgivable after all your training. It reflects on me... and I scarcely know what your Master thought.”
Julia gazed silently ahead, seeing her tormentor and the black, muscled giants with folded arms behind her. The words were getting to her but, somehow, not getting through to her.
It was as if her brain had become numbed with shock.
“However, Julia,” continued Madame Vesta, “I have decided to have you put on the Ring... and there I shall deal with you personally.”
“Ooohh... no... oooo...” It was more like a groan which came form Julia and she shuddered convulsively. The first sound she had made. In the background, Marisa could be heard as she continued to weep.
The Ring, it should be said, was a contrivance on which particularly stubborn or arrogant slave-girls were put in their very early days of training. Julia had been on it.
It was a raised ring of iron in the centre of which was a low iron pillory. This inner pillory could turn through 360 degrees and, first, the victims neck and wrists were clamped into it. Perforce, her hindquarters were uplifted and d****d over the iron ring... around which it was possible for her body to move, in view of the circular mobility of the pillory.
When the Ring was put to use, it was about the only time Madame Vesta punished personally... and she used a particularly vicious instrument. It was a four-foot length of tapering whalebone which had been tightly bound with plaited rhino-hide. The last six inches or so of this deadly instrument (actually a cross between a whip and a rod) were studded with diamond-hard zircons.
“Put her on,” ordered Madame Vesta. She had expected that Julia would be pleading hysterically and resisting by now.
However, neither of these things were happening. She watched with some amazement as the girl walked in a zombie-like way towards the Ring... and then placed herself over it. Admittedly she was shuddering uncontrollably, but that was very understandable. If Ahmed was surprised he didn’t show it but simply raised the top section of the iron pillory and locked in Julia’s neck and wrists.
I am going to die... I am going to die... Julia kept repeating to herself. It doesn’t matter. It will be a
blessed relief. I just hope it doesn’t take too long. Soon it will be over. Everything...
Madame Vesta picked up the vicious hide-plaited whalebone rod. It swayed flexibly up and down in her grip. She felt a sudden twinge of sadistic pleasure as she gazed at Julia’s luscious white bottom. The bottom she was going to lacerate without mercy.
The rod went up and came whistling down and bit deep into the soft buttock flesh, the zircons biting into the flank.
As the long red-purple weal blazed its way across Julia’s convulsing buttocks, the first terrible howling-shriek of agony echoed around and around the Punishment Room.
* * * * * *
Julia did not die.
As she had prayed and hoped.
On the other hand, she fainted three times (only to be revived) during her fearful flogging. As her lovely body twisted and threshed over the Ring... and twirled round and round it in a vain attempt to escape the deadly strokes...
Madame Vesta laid on without mercy, whiplashing again and again across buttocks, or the backs or fronts of thighs.
Whichever happened to be most conveniently presented. She had but to step this way or that to find a target. Or wait for Julia’s threshing hindquarter to come full circle!
Soon the white flesh virtually disappeared...
Weal overlaid weal...
Soon Julia’s vocal chords cracked under the strain... and, though she shrieked in agony, no shrieking sound came.
Only a hoarse, rattling noise from the back of her throat.
* * * * * *
The fourth time Julia fainted, Madame Vesta tossed away the rod. She knew it was pointless to continue. The ultimate limit had been reached.
“Take her for Treatment,” she ordered. “Keep her there for the maximum.”
The maximum was three days and, despite the miracles which could be worked in the Recovery Room, Julia was going to need every one of them before her poor lacerated flesh was restored
to its pristine beauty.
Julia had been scrubbing for an hour and her back was a mass of aches. The sun beat down and the deck shimmered beneath her.
He ordered me this, she kept thinking. He... him... THAT MONSTER!
Perhaps it was the heat of the sun affecting her, but Julia found herself seeing Quentin’s face grinning up out of the deck beneath. Sobbing, she would beat at it with the back of the brush.
THWACCCKKK!
The thong of leather blazed across her bottom.
“What do you think you’re doing, you stupid bitch?”
THWWAACCCKKKK!
“Yyaiieeeee!”
“You scrub it... not hit it!”
TTHHWWAAACCCKKKKK!
“Aaaghh... aaiiieee!”
“Get on with it... come on, put your back into it...”
“Yes... Yes... Miss...”
Julia scrubbed and scrubbed, regardless of her aches and her exhaustion.
She had to!
For Miss Judith stood there, with the thong ever ready.
And this was but the first of seven long mornings that she would sweat her guts out... because her Master had ordered it!
* * * * * *
The treadmill turned with agonising slowness.
Julia’s thighs and limbs seemed filled with lead. She had lost all account of time; and almost of place. She just lifted one leg up after the other and pressed it down, straining with effort. Perhaps I have died she thought at one point... and this is Hell.
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Click...
Another turn completed.
How many more turns to go? How much time to make them in?
So drenched with sweat was Julia’s hair and brow that she could not even see the dials. What did it matter? She was sure she could not make it...
Click...
Soon Miss Judith would be back. Yes, soon now. With that blazing thong of leather. Yes, soon now, Miss Judith would be reaching up to take the rod down from the wall.
Julia sobbed and panted breathlessly with self pity... and her never-ceasing efforts.
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Are my limbs still moving?
Click...
Yes, they must be. So keep them moving...
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Click...
It was my Master who ordered me to be put on this treadmill!
Julia was almost past caring when she heard the door behind her opening. Soon... soon... she would be able to stop.
“This is the treadmill, Mr D’Arcy,” she heard Miss Judith saying. “We usually put a girl on it for an hour at a time.
She has to do 120 turns in that period... and it takes effort believe me.”
“I can see that,” said a male voice. “My God, this one looks pretty done in.”
“Yes... she does, doesn’t she,” replied Miss Judith.
Then a low whistling sound came from her. “Not surprising,” she said. “This girl has done 12 more turns than her allotted stint. That’s very odd. And most unusual, I can assure you, Mr D’Arcy.”
“Yes, that does seem strange. Perhaps she’s stronger and fitter than some.”
“She should be,” said Miss Judith smiling thinly.
“Actually, I think the girl’s idea was to try and curry favour with me...”
“Nice shape,” commented Mr D’Arcy.
“I’ll have her sent along to you, if you like, Mr D’Arcy.
When she’s recovered, of course.”
“Not a bad idea that...”
“Julia,” said Miss Judith with sudden sharpness. “You can stop turning the treadmill now!”
Julia finally stopped. And hung by her wrist manacles in a dead faint.
Her lovely face had a drawn, almost gaunt, look about it and her lustrous eyes were brimming with tears. The strains of the last few days were beginning to tell.. and now a moment of crisis was approaching.
The departure of her Master.
Would he, or wouldn’t he, take her with him?
Certainly Quentin Osman had given no sign of having come to a decision. He had simply gone on treating his new slave as he had done on the first day of his arrival. That is to say, heaping one humiliation after another upon her and accepting her grovelling submission and absolute obedience as something now perfectly natural. In addition, to his immense satisfaction, Quentin had succeeded in his policy of ‘rejection’.
In this connection Melissa had helped considerably. And so had the curvaceous young Danish girl, Birgit. On several occasions Quentin had sent for the girls, either singly or as a pair, and enjoyed them as the mood took him. On each occasion, Julia had been a silent, enforced spectator of his
uninhibited lust.
As a variant, Quentin had twice more asked Ahmed and Jason to come to his cabin... and handed Julia over to them. The first time, the negroes took her in turn and upon enquiry, they informed Quentin that Julia was now ‘co-operating’ better.
But then, Quentin had but to use his own eyes to see that this was so. On the second occasion that the two black giants were called in, Quentin had Julia perform fellatio on Jason whilst Ahmed took her from the rear. He was gratified to observe that both men reached a climax at virtually the same moment.
It was Gunnar Svenson who announced he would have to cut his stay a little short, as urgent business matters had come up. Quentin decided to leave on the same helicopter, for there would not be another one arriving for several days. He was already well-satisfied - if not to say slaked - after his stay as Madame Vesta’s guests. For all those marvellous pills she gave him, a man of his age could take only so much dining, wining and womanising at a time.
And there would always be another time.
Besides, there was Glenda Heine, his fiancee, to be consulted about Julia’s future.
Gunnar Svenson was already standing by the helicopter, talking to Madame Vesta.
“Just leave all the arrangements to me,” Quentin heard her say. “I should reckon your wife will
be safe and sound on this vessel within a month.”
Another satisfied customer in the making, thought Quentin.
“Put my bags on the helicopter, Julia,” he ordered.
“Yes, Master...”
He watched with pleasurable amusement as the naked figure struggled up the small ladder with the two bags. What a most delightful backside the woman had! And... perhaps even more delightful... there were still times when he found it difficult to believe that this was the same arrogant woman he had once known.
Oh God, Julia was praying, please make him take me off this terrible, terrible ship...
Please... oh... please...
Anything would be better...
Anything must be better...
Surely!
As she stooped to put the bags in a luggage compartment, Julia felt a hand clasp the golden chain about her waist.
“Hallo, beautiful,” came a leering male voice, “I see they’ve changed you from silver to gold...”
Julia gasped with shock, turned, and saw the pilot’s grinning face close to hers.
“So we’ll be able to have some real fun and games next time I stay aboard,” he continued.
“Y-Yes... S-Sir...” Julia croaked. And her tears brimmed over and began to run down here cheeks. Yes... now that she wore the gold chain, anyone could have her. And that included crew. It was one of the perks of all these trusted members of Madame Vesta’s team, that they could spend three days in any month enjoying themselves with the girls on the ‘Paradise’.
It was an incentive that not only made them keep their lips tight shut about operation but also made them exceedingly loyal.
The pilot patted Julia’s bare bottom.
“I look forward to that,” he said.
Julia, blind with tears, stumbled back down the small ladder. As it happened, that brief encounter, and all it implied, was the final straw. Despite all the training, reason left Julia. Nor surprisingly, perhaps. At all events, she lost control.
Suddenly the naked figure was sprawling at Quentin’s feet clasping his ankles, sobbing and wailing hysterically.
“MASTER... OOOOOOHHHH... M-MASTER... T-TAKE ME WITH YOU... OH FOR GOD’S SAKE... TAKE ME WITH YOU... YOUR SLAVE BEGS YOU... YOUR SLAVE... BESEECHES... YOU!”
Interrupted in his farewell thanks to his hostess, Quentin looked down. For him, it was a most superb moment and he simply couldn’t keep the smug smirk off his face.
He looked at Madame Vesta, whose face was granite hard, and shrugged his shoulders.
“The girl seems to have become quite devoted to me,” he said.
“MASTER... MASTER... I’LL DO A-ANYTHING... TAKE ME... OH FOR P-PITY’S SAKE TAKE ME!”
“Unforgivable behaviour,” said Madame Vesta.
“Well... yes...”
“MASTER... MASTER...” Julia was clasping Quentin’s ankles in almost vice-like fashion, as if to indicate he and she could never be separated.
“She will, of course, go on Report,” said Madame Vesta with steel in her voice.
“Yes...” mused Quentin. “I think a really sound thrashing might meet the case...”
Something of the enormity of what she had done just was beginning to get through to Julia. Also, so were some of the words passing between her owner and Madame Vesta. Suddenly her mind was ablaze. I must be mad, it screamed” To do what I have done, in front of her! Quite mad!
“MERCEEE... EEEEEEEEE!” screamed Julia, her lungs at bursting point.
“At that moment,” said Madame Vesta, “I have in mind a severe birching.”
“Whatever you say,” replied Quentin easily. He looked down at Julia’s juddering white bottom and wondered what state it would be in that evening. By which time, he would be safely aboard a Jetliner on his way back to the States.
“I’ll just leave the matter to you...”
“MERCEEEEE... EEEEEEEEE!”
“Thank you, Quentin. Any idea of when you will be returning?”
“Not too long... and I’ll be bringing my fiancee with me, as I have said. In fact, she’ll be my wife by then.”
“MERCEEEEE... EEEEEEEEEE!”
“Have a nice honeymoon...”
“Part of it will be spent here, I reckon.” Quentin turned and took Gunnar Svenson by the arm. “All set?” he enquired.
“Ready to go,” said the Swede. He was obviously quite fascinated by the scene being enacted.
“MERCEEEE... .EEEEEEEE!”
Julia’s voice was cracking. Callously, Quentin kicked himself free from her weakening clasp and moved towards the helicopter. Then he turned back.
“Oh, Madame Vesta,” he said, “I think, in addition to the birching, I would like to have Julia scrubbing these decks every morning for a week.”
“A very good idea, Quentin...”
“And I think you might also put her on the treadmill. Once a week, for an hour, will do...
“Certainly, Quentin. And, if you have any further instructions, just cable me.”
“Will do...”
Quentin was mounting the ladder to the helicopter, behind Svenson, waving farewell. Horrible, a****l-like retching sounds were coming from Julia, but they were lost as the plane’s engine burst into life and its blades began to whirr.
Faster and faster they went, until the sound became a roar, and the down-draught from them swirled wildly over the platform. Then the helicopter lifted off and soared easily away into the pale blue sky.
Julia did not see it go.
Only heard and felt it.
But Quentin, from on high, looked down for as long as possible at the small white figure he could see still sprawled on the deck. Smaller and smaller it became. It was incredible, he thought, that so tiny a thing, could contain so much torment.
Soon the figure was no longer separately discernible... and the ‘Paradise’ became a toy boat on a silver sea.
Back on deck, Madame Vesta was giving orders for Julia to be taken below and chained in her cell. She would have most of the day to contemplate what lay in store for her that evening.
* * * * * *
“Marisa on Report!”
It was Miss Judith’s voice which echoed through the dreaded Punishment Room... and it was the young girl who faced the dais upon which Madame Vesta sat, flanked by her two negro assistants, Ahmed and Jason. Marisa was weeping profusely and trembling like an aspen tree in the wind.
By contrast, the only other occupant of that room stood stock still and silent. This was Julia. Ever since the morning she had been in a kind of trance, shocked into mute numbness, it seemed. Now, not even the barest flicker of hope remained within her. Once, she had imagined, she had plumbed the depths; now, it seemed, there were still yet further depths to descend.
To contemplate that was more than her mind and her emotions could cope with.
However, it was not she with whom Madame Vesta was immediately concerned.
“Facts, Miss Judith,” she said with her usual icy severity. “A report from Mr Svenson, Ma’am,” replied Miss Judith readily. “When he made some attempt to fondle Marisa she tried to evade him and gave vent to what he describes as ‘hysterical protestations’.”
Madame Vesta frowned. Her black, basilisk eyes took in the weeping figure, which looked as if it might crumple to the floor at any moment.
“Reprehensible behaviour,” she said. More to herself than anyone else, it appeared. “Are you not aware, slave,” she continued, addressing Marisa directly, “that it is your duty to accept - and accept gracefully and willingly - the attentions and fondlings of any of my guests? That you do not attempt
to avoid them? That you do not recoil? That, in fact, you proffer yourself to them?”
“I.. mmff.. I.. couldn’t h-help it, Madame.. I.. I’m just not used to it.. oh p-please M-Madame.. you must under.. understand...” sobbed Marisa.
“I do understand,” said Madame Vesta icily. “You found these attentions not to your liking - and you strove to avoid the. Quite contrary to orders you have received. In other words, you were disobedient. This I will not tolerate.”
Madame Vesta paused; the girl swayed and moaned. “I will make some allowance for your youth and the fact that you have been here a fairly short while,” resumed the black-clad figure.
“On this occasion, you will receive ten strokes of the medium birch...”
“Oh God.. NO... NO... not the birch!”
“...but Marisa,” continued Madame Vesta, quite unmoved, “I shall not be so lenient if this sort of behaviour recurs.
If it does, next time you will receive twenty strokes.
Understand that quite clearly, here and now!”
Whether or not Marisa fully understood it, was not apparent. She was more concerned with the present.
“Mercy... mercy... M-Madame...” she cried as she fell to her knees. “I couldn’t help it... I c-couldn’t...”
“Ahmed... put her into the Whipping Pillory... Jason, fetch a medium birch. Miss Judith will administer the punishment...”
Relentlessly the punishment ‘machine’ rolled into action.
There was no resisting it. Once Madame Vesta had made her pronouncement, it was carried out. No matter what. Only Death could have intervened. And he was not going to!
Shrieking with terror, Marisa was secured into the Whipping Pillory - neck and wrist clamped, her tightly-rounded hindquarters curving over a bar.
“NO.. NO.. P-PLEEEE.. EASE... NO... OOOOOO!”
Julia still stood silent to one side. Very soon, she thought, I will be where Marisa is. But to receive something far worse. Perhaps, she thought, this time I actually will die, rather than think I am going to if I receive just one more stroke. It would be a blessed relief. Yet, even as she thought it, Julia remained in the same trance-like state. It was almost as if she were
outside herself. A stranger looking impassively as Miss Judith measured Marisa’s clenching nates with the medium birch. She knew the instrument well enough. It consisted of ten green birch-slivers, each two feet six inches long... each sliver a whiplashing, biting-burning agony.
“Begin...!” ordered Madame Vesta complacently.
Miss Judith, tall and powerful, birched the shrieking girl with cruel efficiency. Also with obvious enjoyment. She flayed the writhing bottom with strokes which slashed down at two or three second intervals. Fast and savage punishment which drove Marisa into a paroxysm of screaming torment.
It was all over in little more than half a minute, but what the young and tender Marisa had endured during that time would always be etched on her memory. One always remembers
most vividly the first time one is birched.
“Leave her where she is,” ordered Madame Vesta. “It will do her no harm to stay there a while and reflect on the error of her ways. Just move the Pillory aside, please Jason.”
The negro shifted the heavy wooden contraption still containing its weeping contents.
“Julia on Report,” announced Miss Judith.
Automatically, Julia stepped before the dais upon which Madame Vesta sat... as immovable as stone, as relentless as doom. Yes, thought Julia, I am sure that this time God will be good and let me die. She felt a strange calmness. Normally in the Punishment Room she was a quaking jelly of terror, and had sometimes had to be forcibly held by one of the overseers.
“I know of this case, of course, Miss Judith...”
“Yes... Ma’am.”
Madame Vesta regarded the naked woman before her stonily.
She felt no pity; nor did she feel a great deal of pleasure either. This was her profession. She carried it out as efficiently as possible in order to achieve the objectives originally laid down. And they were the transformation of Julia from her peaks of pride, will and stubbornness to the lowest depths of utter submission and complete obedience.
Madame Vesta was not quite sure whether those very lowest depths had yet been plumbed.
“It was my original intention to have you birched, Julia,” she said with solemn severity. rather like a judge; as if there were right and justice in what she was doing. “Severely birched, I may say. Because I consider your uncontrolled behaviour on the deck this morning quite outrageous. Quite unforgivable after all your training. It reflects on me... and I scarcely know what your Master thought.”
Julia gazed silently ahead, seeing her tormentor and the black, muscled giants with folded arms behind her. The words were getting to her but, somehow, not getting through to her.
It was as if her brain had become numbed with shock.
“However, Julia,” continued Madame Vesta, “I have decided to have you put on the Ring... and there I shall deal with you personally.”
“Ooohh... no... oooo...” It was more like a groan which came form Julia and she shuddered convulsively. The first sound she had made. In the background, Marisa could be heard as she continued to weep.
The Ring, it should be said, was a contrivance on which particularly stubborn or arrogant slave-girls were put in their very early days of training. Julia had been on it.
It was a raised ring of iron in the centre of which was a low iron pillory. This inner pillory could turn through 360 degrees and, first, the victims neck and wrists were clamped into it. Perforce, her hindquarters were uplifted and d****d over the iron ring... around which it was possible for her body to move, in view of the circular mobility of the pillory.
When the Ring was put to use, it was about the only time Madame Vesta punished personally... and she used a particularly vicious instrument. It was a four-foot length of tapering whalebone which had been tightly bound with plaited rhino-hide. The last six inches or so of this deadly instrument (actually a cross between a whip and a rod) were studded with diamond-hard zircons.
“Put her on,” ordered Madame Vesta. She had expected that Julia would be pleading hysterically and resisting by now.
However, neither of these things were happening. She watched with some amazement as the girl walked in a zombie-like way towards the Ring... and then placed herself over it. Admittedly she was shuddering uncontrollably, but that was very understandable. If Ahmed was surprised he didn’t show it but simply raised the top section of the iron pillory and locked in Julia’s neck and wrists.
I am going to die... I am going to die... Julia kept repeating to herself. It doesn’t matter. It will be a
blessed relief. I just hope it doesn’t take too long. Soon it will be over. Everything...
Madame Vesta picked up the vicious hide-plaited whalebone rod. It swayed flexibly up and down in her grip. She felt a sudden twinge of sadistic pleasure as she gazed at Julia’s luscious white bottom. The bottom she was going to lacerate without mercy.
The rod went up and came whistling down and bit deep into the soft buttock flesh, the zircons biting into the flank.
As the long red-purple weal blazed its way across Julia’s convulsing buttocks, the first terrible howling-shriek of agony echoed around and around the Punishment Room.
* * * * * *
Julia did not die.
As she had prayed and hoped.
On the other hand, she fainted three times (only to be revived) during her fearful flogging. As her lovely body twisted and threshed over the Ring... and twirled round and round it in a vain attempt to escape the deadly strokes...
Madame Vesta laid on without mercy, whiplashing again and again across buttocks, or the backs or fronts of thighs.
Whichever happened to be most conveniently presented. She had but to step this way or that to find a target. Or wait for Julia’s threshing hindquarter to come full circle!
Soon the white flesh virtually disappeared...
Weal overlaid weal...
Soon Julia’s vocal chords cracked under the strain... and, though she shrieked in agony, no shrieking sound came.
Only a hoarse, rattling noise from the back of her throat.
* * * * * *
The fourth time Julia fainted, Madame Vesta tossed away the rod. She knew it was pointless to continue. The ultimate limit had been reached.
“Take her for Treatment,” she ordered. “Keep her there for the maximum.”
The maximum was three days and, despite the miracles which could be worked in the Recovery Room, Julia was going to need every one of them before her poor lacerated flesh was restored
to its pristine beauty.
Julia had been scrubbing for an hour and her back was a mass of aches. The sun beat down and the deck shimmered beneath her.
He ordered me this, she kept thinking. He... him... THAT MONSTER!
Perhaps it was the heat of the sun affecting her, but Julia found herself seeing Quentin’s face grinning up out of the deck beneath. Sobbing, she would beat at it with the back of the brush.
THWACCCKKK!
The thong of leather blazed across her bottom.
“What do you think you’re doing, you stupid bitch?”
THWWAACCCKKKK!
“Yyaiieeeee!”
“You scrub it... not hit it!”
TTHHWWAAACCCKKKKK!
“Aaaghh... aaiiieee!”
“Get on with it... come on, put your back into it...”
“Yes... Yes... Miss...”
Julia scrubbed and scrubbed, regardless of her aches and her exhaustion.
She had to!
For Miss Judith stood there, with the thong ever ready.
And this was but the first of seven long mornings that she would sweat her guts out... because her Master had ordered it!
* * * * * *
The treadmill turned with agonising slowness.
Julia’s thighs and limbs seemed filled with lead. She had lost all account of time; and almost of place. She just lifted one leg up after the other and pressed it down, straining with effort. Perhaps I have died she thought at one point... and this is Hell.
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Click...
Another turn completed.
How many more turns to go? How much time to make them in?
So drenched with sweat was Julia’s hair and brow that she could not even see the dials. What did it matter? She was sure she could not make it...
Click...
Soon Miss Judith would be back. Yes, soon now. With that blazing thong of leather. Yes, soon now, Miss Judith would be reaching up to take the rod down from the wall.
Julia sobbed and panted breathlessly with self pity... and her never-ceasing efforts.
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Are my limbs still moving?
Click...
Yes, they must be. So keep them moving...
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Click...
It was my Master who ordered me to be put on this treadmill!
Julia was almost past caring when she heard the door behind her opening. Soon... soon... she would be able to stop.
“This is the treadmill, Mr D’Arcy,” she heard Miss Judith saying. “We usually put a girl on it for an hour at a time.
She has to do 120 turns in that period... and it takes effort believe me.”
“I can see that,” said a male voice. “My God, this one looks pretty done in.”
“Yes... she does, doesn’t she,” replied Miss Judith.
Then a low whistling sound came from her. “Not surprising,” she said. “This girl has done 12 more turns than her allotted stint. That’s very odd. And most unusual, I can assure you, Mr D’Arcy.”
“Yes, that does seem strange. Perhaps she’s stronger and fitter than some.”
“She should be,” said Miss Judith smiling thinly.
“Actually, I think the girl’s idea was to try and curry favour with me...”
“Nice shape,” commented Mr D’Arcy.
“I’ll have her sent along to you, if you like, Mr D’Arcy.
When she’s recovered, of course.”
“Not a bad idea that...”
“Julia,” said Miss Judith with sudden sharpness. “You can stop turning the treadmill now!”
Julia finally stopped. And hung by her wrist manacles in a dead faint.
Fay
- 24.04.2020
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