Enslaved on an Alien World Ch 02
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Quentin Osman entered the main saloon of the ‘Paradise’ in an exceedingly relaxed frame of mind. On the way there, he had been considering how he would handle Julia. This policy of ‘rejection’ he found most amusing. It wasn’t all that difficult to carry out, either, when there was so much female flesh around to enjoy. He could, of course, leave the girl on the ‘Paradise’ indefinitely. That was what Julia obviously dreaded most of all. Yes... he might do that, visiting her occasionally, when he was in the mood, to have some fun.
Or, of course, he could do exactly what he had told Julia... and that was, bring his fiancee Glenda Heine aboard, so that she could ‘inspect’ his slave. It would be great to have Julia serve, and service them both. Glenda would certainly demand the latter since, although she was not entirely averse to men, her preferences were of a lesbian nature. His forthcoming marriage to this wealthy American - a brittle blonde in her mid-thirties - was for reasons of finance and companionship as much as anything, even though there had bee, and would continue to be, some degree of sexual relations between them. The two understood and tolerated each other, sharing similar interests. From the outset, it had been agreed that Quentin should have his girl-friends on the side... and that Glenda should have hers. Glenda also knew all about Julia and found it quite fascinating.
“I’d love to see her one day,” she had once said.
“Maybe that could be arranged,” Quentin had agreed. But he was not too sure about it at the time. Madame Vesta might not approve. However, having broached the subject to the owner of the ‘Paradise’ no objections were raised. And, if we ever did decide to take Julia off the ‘Paradise’
thought Quentin, we could keep her under lock and key in a wing of that ancient castle-cum-ruin they had purchased together in the Scottish Highlands. Nice and remote there.
Incarcerating Julia in a place like that should present no problems at all. Still, he would consult with Glenda. If she liked the idea, he would certainly go along with it.
Otherwise Julia could say where she was.
A tall, fair-haired man of around forty was standing in the saloon when Quentin came in.
“Svenson...” said the man extending his hand.
“Osman...” replied Quentin taking the hand. It was a firm, dry one unlike his which as inclined to be podgy and sweating. All the same he sensed a certain nervous tension in this man. An air of trying to look unconcerned, yet not feeling it. Just like Quentin had been when he had made his first visit to the ‘Paradise’. He knew how difficult it was to adjust to the bizarre atmosphere of the ship and to take naturally the things that were not at all natural.
To take as natural, for example, that an exceedingly pretty girl, who was standing in the background with a tray in her hand, was naked but for a few fetching items. A suspender
belt and black fishnet stocking and a pair of exceedingly high-heeled shoes. Also frilly white maid’s cap and apron. The apron was so short that it reached just to the top of the swell of her depilated mound.
Once such a spectacle would have slightly unnerved Quentin. Now ‘an old hand’, he took it completely in his stride.
“Fetch me a gin and tonic, girl,” he said briskly, “with plenty of ice.” His eyes dwelt on the girl for a moment as she turned to obey his order. She was a neat little thing, with a nice, tightly-rounded bottom. Quentin could not recall having seen her before.
“First time aboard?” he enquired of Svenson, with an understanding little smile.
“Yes... as a matter of fact it is,” nodded the stranger.
“Takes a bit of getting used to, I know,” said Quentin in a man-of-the-world fashion. “I heard you had Melissa this afternoon? Or was it this morning?”
A startled, rather embarrassed look came to the blonde man’s face and he flushed slightly.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“Because I had her myself later on,” laughed Quentin.
“Miss Judith happened to let it slip.”
“Ahh... I see...”
“Makes a marvellous fuck that one... quite some beauty too...”
“Er... yes... yes... that’s quite true...”
Svenson looked even more embarrassed, so Quentin dropped the subject for the time being and turned his attention to the slave-girl who was bobbing a curtsey before him as she presented him with his drink. He saw that she had high breasts, as firm and as round as apples. She also had light
brown hair, worn in a pony-tail, and doe-like eyes. Eyes that had that familiar look of dread and despair in them.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Marisa, Master,” came the whispered answer.
Very shy, this one, though Quentin. “Been here long?”
“A... About... t-two m-months, Master,” replied Marisa, lips trembling.
Quentin’s inclination of the head indicated that the girl could retire again and he seated himself in one of the armchairs. Svenson took a seat opposite him.
“Swedish?” enquired Quentin politely.
“Yes,” replied Svenson. “I’m in the arms business.”
“Ah... plenty of money in that!”
“Fortunately,” said Svenson. For the first time he relaxed a little and laughed. “Madame Vesta certainly knows how tocharge.”
“Too true,” said Quentin wryly. “Still I can assure you, Svenson, she gives value for money. It’s worth every penny.”
“You’ve got a girl here then?”
“Oh yes... she’s fully trained now. I can tell you, it’s the most delightful thing imaginable to send an arrogant bitch here... and then return here to have her grovelling at your feet ready to do anything. And when I say anything, I mean it.”
The Swede’s eyes lit up and his jaw clenched. He rubbed his hands together.
“Yes... I can imagine that...”
“You’re considering sending someone here, obviously.”
“Yes... my wife actually. I discovered she’s been sleeping around with business rivals. What she told them could have ruined me. Fortunately, I found out in time.”
“This seems just the place for her. What’s she like? Young? A blonde Viking Goddess?”
“Twenty one or so. And yes... she’s what you might describe as a Viking Goddess. Very tall; rather icy in appearance.”
“They’ll melt her here!” laughed Quentin. “By the way, you know about the silver and gold chains used here?”
“Yes,” nodded Svenson.
“What are you going to put on her?”
“Silver, I reckon...”
“Oh well, I won’t have the pleasure of her company then.”
Quentin suddenly looked rather smug.
“I’ve just put a gold chain on my girl... so you can have her whenever you like. She’s a very similar type to Melissa.”
“Really? Well, I like that type. That’s very decent of you.”
“Not at all,” smiled Quentin. “Now she’s wearing gold, you’re at perfect liberty to send for her at any time. Like anyone else.”
“Quite so... quite so...” mused Svenson. “Perhaps one day I’ll convert my girl to gold.”
“The option’s always open,” said Quentin. He finished his drink snapped his fingers at Marisa. The girl came hurrying, apple-round breasts bouncing prettily.
“Another one,” said Quentin brusquely.
“And... and for me...” said Svenson, without quite the same authority. But his eyes were hot upon the young girl’s nubile body as she took his glass. Silver, he noted... rather a pity.
At that moment, Madame Vesta entered. She looked even taller with her black hair swept up in an elaborate coiffeur. The eyelashes of her black, slanting eyes had been heavily coated with mascara and this somehow made her look even more evil and menacing than usual. She wore a full-length black evening gown trimmed with fur.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said in that low, sombre voice of hers. A voice which she could also make sound as sharp as a whip-crack.
Both men rose.
“Good evening, Madame Vesta,” they said respectively. She was the kind of woman who inspired respect in all, not only those in her power. The girl Marisa curtsied low and the tension in her seemed to double at the appearance of this formidable figure.
“Chilled white wine,” said Madame Vesta to no one in particular. Quentin saw the girl’s hand tremble as she poured the wine into a cut-glass goblet. Madame Vesta’s black eyes regarded Marisa stonily as she took the wine.
“This girl happens to be the youngest slave on the ship,” she said. “Not yet sixteen...”
The two men looked at her with renewed interest. Only fifteen! What a pity about that silver chain. They saw the colour mount in the soft young cheeks under their combined lecherous gaze... before the girl was dismissed by a gesture from Madame Vesta. “Another rather unusual thing,” she went
on “Marisa was not sent here by a man, but by her stepmother, who thought the girl was having an undue influence on her father and was affecting the marriage.”
“Indeed?” remarked Quentin, raising his brows.
“How was Julia?” Madame Vesta asked him.
Quentin clasped his hands over his fat belly and looked smug.
“Excellent” he replied. “You and your staff are to be congratulated, as usual. Apart from her looks, I wouldn’t recognise her.”
“Yes,” smiled Madame Vesta thinly, “her behaviour has certainly improved since she first came here.”
“I haven’t actually had her yet,” said Quentin, and this time it was Madame Vesta’s turn to raise her eyebrows. He went on to explain his policy of ‘rejection’, for the time being anyway, and was delighted by the expression of approval that came to his hostess’s face.
“An unusual ploy,” she said. “And now it is my turn to be congratulating you, Quentin. It emphasises even more to the girl how absolutely you possess her. Good for her should if
not exactly for her ego!”
“Quite... that’s what I thought,” laughed Quentin. “I gave her to Ahmed and Jason, though, with instructions for them to fuck her every day, if they wished.”
Madame Vesta nodded.
“Indeed,” she said. She was looking at Quentin with considerably more respect... not having previously suspected that this flabby, middle-aged Yank had such subtlety in him.
Svenson was regarding him disbelievingly.
“You... you mean.. you haven’t had this Julia yourself... and yet... and yet...”
“Yes,” nodded Quentin, smiling away. “It pleases me extraordinarily this way. She’s in my cabin and you can go there and have her now if you like.”
That faint air of embarrassment returned to Svenson. “I... I think I’ll have dinner, thanks,” he replied, trying to laugh the moment off.
“Just as you like” said Quentin... very much the owner.
The three of them continued to drink and chat for another half hour or so, with the delectable young Marisa flitting silently to and fro with remarkable efficiency. But for a quirk of fate, reflected Quentin at one point, this girl could well be at some expensive finishing school. Wearing a gym slip, he said to himself, as he gazed avidly at the tightly-rounded bottom. It would be nice to have a schoolgirl!
“Shall we go in then?” enquired Madame Vesta at last. The two men rose obediently and followed her into the adjoining saloon. This was the dining room and a blonde and buxom girl, garbed similarly to Marisa, stood waiting to serve them. Quentin recalled her at once. This was the Danish
girl, Birgit, and she too was young, if he remembered alright.
Only nineteen. Magnificent half-melon breasts and fulsome hindquarters yet with a very slim waist. She was the first girl Quentin had ever had on the ‘Paradise’. A real juicy bit. And had he needed it! It had been just after he had had the divine pleasure of whipping a woman for the first time in his life. That had been Melissa. He could still remember vividly how that beauty had writhed and screamed even under his inexpert lash. Some afternoon that. He wondered idly, as Birgit came alongside him to serve - lush breasts swinging pendulously - whether she remember him as well as he did her.
Probably not. Plenty of guests would have enjoyed her since him. He ran his hand up the smoothness of the back of her thighs and caressed her plump bottom. Birgit trembled fractionally but did not recoil in the slightest. She was often called upon to serve at dinner and was used to such attentions.
“I am continuing Mr Svenson’s tour tomorrow morning,” remarked Madame Vesta later in the meal. “Care to come along, Quentin?”
Quentin well recalled the fascination and excitement of his first tour. “Thank you... I would...” he answered, trying to look casual about it.
“What time?”
“Oh about ten thirty, I should think,” said Madame Vesta.
“We’ll meet on the sundeck, under the awning.”
“Fine,” said Quentin. He knew the spot well, having spent a happy hour there watching the slave-girls move about the decks. Or scrubbing them.
“Alright with you, Mr Svenson?”
“Yes... thank you Madame Vesta. I look forward to it.”
“We can’t go on calling you Mr Svenson,” smiled Madame Vesta.
“My name if Gunnar,” said Svenson.
“Gunnar,” they said together, nodding politely. By then the wine was flowing with considerable freedom and Quentin noticed that the Swede was now caressing Birgit’s bottom whenever she came alongside him. Madame Vesta also noticed it, it seemed.
“Do you fancy the girl? she asked.
“Quite,” responded Gunnar, his voice a little thick.
“She’s Scandinavian like yourself, of course” said Madame Vesta. “I’ll have her brought to your cabin later, if you like.”
“Quite a nice idea,” Gunnar said, grinning lecherously. He was looking straight across the room at the big breasted youngster whose features, however, remained expressionless as she was arbitrarily consigned for sexual service. Again, it was something she had grown accustomed to. Quentin, oddly perhaps, felt a faint twinge of jealously.
He had been considering Birgit himself. That plump and shapely bottom with the honey-coloured flesh was really something. Still, there was Julia back in the cabin. Chainedand waiting.
His.
No... he must not give way. It would be a sign of weakness to take her so soon. He must continue his plan of ‘rejection’ for a long while yet. Still, he thought, with a deep glow of pleasure, there is no reason why she shouldn’t suck me. Julia hadn’t ever done that to him, not even when she was his so-called mistress. He recalled what she had said when he had once suggested it... and the pleasure within him increased.
“I think I’d rather do it to a real pig than you,” had come the s**thing words, the mouth curling in a sneer. Well, now Miss Haughty was going to have to do it. And do it real good!
After dinner, coffee and brandy were served in the saloon by Marisa and at about ten thirty, filled with food and wine, Quentin made his way a little unsteadily back to his cabin.
It was incredible to realise, he thought, that such a civilised and conventional dinner party could have taken place in such bizarre surroundings.
And the slaves... those glorious, so submissive creatures who only existed to serve. My God... what a prospect. Some would lie asleep in a state of exhaustion after arduous duties...
Some would lie, still sobbing, enduring the throbbing pain of weals and welts across buttocks and thighs...
One or more may have been receiving a merciless thrashing in the Punishment Room, even while he, Gunnar and Madame Vesta had been taking their ease in the saloon...
Some would be lying with wide staring eyes, filled with despair, thinking of the days, weeks and months ahead... Yes... the ‘Paradise’ was indeed a unique vessel.
Quentin opened his cabin and went in. Instantly, there was the clink of chains as Julia knelt erect, parting her thighs and placing her hands behind her head. The posture of slavery. The posture of submission. Standing over her, looking down, Quentin fondled Julia’s breasts. They were very good breasts. Full yet firm. The nipples were quite large and he felt them harden a little under his touch. That amused him.
“Glad your Master is back, slave?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” replied Julia huskily. She had been weeping a lot in Quentin’s absence. Praying, too. Praying that he would decide to take her with him when he went.
“I wonder,” grinned Quentin happily.
He turned and went into the bathroom... and when, a few minutes later, he came back, he was naked. Gross and hairy, punch wobbling, he waddled across the room and took the collar and chain off Julia.
“You’re going to suck me, slave,” said Quentin. “Are you glad about that?”
Julia’s nostrils flared slightly, her full lips quivered.
“I... I am honoured, Master,” she managed to say.
Quentin grinned hugely... drunkenly... as he seized Julia by her long dark hair and peered close to hear distraught face.
“Good... good, he said “because, if I remember right, there was a time when you felt rather differently!”
Julia just managed to stop her features crumbling completely.
She knew she should be showing pleasure, not distress, at the duty she had to perform. She knew, too, there was a cane in the drawer and, flown with drink, Quentin might thrash her without mercy if she did not pull herself together.
“I... I have changed, Master...” said Julia. “B-Been... changed, Master... and... and rightly so. Now I am your sslave, Mater... and I want to please you in every way... I want to suck you... I swear it!”
“Oh that’s good... very good...” said Quentin, flopping down on his back on the bed. “Then you can begin, my pretty... but it might take some time... as... as I’m a little drunk.” He parted his fat, hairy thighs. “You can begin by kissing my balls... and go on doing it till I tell you to stop. After that... you can to on... to... higher things...”
“Y-Yes... Master...”
Julia slid between the thighs to begin her nauseous task.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth was twisting in revulsion. Yet she knew she must give everything... use all her acquired expertise... to satisfy this vile b**st who had her in his
power.
“That’s it... my beauty.. that’s it.. suck... suck...”
It must have been all of twenty minutes since Julia had begun her ministrations... using lips and tongue with skill and zeal... yet only now had Quentin come to anything like erection, at least Julia had something firm to suck on.
Julia felt the organ swelling in her mouth with mingled dread and relief. At least it would soon be over.
She had kissed the revolting balls reverently...
She had kissed and licked the even more revolting penis...
She had taken - most revolting of all - the phallic head into her mouth and sucked and sucked as if her life depended on it...
Still no response. Except grunts of pleasure from the b**st. Oh yes... he was enjoying it alright! He didn’t care if it took him half the night to get an erection. His slave would just go on sucking him until he did. Doubtless he enjoyed it all the more because it took so long.
“Mmmmm... you beauty... they’ve taught you well... suck then... suck then...”
It was scarcely necessary to give Julia any such instructions. She was sucking avidly as she knelt between the flabby, quivering thighs... the hairy belly above her head quaking.
Quentin’s head turned to one side on the pillow. His eyes were glazing, his mouth sagged open. He was dribbling from one corner of it.
Sheer Heaven!
His Julia was sucking him...
And, any moment, he was going to shoot into her mouth...
Right down her throat...
Yes... any moment!
NOW!
NOOO... OOOWWWWW!
There were sounds of a pig at a trough... if not several pigs. There was a jerking and juddering of hairy flesh.
Dark head jerking, mouth working frantically, Julia went on sucking until Quentin was dry...
Or, of course, he could do exactly what he had told Julia... and that was, bring his fiancee Glenda Heine aboard, so that she could ‘inspect’ his slave. It would be great to have Julia serve, and service them both. Glenda would certainly demand the latter since, although she was not entirely averse to men, her preferences were of a lesbian nature. His forthcoming marriage to this wealthy American - a brittle blonde in her mid-thirties - was for reasons of finance and companionship as much as anything, even though there had bee, and would continue to be, some degree of sexual relations between them. The two understood and tolerated each other, sharing similar interests. From the outset, it had been agreed that Quentin should have his girl-friends on the side... and that Glenda should have hers. Glenda also knew all about Julia and found it quite fascinating.
“I’d love to see her one day,” she had once said.
“Maybe that could be arranged,” Quentin had agreed. But he was not too sure about it at the time. Madame Vesta might not approve. However, having broached the subject to the owner of the ‘Paradise’ no objections were raised. And, if we ever did decide to take Julia off the ‘Paradise’
thought Quentin, we could keep her under lock and key in a wing of that ancient castle-cum-ruin they had purchased together in the Scottish Highlands. Nice and remote there.
Incarcerating Julia in a place like that should present no problems at all. Still, he would consult with Glenda. If she liked the idea, he would certainly go along with it.
Otherwise Julia could say where she was.
A tall, fair-haired man of around forty was standing in the saloon when Quentin came in.
“Svenson...” said the man extending his hand.
“Osman...” replied Quentin taking the hand. It was a firm, dry one unlike his which as inclined to be podgy and sweating. All the same he sensed a certain nervous tension in this man. An air of trying to look unconcerned, yet not feeling it. Just like Quentin had been when he had made his first visit to the ‘Paradise’. He knew how difficult it was to adjust to the bizarre atmosphere of the ship and to take naturally the things that were not at all natural.
To take as natural, for example, that an exceedingly pretty girl, who was standing in the background with a tray in her hand, was naked but for a few fetching items. A suspender
belt and black fishnet stocking and a pair of exceedingly high-heeled shoes. Also frilly white maid’s cap and apron. The apron was so short that it reached just to the top of the swell of her depilated mound.
Once such a spectacle would have slightly unnerved Quentin. Now ‘an old hand’, he took it completely in his stride.
“Fetch me a gin and tonic, girl,” he said briskly, “with plenty of ice.” His eyes dwelt on the girl for a moment as she turned to obey his order. She was a neat little thing, with a nice, tightly-rounded bottom. Quentin could not recall having seen her before.
“First time aboard?” he enquired of Svenson, with an understanding little smile.
“Yes... as a matter of fact it is,” nodded the stranger.
“Takes a bit of getting used to, I know,” said Quentin in a man-of-the-world fashion. “I heard you had Melissa this afternoon? Or was it this morning?”
A startled, rather embarrassed look came to the blonde man’s face and he flushed slightly.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“Because I had her myself later on,” laughed Quentin.
“Miss Judith happened to let it slip.”
“Ahh... I see...”
“Makes a marvellous fuck that one... quite some beauty too...”
“Er... yes... yes... that’s quite true...”
Svenson looked even more embarrassed, so Quentin dropped the subject for the time being and turned his attention to the slave-girl who was bobbing a curtsey before him as she presented him with his drink. He saw that she had high breasts, as firm and as round as apples. She also had light
brown hair, worn in a pony-tail, and doe-like eyes. Eyes that had that familiar look of dread and despair in them.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Marisa, Master,” came the whispered answer.
Very shy, this one, though Quentin. “Been here long?”
“A... About... t-two m-months, Master,” replied Marisa, lips trembling.
Quentin’s inclination of the head indicated that the girl could retire again and he seated himself in one of the armchairs. Svenson took a seat opposite him.
“Swedish?” enquired Quentin politely.
“Yes,” replied Svenson. “I’m in the arms business.”
“Ah... plenty of money in that!”
“Fortunately,” said Svenson. For the first time he relaxed a little and laughed. “Madame Vesta certainly knows how tocharge.”
“Too true,” said Quentin wryly. “Still I can assure you, Svenson, she gives value for money. It’s worth every penny.”
“You’ve got a girl here then?”
“Oh yes... she’s fully trained now. I can tell you, it’s the most delightful thing imaginable to send an arrogant bitch here... and then return here to have her grovelling at your feet ready to do anything. And when I say anything, I mean it.”
The Swede’s eyes lit up and his jaw clenched. He rubbed his hands together.
“Yes... I can imagine that...”
“You’re considering sending someone here, obviously.”
“Yes... my wife actually. I discovered she’s been sleeping around with business rivals. What she told them could have ruined me. Fortunately, I found out in time.”
“This seems just the place for her. What’s she like? Young? A blonde Viking Goddess?”
“Twenty one or so. And yes... she’s what you might describe as a Viking Goddess. Very tall; rather icy in appearance.”
“They’ll melt her here!” laughed Quentin. “By the way, you know about the silver and gold chains used here?”
“Yes,” nodded Svenson.
“What are you going to put on her?”
“Silver, I reckon...”
“Oh well, I won’t have the pleasure of her company then.”
Quentin suddenly looked rather smug.
“I’ve just put a gold chain on my girl... so you can have her whenever you like. She’s a very similar type to Melissa.”
“Really? Well, I like that type. That’s very decent of you.”
“Not at all,” smiled Quentin. “Now she’s wearing gold, you’re at perfect liberty to send for her at any time. Like anyone else.”
“Quite so... quite so...” mused Svenson. “Perhaps one day I’ll convert my girl to gold.”
“The option’s always open,” said Quentin. He finished his drink snapped his fingers at Marisa. The girl came hurrying, apple-round breasts bouncing prettily.
“Another one,” said Quentin brusquely.
“And... and for me...” said Svenson, without quite the same authority. But his eyes were hot upon the young girl’s nubile body as she took his glass. Silver, he noted... rather a pity.
At that moment, Madame Vesta entered. She looked even taller with her black hair swept up in an elaborate coiffeur. The eyelashes of her black, slanting eyes had been heavily coated with mascara and this somehow made her look even more evil and menacing than usual. She wore a full-length black evening gown trimmed with fur.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said in that low, sombre voice of hers. A voice which she could also make sound as sharp as a whip-crack.
Both men rose.
“Good evening, Madame Vesta,” they said respectively. She was the kind of woman who inspired respect in all, not only those in her power. The girl Marisa curtsied low and the tension in her seemed to double at the appearance of this formidable figure.
“Chilled white wine,” said Madame Vesta to no one in particular. Quentin saw the girl’s hand tremble as she poured the wine into a cut-glass goblet. Madame Vesta’s black eyes regarded Marisa stonily as she took the wine.
“This girl happens to be the youngest slave on the ship,” she said. “Not yet sixteen...”
The two men looked at her with renewed interest. Only fifteen! What a pity about that silver chain. They saw the colour mount in the soft young cheeks under their combined lecherous gaze... before the girl was dismissed by a gesture from Madame Vesta. “Another rather unusual thing,” she went
on “Marisa was not sent here by a man, but by her stepmother, who thought the girl was having an undue influence on her father and was affecting the marriage.”
“Indeed?” remarked Quentin, raising his brows.
“How was Julia?” Madame Vesta asked him.
Quentin clasped his hands over his fat belly and looked smug.
“Excellent” he replied. “You and your staff are to be congratulated, as usual. Apart from her looks, I wouldn’t recognise her.”
“Yes,” smiled Madame Vesta thinly, “her behaviour has certainly improved since she first came here.”
“I haven’t actually had her yet,” said Quentin, and this time it was Madame Vesta’s turn to raise her eyebrows. He went on to explain his policy of ‘rejection’, for the time being anyway, and was delighted by the expression of approval that came to his hostess’s face.
“An unusual ploy,” she said. “And now it is my turn to be congratulating you, Quentin. It emphasises even more to the girl how absolutely you possess her. Good for her should if
not exactly for her ego!”
“Quite... that’s what I thought,” laughed Quentin. “I gave her to Ahmed and Jason, though, with instructions for them to fuck her every day, if they wished.”
Madame Vesta nodded.
“Indeed,” she said. She was looking at Quentin with considerably more respect... not having previously suspected that this flabby, middle-aged Yank had such subtlety in him.
Svenson was regarding him disbelievingly.
“You... you mean.. you haven’t had this Julia yourself... and yet... and yet...”
“Yes,” nodded Quentin, smiling away. “It pleases me extraordinarily this way. She’s in my cabin and you can go there and have her now if you like.”
That faint air of embarrassment returned to Svenson. “I... I think I’ll have dinner, thanks,” he replied, trying to laugh the moment off.
“Just as you like” said Quentin... very much the owner.
The three of them continued to drink and chat for another half hour or so, with the delectable young Marisa flitting silently to and fro with remarkable efficiency. But for a quirk of fate, reflected Quentin at one point, this girl could well be at some expensive finishing school. Wearing a gym slip, he said to himself, as he gazed avidly at the tightly-rounded bottom. It would be nice to have a schoolgirl!
“Shall we go in then?” enquired Madame Vesta at last. The two men rose obediently and followed her into the adjoining saloon. This was the dining room and a blonde and buxom girl, garbed similarly to Marisa, stood waiting to serve them. Quentin recalled her at once. This was the Danish
girl, Birgit, and she too was young, if he remembered alright.
Only nineteen. Magnificent half-melon breasts and fulsome hindquarters yet with a very slim waist. She was the first girl Quentin had ever had on the ‘Paradise’. A real juicy bit. And had he needed it! It had been just after he had had the divine pleasure of whipping a woman for the first time in his life. That had been Melissa. He could still remember vividly how that beauty had writhed and screamed even under his inexpert lash. Some afternoon that. He wondered idly, as Birgit came alongside him to serve - lush breasts swinging pendulously - whether she remember him as well as he did her.
Probably not. Plenty of guests would have enjoyed her since him. He ran his hand up the smoothness of the back of her thighs and caressed her plump bottom. Birgit trembled fractionally but did not recoil in the slightest. She was often called upon to serve at dinner and was used to such attentions.
“I am continuing Mr Svenson’s tour tomorrow morning,” remarked Madame Vesta later in the meal. “Care to come along, Quentin?”
Quentin well recalled the fascination and excitement of his first tour. “Thank you... I would...” he answered, trying to look casual about it.
“What time?”
“Oh about ten thirty, I should think,” said Madame Vesta.
“We’ll meet on the sundeck, under the awning.”
“Fine,” said Quentin. He knew the spot well, having spent a happy hour there watching the slave-girls move about the decks. Or scrubbing them.
“Alright with you, Mr Svenson?”
“Yes... thank you Madame Vesta. I look forward to it.”
“We can’t go on calling you Mr Svenson,” smiled Madame Vesta.
“My name if Gunnar,” said Svenson.
“Gunnar,” they said together, nodding politely. By then the wine was flowing with considerable freedom and Quentin noticed that the Swede was now caressing Birgit’s bottom whenever she came alongside him. Madame Vesta also noticed it, it seemed.
“Do you fancy the girl? she asked.
“Quite,” responded Gunnar, his voice a little thick.
“She’s Scandinavian like yourself, of course” said Madame Vesta. “I’ll have her brought to your cabin later, if you like.”
“Quite a nice idea,” Gunnar said, grinning lecherously. He was looking straight across the room at the big breasted youngster whose features, however, remained expressionless as she was arbitrarily consigned for sexual service. Again, it was something she had grown accustomed to. Quentin, oddly perhaps, felt a faint twinge of jealously.
He had been considering Birgit himself. That plump and shapely bottom with the honey-coloured flesh was really something. Still, there was Julia back in the cabin. Chainedand waiting.
His.
No... he must not give way. It would be a sign of weakness to take her so soon. He must continue his plan of ‘rejection’ for a long while yet. Still, he thought, with a deep glow of pleasure, there is no reason why she shouldn’t suck me. Julia hadn’t ever done that to him, not even when she was his so-called mistress. He recalled what she had said when he had once suggested it... and the pleasure within him increased.
“I think I’d rather do it to a real pig than you,” had come the s**thing words, the mouth curling in a sneer. Well, now Miss Haughty was going to have to do it. And do it real good!
After dinner, coffee and brandy were served in the saloon by Marisa and at about ten thirty, filled with food and wine, Quentin made his way a little unsteadily back to his cabin.
It was incredible to realise, he thought, that such a civilised and conventional dinner party could have taken place in such bizarre surroundings.
And the slaves... those glorious, so submissive creatures who only existed to serve. My God... what a prospect. Some would lie asleep in a state of exhaustion after arduous duties...
Some would lie, still sobbing, enduring the throbbing pain of weals and welts across buttocks and thighs...
One or more may have been receiving a merciless thrashing in the Punishment Room, even while he, Gunnar and Madame Vesta had been taking their ease in the saloon...
Some would be lying with wide staring eyes, filled with despair, thinking of the days, weeks and months ahead... Yes... the ‘Paradise’ was indeed a unique vessel.
Quentin opened his cabin and went in. Instantly, there was the clink of chains as Julia knelt erect, parting her thighs and placing her hands behind her head. The posture of slavery. The posture of submission. Standing over her, looking down, Quentin fondled Julia’s breasts. They were very good breasts. Full yet firm. The nipples were quite large and he felt them harden a little under his touch. That amused him.
“Glad your Master is back, slave?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” replied Julia huskily. She had been weeping a lot in Quentin’s absence. Praying, too. Praying that he would decide to take her with him when he went.
“I wonder,” grinned Quentin happily.
He turned and went into the bathroom... and when, a few minutes later, he came back, he was naked. Gross and hairy, punch wobbling, he waddled across the room and took the collar and chain off Julia.
“You’re going to suck me, slave,” said Quentin. “Are you glad about that?”
Julia’s nostrils flared slightly, her full lips quivered.
“I... I am honoured, Master,” she managed to say.
Quentin grinned hugely... drunkenly... as he seized Julia by her long dark hair and peered close to hear distraught face.
“Good... good, he said “because, if I remember right, there was a time when you felt rather differently!”
Julia just managed to stop her features crumbling completely.
She knew she should be showing pleasure, not distress, at the duty she had to perform. She knew, too, there was a cane in the drawer and, flown with drink, Quentin might thrash her without mercy if she did not pull herself together.
“I... I have changed, Master...” said Julia. “B-Been... changed, Master... and... and rightly so. Now I am your sslave, Mater... and I want to please you in every way... I want to suck you... I swear it!”
“Oh that’s good... very good...” said Quentin, flopping down on his back on the bed. “Then you can begin, my pretty... but it might take some time... as... as I’m a little drunk.” He parted his fat, hairy thighs. “You can begin by kissing my balls... and go on doing it till I tell you to stop. After that... you can to on... to... higher things...”
“Y-Yes... Master...”
Julia slid between the thighs to begin her nauseous task.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth was twisting in revulsion. Yet she knew she must give everything... use all her acquired expertise... to satisfy this vile b**st who had her in his
power.
“That’s it... my beauty.. that’s it.. suck... suck...”
It must have been all of twenty minutes since Julia had begun her ministrations... using lips and tongue with skill and zeal... yet only now had Quentin come to anything like erection, at least Julia had something firm to suck on.
Julia felt the organ swelling in her mouth with mingled dread and relief. At least it would soon be over.
She had kissed the revolting balls reverently...
She had kissed and licked the even more revolting penis...
She had taken - most revolting of all - the phallic head into her mouth and sucked and sucked as if her life depended on it...
Still no response. Except grunts of pleasure from the b**st. Oh yes... he was enjoying it alright! He didn’t care if it took him half the night to get an erection. His slave would just go on sucking him until he did. Doubtless he enjoyed it all the more because it took so long.
“Mmmmm... you beauty... they’ve taught you well... suck then... suck then...”
It was scarcely necessary to give Julia any such instructions. She was sucking avidly as she knelt between the flabby, quivering thighs... the hairy belly above her head quaking.
Quentin’s head turned to one side on the pillow. His eyes were glazing, his mouth sagged open. He was dribbling from one corner of it.
Sheer Heaven!
His Julia was sucking him...
And, any moment, he was going to shoot into her mouth...
Right down her throat...
Yes... any moment!
NOW!
NOOO... OOOWWWWW!
There were sounds of a pig at a trough... if not several pigs. There was a jerking and juddering of hairy flesh.
Dark head jerking, mouth working frantically, Julia went on sucking until Quentin was dry...
Lizbeth
- 07.11.2020
- 6
- 0
