Purveyors of Pain

__“Ground Meat for the Fishes.”____

A Sex Sadism story by Susan.

Mf/f, f/f, extreme, N.C., rape, torture, snuff.

Can be linked to the previous story as:

Purveyors of Pain.

Part Three.

As before, please bear in mind that this is a story of brutality and cruelty, torture and snuff. If you do not find this type of story interesting, please do not even open the story. It is not for the faint hearted.

I am surprised by the number of visitors to the site who condemn snuff stories and suggest they should be banned.

Virtually all the stories on this site have themes dealing with behaviour not considered normal, but the reader is given ample warning of the content of most stories and if he or she chooses to read them, and is offended by their content, the responsibility should not be laid at the door of the authors.

Susan.

NEW BLOOD. . . . .

My name is Samantha Govash. I own a small but profitable shipping line.

Two ships transport genuine cargo and provide the various authorities with all the paperwork needed to convince anyone who is interested that this is a genuine small specialist shipping line, inherited from my late father.

A third ship, the S.S.Desadee, is the one that actually makes the real profit.

She is deliberately unmemorable. Like any commercial vessel she can slip into harbour to ostensibly load small quantities of high priced electronic equipment.

She is crewed by a specialist team, hand picked because each of them, male or female, has an unhealthy interest in some form of illegal sexual activity or is wanted by the law for serious criminal behaviour.

The Desadee offers them a safe haven to enjoy their own perverse lusts or keep their freedom whilst enjoying a fairly luxurious lifestyle..

I demand and get unswerving loyalty from every member of my crew. It is understood that failure to deliver this would not result in anything so mundane as the sack. Both staff and clients know that a loose tongue or a careless word can result in a most unpleasant slow death.

My ship is a floating paradise for perverts interested in sexual sadism.

And they pay a very high price to enjoy their lusts to the full in the secure surroundings of the Desadee.

There are rules, very strict rules.

Secrecy is paramount, for obvious reasons, and if any client should be deemed to be a bad risk, we kill them and probably members of their family, too.

This has happened.

It is not so difficult. The rest of my clients are well-placed and wealthy people. If I point out that we are all in danger from someone developing a conscience or becoming involved with the wrong people, there are plenty of offers to help to seek and destroy.

New clients are the most difficult, of course.

Before they have been on board and taken part in illegal activities, they pose a definite security threat. We resort to some quite bizarre methods to vet them before giving them clearance to become members of POP.

There are plenty of wealthy people out there who wish to become members of our exclusive club. They let it be known in certain circles that their interests are extreme, the Pay to Play kinky whorehouses of L.A., the quiet country clubs found in the wilds of the South African bush, the privately run mental homes in the forests of South America, or the playgrounds of Europe.

One of our existing members picks up the scent, and suggests we check the contact out, then I or Karl would probably go and somehow get close to the prospective client to find out more about them.

Harko Sayanni was such a person, a Japanese industrialist who had purchased a set of ultra violent comics from a firm we have friendly relations with in Spain.

His offer of a considerable fee for any actual photographic depictions of what was shown in the comics intrigued us.

Each of this companies comics featured young ladies being torn to shreds.

We found he was using fully encrypted communication which enabled him to receive illegal electronic mail, allowing us to send him some very detailed photographs of a young lady being impaled on a metal spear. The fee for each picture was ridiculously expensive, but he paid by No-Check and asked for more.

A set showing a very sweet sixteen year old lose her breasts whilst hanging from a hook inserted into her anus cost him more than most people earn in six months.

Karl took over.

The web is a wonderful way for people to communicate, though few realise how easy it is for the authorities to intercept and copy items, which can be distressing.

That is why, on the Desadee, we use a triple back play encryption system for all business mail, so secure that we have not yet found any hacker programme capable of deciphering it.

Our signals are bounced and relayed, so that the geographical location of their origin is hidden, and we change key features regularly.

To send criminally pornographic pictures to Harko Sayanni was thus secure, as all we needed to do was give him a temporary translator key then send streams of seemingly meaningless digital signals which his system could convert into deliciously detailed images of torn girl flesh.

His payments ensured that he was not likely to reveal that he had these images, and even if he did, they could not be traced back to us.

With this security in place, Karl exchanged details with Harko, about what turned him on, whether he would like to do it for real, and what would be his ideal phantasy to make reality.

And we learned that he already had a slave girl and was particularly keen on dismemberment, though he had never had the opportunity to perform his pleasures.

Pictures from Harko followed, and this was where we really decided he was a strong possibility as a new client.

He had a slim Japanese girl featured in his photographs. Ritual bondage, whips, candles, and needle work was shown in close up detail.

His chat with Karl was mainly saying how much he would like to cut off his pretty slaves' limbs after extensive and brutal torture.

He was talking about total destruction.

And when Karl suggested such things could be arranged for a certain fee, Harko begged for more details, immediately offering to pay in advance, a most unusual offer for our sort of customers.

I remember looking at the pictures Harko sent, the young slim girl virtually covered in complicated knotted ropes and a stiff-cocked naked Harko pulling one of her small breasts forward by the nipple and threatening it with a huge curved sword, grinning at the camera.

Karl and I were fucking after a pleasant afternoon helping a Texan oil man skin the buttocks of a big coloured girl he had bought.

“I sent him a bill and said he would be picked up by the helicopter on Thursday” Karl smiled, ruffling my hair. I was crouched on the bed sucking the remnants of our fuck off his cock. “Only trouble is, we've no Jap girls.”

“Mmmm….does he want Japs? They usually have such little tits” I grunted. “Anyway, I thought he wanted to top his slavegirl.”

“Turns out that's his wife. He's bringing her, wants her to see what he does.”

, “How do we know she's safe?” I asked, straddling Karl and moving up his body to position my extremely wet pudenda above his mouth.

“He tells me she really is his slave…loves it….she'll get off on the real deal, too. Or so he says. If she doesn't it will be a quick and rather messy divorce!”

I lowered myself down.

So nice, tongue sinking in, lapping, sucking…..

I was not too happy about Mr. Sayanni's wife.

Unlike her husband, she would not be considered legally responsible for what was done on the Desadee, so could be a weak link if she decided to stop being hubbies little torture slut……….

Conversation stalled for a while. I was far too busy having those delicious tremors of after burn that a skilfully administered licking can bring, and Karl's mouth was so full of my cunt that he would have been unable to do more than grunt.

When I first saw the prospective new member of our exclusive little club, I was amazed how tiny he was. I am a couple of inches under six foot, and Karl is just over. The Japanese gentleman who descended from the helicopter pad at the stern of S.S.Desadee was a bare five foot. His tiny wife was about the same, but so delicate looking that she reminded me of a geisha doll I had had as a little girl.

Much elaborate hand shaking and bowing. At least he spoke extremely good English, or we would really have been in trouble.

The wife was called Kobayen. She had big dark eyes and a face made up almost like a theatrical mask. She smiled shyly and trotted behind her husband like a little Manga cartoon girl.

We get to the point quickly once someone has passed enough checks to be allowed on board. If they are going to be a threat, it's too late to back track by then, so we have to make sure they will commit crime and thus self incriminate themselves. As usual, we had kept the victim of one of our other clients alive, despite her condition being irreparably damaged.

A newcomer was always asked to commence membership by being filmed killing a male or female “guest”. . . . . and Mr. Sayanni had readily agreed to this condition. Indeed, he seemed to be looking forward to it with great impatience.

Below decks, the Texan's negress was in a bad way. He had taken a six day trip, his pleasure being to skin a pretty “nigger” girl inch by inch between bouts of anal rape and similar pleasing pastimes. She was beyond any further use by now, totally out of her mind, virtually catatonic. She had only small sections of skin remaining on her body, mainly on her face and upper arms. Everywhere else had been peeled in some quite delightful ways, the raw flesh thus exposed being sprayed with elastoskin to stop her being able to slip away by bleeding to death.

Tex had obviously done more than just skin her between her legs. . . most of her vagina and all her pudenda had been removed. . . and her once large breasts were now strips of part roasted flesh that hung down like rags from heat seared cut wounds.

Harko was taken down to look at his proposed victim.

We have had a few occasions where people who could cheerfully hang a victim and enjoy sexual release as their victim strangles to death have been unable to even watch as a captive was whipped bloody. Some don't like the sight of blood, but love the cruelty of other types of torture. Quite a few are put off by the smell during what we categorise as serious torture, the entrails, the vacated bowels, even the sweat of terror and the iron tang of blood.

We make allowances, of course, and I was expecting this to be one of those times. The skinned negress was a very nightmarish sight.

To our surprise and delight, Harko walked round the half dead naked creature, gave a smile of pure evil, and asked if we would mind if he killed her by sawing off her arms and legs.

In the early evening, Karl and I went down to the cabin to set up the camera.

Kobayen was already there, bound from head to foot in soft white rope that crossed and re-crossed her body in the most intricate ways, leaving her suspended in mid air with her legs drawn up and slightly apart. The few areas of her actual flesh that could be seen were her small dark nippled breasts poking from a figure of eight ropework, and her dainty hairless little pussy, ringed with small golden lip rings and supporting a hanging golden container by tiny chains threaded into her cuntlip rings.

Her eyes were visible, staring with inscrutable intensity at the spread-eagled skinned negress on the cross beams before her.

Her husband was naked, revealing a well maintained body even if he was rather small. In proportion, his cock seemed quite big, but in reality was no more than seven inches long. He had taken some Viagra type of stimulant, as his cock remained at attention throughout the session.

When we were ready, the naked Japanese man began his work.

Using a small hammer and a metal panel-beaters hand pad, he started by holding the gently curved metal former under the woman's toes, then using the hammer to break every bone in each foot.

Unfortunately, the victim was in a world of her own and did not make much noise or even try to struggle in her bonds as her feet were expertly demolished by the Japanese businessman.

Karl and I were very impressed, however. This man was a true sadist.

We watched him turn both hands into flattened hamburgers of crunched bone and splattered flesh, then saw him use bone-saws to cut her legs off, through the knees first, then at the thigh.

She was dead long before he finished sawing her arms off, but it did not stop his obvious delight at the sound and feel of grating his way right through the limbs of the unfortunate negress.

Covered from head to toe in blood and bits of tissue, Harko then fucked his hanging wife, not caring in the least that we were clearing up the bits of severed girl meat to bin it ready to go in the grinder.

Needless to say, Mr. Sayanni and his pretty little wife were duly adjudged to have become members of Purveyors of Pain. No doubt the death of his next victim would be a much more entertaining spectacle.

He had chosen a busty South American young woman, one of the very welcome captives supplied by our friendly police chief, Carlos.

I asked if he would like Karl and I to help him dispose of her and was quite disappointed when he said he would rather just he and his wife did the work.

One does not argue with a client.

But I made sure he would be using a cabin that had remote control camera and sound systems linked to my cabin. If I could not join in, at least I could watch.

We don't mention it to clients, of course, but almost all areas on board are monitored by video cameras with sound recording. This includes the crew quarters and the captive holding cells. Any incidents that could lead to a security threat are thus known about and dealt with before trouble arises.

We were due to meet one other prospective client on this trip.

His name was Raynsford, John Raynsford.

I knew of him from contacts we have with certain gentlemen in the supply trade currently providing most of the unwilling girl flesh to the European market, namely the Albanian Mafia.

Like brothel owners and vice lords throughout the West, we know that the opportunities offered by ethnic wars are vast if you have no morals and plenty of ruthless ambition. Fetching good money anywhere, women are a very saleable item.

The Mafia have always known this and astounding numbers of young women from the ex-Soviet and Balkan regions have been seduced or simply abducted for use as sex objects in other wealthier areas.

We have bought a considerable number, and they have been duly disposed of and fed to the fishes.

Yacob Linsky is one of the few suppliers who knows what we do to the goods once they are in our hands. Having narrowly escaped capture in his recent forays in Bosnia, Yacob was sought for commanding a small group who were feared for their cruelty, raping and torturing mainly female prisoners. By a strange twist of fate, he became one of our suppliers and a girl we obtained from his group told us how he had raped her whilst forcing her to watch her sister being killed by having a grenade inserted into her well ravished pussy and detonated with spectacular results.……

We met…

We fucked.

We became friends, and Yacob has spent a couple of holidays on the Desadee as my guest.

He now supplies a selection of high quality victims, knowing they will never be able to testify against him if ever he should be captured.

And he has always bought his armaments from an Englishman, John Raynsford, who supplied him and others quite legitimately during the Croatian war. War over, and Yacob still wanted armaments, though for his Mafia style gangster usage rather than outright war.

Peacetime weapon trading is more discreet.

Raynsford wanted certain guarantees that he would not be connected with the sales, met Yacob, got drunk, was offered his choice of girl from a very attractive chorus line the Serbian provided, and, when she refused to let him fuck her arce, beat the shit out of her.

Far from being annoyed, Yacob suggested they tie the girl down and take turns raping her arcehole with various unpleasant objects that eventually left her bloody and unconscious.

This drunken orgy forged a firm friendship.

Raynsford suggested some of the payment for the arms he supplied could be offset against little weekend entertainments similar to the unplanned first session of buggery, and Yacob readily agreed.

Since then, they have killed eight women together.

With my permission, Yacob told the Englishman about our little enterprise, and he has applied for membership.

I was pleasantly surprised when he stepped from the helicopter. John is tall and quite handsome in a rugged sort of way, a sort of Arnie Swarzenegger type of macho man, rough hewn but with a face that can light up in a wicked smile women would find enchanting. He shook my hand, and I could feel his eyes briefly undress me. He moved aside, and a young woman almost tumbled from the chopper door. This was his project, and I liked what I saw at once.

“May I introduce Miss Emma Burnleigh-Smith, my…er…companion for the voyage!”

She stood about six foot tall, slightly top heavy with a bosom that threatened to erupt from the tight sweater over the fashion jeans. As soon as she spoke, I recognised the tones as those I knew so well from my own teenage years. Expensive private girls school, possibly, like mine, a Swiss finishing school.

“So pleased to meet you. John has told me so much about you. I'm so looking forward to the cruise. John tells me we are meandering around the Virgin Islands. Sounds absolutely gorgeous!”

I wished she had said “fabulous”. . . . but that would probably have made me burst out laughing.

I led them to the after deck. Sun loungers, parasols, long cool drinks in tall glasses served by uniformed cabin staff who know to keep their distance unless told otherwise.

I was in my Captains uniform which gave me the perfect excuse to suggest they make themselves comfortable whilst I went to change. I introduced Karl as my second in command. He always looks extremely good in full uniform, one of the benefits of his father insisting he belong to various youth army training groups when he was young.

As Karl shook hands I caught his glance of approval when he saw the delectable Miss Burnleigh-Smith.

They began the small talk getting to know you routine.

Actually, it is quite useful to learn a bit about the backgrounds of people we share the cruise with, and as the bosomy newcomer was one of those strange “in betweenies” she was more interesting than most.

Sorry. It's a term we use for the Burnleigh-Smiths type of passenger.

What I mean is, most girls arriving on Desadee are captured girlflesh. They do what they are told or we hurt them.

A few are sadists like myself. They know precisely what they want to do on the voyage.

And occasionally we have an in betweenie.

That's a girl who is partially corrupt. Maybe she's a dominatrix her partner wants to push beyond torment into full torture, maybe she's a prospective bride we have to ensure is going to share her future husbands' desire to torture women, or, like this new arrival, she is a sex slave in need of total domination.

Not that you would know the tall athletic girl was anyone's slave. She seemed very controlled and self-assured to me. But John Raynsford had told us he was part way through training her and wanted this voyage to complete her education.

Miss Emma Burnleigh-Smith.

She is twenty three and quite intelligent. Daddy is an art dealer in Surrey with a splendid “little cottage” which has six bedrooms, stables, two acres and a pool located just outside Cobham. Probably worth a penny or two, then.

As I had suspected, she had been to private boarding school but on the English South Coast rather than abroad.

A promising career in music came to an abrupt end when she and four country squire type friends were arrested for being in possession of and very much under the influence of a large amount of cocaine.

The fact that, during her arrest, Emma threw a policewoman down the curved marble staircase of the house they were weekending in did not do her a lot of good. She received a three month custodial sentence.

Though in one of the less traumatic so-called “open” prisons, life for a young woman who pronounced her words correctly and was obviously far better in class than any of the other inmates resulted in her being unmercifully bullied.

She spent days simply crying, afraid to venture out of her room.

The generous quantity of flesh sculpted into two imposingly out-thrust peaks on her chest, plus the attractive high cheek-boned face surrounded by a mane of dark lustrous hair meant that there was a lot of jealousy and lust generated among her cell mates.

And then one of the prison queens took her under her wing.

These dykes are present in every female gaol, unofficial gang leaders it is unwise to upset. The protection Emma received came at a cost, however. She had to become a subservient to her mistress, at first just in a “fetch and carry” mode, rather like the “fags” at British male private schools who are regarded as servants by their superior.

Before her three months were up, though, Emma had been made to perform other duties by her dyke protector, duties she still dislikes admitting to.

Leaving prison with a feeling of guilt made much worse by her knowledge of what she had been coerced into doing with her female protector, and the awful truth that she had secretly enjoyed it, Emma tried to make amends for her frivolous lifestyle by throwing herself into philanthropic pastimes.

She tried charity shop work, but the musty smell of both the items brought in for sale and the people who came in to buy them was too much for her aristocratic nostrils.

Genuinely concerned at the plight of refugees, she sought out work dealing with illegal immigrants…..and somehow met John Raynsford.

He was also interested in illegal immigrants but for a far from charitable reason.

He supplied information to contacts in Yacob's organization about female illegal immigrants who had evaded British immigration control. They were then taken care of long before the authorities got round to dealing with them.

At first it was a normal healthy relationship.

John found this upper deck totty a great help socially. Go to a meeting with a very pretty girl on your arm who sports a triple barrelled name, and you gained rapid entry to the upper echelons of the group.

Emma thought this strong reserved good looking man was something out of Bunty magazine, and she did not resist too long before finding that he was a strong and quite ruthless lover in bed, with excellent staying power though tending to lack much tenderness in the proceedings.

Indeed, the first time he snarled “Now you fuckin' bitch !” as he reached the peak of a very rapid rhythmic series of pelvic thrusts, Emma had felt rather ashamed because it made her come even more noisily than usual.

Then she made the mistake one night, after a few romantic hours over a candle lit meal sipping excellent Chateau Neuf du Pape, of telling John how she had been abused in prison.

To her horror, far from being sympathetic, he found it highly erotic and demanded that she give him a blow by blow (or, more accurately, a suck by suck) account of what happened.

He made her kneel in front of his unzipped flies, take out his erection, and, between every few words, lick his cock from scrotum to tip while she described exactly what she had been forced to do in prison.

Quite suddenly, their relationship had moved to a new level.

Perhaps, if she had resisted at this point, Emma may have been spared. But, confused by his reactions to her shameful story and feeling a cross between guilt and love, she accepted his sudden change of character and obeyed his first few commands.

“Tell me that bit again, you dirty lesbian cunt-sucker!” he growled as she gave him one juicy detail.

“Peel my foreskin back….lick that cheese from the groove, you dirty fuck bag!” he snarled.

“No…John, please, no!”

“Christ, a slut like you should be fucked up the arse! Turn round, hands and knees, and lift your fuckin' skirt up, cunt. I'm going to teach you what a slave should really learn….how to take it up the arcehole!”

Shocked, horrified, and just a little dreadfully excited, Emma tried to protest.

John hit her across the face, knocking her sideways on to the carpet.

“Get your fuckin' arce in the air or I'll kick the shit out of you, you toffee nosed cunt!” he shouted, standing over her and drawing back his foot as if about to kick her in the stomach.

Tingling with fear and shame, Emma knealt in front of him, hoisting her silky evening gown up to display her bottom. He had already peeled off her silk panties during the meal, when things were still gentle and loving.

He knealt behind her, strong hands clasping her hips. She could feel the wet tip of his penis sliding into the tight crease of her shapely buttocks.

His hands moved suddenly, fingers drawing her cheeks apart, forming a guide to hold his rod steady and on target, then he began to thrust at the rosebud brown pink ring of her totally virginal sphincter.

He had to work hard, and he used the most abusive foul language Emma had ever heard as he butted against her and slowly forced open that muscular ring.

She cried out when his glans slid inside, then actually shrieked as he drove viciously deep with repeated jack-hammer thrusts.

She knew he had penetrated her to the full length of his penis, feeling his belly crash against and flatten the cheeks of her rump.

He threw himself onto her, hands reaching round to rip her dress open and let his fingers gouge into the sumptuous forty plus generosity of her proud breasts.

But this was not fondling. He was crushing, pulling, twisting and clawing at her like a wild animal, deliberately making her scream with pain as he shafted her behind to its extremities.

When he eventually roared his climax and she could feel the strange wetness like a mini enema in her bowels, Emma lay face down and quietly sobbed.

He got up, tidied his clothes, and then took a handful of her lustrous chestnut hair. He hauled her to her feet, literally pulling her up by her hair.

“That was good, Emma. You will make a wonderful sex slave, won't you? You will do what I tell you, because I'm sure you don't want all your friends to know you spent your time in prison sucking the clit of a fifty year old dyke!”

Emma was sobbing, feeling ashamed of what had just happened, not only because anal sex was something she thought was disgusting but because, despite the pain and humiliation, she had rather enjoyed it.

Her bottom felt odd, still open, as if she had got off the toilet only part way through depositing a rather big turd. And sperm was trickling down her thighs. She wanted to wash herself clean, but John was holding her like a rag doll, not allowing her to move away.

“Answer me, bitch!” he snarled, shaking her by the hair.

Emma cried out. He was suddenly a totally different man. A monster, abusing her, talking in a way she had not heard before.

“Please, John, what are you doing? That hurts. Let me go. Why did you do that?”

To her total confusion and absolute horror, he punched her hard in her belly. With a gasp of real pain, poor Emma folded like a burst balloon and he let her drop, to lie squirming in pain on the carpet at his feet.

As he looked at the lovely young woman holding her hands to her stomach where he had hit her satisfyingly hard, John began to feel another erection coming on even though he had just come in her backside. He was holding back his real desire, of course. He wanted this well educated young lady to become a dirty submissive slave, his to command.

He wanted to be able to tell her to open her mouth and let him pee down her throat, see the self disgust in her eyes as she allowed herself to be used in any obscene way that took his fancy. And, more than that, he actually wanted to make her enjoy it.

“On your knees, Emma. I want you to suck your shit off my cock. And if you do it well, I might let you off being punished. Do it, or I'll make sure everyone you know learns about your prison sex games, and I'm sure you would just love for that to happen…..”

She begged. On her knees before him, her expensive dress hanging aside allowing her breasts to thrust out, his brutal finger marks showing red against the creamy flesh, her tell tale nipples still hard despite her fear.

“Please John, this isn't fair. I haven't done anything to deserve this. What on Earth's got into you? I was only telling you because I thought you loved me and I wanted you to know…”

“Shut up, Emma. Who the hell do you think you are? Look at you, a dirty bitch with spunk dribbling out of her arcehole, tits out like a fucking whore, fucking tears smearing all your bloody eye shadow. You look a mess, and that's what you are. My fucking heap of mess, understand? You do as I tell you or I'll make everyone look at you as though you're shit.

Think Daddy will like it when he knows you don't just sniff cocaine but suck pussy too? And all your fancy friends at the hunt ball?

Think of how they'll look at you when they are thinking of you licking some prison cows' pussy!

You're lucky I'm the sort of chap who likes dirty little cunts like you. Most men wouldn't want to even touch you if they knew you'd been a prison sex slave.”

Emma groaned with horror. It was all horribly true.

The folk in the British class-riddled system had a built in perverse delight in gossiping about their betters and enjoying pulling them off their pedestals. If the story got out, Emma knew she would quite probably feature on the front page of at least one of the national tabloid newspapers.

A photograph taken when she was at a nightclub, perhaps, with a headline like “Posh Emma was Prison Sex Slave!” above all the lurid details, written in such a way that it would suggest she probably loved her debased time in prison, never for one moment saying this was what you did unless you wanted a razor slash to mar your face…..

She stared up at him, the defeat showing in her eyes.

John's cock jerked as he saw her resignation. He had got her.

“What do you want?” she murmured.

“I want you to be my girlfriend, Sweetheart. Just as we are. Except you are also my slave in the bedroom. I've got this thing about control…maybe I'm a bit of a control freak. So if I say crawl, you crawl. And if I think you should be punished, you do as you are told and I do as I want. Simple, really. You'll probably enjoy it.”

“But you hit me, and that was rape just now….”

“Of course, you stupid bitch. That's what you're for. I like hitting a woman! And if you don't do as I told you, you're going to find out how much it can hurt very quickly!”

She looked at the jutting cockhead swaying only inches from her eyes. She could feel a squirm of horror in her stomach as she saw that his foreskin had trapped some brown shreds of her faeces in its folds and there was a distinct anal aroma from the slime along the length of the shaft.

“Go on, bitch. Suck your shit off your Master's cock like a good little whore-slave!” he growled, and his face broke into a wolfish grin of triumph as the lovely girl opened her mouth and timidly tasted her own bodily waste as he pushed his cock between her lips.

John pushed forward, the dome of his penis meeting the back of her throat. He caught her head to hold her as her gagging reaction made her try to pull back. Pushed still more, hearing her gurgle and choke, cock forced to bend as it went down her throat.

John had a cruel smile on his face. He was thinking of the little white Russian he had taken apart with Yacob a couple of weeks ago. He had been choking her on his cock, just like this, watching Yacob cut open her cunt with a serrated blade.

Be a good girl, Emma. It would be nice to hear a posh English girl's voice screaming instead of those Serbs, Croats and Russkies.

He came, squirting his seed into her, dominating her completely. She would give in to him now. He knew she was his.

For a couple of weeks, John used a mixture of encouragement and fear to bend Emma to his ways. Her downfall was that she really was a sexy little mare, and as he revealed more of his interest in perversion, Emma found her disgust tempered with her arousal.

He made her read some x-rated books, forcing her to lie with her legs wide apart as she read so that he could fondle, kiss, and play with her sex.

He knew where the really dirty bits were, and timed his sexual assault to bring her to peak enjoyment just as she read of some woman being tortured rather viciously.

He also fed her a few drugs, but not enough to get her addicted.

Next came movies, collations of the best bits from commercial productions, underground sex movies for the kinky collector, and a couple of Manga cartoons with bondage and punishment as the theme.

As he expected, Emma began to accept that he enjoyed brutal cruelty. She understood that it aroused him to have her talk about such things, she knew that the sudden flush of heat down between her thighs each time he suggested some new perverse act was because she had a pretty disgusting mind herself.

When he told her she was coming on holiday for a cruise on a ship which encouraged sexual freedom among the passengers (the real version of The Love Boat, he called it!) she was looking forward to it.

Arriving on board by private helicopter impressed Emma greatly. And the welcome was superb. Drinks with the Captainess, or whatever you called a female boss on a boat.

Very pretty. Emma wondered if she joined in any of the sexual freedom John had suggested went on.

And Emma had a feeling that the frank appraisal of her figure by Captain Govash was a bit like the looks she had known in prison. Shame the Captain left almost as soon as they had met. . . .. . .

.

Getting Aquainted.

.

I put on my shorts and a low halter top.

The contrast from a dark navy uniform to brief casuals always gives people quite a surprise. I wear fairly high heels, even in casuals, and yet I was still a little shorter than the new girl. She and John were still standing when I returned, walking around the small promenade deck rather than sitting in the loungers. I came up behind them, feeling quite a little rush of desire as I studied Emma's behind and long muscular legs. Perhaps it was her upper class accent or her big breasts, I'm not sure, but I fancied her a lot. I knew that she had been forced into lesbian activity in prison. If John wanted to see how she went with a woman, I really wanted to be the woman she went with.

“Oh, gosh. That was quick. Oh, I love those shorts. Are they Gucchi?” Emma simpered.

“Lacroix” I smiled. “Don't you want to come and sit?”

“Rather like looking around, actually” Emma smiled. “Is this all the deck? Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but it's not quite what I was expecting.”

“Promenades and health spa, perfume shop and la crosse courts?” I smiled.

“Well, yes, I suppose so. I mean John did say it was a sort of cruise ship but it looks more like a tanker!”

John stared at me. He had a rather stern face, intense eyes. “Please don't be offended by this silly girl, Captain,” he said. “She is not very aware of the purpose of the S.S.Desadee.”

“I see….well, I will really look forward to explaining it to her” I smiled, “and please call me Samantha, or Sam. No-one stands on formality here. I'm only ‘Captain' in port. First name terms are so much easier.”

“Sorry….didn't mean to be rude!” Emma said, actually blushing slightly.

Oh, I loved her. Those dark eyes and those big rounded breasts.

“You don't think, do you?” John snapped. “I think that was a very hurtful thing to say. Tell Sam you really are sorry.”

The girl looked worried. She knew that tone of voice. She began to fluff, telling me my ship was very nice, not at all like a cargo ship after all.

“On your knees and beg forgiveness, silly bitch!” John rasped.

Her eyes flew open with shock.

“I…er…what?”

“On your fuckin' knees, cunt, and beg Sam to forgive you or I'll take your knickers down and spank your arce right here!”

You could see the emotions in her eyes, shame, shock, surprise, and then dawning realisation. She looked at me, and saw my rather obvious evil smile of anticipation, then to Karl, who rather crudely pulled the fly of his uniform trousers open.

With her face glowing a rosy pink, she knelt down in front of me. “I'm sorry, Miss Govash. I did not mean to insult you or your lovely boat. Please forgive me.”

I pushed my shorts down. “Show me you mean it, Emma. Usually an apology is sealed with a kiss. So. . . kiss my cunt.”

I spread my legs.

She turned her head and looked up at John, her expression pleading for mercy. He shook his head. “Do as you're told!”

Her face tilted up, her eyes glued on the slightly open spread of my labia. I pushed my belly forward slightly, conscious of John's admiring stare. He had not seen this part of me before. He obviously approved.

Her tongue flicked nervously over her full red lips. She inhaled. The little bitch was drinking in the aroma of roused cuntflesh. I know that look and the way her nostrils quivered. She may have said she was horrified and disgusted by what she had learned in prison, but I think she loved the taste of pussy.

Her tongue slipped between the full puffs of my lower lips, moved slowly upwards, circled my clitoris. God, I was starting to juice up already. She knew just how to let the pressure vary in just the right places. Women know what I mean. Men tend to mash in and think enthusiastic suction is arousing. I think only Karl sucks me as well as a woman, and that is only due to years of practice and a total frankness between us on sexual matters.

How many of you gentlemen have said “Oh, Darling, that was wonderful” when you would really have preferred to say :-“If you'd sucked harder/softer/pushed your finger up my bum/let me pee on you/ etc. etc. it would have been really great!”….. but you were too afraid of being thought a disgusting pervert to say it ?

So silly, as lots of times the partner on either side really does not know every devious delight that would give so much pleasure during lovemaking….

Anyway, Emma was so careful not to press in too hard, just reaming my g-spot with the tip of her tongue, keeping just far enough back from my automatically thrusting belly to tease me into still higher levels of desire.

Karl whispered something to John, and both of them began to pull their cocks out.

“Is she apologising well enough, Miss Govash…oh, sorry…Samantha?” John asked, displaying an almost fully erect penis, medium in length but very thick. “Or should she be taken below to say she is sorry in our cabin?”

“Well…..I am beginning to see that she is trying hard to be nice to me” I smiled, “but perhaps if she undressed a little, I would be able to see that she really means what she says! Perhaps it may be more comfortable down below!”

Below decks, the Desadee has been designed to withstand cursory investigation by having a deck of well equipped cabins surrounding a central hold in which we do carry high price cargo. All the external cabin windows, though large and offering excellent vistas of the ocean, are made in a dark looking glass that preserves privacy. The cabins are quite luxurious and all fully serviced with en suites and small dressing rooms. The latter double as holding cells should a guest wish to have his unwilling playmate nearby during the night….

The next lower deck has high security steel reinforced shutter corridors, lined with cells of various sizes and differing purposes. Screams can not be heard from this area.

Lower still are sleeping quarters for both crew and transit captives or held women we may be transporting for clients, and still further into Desadee's depths lie the duplicated engines, fuel reserves, water, electrical, refrigeration, and storage sections plus the meat grinder disposal points.

We have a conduct code for security. In remote ocean regions where our sophisticated radar can assure us we will not be seen or heard, captives may be made to suffer above the lower deck, though we rarely have open air entertainment except when under canvas awnings as spy in the sky systems are now getting damnably good.

Near ports and in shipping lanes, guests are required to stay below, and sadism may only be practised beyond the security shutters. All guests arrive and depart by helicopter. Victims are more likely to be hoisted on board securely doped and restrained in special containers that have air recycling and internal water purifying systems so that no external check will reveal breathing, etc.

We have had to take some quite extreme security measures since international terrorism and illegal immigration has become rife. Fortunately, most of our supply zones are in regions with somewhat suspect security forces…..Bribery can achieve wonders.

I apologize for the tour, but it serves to give you some idea of the complexity behind the POP organization, and helps explain why our fees are so high.

As usual, I had just given John Raynsford a similar explanation of our routines, seeing his still kneeling and deliciously pussy-sucking girlfriend look somewhat horrified when the word “torture” happened to be used, and then suggested we go down to their cabin.

Emma watched me pull my shorts up with some reluctance on both our parts. Her tongue licked her lips as if to gain every last trace of my sex taste.
Once in the cabin, John told his girlfriend to strip. Karl and I were present, and she started to get a bit flustered, actually saying “But, John Darling, we aren't on our own yet…” at which he turned on her like a tiger and gave her a quite violent slap across the face.

“Get it straight, Emma. On this ship you do as you're fucking-well told or you get more bloody trouble than you ever thought was possible. Now get naked and get your mouth on Sam's cunt double quick unless you want to be strapped on this bed and whipped!”

Karl shed his pants.

I squirmed with that delicious tingle I get when I see the dawning of fear in a girls eyes. John began to strip as well. So why should I be bashful?

Four of us, all stark naked. Two men with hard cocks, grinning nastily at the high class bitch on her hands and knees giving me a very intimate tongue bath.

Then John got behind her, and her face was pushed into my belly most delightfully as he shoved his cock into her arcehole. Karl had to wait, gently masturbating as he watched Emma get a really hard and fast bum fuck while I grabbed her lovely long hair and ground myself against her mouth until my juices syruped her face in a delicious wet climactic orgasm.

As soon as I stepped away, Karl got in front of her and pulled her breasts forward, wrapping them around the thickness of his cock, and rocking her back and forth painfully so she breast fucked him while John arce fucked her….. but he pulled out from her breasts in time to invade her mouth before ejaculating.

“Drink it down, Sweetie!” I called. “Lose any of that nice tasty cream and you will make up for your carelessness in pain!”

Naturally, as soon as he saw Karl move away, now limp and sucked clean, John pulled out of his girl-friends bottom and moved to get his cock inside her mouth.

I noticed she did not dare to pull away, even though one could see ample evidence that he had been inside her rectum.

Karl, standing beside me, fondled my breasts lovingly. “I think she's going to give us all a lot of fun, Sam. I wonder how far he wants to take her?”

John overheard, despite Karl speaking softly.

“Don't worry, my friend. She's going to find out what Hell is like before the end of this trip. You like pissing down a bitches throat?” he smiled grimly. “Be my guest!”

And he slapped poor Emma across the face, sending her sprawling onto the cabin floor. “In the heads, Cunt. Don't want any piss on the carpet!”

Emma gave a squeal of anger. “I'm not doing that for anyone, John!” she rasped. “You've gone too far. That's something I wouldn't even let you do!”

John caught a handful of her long auburn hair and wrenched her to her feet, dragging her through the narrow doorway to the en suite shower and toilet facilities. She cried out with pain and anger, making the mistake of trying to hit him in her fury.

I was quite amazed how brutally John hit her.

He smashed a clenched fist with full force low in her stomach, making her double over in agony, retching as she tried to draw breath. She dropped to her knees, tears welling from her eyes, looking up at him with reproach and fear, just in time to see his fist aimed at her mouth. She gurgled, her lower lip split and bleeding, and sank onto the tiled floor unconscious.

“Cunt!” John growled. “Showing me up in front of you. I'll make sure she does as she's told next time!”

And he kicked her prone body savagely.

Oddly, I felt quite sorry for poor Emma. It was not a terribly bright start to her holiday cruise.

Karl and I left, quite reluctantly. But one has to afford clients certain privacy, and I had the feeling John wanted to be alone with his unfortunate girlfriend for a while.

They appeared together in the evening for dinner. True to cruise ship tradition, we tend to dress up a little for our evening meal. This does not forbid quite outrageous displays of nudity or fetish clothing, as one has to cater for the most odd of desires all the time, but we do tend to play the formal role for a first night on board, at least, and our staff all attend us in smart uniforms with only minor alterations from the norm. Female skirts are perhaps excessively short and male pants all have quick release velcroed pouches in the genital area. But, if nothing sexual is taking place, they could pass for regular crew without much trouble.

I was in a long evening dress made of sheer opalescent silver silk from Taiwan, revealing my figure in detail but actually covering my body quite modestly. I wore no underclothes apart from a suspender belt to hold up my dark silk stockings. My shoes were quite sweet, pearl silver with five inch heels that I love, even though they make walking a bit precarious in anything of a swell.

Karl had a midnight blue tuxedo with a pearl grey silk shirt pleated down the front and a midnight bow tie that really made him look extremely elegant, almost Latin.

Emma was in a simple white silk dress with dark stockings and high heels. Her lip was swollen, powder and make up unable to conceal the damage. She walked slowly, wincing slightly. Her frightened eyes were at odds with the fixed smile she tried desperately to keep plastered on her face.

John was seemingly the perfect gentleman, pulling the chair out for Emma, his eyes gleaming with a secret satisfaction as she sat down gingerly, unable to hide a slight grimace of pain when her bottom met the chair cushion.

He wore a dark evening suit. It made him look quite saturnine.

Harko Sayanni was in a very dapper black silk suit, his wife, Koboyan, wearing a Westernised kimona.

Our Texan client was below decks. He was not a very sociable type, and had elected to stay in his cabin with the teenage Mexican girl who was going to be his suffering companion for the next few days of the voyage.

The meal was devoid of incident, the talk mainly about the results of the recent war in Bosnia and Serbia. Harko said it had received very little publicity in the East, but he had heard that the after effects had resulted in a lot of white slavers making serious money from “re-locating” women who had lost their menfolk as a result of the fighting. Naturally, this made us mention Jacob Linskey and John said he was hoping to spend some time with his slaver friend, probably getting a chance to kill another girl with Jacob in a few weeks time.

I saw Emma's eyes flare wide. We all heard her gasp of horror.

John looked directly at her and smiled wickedly. “Did you say something, Darling?”

Emma blushed. “I….er….I'm sorry, I thought you said….no….sorry!”

John shook his head sadly. “Oh, dear girl. You really must learn to grow up, you know. That's what this holiday is all about. . . . learning to live with each other, make each other happy. You will learn all about me, how I like watching a pretty girl explode when Jacob puts a grenade up her vagina after we have raped and tortured her for a day or two, how next time we'll probably get you cut her tits off for us while we are double fucking her…..”

Emma had lost every bit of colour from her face. She gave a little whimper of horror and looked at me, then at Karl. We could see her brain realizing that we had heard John say this too, and were not in the least upset or disgusted.

“Isn't that a bit dangerous?” Karl asked. “I'd have thought you would be worried about flying shrapnel.”

“No, we use a small anti-personnel grenade. It blows her belly open and makes a bloody mess, but it's safe enough unless you're still fucking her!”

We all laughed.

Emma was turning rather green.

“I've used fireworks once or twice” I smiled. “They can burn very enjoyably if they have magnesium in the mix. And magnesium wire can keep burning right through a girls breast if it's threaded through and then set alight. The bright white light shows up as pink while it burns inside her flesh.”

“Jacob likes putting a pistol up them as well. If you're careful, you can take quite a few shots up a womans cunt before you hit anything lethal,” John continued.

“The Japanese soldiers cure for V.D.” Harko laughed.

“What?”

“Oh, in the last world war. Any Japanese soldier who caught venereal disease from one of the concubines and whores laid on at the army camps was expected to push his pistol up the infected passage and blow the poor womans head off!”

“Good incentive for the ladies to take care of their personal hygiene!” John laughed.

Emma was sitting totally still, afraid to move, breathing in shallow little gasps. I had thought she might have been sick, but she seemed to be holding herself in control. Her face was very pale, making her brown eyes look even larger and darker than usual, a human Manga drawing.

The after dinner coffee was served.

Harko stood and gave a polite bow to the rest of us. “Please excuse my wife and I” he smiled. “We would like to spend the rest of the evening getting to know the young Brazilian lady you have so kindly provided in our cabin. I do hope you will not be offended by our absence.”

Koboyan stood and bowed to each of us in turn, then followed her diminutive husband from our presence like a well-trained servant.

John shrugged his shoulders. “Seems there is not going to be much socializing on this trip, then? Still, I suppose what they're going to do in their cabin is what they came for, really.”

I smiled at him. “You haven't chosen your companion yet. Would you like to view what we have down below?”

“I get a choice? Wonderful. I thought it would be all pre packaged, you know….in with the ticket price!”

“It sometimes is, especially for repeat clients, when we get to know their preferences, but as you are a new member of our society we thought you could choose from our cargo. There are five available.”

Emma was following the conversation without really understanding what was going on. She still looked shell-shocked and very scared.

“Come on, Darling” John smiled, taking her arm and helping her stand. By the way she moved, I could guess he had tanned her backside. “We're going to pick our new playmate. It will be nice to have a fresh cunt for you to suck.”

Karl came with us, the four of us taking the lift down to the lower secure cargo deck.

It was a narrow corridor, mesh covered strip lights every few yards, metal honeycomb sheet floor, no pretty carpets or touches of luxury down here.

I unlocked one of the doors and stood aside to let John usher his silent and trembling girl friend inside first.

I always love those little gasps of horror and surprise people give when they see something totally unexpected and rather disgusting.

Emma was staring at a tall golden bodied Mexican senorita manacled against the far wall of the cell, her body spread out in a loose “X” by fine silver chains securing wrist and ankle cuffs to rings welded in the steel wall. She was naked.

She had obviously been unable to control her needs, the cabin smelling like a toilet and a little brown pile on the floor between her legs, sitting in a wet patch of urine.

John looked the girl up and down. She was a fine specimen, but I could tell the chemistry was not there.

“She's…. erm…she's very nice!” John said. “Great tits.”

The girl began to plead in Spanish, many por favors and madre de dios as she begged to be helped or released. Of course, sometimes I like to keep a fresh bit of stock in total ignorance of her situation, and this poor girl was one of those. My staff would not speak to her, just leave food and unfasten her wrists while she ate. In the evening she would be secured to a small cot bed. She was not allowed to wash, use the head, put on any clothes, and so on. Treated in total silence, scared out of her wits, and not knowing anything about her true predicament.

In the next cabin were two girls, casually dressed in jeans and tee shirts, but gagged.

Their wrists were secured behind their backs but otherwise they could move around their quite normal two berth cabin unhindered.

They had been told they were on their way to a slave auction in the middle east.

“On your feet ladies!” I snapped, and both the girls reluctantly got off the couch they had been sitting on, watching a colour T.V.

“It's a pre-view to see if this gentleman fancies either of you for his stable!”

The ring gags allowed enough noise for us to recognise “fuck off” even though the rings were secured between their lips.

I saw a flash of interest in John's eyes and smiled inwardly. He was certainly a control freak. This minor spark of belligerence had piqued his interest, made him want to teach the young ladies to obey….

“American ladies” I explained, “Working in Cambodia for the World Trade organization until they unfortunately had a drink in a bar run by some friends of mine who collect stock for the slave markets….which is where these two are headed.”

“I'll take that one!” John said, pointing at the taller of the two girls.

Karl produced a nasty looking black automatic pistol from his pocket. Any protests the girls may have been about to make suddenly ceased. He motioned for the girl to leave the cabin, and we followed.

“Have you any preference as to the type of room you want to use to get to know the young lady?” I asked.

John looked puzzled.

“You know, all modern chrome and electric toys, ancient Spanish Inquisition, comfortable passion wagon….what?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Well, the Spanish Inquisition sounds like fun. There are beds and so on?”

“Of course. Comfort if you want it, or just the opposite, too!”

Up one deck. Corridor now plush carpet, but the cabin doors solid steel and sound proofed. Room seven. Again let the punters go in first.

“Oh my God!” from Emma and “Oh, this is great!” from John.

“Would you like us to leave you to get things organised?” I smiled, hoping he'd say “No” so we could stay and play dirty games too. Unfortunately, he nodded, eyes devouring the toys on view in the large windowless cabin that had been designed to replicate a stone dungeon complete with a rack, wheel, rows of whips and flails, and other old fashioned love toys.

“John, I don't want to stay in here please” from Emma, who was staring at the pincers, clamps, presses and branding irons around the cell with a sort of sick understanding on her face.

“Oh, Sweetheart, this is just the first night of our cruise. You'll enjoy all the new experiences. Don't be silly, Darling. I'm sure you'll want to get to know our new friend here, won't you? It's all going to be ever so exciting. Be a good girl and take your clothes off straight away. Thanks, Miss Govash. I'll call on the com-phone if I need any help. Believe me, you seem to have provided everything a man could ask for!”

Karl and I left, carefully shutting the heavy steel door. He slapped my bottom. “Come on, then. Up to your room and put the cameras on!”

.

……………………

Being Voyeurs.

.

By the time we were undressed and had switched on the two cabin cameras for the protection recording, John had stripped his new possession down to her underclothes.

She was shackled to the wall, wrists above her head, ankles apart. Her jeans and tee shirt were crumpled on the floor, cut from her body.

Dressed only in her very sexy lace underthings, Emma was kneeling on the floor, and John had put a clamp bar over the back of her calves to prevent her escaping from her subservient position. He had not tied her arms, obviously confident that she dare not strike him.

He was just shrugging his pants down to reveal his nakedness.

I was surprised to see that his penis was flaccid. I had expected him to be engorged and ready to go, with the thrill of securing and stripping the American woman.

We turned the sound up so it was almost like being in the cabin with them, our multiple screens showing the usual radar, navigation, security scan, and so on, then the two slightly larger flat plasma screens side by side in the middle of the display wall showing the two views of the selected cabin.

“Right, Emma. Time to introduce you to our new friend,” John smiled with a nasty gleam in his eyes. “Tell her what you are!”

“I…..John, please. I don't like this game. I think we should stop before things go too far, Darling!”

John shook his head sadly. “Oh, Sweetheart. I thought that caning I gave your backside before dinner had taught you a lesson. Do I have to do it again?”

Emma shook her head. “No…..no, please. That hurt me awfully. Please don't hurt me again. You're supposed to love me, not hurt me!”

The evil man shook his head again, as if saddened by the recalcitrance of a favourite pupil. He turned his back on Emma and went over to his captive American.

He put a hand on each of her bra-covered breasts and squeezed her hard enough to hurt. Despite the ring gag, she made some pretty expressive noises of furious anger.

“Oh be quiet, woman. I'm just checking to see if you have any jelly bags in these rather splendid tits. They feel pretty firm to me. Shall we let my silly little girl-friend see what your nipples look like? She's a bit of a lezzie, you see. Oh, you call them Dykes in America, don't you? Whatever. She gets all wet and sexy looking at pretty girls with no clothes on.”

“John…..don't, please. Stop it. I don't want to be part of this game, whatever it is. And I don't, I mean,…… I'm not a lesbian!”

“Be quiet, Emma. You are going to enjoy this.”

John slid his fingers under the base of the captives bra. cups and popped them upwards so her breasts were revealed and her brassiere hung loosely over her chest. She squirmed helplessly in her bondage.

He bent his head and began to lick her nipples, grabbing hold of her to stop her shaking from side to side in an effort to frustrate his efforts to suck her tits.

Then one hand dropped and slipped down the front of her plain white panties. She squealed through the ring gag, struggling even harder as his fingers found the cleft of her vagina and stroked her intimately.

“What colour is your bush, Yankee babe?” he chuckled. “Shall we take a look? Shouldn't be any secrets between us should there, seeing as how we're going to all fuck together and play lots of lovely dirty games.”

He picked up the knife with which he had slit away her jeans. It had no difficulty slicing open the sides of her panties which immediately fluttered to the floor and revealed a quite thick pubic bush in a dark auburn brown, very curly, and obviously not trimmed in any way.

“Nice!” he smirked, rubbing his forefinger along her exposed crease where the thicker lips jutted out slightly from the shadowy fold of her labia.

“Ever had it sucked by another woman?” he asked.

The captive just continued to make her rather muffled curses and threats, totally garbled by the ring gag.

Shockingly, John's fist smashed into the American woman's belly.

Her outstretched “X” position meant she could not double up as all the wind was expelled from her chest, and she made a gurgling gasping sound as her eyes bulged from their sockets in amazement.

Emma gasped, too, her lovely eyes screwed up in horror as she saw her supposedly caring boy-friend brutally punch this helpless stranger again, making the poor woman retch with agony.

I noticed how his cock was beginning to grow. Our new client was a true sadist. Hurting a woman definitely turned him on.

“I asked a question, you cunt-faced slut!” he shouted at the gasping woman. “Nod your fucking head for Yes or shake it for No…..not fuckin' difficult, is it?”

The poor woman was terrified. She glared at him, still trying to get her breath back from the two belly blows. Unfortunately, she seemed not to understand that this was another question.

John brought his knee up between her outspread legs, thudding hard straight into the meat of her loins.

“Answer, cunt! Is it fuckin' difficult?”

She was shaking her head now, desperate to stop him hitting her again.

John smiled that mirthless smile at her again, patted her cheeks gently, even wiped away a couple of tears that trickled down her cheeks.

“There……now you are beginning to get the idea. You do what you are told and things could be quite enjoyable. But my problem is that I get a sort of charge out of hurting a woman, see, so unless you do exactly what I tell you, well….I just sort of lash out and watch you suffer! There…..where was I ? Oh, yes. Introductions. I suppose we'd better find out a little bit about you if we're going to get into bed together! I'm going to take the gag off, and you will want to start asking questions and telling me what a monster I am and all that sort of thing, but I want you to shut your fuckin' mouth and only speak when I ask a question!

Now, you just get one chance. On the wall over there I can see a knotted leather whip…..I think they call it a “tawse”, or something. I've never used one of those on a woman, but I bet it can rip tits open like a knife through butter. You make a sound, and we'll all find out if I'm right!”

John unbuckled the cheek strap and pulled the ring gag out of the American's mouth. She shook her head, making her rather attractive mane of shoulder length auburn hair fan out like a shampoo advert. She was still breathing raggedly, but had learned her lesson. She just glared at the Englishman with eyes that spoke volumes.

“Good girl. Now, what's your name?”

“Christine Lennox.”

“Good. How old are you, Christine?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Married or single?”

“Single.”

“Have you got a regular boy-friend?”

She nodded, her eyes misting up as she almost started to cry.

He learned that her boy-friend had not gone to Cambodia with her, and she had not seen him for seven months.

“You fuck around in Cambodia, then?”

She shook her head angrily.

“And our Captain said you were drinking with that other girl in a bar when they acquired you. You find a bit of girl on girl fun to keep your pussy satisfied, then?”

“I did not!”

“O.K. …..don't get you knickers in a twist. You'll be sucking my girl-friend's cunt shortly, and I know she'll love tasting your little love canal!”

“I will do no such thing!” the poor girl snapped, naturally upset by the casual way John informed her she was going to do a bit of muff diving.

John shook his head sadly. “Where do you come from in America?”

“Dakota.”

“You went to school there?”

“Until I went on to college, yes”.

“Well, the education system in Dakota leaves a lot to be desired. One thing they should have taught you was obedience, and another important thing is not to make a man angry with you if he's got you spread-eagled on the wall with your wrists and ankles chained up.

Now I know they don't sort of include that exact scenario in most school lessons, but they should have taught you common sense…..and telling me you are not going to do what I fuckin' tell you to fuckin'-well do is not fuckin' sensible, bitch!”

He took the knotted tawse from the row of assorted implements of flagellation on the cabin wall, swung it a few times to gauge the weight.

“John, don't! John, for Christ's sake, this isn't funny….stop it. You mustn't…..Oh My God!!!!”

The scream vibrated round the cabin. Emma's mouth had dropped open. She was staring in absolute horror at the shrieking American girl. Ignoring his girl-friend's pleas, John had slashed the whip hard over Christine's chest, and one of the knots in the braided leather had caught the left nipple and split the aureole open on the lower edge. Blood poured down her crazily bouncing breast as she writhed in her chains like a demented soul, screaming repeatedly.

He hit her twice more, then tossed the whip aside. His cock was tumescent, arching upwards, foreskin peeling back from the purple glans.

I was expecting him to simply approach his victim and shaft her, but Mr.Raynsford was a better sadist than that. He obviously enjoyed the fear and horror a bit of anticipation can create.

Instead, he walked to Emma and stood in front of her. He nodded downwards at his engorged cock. “Come on, slut. Wet your Master!”

It was fascinating seeing the struggle in her mind. She wanted to protest, but he had been teaching her that her position was a slave to his manhood, and there it was, bobbing in front of her face, demanding service. She opened her mouth and bobbed her head forward, taking her Master's tool between her lips and fellating him slowly.

Christine was sobbing, getting her heart rate under control.

“Jesus, my breasts are bleeding. For Chrissakes help me. Look, come on….you can't do this, man. For God's sake, help me. My breasts are….”

“Shut up, Yankee slut!” John shouted. “One more word and you get ten strokes right on your tits.”

Christine shut up. She watched the naked man having his cock sucked by the kneeling and obviously frightened young girl. A slow feeling of dread began to creep over the helpless woman. She was beginning to realize that this was not some sort of mistake, a silly play that she had accidentally been drawn into. She looked around more carefully, and her heart sank.

When she had first entered the cabin at gunpoint, she had seen the rack and all the other “dungeon” paraphernalia, but although it was frightening, she had somehow thought it was all part of a hoax, like a film set. I mean, one simply does not have a fully functioning olde worlde dungeon on board a ship.

Then the kneeling girl being held down with that calf press, and her own out-spread bondage……frightening, but still some sort of kinky sex scene, maybe a blue movie video or something.

But he had hurt her, and he enjoyed it. And the pain in her breast was real, the whip had cut her flesh, the blood trickling over her belly and matting her chestnut curls down there was real.

Those steel pincers hanging on the wall were not cheap fekes. The serrated jaws were genuinely capable of crushing human tissue. The branding irons hanging by a small gas heated furnace had been used. You could see the way the steel had blued with intense heat.

John pulled away from his kneeling sex slave.

“I'm just going to find out how tight this American pussy is, then you can show me what a good girl you are and lick her clean, alright?”

Christine stared at his glistening penis as he came towards her. She knew there was no way she could resist. He was going to rape her.

John looked her in the eye and he knew that she understood. He could read the loss of hope, see the sick certainty of pain and horror in her eyes. She had understood at last. She knew he was going to despoil and hurt her body.

Of course, she did not know just how much pain she would endure. No woman could possibly imagine that.

“Ask me to fuck you, Christine!”

There was a long pause.

John was holding his erection, gently peeling the foreskin back and forth, standing almost touching the quivering woman.

“Say you want me to fuck you deep and hard, Christine….or I will cut your damaged nipple off completely. Your choice!”

“Alright…do it!”

“No…..last chance!”

“O.K. Fuck me please. Deep and hard.”

“There's a good girl. See Emma? These American girls may be a bit slow in the beginning, but they can learn fast.”

And he lodged his prick into the blood stained slot, held her hips, and forced his way inside her.

His hands jerked her to meet his thrusting belly, and Christine gave a yelp of pain as she was entered to the limit in one violent stroke.

I reached over and started to stroke Karls' limp cock. I was expecting John to rut in the girl to a violent climax, but I was wrong.

He withdrew and lunged again just three or four times, then pulled out of her, still fully erect and nicely smeared with her blood. He walked over to his kneeling girl-friend. “Suck, bitch !”

Emma was in a state of shock. She wanted to protest, but there was something dreadfully dangerous about her masterful boy-friend at the moment and she was afraid he may hurt her if she did not obey him promptly.

She opened her mouth, ashamed of herself because she got a tingle of desire as she tasted Christine's juices smeared on the hard shaft of Johns' cock.

John let her slide her lips as far as she could down his shaft before pulling away from her mouth. He bent over and disconnected the bar holding her calves to the floor.

“Good girl. Get up now. You can help me turn our American guest around for a bit of good old fashioned buggery !”

Christine groaned. She was an anal virgin. She wondered if she may be able to escape if he had to unchain her.

But the way John secured each wrist and ankle there was not a moment when the poor girl was free enough to even think of making a run for the cabin door.

She found herself turned to face the wall, again outspread in the classic “X” position, but with a bar at just below waist height between her belly and the cabin wall, a bar which John and Emma slowly wound out from the wall using two ratchet devices, forcing the bar into Christines' body and making her bend in the middle, arce pushing out to try and relieve the pressure of the bar.

The “X” became a rack as the bar made her ankles and wrists tauten the short chains securing her.

She began to cry, and plead for release.

“I told you not to talk unless I told you to, Christine. Do you want me to cut your nipple off after all?”

“No…please, I'm sorry….I….the strain….It's dislocating my shoulders!”

“Let me see how tight you are, then.” John smiled, and he suddenly slapped the girl's buttocks with an almighty open handed slap that sounded like a gun-shot.

She yelped with pain and writhed sinuously against her securing chains.

“No…..plenty of slack, Sweetie. When we hear them creak, that's when you'd be really tight !”

He positioned himself behind her, easing the cheeks of her bottom apart slightly. “Get down and guide me in, Slave” he said to Emma, “ and lick her all the time I'm fucking her. If you make her come, I'll give you a diamond necklace!”

Miss Emma Burnleigh-Smith got to her knees between the spread legs of the innocent American. She looked upwards and saw the thatch of chestnut cunt hair, the slightly parted labia, the crease back between the rounded arce cheeks and her boy-friends' rampant cockhead rubbing against the rounded white arce cheeks, leaving little snail trails of pre-come.

She groaned, reached between Christines' thighs and held her lovers' shaft, centring the dome in line with the puckered and firmly shut anal ring.

Though she felt frightened by the violence and dreadfully sorry for the poor American woman, Emma was also very conscious of the throbbing desire that was making her petals swell with unladylike lust. The scent of that four-lipped gash above her face was setting off sensory explosions in her belly. Her mouth was full of saliva.

John began the anal rape. He could not get in.

“Lick her arcehole, slave. Stick your finger up her bum, open her up for me, now !”

Emma obeyed, surprised how difficult it was to work her index finger into that rosy crinkled bud. She rubbed a lot of saliva in the crease, then it was easier and she could work her finger up to the second knuckle. She jerked and rotated the finger, pulling the virgin arcehole open, then she spat more juice onto John's penis and once more held him against the helpless woman.

John shoved hard, delighted to feel his knob suddenly pop through the ring of muscle.

“Now, you fuckin' Yankee cum slut!” he growled, and his savage thrusts broke deep into virgin territory. He rutted in her, loving her cries of pain, feeling her taut body shudder with horror and agony as her anus flowered reluctantly open to admit his hard cock.

His arms enclosed her, hands crushing her breasts, fingers gripping and twisting her nipples, making her scream even louder.

Between her thighs, Emma had tilted her face back to press her lips to the damp cleft of cunt meat and had driven her tongue between the lips, the tip of her tongue lashing the deeply hidden nub of Christines' clitoris. With a feeling of shame, the lovely dark-haired twenty three year old tasted the younger girl with a feeling of wild excitement.

Against her forehead, the cock of her boyfriend drove back and forth, smelling of shit and streaked with brown. It was disgusting and Emma knew she ought to be ashamed of herself, but her right hand slid down between her own legs, middle finger curled up, slowly raised, then delicious wet contact as she began to masturbate in time with her deep thrusting tongueing of the whimpering suffering American girl above her.

“Looks like that girl is more of a pervert than she pretends to be ” I said to Karl. “All that being shocked and horrified, but as soon as she gets the chance to lick some poor bitch, she starts frigging her clit like a real sexy dyke!”

“I like her” Karl smiled. “Fucking her tits was delicious. Can't wait to have a turn up her pussy. She's got such nice big cushions to bounce on!”

I smacked his groin hard enough to make him protest. “Don't you dare compare her tits with mine!” I growled. “I might not be as big, but I'm better in bed!”

“No, you're just a depraved old sea whore!” Karl laughed as he rolled on top of me.

We lost interest in the T.V. monitors for a while, only bothering to look a bit later when we were lying reversed, heads to pubes, mutual cleansing and draining the last little spasms of pleasure from our love-making.

Christine was on her back but with her legs pulled up and apart, tied back to her outstretched wrists. This caused her buttocks to be hauled up and spread, exhibiting her most private area with startling clarity. Virtually between her legs, her face was somewhat hidden by a big funnel strapped to her head and jammed uncomfortably far into her throat.

John was making Emma drink glass after glass of water, knocking back a pint or two himself. Emma was saying she couldn't manage any more. She wanted a pee.

“Then get up on the bed and straddle the funnel, Sweetheart. I want to see you piss in her mouth.”

Personally the water sport games leave me cold. I quite like watching a man urinate on a victim, particularly if he's one of those men that seem to be like a fire hydrant, but I don't like the taste much myself and the shitty games are even less pleasant…..but we cater for perverts, and I have seen men absolutely rock hard with excitement as they got a big fat girl to shit on their face, so nothing really surprises me.

The golden stream came from Emma, and Christine had to swallow it all or choke. John went next, and so on. I turned the monitors off. I was vaguely disappointed with John's performance. I had expected a bit of savagery, some nice brutal torture games. But I should have realised he was a control freak, and would want to take his time.

I decided to give it an hour or so. It was time for me to go and check the charts and make sure there were no urgent messages in the radio room, anyway. Though I have total confidence in my crew, it does no harm to let them see that I am aware of all that goes on.

When I switched on the monitors, Christine was screaming.

She hung from about a dozen small hooks that were threaded into her flesh, shoulders, waist, rump and backs of her thighs.

Face down, dangling from fine nylon ropes, with her arms bound behind her back, she was suspended above a workbench on which John had laid out a number of interesting tools.

He was instructing Emma in the art of nipple piercing.

To my surprise, the English well educated and rather classy girl was acting more like a slut than a public school girl. Seemed John had ordered her to act like a whore, and she was obeying without a lot of hesitation.

I could see there was a bum plug and a pussy plug inserted in Christines orifices. Her belly looked a little over round, and I guessed she had been forced to drink an alarming volume of girl pee, no doubt the plugs being put in to stop her having the luxury of emptying her bladder.

Emma had Christines' left nipple in a pair of serrated pliers and was pulling it so hard that it swung the poor defenceless American forward, whilst John was fitting a drill into a small electric tool.

“Now run this through her bud, just behind the aureole, Darling. It will be a bit messy, the drill splatters her blood around a bit, but you do it like the cruel whore I want you to be, and I'll reward you by not doing the same to your pretty tit buds!”

I was amazed. I don't know what he had said to the English rose while I was not watching, but she took hold of the drill with her right hand whilst still maintaining a stretchin g pull with her left, and switched the drill on, touched it to the breast flesh of the hanging Yank, and actually shuddered as the drill bit screwed instantly into Christine's flesh, almost pulling itself through and out the other side.

I couldn't be sure whether the shudder was of pleasure or horror, but Emma seemed quite controlled as she let the drill speed run down before pulling it from the hole ground through the flesh.

I had a little spasm of pleasure as she turned and I could see the splatter pattern of blood all across her big breasts, too.

“Now we cauterize the wound, Emma. She won't like this much, but it will stop her from bleeding too much. When I tell you, slide this thin rod through the hole you've made. Get ready for her to move a bit. Red hot steel in pretty little nipples hurts a lot.”

And I watched, fascinated, as John played the flame of a small gas blow lamp over a thin bar Emma held in insulated pliers.

When the bar was glowing, he nodded, and I watched Emma take a deep breath, then lift the glowing metal up and thrust it straight through the drill hole.

Christine bucked in such outrageous agony that most of her hanging hooks tore free, and she dropped head first towards the deck, only the hooks in her arce cheeks and legs keeping her raised at all.

Probably because it was not how he planned it, this seemed to infuriate John and he snatched up a heavy leather beater, rather like a pliant baseball bat in shape, with which he pounded the back of the shrieking American girl until the other hooks tore out and she slammed face down on the deck. At least this gave her a rest from her pain. She was totally unconscious.

“Suck her….pull the fucking plug out and suck her!” he shouted, and his dominated girl friend obeyed with haste, turning the unconscious girl onto her back, jerking out the pussy plug, and getting her head down between the still thighs to mouth the senseless girl's pussy greedily.

Getting behind Emma, John pushed his cock into her from behind, using his favoured back door approach.

Slowly recovering, the dazed American girl found herself peeing into the mouth of her English tormentor who in turn was being soundly fucked up the back passage.

An altogether charming little ménage a trios.

After he came, John wanted a rest. He hitched his captive up on a ladder rack, stretched her just enough to make her arms and legs strain in absolute agony, made Emma give the burned and pierced nipple a good sucking, then exited the cabin.

I flicked the set on that was wired to our Japanese client's cabin and was somewhat surprised to see the body of the big busted South American girl draped over a wheel rack. Her left leg had gone, but the rest of her body did not look too bad. There was no sign of Harko or his lady wife.

Despite seeing the image on a small T.V. monitor, I could see the busty bird was dead. One gets used to seeing the difference between unconsciousness and death.

I went down to the lounge and Harko and Kobeyen were both there.

He bowed and in a most courteous way apologised for the death of his purchase occurring prematurely. He had been removing her leg after carefully breaking avery bone in the limb from the toes upwards when she had simply convulsed and passed away. Our resident doctor said it was a heart attack and could not have been expected.

I offered him another victim, which both surprised and delighted him, then suggested we dispose of the corpse along with what was left of the nigger girl he had crushed earlier.

As I expected, he was quite interested in seeing the women tossed into the grinders and minced into a sort of chopped sushi broth.

From the stern, we watched as the bloody broth was squirted from a big bore pipe.

Minced pussy for the fishes.

In only about three minutes, we saw a whole host of sharks and smaller predators swimming eagerly through the soup of minced girl flesh.

It is one of the best things about having our business on board an ocean going vessel. Nobody is ever going to find evidence of bodies with which to cause us inconvenience……

Well, I'll go and sort out another girl for Harko, then write up my log.

END of THIS SECTION.

Keep looking. Susan will let you have more details of the cruise of the Desadee in a while.