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Chapter 149 The Wooden Lady
Her
dreadful passage through the gauntlet completed, Erika Weiss groaned audibly as
she struggled to her hands and knees and tried to catch her breath. Blindfolded and dripping with the sweat of
suffering, she could feel the warmth of the morning sun, but she could not see
the golden orb as it slipped free of the soft embrace of a cluster of cottony
clouds.
Directly above her head Erika could hear flags
whipping westward on the ship's mast.
She remembered seeing those two flags, the fierce-looking dragon eyeing
the scarlet sun on the Chinese ensign and the brightly-colored British Union
Jack, when the Baron had escorted her to the gangplank of the Yang-tze Dragon what seemed half a
lifetime ago. But now the crisp snapping
sounds made by the banners, those symbols of power and pride,
seemed to mock her own
powerlessness and humiliation. Even so,
the wind that whipped the flags felt cool on her flesh and Erika turned
slightly to face the sea breeze head on, hoping that its brisk caress would soothe
her burning flesh.
Abaft of her, their backs to the stern, their
rope-whips now dangling harmlessly at their sides, a dozen excited sailors eyed
the blindfolded blonde hungrily, their primitive
passions roused to a fever pitch by the savage flogging they had inflicted on her
half-naked body. Their flesh-searing
weapons had left garish streaks on Erika's creamy skin from her smoothly
rounded shoulders to the inviting inch or two of buttock cleft which peeked at
them above the upper rim of her partly-lowered leggings.
Sensing the
focus of their gaze, the bare-breasted sex slave of the Yang-tze Dragon tugged at the waistband which Jasper Slegg had lowered for the whip. But Erika soon found that
her position on all fours offered her little leverage to pull the leggings up. There was no easy way for her to deprive the
sailors behind her of a glimpse of the tantalizing groove that bisected her saucy
buttocks.
The
laughing, leering men alongside and in front of Erika were treated to an even
more enviable view of their shapely captive.
They too were in position to run their eyes over the irregular
latticework of whip-marks on her back, but even more eye-catching were her
ripe, pendulous breasts, pleasingly pink from the glancing blows laid on by
several hasty or inexperienced floggers. The 'lines' the seamen had used the slender
lengths of rope which Deng-shan had cut and distributed to the men of the ship
had been light in weight, but that very lightness had allowed them to be
swung with flesh-stinging ferocity. The
streaks of dark crimson dappling the upslopes
of Erika's glistening pleasure-mounds were telling evidence of the punishment
the rope-whips could inflict when wielded by men practiced in the art of discipline.
Erika's inflamed nipples, normally a
tempting hue of pinkish-brown, were now slightly swollen and several shades redder,
indisputably confirming the skill and savagery of Froggy,
Khasar the Mongol, and a few others.
Still panting from her exertions, Erika let the
bracing west wind sweep across her body.
The blindfolded beauty felt her fine-spun golden hair swirling about her
head and shoulders as she settled back on her haunches and explored her reddened torso gingerly. She traced the sensitive edges of the lash-marks
using the sightless braille of her fingertips, her gentle
hands undercupping her soft breasts, soothing her
whip-ravaged treasures and shielding them as best she could from the satyr-like
gaze of the crewmen.
But
unfortunately for Erika Weiss, she was the only sightless creature on the deck
of the Yang-tze Dragon. Up on the bridge Captain Andrew McMahon,
wrapped in his blue coat, stroked his bristling beard thoughtfully as he let
his eyes play over the crimson-streaked curves of Erika's body. The bare-breasted blonde's harrowing trek
through two lines of wild-eyed, whip-wielding cutthroats had exceeded his every
expectation. He had fully expected the beautiful young transgressor to collapse
into a cowering ball of flesh after a handful of well-delivered strokes. But so far, to his surprise, Erika's stamina
and spirit had proved a fine match for her stunning beauty. Even so, McMahon ruminated grimly, only one of the
four counts of her harsh sentence had been carried out. The arduous journey lying ahead of this trouble-making
young temptress would likely prove even more taxing than the difficult road
behind her.
Flanking
Andrew McMahon, fresh from the gratifying task of escorting Erika Weiss through
the gauntlet at cutlass point, were General Wang, stern and stiff in his olive
green uniform, and his partner in villainy, Hsi Fong, elegantly garbed in the rich robes
of a mandarin. They, too, squinted down
at the sun-splashed blonde hungrily, each man silently imagining the depravities
to which he would subject this sublimely beautiful creature once they arrived
at the general's island citadel.
As General Wang's domineering gaze swept over Erika's
near nudity he recalled that she had been instructed in the arts of erotic
discipline by none other than that great master of sexual cruelty, George Chan.
It would not be easy to find new ways to subjugate this enticing young woman,
to find new instruments and methods of correction, new scenarios of sexual
enslavement. But how intriguing, how
rewarding, would be the attempt! And
there was no shortage of time-tested torments for the nights when his
imagination failed him
General Wang mentally tipped his officer's cap to
George Chan, giving him kudos
for Erika's superb conditioning. What grueling paces he must have put this
beauty through to keep her limbs so lithe, her belly so flat, her torso tapering to a tiny waist before broadening into
lush womanly hips! A thin smile creased the general's stern
visage as recalled how he and his cronies had abused and exploited Erika's
magnificent body to their heart's content during Chan's unforgettable dinner
party{Chapters 18-22}. But even that
orgy of debauchery had given little hint of the young woman's courage and endurance.
To General
Wang's boundless delight the exquisite blonde kneeling on the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon seemed to possess
reserves of physical and sexual stamina whose limits he looked forward to
testing again and again in the weeks and months to come. It would be a relentless but rewarding exploration
of the darkest frontiers
of pain and pleasure. Erika's
pain, needless to say, and his pleasure. How could he ever have
imagined, the general mused as he scrutinized Erika's nearly nude body like a
collector admiring a favorite butterfly, when he had chartered a small vessel a
few days earlier, that the short journey to his island fortress would have given
birth to the enthralling erotic spectacle which was now taking place on the
deck of the Yang-tze Dragon?
A
few feet to the general's left, Hsi Fong gave his uniformed comrade a sidelong
glance which bespoke the wary respect and the half-concealed envy a man used to
wielding authority often has for one of even higher station. The imperious
general, Fong knew, would no doubt reserve for himself the leading role in
Erika's sexual subjugation. But in all likelihood, the part he himself would play in the
depraved drama that would be enacted out in the weeks to come, would be one
which would satisfy even the most jaded of appetites.
His rust-colored robes rustling softly in the sea
breeze, the gray-haired mandarin smiled grimly as he turned his thoughts to one
of the general's favorite sexual pastimes. Once a month by the lunar calendar, the
warlord would celebrate the coming of the full moon by positioning himself in a
massive, throne-like chair in a room in a remote corner of his sinister citadel. The chair invariably faced a great bay window
in a room whose only other furnishing was a tiny stand on which stood a miniature
sandglass. Then, as the iron-jawed
general watched the grayish dusk of twilight melt into the blackness of
nightfall, an unlucky concubine would be made to straddle his towering manhood,
facing away from him toward the window.
Her slender wrists gathered high over her head by cords securing them to
an overhanging beam; her nubile young body clad only in starlight.
Hsi Fong's first
duty in these carefully staged dramas was invariably the rather mundane one of securing
the girl's wrists to the rafter overhead.
But his second task offered him a much more prominent part in the
general's salacious soiree. For once the newly full moon had
risen in the heavens Fong would overturn the sand-glass. From that moment forward, on the sixtieth
second of every minute, the implacable mandarin would lash the front of the nude body of the defenseless
young maiden who was impaled on the
general's rutting erection.
As each minute neared its end, the general's virile upthrusts would become more intense, more penetrating, more
punishing. When the last of the
sands began to trickle down the sides of the minute-glass, the helpless,
agitated victim would begin to twist and turn in her bonds more and more
frantically, trying desperately to protect her soft thighs, her tender belly
and her whip-reddened breasts from the coming blow. But every squirming gyration of her sweet
young body served merely to transport the general closer to the pinnacle of pleasure
and to stoke the ardor of his whip-wielding accomplice. For Hsi Fong's right arm would begin its
forward motion the moment the last grain of sand had fallen, as surely as night
follows day. There was no escaping the
thongs of his pitiless lash.
During the
intervals between Fong's well-spaced and well-placed strokes, General Wang
would fondle the tearful concubine's whip-warmed breasts with merciless
fingers, releasing the tender tit-globes just before the last few grains of
sand settled in the lower chamber of the minute-glass. Then it was time for Hsi Fong to strike
again, using the short three-thonged whip he called
the "Hornet," and for the dark-eyed concubine's frenzied dance of
pain to begin anew. The general's sexual stamina was legendary. Any number of unlucky young women had seen
the sinister sandglass turn thirty, forty, even fifty times, each inversion of the crystalline container affording
Hsi Fong another opportunity to lash the
defenseless torso writhing in the moonlight.
The
denouement of these two-man odysseys into the dark world of pleasure and pain was
always much the same. The general, his
cruel talons often red-stained from contact with his victim's blood-smeared torso,
would hold the girl's hips in a iron grip while he fired
volley after volley of semen into her love canal. Even as Hsi Fong's virile cock-staff,
nurtured to a prodigious length and girth by the lewd oral caresses lavished
upon it by their unwilling victim, spat endless ropes of semen onto her
scarlet-spattered breasts
.
Fong's
cudgel-hard erection pressed against his robes and his tongue snaked across his
dry lips as he visualized Erika Weiss's voluptuous body restrained for the
exciting ritual of the full moon. For she
was no slender, small-breasted Asian sylph, but rather a voluptuous Teuton whose opulent breasts, capped with such provocative pink bull's-eyes,
would provide inexpressibly alluring targets for the whip.
Hsi Fong closed
his eyes for a moment, imagining Erika's slender arms raised aloft by
wrist-ropes, her moonlit breasts lifted high on her chest, her distended
nipples straining toward the luminous globe in the heavens. He pictured the beads of fear-sweat that
would form on Erika's lush melons, and the exquisite dance of dread her shuddering,
pink-tipped nipples would dance each time he drew the Hornet back. He would vary his attack, of course, occasionally
blazing a trail of fire across a quivering thigh or her trembling belly, but he
had no doubt that an irresistible magnetism would draw the biting thongs of his
whip to Erika's superb breasts again and again and again
.
Hsi Fong clung
to that sublime image for some time before opening his eyes once again. He quickly glanced down at the mouthwatering
beauty kneeling on the deck, her long, golden hair aswirl
in the breeze. But after feasting his
eyes on her sweat-sheened young body for a
half-minute or so, he cast his gaze upward at the azure sky, and calculated the
number of days until the next full moon
.
********
"None of that, Missy!" barked Jasper Slegg, irritated by the fact that Erika's skin- soothing
fingers were shielding her ripe-nippled globes from the
view of his comrades. He motioned to Deng-shan and the two men each grabbed a
wrist and tore Erika's concealing hands away from her breasts. Responding to a subtle gesture from General
Wang they held her arms outstretched for a moment, allowing the warlord to
picture his ripe-breasted lust-slave 'en crucifix'. When the olive-garbed officer indicated that
he had had his fill of that pose, Slegg nodded and
growled, "The
boys want a good look at these big beauties, don't ye, lads?"
A
chorus of lusty "Ayes!"
greeted his words.
As good as his word, Slegg,
while keeping Erika's wrist fully extended in one hand, pressed down on her
shoulder with the other. Deng quickly exerted the same pressure on her other
limb, bending Erika forward in the most servile position imaginable, bottom up,
head down, arms outstretched, her luscious breasts hanging down like
branch-bending fruit, her shamelessly distended nipples nearly touching the
deck.
It seemed to Erika that the two men held her in that
degrading pose, eliciting a cascade of obscene jibes from the crewmen, for what
seemed like an hour, but was in reality not much longer than a minute. When the catcalls died away Slegg and Deng attempted to shift their grip in order to lift
Erika to her feet, but the golden-haired gauntlet-runner's arms were so slick
with perspiration that she nearly slipped free of their grasp.
"Worked up a sweat, didn't ye, on yer little promenade?" Slegg
snarled as he grasped Erika's mane of blonde hair. "Ye're
slipperier 'n a ruddy river eel, you are!"
The two men proceeded
to re-grip her wrists, twisting them into a painful double hammerlock before
hoisting her to her feet.
As Erika rose to her full height, her body bathed in
sweat, the coolness of the sea breeze washed across her torso, stiffening her
tender nipples into pink peaks of pleasure that re-kindled the passions of
every man on deck.
"What's the matter, princess?" Slegg growled from behind her as his free hand slid lightly
over her bare flank and then upward over her rib cage before fastening on Erika's
right breast. He squeezed it gently for
a moment, kneading it with his wind-weathered fingers. Then, without warning, he gouged his fingers deep
into Erika's creamy lust-gourd and tightened his grip until the veins in his
neck grew dark and swollen. Soon Erika's
soft gasps of suffering were accompanied by tears seeping through the corner of
her improvised blindfold before making their way down a sculpted cheekbone.
"So ye're a bit
tit-sore, are ye?" Slegg sniggered mockingly,
easing his grip.
When Erika failed to answer the detestable little man,
his fingers closed again and dug into her breast until the pain compelled her
to nod in the affirmative. When she finally did so, Slegg
jeered, "Why, they just need a bit of sunlight and fresh air, that's all,
sweetie." Releasing her breast, Slegg tightened his grip on her elbow, and he and Deng forced
Erika into a slow pirouette which was greeted with raucous cheers by the men
behind her. Ever the showman, Slegg turned the statuesque blonde at such a measured pace
that each member of the crew was able to feast his eyes on Erika's proud
breasts and her
audaciously out-thrust nipples. Her
impudent breast-nuggets seemed to tilt upward to welcome the healing warmth of
the sun, even as they quivered in protest at the coolness of the breeze.
The thirty-odd sailors who had manned the cruel
gauntlet hovered around her, some so close that Erika
could almost feel their hot breath on her body. The men of the Yang-tze Dragon had abducted and enslaved many a slender, almond-eyed
beauty while in the employ of Andrew
McMahon, but never a European woman, much
less a young, ripe-breasted Rhinemaiden like Erika
Weiss. To a man, they gazed at her with lust-filled eyes, drinking in the sight
of the blonde demi-goddess as Slegg
continued to turn her slowly, as if she were a plump bird on a roasting spit.
"
'at was a good lick you gave the wench, mate," Slegg
muttered to Khasar grudgingly as he ran a finger
along the slender streak of scarlet the Mongol's rope-whip had painted across
the pebbly pink aureoles of Erika's breasts.
The
thick-set brute grunted, but did not reply. But a certain swagger in his posture made it plain
that the swarthy man of the
"Tell
you what, lads! Cut off 'er leggings, Deng, and let's see that pretty arse!"
Erika cringed
in shame. Despite the fact that Mao's
threadbare leggings were so tight and soggy with perspiration that they clung
to the curves of her body like wet tissue, she despaired at the thought that in
a moment they, too, would be stripped away, leaving her clad in nothing more
than her dignity. She could feel the
Chinese carpenter's hot breath on her bare belly as he bent down, tugged at the
waistband of her leggings and pressed his fisherman's knife against her crotch.
Erika held her breath, praying that an unexpected sea
swell would not hamper Deng's knife-work.
She trembled when she felt the sharp point of the blade against her mons but relaxed when Deng turned his wrist and tugged at the knife so that it
slid easily through the muslin bunched at the juncture of her legs. Then she felt the tip of the knife scoring
the fabric as he drew the blade down the length of her left thigh, and followed
with a similar cut down her right leg.
As the fabric fell away from her bare thighs, the
muscular handyman pressed the blade against the material that still clung to
her partly-revealed buttock-cleft. After another quick flick of his wrist, Deng
grabbed the leggings with both hands and stripped them away with a single
violent wrench.
Erika gasped softly as she felt the morning breeze
sifting through the golden tendrils of her pubic hair, its crispness cooling
her sex even as it had chilled her nipples.
Raucous catcalls in half a dozen tongues filled the air as the smugglers
of the Yang-tze Dragon reacted
excitedly to Erika's nudity.
At a gesture from Captain MacMahon,
Tiger and Orang stepped forward from the circle of
men and half-carried, half-dragged Erika about ten yards across the deck. Her stomach still queasy from the pitching of
the choppy sea, Erika grimaced as she felt her shins bang against three or four
wooden steps as they mounted a platform.
A platform that had not been there the day before. A platform that was surely
the result of Deng-shan's noisy nocturnal hammering.
The huskily-built sailors dragged Erika roughly across
the raised platform, and forced to her knees.
Her heart pounding with trepidation, the blindfolded prisoner found
herself kneeling upright on the ship's deck atop a thick bundle of fabric which
felt as if it might have been a stack of folded-up blankets. In front of her,
Erica could feel the rectangular solidity of a sturdy wooden post wedged between her shapely breasts.
She edged her abdomen closer to the post, despite its roughness against her
tender flesh, in order to shield the lips of her sex from the view of the jeering
crewmen.
Captain Andrew McMahon looked on approvingly as Erika
made her acquaintance with the Wooden Lady. Although he doubted that Deng-shan
had ever spent so much as a single day in a school room, the ship's carpenter
was a genius with rope and lumber.
'Kissing the Wooden Lady', like 'Running the Gauntlet', was a
common enough punishment in the British Navy of the Victorian period, typically
administered to men who had fallen asleep while on duty. But Erika's predicament was far different
from than that of the average sailor. Traditionally offenders were made to
stand facing a wooden mast, i.e. The Wooden Lady, with arms encircling it and wrists
lashed together. There they were
subjected to the jibes and mockery of their shipmates. Shipboard custom permitted sailors on board
to approach the wrongdoer and kick the offender in the backside as they passed
by.
But Deng had been up much of the night
manufacturing a special version of this apparatus, cunningly engineered with
the dimensions of Erika's superb body in mind.
The post against which she was pressed was to play only a small part in
his ingenious contrivance. Several nasty
surprises still awaited the beautiful young woman whose bottom was being so
lasciviously fondled by Jasper Slegg.
Erika struggled
to suppress her revulsion at Slegg's groping hands,
but then gasped in surprise when she felt Deng-shan bend her right leg at the
knee and lift her lower leg up so that her bare heel was pressed against the
outer curve of her right buttock. The
carpenter skillfully wrapped a coarse rope around her upturned ankle and bound
it tightly to her upper thigh. Within
moments, he had done the same with her other leg, and the long-legged beauty
now found herself balanced precariously on the points of her knees.
"Have ye ever seen such a fine arse, lads?" Slegg grunted as he gave Erika's tempting derriere, its
shapeliness enhanced by her doubled-under calves, another squeeze. Slegg licked his
lips as he eyed the shadowy groove between Erika's rounded buttocks. He'd
half-buggered that shapely bottom the night before,
and he'd have finished the job if the trouble-making wench hadn't started that
blasted fire.
The rope-master quickly wrapped another length of rope
around Erika's slender waist. After
completing the loop he pulled her belly so snugly against the four-inch-thick
post that she could feel the rough-hewn surface of the wood scraping against
the inner curves of her breasts. Erika
had to arch her neck slightly backward to pull her face away from the
post. She knew now what Captain McMahon
had meant by kissing the Wooden Lady.
"Let's
see if she likes the Ladyfingers, Deng!"
Jasper Slegg's voice was icy, implacable.
A
moment later Erika felt a downward pressure on her shoulders and, almost
simultaneously she felt the thick stack of blankets being yanked out from
beneath her knees. An instant later, as
her body sank downward, she groaned audibly as she felt the sensation of the
Ladyfingers a misnomer if ever she had felt one -- pressing into her most
private places.
For the Lady's fingers were a pair of thick, slightly
curved phalluses which Deng had carved
from a block of hardwood. They protruded
upward, their knobby heads slick with a foul-smelling fish oil, like the arms of
a hat rack, from a massive horizontal beam which extended outward at right
angles from the post that the captain had dubbed 'The Lady'.
Andrew McMahon nodded approvingly at Deng-shan's cantilevered creation. The ship's carpenter's
imagination and workmanship had
rarely disappointed him. His engineer's eye
had positioned the phalluses at just the right height for Erika's kneeling
posture now that the elevating blanket had been swept away . The blindfolded
blonde was positioned so that the inescapable pressure of gravity would slowly
force the slippery knobs of wood deeper and deeper into her, stretching her
most intimate muscles.
Erika
writhed in shame and misery as the weight of her body caused her pelvis to sink
slowly downward onto the two rigid members as they continued their inexorable
infiltration into her bodily cavities. The
painful descent was hastened when the Yang-tze
Dragon, as if guided by the hand of a cruel fate, suddenly breasted a
series of rough swells, each rise and fall of the vessel on the untamed sea driving
the wooden shafts deeper into her sensitive passages. Erika's plaintive moans drew a fresh series
of catcalls from the crewmen of the Yang-tze
Dragon.
" 'ard enough for ya, are they, Missy" Slegg
snarled, his gravelly voice cutting through the cacophony of Asian
dialects. Erika's involuntary groan as
the stern-most phallus plunged still deeper into her resisting anus was all the
confirmation he needed.
Standing
alongside General Wang, Captain McMahon watched with a sly smile as Deng undid
the rope around Erika's wrists. But only for a moment.
Taking a huge coil of rope, Deng proceeded to enmesh Erika's semi-nude
body in a vertical hogtie. It took the Chinese
bondage-master the better part of a
quarter of an hour, but when he was done half a dozen strands of rope were
wrapped around Erika's chest with meticulous care, just above the tops of her
jutting breasts. Each loop of cord
abutted, but did not overlap, its neighbor, giving the cocoon of rope a
pleasing symmetry and texture. The
braided strands of rope only enhanced the creamy splendor of Erika's naked
breasts which were crushed against the sharp edges of the wooden post.
Behind her,
the extensions of those same chest ropes cinched Erika's upper arms so tightly
that she was sure that the cruel imprint of the cords would last for days. In turn the taut web of arm-ropes provided
another anchoring point for the ropes Deng had used to bind her uplifted calves
to her thighs. The carpenter proceeded to wind yet another rope around her wrists,
trapping them painfully behind her back.
Finally, with the painstaking precision of a spider, the carpenter
connected the three bindings with an intricately interwoven linking rope, gradually
drawing Erika's chest and wrist and calf-ropes tighter until there wasn't a
centimeter of slack among them.
And
so it was that Erika knelt before the leering sailors, a beautiful priestess
sacrificed on the altar of the cruel brother gods, Bondage and Discipline. The
seconds stretched into minutes with agonizing slowness as she endured the
obscene jibes of the crewmen who ogled her rope-enmeshed body with undisguised
delight. The points of her knees bore
every ounce of her weight, and the slightest attempt to shift her center of
gravity forced the two
wooden knobs ever deeper into her anus and vagina. Every muscle of
her tightly bound body seemed pitted against another.
"Aye,
a fine job that, matey," Slegg
growled appreciatively to Deng.
"Look at that lovely arse, lads! And those sweet tits!"
There
was little need for Slegg to call the finer points of
Erika's bondage to the attention of the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon. The tension
on her doubled-back calves enhanced the pleasing curvature of her deep-cleft
derriere and the vertical hogtie bowed her spine slightly forcing her
magnificent breasts to jut forth even more boldly than usual. Jasper Slegg used
his dingy sleeve to wipe a few pearls of lust-induced saliva from the corners
of his mouth and once again turned his attention to Erika's quivering,
red-streaked mounds.
After pressing his fingers against his temple in an
attempt to ease the stabbing pains which had once again begun to shoot through
the nasty gash over his right eye, Jasper Slegg
approached the kneeling beauty. He crouched down
facing her so that her proud-thrusting breasts, their natural cleavage slightly
widened by the wooden post which separated them, were within easy reach. His throbbing
wound inciting him to vengeance, a malicious leer crossed Slegg's
face as he reached forward and gently touched Erika's well-spaced
pleasure-melons with his fingertips, marveling that firmness and softness could
be so enticingly conjoined.
Sliding his callused hands under Erika's creamy
mounds, Slegg cupped them lightly and pressed his
rigid thumbs against the outer ring of her textured aureoles. Grunting with virile pleasure, the first mate
began to run his thumbnails around Erika's pebbly, pinkish-brown haloes in slow,
menacing spirals. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he gradually narrowed the
circles until the ragged edges of his thumbnails pressed against the very tips
of her breasts.
Despite the soreness resulting from the stringent grip
of the nipple-cords of the night before and the onslaught of stinging blows they
had received when Erika had run the gauntlet, her sensitive nipples, which had softened
while Deng had been enmeshing her in his cocoon of cordage, blossomed
anew under Slegg's rough touch. Pleased with his ability to elicit a response
from his blindfolded victim, Jasper Slegg gripped the
stiffening buds between his fingers and tugged them gently, pulling Erika's
body closer against the rough post.
Crouching down to her level, his face only inches from
hers, Jasper Slegg worked her nipples between his
fingers. "I've been neglecting
these beauties, 'aven't I, luv?" he whispered menacingly as his fingertips
tightened on Erika's swollen breast-buds.
Erika winced and gritted her teeth as Slegg increased the pressure. He rolled her tender nubbins between his
fingers for another moment, stimulating the nerve-rich buds into full
arousal. Then, after giving Froggy a malicious wink with his good eye, Jasper Slegg gouged his nails into the sensitive flesh at the base
of Erika's nipples.
The golden-haired beauty cried out in pain and whipped
her blonde tresses from side to side feverishly as she tried to escape from Slegg's punishing grasp.
But her smirking tormentor merely tightened his claw-grip on Erika'
swollen breast-tips, and tugged at them so that the soft inner curves of
Erika's beautiful love-melons scraped against the abrasive post which separated
them.
As his blood-shot eyes drank in the sight of Erika's
nude breasts crushed against the post, Andrew McMahon growled, "Well done, Slegg. But nou let's ha'e the bonnie lassie kiss the Lady. Step lively, Deng!"
"Aye, sir!"
A
moment later Erika heard an odd grinding sound and then she felt and tasted
splintered wood pressing against her lips and smelled something that reeked of
carbon and coal dust. "No
" she gasped
as the turned her head away from the intruding object.
"Open
yer gob, Missy!" snarled Jasper Slegg. "So ye
can taste the Lady's tongue! Open it,
wench!"
"No!"
Erika cried out again as she felt Slegg's hands on
her neck as he tried to force her resisting head into place around the
intruding shaft. But her scream was her
undoing, because it gave her heartless nemesis an opportunity to cram the cylindrical
knob into her open mouth.
Erika
gagged and tried to spit the foul-tasting object from her mouth. She pulled her head back and twisted it to one
side, away from the ghastly device which unaccountably seemed to be turning in
her mouth. But as she did so, the
blindfolded beauty heard Slegg snarl, "Get the slut-collar,
Deng!" That'll 'old 'er pretty 'ead in place, or
I'm the Duke of Bleeding Wellington!"
A
few seconds later, still fighting against the pressure of the foreign object in
her mouth, Erika felt a leather band encircling her neck and sensed that her
captors were about to lash her neck to the post so that she could not avoid the
Lady's ashy, bitter-tasting third finger. And then, in a sudden flash of
insight, Erika realized what it was that was choking her. It was the shovel
handle! The handle of the shovel she had
swung at Jasper Slegg, now broken off near its blade end, its
once-smooth length shattered into a splintered stump. The length of the handle, as she had noticed
yesterday, was encrusted with a residue of coal-dust which countless sweaty
hands had compacted into a Stygian cement. And now Slegg was
using the filthy implement to extract a grim revenge.
She felt the splintered shaft bore deeper into her
mouth, but then the pressure eased when General Wang's domineering voice cut
through the morning air like a knife.
The general, his military bearing as ramrod stiff as
his swollen erection, had been watching Erika's struggles with mounting
interest. In his estimation most of the
sailors on board the Yang-tze Dragon
were little more than savages. But the
vessel's captain was clearly a man of some imagination, the ship's carpenter,
the one called Deng-shan, was a man of many talents, and even the brutish first
mate had the instincts of a showman. But
needless to say the general's attentions were focused primarily on the
glistening flesh of the young beauty whose long, supple thigh muscles strained
so alluringly each time she tried to free herself from the embrace of the penetrating
cock-shafts.
But
as he watched Deng tighten the collar on Erika's neck, a thought occurred to
him, and he stepped down from his perch on the bridge and strode toward the
platform. Upon arriving alongside Erika
he had snapped the words that had put her on edge. "You have tied her
well, Deng-shan, but here you lack imagination.
Have you no fine cord?"
"Dinna gawk at the general, mon,"
McMahon's voice boomed out, "Fetch a coil of the marline!"
A
few moments later Erika, her mouth and upper throat still filled with the
blackened shovel-shaft, heard the general observe in an almost reverential
voice, "So you call this thin cord, "marline", eh? It is quite soft, and yet it seems very
strong. Yes, it will do very well for the Knots of Nakamura.
Erika shuddered
at the hint of pleasurable anticipation in the general's voice, knowing that it
could only spell further misery for her. The 'Knots of Nakamura,' he had
said. She felt that she had heard that
name somewhere before, but in her present condition, all the events of the past
seemed enshrouded in a murky fog.
Meanwhile the general continued whispering
instructions in an undertone to Deng-shan.
"Do you see now what I had in mind?
You have only to twist the cord like
so, and then form the loop. When it is snug, you simply pull the strands tight and
anchor them
here
and here
. And
then
when you turn the device in either direction
Do you see? It is simplicity itself, is it not?"
Erika's
mind raced as she tried to unravel the meaning of the general's cryptic
remarks. She shifted around on her aching knees, trying in vain to pull away
from the shaft which had enslaved her unwilling mouth. Failing in that attempt, she tried once again
to lift her hips clear of the tireless phalluses on which she was impaled, but
the more she struggled, it seemed, the deeper they probed into her most private
places.
Despite her misery, Erika tried to clear her
head. What exactly had the general meant, she
wondered, when he had spoken of pulling the strands tight, of anchoring them,
and turning them in either direction?
But her thoughts were soon interrupted when she felt Deng's hand sliding
under her left breast.
General
Wang looked on approvingly as Deng-shan fitted the noose he had fashioned from
the marline snugly around Erika's breast.
The beleaguered blonde's golden hair tossed from side to side in protest
as Deng proceeded to wrap the loose end of the cord around her swollen
girl-globe twice more before cutting the rope, leaving a length of cord
dangling from her breast. Then the
clever Chinese sailor slid around to Erika's right side and repeated the process, encircling
her other breast as he had the first.
When both of Erika's succulent globes were encircled with the pale cord,
Deng-shan took the ends of the snug-fitting breast-ropes and wound them tightly
around the shovel-handle which turned the mouth-filling tongue of the Wooden
Lady. As he did so, Erika's torso was
pulled forward, crushing her belly and chest against the rough-hewn post.
But
the post was now the least of her problems.
For the third phallus, the truncated shovel-handle from the stoking room, had been given the power of locomotion. The coal-black shovel-handle fit snugly into
the threaded grooves of a circular opening in the wooden upright. Through that opening, which had been cut
jaw-high to the kneeling prisoner, the mouth-raping cylindrical shaft
could be screwed either forward or in reverse, by turning the iron handle-grip at
the intact end of the shovel.
By
turning the crank clockwise, Slegg could force the
'Lady's Tongue' deep into Erika's aching mouth.
By cranking it in the other direction
.
An
anguished groan from the tightly bound prisoner punctuated McMahon's
musings. For as soon as Deng-shan had
finished knotting the ends of Erika's breast-ropes securely around the handle
grip, Slegg had positioned himself in front of it and
begun to turn the handle. As Slegg cranked the handle in a counterclock-wise
direction, the choking shaft slowly retreated from Erika's pretty mouth. But as soon as the trussed-up blonde began to
feel grateful for that slight reprieve, her relief was more than offset by an
ominous tightening of the cords around the bases of her breasts. Slegg, mimicking a
helmsman, continued
to turn the improvised crank, and the tight-gripping breast-ropes slowly began
to tug Erika's bulging mounds forward, away from her body. Her misery was heightened by the fact that the
wooden upright prevented her torso from being pulled forward. Thus, in accordance with the merciless laws
of physics, each ounce of torque that Jasper Slegg applied
to the shovel-handle was converted into pressure on her throbbing breasts.
The
result was a spectacle that would have titillated even the most jaded
connoisseur of cruelty. The Knots of
Nakamura had enslaved Erika Weiss's proud-nippled
breasts in a dreadful double bondage. The snug-fitting loops encircling the
bases of her breasts squeezed her ripe mounds into tantalizing hemispheres of
bulging tit-flesh even as the cords leading to the handle-grip tugged her swollen
orbs farther and farther away from her body each time Slegg
turned the shovel handle.
"Harder, Slegg! Give those big tits another crank!"
Slegg answered Froggy's lecherous
exhortation with a feral smile, but he was in no particular hurry. He gave the shovel-handle another
quarter-turn, causing Deng's ingeniously-constructed screw to creak ominously
as it turned in its threaded passageway.
The grinding sound of the screw was almost drowned out by the muffled
groans emanating from Erika Weiss as Jasper Slegg
ratcheted up the pressure on her superb breasts.
Blindfolded
as she was Erika could not know the precise nature of her torture. All she knew was that the withdrawal of the
wooden cock from her mouth was somehow linked to the horrible grinding noise
and the fiendish ropes that tugged on her breasts. Time and again she tried to inch forward on
her aching knees in order to ease her suffering, but each time the upright of the Wooden
Lady thwarted her efforts.
"Bitte
" she moaned softly. "Please
"
Slegg glanced up at the red-bearded skipper. Seeing McMahon
make a circular gesture with his hand, Slegg nodded and began cranking
the handle in the other direction.
At
first Erika was relieved to feel some relaxation of the excruciating pressure
on her breasts. But it was only a matter
of a few more cranks before the loathsome shovel-handle was once again pressing
against her lips.
"Ram
it down her throat, Sleggie!" Froggy's
deep-voiced croak was unmistakable.
Moments
later it seemed Froggy's desire was about to come to
pass as Slegg once again began screwing the thick,
splintered knob deep, deep into her mouth.
"Wrap
your tongue around it, sweetie," Slegg
growled
"Suck it,
wench!" Deng-shan snarled as he pressed her golden hair from behind,
forcing her mouth down on the jagged piston.
Erika
gagged anew as Slegg screwed the thick wooden knob
deeper into her mouth, "Ngh!! Nghh!!" she screamed, her frantic cry muffled by the
foul-smelling shaft. Erika continued to
fight desperately for every breath, but the throttling wooden shaft in her
mouth was every bit as unwelcome as the shafts in her vagina and rectum.
Slegg continued to violate her Erika's mouth for another
half-minute or so and then paused, sweating profusely, to ask his
half-strangled prisoner, " 'ad enough, wench? Want me to take it out?" he
snarled.
Choking
miserably, her inability to draw so much as a single unhindered breath forcing
her to choose another bout of breast-torment as preferable to slow
strangulation, Erika bobbed her blonde
head up and down, affirming her desire.
"Right
you are then, dearie," Slegg
chuckled, and once again began to turn the crank in the other direction.
Erika
gasped in relief and rejoiced inwardly as she felt the dreadful phallus being
withdrawn from her aching mouth. She
spluttered profusely and her chest heaved convulsively as she fought for the
air which the choking shovel handle had denied
her. She gulped down great draughts of
oxygen in time with the retrograde creaking of Slegg's
crank.
But her freedom from suffering was to be
short-lived. After being permitted a
brief interval in which to catch her breath, she soon began to hear the
tell-tale rubbing of wood against wood that signaled that a new cycle of
suffering was about to begin. Within seconds she felt fresh waves of agony coursing
through her breasts as the ropes began to tug on her swollen lust-globes once
again, elongating them into jutting, pink-tipped fruits, the agonizing pressure
mounting each time Slegg turned his wrist.
It was just as well that Erika was blindfolded and
thus could not see the gloating grin of vindictiveness on Slegg's
face as he twisted the shovel handle. It
was bad enough that she could hear his gravelly whisper.
"I was a bit begrudgin'
o' the lads when they was 'avin' their fun with these
beauties last night. But it's Sleggie's turn to work on those big tits now, dearie," he rasped as he gave the handle another
wrench.
"Aaahh! Aaaggghh!! No more!!" Erika pleaded. It felt as if
the inexorable tightening of the breast-cords might tear her breasts from her
body at any moment.
His
eyes gleaming with lust-vengeance, Slegg continued to
turn the handle in slow gradations, once again stretching Erika's throbbing
breast-melons into shameless torpedoes of tit-flesh. "Good choice of rope, yer honor," he muttered grudgingly, inclining his head
toward the watching general.
"Stretches tight as a fiddle string, don't it?"
Slegg wiped his brow and looked skyward. The sun was well into its daily journey across
the heavens, but it seemed to have paused, fascinated by the nude beauty on the
deck of the Yang-tze Dragon. Some pagan sun god, no less
lusty than mere mortals seemed to be staring down at the kneeling nymph,
enfolding her splendid body in his light and warmth.
Erika's perspiration-slick body gleamed in the
sunlight, her every straining muscle thrust into bold relief. Slegg glanced
around the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon and was hardly surprised do see that his
comrades were as mesmerized by Erika's cruel bondage as he was.
General Wang, especially, stared hungrily at the
blonde goddess whose
every agonized movement caused her body to sink deeper onto the twin phalluses
of the Lady. Despite the coolness of the
morning breeze, which chilled her nipples so alluringly, Erika's body was
bathed in a glistening patina of perspiration. The ropes of Deng's hogtie
seemed etched into her bare arms and the
kissable flesh of her thighs pressed so tightly against the wooden post that
her mons was scarcely visible save for a few wispy
tendrils of golden hair. That same post
was wedged between her delicious breasts, rosy now from the constant pressure
of the marline cords which encircled them and tugged them away from her body.
Erika could only stand the dreadful pressure on her
breasts for a few minutes at a time, and soon she had no choice but to beg Slegg to relent.
"Bitte
please
I beg
you
no more
."
"You should have asked, "Please" before
you ripped my head open with that shovel," Slegg
snarled. He gave the shovel-handle
another cruel twist, increasing the tension on Erika's breast-ropes.
"Aaaughh!!"
"Or before you threw little Mao against the
furnace," Slegg growled as he gave the handle
another twist.
"Gott
please
I can't
stand it!"
"Or before you tried to set the
bloody ship on fire!"
Erika heard the awful grinding of the wooden screw in
its thread a fraction of a second before she felt a third wave of agony
coursing through her swollen treasures.
"AAAGHH!! Mein Gott!! Please!!!!"
Jasper Slegg put the
beautiful young blonde through two more cycles of this dreadful double torture,
first choking her to the brink of asphyxiation, and then, when his quivering
captive was reduced to begging for air, obliging her frantic pleas for relief
by stretching her luscious breast-globes until tears of suffering streamed out
from beneath her blindfold.
Erika's pain-wracked breasts were under siege for the
fourth time when Captain McMahon's gruff call of "Time!" signaled
that her hour at the Wooden Lady had finally elapsed. Deng-shan quickly set about freeing her from
the dreadful hogtie, but when he and Slegg lifted her
off the impaling rods, her legs, which had been bound for the better part of an
hour, could not support her weight and she slumped weakly to the deck.
Captain McMahon stared down at the nude body of the
prostrate blonde, whose upper arms and sleek thighs bore the cruel imprint of
Deng's bondage ropes, for a long moment.
Above her stood Jasper Slegg,
leering down at her nakedness. "On yer
feet, wench!" he growled. When the
exhausted blonde did not immediately respond, Slegg
used his foot to roll her over on to her back. When Erika continued to lay
almost motionless on the deck, Slegg wedged his foot
in between her splayed legs and pressed the flat of his shoe against her
golden-tufted mons.
"On yer feet, Missy," he snarled again as he shifted his
weight slightly until Erika began to feel the pressure of his weight on her
mound of Venus.
Erika emitted a low groan and once again struggled to
her knees, her vision still obscured by the makeshift blindfold.
Andrew McMahon was not a man given to veering from a
course he had set for himself, but as he stared at the image of blonde
loveliness at his feet, her magnificent breasts wreathed with rope-marks and
rising and falling majestically in time with her every ragged breath, he
reconsidered the timing of his cruel sentence.
On the one
hand, neither his own experience nor naval protocol
allowed for the suspension of a punishment once began. But on the other hand the cock-throbbingly beautiful miscreant kneeling on the scaffold
was clearly near the end of her rope.
Her exhaustion was so plain that he suspected that Slegg
had disobeyed his orders of the previous evening, and had sorely tested her
endurance in the hours following last night's squall.
But who could blame the little English bastard,
McMahon ruminated as his eyes feasted on the sleek lines of the blonde's
body. The long, shapely, sun-kissed
legs, the trim waist, the flat stomach, the golden fleece
which beckoned every man on board to picture himself atop her, pounding his
manhood into her feminine sweetness. And
most of all, those superb breasts which, even in her state of near exhaustion,
rode so proudly on Erika's heaving chest, their pebbly areolae
encircling a tasty pair of pinkish-brown nipple-tips which would have seduced a
saint. Old John Knox himself, the stern
and joyless father of the
Having made up his mind, Captain Andrew McMahon tugged
at his beard and then bellowed. "Tak' the lassie
below, Tranh, and clean 'er oop. Gi'e her a bite to eat and some brandy and let her rest for a wee
bit. But bring her back topside at the
end of the forenoon watch."
Hearing muffled murmurs of displeasure, McMahon
addressed his men. "Ye bloody fools! She'll feel
the Cat all the more when she's 'ad a bit of rest. Tak' her below, Tranhie!"
As Tranh
approached her, jabbering cheerfully in his high-pitched voice, Erika's spirits
sank to a new low. Her mouth ached, her
breasts were on fire, and the punishing nether-cocks of the Wooden Lady had
left her feeling as if she had been raped fore and aft by a savage
Minotaur. And now the captain's words
had reminded her of that which she had all but forgotten during the harrowing
ordeals of the Gauntlet and the Wooden Lady -- the evil, nine-tailed whip she had been
forced to fashion in the small hours of the morning.
But in just a few short hours she would finally feel
its sting
.
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