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Chapter 156 Slave to the Bamboo Cane
During the interval between Monkut's devastating lash and the tolling of five bells Deng-shan came forward to pry the Mermaid's Necklace away from Erika's left breast. Once again he had to grip her breast tightly while he manipulated the sharp-jawed pincers around until he was able to grasp the tiny bits of wire gripping her swollen nipple.
As Jasper
Slegg watched Deng take the pincers to Erika's breast his thoughts turned to
the moment when Mahlik's lash had driven her to her knees. He had been captivated by seeing her in such
a humiliating pose, and he had taunted her cruelly. Now, in the ensuing interval his thoughts
ran wild, as he imagined
how things would be if he were master of the Yang-tze Dragon.
There would be no kowtowing to that bastard chink general, for starters. The wench was a prisoner on his ship, and he'd be the one calling the shots. And since Erika Weiss looked so bleedin' tasty on 'er knees, that's where 'e'd keep 'er.
He'd divide
the men into two columns, one along the starboard rail, and one on the larboard
side of the deck. But this time, instead
of running between them, as she had done during the morning's Gauntle, he make her go back and forth between the two rows of men. And by God, he' make her service every
man-jack of them. On
her knees.
As captain of the ship he'd claim first honours, of course, and it wouldn't be a quick wank down the throat either. He'd position himself at the aft end of Deng's wooden workbench and then make the saucy wench kneel-walk across the broad deck of the Dragon on her knees. That'd teach the tart 'er place! And during every inch of that slow, debasing trek, she'd 'ave to keep her arms clasped fingertip to elbow behind her back, so that 'er her big, juicy tits stood out right and proper – just like the lads liked 'em.
When she reached him, he'd grab two handfuls of her long blonde hair and pull her closer, until he could feel her nipples hard and hot against his legs. Then he'd offer her 'is Lord Nelson and he'd make her tongue it from stem to stern, until it stuck out as hard and firm as a bloody bowsprit. He'd force the tart to lick his hairy bollocks too, and to take 'em into 'er mouth and suck on 'em as if they was three-for-a-penny candies.
By then 'is cock-shaft would be thick and throbbing and 'e'd feed it to 'er nice and slow, so she could worship his one-eyed monster with the proper devotion. He'd make her roll 'er pretty tongue around the head of his cock for a while, licking its purplish tip 'til it sparkled with her saliva. And if the bare-breasted wench failed to show the proper enthusiasm for licking his lust-heavy genitals, why he'd see to it that she got a bit of encouragement. He's simply reach into Deng's brimming toolchest and find a nice pair of pliers. Then he'd signal a couple of the lads to stand 'er up and he'd go to work on 'er impudent nipples 'til she promised to be a little more enthusiastic about 'er cock-sucking.
. She'd suck him off right and proper then, she would! He'd 'ave 'er head bobbing up and down on his willie like a hand-puppet. Later, when he felt himself read to explode from her oral pleasuring, he'd squirt half of his load down her soft warm throat and spew the rest on her creamy tits.
And then he'd let the rest of the lads have a go at her. But rather than 'avin her work her way down each row of men, 'e'd have 'er service a man from the starboard column and then a man from the larboard side and then back to starboard and so on. That way the sex-crazed barstards of the Yang-tze Dragon could watch her ripe-nippled breasts jiggle each time she kneel-walked across the deck.
Maybe he'd offer a prize to the man who could hold out the longest once his John o' Gaunt was in her pretty mouth. A sadistic smile crossed Slegg's homely visage as he pictured Erika's lovely face impaled on one rutting cock after another. How he'd enjoy watching her cheeks suctioning frantically as she worked on brown cocks, yellow cocks, circumsized and not, in order to stave off the terrible pliers! Oh, to see her gag as each man erupted and spat gushers of lust down her throat! To see streamlets of man-juice dripping from her inviting lips and slender ropes of semen decorating the slopes of her superb breasts! Aye, Slegg mused, if he were skipper of the Dragon, that's how it would be. General Wang or no General Wang.
**********
Slegg's musings were interrupted by a gasp of pain emanating from the blonde hanging from the scaffold-ropes. Deng-shan, armed with his fiendish pincers, was in the final stages of prying the Mermaid's Necklace from Erika's tortured nipple. But apparently when he had tried to strip the mesh away with a last quick jerk, a single prong of the wire had objected to being evicted from its lovely lodgings and had embedded itself even deeper in her swollen lust-bud. Deng had to give the chain a fearful jerk to liberate the barb buried in Erika's breast, and when he finally tore it free, Erika's cry of anguish was accompanied by a single pearl of crimson oozing from her aching nipple.
As Deng tossed what was left of the Mermaid's Necklace onto his workbench, Slegg moved closer, his eyes on Erika's heaving breasts. He stuck out his hand and used his thumb to swab at the bubblet of blood that had formed on her left aureole and then he ran his bloody thumb around each of Erika's sweat-sheened mounds, smearing her creamy tit-flesh with the bright scarlet of nipple-blood.
********
As the last echo of five bells dissipated into the sea air, Andrew McMahon emerged from his cabin again, his steadiness not improved by his having kept another quarter hour's company with his beloved Dalmore.
"Chuise!" his voice boomed for the fifth time, drawing Erika's glance to the four implements still hanging from the horrible hooks. The bamboo rod, the thonged whip, the wicked-looking singletail, and the peculiarly-shaped leather strap would mete out five, six, seven, and eight strokes among them, but in the demonic democracy of the Yang-tze Dragon it had been left to the golden-haired slave to decide how many strokes she would receive with each.
Her left nipple still ablaze with pain, Erika once again considered her options. Of the four remaining instruments the broom handle-thick bamboo rod and the coiled blacksnake seemed the worst. But which should it be? The thumping thunder of the rod or the crackling lightning of the whip?
"Make up your mind, wench!" Slegg snapped. "Five o' one and a half dozen of the other.
"The r-rod," Erika stammered fearfully, her eyes and face cast downward despondently. Her voice was nearly inaudible.
"Quiet, boys!" Slegg called out to the crewmen with faux chivalry. "Can't ye see that a lady is trying to ask for something? Go ahead, princess. Tell the boys what ye'd like next.
Erika swallowed hard. Her mouth was parched and dry. It had been hours since her last sip of water. "The rod… the bamboo rod," she mumbled, no louder than before.
Although he had edged close enough to hear her, Slegg pretended not to have done so. "Speak up, dearie! So that everyone can 'ear ye!" Slegg grabbed a handful of Erika's blonde hair and lifted her head so that she had do look him in the eye. "What is it ye want?" he barked again.
"The rod!" Erika spat the words at him with proud fury.
" 'ear that boys? The wench wants a taste of the bamboo." Slegg leaned closer, his face a mask of heartless cruelty. "Don't worry, Frowlein. The boys 'll see that ye get yer fill of it!"
Within moments, Andrew McMahon had called out the names of the five men who would wield the bamboo rod, "Bashir, Deng-shan, Umar, Patch, Tranh!"
Bashir, another of the Malayan roughnecks who made up nearly half the crew of the Yang-tze Dragon, made his way to the scaffold deliberately. One side of his face was disfigured by a hideous scar he had sustained years ago in a knife-fight in a waterfront brothel. A brooding, silent man, Bashir had ever since harbored a grudge against young and beautiful women – like the teasing, taunting pleasure girl who had betrayed him that long ago night near the docks of the Strait of Johore.
Bashir took up the bamboo rod and turned it over lowly, his weathered hands exploring its tough, fibrous surface. Satisfied with the weapon's sturdiness, he leered at Erika and slid the stiff rod upwards along her naked torso, occasionally tapping the smooth, girlish flesh that her shoulder-lifting suspension had drawn taut over her ribcage. He worked the bamboo shaft under Erika's pleasure mounds, propping them up and bouncing them gently – to the delight of Raka and Tattoo and the rest of the Malayan contingent.
"Get on wie it, mon!" Captain McMahon thundered.
The ferocity of Bashir's scarred visage was little improved by the scowl he gave the red-bearded captain, but he grunted and swung around behind the taut-stretched body of Erika Weiss. Her back was crisscrossed with lurid marks, and her fair skin was broken here and there where one stroke of the whip had intersected another. Erika's buttocks, too, were already well-striped, but it was to those tempting, thorn-embedded bottom-globes that Bashir devoted his attention.
Once, twice, three times the frightfully disfigured sailor addressed Erika's shapely derriere with the bamboo rod, slowly taking the rod back and then bringing it forward until it just kissed Erika's bare behind. Only the sharpest-eyed of the crewmen could see that when the rod touched Erika's backside it formed a bridge across the narrow gorge of her butt-cleft – a bridge that linked two of the brownish spines that were still lodged in her enticing derriere. Each time they felt the rod, Erika's bottomcheeks, sensing the sharp, slashing pain that was to come, quivered tremulously.
But on his fourth attempt, Bashir's drew the
bamboo back not in a slow, measured movement, but in a swift arc. The tip of the rod pointed at the
Whhhshttt! CRACKK!!! The bamboo ripped into Erika whip-ravaged behind with a vengeance, bisecting her tempting buttock-crease with almost mathematical precision and hammering the thorns even deeper into her flesh.
"Aauughhh!!" Erika groaned in agony. The force of the blow drove her body forward a half-step, treating the men in front of her to the sight of her ripe young breasts bouncing deliciously on her chest.
"Deng-shan!" After he called the name of the man who had won the next stroke, Captain Andrew McMahon licked his lips lasciviously. Erika was bouncing lightly on her toes, hoping that somehow her agitated movements would ease her suffering. With every incremental stroke, every added bit of agony, the writhing of his shipboard slave grew more provocative. He made a subtle gesture with his hand and Cheng and Kai gave Erika's wrist ropes a powerful jerk, stretching her naked body taut for the blows that were yet to come.
Before rejoining his comrades at the rail, the scar-faced Malayan tossed the cane to Deng-shan. Deng-caught it deftly and surveyed Erika's body with an expert eye. Her back was criss-crossed with lash marks and her buttocks were a deep, blushing pink sprinkled here and there with protruding thorns and flecks of scarlet. But her thighs, her long, shapely thighs, were almost unmarked. Deng-shan frowned to himself. He had only one stroke to deal with those two sleek columns of girl-flesh.
He made his decision quickly, taking a coil of rope from the workbench and hacking off a short length which he wrapped tightly around Erika's ankles before tying it off. He knotted a second cinch around her legs just above her knees, and then a third, well above the mid-point of her thighs. The double tourniquet not only brought Erika's thighs together so that both were within easy reach of the rod, it enhanced the wonderful roundness of her derriere. The dimple at the apex of her buttock cleft made his thumbs itch, so badly did Deng want to pry apart the forbidden cleavage of her nether-globes. But most of all the thigh-ropes constricted Erika's shapely legs to splendid effect; within thirty seconds her bare legs had begun to pinken as a result of the interrupted circulation in her shapely thighs.
Once Erika's thighs were flushed with color, the tattooed carpenter took his stance behind her. He playfully slid the tip of the cane down through Erika's shadowy, sweat-moist buttock cleft, enjoying her futile attempts to escape the probing rod. His pleasure was redoubled by her salacious squirming and her low moans of protest when the end of the cane made contact with her tiny rosebud. Lubricated only by her pain-sweat, the probing rod vaporized the last vestiges of Erika's dignity.
Catching an impatient 'hurry-it-up' glance from the captain, Deng withdrew the invasive rod and shifted his feet, squaring his stance. Erika, half-expecting another measured preamble like Bashir's, relaxed slightly. She was completely unprepared when Deng swung the cane at Erika's tightly bound thighs as if he intended to slice them in half. Erika's only warning consisted of the tell-sound of the rod knifing its way through the air. There was no time to brace herself for the blow.
Whssssshhttt! CRACCKKK!!!
"Aaaaiaahhh!!" Erika glorious mane of blonde hair danced on her bare shoulders as her head flew back. Maddened with pain and fury, her knees buckled slightly as she cried out to the heavens.
A tumultuous roar rose from the onlookers, for Deng's stroke had surely been one of the best of the day.
Deng acknowledged the ovation and
then muttered, "Give her a good one!" to his successor, a brown-skinned
Singaporean named Umar, as he handed him the shaft of bamboo.
Umar, the next competitor in
Erika's endless relay of suffering, wasted no time in taking the baton from his
leering comrade. He slapped the bamboo
rod against the palm of his hand loudly twice, as if to gauge its punishing
impact, and then he crouched down low and lashed wildly at the backs of Erika's
thighs.
Whisssshhttt!! CRACKKK!!!
Umar's blow was two inches higher
than Deng-shan's but not an ounce weaker.
With her feet and legs bound, it was left to Erika's upper body to
express her agony. Her shoulders
shuddered violently, and her luscious pleasure-mounds shimmied shamelessly as
she tried to absorb the wrath of the rod.
"Patch!" When McMahon called out his name, a round-faced
Chinese with graying hair stepped forward, his empty right eye socket covered
by a bit of fabric that looked as old as the freighter on which he sailed.
The moon-faced seaman bowed
politely as he reached awkwardly for the bamboo while Umar continued to mug
triumphantly to his countrymen. Patch's
lost eye seemed to have cost him something in depth perception because he
brought his hands together clumsily in order to grasp the bamboo.
A lefty, Patch transferred the cane
to his left hand, and reached out with his right as if to pinpoint the location
of Erika's ripe-rounded bottom. When his
hand touched her flesh, he smiled crookedly and let his hand wander freely over
Erika's naked buttocks, slippery with sweat and blood. Then he pulled his hand back, stuck his tongue
out of the corner of his mouth like a boy at sport and whipped the bamboo rod
across Erika's burning bottom-ovals with the vigor of a man half his age.
Whissshhttt!! CRACKKK!!
"NNGGhhhh!!" Erika's soft buttock-flesh absorbed the punishing
stroke admirably, giving ground to the swift-moving
rod before springing back resiliently, a-quiver from the force of the blow.
"Tranh!" McMahon's voice boomed across the deck as he
called out the name of the fifth and last man who would wield the bamboo cane.
As the Vietnamese cook stepped forward, Patch handed him the cane. "Show her that we old ones are still men, my friend," the one-eyed man muttered under his breath. Smite her well!"
Erika heard none of this byplay and relaxed slightly – at last it was the turn of a man who had shown her at least some traces of mercy. Tranh circled her nude body thoughtfully, using the tip of the cane as a pointer, prodding her lacerations and bruises as if he were performing a grim triage. When he paused in front of her, Erika made eye contact with the wiry Annamese, hoping to lessen her torment.
But Erika soon found that while there had been both laughter and lust in his eyes in the infirmary, only lust remained. An erection, remarkably thick and swollen for a man of his years, was distinctly outlined against Tranh's dingy leggings; clearly the intense flogging of the European demi-goddess had stirred the southeast Asian as he had not been stirred in years.
Tranh fondled the handle of the
bamboo cane affectionately; it was with just such an instrument that he and his
brother had disciplined each other's nubile daughters, once their bodies had
begun to blossom into nubile womanhood, back in the marshy valley of the
He had been much younger then and more vigorous, but Tranh was anxious to prove that his years had not stolen all his strength. He was tempted to add another lacerating stroke to Erika's whip-reddened buttocks, but decided instead to break new ground.
He eyed her quivering breasts which still bore the obscene imprint of Slegg's bloodied thumbprint, and focused his gaze on her proud-thrusting nipples. But much as he would have enjoyed whipping the bamboo rod into Erika's majestic mounds, he knew that the implement in his hand was simply too punishing. Only a fool would damage such pleasing playthings beyond repair.
Erika's belly, too was infinitely appealing as a target. With her arms stretched high, the skin of her torso was stretched tightly over the subtly protruding bones of her rib cage. But there was simply not enough flesh there to absorb the force of the rod; there was too much danger of damaging a bone or, if he aimed lower, an internal organ. But Erika's tightly bound thighs were well-fleshed indeed – and every bit as mouthwateringly beautiful when viewed from the front as they had been when seen from the rear.
Erika could follow Tranh's eyes, and she sensed his train of thought, but with her ankles bound, she was helpless to evade either his eyes or his malicious intent. All she could do was grit her teeth, bite her lip, and brace herself for the blow.
His decision made, Tranh's feasted his eyes on Erika's bare legs, picking out a spot, and then struck, slashing the cane savagely at Erika's upper thighs.
Whisssshhtttt! CRAACKK!!!! Tranh's stroke, while lacking the power of a younger arm, was well placed, burying itself into Erika's thigh-flesh only a few inches below her alluring pleasure-slit.
"Unnnnghhhhh!!!" Erika's breasts bobbled tantalizingly as the force of the blow shook her entire body.
But at least, she thought as the fire raged in her thigh-flesh, Tranh's stroke was the last of the blows with the bamboo. And they had all been delivered in quick succession, thus giving her a little more time to recover her strength before the ordeal of six bells began.
Captain Andrew McMahon seemed to be thinking the same thought. His blood-shot eyes wandered over Erika's bruised and blood-streaked body for some moments before he spoke. "Tranhie – nou would be a gud time tae clean the lassie oop. Fetch that Mekong Lightning or whatever ye call it, and tend to her wounds."
Tranh, delighted by the prospect of running his greedy hands across Erika's luscious body again, answered, "Aye, sir!" and scampered below decks for his supplies. Erika Weiss sagged limply from her wrist-ropes, the remarkable endurance she had learned under the stern tutelage of George Chan tested to its limits.
Slowly, one by one, the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon tore their eyes from the erotic vision in their midst and again returned to their duties, each man among them looking forward to the time when 'six bells' would sound and the fair-skinned temptress would once again writhe under the lash.
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