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Chapter 159 Slash of the Single-tail
"Chuise!" The portentous bellow of Captain Andrew McMahon followed the sixth sonorous toll of the bell by no more than a heartbeat. Erika shuddered in her bonds, knowing that each baleful chime betokened another stroke of the lash. Under her breath she had counted each ring of the ship's bell with dread and resignation, for together they sounded the knell of her impending doom.
"Chuise, wench!" McMahon bellowed again through his bristling red beard as he made his way once more to the crude whip-rack. He extended his blue-jacketed arm toward the three remaining instruments, awaiting the beautiful young blonde's rueful choice.
Shoulders heaving, her proud breasts still rosy and smarting from her last ordeal, a pain-weary Erika Weiss gazed disconsolately at the crude whip-rack. There were but three instruments left – the slender, supple, single-tailed whip, dark and oiled to a glistening shine; a short leather strap whose shape and thickness belied its innocent appearance; and a thonged whip which looked tough enough to strip the paint from the ship's hull.
But Erika could not tear her sky-blue eyes from the ghastly, glistening single-tail which looked even more malicious. The thought of that dark, coiled serpent hissing through the air before leaving its cruel venom on her bare flesh sent chills racing through her nude body and into the very depths of her soul. But would it not be better, Erika asked herself, as she labored to fight off her pain and exhaustion, would it not be better to endure six strokes of that awful whip now than seven or eight later? After a moment of fearful indecision, a shuddering,. shivering Erika Weiss dipped deeply into her receding well of courage and nodded glumly when Captain McMahon's grim, questioning hand pointed at the well-worn whipstock of the single-tail.
An evil smile crept across the face of the red-bearded captain as he seized the whip with a practiced hand. He picked it up and let its five feet of tough, braided leather snake lightly through the palm of his hand. "Aye, it's a fine bit of work, it is. Hou d'ye like the feel o' this, Lassie," he exclaimed as he stepped to Erika's right and slithered the coils of the lash over the blushing slopes of Erika's majestic breasts. The whip seemed to have a life of its own and as it serpentined its way over the naked blonde's stiff-nippled breasts, Erika's body nearly convulsed in horror.
"Aye, that un'll make 'er dance, cap'n!" Slegg exulted, as he watched the blacksnake curl caressingly over Erika's proud-thrusting treasures. In twenty years on the seven seas he had never seen a prettier sight that that offered by the starkly contrasting blackness of the dark whip as it slid caressingly over the pale, pink-tipped breasts of this beautiful young demi-goddess.
Just then Cheng Lao and Kai Pu tightened their grip on her wrist-ropes as one, and Erika cried out loudly as her upraised shoulders were nearly torn from their sockets.
Correctly interpreting the distress in Erika's agonized wail and fearful of inflicting permanent injury on the German beauty, McMahon signaled the two Chinese to ease their grip on the guy-ropes. "D'ye fancy anither position then, lassie?"
"Bitte… bitte … for God's sake …yes," Erika gasped, as she stood high on her tip-toes, trying desperately to ease the muscle-burning strain on her shoulders.
"So be it, then!" McMahon waited a moment and when he saw that Cheng and Kai had still made no move to ease the torturous tension on Erika's updrawn shoulders, he bellowed thunderously, "Avast ye! Dinna ye nae ken a semple command?"
The two Chinese manning Erika's wrist-ropes looked at each other blankly until Deng-shan, who was far more practiced in extracting meaning from the captain's nearly impenetrable brogue, stepped forward and barked out a series of orders.
The upshot of these commands was that two of the Malayan seamen stepped forward and muscled Deng's sturdy workbench across the scaffold until the edge of its long side was pressed against Erika's bare thighs. She gaped down at the thirty by sixty inch table wonderingly, knowing that it was surely malice, not mercy, that had prompted the ship's carpenter to place it there.
It took the well-built handyman only half a minute or so to affix a yard-high four-by-four upright to the far edge of the workbench, and only moments more to hammer a large eye-bolt into the upright a foot or so above Erika's eye level. A few seconds later, Cheng and Kai freed Erika's wrists from the scaffold ropes while Deng replaced the ropes with some crude wrist-cuffs that he had fashioned out of bits of scrap leather. Then he cinched Erika's wrists together with a short length of rope and then took an even shorter length of chain, strung it through the eyebolt, and secured her wrist-cuffs to the chain. And so it was that leather, rope, and chain, the unholy trinity of bondage, conspired to secure Erika's upraised wrists to the upright Deng had affixed to the far side the workbench.
It was only when Erika's wrists were hooked to the eyebolt that the excellence of McMahon's conception was apparent. With his engineer's eye, Deng had arranged the height of the eye-bolt so that the fetters would force Erika slightly onto her toes. The width of the workbench and the height of the post forced Erika's upper body to bend forward, even as her back was angled upward. The effect that awkward and uncomfortable pose had on her deliciously whippable bottom was inexpressibly tantalizing. And if Erika had not been already been supremely aware of the wantonness of her pose, the leering eyes and the torrent of lewd remarks that poured out of the mouths of her tormentors would soon have made her so.
"Nice work, Deng! 'ave ye ever seen such a pretty arse, boys?"
The indecency of Erika's posture caused the muscles of her blushing buttocks to clench and unclench involuntarily in a self-conscious dance of shame that gladdened the hearts and hardened the erections of the men of the Yang-tze Dragon. Trying not to call her attention to her movements she subtly tucked her thighs together, in an attempt to preserve at least some vestiges of dignity.
"Open your legs, whore!" Jasper Slegg snarled in his gravelly voice. "The lads'd like to 'ave a look at yer tonsils, wouldn't ye, boys?"
The crewmen roared exultantly, anxious for a better look at the feminine treasure between Erika's long, shapely legs.
When Erika was slow to obey the humiliating command, McMahon nodded to Deng-shan, and the muscular handyman swept up a four-foot length of rope from the workbench. Doubling it up expertly, he slashed at the inside of Erika's left thigh with a quick flick of his wrist.
Erika yelped and slid her foot an inch or two to her left. But Deng was not a man of half measures. He backhanded the rope-whip across Erika's upper right thigh, leaving a red mark on her creamy flesh, underscoring his intentions.
"Aiah!" Erika gasped again, but conscious of the fact that every widening of her stance gave her tormentors a better look at her delicate genitalia, she gave ground grudgingly. Her defiance however, provided Deng more amusement than frustration, for he would have been perfectly happy to whip her creamy thigh-flesh until the sun set behind the mainland hills far to the west.
Crack! Crack!! Crack!! Crack!!
The sharp bite of the rope-whip gradually had its effect, each stinging blow to her tender thighs forcing Erika to surrender another modicum of modesty. After six strokes the gap between her knees had widened to nearly a foot.
But still the men of the Yang-tze Dragon were not satisfied.
"C'mon wench! You can spread 'em more than that!"
"Give it to her, Deng!"
Crack!! Crack!!! CRACK!!! CRACKK!!!!
Back and forth a sweating Deng-shan swung his improvised whip, the doubled coil snapping back and forth like a pendulum, each stroke gaining in force, as he imposed his harsh will on the shapely legs of his prisoner. By the tenth such stroke, the relentless lashes of Deng's coarse rope-whip had forced Erika to adopt a truly humiliating stance.
Even the rowdy crewmen of the Yangtze Dragon grew silent for a moment as they edged closer to better drink in the sight of the intoxicating inverted V formed by Erika's well-angled thighs. For at the vertex of this lovely V, Erika's pink-petaled flower, fringed with tufts of golden fleece, peeked out shyly from between her parted thighs. No less enticing was her superbly upthrust bottom. Erika's sculpted buttock rounds, sweetly bisected by the tantalizing groove between them, still blushingly pink and faintly striated from her earlier fustigations, would have made the saintliest monk in Asia reach for a whip. And there were precious few potential saints manning the decks of the Yang-tze Dragon.
The hushed silence, interrupted only by the exclamations of a pair of curious gulls, did not last long.
"Bo!" McMahon cried out lustily after glancing at the name he had drawn, and a swarthy, pig-tailed Chinese quickly emerged from the circle of onlookers. In his excitement the Cantonese seaman nearly tore the single-tail from McMahon's grasp. A lefty, Bo wiped the lust-spittle from his mouth on a filthy sleeve as he slid the lash lazily across the ship's deck. It was just as well that Erika could not see the erection protruding crudely from Bo's unwashed leggings; taking note of it would only have exacerbated the tremors that made her lovely buttocks shudder so enticingly.
Bo playfully flicked the whip in the direction of his pals Li Piao, Yong Li and Patch, who had already victimized the blonde prisoner. Bo's dark eyes were bright with man-lust, for now, at last, it was his turn to exploit the pale body of the young woman whose sufferings had provided such rich and rare pleasure to his crewmates.
Determined to make the most of such a splendid opportunity, Bo took up a position behind and slightly to the right of Erika's outthrust backside. Even though Erika's buttocks could hardly have been posed more provocatively, he was loath to let his moment of supreme pleasure pass too quickly. He coiled the whip in his left hand and approached her, putting his hands on her hips and barking, "Spread legs! Wider!"
"That's the ticket, Bo! We want to be able to count those pretty cunt hairs! Don't we, lads?"
The crewmen responded to Slegg's obscene prompting by crying out in unison, pressing still closer, as if intent on taking the first mate's suggestion literally.
Blushing with shame, Erika could almost feel the foul, hot breath of the sailors on her body. She swept her blonde mane from side to side in protest, but Bo was in no mood to brook resistance to his depraved commands. Snarling like a beast, he maneuvered the sturdy whip-stock between Erika's buttocks, and pressed it forcefully against her rosebud, leaving little doubt that he was perfectly willing to drive the thick-handled shaft deep into her rectum if she did not comply. Her shoulders heaving with humiliation, Erika edged her already well-spread thighs infinitesimally farther apart.
Pleased with her salacious stance, Bo pressed down firmly on the small of her back, increasing the sensual arch of her spine, forcing Erika's buttocks out and up, presenting them even more invitingly for the whip. But even then Bo was not quite ready to deliver his stroke. He fondled Erika's luscious buttocks with lewd caresses, squeezing and patting her warm demi-globes. Even more distressing to Erika than his gleeful groping of her whip-wealed buttocks, was the way he insinuated his fingers between her legs, probing her most intimate flesh while the onlookers cheered his prodding finger-thrusts. His humiliating probings drove an already distraught Erika to the very brink of despair.
Disdainful of her abject misery, Bo continued to caress Erika's wriggling buttocks, enjoying the delicious contrast between the moist, topical coolness of her skin, which Tranh had lotioned so thoroughly, with the underlying warmth of her whip-scalded flesh. Finally his obscene fondling had gone on too long, and Captain McMahon interrupted him.
"Deliver your straik, mon, or pass the whip to some 'ane who will!"
"Aye," Bo replied, frowning, irritated that his depraved pleasures had been cut short. He slowly stepped away from Erika, but he had to push his close-huddled comrades back several paces in order to room to give himself room to swing the whip. When they had grudgingly given ground, Bo took up a position about a yard behind and to the right of Erika. Then, after carefully eyeballing the distance to Erika's ripe-rounded buttocks, he let the whip fly, scourging her out-thrust bottom with a stroke that bit deeply into the upper hemispheres of her lovely bottomcheeks.
CRAAACCKKK!! "Aiaaghhh!!" Erika groaned in misery. Her hips churned against the workbench lasciviously as her body reacted to the lacerating sting of the lash.
"That's it, frowlein, wiggle that sweet arse for us!" Slegg taunted.
"Saad!" bellowed Captain McMahon, calling the next name, and a muscular long-mustached Malayan elbowed his way through the ranks of seamen.
"Give me!" he snarled to Bo in his strange tongue, and snatched the evil-looking whip from the Chinese, while his Malayan comrades cheered him on.
Brandishing the whip menacingly, Saad drew closer to Erika, who, in her suffering, had inched closer to the workbench , narrowing her stance and straightening up slightly from her humiliating ass-up position. Taking his cue from his pig-tailed predecessor, the well-built Malayan pounded his fist into Erika's back. "Arse up and out, wench!" he barked, even as he whacked at the fronts of her thighs with the handle of the whip, forcing her to re-assume the desired position. Soon Erika's well-toned arms were once again stretched upward at a forty degree angle by the ropes secured to the upright. In that position, the sensual concavity caused by the long, clean arc of her spine, provided a pleasing contrast to the lush convexity of her upthrust buttocks.
Saad continued to follow Bo's example by fondling Erika's obscenely upthrust bottomcheeks with evident delight, at one point looping the two ends of the whip around her upper left thigh and then tugging the tail of the whip upward through her crotch and into the crevice between her buttocks. He sawed the whipcord back and forth vigorously, so that it all but disappeared in Erika's nether cleavage, abrading her sensitive perineum. Finally he jerked the whip free and gave her backside a final adjustment, once again positioning her hips so as to maximize both the arch of her spine and the thrust of her buttocks, and then he took up his stance behind her.
So excited was the virile seaman that his bristling mustache seemed to stand on end as he eyed the shapely target of his cruel lust. Saad cracked the whip loudly in the air twice, jeering crudely at the tremors of fear that seemed to have taken possession of Erika's whip-reddened derriere. And then, at last, he struck, delivering a savage, sweeping stroke to the base of Erika's buttocks that nearly lifted her onto the workbench.
CRACCKKK!!! "Aaaiaaahhh!"
Two fresh, jagged ridges of raised flesh, roughly horizontal, now trisected the perfection of Erika's buttcheeks. The golden-haired demi-goddess shuddered with fear and dismay. Who could have believed that after only two scalding strokes of the single-tail, the cooling numbness engendered by Tranh's Mekong Lightning would be nothing more than a memory?
"Song!" barked Captain McMahon, as he glanced at the next name. "Where is Mr. Song?"
A homely, balding, pock-marked Chinese of middle age shuffled forward, his eyes encased in thick-lensed spectacles. For Song, the assistant navigator of the Yang-tze Dragon, had spent a lifetime poring over nautical charts in the poorly lit helms of the China sea. But as many of his fellow crewmen knew, deep in his soul the ill-favored navigator, embittered by a lifetime of being scorned by attractive women, harbored a malicious hatred for the female sex.
********
Enduring the sneering glances of the abducted beauties trafficked by the Yang-tze Dragon had only enhanced Mr Song's determination to repay his emotional pain by meting out suffering to the young women who spurned him. But how to revenge himself on the captive wenches who had reviled him without incurring the wrath of the captain?
After pondering the problem for some time, the solution came to him one night as he was spearing the last few grains from his rice bowl with a pair of crude chopsticks. He eyed the sticks thoughtfully for a moment and, then after retiring to his moonlit hammock for the night, he spent several hours whittling away at the ends of the chopsticks with his sharp fisherman's knife. By the time four bells of the first watch had sounded, he had fashioned the innocuous pieces of bamboo into a pair of sharp-pointed skewers.
From that day forward each time one of the captive beauties of the Yang-tze Dragon expressed revulsion at his repugnant appearance, he would conceal his slender weapons in his sleeve and visit the Bird Cage below decks, where the sweet young cargo of the Dragon was imprisoned. There, after bribing his way past the guard, he would search the cages of the nautical dungeon, seeking out the comely prisoner who had incurred his wrath. Upon finding her he would take his revenge with his skewers. What sport it had been to see those young beauties squirming frantically to escape his flesh-piercing jabs!
On the most recent such occasion, after an impudent young beauty from the island of Hainan had mocked his ugliness, he had found her imprisoned in a tiny bamboo cage. It had taken him several minutes to drag the cage into a distant, but well-lit, corner of the room, where he hoisted it up onto an old wooden table. Then he had lashed the ankles of the ebony-haired temptress to the rear corners of the cage, and pulled her arms up behind her, through the bars that formed the ceiling of the cage, before binding her wrists together.
The grudgeful navigator had circled his fearful-eyed prisoner for a minute or two, squinting at her eagerly, drinking in the sight and scent of her nakedness. When he had finished his leering circumnavigation of her tiny prison, he had produced the skewers and brandished them wickedly, letting his captive see the keenness of his evil implements.
Then, reaching through the bars of the cage, he had stuffed a foul-smelling rag into her mouth to stifle her cries. That precaution taken, he he had spent a most pleasant an hour driving the slender spikes into the soft tissues of the girl's body. Working the sticks adroitly through the bamboo bars of the cage, he had attacked her thighs, her flanks, her belly and her buttocks, stabbing her honey-gold flesh again and again, but without ever drawing the blood that might betray his evil mission.
The girl had squirmed around in her tiny prison as best she could in order to keep the nearsighted navigator's sharpened rods from invading her portals of pleasure. But despite her success at protecting her feminine entrances, the rest of her lithe young body was vulnerable to the jabbing bamboo. The vindictive navigator cleverly saved the best for last, and his erection was thick and throbbing when at last he turned his attention to her dark-nippled breasts.
The fiendish sharpness of the sticks piercing, but not puncturing, her tawny mounds soon drove the dark-eyed, sweat-drenched beauty into a frenzy of panic. She strained heroically to protect her besieged breasts by pressing them against the floor of the cage, where the stabbing torture sticks could not find them. But Song had tied her wrists with diabolical care and despite her squirming, the velvety-skinned captive could not quite manage to tuck her sweat-moistened breasts out of harm's way.
Song bared his teeth gleefully as he spiked her resilient mounds from every conceivable angle, driving the needle-sharp skewers into her tempting breasts again and again. His prey was helpless to do anything more than twist and turn fruitlessly, frantically, in hopes of eluding the sharp-piercing prods. At time the furious violence of her movements threatened to send the cage crashing to the floor. But Song patiently repositioned the cage each time, and then returned to his task of stabbing the young beauty's deliciously resilient breasts almost at will.
Finally the beautiful island girl managed to spit out her gag and offered to pleasure him with her mouth if only he would stop. He had, of course, obliged her, extending his thick-knobbed penis through the bars of the cage toward her warm lips, even as he ground the tip of a skewer deep into the pebbly perfection of her left aureole…
********
Owing to his poor eyesight, of all the men on board Song had taken the least pleasure from the erotic spectacle of Erika's punishment. But once Captain McMahon had called his name, the navigator began to make up for the pleasures which had so far eluded him. Squinting myopically, Song took the whip from Saad and approached Erika from the rear, laying his hands on her burning buttocks.
Erika squirmed in revulsion. Unlike the other sailors, whose work exposed them to the elements, Song's hands were smooth and unweathered. But they were also cold and clammy, as if he had freshly risen from the bottom of the sea. He ran his hands across Erika's shapely backside with the studious care he would have used in charting a course through a rocky channel, exploring the raised flesh of her whip-welts with the sensitive fingers of a sightless man.
He smiled wickedly as the tips of his fingers traced the jagged length of Erika's most recent lash marks. In the sunlight the fresh welts were pale against the rosy background of her well-punished buttocks. Song scraped the fingernail of his index finger along the fragile ridges of flesh, and then he plunged a cold, meaty finger into Erika's buttock crease and found the tight crevice where the darkest of lusts is satisfied.
Song's ramrodding anal finger-thrust lifted Erika higher onto her toes. The pressure in her rectum seemed to surge upward through her body, causing her full breasts to swell even further and stiffening her semi-erect nipples for the benefit of the sailors still positioned in front of her. Khasar and Froggy exchanged leering smiles as their hungry eyes gobbled up the sight of Erika's surging breasts, now only faintly pink from the punishing slaps of Jasper Slegg.
As for Slegg, Erika's upward lunge reminded him of Erika's desperate lurch for the lamp when he given her that last sodomizing thrust in the Bird Cage last night, the fateful lunge that had started the conflagration which had led to her dreadful ordeal. He smiled grimly; he had been cheated out of the ultimate sexual triumph last night, but now his prey was paying dearly for robbing him of his pleasure.
Meanwhile, Mr Song had stepped back and was brandishing the singletail awkwardly, trying to gauge its swiftness and weight.
"The bloke's blind as a bloody bat," chuckled Slegg to Lucky in a low voice. "e'd be lucky to hit the side of the ship from 'arf a yard away."
But perhaps the gods of cruelty decided to extend some good fortune to the nearly sightless Song, for when he finally swung the whip, the blacksnake sliced viciously into Erika's bare back, leaving a serrated streak of scarlet across its entire width.
CRACCKK!!! "Ngghhh!!" Erika gasped in pain, surprised by both the force and location of the blow. She tore desperately at her bonds, her blonde hair flying, her nude body dancing to the staccato rhythm of the lash – the discordant tune to which young women have danced since the first caveman tore a privemal switch from a tree to punish his rebellious mate.
"Well done, Song!" the crewmen exulted, surprised by the success of his stroke.
So quickly had the short-sighted navigator struck, and so confidently did he raise the whip after hearing its fearful impact on Erika's bare flesh, that neither he nor his audience realize that he had missed his target, the shapely buttocks he had fondled with such salacious glee, by a foot and a half.
But it was all one to Erika, and when the next man, a squatly-built Malayan named Rahim, seized the whip, her bare bottomcheeks, which had escaped Song's malicious lash, were once again visited with the searing stroke of pain that only a tightly-braided singletail can deliver.
CRACCKKK!!! "Ayaaaaiaahhh!!" Rahim's lash bisected Ericka's huddling nether-globes with near-geometric precision. The withering force of the blow caused the taut, tense muscles in Erika's buttocks to oscillate enticingly as Rahim's Malayan comrades applauded the trueness of his aim.
Upon hearing Captain's McMahon call his name, a Chinese man whose comrades had dubbed "The Scowler" stepped forward, his mouth twisted in the peculiar rictus of one consumed by sadistic lust.
Wasting no time, the Scowler, sporting a fearful erection in his dingy leggings, snatched the whip from Rahim. Standing behind her and slightly to her left, he fondled his swollen member through his trousers for some seconds while he eyed Erika's lusciously rounded butt-cheeks with lust-hungry eyes.
He took the whip back like a practiced veteran and the swiftness and power of his stroke bespoke the fact that he had once been a slave-driver in Zanzibar.
CRACCKK!! "Aaaagghhhh!!" The report of the lash on Erika's bare flesh was thunderous in the still sea air. Even the circling seabirds seemed to pause in their endless flight to glance down at the spectacle below. Erika's nude torso writhed as never before, for the long tongue of the Scowler's lash had curled around her right hip, its blazing tip igniting a fiery trail that stretched toward her golden triangle.
There were four freshly livid whip weals across Erika's backside now, but by a strange twist of fate none of the swollen ridges intersected another. Each rivulet of pain simmered in its own heat, as if awaiting the stroke that would unite them in a lake of scalding fire.
In the weeks and months to come, the details of Erika's flogging onboard the Yang-tze Dragon would run mercifully together into a turbulent sea of suffering in which the agony of individual whip-strokes was drowned out by the terror and trauma of the overall experience. But there was one stroke, of the three dozen she received during her painful Odyssey that would stay with her for all of her days.
When the red-bearded sea captain bellowed out the name, "Yim," Erika's supple body shuddered in horror. For she had caused the death of little Mao, the thick-witted giant's only friend in the world, in the hellish stoking room just the day before. Of all the men aboard the Yang-tze Dragon, only he had a true personal grievance against her.
The brutish collier elbowed his way through the ranks of sailors purposefully and grasped the whip in his meaty fist. He ogled Erika's nudity for some time, his sunken, ape-like eyes drifting up and down her naked body, comparing the creamy skin of her neck, her arms and her legs to the lust-arousing crimson streaks that the whips had etched into her back and backside. At length his simple-minded gaze came to rest on Erika's ripe, tempting buttocks. He eyed them, and the four jagged lash-welts that marred their rounded perfection, with the hunger of a sodomite who had long been denied his most obscene and violent longings. And then it was as if the mocking gods of cruelty, feeling remorse for condemning the ponderous coal-shoveller to a lifetime of witlessness, had relented and granted him a single inspiration.
An evil, ugly smile formed on Jim's simian visage. "Pull her!" he grunted noisily to the men facing Erika on the far side of the workbench. "Pull her up!"
Khasar and Froggy, who were in the front rank of that small group of onlookers, stepped forward eagerly. The two muscular sailors each reached across the workbench and grasped the chained beauty roughly under an arm. Heaving in unison, they pulled her toward them so that she lay awkwardly across the workbench, her delicious bottomcheeks high in the air. Because of the awkward angle, it took all of their strength to lift her, but once she was partially astride the bench top, Khasar and Froggy had no difficulty holding the struggling beauty in place with one hand. Seizing their opportunity, the two brutes exchanged glances and then responded as if they had acted with one will. Their free hands slid under her body and attacked Erika's defenseless breasts before their blonde captive could take a second breath.
Erika cried out in pain as their hands mauled her sensitive mounds and for a moment the clawing fingers distracted her from understanding the new vulnerability of her position. But an instant later she heard Yim's whip-stroke whistling through the air.
Whhsssssttt!! CRACCCCKKKK!!!
"AAIIHH! AAIIIIIIAAAHH!!"
Yim had struck with the force of two men. More importantly, his aim was true. For Yim had delivered a lacerating, skin-scalding stroke that cut across Erika's buttocks on a bias, intersecting, in a single horrific instant, with each of the red-edged ridges that already lined her squirming demi-ovals.
The ebony singletail seemed to cling to Erika's burning bottomcheeks for a micro-second, kissing them with dark fire, before Yim jerked the whip back. The audience, which had been momentarily hushed by the swiftness and force of Yim's blow, erupted with virile pleasure as they saw its result. For the fearful impact of the whip had torn open its juncture with each of the earlier lashmarks, and pearls of scarlet quickly formed at the four bloody crossroads which marred the peaches and cream perfection of Erika's lovely buttocks.
"Well struck!" bellowed Froggy, as he and Khasar pulled Erika closer still, scraping her belly painfully across the top of the workbench. Once again, as if thinking with one sadistic brain, the two men each gouged the fingers of one hand into a pink-nippled breast-globe, while spanking the nearest bottomcheek with the other.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!!
SMACK!!
Their powerful blows fell on Erika's nether curves like thunderclaps, as each man used all of his prodigious strength to punish Erika's bloodied backside. Their spanks would have stung unblemished bottom-cheeks. On Erika's well-whipped bottom-ovals they were cruel beyond measure.
SMACKK !!
SMACKK !!
SMACKK !!
SMACKK !!
The blows continued to rain down, the two men pausing only to raise their bloodied palms to the heavens, like crimson trophies of triumph For each punishing spank deepened and broadened the scarlet streamlets decorating Erika's bloodied buttocks. Then, when their bloodied hands swept downward again, they spread the liquid redness until Erika's lovely buttocks were splattered with the blood generated by Yim's punishing blow..
"Enough!" bellowed Captain McMahon after each man had hammered another half-dozen handstrokes to Erika's burning bottom.. The two men glared at the skipper, but backed away slowly, but not before giving Erika's big breasts a final rapacious squeeze. When they released her, Erika's body slowly slid back down the bench, her bare and belly raked by its friction against the rough-hewn table, until her bare feet once again found the floor. She tugged weakly at the ropes and chains that held her wrists, but the eyebolt in the wooden post on the far side of the workbench might have been Gibraltar for all the good it did her.
McMahon turned toward the man who had administered the withering coup de grace with the singletail. "Well done, laddie," he intoned respectfully to Yim, whose vengeance-laden stroke had surely been the most powerful of the day. And then, seeing that the beautiful blonde prisoner, was once again nearly at the limit of her endurance, the red-bearded captain added roughly, "Clean her oop, Tranhie – and leave 'er be, the lot o' ye, until seven bells of the watch!"
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