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Chapter 160 The Voyeur’s Revenge
SPLASSSSSHHH!!!!
The nude body of Erika Weiss shuddered violently as the bucketful of icy brine exploded against her back, adding salt water to the sea of sweat and the streamlets of blood already residing there. Jasper Slegg, the sadistic first mate of the Yang-tze Dragon, felt a renewed stirring of lust in his loins as the seawater cascaded down the blonde’s tanned, tapering shoulders and back. As the salt spray washed down her body it left a hundred lucky droplets clinging lovingly to beautiful bare skin, while the most enviable pearls of moisture made their way slowly down the enticing groove between Erika’s shapely, whip-reddened buttocks.
“Unnhhhhh,” the tormented blonde moaned in a mournful voice, as she slowly returned to consciousness. “Ooohh…” Her eyelids fluttered for a moment but remained closed.
Jasper Slegg turned toward the muscular Malayan still holding the menacing thonged whip. Raka, the man whose eerily rhythmic drumming had provided an ominous accompanied to many of Erika’s torments, grinned proudly. The drummer was quickly clapped on the back by Tattoo and others of his countrymen for delivering a stroke so savage that their delectable prisoner had passed out from the pain.
“That was a good whack, Raka,” Slegg muttered grudgingly. Look at the bleedin’ whore! By Christ, she’s still swingin’ i’nt she!”
And indeed the naked body of their blonde prisoner, her back and buttocks each decorated by a pair of fresh weals and any number of more faded marks, was still swaying gently in the sea breeze.
Erika hung painfully by her wrists from a coarse rope which hung downward from the crossbeam of the sinister 7-shaped scaffold which stood on the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon. Even in her semi-conscious state her feet clawed frantically for purchase, but could do no more than dangle helplessly a few inches above the deck.
Sensing motion on the bridge, Slegg looked upward just as Captain Andrew McMahon, the burly, red-bearded skipper of the Yang-tze Dragon, grabbed the railing outside his cabin and growled, “Gie her anither splash, mon!” to the powerfully built sailor who was just now hoisting a second bucket of water to chest height.
“The other side this time, Bayak,” Slegg rasped. “Right in ’er pretty face!”
Bayak, the stocky Manchurian who had so unceremoniously doused the naked prisoner’s back moments earlier, hoisted a second brimming oaken bucket to his shoulder as easily as a child might lift a kitten. He had been a champion wrestler in his youth and about ten minutes earlier, his powerful right arm had delivered the first stroke of the thonged whip to Erika’s rounded bottomcheeks.
Erika had felt as if her derriere had been sliced in two. Three pigtailed Chinese sailors had delivered the next three strokes, sandwiching a cruel blow to the tops of her lovely thighs between two skillful diagonal lashes that had left a jagged crimson X on her bare back. Raka the drummer had followed them, delivering the savage stroke that had caused her to black out.
Bayak crossed the deck until he faced Erika’s gently swaying body. There the swarthy seaman paused for a moment to drink in once again her marvelous beauty. His lust-filled eyes greedily devoured the sleek curves of Erika’s long, luscious legs which met so enticingly at the wispy golden fleece that adorned her pubic mound. Grinning lewdly, Bayak let his gaze pan slowly upward over the trim, flat belly of an athletic young woman in peak condition.
As he felt his already swollen cock grow even heavier with lust, Bayak let his gaze drift further northward, reveling in the fullness of Erika’s soft, sumptuous breasts, two mounds of peaches-and-cream delight that had been pinkened to perfection by hours of rough treatment and abuse. The young blonde’s glorious pleasure-globes, lifted high and proud by her cruel suspension, seemed to grow more tempting with her every breath. Bayak wiped at the beads of saliva forming at the corners of his mouth as he focused his gaze on Erika’s pebbly, shilling-sized areolae from which sprung as lovely a pair of nipples as he had ever taken between his teeth.
Licking his lips again, Bayak adjusted his grip on the second bucketful of sea-water and then sent it cannoning into the face and hair and torso of the golden-haired prisoner.
SPLASSSHHHH!!!
“AWGHH! AGHHH!” Erika choked and spluttered and thrashed furiously in her bonds for a moment or two as she fought to regain her bearings. Then Jasper Slegg stepped forward, grabbed a thick handful of her wet golden mane and spun her around roughly so that she faced her bloodthirsty audience.
Still shaking her head from side to side to clear the seawater from her azure blue eyes, Erika took in the sight of the thirty-odd crewmen of the accursed vessel. From every corner of the ship, the Chinese and East Indian sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon leered at her deliciously vulnerable nudity. The grim visages of the crewmen quickly restored her to full consciousness, even as suffering, whose harsh grasp had been so briefly abated when she had passed out, refreshed its fearful grip on her body.
“Nnnnnghhh…”
The pain-wracked blonde groaned audibly, once again feeling the awful strain on her upraised shoulders and the lingering agonies of the countless torments she had endured at the hands of her captors. The coolness of the seawater had momentarily soothed the cuts and lacerations that had been so cruelly etched into her back and buttocks, but the German beauty knew that the salt in the brine, insidious and inexorable, would soon find every abrasion on her body and re-light the fires that had burned there before she had fainted.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Princess,” Jasper Slegg sneered, yanking Erika’s head back viciously with his right hand while pawing her left breast with the other. Gouging his gnarled fingers more deeply into her breast-flesh, he snarled, “But if ye think yer little swoon ’ll stop the men of the Yang-tze Dragon from doling out yer rightful punishment, ye’ve got another think coming.“
With that, still maintaining his painful grip on her golden tresses he rasped, “All right then, boys, which of you ugly barstards is next?”
After giving Erika’s left nipple a final vicious twist, Slegg turned toward the captain who had drawn the lots for the order of punishment. Seven bells had sounded a few minutes earlier. At the sentencing for arson, mutiny, and murder proclaimed that morning by the captain of this sinister slave ship, Erika had been condemned to receive one stroke of an instrument of punishment at one bell, two strokes with a different instrument at two bells, and so on through eight bells, which was now only minutes away. Eight bells of punishment - four hours of land time - to be administered by eight different instruments.
Erika had been convicted of starting a fire on board the ship while attempting to escape an unending nightmare of sexual abuse. As a concession to the dark lusts of his unholy crew, McMahon had granted each of the three dozen crewmen whose lives had been put at risk by the fire, one stroke to avenge himself on Erika’s lovely body. Erika Weiss was now in the fourth and final hour of the Flogging of the Bells and had fainted on the fifth stroke of the seventh cycle. There were yet two strokes left to be meted out during the seventh cycle, and eight more would follow at the tolling of eight bells. Only then would her dreadful sentence be complete.
Slegg chuckled softly with sadistic glee as Erika’s body continued to writhe miserably. She turned herself this way and that, perhaps in a vain attempt to somehow shake off the microscopic grains of sea salt which were just now finding their way into her every wound, perhaps in a vain attempt to shield her femininity from the gaze of her thirty-odd tormentors. Either way, thought Jasper Slegg, her unwittingly sensual movements were serving more to inflame the lusts of the crewmen than to cool them.
As Slegg’s grim, gray-green eyes continued their exploration of Erika’s nude body, it struck him that the wielders of the final ten strokes would have some difficulty finding an unmarked area on her body to attack. Seven of the eight weapons - a strap, a cane, a thorn switch, a cat o’ nine tails, a punishing rod of split bamboo, a braided singletail, and now the thonged whip, had all left their marks, and Erika’s back and shoulders, buttocks and thighs were criss-crossed with red striata. The eighth weapon, an unusual sort of leather strap, still hung on the implement rack, impatient, no doubt, to wreak its will on Erika’s lovely body.
From his vantage point several yards away, General Wang, iron-jawed and ramrod straight in his olive-green uniform, was enjoying the proceedings immensely. The evil warlord would be Erika’s slavemaster on the morrow once they reached his island citadel. When McMahon had announced Erika’s sentence, the warlord had made it clear that the men of the Yang-tze Dragon were to refrain from delivering damaging strokes to the most delicate parts of his slave’s anatomy during the Flogging of the Bells. But his pronouncement was rather late in coming because Erika’s luscious breasts had been targeted repeatedly during her days of captivity aboard the ship, even before that day’s dreadful cycle of judicial punishment had begun. And earlier that morning, the Gauntlet of Cruelty, the Wooden Lady and the Iron Grate had each exacted a cruel toll from Erika’s ripe-nippled breasts.
Nonetheless, the general consoled himself, the day’s punishments had been both original and stimulating. His testicles, swollen almost to the point of painfulness, could attest to that. As Wang perused the marks on Erika’s brine-drenched body, he was fairly confident that no lasting damage had been done. A rare smile, tinged with cruelty, crossed his face. After all, the indignities and punishments meted out by these relative amateurs would be as nothing compared to the depravities this golden goddess would be subjected to once he and his henchman, Hsi Fong, were her sole masters.
The general continued to marvel at the German girl’s endurance. He thought back to the night he had first seen her, when she had been, a most unwilling guest of honor at an orgy of sex and violence hosted by George Chan, her endlessly inventive and ruthlessly sadistic former master. At some point during that most entertaining evening, Chan had confided to him regarding the arduous physical regimen he put Erika through on an almost daily basis. There was running and cycling to strengthen her legs and stamina, and all manner of calisthenics, and an ingenious exercise of his own invention.
Every day, whether in blistering heat or pouring rain or the occasional flurries of snow that fell in Shanghai on the coldest days of the year, Chan had marched his captive beauty outside into the training area. There, clad in only the skimpiest of loincloths and a tiny scrap of white fabric which revealed more of her breasts than it supported, Erika was ordered to move a wall of a ninety unmortared concrete blocks from one side of the training area to the other.
Forty-five iterations of dislodging a pair of twenty pound blocks from what had begun as a six-foot-high wall, carrying one in each hand sixty yards across the grounds, and then re-stacking them to construct a new wall had proved a most amusing training regimen. The exercise, needless to say, had to be conducted at a very brisk pace. The briefest moment of rest or the slightest hint of a dilatory pace was instantly greeted with a lash delivered by his concubine, the lovely but wicked Ming-tsu.
As a result of this intense daily work-out, Erika’s shoulders and arms and legs had been toned to perfection and she had developed the stamina of a magnificent athlete, a stamina which had rarely been tested as rigorously as it was being tested today….
Standing alongside the domineering general, his right hand man, Hsi Fong, his rust-colored mandarin’s robes stirring gently in the sea breeze, looked out over the water, squinting to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. Zhoushan Island was now faintly visible in the distance, its coastline craggy and forbidding to almost any eyes but his own. For him, however, the island was a warlord’s fiefdom, where the rule of his crony General Wang was absolute, where no act of hedonistic pleasure or sexual savagery was beyond their whim or their power.
Ably assisted in evil by Hsi Fong, the general ruled the island with an iron fist, imposing impossibly high taxes on the farmers who lived there. When the farmers could not pay, his men would seize their nubile wives and sisters and daughters and carry them off to his fortified citadel where they were forced to work off the debt of their kinsmen with their pretty young bodies. Tomorrow, when the Yang-tze Dragon reached the island, the crew that had transported him would be rewarded for their trouble in part by hosting them to a night-long orgy of cruel debauchery with a dozen or so of his more comely sex slaves.
Wang smiled grimly, remembering the last time he had entertained this crew; even he had been surprised by their depravity and stamina. Several of the island’s prettiest young maidens had been put out of commission for a few days and one, the most attractive of them all, had taken more than a week to recover from the twelve-hour ordeal of sex and violence she had undergone….
The general’s musings were interrupted by the gravelly voice of Jasper Slegg uttering for the second time, “Who’s next, cap’n?”
Captain McMahon, his eyes red-rimmed from more than a few fingers of his favorite Scotch Whisky, took a moment to decipher the name of the man whose name he had drawn for the fifth stroke. Eventually, he belch-barked, “Froggy!” to a roar of applause from the assembled crewmen.
“Whip that sweet ass, Frogman!” Slegg admonished the stocky Chinese. “Let’s hear the bitch scream!” And with those words he released his cruel grip on Erika’s mane, allowing her to spin, presenting her shapely back and buttocks to his crewmate.
As before every stroke of her punishment, Erika was subjected to a litany of insults and obscenities from the crude crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon.
“Let her have it, Froggy!”
“By all the gods in Asia, Tattoo,” Raka muttered to his pal, loudly enough so that Erika could hear, “How’d you like to fuck that ass?”
Tattoo, as Raka well knew, had a notorious predilection for female backsides. “Aye,” he muttered. I wouldn’t mind givin’ it to her from one high tide to the next!“
“C’mon, Froggy, “ Khasar chimed in. “Let’s hear that pretty voice sing again!”
Froggy was far from being the most brutish of the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon. But, emboldened by the exhortations of his mates he, diffidently at first, and then more resolutely, took the nasty-looking whip from Raka, letting its tough business end trail through his calloused hands, savoring its supple toughness.
Knowing that the next stroke of fire was imminent, Erika twisted and turned desperately to free herself from the cords that so cruelly bound her wrists, but despite her struggles, the defiant young beauty knew in her heart of hearts that there would be no escaping her bondage, no end to her torment.
Wiping a pearl of saliva from his upper lip, Froggy eyed the livid whip-mark Raka had etched in Erika’s alluring backside. A left-handed blow, it stretched from the top of her left buttock and across the inviting cleft of her bottom cage. Determined not to be bettered by the wiry Malayan, Froggy took a right-handed stance and drew a bead on Erika’s tempting bottomcheeks.
He lifted the lash to shoulder height and then, paying no heed to an imploring over-the-shoulder glance from the tortured beauty, swept the lash down toward her shuddering derriere.
WHISSHHHTTTT!
Erika heard the dreadful hiss of the whip a split second before she felt its fiery kiss across her quivering backside.
CRACCKKKK!!!!
The explosive impact of Froggy’s mighty stroke to Erika’s naked derriere seemed still to be reverberating from port to starboard when Erika’s scream of agony cut through the sea air.
“Aggghhhhhh!!”
The force of the blow send Erika’s body spinning halfway around, affording almost every crewman lining the improvised shipboard amphitheater a good look at the freshest of the livid marks that marred the creamy perfection of her naked bottomcheeks.
“Attaboy, Froggy! Couldn’t have done better meself,” Slegg chortled, as Erika writhed in pain, her body still swaying back and forth beneath the scaffold, her delicate hands once again clawing desperately to free herself from the ropes binding her wrists. But, as before, her struggles were futile. There would be no escape from the lash.
“Alright, who’s next, captain? We don’t want to keep our little princess waiting, do we boys?”
“Mawar!” bellowed McMahon impatiently, reading the name he had just drawn. The red-bearded captain’s voice did not hide his irritation that he had had to divert his prurient gaze from his blonde prisoner’s enticing delicious nudity for even a brief moment.
A small, sturdily built Malayan not much older than a boy stepped forward. He moved awkwardly, as if he were dragging his left leg. An uneven stubble of coarse black beard covered parts of his face and throat, and he sported a massive erection beneath his flimsy calf-length trousers, one leg of which extended several inches lower than the other. Grinning lewdly, his eyes darting left and right nervously, almost fearfully, Mawar turned a thumb upward in approval of Froggy’s powerful stroke. Froggy, familiar with Mawar’s peculiar ways, returned the gesture and offered the whip to the virile young sailor.
Mawar grasped the whip eagerly and shuffled forward toward the nubile sex slave of the Yang-tze Dragon, hardly believing that a man who had been born into abject poverty in the dense forests of the Isthmus of Kra, and who was the lowliest crewman on the ship, had, for at least a few exciting moments this scarlet-streaked European demi-goddess utterly at his mercy….
Two years earlier, while still in his teens, Mawar, as mentally and physically sound as the next man, had made his way to Singapore where he had found work on the docks of that great port. There he had from time to time eyed the stylish Dutch and British women of that great city from a distance, fascinated by the paleness of their skin, so unlike that of the dark-skinned servants who attended them.
One steamy midsummer’s day, while loading provisions onto a Dutch passenger steamer bound for Batavia, he had happened to pass by a cabin whose door was slightly ajar. Intrigued by a glimpse of blonde hair, he glanced up and down the passageway, and seeing no one coming, he silently positioned himself so that he could peer into the room.
Within he saw a lovely young girl of sixteen or seventeen who, unaware that her stateroom door had not completely closed, had begun to undress. For it was not uncommon in that most humid of tropical cities for members of well-to-do European families to change clothes two or three times a day.
At the thought of seeing a beautiful European woman undress, Mawar felt the ever-present mist of equatorial perspiration on his brow coalesce into droplets that threatened to stream down his face. Breathless, he watched as the bewitching young woman, who was no more than a few feet away, unbuttoned the bodice of her blue jurkje, the country dress worn by Dutch girls. He could see that the blue of the simple frock matched the blue of her eyes, which gleamed like diamonds in the sunlight pouring through the porthole of the cabin.
Stepping out of her dress, the girl paused for a moment, clad only in a scanty white chemise that reached only to the tops of her milky thighs and a brief, pale undergarment beneath. Espying a long mirror in the well-appointed stateroom, the girl moved in front of it, with her back to the door, but with her reflected face and torso clearly visible to her clandestine watcher.
Sweating profusely now, Mawar suppressed a gasp of excitement as the Dutch girl, pouting coquettishly, slipped a graceful finger under one of the straps of the chemise and let it slide off a creamy shoulder. Then, as if teasing her seductive twin in the mirror, she undid the other strap, allowing the pale garment to fall.
The dark-skinned voyeur was forced to stifle a gasp of disappointment, however, when the girl deftly caught the chemise after it had slid only partway down the curves of her ripe young breasts. He glanced nervously up and down the hallway to make sure that no one was coming and then edged still closer.
His heart racing and seemingly pumping blood directly into his throbbing cock, he ran his tongue over his lips as he refocused his gaze on the tops of the girl’s succulent breasts and the enticing valley between them. His palms moist with forbidden lust, he continued to watch as she stuck her pretty pink tongue out at the coquette in the mirror, and then, slowly, teasingly, eased the chemise down over her pale breasts.
Mawar knew that if he were caught it would cost him his job and worse, but he could not tear his eyes away from the girl’s body. Her perfect breasts, splendidly round and full for one so young, were glistening with perspiration.
Almost light-headed with arousal, Mawar ached to tongue the tiny droplets of moisture on the tips of her breasts. He leaned still closer as the girl, holding the fabric of the fallen chemise tightly against her midriff with one left hand, palmed her amazingly responsive nipples with the other. Edging closer to the mirror as a young woman might approach a trusted lover, the fetching teenager let the chemise fall to her hips. She cupped her proud young breasts in her hands, caressing them with a feathery touch. Then, seemingly emboldened by the seductress in the mirror, she grew bolder still, easing still closer to the glass.
As her covert observer looked on breathlessly, his cock pulsing with forbidden lust, the girl began to pinch her coral love-buds between her thumb and third finger, rubbing, squeezing, tugging the pink pellets of desire until they stood out proudly, only a few inches from the equally exquisite nipples of the girl in the mirror. As the young maiden continued to work at her swollen nipples, Maway pressed his body still closer against the door jamb, grinding his erection against its sturdy wooden frame.
The winsome moue never leaving her face, the girl slid the chemise slowly down over her hips, eventually letting it fall to her ankles. Clad now only in a brief, elegant undergarment edged in Belgian lace, the blonde temptress lifted her left hand to her mouth. She slid two fingers between her inviting lips, and moistened her fingertips before giving them leave to dive inside the waistband of her undergarment. Her eyes closed, her face flushed with desire, the beautiful blonde teenager continued to cup and caress her breasts with one hand, as she pleasured herself with the other.
Half-crazed with desire, Mawar shifted his position slightly to better grind his groin into the door jamb, but made the fatal mistake of brushing against the door itself, causing it to creak slightly as it opened a bit wider.
Turning to face the sweaty-faced peeper who had been watching her, the girl let out a scream that could have been heard on the other side of the strait of Johor.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEKKK” she shrieked. And then, in her own language, she yelled “HELLLLLLPPPPPPPP!!!!” before grabbing frantically for the chemise.
Mawar looked frantically to and fro, desperately hoping to flee the scene of his crime, but within a second or so he could hear running footsteps coming from both ends of the long passageway. He tried one door in the corridor and then another, hoping against hope to find a hiding place. He was successful on his third attempt, and ducked into a cabin several yards from his furtive vantage point, hoping to escape detection.
“Katje, are you all right?” Mawar, shuddering with fear, heard the commanding voice of an older man.
For the girl’s terrified screams had attracted not only a number of Dutch crewmen, but also her father and older brother who had been quaffing Amstels on the main deck.
“Yes, I think so. He went in that direction!” Katje had been too busy re-arranging her chemise to follow Mawar’s movements, but the sound of his footsteps in the passageway had given away the direction of his flight and he was quickly found, and dragged from his place of concealment into the passageway, his arms pinioned by a pair of sailors.
“Ja, that is him!” The girl cried accusingly from the doorway. “He was going to rape me!”
With those words, Katje’s strapping older brother drove his knee viciously into Mawar’s groin. As the others set upon him with fists clenched, Mawar’s last memory, before sinking into unconsciousness, was the sight of his accuser’s delectable breasts pressing against the confines of her sheer chemise, her nipples still inflamed by either passion or rage….
Although Mawar could not have told you the name of his condition, the dozens of kicks and blows to his face and head had left him with a severe concussion which impaired his speech, his gait, and at times, his judgment. It was only through the good offices of Raka, a distant cousin, that he had eventually found work on the Yang-tze Dragon….
**********
And now, Mawar thought, as he stared at the nude body of Erika Weiss, hanging helplessly by her wrists, he would see to it that this tantalizing beauty would pay for the sins of the Dutch temptress in Singapore.
Knowing that his stroke was to be the last of the seventh cycle, Mawar was in no hurry. His dark eyes gleaming with the vindictive fury only long-deferred vengeance can produce, he approached Erika’s hanging body. He doubled up the thonged whip in his hand, and then with a cruel smile, he traced the outlines of the scarlet-edged lacerations on Erika’s back and buttocks with the stiff leather whip handle.
“Oohhh,” Erika moaned softly as the crewman dug the whipstock into her wounds.
Mawar spun the blonde captive around so that she faced him. It was no great stretch for the troubled imagination of the vengeful peeping tom to pretend that Erika was the Katje who had wrongfully accused him. They had the same golden hair, the same sky-blue eyes, the same kissable lips, the same glorious, ripe-nippled breasts.
“Dutch whore!” Mawar growled, as he drew his arm back and drove the whip handle into Erika’s vagina with the same force and ferocity that Katje’s brother had used in kneeing him.
“Aaaaaaghh!” Erika moaned piteously. “Nicht hollandische … Deutsch… bitte…”
“Shut up, whore!” Mawar hissed. Then he thrust his wrist upward yet again, further impaling the beautiful blonde on the unforgiving handle of the whip.
“Hey, matey,” Slegg whispered nervously. “Take it easy, lad” he added tilting his head in the direction of General Wang and Hsi Fong, who were scowling some yards away. They were, of course, indifferent to Erika’s suffering, and had quite enjoyed the tableau of ingenious punishments that had been meted out to their newest pleasure slave, but under no circumstances did they want their property permanently damaged. Enslaving an injured, submissive or defeated captive offered only small pleasures to men of their stripe. For them there could be no more sublime sexual pleasure than in subjugating a vigorous, defiant beauty like Erika Weiss.
But their vigorous defiant beauty was once again under assault.
“Fuck you and fuck them!” Mawar snarled at Slegg. Consumed by the memory of the beating he had injured, Mawar, leaving the whiphandle buried in Erika’s pleasure-slit, reached for her splendid breasts.
The wild-eyed Malay dug his eager fingers into Erika’s love-melons with carnivorous ferocity, burying his rough-edged nails into her tender flesh and then clawing at her breasts like a hawk savaging the soft body of a chipmunk.
“Aaagghhh!!” Erika groaned in agony. Through the fresh tears welling up in her eyes, she could see her tormentor’s half-crazed expression. With the maniacal gaze of a lunatic he tore at her pain-wracked breasts, crushing them, twisting them, brutalizing them in every way imaginable, all the while screaming, “Whore! You teasing whore!!”
Erika fought back bravely and furiously, kicking at her tormentor as best she could, but, suspended above the deck as she was, her kicks had little force. She did land one glancing blow to her attacker’s thigh, just missing his swollen groin. His wrath redoubled, Mawar responded with a pulverizing hammer-fist to her belly that left her breathless and defenseless, allowing him to deliver blow after blow to her defenseless breasts, slapping them furiously from side to side.
General Wang, livid with rage that this crazed seaman might be doing lasting damage to his trophy slave, signaled to McMahon to stop him. The red-bearded skipper, who was rather enjoying his naked prisoner’s terrible plight, at first pretended not to notice the General’s gesture.
“Captain!!” Wang’s commanding voice reverberated across the deck, icy and dictatorial. It could not be ignored.
“All right laddie, that’ll do,” bellowed the captain reluctantly. “Avast, ye bloody fool! Grab him, Slegg!”
Slegg, too, was hardly averse to letting the the crazed Malayan continue his violently salacious assault on Erika’s love-globes, but had no choice but to follow orders.
“Belay that, matey! Slegg growled, taking a step toward Mawar.
His twisted revenge interrupted, Mawar momentarily ceased his assault on Erika’s blushing breasts and roughly jerked the whip-stock from its fleshy feminine sheath between her legs.
“Get back!” the Malayan roared, turning and brandishing the whip at Slegg. Then he quickly spun around again and lashed Erika’s breasts savagely with the thonged whip.
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!” Erika screamed as the lash exploded against her tender tit-flesh. That fiery stroke was followed almost instantaneously as the flailing whip-wielder delivered a second scalding blow that seared her left nipple, and then by a third that etched a jagged crimson trail from the top of her right breast to her navel.
By then, however, Raka, Mawar’s kinsman, had thrown himself on his cousin, knocking him to the wet deck of her ship. Two or three other crewmen rushed forward to help Raka subdue him.
As they wrestled the whip away from Mawar, Slegg turned sheepishly toward a seething General Wang. “Sorry about that, your lordship. The boy,” he added, tapping his temple, “took quite a beatin’ in Singapore a couple years back. “ ’e ain’t been quite right in the noggin since, if ye gather my drift.”
But Malar heard none of this. As his captors pulled him to his feet, his dark eyes, still full of maniacal fury, returned to the tortured body of the blonde, blue-eyed victim of his lust-wrath.
“Why? Why? You should not have done it! You should not have done it!” he screamed at the whip-wealed blonde, whose face and body had been transfigured, in his eyes, to that of the coquettish nymph in the ship cabin in Singapore. “I was only looking! I would not have hurt you!”
Erika, exhausted by her latest ordeal and still trying to catch her breath after the blow to her solar plexus, could not have given her tormentor an answer even if she had known what the crazed young man had been raving about. She only knew that the seventh cycle of the Punishment of the Bells had ended.
“Trahnie, tend to the bonnie lassie!” McMahon bellowed to Tranh, the wily old Vietnamese whose ‘Mekong Lightning’ – a restorative balm – had proven most salutary in helping Erika recover from earlier sessions of punishment and abuse.
As Raka and two or three others dragged Mawar below deck, Erika took some comfort in the fact that there was only more cycle of punishment to endure. Glancing at the rack from which had once hung the eight instruments of her punishment, only one remained.
A violent shudder swept through her nude body at the sight of the forbidding leather strap that had been left for last, knowing that within minutes, she would feel its evil kiss.
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