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Chapter 161 The Lochgelly Tawse
“Agghhh!” Erika gasped in pain as Trahn splashed an ounce or so of his “Mekong Lightning” on her abraded back.
“Not to worry, Missie,” the old Vietnamese chuckled. “You feel better in a minute, you’ll see.”
And with that the ship’s cook spread the fiery green liquid over her back, setting her lash-ravaged skin momentarily ablaze as the alcohol-based potion found its way into the cuts and abrasions the thonged whip had left in its wake.
Suspended by her wrists from the crossbeam of the grim scaffold, her feet dangling a few inches above the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon, there was nothing the nude beauty could do to forestall the old man. The other crewmen, waiting for the sounding of eight bells and the recommencement of her punishment, were scattered around the deck of the ship, talking among themselves, occasionally leering at their lovely captive.
“Now we go lower, Missie,” Trahn cackled in his reedy, high-pitched voice. He tilted the flask and poured a small amount into one hand and then, after setting the flask down, he rubbed his hands together, gleefully spreading the liquid over his fingers. Then he slapped his hands against Erika’s creamy buttocks, drawing another sudden gasp of pain from the beautiful blonde.
“Gott! It burns like Feuer!” she exclaimed through clenched teeth, as the potion seeped into the whip-marks on her derriere.
“No worry, Missie. Make skin feel good soon. You see.”
Tranh continued to work his rough, weathered fingers into Erika’s springy bottomcheeks. In his three score and ten years Tranh had had many women, but never one with a body like this. One minute grew into two and then into three as the little cook worked his fingers greedily into Erika’s nether globes, squeezing them together and spreading them apart to expose her delicate rosebud.
Erika cringed at his touch, as much for the crudeness of his caresses as from the sting of his infernal potion, and she gasped loudly when he inserted a slippery finger into her resisting anus. She squirmed violently in her ropes to escape the invading digit, but to no avail.
Giggling, Trahn backed away from her and slid around to face her, the flask of ‘Mekong Lightning’ in his hand, a crooked smile on his face. “Oooh, that Mawar got you good, didn’t he Missie?” he cackled, eyeing the three fresh whip-marks on her full breasts. “No worry, Missie. I fix you up. You see.”
The Vietnamese was just about to splash an ounce or two of ‘Lightning’ on Erika’s naked breasts when she emitted a long anguished groan.
“What matter, missie? I didn’t even touch you.”
“Bitte … please … my shoulders. Can … can you lower me? Please…”
And indeed Erika had been hanging from the scaffolding, her bare feet dangling helplessly a few inches above the deck, for nearly half an hour.
Tranh screwed up his wizened face in thought. “Can’t let you down, Missie,” he whispered under his breath. “I get in big trouble.” He looked around to see if anyone was paying close attention and then, satisfying himself that they were not, he added brightly, “Maybe I can find something…” Tranh cast his eyes around the deck for a moment or two before spying a length of 4” x 4” lumber that Deng-shan had discarded while building the scaffold.
“Here, Missie. Maybe this help.”
Tranh slid the block of wood under Erika’s feet and grinned. It was just thick enough for her toes to reach it.
“Danke … danke,” Erika groaned as the awful strain on her shoulders slackened.
“See, Missie? I nice to you. Now time for me to have a little fun,” Tranh giggled, as he splashed a couple of ounces of Mekong Lightning on the tops of Erika’s breasts.
“Hee-hee!” Tranh chortled as he reached for Erika’s creamy mounds. He began by sliding his hands under her breasts, cupping their fullness, and catching most of the fiery balm that had trickled down their slopes. His hands moist and slick, Tranh set to work on Erika’s tit-globes, lathering them excitedly.
“Nnnngh,” Erika grimaced as the liquid lightning, guided by Tranh’s eager hands, found its way into every whip mark, every abrasion, every slap-tender region of her glorious breasts.
His eyes bright with excitement, Tranh worked her slick globes with his scrawny fingers, mashing them together to form a cleavage that every man aboard would have given a week’s wages to slip his cock into, and then releasing them so that they sprang back into their normal position so that he could address them individually.
“Mekong massage, Missie. Hee-hee!” Tranh cackled as he squeezed her breasts, first gently and them more roughly, working his ragged thumbnails into Erika’s tender areolae, just beneath her puckering nipples.
“HEY! What in bloody ‘ell is going on ‘ere!” Jasper Slegg barked loudly. He had approached quietly from behind and slid around to face her. “Princess, if I wanted ye standing on a bloody block of wood, I’d have put one there!”
Then, with a swift movement, Slegg kicked the block out from under her.
“Annghhhhhhh!” Erika groaned as her full weight was once again transferred to her aching shoulders.
Brushing Tranh roughly aside, Slegg stepped directly in front of the beautiful blonde. “Ye should be thankin’ yer lucky stars, I didn’t have ye strung up by these beauties, frowlein” Slegg growled, as he crushed Erika’s slick love-melons in his cruel fingers.
“Aye, wouldn’t that’d be a sight, Sleggie?” Khasar guffawed as he approached from the starboard side of the ship. As Slegg dug his talons deeper into Erika’s breasts, a cruel smile crossed the big Mongol’s swarthy face as he pictured the voluptuous blonde suspended by ropes encircling, binding, strangling her swollen breasts.
“That it would, matey!” Slegg muttered as he seized Erica’s left nipple between his thumb and middle finger. He grinned evilly as Erika winced in pain, and proceeded to grind the pinkish-brown pellet back and forth until it began to harden to his touch. Then, as he increased the pressure on one turgid nipple, his left hand reached for Ericka’ other breast-nugget and he repeated the pleasurable task until both tips of Erika’s slippery breasts were as bold as bullets.
“It ain’t easy to get right, ‘anging a girl by her tits,” Slegg continued as he continued to work Erika’s jutting nuggets in his fingers. But our little princess ‘ere, ‘as got just the knockers for it, don’t ye, frowlein? And Deng-shan’d be just the man for the job.”
Fresh tears welled up in Erika’s sky-blue eyes as the sadistic first mate continued to crush her sensitive nipple-buds between his cruel fingers. She shuddered in horror at the thought of the ship’s carpenter, whom she knew to be a wizard of all manner of diabolical bondage, wrapping cords around the bases of her young breasts, constricting them more and more with each revolution until the ropes were tight as tourniquets.
“Mister Slegg! Mister Slegg!” Tranh piped. “Only few minutes ‘til eight bells. Captain be angry if I not finish.”
Slegg cursed under his breath at the interruption and glared at the scrawny Vietnamese. The crew, however, many of whom had scattered around the ship in twos and threes during the final interlude in Erika’s protracted punishment, had begun to reassemble. Slegg gave Erika’s nipples a final vicious twist and backed away, allowing Tranh to finish his ministrations.
Which the little man did quickly and enthusiastically, splashing his mysterious concoction onto Erika’s flat belly and flanks and working it into her flesh. Erika gasped when Tranh rubbed the stinging liquid into her tender thighs. Her long sleek legs had felt the bite of several of the instruments of discipline that had been employed during the Flogging of the Bells.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tranh could see that Andrew McMahon, looking even blearier than before, had retaken his position at the railing outside his cabin and that General Wang and Hsi-Fong were approaching from the bow.
“OK, Missie,” Tranh giggled. “Only one more place to fix.” And with that the little man christened the fingers of his right hand liberally with the devilish potion, and inserted them into her tender vagina, which only minutes earlier had been violated by the handle of Mawar’s whip.
“Aah!!” Erika gasped as she felt the fiery liquid on her most intimate flesh.
“No worry, Missie. Sting but make better, you see!” Tranh cackled. His hand was a blur as his fingers began to piston in and out of Erika’s defenseless body, even as he deftly thumbed her clitoris. In other time and another place Erika might have responded to his knowing hands, but on this day she felt only humiliation and discomfort. But, as before, she soon became aware that Tranh’s mysterious lotion was easing the dull ache in her vagina, and had cooled the raging fires lit by the thonged whip.
Unfortunately, as she knew all too well, the relief would be all too brief. Worse yet, behind her, she could hear the sound she had come to dread, the ringing of the ship’s brass bell, ominously announcing that the thirty-minute hourglass in the helm had spilled its last grains of sand. Her ordeal of suffering was about to begin anew….
Erika’s naked body shuddered spasmodically as the bell was tolled in its customary pairs. One-two, momentary pause. Three-four, pause. Five-six, pause. And then, as the irregular circle of leering, lecherous crewmen once again drew ever closer, the bell rang for the seventh and eighth time, its final peal being greeted with a bloodthirsty cheer by the sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon.
“She’s shakin’ like a bloody leaf, ain’t she lads?” Slegg observed with a mocking grin. “Don’t worry, princess, maybe the boys’ ll go easy on you this time. Look at ‘em,” he snarled, grabbing Erika’s blonde mane and forcing her to look at her tormentors. “They’re a fine bunch of gents, they are. Wouldn’t ‘urt a fly, would ye, boys?”
“What? Us? Hurt a pretty little lady like this?” Froggy winked at his comrades. “Not a chance. We’re gentlemen, we are. Ain’t we, mates?”
“That’s right, Slegg. You just cut her down and hand her over to us. We’ll show her how we treat a lady!” Khasar roared, accompanying his words with a series of vulgar pelvic thrusts that left little doubt as to his meaning.
Erika’s glance darted fearfully from one man to the next hoping to detect a flicker of human sympathy somewhere. But she found only different variations on the theme of blood-lust that she had seen in their eyes since her arrival on board. Even the little Vietnamese, Tranh, who had treated her better than most, was rubbing his hands together gleefully in anticipation of the onset of the next round of punishment. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Andrew McMahon unsteadily making his way down the ladder leading from the quarterdeck to the main deck.
“Avast this stramash, lads.” The burly captain bellowed. “Ye’re makin’ such a racket, the vicar of St Andrews could hear ye on the seventh tee!” McMahon paused to unleash an explosive belch and then went on. “As ye ken, aught bells hae sounded, meanin’ we’re aboot to begin the final roond of the sentence.”
McMahon strode across the deck to the rack where the instruments of punishment had hung. Only one was left. The captain picked up and held it before him so that everyone could see the peculiar leather strap. It was nearly two foot long, a bit more than half of which consisted of a handle whose length and solidity would provide maximum leverage, together with about eleven inches of whipping surface, 1 ¼” wide and slit down the middle so that the strap had two wicked-looking tails.
“Wot we ha’e here,” he continued, “is a genuine Lochgelly tawse. Lochgelly, for the mair ignorant among ye, is a town near the Firth of Forth, famous for the straps it produces.”
Then with a swift movement surprising for a man of his bulk, McMahon slapped the tawse sharply down on a nearby wooden railing. The resounding WHAACKKKK resulting from the leather striking the wood could have been heard a hundred yards away.
Erika shuddered at the thought of this dreadful strap striking her naked flesh.
“How d’ye like the sound of that, frowlein?” Slegg chortled evilly.
Erika mouthed the word, “Schwein!” in Slegg’s direction, but fortunately for her Slegg’s attention had been captured by a rather animated discussion involving McMahon, General Wang and Hsi Fong who had joined him near the scaffold from which Erika was hanging.
The two Chinese were clearly having more than a little difficulty understanding the captain’s thick Scottish brogue, nor did they seem to understand the little pantomime he was performing with his arms extended in front of him.
“Beggin’ your pardon, cap’n,” Slegg interjected. “If ye don’t mind?”
“Gang aheid, mon!” McMahon bellowed in disgust. “These Chinese eediots canna ken semple Anglish! I ask ye, mon, do I nae speak the tongue as weel as Queen Victoria?”
“Of course ye do, cap’n,” Slegg, doing his best not to roll his eyes. Then he whispered softly so that only the captain could hear. “Mr. Gladstone ‘imself would be proud to speak ‘arf as well as ye.” Slegg paused and eyed the thick leather strap in McMahon’s hand. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but is it the tawse they want to know about?”
“Aye! And I’m tryin’ tae tell’ thaim.”
“Right.” Slegg lowered his voice again. “Why don’t ye let me have a try, cap’n. Per’aps yer elegant manner of speakin’ is putting them off.”
McMahon, his temper soothed by Slegg’s cajoling words, nodded his assent.
Slegg turned toward the general and Hsi Fong. “Beggin’ your pardon, your lordships, but this is how it works. In Scotland, where the cap’n comes from, they use this type of strap to punish misbehavin’ schoolboys. The teacher calls the rascal up in front of the class and makes ‘im stick ‘is arm out, like this.” Slegg demonstrated by extending his left arm in front of his body, palm up. “And then, to make sure the little bloke feels the full weight of the tawse, they make him slide his other hand under the first.” Slegg reached out with his right hand, palm up, so that his left hand rested, face up, on top of his right hand. “That way, ye see, the little barstard can’t move his ‘and out of the way.” Slegg gestured toward the menacing tawse. “I tell ye, one stroke with this on the ‘and’ll bring tears to the eyes of a good-sized lad, and six’ll make ‘is ‘and smart for a week.”
“O’ course,” Slegg continued with a cruel gleam in his eye, “ I don’t suppose we’re going to be usin’ it on the hand of our pretty frowlein, will we Cap’n?”
“Nay, sir. Nay we will na!” McMahon bellowed, handing the fearful-looking strap to Jasper Slegg as he slipped his arms out of his great blue coat, straightening the gold braid on the shoulders and sleeve as if he were planning on dining with the First Lord of the Admiralty.
Her shoulders aching from her cruel suspension, Erika regarded the captain. The heavy coat had made him look stocky; it was only now that he was unjacketed that she could see what a powerfully built man he was. Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of the punishment about to follow.
Retaking the strap from Slegg, he moved closer to Erika, taking up a position slightly to her right. “Thare is aucht straiks tae gang, gentlemen, and ane o’ them is mine. Let me shaw ye hae it’s doon.”
And with that the big right arm of Captain Andrew McMahon drew back and a moment later swept the tawse across Erika’ midsection, about halfway between her navel and her ripe-nippled breasts.
THWACKKKKKKK!!!!
“Aaaghhh!” A loud gasp of pain burst from Erika’s lips despite her resolve not to let the leader of this bloodthirsty brigade have the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.
“Aye!” The crewmen of the Yangtze Dragon roared as one in appreciation of the powerful blow.
Slegg looked on with grudging respect at the mark the captain’s mighty stroke had left. It was a bit more than an inch wide and nearly a foot long, and reddening by the moment.
The malevolent first mate had been impatient earlier, hoping that his name would be drawn in each cycle, anxious to leave his mark on Erika’s nude body. But now he was glad that his name had not been called earlier; now that he had seen its effect, he was looking forward to using the tawse himself.
Jasper Slegg surveyed the members of the crew. There were seven strokes yet to be delivered, including his own, and he tried to remember who else had not taken a turn. Khasar the Mongol for sure, and Lucky. Tan, the Chinese who had grown up in Java had yet to take a turn nor had Zheng, who doubled as the ship’s barber. He wasn’t sure about the rest.
McMahon had finished putting his jacket back on, and with the tawse tucked away under his arm, reached deep into the pocket where he had put the slips with the names of the crewmen. Pulling out a strip of paper, he called out, “Zheng!”
As Zheng stepped forward, he was slapped on the back by several of his countrymen. “Give her a good one!” Cheng Lao exclaimed. “Come on Zheng, show her who’s boss!” cried another. ”
Zheng the barber was a slightly built man in his late twenties. Like nearly all of his countrymen, he wore his fine black hair in a queue. Taking the tawse from the captain, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm as he circled the dangling blonde, his almond-shaped eyes never leaving her spectacular body. The long, creamy legs, the golden-fringe at their juncture which partially shielded her lovely femininity, the perfectly sculpted buttocks cleft by a groove as inviting as one could imagine. Two generous handfuls of peaches and cream breast-flesh, tipped with nipples that would have caused a centenarian’s jaws to clench.
As he circled her, Zheng tapped Erika with the tawse lightly but firmly, letting the beautiful blonde feel the thickness of the leather against her arms, her legs, her back, her buttocks, and her heaving breasts.
“Get on with it!” Erika wanted to scream as Zheng circled her yet again, driving her mad with short swift mini-strokes of the tawse. But she did not, knowing such an outburst would only make things worse, if such a thing were possible.
“Let ‘er have it!” a voice cried out.
Zheng winked in the direction from which the voice had come, and ceased his endless pacing. Then, taking the strap back over his shoulder he swept it down across the very top of Erika’s left thigh, only an inch or two below her moist pleasure slit.
THWACCKKKKK!!
“Aaaghhhhh!! Gott!!”
Once again Erika could not suppress an exclamation of misery. Her tormentors looked on excitedly as her bare legs jack-knifed sensuously in a vain attempt to quench the fire ignited by the stroke of the strap.
“That’s it! Wiggle for us, wench!” Khasar the Mongol barked to the delight of the crowd. And then in a lower voice he muttered to Jasper Slegg. Look at those beauties jiggle, Sleggie! By all the gods of the Gobi, I’d like to use that strap on her tits! I’d make ‘em dance a pretty tune!”
“You and me both, mate. But ye know we dasn’t, unless that bloody General gives us the go-ahead, matey. ‘e don’t want ‘er damaged too much unless ‘e and that barstard pal o’ his are the ones havin’ the fun!
Hsi Fong, General Wang’s orange-robed crony , glanced sharply in Slegg’s direction and for a moment the first mate thought that perhaps he’d been overheard, but when Fong’s gaze returned to Erika’s quivering nudity, Slegg relaxed and turned back toward Khasar.
“Keep it under yer hat, mate,” Slegg whispered to the strapping Mongolian. “But I’ve been workin’ on a bit of a plan in me head. We might get a crack at those beauties yet!”
“There’s a bottle of the best gin in Shanghai next time we make port, if you do, Slegg!”
Erika’s legs were still jerking spasmodically as Captain McMahon reached into his pocket for the next name. “Lucky!” he roared.
Lucky made his way through the men standing between himself and the front of the improvised theater Deng-shan had arranged on the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon. A veteran of many voyages, Lucky was not a particularly ill-natured man, but he was also not one to disappoint his comrades.
As Zheng had done, he circled Erika slowly drinking in every inch of her shapely body.
“I’ll lay anyone three to one, he goes for her arse,” Slegg whispered. “ ‘e can’t resist a pretty backside.”
Unfortunately Slegg got no takers because Lucky’s affinity for shapely derrieres was known to most of his mates. In his time at sea he had stretched the inner muscles of pretty female backsides in every brothel from Madagascar to Melbourne and from Shanghai to Sydney.
Planting himself squarely behind the blonde prisoner, Lucky felt his cock swell with desire as he raped her bottom-globes with his eyes. He swept the tawse lovingly back and forth across Erika’s quivering buttocks as if he were a painter applying brush strokes, and then, turning the strap slightly, he drew its tough edge down the alluring groove between Erika’s buttcheeks, enjoying her twitches of discomfort and humiliation.
His massive cock long and firm beneath his leggings, Lucky slid his big hands around Erika’s waist from behind, and then downward so that they formed a Vee. Then, he pressed inward against her pubis, forcing her naked body back against his erection. Grinning from ear to ear, the Chinese sailor nestled his thinly veiled cock-staff in the valley between her buttocks. Tightening his grip on her pelvic region, he moved his hips up and down so that Erika could feel his throbbing member pressing against her delicate rosebud.
“Mmmmm,” Lucky groaned salaciously. What would he not have given to cut Erika down, bend her deep over a gunwale and plunge his mighty cock into her ass again and again. He would …
“Come on, laddie! Get on wi’ it!” McMahon’s booming voice interrupted Lucky’s sexual reverie.
Scowling, the Chinese seaman stepped back, took careful aim and lashed the tawse viciously across the rounded summits of Erika’s buttocks.
THWAAACCKKK!!!!!
“Nnggghhh!” Erika did her best to stifle her anguish, but could not quite manage it. Nor could she contain the gyrations of her buttocks and legs as the force of the blow sent her nude body swinging yet again.
“Attaboy, Lucky, you old barstard,” Slegg commended him. “Couldn’t a done better! She felt that one right and proper.”
Lucky backed away from the German beauty wearing the sheepish grin of a benchwarmer who had scored the winning goal, proud of the broad weal he had left on Erika’s tempting backside.
************
“Duan!” Captain Andrew McMahon called in a stentorian voice, reading from the slip of paper he had pulled from his pocket.
A young man who could not have been more than twenty stepped forward. Although he did not know Duan, a recent addition to the ship’s crew, very well, Slegg knew that the younger man was a nasty piece of work fresh from the triads of Kowloon. There, according to the scuttlebutt passed around by the crew, he had been a ruthless extortionist, threatening, assaulting, and even burning out shopkeepers who failed to pay protection money to his gang.
Duan’s visage was as menacing as his reputation. An ugly scar where his left ear had been was a souvenir from his earliest days in the triad. During a street fight a rival gang member had tried to slit his throat with a straight razor but narrowly missed because at that very moment Duan was burying the sharp, narrow point of his gim, an ice-pick-like Chinese dagger, deep into in his heart.
Upon seeing their leader’s demise, his cohorts had fled. But in order to reinforce the message that Duan was the new ringleader in that neighborhood, he and several of his men had gone to the house of the rival gangleader and dragged his two comely young sisters, aged twenty-two and eighteen, back to their waterfront lair. There they had stripped the two sisters and flogged their naked bodies with slender bamboo canes until their arms had grown weary. Then they had taken turns raping them.
At the break of dawn they had finally released the traumatized sisters, admonishing them to tell their friends and neighbors not to dare to challenge the supremacy of his gang.
And indeed, Duan and his minions never had any trouble with the members of that rival gang again.
No stranger to violence, on another occasion Duan and one of his cronies had threatened a prosperous silk merchant that if he refused to pay for ‘protection’, he and his pretty young wife would have cause to regret it. The dark-eyed wife had cursed them repeatedly. Did they not know who her father, the wealthiest jeweler on Nathan Road was? Buoyed by her combativeness, the merchant had proved stubborn, ordering them out of his shop.
Duan and his partner had left peacefully. However late one night a week or so later, they returned with two other gang members and burst into the apartment above the shop. They quickly bound the man to a chair and stuffed some of the merchant’s silk scarves into his mouth and that of his protesting wife to silence them. As the merchant looked on in horror, Duan’s men tore off the woman’s clothes and pinned the wildly struggling young beauty to the floor, groping roughly at her tempting breasts and soft thighs as Duan climbed on top of her spread-eagled body.
By this point the terrified merchant had long since reconsidered his earlier bravado and was begging through his gag to pay any price to spare his lovely young wife from the brutal thugs. But Duan, even if he had heard and understood the muffled pleadings of the shopkeeper, was aroused to a frenzy by the erotic thrashing of the golden-skinned beauty beneath him and was in no mood for conciliation. Freeing his massive erection, he plunged it into her body with bestial ferocity. For minute after endless minute, the vicious young gangster slammed his cock into the young woman’s vagina until, an overpowering orgasm beckoning, he withdrew and slid forward on her body.
Sitting on her dark-nippled breasts, Duan suppressed her screams with one hand, as he ripped the scarves from her mouth with the other, replacing it with his cum-dripping member. As her husband looked on in horror, Duan plunged into her warm mouth until he exploded, shooting jet after jet of semen deep into her throat before withdrawing and spraying her lovely face and glossy black hair with the final eruptions of his copious seed.
After his men had taken their turns mounting the wife, Duan had placed the tip of the sharp-pointed gim against her left breast and demanded money. The sobbing merchant confessed the location of his hidden cashbox, and Duan took the money and jewels it contained and left.
As it turned out, the young woman had not been bluffing. Her father was indeed a rich and powerful man, and Duan was subsequently forced to flee the city; shortly thereafter he decided to sign on to the Yang-tze Dragon until the hue and cry for his capture quieted down.
**********
Scratching his scar, Duan approached Erika, who shuddered at the sight of the menacing young man whose malevolent eyes seemed to have been steeped in evil. And indeed even Orang and Khasar, the biggest and toughest of the crewmen of the Yangtze Dragon, had done their best to steer clear of this dangerous young man with a volcanic temper.
Lucky gingerly tendered the menacing strap to the intimidating young seaman, and Duan tore it from his grasp without a word. Glaring at Erika as if it were she who had slashed his face, Duan lifted the tawse high overhead and brought it down with a thunderous
THWACCCCKKK!!
on Erika’s midsection, vertically bisecting her belly and forming a ghastly tee out of the powerful horizontal belly-stroke McMahon had delivered a few minutes earlier.
“Aaiiaaahhh!!!” Erika cried out in pain. The southern end of Duan’s fearful stroke had found the fleecy golden tendrils that blanketed her pubis.
Erika’s nude body thrashed violently, so much so that the crewmen hardly noticed when Duan went down on one knee, and whipped out the gim from a slender sheath strapped to his lower leg. Bouncing up quickly, he pressed the sharp point of the gim against Erika’s mons, instantly putting an end to her flailing about.
“Nein … bitte…” she whispered breathlessly as her feral tormentor dragged it up her belly, scraping her flesh. When he reached her navel he began to press harder, and as the gim moved up Erika’s nude midsection, a thin trail of crimson appeared in its wake.
“Belay that, matey, if ye know what’s good for ye,” Slegg warned hesitantly, but like the rest of the crew he was not anxious to be the first man to make a move to attack a man armed with a deadly weapon.
Grinning maniacally Duan positioned the sharp point of the gim against Erika’s right breast, just below her nipple.
Erika gasped in pain as Duan increased the pressure of the dagger’s point, pressing it inward and upward. Was her life to end like this, she wondered, hanging defenseless from a crossbeam at the mercy of a savage brute. Part of her almost wished to die, rather than existing as a sexual plaything for General Wang and his minions.
But only on her own terms.
Summoning up all her remaining strength, Erika swung her legs upward with the speed of a gymnast and managed to hit Duan’s elbow with her knee, luckily finding the ulnar verve. Duan grabbed at his elbow in pain as the gim went spinning across the deck, before coming to rest at the feet of a steely-eyed General Wang.
Duan, enraged, gave Erika a hateful glance and drove a fist into the pit of Erika’s stomach, but a sharp rebuke from the general resulted in his quickly being restrained by three or four crewmen. Wrestling free, he shamefacedly made his way across the deck to retrieve his dagger.
As he reached to pick it up, the General scowled. “You are very fortunate, young man, that she stopped you,” he said icily. Your fate, had you succeeded in killing her, would have been even worse than her fate will be.”
Hsi Fong, never taking his eyes from Erika’s nude body, which was still convulsing from Duan’s powerful blow, added with an evil grin, “And her fate, I can assure you, will be none too pleasant.”
“I wasn’t going to kill her,” Duan hissed. “Just having a little fun with the whore. Scaring her, that’s all. What’s wrong with that?”
The general was uncertain of Duan’s honesty, but no real harm had been done. He dismissed the bitter young man with a disdainful wave of his hand. The sullen crewman bent down and replaced the gim in its sheath on his leg, gave the golden-haired beauty whose courage had resulted in his humiliation another vengeful glance and slowly made his way back to the area on the deck where most of the Chinese crewmen watched in a group.
Erika was still struggling to catch her breath after Duan’s hammer-like blow to her solar plexus, but she could not help but notice that Jasper Slegg’s weasel-like visage was uncharacteristically screwed up in thought.
With four of the final eight blows having been delivered, Slegg ‘s gaze was fixed on Erika’s heaving breasts as he wondered whether he should take the risky step he had contemplating for several minutes. At length he decided that he might never again have an opportunity to punish such a superb beauty. At least not in the deliciously sadistic manner he had in mind. He ground his teeth back and forth as he gave Erika’s opulent, ripe-nippled, pleasure-mounds a last leering glance and decided to go ahead with his idea.
Turning toward General Wang, Slegg began hesitantly, “Beggin’ yer pardon, yer lordship, but if I might ‘ave a word?”
The general cast an impatient glance at the first mate. It was not often that he was disturbed by insolent interruptions from men far below his rank. The general crossed his arms over his chest sternly, and was about to issue a reprimand when he reflected that the unkempt lowlife before him had displayed both imagination and uncommon zest during Erika’s protracted ordeal. The general decided to hear him out.
“Yes,” he barked. “What is it?”
Slegg gulped. The general’s forbidding expression was accompanied by a voice as icy as the slopes of the Himalayas. Slegg almost gave up his plan, but as he cast his shifty eyes furtively around the deck in hopes of avoiding the general’s frosty glance, they settled once again on Erika’s magnificent love-mounds, their jutting perfection enhanced by her cruel suspension. Suitably inspired, Slegg took a deep breath and began again.
“Well, yer lordship, it’s like this. First of all, surely ye saw how this wildcat of a slut kicked like an angry mule at that last sailor, ‘oo was just tryin’ to give ‘er a little fright?”
“Yes. What of it?” Hsi Fong responded brusquely on behalf of his partner in malice.
“Well, this pretty frowlein needs to be taught some manners, don’t ye think? Ye can’t ‘ave a German whore like ‘er kickin’ at yer manhood every chance she gets, can ye now?”
“I am quite confident that I’ll be able to deal with such outbursts in an appropriate way,” General Wang replied with a cruel smile. He spoke in a voice whose malevolence drove another sharp dagger of despair into Erika’s heart.
Slegg stammered , “I wasn’t sayin’ ye wouldn’t, yer lordship. Not at all. But,” he paused for emphasis, “if ye’ll forgive me for sayin’ so, sir, I think ye’re missin’ out on an opportunity of interest to a man like yerself.” Slegg added a sly wink as if to confirm that despite the difference between their stations in life, he and the general were bound by a shared interest, the domination and subjugation of young women.
And then, before the general could speak, Slegg quickly picked up the tawse that Duan had cast aside and took a step closer to the iron-jawed warlord and his villainous confidant.
“Now this is a fine strap, and the lads have given this big-titted wench a few good licks, to be sure.”
Slegg took a deep breath. The moment of truth had arrived. “But do either o’ ye recollect ‘ow I told ye this little beauty,” he said, slapping the tawse sharply down on the ship’s rail with a loud THWACCCKKK!!, “was supposed to work?”
“I think we’re well beyond lashing the girl’s hand, you fool!” Hsi Fong grumbled testily.
“O’ course, yer lordship. That’s as plain as the nose on yer face. But ‘ear me out, if ye don’t mind. It’s the principle of the thing, don’t ye see?
General Wang sputtered impatiently. “Captain, could you possibly induce this simpleton to come to the point?”
Andrew McMahon, who was as puzzled by Slegg’s effrontery as everyone else on board, bellowed, “Get on with it, mon!”
“Aye, sir,” Slegg muttered uncomfortably, and then turned back toward the general.
“It’s like this, yer lordship. Remember how I was tellin’ ye about ‘ow the schoomasters would ‘ave the little brats place one ‘and under t’other to make sure that the top hand absorbed the full force of the blow?”
“Yes, And your point is …” The general’s irritability, never far from the surface, had just about reached its limit.
“Well, if ye don’t mind, could ye take a step over this way, yer lordship?” Slegg asked in a cajoling voice, as he moved back toward the dangling body of Erika Weiss.
When the three men were within arm’s reach of Erika, Slegg took the tawse and slid it under Erika’s right breast, lifting it slightly, and went on, “What if ye were to have this wench place ‘er ‘ands under these big beauties and offer ‘em up to the strap nice and proper?”
With those words, Slegg stuck the handle of the tawse into his belt and slid behind Erika. He reached around her and placed his weathered fingers under Erika’s ripe-nippled treasures, cupping them gently. “ ‘ow about it, yer lordships?” Slegg lifted Erika’s breasts ever so slightly, and turned her body slightly so that her delectable nipples were pointed directly at the stern warlord. “Did ye ever see such a pair o’ beauties, yer honor? ” For emphasis, Slegg worked Erika’s pinkish-brown nipples roughly between his fingers as he continued to squeeze her luscious mounds. “Crikey! So sweet and young and firm. And yet,” he added enticingly, “they’re as soft as a baby’s butt. Wouldn’t take much of a whack to set ‘em ablaze, I don’t imagine.”
Having planted the seed, Slegg drew silent, but continued to fondle Erika’s creamy tit-globes, as if he were a child polishing an apple for a teacher in hopes of a better grade.
Even the general, a veteran of nearly every form of sexual depravity, could not help but feel a resurgence of lust in his loins as Slegg’s words sunk in.
“Nein… bitte” Erika whispered in horror. “You cannot…”
“Quiet wench!” Slegg barked. “Or ye’ll wish ye had been!”
“I’m not a young man, yer lordship, but I’ll tell ye the god’s truth. I never seen a prettier pair in my life, ‘ave ye? Think of it, yer lordship. Our little beauty standin’ on the deck – or kneelin’ on it if ye prefer - ‘er blonde ‘air lifted gently by the breeze, those sweet blue eyes beginning to fill with tears, as she offers her treasures to the lash.” Slegg jiggled Erika’s love-globes gently in his hands, setting them aquiver, to emphasize his words.
“Look at ‘em yer lordship.” Slegg was gaining in confidence now. “ ‘er ‘ands are a lot more dainty than mine, so avin’ ‘er ‘old out these juicy man-pleasers with ‘er pretty fingers… why I can’t imagine a prettier sight than that.”
Slegg let his words sink in for a moment. “And then yer lordship,” he continued in a wheedling voice, as he removed the tawse from his belt. WHAMMM!! The boys’ll give it to her good and proper, right across the tops of these beauties.”
Slegg paused for a split second and then snapped the tawse down against the ship’s railing with thunderous ferocity.
THWACCKKKKK!!!
Erika’s lovely body convulsed at the sound even though she had not been struck.
The general was about to speak, but Slegg, growing ever bolder, cut him off. “I know what ye may be thinkin’ your lordship. You don’t want the likes of us,” he gestured at his misbegotten shipmates, “damagin’ the lovely merchandise, so to speak. But that’s the beauty of this strap, don’t ye see? It stings like a thousand ‘ornets, but it don’t break the skin. Look at the cap’n’s blow,” he muttered, using the handle of the tawse to trace the mark the captain had left across Erika’s bare belly. “Or Duan’s - that was the bloke with the scar,” he clarified, moving the dark strap along the vertical mark left by the former gang member. “Stings like bloody Jaizus, don’t it dearie…” he growled digging its handle cruelly into the livid mark that Duan had so recently etched in Erika’s tender midsection.
“Ja… yes… yes…” Erika winced in pain as Slegg ground the stiff handle of the strap into her wealed flesh.
“But it won’t break the skin, yer lordship. At least not in the four strokes remaining. What d’ye say, your honor? Wouldn’t ye like to see this,” Slegg brandished the tawse, “paint some nice stripes on these firm, tender tits?” Slegg slid the tawse under Erika’s luscious breasts yet again.”
Slegg was standing alongside Erika now, just to her right. For the first time he looked the general straight in the eye. “Come on, yer lordship. Ye know ye’d like to see ‘em quivering like jelly. Why, just look at ‘em – they’re trembling at the very thought of feelin’ the strap!”
“Please…please …. Don’t listen to him.” Erika implored. “Can’t you see that he’s only…
“Shut up, whore!!” Slegg barked, silencing the tormented beauty with a powerful backhanded swing of his arm that landed squarely across both of her tender breasts.
Slegg held his breath for a long moment as Hsi Fong leaned over and whispered something in the ear of the warlord.
At last the general spoke. “Your idea has merit.” The general turned toward Andrew McMahon. “Have your men cut her down, and we shall proceed as your mate suggests.”
At those words, Slegg did his best to mask his inward exultation but it was not easy. A current of sadistic lust seemed to flow through his testicles and his cock throbbed at the prospect of Erika Weiss submissively offering her lovely breasts to the cruel dominion of the man she most despised.
Jasper Slegg gave Khasar, the big Mongol, a sly wink. “I guess you owe me that bottle of gin, matey!” he chuckled.
“That’s all right,” Khasar muttered with a grim smile. He too was envisioning the thrilling moment when his powerful right arm would sweep the punishing tawse down across Erika’s naked breasts.
“It’ll be worth it.”
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