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10
 Victor Bruno
Cover: PAUL

A sequel to ‘The Taming of Julia Chant’

also available in this same collection

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with permission of Olympia Press International ltd.
 PROLOGUE

This book is a sequel to those volumes entitled ‘NAKED CARGO’

and ‘THE TAMING OF JULIA CHANT’.
Quentin Osman, a rich, middle-aged man, has sent his proud,
lovely and arrogant mistress, named Julia Chant, to serve
aboard the ‘Paradise’. This is a vessel owned by a certain,
Madame Vesta and it sails the remoter regions of the Pacific
Ocean with a cargo of beautiful slave-girls. The object is
for Julia to be tamed and trained to become a submissive
plaything for Quentin Osman’s personal pleasure.
Several dozen young women, with similar backgrounds to
Julia, are simultaneously undergoing such training. Maybe
they have been unfaithful to a protector; perhaps they have
resisted his demands.
Now, because their protectors are rich and powerful, these
women are suffering for their previous behaviour.
Quentin Osman knows this full well, for he has spent some
time aboard the ‘Paradise’ as the guest of Madame Vesta. He
considers it a place eminently suitable for the arrogant and
wayward Julia. The fees he has to pay are high but he
considers every penny well spent if he can ensure the required
changes in Julia’s character and behaviour.
Julia spends several months aboard the ‘Paradise’ - months
that are hideously humiliating and painful. These months
have been described in ‘THE TAMING OF JULIA’.
Ultimately, Madame Vesta considers her fully broken and
ready to serve her owner, Quentin Osman, as his personal
slave girl. She summons him to return to the ‘Paradise’ - to
take possession of his property.
 REPRINT FROM THE FINAL PAGES OF
‘THE TAMING OF JULIA’

Naked and on her belly, nose to the floor, Julia came

crawling... grovelling... across the carpet of the cabin.
Equally naked, piggy eyes gleaming with lust, Quentin
looked down at the figure inching forward. He was lying on
a pile of pillows on one of the bunks.
“I believe you’ve something to say to me,” he said thickly.
“Yes, Master,” replied Julia in a low voice.
“Well then...”
Julia knelt erect.
Her splendid, full
breasts thrust forward as
she clasped her hands at
the back of her head.
The customary, now so-
familiar pose. The pose
of a slave-girl.
“Master,” she said,
“your slave... begs...
begs the honour... of...
of kissing your
bottom...”
Quentin almost burst
out laughing. How
incredible to hear such
words coming from Julia!
The very same Julia who
had frequently slapped
his face, even if she had
thought he was getting
only slightly out of
line. Oh yes... it was
quite incredible!
What wonders had been
worked...
He feasted his eyes on
the lovely body.
All mine... all
mine... he kept saying
to himself. I can do
whatever I like with her.
Anything. She’s mine...
mine... mine! I own her
body and soul.
Yes... this is my
slave!
Somehow, Quentin
controlled his glee. But
it bubbled away inside
him, mixing with his
surging sadism and his
raging lust. “Indeed?”
he grinned, rolling over
on his bunk... to expose
fat, flabby white
buttocks. “I think I
might grant that honour
slave...”
“Thank you, Master,”
said Julia, in the same
low, controlled voice.
“Just as a beginning,
mark you,” said Quentin.
“After that I can set about finding out just how well you’ve
been trained, my beauty.”
“Yes, Master,” replied Julia. Her voice grovelled as
submissively as her body had done. Then she went down on to
her hands and knees and crawled slowly towards the bunk.
A new chapter in her life of servitude had begun...

NOW READ ON...

 CHAPTER ONE

DESPITE ALL HE HAD seen and heard previously about the

‘Paradise’, Quentin could hardly believe it was actually
happening. He lay on the bed in his cabin, savouring the
feel of the lips which pressed again and again to his
hindquarter... feeling the firm flickering of a tongue...
delighting in the way a nose delved into his flabby cleft.
It is Julia Chant doing this, Quentin had to keep reminding
himself. Julia, who is now my slave. Unbelievable, but
true! Yes... this was the same Julia who had been wont to
slap his face for so much as laying an unwanted hand on her
knee. Who had taken him for a sucker; accepted his wealth
and then two-timed him with other men. Julia, the arrogant,
aristocratic one, who once had but to snap her fingers to
have men come running.
Now Julia was doing something which, not so long ago, she
would not have imagined possible in a million years.
All thanks to Madame Vesta... and the methods employed
aboard the good ship ‘Paradise’. It really was quite
wonderful. Even if the fees - which were fantastically high
- had been five or ten times as much, Quentin reckoned, at
that moment, they would have been worthwhile. he could not
remotely recall ever enjoying a situation so much in his life
before. Now he could do whatever he liked to Julia, and make
her do whatever he liked to him. The very thought was hot
wine in his veins. He owned her. She was his plaything.
What, therefore, should he do when ordered her to cease
the abasing ministrations he had demanded?
He could give her a damned good hiding if he wished...
He could have her suck him...
Or fuck her to his heart’s content...
But, already, a little plan was forming in Quentin Osman’s
mind. When one had complete ownership, one had plenty of
time. There was so much to enjoy in one’s possession, and so
many ways of enjoying it.
“All right, slave, that will do for the moment,” said
Quentin and gave Julia a little kick with the back of his
heel. “Get off the bed.”
At once Julia slid off the bed and knelt by its side. She
knelt in the fashion that Quentin was accustomed to see the
slave-girls on the ‘Paradise’ kneel. That is to say, with
back straight and hands clasped at the back of the neck,
thighs parted. A posture of submission. Quentin admired the
high, thrusting breasts... noted the smooth depilated mound
of Julia’s sex... and saw the coral-pink pouting lips. His
lust suddenly surged almost beyond control. Then he managed
to get a grip on himself. Greater pleasures, he knew awaited
him if he proceeded at a slow pace with this lovely creature.
‘Festina lente’, he told himself. He looked into Julia’s
large, blue-green eyes and saw them shimmering with tears.
Once those eyes had sparkled with pride and confidence. Now
they were dulled with despair and dread.
“Your behaviour has certainly improved, Julia,” said Quentin.
He lolled fat and naked on the bed, grinning, aware that he
must repulse this young woman as much, if not more, than he
ever did... and was glad about it. “They must have put you
through it here, I reckon.”
Two large tears rolled slowly down, one over each of
Julia’s cheeks. She gave a sudden shudder and bit the
fullness of her lower lip.
“Yes, Master,” she said in a short whisper.
“I’ve heard one or two tapes,” said Quentin. “Most
instructive. And enjoyable, if I may say so.”
Julia shuddered again. “Yes, Master,” she said in almost
automaton-like fashion.
“How does it feel to be my slave, Julia?” asked Quentin,
his eyes roving happily over the lush naked body. A body
that was his. A body that trembled with apprehension.
“I... I am honoured to be your slave, Master,” answered
Julia. “I will s-serve... and... and please you... in any
way you wish...”
Quentin nodded. Like all the slave-girls on the ‘Paradise’,
Julia was indeed well trained. Incredibly well trained.
Neither Madame Vesta nor her methods could be faulted. “I
know that, Julia,” he said, “but how does it feel?”
Several more large tears trickled down over Julia’s cheeks
and her rounded breasts heaved. “I... I am h-happy, Master,”
she choked, “Happy to... to b-be your slave...”
Quentin grinned more broadly. Then he leaned over the
side of the bed and, with one finger, casually toyed with
Julia’s sex lips. The finger ran up and down and Julia
shuddered more violently. But she did not recoil. “I’m,
glad about that, Julia,” said Quentin. He continued to play
with her for a few moments, then withdrew his fingers. “I
expect you’d like me to fuck you, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes... Master...” whispered Julia.
“After all, you’ve been aboard this ship quite some time...
and haven’t had what you enjoy so much. A solid piece of
male flesh, I mean.” Quentin saw Julia’s cheek twitch. “That
silver chain about your waist has seen to that.”
(As Julia owner, Quentin had been entitled to put a silver
or a gold chain about the girl’s waist. The former indicated
that, as far as full sexual intercourse was concerned, she
was reserved for him alone. A golden chain would have
indicated that she was available to anyone aboard the
‘Paradise.)
“Yes, Master,” said Julia. “Your slave is willing and
happy to please you... to be fucked by you...”
What an effort it must cost her to say that, thought
Quentin. Even now.
“I dare say,” he almost sneered. “You were always too
free and easy with your offerings. Except to me. That’s why
you’re here. Still, now that it comes to it, I’m not sure I
fancy you all that much.”
The look of shocked amazement on Julia’s face was a unique
joy for Quentin. Having been put through Hell on Earth in
order to be made to offer herself in this fashion - now she
was being rejected! Quite delicious...
“Still,” said Quentin, “you might as well show me what
you’ve got to offer, I suppose.”
Julia’s features quivered uncontrollably for a moment.
This was development she could have scarcely have imagined.
Rejection! From this gross pig! All the same, she quickly
took hold of herself - as her slave training had taught her
to - and turned away from Quentin she went down on hands and
knees, pressed her nose to the floor, and thrust her
hindquarters high. Then she parted her long thighs. Quentin
could not have been given a better view of ‘what she had to
offer’, as he put it. It was a degrading posture which over
the months, Julia had become used to. However, there was a
special extra shame to it, now that she had to adopt it in
front of her actual Master.
Quentin, face slack with lust, studied the female loveliness
displayed to him. What a beauty this women was! And all
mine, he kept on saying to himself. Mine, mine, mine! I can
have her whenever I want, in whatever way I want.
“Mmmmm...” he said musingly, after a minute or so, “Yes -
it’s true. I’m not so sure I fancy you as much as I did,
Julia.” He saw the girl tremble. “Not as much as that
Melissa, for example,” continued Quentin. “The girl you’ve
been sharing a cell with. Now there’s a real beauty. I
fucked her quite often when I was last aboard. Or, perhaps
she told you?”
“Y-Yes... M-Master,” croaked Julia. Her abasement was
complete. Every fibre, every nerve, had been concentrated
on forcing herself to give herself utterly to this vile
monster... and now this! This!
Quentin Osman picked up the bedside telephone. He was
enjoying himself no end. “Put me through to Madame Vesta,”
he said... seeing Julia tremble again.
“Yes, Sir...”
There was a click, and Vesta came on the line, brisk as
ever.
“Hallo Quentin. Having trouble?”
“Oh no,” purred Quentin. “She’s being as good as gold.”
“I’m glad to hear it... for her sake...”
“It’s just that I’d like Melissa sent up here. If she’s
free.”
“You old dog,” laughed Vesta. “Yes, I’m pretty sure she’s
free. I’ll have her brought up right away.”
“Thanks, Vesta...”
There’s service for you, he thought as, smiling broadly,
he put down the receiver. You would think I was ordering a
cup of coffee to be sent up, rather than a ravishing young
beauty who would do whatever was demanded of her!
“O.K. Julia... I’ve seen enough of your wares. You can
kneel up again” said Quentin.
With a little sobbing moan, Julia resumed her former posture
and Quentin smiled upon her benignly.
“You heard that, slave?” he asked.
“Yes... Master...”
“It means that I have decided to fuck Melissa rather than
you.”
Pale as Julia’s face was, it seemed to blanch and her
lower lip quivered uncontrollably. “Yes... Master...” she
somehow managed to say.
So you’ll have to wait awhile before you get what you’re
aching for,” went on Quentin. “Still, no doubt you’ll enjoy
watching Melissa and me. She is a very capable girl. I
trust I find you equally so when the time comes.”
Julia’s face puckered and her breasts heaved with her
sobs. “I... I... w-will please... my Master... in every
way... yes... in every way, Master...” Julia managed to
choke out.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” said Quentin. Then his features
hardened with a sudden cruel lust. “Because, if you do not,
it will give me very great pleasure to cane that shapely
posterior of yours until you do!”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door, Quentin
gave the word to enter. In came the tall, blonde Miss
Judith, leading Melissa on a collar and chain.
The overseer was garbed just as she had been when Quentin
had first seen her. That seemed a long time ago now. She was
all in black leather... thigh-length boots, short skirt;
brief bolero jacket. At her waist was looped the long
leathern thong she always carried. Quentin recalled what
Miss Judith had said when he had told her that Julia was
something of a tigress. ‘So much the better... we like
taming tigresses here’. Well, Julia had been tamed alright.
Everything O.K., Mr Osman?” enquired Miss Judith, glancing
at Julia’s kneeling figure.
“Yes, thank you,” answered Quentin. “I just fancied having
Melissa along. Take that collar and chain off her please!”
“Sure...”
Miss Judith removed the items and Melissa sank submissively
to her knees alongside Julia. She had a superb figure...
tall and lissom... and her features, as well as her
temperament, were rather similar to Julia’s. But Melissa’s
arrogance, selfishness and short-temper had been subdued and
eradicated even earlier than Julia’s. Quentin had enjoyed
her frequently when he first come aboard the ‘Paradise’ and,
indeed, Melissa had been the first woman he had ever whipped.
“You remember me?” he enquired.
“Yes, Master,” answered Melissa. Her voice was firmer
than that of Julia and, though her demeanour was fully
submissive, she seemed more in control of herself than the
girl alongside her. A matter of experience, doubtless. She
had been through so much with so many men there did not seem
to her now any lower depths to which she could sink.
“There’s just one thing, Mr Osman,” interrupted Miss Judith.
“I must apologise for the state of Melissa’s bottom.”
“Oh... why so?”
“She was caned this morning... and there has not been any
time yet for her to have Treatment,” said Miss Judith. “Show
your Master, Melissa.”
The girl turned at once and postured herself as Julia had
done a little earlier. Quentin studied the dozen or so
crisscrossing weals that encircled that curvaceous bottom.
“What was she caned for?” he asked.
“Simply for the amusement of the gentleman she happened to
be servicing I gather,” replied Miss Judith with a thin
smile. “A Mr Svenson. I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Quentin. “But it doesn’t matter a
bit, Miss Judith. Thanks for telling me though. I’ll call
you when I want her taken away again.”
“Very well, Mr Osman,” nodded Miss Judith. The guests on
the ‘Paradise’ had to be treated with courtesy and their
requests complied with. After all, they were footing the
bill! With a final glance at the trembling Julia, the tall
blonde left the cabin. She was satisfied that the girl was
in prime condition to give her Master what ever enjoyment he
wanted. Her weeks and months of training had seen to that!
“You may kneel, Melissa,” said Quentin when the door had
closed behind the overseer.
He sighed contentedly as he looked from one naked beauty
to the other. It was a moment very much to be savoured.
“I have had you brought here, Melissa,” he said finally,
“because I wish to fuck you.” Hardly surprisingly, Quentin
was more than half way to full erection and was gently
playing with himself in order to achieve rigid solidity.
Thanks to the ‘booster pills’ Vesta had supplied him with,
Quentin was able to perform more like a man in his thirties
than one in his fifties! “I have decided I fancy you more
than my own slave.”
Julia’s features twitched; Melissa remained silent, simply
waiting. She had been repelled by Quentin before - and
pleased him. She had been repelled by countless men - and
pleased them. What difference did it make any more? She had
become an object merely to be used for brutish pleasures.
“I think I’ll have you on top of me,” said Quentin, reclining
back on the cushions. He was well pleased with his rigidity.
“As my Master wishes,” said Melissa. She rose and moved
seductively towards the bed. “I am honoured to be summoned
to please you,” she added as she insinuated herself on to the
bed.
Quentin looked up at the lush breast fruit swinging above
him and his hands clasped soft buttock cheeks as Melissa
straddled him. He felt the weals upon them; heard the girl
give a tiny gasp. He squeezed and Melissa gasped louder.
Then Quentin felt her hand on the base of his root, guiding
him. His knob slide along the lips - so meltingly warm.
Then the girl lowered her haunches, in an almost languid
fashion and Quentin went fully into her. The sensation was
exquisite.
“Aahh... you beauty...”
Melissa raised herself slowly, wriggling her bottom slightly,
contracting the muscles of her sex. She kept just the knob
of Quentin’s organ within her whilst she wriggled some more,
before sinking slowly down again.
“Aaaahhh... you beauty...”
At the same leisurely pace, Melissa repeated the movements.
She had the skill and she was quite unstinted in her efforts
to please the flabby pig beneath her. That was her duty.
Her duty as a slave. And, if she failed in it, she could not
complain if she found herself being taken to the Punishment
Room.
Quentin turned his lust-filled face, towards where Julia
still knelt, watching submissively.
“Melissa makes a marvellous fuck,” he said thickly. His
hands were still on the girl’s buttocks. How deliciously
they squirmed to please him! just as they had squirmed - but
more violently - when he had whipped them. He would never
forget that day. Nor when she had been sent to him as his
personal slave, whilst he was on his first visit, and he had
caned her for the first time.
“Faster,” he said. “I want it quick today...”
“Yes... Master...”
Melissa’s hindquarters begun to undulate more swiftly but
she kept a well-controlled rhythm. Above Quentin, her
pendulous breasts were bouncing and swinging. But Quentin’s
eyes were not upon them. He was still turned to Julia, his
face a mask of lechery.
“I... I don’t n-need you... you trollop...” he panted.
“Not... not aaahhh... when I’ve got slaves like... aaahhh...
M-Melissa... aahh... hhaaa... I’ll give you... to others.”
Faster and faster swung Melissa’s weal-striped bottom...
Up and down...
Up and down...
Up and down...
She knew the pig she serviced was nearly there.
Faster yet...
But controlled...
Faster... faster
Suddenly, all the pig’s fat was a quiver. His belly, his
bowels, everywhere. And he was snorting like a pig, too.
Heaving and turning... eyes closed and mouth open-slack...
Quentin spent himself again and again in the luscious, liquid
depths of the young woman who still squirmed upon top of
him...
 CHAPTER TWO

A SHORT WHILE AFTER, having performed the service required

of her, Melissa was taken away... again on the collar and
chain, and by Miss Judith. Quentin knew well the bare cell
she would be taken to, with its two plank beds and shackles,
to wait the time she would be required for some other duty.
it was the cell which Julia also occupied.
Waddling across the cabin, Quentin poured himself a long
brandy and soda, then seated himself on the edge of the bed.
Julia remained precisely where she had always been, waiting
tensely.
“Mmmm... I enjoyed that,” said Quentin, sipping his drink.
“Melissa is a girl who knows how to use her arse.”
He felt very buoyant. Not in the least tired. Those
‘boosters’ were really miraculous. His immediate lust had
been slaked and he could look upon Julia a little more
dispassionately. And perhaps have a different kind of fun.
He wondered how the girl felt at what she had just witnessed.
Though he might be the last thing she wanted, it must have
been galling, in a way, to have built oneself up with such
agonising effort to submit... only to be told you were not
wanted! In fact, that another woman was preferred.
“You remember what I said just now?” he asked.
“Yes... M-Master...” nodded Julia. Her voice sounded
dry.
“It means,” went on Quentin, “that I shall be changing
that chain about your waist from silver to gold. I expect
you’ll be glad about that.”
“Yes, Master,” agreed Julia, shuddering convulsively.
Quentin smiled indulgently, continuing to sip his brandy.
he felt very, very good. What a thing it was to have
complete power of a young woman!
“Have you anything to say to me, Julia?” he enquired. “I
don’t mean the formal things a slave has to say. But anything
else? I shan’t punish you for insolence, or anything like
that. Just be frank, Julia”
He saw the girl’s cheek twitch. it was a nervous tic she
seemed to have acquired since coming aboard the ‘Paradise’.
He realised it indicated some special emotion she felt or
effort of control she had to make. Maybe being told he
wouldn’t punish her for being ‘insolent’ had something to do
with it. Or possibly the very fact that she had been given
permission to say something more than the mere formalities
or servitude.
“Y-yes, Master... I... I have...” said Julia, after
Julia, after quite a prolonged silence.
“Go ahead then,” smiled Quentin.
“I... I realise I am now your s-slave, Mater,” said
Julia, in that same dry hesitant voice, “and... and... I
will do anything you ask of me... anything... I have been
trained to it...”
“I know that,” nodded Quentin, “So?”
Julia’s once haughty features crumpled, tears burst out of
her eyes. “But... M-Master...” she sobbed, “f-for... mmmff...
p-pity sake... mmmfff... mmmff... take me off this... d-
dreadful ship...!” The desperation in Julia’s voice transferred
itself to her body. Suddenly she flung herself forward,
clasping Quentin’s ankles, grovelling before him as she kissed
his feet. “I... beg you, Master! Ooooh... I beg you... I
implore you, Master... take me anywhere... mmfff... mmff...
keep me anywhere... but. mmmfff... but not on this a-awful
ship...”
Quentin made no comment about Julia altering her posture
without permission. It was simply Heaven to have her down
there, kissing his feet and begging so frantically. He just
let her go on doing it. It seemed impossible this was the
same Julia Chant he had once known.
“Cruising the Pacific doesn’t take your fancy then, Julia?”
he remarked with heavy irony.
Julia raised a tear-stained face. “Master... I b-beseech
You... you don’t know what they d-do to me... what they m-
make me d-do... for God’s sake t-take me away...!”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea of what they do to you,” said
Quentin. “It was outlined to me... and demonstrated to
me... when I first visited the ‘Paradise’. Also, I have
heard some tapes they made of you. Kneel up again slave. I
think I’ll refresh my memory with one or two of them.”
Breasts heaving with her sobs, Julia forced herself back
into her original submissive posture. Oh how could this
monster disregard her pleas? Everything had been done to her
that he had wanted. She had been broken. Could he not see
that she was at the end of her tether? And now she was going
to have to re-live some of her own sufferings! Agonies of
mind and body that were of his making!
Quentin pressed down the switch of the cassette-holder on
the bedside table.
Recording of Julia Chant (said a woman’s flat voice) aged
25, property of Q.O., made in the Punishment Room during
early weeks of training. (High-pitched whimpering sounds of
terror followed by Miss Judith’s voice) “Julia on Report,
Ma’am!”
(Madame Vesta’s voice) “I know about this matter, of course,
Miss Judith”.
“Yes, Ma’am...”
“A serious offence of course. Most serious. But we must
make allowances for Julia’s inexperience.”
“I suppose so, Ma’am.”
(A babbling scream from Julia, then Madame Vesta speaks
again) “You will receive eighteen strokes of the cane, slave
(Louder and more terrible screams)... and while you are
getting them, I want you to remember one thing! If ever you
are guilty of disobedience of that nature again, you will get
thirty six!”
Quentin’s eyes were fixed on Julia’s face... watching the
play of emotions passing over them... seeing her mouth
quiver and her cheek twitch as memories so terrible flooded
back. He switched off the cassette.
“What was that disobedience, Julia?” he asked.
The lovely breasts heaved with even deeper sobs. “I.. I
think mmmfff... mmfff.. M-Master... I wouldn’t kneel...
and... and sh-show myself... mfff... to a gentleman...
it... it was on the deck...”
Quentin smiled understandingly. “Well, you do it right
away when you’re told to now, don’t you?”
“Y-Yer... ess... Master...” choked Julia.
Quentin pressed the switch of the cassette-player again.
(The sound of Julia babbling, begging and screaming even
more loudly. Madame Vesta’s voice comes over the noise)
“Ahmed... bring up the whipping pillory. Jason... you will
put this disobedient wretch into it! ... You. Miss Judith,
will administer the punishment. Use a four-foot-six, medium-
weight rod.”
“Yes, Ma’am...”
(The sudden sounds of violent movements, gasps and shrieks)
“Hey... come back, my beauty...!”
“Get her, Jason...!”
“Sure thing, Ma’am...”
(Scampering feet, cries and shouts. Julia is heard above
all) “No... oh... no... no... NO... OOO... No... OOO!”
“Got you my pretty one!”
(A hand slapping flesh) “NO.. OOO.. NO.. OOO!”
“You will receive six extra strokes for resistance, slave.”
(Julia’s awful shrieks and pleas continue... and there is
much clanking and banging as the whipping pillory is moved
into position and she is fastened into it. The high-pitched
sound of a rod being swished is heard) “Alright, Miss Judith...
begin please...!”
(The sound of the swishing rod again, but louder and more
vicious this time... followed by the sound of it biting into
flesh. An agonised, gasping scream for Julia. A five second
interval... and the sounds are repeated. Julia’s awful
screams grow more ear-splitting as the caning proceeds. After
some dozen strokes, Julia’s vocal cords break down under the
strain. As each stroke now falls, piping, croaking and
rattling sounds come from her throat... and a noise that is
something like the hissing sound made by a steam train).
Quentin switched off the cassette-player after twenty fourth
stroke had fallen. Julia’s eyes were closed and she was
swaying a little form side to side. For a moment, Quentin
though she would faint and, but for the stimulant injection
she would have received before being sent to him, no doubt
she would have done.
“So you see, Julia,” he said. “I do know what they do to
you here. I have some other tapes, would you like to hear
those, too?”
Julia opened her tear-filled eyes. The anguish in them
was indescribable.
Quentin was not moved by the sight; he simply enjoyed it.
“H-Have... mercy, Master” whispered Julia, “please...
please... no...”
“Perhaps a little later,” said Quentin. “There really are
some most entertaining ones. Like when you were made to suck
Ahmed’s cock for the first time. Miss Judith gave you a
pretty sore backside before you could make yourself do it,
eh? Still, you’ve done it plenty of times since, I’ve no
doubt.”
“Yes, Master...”
“Jason’s too?”
“Yes, Master...”
“But not mine yet.”
“No, Master... but... but I would be honoured to...”
“Naturally,” replied Quentin with the blandness of a man
in full control and who also had been recently well satisfied.
“Now, Julia, you were saying something about my taking you
off this ship...”
“Yes... ooohh... yes, Master... please... ooohhh...
please take me off it!”
“That presents certain difficulties, Julia. In the first
place, you would try to escape...”
“NO... OOO! Master... I swear I wouldn’t I S-SWEAR IT!
I’d sat... I’d be your slave... I do anything... anything...”
“You keep on saying that,” smiled Quentin indulgently.
“But it presents problems.”
Julia was trembling violently in her agitation. The fact
that Quentin was actually considering her request was something
quite incredible to her. Once more she flung herself forward
and grovelled she clasped and kissed his feet.
“Master... please... lock me up..... chain me... do
anything you wish... but OOOHHH... for mercy’s sake...
TAKE ME WITH YOU!”
Quentin was smiling as he looked down at the prostrate,
naked figure before him... What a body it was! And this was
Julia Chant... actually begging him to lock her up somewhere
and do whatever he liked with her! Quite... oh quite...
remarkable. Music to his ears; balm to his soul. Oh how low
were the mighty fallen!
“Kneel up, Julia” he said. “I can’t go on overlooking
these undisciplined actions of yours.”
“I... I... agh... I beg pardon, Master...” Julia returned
to her kneeling position, breasts thrusting fulsomely.
“There is another problem, Julia,” said Quentin suavely.
“You see... I’m engaged to get married. My future wife may
not approve of you. After all, you’d have to serve her too.”
A stunned expression transformed Julia’s features. She
suddenly looked even more defeated.
 “Y-You’re f-future w-wife...?” she stammered.
“That’s right,” said Quentin coolly. “She knows all about
you of course. But she’d want to come and inspect you. To
see if she thinks you’re worthy to be my slave. And hers...”
Julia gulped and shuddered, head drooping. “Master,” she
said in a low semi-controlled voice, “I would be honoured to
serve any wife of yours...”
“Naturally,” answered Quentin briskly. “The point is,
does she want you to serve her, Julia? That’s the problem.”
Oh how matter-of-fact he was! As if he were at some board
meeting discussing a client’s likes and dislikes.
“M-Master... you asked me to... to speak... and, again
I beg you to take me with you... as your slave... oohh
Master...”
“I shall consider the matter, Julia. And discuss it with
my fiancee,” said Quentin perfunctorily.
“Thank you, Master,” said Julia with cringing humility.
“And... how soon will I know?”
Quentin’s face hardened. “Don’t ask me stupid questions,
girl,” he snapped. “In fact, I withdraw permission for you
to ask any more questions. You will learn whether you stay
on this ship or come with me when I decide you will learn. Is
that understood?”
“Y-Yes... Master,” whispered Julia abjectly. Yet there
was a minuscule of hope in her heart. Incredible as it may
seem, she now considered it preferable to serve Quentin
Osman (and his future wife) than to stay on the ‘Paradise’
under the iron discipline of Madame Vesta and her aides.
Well, perhaps she was right about that. But how could she be
sure?
Naturally, she could not!
It was that, at the moment, anything seemed preferable to
staying for an indefinite period aboard that Hell-ship!
“Stand up, slave!” ordered Quentin.
Julia rose, long-limbed and curvaceous, black hair falling
richly to her shoulders, but the Mound of Venus fleshly
smooth. A thrusting provocative mound. Quentin got up off
the bed and begun to rub his hand over the body he owned.
Breasts, back, buttocks, thighs... and that succulent mound.
His fingers played and delved. His... all his!
“I expect you’d like a fuck,” said Quentin. “As I said
earlier, it’s been a long time.”
“Yes, Master,” answered Julia tremulously. She pressed
herself close to the flabby body, determining in her mind to
please this brute to the limit of her capabilities. That was
it might help to ensure he took her with him.
“Oh not me, girl,” said Quentin casually. “I told you, I
don’t fancy you all that much these days. So I’m going to
arrange to have Ahmed and Jason come up here... and fuck
you. One after the other. While I watch.”
The wretched Julia’s features dissolved once more. Tears
flowed, her head drooped. “Ooohhh... no... oooo...” she
sobbed.
“What do you mean Oh... no...?” demanded Quentin, in
sudden seeming anger.
“M-Master... I... I...”
“You should be glad... an honoured... to have those two
black heavy-weights on the job.”
“I am... I am... M-Master!” Julia had realised the error
of her initial protest and was quickly trying to make amends.
“I want... to be f-fucked by them... both of them... I...
I’d love it!”
Quentin gripped Julia by her hair. “Slave,” he said, “you
made a slip didn’t you? I know. Your first reactions at the
news were your real ones...”
“No... NO... Master!”
Quentin slapped the girl’s face. Left and right... left
and right. Stinging, head-jerking slaps. “Don’t lie to me,
you bitch!”
“No... I swear...”
Slappp... slappp... slaappp... slapppp!
“Please... please... M-Master...”
“Julia... you know a slave does not lie to her Master.”
“I.. I know, Master...”
“And what if she does?”
“She is punished, Master. Deservedly...”
“And you lied to me, Julia.”
“P-Plee... eease... Master...”
“Yes... or... no... Julia?”
“Master... I didn’t mean...”
A stinging slap on Julia’s bottom... and then another.
“Yes or no, Julia?”
“Yes... Master... I suppose... a little... yes,
Master...”
“Uh-uh. And what happens to a slave who lies, Julia?”
“She... she is p-punished, Master.”
 “So now you will be punished by me, Julia. For the very
first time. By me personally, that is. But not, I am sure,
for the last time.”
Julia’s throat worked; she was trembling violently. She
had always known and dreaded this moment. Now it had come.
Quentin was about to thrash her.
“Master... if I deserve your punishment...”
“If? You do deserve it!”
“Yes... Master...” agreed Julia. “And... and... I will
accept your punishment... and. th-thank you... f-for
correcting me...”
Quentin went to the drawer of the dressing table and
opened it. There within were a multitude of minor corrective
instruments... straps, tawses, canes, riding switches and
so on. He took out a fairly lightweight cane with a hooked
handle.
That would be adequate to start with, he told himself.
Running the smooth wood through his figures and flexing
the cane lovingly, Quentin turned back to Julia. It was a
most beautiful moment. One which, not so many months before,
he could never imagined possible in his wildest dreams. Nor,
naturally, could Julia.
Julia went down with the speed and precision of a guardsman
on parade. Her palms flat, her nose to the carpet, her
bottom thrust up to the maximum.
Quentin surveyed it with relish. How often it had been
made to squirm on his account... now he would see it for
himself! “Excellent...” he breathed, tapping the lush flesh
with the tip of the cane and seeing it quiver delectably.
“And now, Julia, I have some news for you,” went on Quentin.
“If you do not maintain this posture while I punish you, I
will later on have you taken down to the Punishment Room and
properly caned by Miss Judith. Is that quite clear?”
“Yes... Master...” answered Julia in a muffled voice.
She was actually biting into the pile of the carpet. Quentin
saw her hands clawing white... and the quick contraction of
the nates in dread anticipation.
Delicious...
“I am giving you a dozen, slave... I think that will
suffice on this occasion...”
With sadistic delight, Quentin laid on the first stroke,
right across the centre of the curvaceous, upthrusting bottom
before him. It was not a stroke which had all his strength...
I am giving you a dozen, slave...
but a good, hard, wristy cut all the same.
Ssswwweee... eeepppttt!
A slim, twin-tracked weal curved across the flesh and
Julia’s bottom jerked back and forth, at the same time making
a series of tight, little squirming movements. All the same,
Julia took the stroke well, biting deeper into the carpet and
making only a gasping-grunting sound. Her bottom remained
fully thrust up. Quentin gave her another.
Ssswweee... eeepppttt!
The result was similar... with perhaps the squirming a
little more urgent.
Again...
Ssswwweee... eeepppttt!
And still no more than a gasping grunt from Julia as her
bottom twisted this way and that... yet all the time presented.
Quentin found himself wishing he’d taken a heavier cane...
or a riding switch.
He hadn’t realised that Julia had become so hardened.
Could not have imagined it. He wanted to have her yelling
and begging for mercy. Still...
Ssswwweee... eeepppttt!
“Agh... oww...”
That was better. He’d put more beef into that one and
Julia had obviously felt it. What a joy it was to make her
beautiful bottom squirm so uncontrollably!
Ssswwweee... eeepppttt!
“Oowww... aagghhh...”
Even better! A louder gasp and an even more convulsive
series of squirms. Perhaps she was losing control...
Ssswweee... eeepppttt!
The sixth stroke, cutting into the lush overhang, had
Julia squirming right over to one side as her mouth gaped
with her breathless gasps.
“Keep your bottom up, my girl!” rasped Quentin, “Are you
forgetting what I promised you?”
“M-Mer... mer... ceee... M-Master...” choked Julia.
Her hands and nails clawed more savagely; her teeth renewed
their grip on the pile of the carpet.
Quentin laid on the final six strokes in fairly quick
succession and, although Julia’s hindquarters and writhed
frenziedly, and although her gasps became agonised yelps,
she somehow managed to keep her bottom thrust up high
throughout. It was a remarkable effort of will and fortitude.
 But then, of course, she had plenty of incentive...
With shoulders heaving, with breath rasping, Julia remained
kneeling on the floor in the same humiliating posture. Quentin
examined the criss-crossing weals - a bright pinkish red...
with the very greatest satisfaction. This was his Julia’s
bottom he had striped. Even in that moment, it still scarcely
seemed possible.
“Anything to say, slave?”
“Th-Thank... you... mmff... ugh... ugh... for c-
correcting... m-me... Master...”
“If you ever lie to me again, Julia, I shall be far more
severe.”
“Yes... M-Master... I would deserve it, Master...”
Quentin grinned. There was true submission for you! He
strolled over and replaced the cane in the drawer. It had
been a relatively mild punishment compared with most aboard
the ‘Paradise’ but Quentin rather doubted if any man had had
greater pleasure in giving one!
“Stand up, Julia.”
Julia got to her feet. Her lips were trembling, her
cheeks twitching. No one was more aware than her just how
much pleasure Quentin Osman had got from caning her. She
fought down the bitter fury in her heart.
She could not indulge in it...
That way the greatest dangers lay...
She had to accept... had to submit...
This man was her Master... she his slave...
And was it not now her prime object to please him to the
utmost and somehow induce him to take her off the ‘Paradise’?
In Quentin’s hand she suddenly saw a slim golden chain...
and two small keys. In a matter of moments, the silver chain
had been removed from her waist and the golden one substituted.
The key turned in the tiny padlock.
“There,” said Quentin with a little guffaw, “no one can
say I am not a generous man. I’m giving you away even before
I’ve had you myself! What a jolly decent fellow I am!”
He walked across the room and poured himself another long
brandy whilst Julia fingered the golden chain, a look of
despairing misery on her lovely face. No one could be more
aware than her of what it meant.
From that moment on, she was the plaything of anyone!
Anyone!
Quentin lifted the telephone. “I think we’ll have Ahmed
and Jason up here!” he said. “My dear girl... you must be
simply aching to feel a piece of solid black meat!”
His mind went back to former days.
How Julia had hated blacks! How they had repelled her! To
have them near her was bad enough... but if they touched
her...
Well, he reckoned, it was doubtful if she had changed
much. If at all. Mark you... that would not be the
impression she would have to give!
 CHAPTER THREE

HAVING SUMMONED the two negro assistants, Quentin put on a

quilted dressing gown and seated himself in one of the
armchairs. Julia remained kneeling, contemplating what was
now to happen. She had always known it would. One day. Now
this was the day. And it was all Quentin Osman’s doing.
There came a knock on the door.
“Enter,” said Quentin.
The door opened and in came Ahmed and Jason. They were two
magnificent specimens of the negro race. Tall, muscular,
carrying no fat. Each was coal black, skin gleaming faintly
with oil. As usual, each wore only a brief white ‘pouch’.
“You sent for us, Sir,” said Ahmed as Jason closed the
door.
“That’s right, gentlemen,” smiled Quentin. “I believe you
have both been of some assistance in training my slave. Name
of Julia. This one here...” Quentin pointed.
“That’s correct, Sir,” said Ahmed. Jason grinned, big
teeth startlingly white.
“May I thank you both,” said Quentin. “You seem to have
done a good job.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Jason. And this time Ahmed grinned.
“I have decided to give you a little reward for your
efforts,” continued Quentin. “As you may notice, I have now
put a golden chain on Julia. You both know what that means.”
The features of both negroes lit up and they looked with
gathering interest at the kneeling figure of Julia. She was
silent, shoulders heaving gently, tears running softly over
her cheeks.
“Yes,” said Ahmed, “we know what that means.”
Quentin smiled encouragingly. “Well, gentlemen,” he said,
“if you are so inclined, I invite you to enjoy my slave in
whatever way you wish.”
 Ahmed and Jason looked at each other happily. “I think
you might say, we ARE so inclined,” said Jason.
The other negro stepped forward and took Julia by her
hair, hauling her up to the accompaniment of a wailing cry.
“Why girlie,” he laughed, “I’ve been looking forward to
fucking the arse of you ever since I first saw you!” A broad
black hand slapped Julia’s bottom. “And I know you’re just
going to love it!” Ahmed released Julia’s hair and the girl
slumped back to the floor before kneeling erect again.
Meanwhile Jason had slipped off his white ‘pouch’ and
Ahmed followed suit.
Quentin studied both men with added interest. He realised
they had been specially chosen but was both pleased and
envious at what he saw. Both had eight or nine, thickly-
girthed inches hanging down between powerful thighs... inches
which Quentin reckoned would stiffen up to twelve inches or
so. Formidable indeed!
“Aren’t you a lucky girl?” said Quentin, getting up and
twisting Julia’s head round towards the two nude giants.
Of course, Julia had seen both of them often enough before.
And indeed, she had serviced them with her mouth. But the
fact that she was now being given to them completely put a
rather different complexion on things. Her mouth quivered
uncontrollably.
“Y-Yes... Master...” she managed to make herself say.
“Show a little respect to these two gentlemen then,” ordered
Quentin. On the ‘Paradise’, showing respect had its own
meaning. Julia knew it well.
Crawling forward, she kissed Jason’s feet. The she
insinuated herself up his strong limbs, crushing her breasts
to him. When her mouth came to his organ, she kissed it the
full length with slavish fervour, whilst cradling the still-
soft, large ‘banana’ of black male flesh in her small white
hands. Already that ‘banana’ had begun to swell a little;
soon it would be a far larger ‘bone’. Julia repeated her
ministrations with Ahmed, whilst Quentin looked on, grinning
with lustful cruelty. He almost had to pinch himself to make
sure he was not dreaming. The woman doing this was Julia.
Julia Chant! Incredible! And wonderful!
“Good... good... slave,” he murmured as Julia sank down
again, having shown the ‘respect’ required of her. “Now,
gentlemen, which of you wants to have my Julia first?”
The two men looked at each other. Jason shrugged. “Toss
Show a little respect to these two gentlemen, slave...
for it?” he suggested.
“Sure,” smiled Quentin. He liked very much the idea of
Julia being tossed for. He picked up a coin from the table.
“Call... Ahmed.”
“Heads...”
The coin fell silently to the carpet. “Tails,” announced
Quentin. “so she’s all yours Jason.”
Now virtually in full erection, the young negro seemed to
consider for a moment. Quentin was even more impressed by
the size of him. Quite fearsome.
Jason crooked his fingers, indicating that Julia should
rise. “White missie,” he said, “you go and lie on the end of
the bed, on your back.”
Trembling, the silent tears still flowing, Julia obeyed.
It had been Quentin she’d keyed herself up for... not these
two massive black brutes. She lay down as directed. Lush,
soft, white... seductively inviting.
Jason grinned down at her. “I got a big one, eh Missie?
You had it in your mouth plenty... but never where you’re
going to get it now. You like I think.”
The expression on Julia’s face scarcely confirmed these
words! Her eyes filled with dread and her nostrils flared
with revulsion. “Yes... Sir...” she was heard to whisper.
“Bring up your knees... right to your shoulders,” said
Jason.
Julia did so, her bottom curving deliciously.
“Now open wide,” said Jason.
Julia parted her limbs... to proffer herself openly and
blatantly. Quentin gazed fascinated. This is my Julia, he
said to himself, presenting herself for the pleasure of a
negro. A day to remember...
Jason came down, hands flat to the bed. Carefully he
positioned himself. The large, ping-mauve knob hovered for
a moment, just before Julia’s pouting lips. Then Jason gave
a sudden lunge... obviously a deliberately brutal lunge...
and was buried in Julia to the hilt.
Julia’s mouth gaped... a high-pitched hissing cry coming
from it. Her back arched in a semi-circle and she threshed
wildly on the bed while her nails clawed Jason’s back.
“Big prick, eh Missie?” grinned Jason, savouring the feel
and reactions of his victim.
Julia could only groan... and she began to groan more
loudly as Jason began to thump in and out of her. There was
no question of gentleness... no finesse. All was for
Jason’s brute pleasure; Julia was just a fuckable object.
Thump... thump... thump...
“L-Lovely... eh... Missie...”
Thump... thump... thump..... .
Black flesh and white...
Thumpity... thumpity... thumpity... thump...
“Wiggle then, Missie... wriggle that arse...”
Thump... thump... thumpity... thump..
Quentin’s piggy eyes were hot. Often as he had imagined
himself doing what Jason was, he reckoned the spectacle was
giving him even greater pleasure. This was the haughty Julia
getting it! Getting it good and strong too. This was Julia
groaning, moaning and gasping as twelve inches of solid
black cock rammed into her again and again.
Thumpity... thumpity... thumpity.. thump.. thump...
thump...
Now Jason’s pace was increasing. And Julia was threshing
and writhing about on the bed quite frantically.
“Do you reckon she’s going to come?” asked Quentin, glancing
at Ahmed.
The negro shook his head. “Reckon Jason’s just warming
her up for me,” he said.
Faster... faster... and yet faster...
There was no holding Jason now. He was literally galloping
towards a climax.
“AAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!” he suddenly cried, haunches jerking
frenziedly as he released himself.
Julia laid back, eyes screwed tight, mouth wide and slack.
Shuddering moans came from her. For a moment, Quentin wondered
whether she was going to be sick.
“Enjoy her, Jason?” enquired Quentin as the negro
peremptorily withdrew.
“Only because she was a first-timer,” replied the negro.
“The girl’s not really willing. And she needs plenty of
training.”
Quentin’s eyebrow went up in mock surprise. “Not really
willing?” he said. “After all this time... well, well, I’d
never have believed it. And you think she needs training,
eh? Well, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
He smiled down at Julia who lay on the bed with eyes still
closed. There was a sheen of sweat over her lovely body and
tears had never ceased to trickle down her cheeks. This, for
her, was the ultimate in degradation. At least, so she
thought.
“Julia...” said Quentin, “now Ahmed is going to fuck you.
I do hope you please him more than you did, Jason.”
Ahmed smiled and took a couple of pillows off the bed,
tossing them on the floor. “Up my beauty... and kneel,” he
ordered.
Sobbing, Julia struggled up. Her eyes were wild, she
trembled incessantly. There, right before her, swung Ahmed’s
massive weapon... ready to ravage her. She knelt.
The negro knelt down behind her, clamping big black hands
on the fronts of her thighs, pulling them apart. The he
positioned himself and entered. Julia uttered a long, low
moan.
Out... then in...
Out... then in...
Out... then in...
Out... then in...
Ahmed’s haunches moved with a steady, easy rhythm. He had
none of the violence of Jason, but, all the same, he drove
home to the hilt each time, his belly slapping to Julia’s
soft white bottom. The negro even had time to wink at his
companion.
“She’s warming up a bit now,” he said.
Out... then in...
Out... then in...
Out... then in...
Out... then in...
“Use your arse of yours, girl... use it... or I’ll take
the skin off it!” Ahmed’s voice was suddenly harsh.
Quentin smiled delightedly. He was well aware that Julia
knew how to ‘use her arse’, but could understand her reluctance.
He watched fascinated as the white haunches began to act and
re-act with the black ones.
“That... that’s a bit... better... girl...” grunted
Ahmed.
Out and in...
Out and in...
Out and in...
Out and in...
The pace was warming up. And Julia’s haunches were keeping
up with that pace.
“Do you think she’ll come this time?” asked Quentin of
Jason.
“Could be,” nodded Jason. “she’s getting plenty, isn’t
she? And Ahmed’s not finished yet. He already had a fuck
earlier today. Plenty in reserve.”
Quentin nodded understandingly. “Good... good,” he said.
“Work it... work it...” Ahmed was saying, each time
slapping Julia on her flank.
The girl began to move her haunches in a more violent,
more animal-like fashion. Her rasping breath could be heard
and her head drooped as her nails scrabbled into the carpet.
“I think he’s got her going,” said Jason.
Quentin’s smile broadened and he sat himself on the edge
of the bed, pulling up Julia’s head by her hair, gazing into
her distraught face. “Let yourself go, my girl,” he encouraged.
“You should be delighted to be getting such a nice big prick
up you. Come along... come along... show your true colours.
Maidenly modesty does not become you, my dear!”
Ahmed was working up to a really furious pace, but one
could sense he still had something left. As for Julia...
encouraged or not encouraged... she was suddenly aware that
she was lost. That Nature had taken over. That she could
not contain the surging sensations within herself. The
ravaging organ had quite conquered her; fully possessed her.
As she had seen it possess Melissa. Yet had never believed
it could do the same to her.
Hating herself, she began to snort and whimper, her eyes
rolling. And through a mist of tears, she could see Quentin
grinning lasciviously, his face close to hers, still holding
her by the hair.
“Come... come... you randy bitch... come... you know
you love it!” he cried.
Julia did just that... with a long, shuddering, violence...
squirming and jerking uncontrollable... sagging down...
yet still held up by Quentin. Ahmed had to work hard and
fast to catch up with her, only succeeding about a minute
later... which only added to the frenzy of Julia’s orgasmic
contortions.
“My, my,” smiled Quentin, when the tumult of black and
white flesh had finally subsided, “you did enjoy that, Julia,
didn’t you?”
But Julia could make no coherent answer.
She could only weep.
She could only weep the bitter tears.
 Ten minutes later, Quentin still lounged on his bed. Well
content, Ahmed and Jason had taken themselves off. Quentin’s
final words to them had been to the effect that they had
carte blanche with Julia.
“If you are not otherwise engaged... and, of course, if
you fancy her enough... I’d like each of you to fuck her at
least once a day.” he had said.
“Sure thing, Mr Osman...”
“And we’ll train her up so that she gives as good as that
Melissa.”
“Yes, please do that,” Quentin had said, “you have my
permission to give her a good hiding any time you feel she is
not giving of her best. Julia likes to pretend she is not
all that keen on the male flesh and it is a trait which must
be eradicated. For it is simply not true.”
Julia’s expression while she was being consigned to these
black giants - and at Quentin’s instructions - gave her owner
the very greatest delight. Then he had ordered her off into
the bathroom annexe of his cabin.
“Take a shower, go and clean yourself and make yourself
presentable again!” were his words. What a joy it was to
treat her like that!
In due time, Julia returned. She had repaired the ravages
of her tear-stained face, brushed her rich, shoulder-length
hair, and her beautiful body was bathed, powered and perfumed
again. She sank to her knees by the side of Quentin’s bed.
“I expect you feel a lot better now, Julia” smiled Quentin.
“Yes, Master...” agreed Julia.
“I don’t mean because you’ve refreshed yourself... but
because of the good, solid fucking I arranged for you.”
A quiver of the lower lip, a twitch of the cheek. “Y-Yes,
Master...”
“And, as you will have heard, there’s plenty more to come.
Every time you get one of those big, black pricks up you, I
want you to remember you’ve got me to thank for it.”
A convulsive shudder. “Yes, Master...”
“There’s another thing, of course,” went on Quentin, “any
gentleman guest on the ‘Paradise’ can also now have you. So
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you aren’t kept fairly
busy.”
Julia was already fighting to hold back her tears again.
The new Hell that this gross monster, reclining before her,
was devising, did not bear contemplating. “Y-Yes, M-Master,”
she found herself saying, nevertheless.
“All right, Julia... run along and prepare a bath for me.
I’ve got to get dressed. Madame Vesta’s entertaining us to
cocktails at six.” Quentin had not quite decided whether or
not he would retain Julia as his body slave during his stay,
but she would do for the time being anyway.
The girl rose a little unsteady to her feet and made for
the annexe again. With the pleasure of possession, Quentin
eyed the swinging hips and the soft jiggling of the buttock
flesh... carrying the weals he had raised.
There was much more enjoyment yet to be obtained form
Julia!
Julia bathed and towelled Quentin, laid out his evening
clothes, even helped him put them on. He could find no real
fault with her service but all the same occasionally slapped
the girl’s bottom on the pretence that she was being a bit
slow or had not done something exactly to his liking. Julia
took those slaps with scarcely a sound. Then, when Quentin
was ready to leave the cabin, he fastened a leather collar,
which had a chain attached, around his lovely slave’s neck.
The end of the chain he then secured to a small ringbolt at
the end of the bed.
The girl would lie there, to await Quentin’s return later
in the evening. Doubtless, reflected Quentin, she will have
quite a lot to contemplate. Not only concerning the immediate
past, but the future too.
 CHAPTER FOUR

QUENTIN OSMAN ENTERED the main saloon of the ‘Paradise’ in an

exceedingly relaxed frame of mind. On the way there, he had
been considering how he would handle Julia. This policy of
‘rejection’ he found most amusing. It wasn’t all that difficult
to carry out, either, when there was so much female flesh
around to enjoy. He could, of course, leave the girl on the
‘Paradise’ indefinitely. That was what Julia obviously dreaded
most of all. Yes... he might do that, visiting her
occasionally, when he was in the mood, to have some fun.
Or, of course, he could do exactly what he had told Julia...
and that was, bring his fiancee Glenda Heine aboard, so that
she could ‘inspect’ his slave. It would be great to have
Julia serve, and service them both. Glenda would certainly
demand the latter since, although she was not entirely averse
to men, her preferences were of a lesbian nature. His
forthcoming marriage to this wealthy American - a brittle
blonde in her mid-thirties - was for reasons of finance and
companionship as much as anything, even though there had
bee, and would continue to be, some degree of sexual relations
between them. The two understood and tolerated each other,
sharing similar interests. From the outset, it had been
agreed that Quentin should have his girl-friends on the
side... and that Glenda should have hers. Glenda also knew
all about Julia and found it quite fascinating.
“I’d love to see her one day,” she had once said.
“Maybe that could be arranged,” Quentin had agreed. But
he was not too sure about it at the time. Madame Vesta might
not approve. However, having broached the subject to the
owner of the ‘Paradise’ no objections were raised.
And, if we ever did decide to take Julia off the ‘Paradise’
thought Quentin, we could keep her under lock and key in a
wing of that ancient castle-cum-ruin they had purchased
together in the Scottish Highlands. Nice and remote there.
Incarcerating Julia in a place like that should present no
problems at all. Still, he would consult with Glenda. If
she liked the idea, he would certainly go along with it.
Otherwise Julia could say where she was.
A tall, fair-haired man of around forty was standing in
the saloon when Quentin came in.
“Svenson...” said the man extending his hand.
“Osman...” replied Quentin taking the hand. It was a
firm, dry one unlike his which as inclined to be podgy and
sweating. All the same he sensed a certain nervous tension
in this man. An air of trying to look unconcerned, yet not
feeling it. Just like Quentin had been when he had made his
first visit to the ‘Paradise’. He knew how difficult it was
to adjust to the bizarre atmosphere of the ship and to take
naturally the things that were not at all natural.
To take as natural, for example, that an exceedingly pretty
girl, who was standing in the background with a tray in her
hand, was naked but for a few fetching items. A suspender
belt and black fishnet stocking and a pair of exceedingly
high-heeled shoes. Also frilly white maid’s cap and apron.
The apron was so short that it reached just to the top of the
swell of her depilated mound.
Once such a spectacle would have slightly unnerved Quentin.
Now ‘an old hand’, he took it completely in his stride.
“Fetch me a gin and tonic, girl,” he said briskly, “with
plenty of ice.” His eyes dwelt on the girl for a moment as
she turned to obey his order. She was a neat little thing,
with a nice, tightly-rounded bottom. Quentin could not
recall having seen her before.
“First time aboard?” he enquired of Svenson, with an
understanding little smile.
“Yes... as a matter of fact it is,” nodded the stranger.
“Takes a bit of getting used to, I know,” said Quentin in
a man-of-the-world fashion. “I heard you had Melissa this
afternoon? Or was it this morning?”
A startled, rather embarrassed look came to the blonde
man’s face and he flushed slightly. “How did you know that?”
he asked.
“Because I had her myself later on,” laughed Quentin.
“Miss Judith happened to let it slip.”
“Ahh... I see...”
 “Makes a marvellous fuck that one... quite some beauty
too...”
“Er... yes... yes... that’s quite true...”
Svenson looked even more embarrassed, so Quentin dropped
the subject for the time being and turned his attention to
the slave-girl who was bobbing a curtsey before him as she
presented him with his drink. He saw that she had high
breasts, as firm and as round as apples. She also had light
brown hair, worn in a pony-tail, and doe-like eyes. Eyes
that had that familiar look of dread and despair in them.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Marisa, Master,” came the whispered answer.
Very shy, this one, though Quentin. “Been here long?”
“A... About... t-two m-months, Master,” replied Marisa,
lips trembling.
Quentin’s inclination of the head indicated that the girl
could retire again and he seated himself in one of the
armchairs. Svenson took a seat opposite him.
“Swedish?” enquired Quentin politely.
“Yes,” replied Svenson. “I’m in the arms business.”
“Ah... plenty of money in that!”
“Fortunately,” said Svenson. For the first time he relaxed
a little and laughed. “Madame Vesta certainly knows how to
charge.”
“Too true,” said Quentin wryly. “Still I can assure you,
Svenson, she gives value for money. It’s worth every penny.”
“You’ve got a girl here then?”
“Oh yes... she’s fully trained now. I can tell you, it’s
the most delightful thing imaginable to send an arrogant
bitch here... and then return here to have her grovelling at
your feet ready to do anything. And when I say anything, I
mean it.”
The Swede’s eyes lit up and his jaw clenched. He rubbed
his hands together.
“Yes... I can imagine that...”
“You’re considering sending someone here, obviously.”
“Yes... my wife actually. I discovered she’s been sleeping
around with business rivals. What she told them could have
ruined me. Fortunately, I found out in time.”
“This seems just the place for her. What’s she like?
Young? A blonde Viking Goddess?”
“Twenty three or so. And yes... she’s what you might
describe as a Viking Goddess. Very tall; rather icy in
appearance.”
“They’ll melt her here!” laughed Quentin. “By the way,
you know about the silver and gold chains used here?”
“Yes,” nodded Svenson.
“What are you going to put on her?”
“Silver, I reckon...”
“Oh well, I won’t have the pleasure of her company then.”
Quentin suddenly looked rather smug. “I’ve just put a gold
chain on my girl... so you can have her whenever you like.
She’s a very similar type to Melissa.”
“Really? Well, I like that type. That’s very decent of
you.”
“Not at all,” smiled Quentin. “Now she’s wearing gold,
you’re at perfect liberty to send for her at any time. Like
anyone else.”
“Quite so... quite so...” mused Svenson. “Perhaps one
day I’ll convert my girl to gold.”
“The option’s always open,” said Quentin. He finished his
drink snapped his fingers at Marisa. The girl came hurrying,
apple-round breasts bouncing prettily. “Another one,” said
Quentin brusquely.
“And... and for me...” said Svenson, without quite the
same authority. But his eyes were hot upon the young girl’s
nubile body as she took his glass. Silver, he noted...
rather a pity.
At that moment, Madame Vesta entered. She looked even
taller with her black hair swept up in an elaborate coiffeur.
The eyelashes of her black, slanting eyes had been heavily
coated with mascara and this somehow made her look even more
evil and menacing than usual. She wore a full-length black
evening gown trimmed with fur.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said in that low, sombre
voice of hers. A voice which she could also make sound as
sharp as a whip-crack.
Both men rose. “Good evening, Madame Vesta,” they said
respectively. She was the kind of woman who inspired respect
in all, not only those in her power. The girl Marisa curtsied
low and the tension in her seemed to double at the appearance
of this formidable figure.
“Chilled white wine,” said Madame Vesta to no one in
particular. Quentin saw the girl’s hand tremble as she
poured the wine into a cut-glass goblet. Madame Vesta’s
black eyes regarded Marisa stonily as she took the wine.
This girl happens to be the youngest slave on the ship...
 “This girl happens to be the youngest slave on the ship,”
she said. “Not yet eighteen...”
The two men looked at her with renewed interest. Only
seventeen! What a pity about that silver chain. They saw
the colour mount in the soft young cheeks under their combined
lecherous gaze... before the girl was dismissed by a gesture
from Madame Vesta. “Another rather unusual thing,” she went
on “Marisa was not sent here by a man, but by her stepmother,
who thought the girl was having an undue influence on her
father and was affecting the marriage.”
“Indeed?” remarked Quentin, raising his brows.
“How was Julia?” Madame Vesta asked him.
Quentin clasped his hands over his fat belly and looked
smug. “Excellent” he replied. “You and your staff are to be
congratulated, as usual. Apart from her looks, I wouldn’t
recognise her.”
“Yes,” smiled Madame Vesta thinly, “her behaviour has
certainly improved since she first came here.”
“I haven’t actually had her yet,” said Quentin, and this
time it was Madame Vesta’s turn to raise her eyebrows. He
went on to explain his policy of ‘rejection’, for the time
being anyway, and was delighted by the expression of approval
that came to his hostess’s face.
“An unusual ploy,” she said. “And now it is my turn to be
congratulating you, Quentin. It emphasises even more to the
girl how absolutely you possess her. Good for her should if
not exactly for her ego!”
“Quite... that’s what I thought,” laughed Quentin. “I
gave her to Ahmed and Jason, though, with instructions for
them to fuck her every day, if they wished.”
Madame Vesta nodded. “Indeed,” she said. She was looking
at Quentin with considerably more respect... not having
previously suspected that this flabby, middle-aged Yank had
such subtlety in him.
Svenson was regarding him disbelievingly. “You... you
mean.. you haven’t had this Julia yourself... and yet...
and yet...”
“Yes,” nodded Quentin, smiling away. “It pleases me
extraordinarily this way. She’s in my cabin and you can go
there and have her now if you like.”
That faint air of embarrassment returned to Svenson. “I...
I think I’ll have dinner, thanks,” he replied, trying to
laugh the moment off.
 “Just as you like” said Quentin... very much the owner.
The three of them continued to drink and chat for another
half hour or so, with the delectable young Marisa flitting
silently to and fro with remarkable efficiency. But for a
quirk of fate, reflected Quentin at one point, this girl
could well be at some expensive finishing school. Wearing a
gym slip, he said to himself, as he gazed avidly at the
tightly-rounded bottom. It would be nice to have a schoolgirl!
“Shall we go in then?” enquired Madame Vesta at last. The
two men rose obediently and followed her into the adjoining
saloon. This was the dining room and a blonde and buxom
girl, garbed similarly to Marisa, stood waiting to serve
them. Quentin recalled her at once. This was the Danish
girl, Birgit, and she too was young, if he remembered alright.
Only nineteen. Magnificent half-melon breasts and fulsome
hindquarters yet with a very slim waist. She was the first
girl Quentin had ever had on the ‘Paradise’. A real juicy
bit. And had he needed it! It had been just after he had had
the divine pleasure of whipping a woman for the first time in
his life. That had been Melissa. He could still remember
vividly how that beauty had writhed and screamed even under
his inexpert lash. Some afternoon that. He wondered idly,
as Birgit came alongside him to serve - lush breasts swinging
pendulously - whether she remember him as well as he did her.
Probably not. Plenty of guests would have enjoyed her since
him. He ran his hand up the smoothness of the back of her
thighs and caressed her plump bottom. Birgit trembled
fractionally but did not recoil in the slightest. She was
often called upon to serve at dinner and was used to such
attentions.
“I am continuing Mr Svenson’s tour tomorrow morning,”
remarked Madame Vesta later in the meal. “Care to come
along, Quentin?”
Quentin well recalled the fascination and excitement of
his first tour. “Thank you... I would...” he answered,
trying to look casual about it. “What time?”
“Oh about ten thirty, I should think,” said Madame Vesta.
“We’ll meet on the sundeck, under the awning.”
“Fine,” said Quentin. He knew the spot well, having spent
a happy hour there watching the slave-girls move about the
decks. Or scrubbing them.
“Alright with you, Mr Svenson?”
“Yes... thank you Madame Vesta. I look forward to it.”
 “We can’t go on calling you Mr Svenson,” smiled Madame
Vesta.
“My name if Gunnar,” said Svenson.
“Gunnar,” they said together, nodding politely. By then
the wine was flowing with considerable freedom and Quentin
noticed that the Swede was now caressing Birgit’s bottom
whenever she came alongside him. Madame Vesta also noticed
it, it seemed.
“Do you fancy the girl? she asked.
“Quite,” responded Gunnar, his voice a little thick.
“She’s Scandinavian like yourself, of course” said Madame
Vesta. “I’ll have her brought to your cabin later, if you
like.”
“Quite a nice idea,” Gunnar said, grinning lecherously.
He was looking straight across the room at the big breasted
youngster whose features, however, remained expressionless
as she was arbitrarily consigned for sexual service. Again,
it was something she had grown accustomed to.
Quentin, oddly perhaps, felt a faint twinge of jealously.
He had been considering Birgit himself. That plump and
shapely bottom with the honey-coloured flesh was really
something. Still, there was Julia back in the cabin. Chained
and waiting. His.
No... he must not give way. It would be a sign of
weakness to take her so soon. He must continue his plan of
‘rejection’ for a long while yet. Still, he thought, with a
deep glow of pleasure, there is no reason why she shouldn’t
suck me. Julia hadn’t ever done that to him, not even when
she was his so-called mistress. He recalled what she had
said when he had once suggested it... and the pleasure
within him increased.
“I think I’d rather do it to a real pig than you,” had come
the scathing words, the mouth curling in a sneer.
Well, now Miss Haughty was going to have to do it. And do
it real good!
After dinner, coffee and brandy were served in the saloon
by Marisa and at about ten thirty, filled with food and wine,
Quentin made his way a little unsteadily back to his cabin.
It was incredible to realise, he thought, that such a civilised
and conventional dinner party could have taken place in such
bizarre surroundings.
And the slaves... those glorious, so submissive creatures
who only existed to serve. My God... what a prospect.
 Some would lie asleep in a state of exhaustion after
arduous duties...
Some would lie, still sobbing, enduring the throbbing pain
of weals and welts across buttocks and thighs...
One or more may have been receiving a merciless thrashing
in the Punishment Room, even while he, Gunnar and Madame
Vesta had been taking their ease in the saloon...
Some would be lying with wide staring eyes, filled with
despair, thinking of the days, weeks and months ahead...
Yes... the ‘Paradise’ was indeed a unique vessel.
Quentin opened his cabin and went in. Instantly, there
was the clink of chains as Julia knelt erect, parting her
thighs and placing her hands behind her head. The posture of
slavery. The posture of submission. Standing over her,
looking down, Quentin fondled Julia’s breasts. They were
very good breasts. Full yet firm. The nipples were quite
large and he felt them harden a little under his touch. That
amused him.
“Glad your Mater is back, slave?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” replied Julia huskily. She had been weeping
a lot in Quentin’s absence. Praying, too. Praying that he
would decide to take her with him when he went.
“I wonder,” grinned Quentin happily.
He turned and went into the bathroom... and when, a few
minutes later, he came back, he was naked. Gross and hairy,
punch wobbling, he waddled across the room and took the
collar and chain off Julia.
“You’re going to suck me, slave,” said Quentin. “Are you
glad about that?”
Julia’s nostrils flared slightly, her full lips quivered.
“I... I am honoured, Master,” she managed to say.
Quentin grinned hugely... drunkenly... as he seized
Julia by her long dark hair and peered close to hear distraught
face. “Good... good, he said “because, if I remember right,
there was a time when you felt rather differently!”
Julia just managed to stop her features crumbling completely.
She knew she should be showing pleasure, not distress, at the
duty she had to perform. She knew, too, there was a cane in
the drawer and, flown with drink, Quentin might thrash her
without mercy if she did not pull herself together.
“I... I have changed, Master...” said Julia. “B-Been...
changed, Master... and... and rightly so. Now I am your s-
slave, Mater... and I want to please you in every way... I
want to suck you... I swear it!”
“Oh that’s good... very good...” said Quentin, flopping
down on his back on the bed. “Then you can begin, my
pretty... but it might take some time... as... as I’m a
little drunk.” He parted his fat, hairy thighs. “You can
begin by kissing my balls... and go on doing it till I tell
you to stop. After that... you can to on... to... higher
things...”
“Y-Yes... Master...”
Julia slid between the thighs to begin her nauseous task.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth was twisting in revulsion.
Yet she knew she must give everything... use all her acquired
expertise... to satisfy this vile beast who had her in his
power.
“That’s it... my beauty.. that’s it.. suck... suck...”
It must have been all of twenty minutes since Julia had
begun her ministrations... using lips and tongue with skill
and zeal... yet only now had Quentin come to anything like
erection, at least Julia had something firm to suck on.
Julia felt the organ swelling in her mouth with mingled
dread and relief. At least it would soon be over.
She had kissed the revolting balls reverently...
She had kissed and licked the even more revolting penis...
She had taken - most revolting of all - the phallic head
into her mouth and sucked and sucked as if her life depended
on it...
Still no response. Except grunts of pleasure from the
beast. Oh yes... he was enjoying it alright! He didn’t
care if it took him half the night to get an erection. His
slave would just go on sucking him until he did. Doubtless
he enjoyed it all the more because it took so long.
“Mmmmm... you beauty... they’ve taught you well... suck
then... suck then...”
It was scarcely necessary to give Julia any such
instructions. She was sucking avidly as she knelt between
the flabby, quivering thighs... the hairy belly above her
head quaking.
Quentin’s head turned to one side on the pillow. His eyes
were glazing, his mouth sagged open. He was dribbling from
one corner of it.
Sheer Heaven!
His Julia was sucking him...
And, any moment, he was going to shoot into her mouth...
Mmmmm... you beauty... they’ve taught you well...
suck then... suck then...
 Right down her throat...
Yes... any moment!
NOW!
NOOO... OOOWWWWW!
There were sounds of a pig at a trough... if not several
pigs. There was a jerking and juddering of hairy flesh.
Dark head jerking, mouth working frantically, Julia went
on sucking until Quentin was dry...
 CHAPTER FIVE

ON THE FOLLOWING morning, after Julia had attended to his

toiletry needs, Quentin rang up Miss Judith on the house
phone and asked for the girl to be taken back to her cell.
“I expect Jason or Ahmed, or maybe both, will be looking
in there a little later on,” he said with a smile to the
kneeling figure. He liked the way Julia gave a shudder. The
dark lustrous eyes were on him wide and frantically pleading.
“M-Master... may I speak?” asked Julia in a low voice,
rather to Quentin’s surprise. The girl was taking a risk,
for slaves were not supposed to address their owner unless
they were spoken to. She must be pretty desperate, he
thought.
“Well?” Quentin kept his voice hard.
“Master... may I ask... h-have you yet decided? About t-
t-taking me with you?”
How delightful to have her begging him to remove her and
incarcerate her as his permanent slave! Who would ever have
once believed it? Nevertheless Quentin frowned.
“No, I have not, Julia,” he answered sharply. “And how
dare you ask me such a question, Girl? I’ve a good mind to
report the matter to Miss Judith. It’s sheer insolence...”
“Plee... eeease... no... M-Master...” Julia extended
her arms imploringly. She had already broken one rule... so
it was in for a penny, in for a pound.
“You admit it was insolent?”
“Yes... yes, Master... but... Master... I so much want
to c-come with you... as your s-slave... and the slave
of... of your f-future wife...”
“I am not interested in your feelings, Julia,” said Quentin
severely. “Only your actions.” He strolled slowly across to
the drawer, opened it, and took out the cane he had used the
previous evening. “However, I’ll deal with the matter myself.
Bottom up, girl!”
Nose to carpet... nails clawing... curvaceous bottom
thrusting... What a joy to whiplash the cane across that
bottom just as hard as he could! What a joy to hear Julia
squeal, to watch her squirm, yet keep her hindquarters high.
Again!
And again!
“I will not have insolence...”
Again!
“Aaahhh... I beg pardon... Master...”
And again!
“Aaaiiieeeee!”
The tops of the long white thighs were unmarked and Quentin
laid the sixth and final stroke there, drawing a yelping cry
of torment from his victim.
Quentin strolled back and replaced the cane whilst Julia
remained, weal-striped bottom upthrust, white shoulders
heaving. Painful as it had been, she had expected worse.
Also, she had not been reported to Miss Judith. Thus, in a
slave’s world, she had something to be thankful for!
At that moment, there came a knock on the door and, on
receiving permission, Jason entered.
“Ah...” smiled Quentin, “be so good as to take Julia away,
Jason.”
“Yes, Sir...” The hulking negro smiled in return, showing
a battery of gleaming white teeth. “Up with you, Missie.”
Julia stood a little unsteadily as a collar was put about
her neck. Jason took the end of the chain attached to it.
From the look in his eyes, thought Quentin, his immediate
intentions are fairly obvious. This was confirmed as Jason
led Julia from the room.
“Come along, pretty one, I’ve got a treat in store for
you,” he said.
Few men could have felt more contented than Quentin as the
door closed behind his erstwhile mistress.
After a light breakfast, Quentin went a little early to
the sundeck. He had his reasons... and was rewarded. For,
as he had hoped there would be, down on the lower deck was a
kneeling slave-girl, scrubbing and scrubbing.
It was a scene that took Quentin right back to his very
first visit to the ‘Paradise’. Indeed, the very first morning
when he had feasted his eyes upon a similar sight. Almost
disbelievingly then; now he took it as a matter of course.
 Quentin took up the pair of opera glasses from the table
beside him and focussed them on the naked girl. Her swinging
breasts and quivering bottom flesh came into close-up. So
did the sheen of sweat on her back. She wore a silver chain
and, Quentin guessed, was around twenty four or five. A
well-made strong-looking girl. She would, he realised, be a
relative newcomer to the ‘Paradise’. Deck scrubbing was one
of the ways of ‘breaking in’ girls to the arduous regime. As
yet, noted Quentin, the girl’s flesh was unmarked so she
would not have been long at her task nor would one of the
overseers been around to give her a little stimulus with the
leather thong.
Julia had scrubbed those decks, Quentin said to himself.
Day in, day out. Scrubbed till her arms and back were one
whole burning ache. And then gone on scrubbing. Because her
bottom burnt even more fierily due to the throbbing welts
implanted by the leather.
A joyous thought!
Then Quentin heard a footstep behind him and lowered the
glasses. It was Gunnar Svenson.
“Ah, good morning...” he said politely. He noted the
Swede’s eyes fasten at once on the kneeling figure below.
“Sleep well?”
“After I’d finished with that Danish piece... yes. Like
a log,” smiled Gunnar. “What a body she’s got!”
He’s acclimatising already, thought Quentin. “Yes... hasn’t
she,” he agreed.
“There’s not a bad one down there, either.” The opera
glasses changed hands and Gunnar got a close-up of the sweating,
nude figure.
“My God, they certainly put them though it here,” he
murmured after a while.
“It’s the only way to re-mould their characters,” said
Quentin dryly. He guessed that Gunnar would be imagined his
own ‘Viking Goddess’ sweating her guts out in a similar
fashion. As he had done with Julia.
The black clad figure of an overseer came strolling along
the deck... and Quentin rather wished he still had the opera
glasses. Still, Gunnar was on a first visit. He watched as
the overseer unlooped the long leather thong from her belt.
The girl was still scrubbing, her efforts intensified. But
no matter. The thong swung high and fell across her bottom.
The sound of it, and the accompanying gasping-cry came floating
up to them. The girl threshed like a white eel on the deck
and got two more strokes across her thighs.
“Christ,” said Gunnar, “she seemed to be working hard
enough...”
“Not the point,” said Quentin. “That is just to encourage
her to keep on working hard. She’ll have an hour or more to
go yet. And it’s getting hotter by the minute.”
“I am beginning to see how it is they are made to submissively
obedient” remarked Gunnar. He still had the glasses on the
girl, who had now resumed scrubbing, with three long, broad
welts across her white flesh.
“Even the most stubborn spirit can be broken,” Quentin
assured him.
At that point they were joined on the sundeck by Madame
Vesta, who was accompanied by Miss Judith. The latter was
introduced to Gunnar Svenson, who was obviously impressed by
the powerful appearance of the tall, commanding blonde
overseer.
“Refreshments first or when we return?” asked Madame Vesta.
“Er... when we return, I think,” answered Quentin, for
both men.
“Well, then,” said Madam Vesta. “Miss Judith has just
informed me that Miss Mara is holding one of her small drill
classes. Afterwards, we might go and look at the Treadmill.
That’s a fairly recent innovation on the ship. There’ll be
somebody on it, I suppose, Miss Judith?”
The blonde woman glanced at her wrist-watch. “Rebecca
should just about be going on now,” she answered.
Quentin pricked up his ears. “Rebecca?” he queried. “I
think I recall her. A Jewess, I think... and rather a hefty
one, at that.”
“Correct,” nodded Madame Vesta. “Her Master, Otto Gerbon,
ordered that she be put onto the Treadmill, twice a week for
an hour at a time. Said it might help to keep her weight
down.” A faint expression of sardonic amusement passed over
Madame Vesta’s face. “Well, gentlemen... if you will follow
me...” The owner of the ‘Paradise’ turned and led the way
down from the sundeck. As on the previous evening, she was
dressed all in black but her dress was now of a short length
and she wore a pair of lace-up leather boots. Miss Judith
brought up the rear, in her customarily abbreviated leather
garb. The partly made its way towards the stern of the
vessel.
 Before they arrived, all four could hear sharp words of
command being given. Then they turned a corner and an
intriguing sight met their eyes. Four naked girls were
marching with the precision of guardsmen across the deck.
Each carried a pack upon her back and word a waist-nipping
cincher-belt of red leather. They were shod with red leather
boots with six-inch stiletto heels.
“About turn!”
The command came from the tall figure in command of the
group. This was, the dusky-skinned Miss Mara; six feet of
athletic womanhood. Well-muscled yet not mannish. She wore
the same short skirt and bolero as Miss Judith, but hers were
of white leather not black.
“Please be seated, Gentlemen,” invited Madame Vesta,
indicating to four upright canvas chairs by the side of the
square over which the girls were exercising.
Quentin and Gunnar happily accepted the invitation and
feasted their eyes on the sights before them. The girls were
all much the same in height and build for Miss Mara hand-
picked her various drill squads in order to maintain this
kind of uniformity. Every slave-girl came under her orders
for one hour three times a week. It was all part of the
ship’s discipline.
The four girls came marching towards the chairs, features
tense and distressed, breast bouncing, thighs raising to the
horizontal with each step. Two were dark-haired, one fairish,
the others chestnut. Each had her hair pulled back into a
pony-tail held by a red ribbon.
“About turn!”
The four girls performed a regulation ‘about turn’ manoeuvre
right before the watchers, then marched away from them. Now
they were favoured with the sight of four straight backs,
loaded with packs, and four sets of swinging hips and joggling
buttocks beneath. Two of the squad carried a long red welt
across their flesh... evidence that Miss Mara’s thong had
already been at work. It was of the ‘standard’ kind, like
the one Miss Judith and all the other overseers carried.
“Those packs weigh fifty pounds,” said Miss Judith
informatively.
“Jeesusss!” breathed Gunnar.
“No wonder they look a bit fatigued,” said Quentin. “How
long have they been drilling?”
“Oh... no more than a quarter of an hour or so,” replied
Miss Judith. “This is more of a warm-up period.”
“About turn!”
Back the four came... high-stepping, arms swinging to
shoulder level. How deliciously those pairs of breasts
swung and bounced. There was a kind of unison in their
rhythm. The strain of carrying those heavy packs was evident
and one could see the straps which held them cutting into
soft flesh. And this, thought Quentin, was what Miss Judith
merely called a ‘warm-up’!
“Halt!”
One.. two.. a stamp of the foot and four girls pulled up
in line. Except that the one on the extreme left stumbled
slightly. At once, with long-striding, feline grace, Miss
Mara moved out on to the square. The thong swung.
Thwack!
It fell resoundingly across the errant girl’s bottom.
Gasping, mouth wide, eyes filled with pain, she staggered a
step forward before quickly withdrawing back into line.
“Watch it Gina,” bellowed the coffee-skinned overseer.
Gina was the girl with the chestnut hair and her bottom
already carried a swathe of pain.
“Do they keep at it for a whole hour?” asked Gunnar
incredulously.
“No,” replied Miss Judith, “they have a five minutes break
after half an hour. But you will note that the exercises get
more strenuous as the time progresses.”
“About turn!”
The squad turned like one, so that the girls had their
backs to the watchers.
“Legs astride... arms raised... bending and touching the
toes... GO!”
The four girls straddled their limbs, raised their arms
high and then bent over. They were, to say, the least,
displaying themselves most provocatively. Miss Mara prowled
behind them, strap swinging.
“Up!”
Up the four came together...
“Down!”
Down the four went together...
Thwack!
The strap rose and fell across a taut pair of nates and a
yelping cry rose up to the skies.
“Keep your legs straight, Cynthia!” barked Miss Mara.
 A couple of dozen times the girls bent, then rose, straining
under the weight of their packs. Every now and then, Miss
Mara’s thong thwacked across bare flesh as she gave some
reprimand.
“Up! Attention! About turn!”
Now the four girls were facing the audience again. The
look of distress on each face had intensified.
“Running on the spot! Begin!” bellowed Miss Mara. There
was no let up.
With arms straight by their sides, the girls began to
raise their thighs to the horizontal. Their movement had the
precision of a chorus line. Fascinated, Quentin watched
their heaving chests... not to mention the rolling, bouncing
pairs of breasts... and saw the gaping mouths as they sucked
in air.
Thwack!
The girl with the chestnut hair got it again.
“legs higher, Gina,” bellowed Miss Mara.
Idly, Quentin wondered how Julia had taken to these exercises
when she had first come aboard. She had never been much of
a one for exercise. Rather lazy,
in fact. Nor could one have said she enjoyed taking
orders! Oh dear, oh dear, what a time Julia must have had.
“Halt!”
Panting, and now glistening with sweat, the four girls
came to a halt. How long can they go on like this, wondered
Quentin? There must be almost ten minutes before the break.
He could only suppose that previous exercising had made them
all excessively fit. And, of course, there was the incentive
of avoiding Miss Mara’s swinging thong.
“Dumbells!”
The four girls scampered to the side of the figure and
picked up the pairs of iron dumbells lying there.
“They weigh ten pounds each,” said Miss Judith.
“Arms stretching and bending,” announced Miss Mara when
the four were in line again. “Upwards.. sideways.. and
forwards. Begin!”
Up went the arms high.. and straight. Breasts lifted,
muscles quivered. Then down again. Then sideways. The
effort was obvious. Back again. Then forward.
Oh the strain! Back again.
“Repeat,” ordered Miss Mara.
Again...
 And again...
And again...
And yet again...
And yet again...
Two of the girls began to sob with the effort. Once the
blonde’s arm sagged as she stretched them out. It did not
escape Miss Mara.
Thwack!
“Yyyaaaghh... aaahaaa!!!!”
“Keep your arms up, Liza!”
Again.. again.. again...
Quentin almost began to feel sorry for the sweating,
straining creatures. He could imagine the agony of it...
having to drive on muscles that kept repeating they had
reached their limit.
“It’s the last five minutes of each half-hour session that
really makes them suffer,” said Miss Judith. Her eyes were
glinting sadistically. It was very obvious she liked to
watch that suffering.
“Yes...” nodded Gunnar, “I can see that...”
All the girls were sobbing with exhaustion by then, and no
matter how often Miss Mara barked her commands, and no matter
how often her thong fell, not one of them could stretch and
bend her arms to the overseer’s satisfaction.
Finally, Gina collapsed in a weeping heap upon the deck...
there to receive stroke after stroke from the thong. But,
painful as that must have been, the girl seemed past caring.
“Alright... we’ll have the break,” called Miss Mara...
then strolled unconcernedly over to the group which had been
watching her. “Morning all,” she said, with a friendly
smile. One could never have imagined she had just been
driving four young women to the very limits of their endurance.
“Good morning, Miss Mara,” said Madame Vesta formally.
“You seem to be as efficient as ever...”
“I try... I try...” smiled the half-cast, glancing back
at the naked figures which sprawled on the square, breath
rasping, breasts heaving.
Quentin and Gunnar were introduced and added their
compliments. This tall powerful woman was somewhat frightening
in appearance even to them. It made one wonder how the girls
regarded her!
“Do you get many of them fainting, Miss Mara?” asked
Quentin.
 “Not too many,” she answered. “They shouldn’t because
they have a ‘booster’ injection before they come on parade.
If they do, they’re sent on Report.”
“On Report?” Gunnar looked enquiring at Madame Vesta.
“Didn’t I tell you about that, Gunnar?” asked the black-
clad figure. “On Report means having to attend the evening
session in the punishment Room. That’s not something any of
them look forward to!”
“That’s held every evening?”
“Well... every evening there is someone on Report, shall
we say.”
“I see...” mused the Swede. He watched Miss Mara strolling
back on to the square then saw her pick up a length of hose
pipe.
“Up!” she shouted “and against the railings...”
The four sprawling figures staggered up and over to the
side of the ship. Miss Mara turned on the nozzle of the hose
and a fierce jet of water thumped into the belly of one of
the girls, almost bowling her over. Casually, Miss Mara
turned the hose on each in turn and, despite its fierceness,
each one seemed glad to receive it and eagerly lapped up what
water they could out of the palms of their hands.
Dripping wet they were at last ordered back to the centre
of the square.
“Now they have what we call ‘Saddle Strap’ put on them,”
said Miss Judith. “It makes exercising considerably more
painful!”
Miss Mara advanced, carrying four thin thongs of red leather.
“Legs astride!” she ordered.
At once, the girls straddled their limbs. Coming to the
first, Miss Mara fastened the thong to a ring at the front of
the cincher-belt. Then she pulled the thong down and under
the girl... pulling it up again to fasten it to a another
ring at the back of the cincher-belt. The thong was pulled
very tight and the girl gasped out as it cut deep into her
tenderest of flesh. Unhurriedly, Miss Mara treated the
other three in the same way... before taking up her position
at the side of the square.
“Now,” said Miss Judith, “they do all their exercises over
again... but this time with the handicap of the Saddle
Strap.”
“By the left... quick march!” bellowed Miss Mara.
And off the four wretched creatures went again. Arms
swinging, legs raising.
But now they gasped and winced at almost every step...
and the cruelty of this device known as Saddle Strap was very
obvious.
Soon Miss Mara’s thong was falling with greater frequency.
Every time the girls turned away from their audience, their
buttocks seemed to have taken on a redder and redder hue.
Now, too, swathes of red were appearing across the fronts of
thighs.
To say the least, Miss Mara was relentless.
Cruel and callous in her commands and comments.
The drill Sergeant personified... but in female form.
After a quarter of an hour’s marching, the girls were put
to their bending and stretching exercises. Now even more
agonising than before, of course. Quentin had to keep reminding
himself that each of them was carrying a fifty-pound pack.
Incredible!
He wondered when the first one would drop.
But the threat of being on Report seemed to drive each one
on and on... and on... and on.
“Seen enough?” asked Madame Vesta, glancing at her wrist
watch.
“Er... yes... I think so,” nodded Quentin. When Madame
Vesta hinted, or made a suggestion, it was best to go along
with her.
“You’ll have got the general drift, anyway,” she said with
a thin smile.
Thwack! thwack! Miss Mara was hard at work!
“Yes...” said Gunnar. “I must say, I did not realise you
had such severe discipline here.”
“You approve, I hope,” said Madame Vesta, a shade sharply.
“Oh yes... oh yes, Indeed,” said Gunnar quickly. He
spoke no more than the truth. The idea of his ‘Viking
Goddess’ being on such a parade filled him with the greatest
pleasure!
“Very well, let us go and inspect the treadmill,” said
Madame Vesta. “Thank you Miss Mara!” she called as the four
of them rose and began to move off. But Miss Mara was rather
too preoccupied to answer.
Thwack... thwack... thwack... went her thong, as the
party left the deck.
Now the party made its way down into the lowest part of the
ship. What used to be termed the bilges in former times. It
was silent, rather dark and gloomy in the corridor they
finally arrived at.. Not a pleasant place to be, brought,
reflected Quentin. They came to a door which, on a plaque,
carried one simply word - TREADMILL. Simple but terrifying
for anyone who was going to be put on it! Miss Judith
unlocked the door and it swung open. She indicated that the
two men should go in and, with eager anticipation, they
complied.
It was not a very large room and the treadmill it housed
(which was rather like a large water wheel) was not fully
contained within it. It came down through the ceiling and
disappeared into the floor, only a quarter of the circumference
of the wheel being in the room at any one time. The steps of
this wheel-treadmill were something like eighteen inches in
height and three feet wide.
Rebecca was on the treadmill and, naturally, she took the
first attention of both men. She was in an erect position,
arms aloft, wrists being held by manacles set in heavy crossbeam
above. By placing one foot after another upon each step, she
was moving the treadmill round. That it took some effort to
turn the wheel was obvious. It was heavy and turned fairly
slowly. Rebecca had to step high each time and press down
firmly. Her buxom, white bottom swung judderingly from side
to side with each step and she grunted with the required
effort.
Quentin remembered the fulsomeness of that bottom... and
the splendid creamy-whiteness of the ample flesh. Yes,
Rebecca was a big woman alright and he recalled her owner
explaining that he liked his women that way. Fair enough.
Everyone to his own taste.
“There are thirty steps on the treadmill,” explained Miss
Judith, as they all stood there gazing at the sweating,
grunting figure. “If a slave puts her back into it, she can
turn the wheel completely in thirty seconds. Two revolutions
a minute. Or, if you prefer, one hundred and twenty in an
hour.”
There was a ‘click’ and a little metal flap to one side of
the wheel flipped over ‘81’, it read. To one side of the
flap was a small dial which indicated ‘45’.
Miss Judith now pointed to these. “The flap records the
number of turns,” she explained, “the dial, the time spent on
the treadmill. The occupant, as we can see them. So she
knew how she’s doing and what she’s still got to do.”
 “Intriguing,” smiled Quentin. Out of the corner of his
eye he saw Miss Judith, taking the thong from her belt.
“Rebecca, as you can no doubt calculate,” she went on,
“Should have achieved 90 turns by now. So she’s got something
to make up in the last quarter...”
The thong thwacked across the big, swinging bottom and the
sound was loud in that small room. So was Rebecca’s gasping
bellow.
“Get moving you lazy cow!” snarled Miss Judith... and
laid on the leather viciously again.
Rebecca’s bottom twisted and contorted violently with the
pain and, for a few moments, her ever-climbing footsteps
faltered. Then, as the woman grunted and groaned more loudly,
the pace of them increased somewhat. The effort she had to
make was evident by the quivering of the muscles of her
thighs and calves. Her full-fleshed body was so drenched
with sweat, one might have imagined she had just stepped out
from under a shower.
“I reckon,” said Madame Vesta, “she loses three of four
pounds after an hour on this.”
“What happens,” enquired Quentin, “if she does not fulfil
the number of turns?”
Miss Judith pointed to a rod which hung on the wall alongside
the indicators.
A potent inducement to effort! “I shall lay that good and
hard across her fat arse,” she said.
“Ahh... I see...”
“She will get two strokes for every turn of the wheel she
is short. So if she does only 110 turns, she gets twenty...”
Quentin wondered what it must be like to be on the
treadmill... and to hear this kind of conversation going on!
No wonder Rebecca appeared to be making even greater efforts.
“...she has to complete the required number of turns, in
any event,” Miss Judith was continuing. “She gets two strokes
each time the wheel comes round and the flap clicks over.”
“Quite salutary,” remarked Madame Vesta soberly. She was
obviously delighted by this new device for torment which she
had had recently installed.
“Ugh.. agh.. ugh.. agh...” grunted the wretched woman
straining every sinew.
The indicator passed 100...
Fascinated, Quentin’s eyes devoured the plump bottom,
swinging and juddering incessantly. What a fate for a woman!
She will get two strokes for every
turn of the wheel she is short
 ‘Click’,
105 had been reached...
Quentin glanced at the dial. There was but five minutes
to go. Rebecca had no chance of reaching her target. 15
turns in 5 minutes at the end of stint, was just not on. All
the same, the groaning woman made a supreme effort. As the
dial reached ‘60’ and the a bell rang, the flap registered
‘115’.
Five too few turns, so Rebecca had earned herself ten from
the rod for her ‘failure’!
Her head hung, her shoulders heaved, her breath rasped
stertorously. She was as near complete exhaustion as made no
difference. Miss Judith moved forward and took down the rod.
It was three feet long, highly polished, and a little thicker
than the one Quentin had used earlier on Julia.
“Right, slave” said Miss Judith, measuring the ample rump
with the rod, “you will now complete the task your Master set
for you!”
Somehow, Rebecca pulled herself up out of the depths of
her exhaustion and set her trembling legs in motion again.
‘Click’.
116 had been reached...
Instantly, Miss Judith whiplashed the rod twice across
Rebecca’s bottom... setting it writhing frantically as gasping
screams filled the small room. For a moment, in her agony,
the woman literally hung from her wrist manacles.
“Move it!” bellowed Miss Judith.
Somehow, only she knew how, Rebecca set the treadmill in
motion again. Slowly... slowly it turned...
‘Click’.
117... had been reached...
And once more the rod bit viciously into the ample flesh.
Three more times the performance was repeated. It was
incredible that any woman in the state Rebecca was, could
make such efforts. Yet she did... she did...
The over-riding factor was pain.
Yes... sheer pain was the driving force.
And, when at last it was all over, Miss Judith released
the near-fainting woman from her manacles. The heavy body
slumped to the floor, Rebecca sobbing piteously.
Then they simply left her there.
“I’ll have her taken back to her cell later,” said Miss
Judith, as they sauntered out... the overseer carefully
locking the door behind them.
To say the least, Quentin had been impressed by what he
had seen that morning. Gunnar Svenson even more so!
“Has Julia ever been on the treadmill?” asked Quentin,
when they had regained the pleasant warmth of the sundeck,
where refreshments awaited.
“Not that I am aware of,” answered Madame Vesta, glancing
at Miss Judith. The overseer shook her head. “Do you want
her to?”
“Well...” said Quentin slowly, “it’s something to be
considered, isn’t it? I’ll think the matter over... and let
you know.”
“Just as you like,” said Madame Vesta, rather primly.
Then she snapped her fingers... and shapely young Marisa
came running to serve them the drinks which had already been
set for their enjoyment.
 CHAPTER SIX

FORTY EIGTH HOURS later, dressed in a cool linen suit, Quentin

Osman was strolling along the deck of the ‘Paradise’, heading
towards the stern where a helicopter stood poised on its
platform. Behind him came Julia, carrying a pair of suitcases.
Her lovely face had a drawn, almost gaunt, look about it and
her lustrous eyes were brimming with tears. The strains of
the last few days were beginning to tell.. and now a moment
of crisis was approaching.
The departure of her Master.
Would he, or wouldn’t he, take her with him?
Certainly Quentin Osman had given no sign of having come
to a decision. He had simply gone on treating his new slave
as he had done on the first day of his arrival. That is to
say, heaping one humiliation after another upon her and
accepting her grovelling submission and absolute obedience
as something now perfectly natural. In addition, to his
immense satisfaction, Quentin had succeeded in his policy of
‘rejection’.
In this connection Melissa had helped considerably. And
so had the curvaceous young Danish girl, Birgit. On several
occasions Quentin had sent for the girls, either singly or as
a pair, and enjoyed them as the mood took him. On each
occasion, Julia had been a silent, enforced spectator of his
uninhibited lust.
As a variant, Quentin had twice more asked Ahmed and Jason
to come to his cabin... and handed Julia over to them. The
first time, the negroes took her in turn and upon enquiry,
they informed Quentin that Julia was now ‘co-operating’ better.
But then, Quentin had but to use his own eyes to see that
this was so. On the second occasion that the two black
giants were called in, Quentin had Julia perform fellatio on
Jason whilst Ahmed took her from the rear. He was gratified
to observe that both men reached a climax at virtually the
same moment.
It was Gunnar Svenson who announced he would have to cut
his stay a little short, as urgent business matters had come
up. Quentin decided to leave on the same helicopter, for
there would not be another one arriving for several days. He
was already well-satisfied - if not to say slaked - after his
stay as Madame Vesta’s guests. For all those marvellous
pills she gave him, a man of his age could take only so much
dining, wining and womanising at a time.
And there would always be another time.
Besides, there was Glenda Heine, his fiancee, to be consulted
about Julia’s future.
Gunnar Svenson was already standing by the helicopter,
talking to Madame Vesta. “Just leave all the arrangements to
me,” Quentin heard her say. “I should reckon your wife will
be safe and sound on this vessel within a month.”
Another satisfied customer in the making, thought Quentin
“Put my bags on the helicopter, Julia,” he ordered.
“Yes, Master...”
He watched with pleasurable amusement as the naked figure
struggled up the small ladder with the two bags. What a most
delightful backside the woman had! And... perhaps even more
delightful... there were still times when he found it difficult
to believe that this was the same arrogant woman he had once
known.
Oh God, Julia was praying, please make him take me off
this terrible, terrible ship...
Please... oh... please...
Anything would be better...
Anything must be better...
Surely!
As she stooped to put the bags in a luggage compartment,
Julia felt a hand clasp the golden chain about her waist.
“Hallo, beautiful,” came a leering male voice, “I see they’ve
changed you from silver to gold...”
Julia gasped with shock, turned, and saw the pilot’s grinning
face close to hers.
“So we’ll be able to have some real fun and games next time
I stay aboard,” he continued.
“Y-Yes... S-Sir...” Julia croaked. And her tears brimmed
over and began to run down here cheeks. Yes... now that she
wore the gold chain, anyone could have her. And that included
crew. It was one of the perks of all these trusted members
of Madame Vesta’s team, that they could spend three days in
any month enjoying themselves with the girls on the ‘Paradise’.
It was an incentive that not only made them keep their lips
tight shut about operation but also made them exceedingly
loyal.
The pilot patted Julia’s bare bottom. “I look forward to
that,” he said.
Julia, blind with tears, stumbled back down the small
ladder. As it happened, that brief encounter, and all it
implied, was the final straw. Despite all the training,
reason left Julia. Nor surprisingly, perhaps. At all events,
she lost control.
Suddenly the naked figure was sprawling at Quentin’s feet
clasping his ankles, sobbing and wailing hysterically.
“MASTER... OOOOOOHHHH... M-MASTER... T-TAKE ME WITH
YOU... OH FOR GOD’S SAKE... TAKE ME WITH YOU... YOUR SLAVE
BEGS YOU... YOUR SLAVE... BESEECHES... YOU!”
Interrupted in his farewell thanks to his hostess, Quentin
looked down. For him, it was a most superb moment and he
simply couldn’t keep the smug smirk off his face.
He looked at Madame Vesta, whose face was granite hard,
and shrugged his shoulders.
“The girl seems to have become quite devoted to me,” he
said.
“MASTER... MASTER... I’LL DO A-ANYTHING... TAKE ME...
OH FOR P-PITY’S SAKE TAKE ME!”
“Unforgivable behaviour,” said Madame Vesta.
“Well... yes...”
“MASTER... MASTER...” Julia was clasping Quentin’s ankles
in almost vice-like fashion, as if to indicate he and she
could never be separated.
“She will, of course, go on Report,” said Madame Vesta
with steel in her voice.
“Yes...” mused Quentin. “I think a really sound thrashing
might meet the case...”
Something of the enormity of what she had done just was
beginning to get through to Julia. Also, so were some of the
words passing between her owner and Madame Vesta. Suddenly
her mind was ablaze. I must be mad, it screamed” To do what
I have done, in front of her! Quite mad!
“MERCEEE... EEEEEEEEE!” screamed Julia, her lungs at
bursting point.
“At that moment,” said Madame Vesta, “I have in mind a
severe birching.”
“Whatever you say,” replied Quentin easily. He looked
down at Julia’s juddering white bottom and wondered what
state it would be in that evening. By which time, he would
be safely aboard a Jetliner on his way back to the States.
“I’ll just leave the matter to you...”
“MERCEEEEE... EEEEEEEEE!”
“Thank you, Quentin. Any idea of when you will be
returning?”
“Not too long... and I’ll be bringing my fiancee with me,
as I have said. In fact, she’ll be my wife by then.”
“MERCEEEEE... EEEEEEEEEE!”
“Have a nice honeymoon...”
“Part of it will be spent here, I reckon.” Quentin turned
and took Gunnar Svenson by the arm. “All set?” he enquired.
“Ready to go,” said the Swede. He was obviously quite
fascinated by the scene being enacted.
“MERCEEEE... .EEEEEEEE!”
Julia’s voice was cracking. Callously, Quentin kicked
himself free from her weakening clasp and moved towards the
helicopter. Then he turned back.
“Oh, Madame Vesta,” he said, “I think, in addition to the
birching, I would like to have Julia scrubbing these decks
every morning for a week.”
“A very good idea, Quentin...”
“And I think you might also put her on the treadmill. Once
a week, for an hour, will do...
“Certainly, Quentin. And, if you have any further
instructions, just cable me.”
“Will do...”
Quentin was mounting the ladder to the helicopter, behind
Svenson, waving farewell. Horrible, animal-like retching
sounds were coming from Julia, but they were lost as the
plane’s engine burst into life and its blades began to whirr.
Faster and faster they went, until the sound became a
roar, and the down-draught from them swirled wildly over the
platform. Then the helicopter lifted off and soared easily
away into the pale blue sky.
Julia did not see it go.
Only heard and felt it.
But Quentin, from on high, looked down for as long as
possible at the small white figure he could see still sprawled
on the deck. Smaller and smaller it became. It was incredible,
he thought, that so tiny a thing, could contain so much
torment.
Soon the figure was no longer separately discernible...
and the ‘Paradise’ became a toy boat on a silver sea.
Back on deck, Madame Vesta was giving orders for Julia to
be taken below and chained in her cell. She would have most
of the day to contemplate what lay in store for her that
evening.

******

“Marisa on Report!”
It was Miss Judith’s voice which echoed through the dreaded
Punishment Room... and it was the young girl who faced the
dais upon which Madame Vesta sat, flanked by her two negro
assistants, Ahmed and Jason. Marisa was weeping profusely
and trembling like an aspen tree in the wind.
By contrast, the only other occupant of that room stood
stock still and silent. This was Julia. Ever since the
morning she had been in a kind of trance, shocked into mute
numbness, it seemed. Now, not even the barest flicker of
hope remained within her. Once, she had imagined, she had
plumbed the depths; now, it seemed, there were still yet
further depths to descend.
To contemplate that was more than her mind and her emotions
could cope with.
However, it was not she with whom Madame Vesta was
immediately concerned.
“Facts, Miss Judith,” she said with her usual icy severity.
“A report from Mr Svenson, Ma’am,” replied Miss Judith
readily. “When he made some attempt to fondle Marisa she
tried to evade him and gave vent to what he describes as
‘hysterical protestations’.”
Madame Vesta frowned. Her black, basilisk eyes took in
the weeping figure, which looked as if it might crumple to
the floor at any moment.
“Reprehensible behaviour,” she said. More to herself than
anyone else, it appeared. “Are you not aware, slave,” she
continued, addressing Marisa directly, “that it is your duty
to accept - and accept gracefully and willingly - the attentions
and fondlings of any of my guests? That you do not attempt
to avoid them? That you do not recoil? That, in fact, you
proffer yourself to them?”
“I.. mmff.. I.. couldn’t h-help it, Madame.. I.. I’m
just not used to it.. oh p-please M-Madame.. you must
under.. understand...” sobbed Marisa.
“I do understand,” said Madame Vesta icily. “You found
these attentions not to your liking - and you strove to avoid
the. Quite contrary to orders you have received. In other
words, you were disobedient. This I will not tolerate.”
Madame Vesta paused; the girl swayed and moaned. “I will
make some allowance for your youth and the fact that you have
been here a fairly short while,” resumed the black-clad
figure. “On this occasion, you will receive ten strokes of
the medium birch...”
“Oh God.. NO... NO... not the birch!”
“...but Marisa,” continued Madame Vesta, quite unmoved,
“I shall not be so lenient if this sort of behaviour recurs.
If it does, next time you will receive twenty strokes.
Understand that quite clearly, here and now!”
Whether or not Marisa fully understood it, was not apparent.
She was more concerned with the present.
“Mercy... mercy... M-Madame...” she cried as she fell to
her knees. “I couldn’t help it... I c-couldn’t...”
“Ahmed... put her into the Whipping Pillory... Jason,
fetch a medium birch. Miss Judith will administer the
punishment...”
Relentlessly the punishment ‘machine’ rolled into action.
There was no resisting it. Once Madame Vesta had made her
pronouncement, it was carried out. No matter what. Only
Death could have intervened. And he was not going to!
Shrieking with terror, Marisa was secured into the Whipping
Pillory - neck and wrist clamped, her tightly-rounded
hindquarters curving over a bar.
“NO.. NO.. P-PLEEEE.. EASE... NO... OOOOOO!”
Julia still stood silent to one side. Very soon, she
thought, I will be where Marisa is. But to receive something
far worse. Perhaps, she thought, this time I actually will
die, rather than think I am going to if I receive just one
more stroke. It would be a blessed relief. Yet, even as she
thought it, Julia remained in the same trance-like state. It
was almost as if she were
outside herself. A stranger looking impassively as Miss
Judith measured Marisa’s clenching nates with the medium
birch. She knew the instrument well enough. It consisted of
ten green birch-slivers, each two feet six inches long...
each sliver a whiplashing, biting-burning agony.
“Begin...!” ordered Madame Vesta complacently.
Miss Judith, tall and powerful, birched the shrieking girl
with cruel efficiency. Also with obvious enjoyment. She
flayed the writhing bottom with strokes which slashed down
at two or three second intervals. Fast and savage punishment
which drove Marisa into a paroxysm of screaming torment.
It was all over in little more than half a minute, but what
the young and tender Marisa had endured during that time
would always be etched on her memory. One always remembers
most vividly the first time one is birched.
“Leave her where she is,” ordered Madame Vesta. “It will
do her no harm to stay there a while and reflect on the error
of her ways. Just move the Pillory aside, please Jason.”
The negro shifted the heavy wooden contraption still
containing its weeping contents.
“Julia on Report,” announced Miss Judith.
Automatically, Julia stepped before the dais upon which
Madame Vesta sat... as immovable as stone, as relentless as
doom. Yes, thought Julia, I am sure that this time God will
be good and let me die. She felt a strange calmness. Normally
in the Punishment Room she was a quaking jelly of terror, and
had sometimes had to be forcibly held by one of the overseers.
“I know of this case, of course, Miss Judith...”
“Yes... Ma’am.”
Madame Vesta regarded the naked woman before her stonily.
She felt no pity; nor did she feel a great deal of pleasure
either. This was her profession. She carried it out as
efficiently as possible in order to achieve the objectives
originally laid down. And they were the transformation of
Julia from her peaks of pride, will and stubbornness to the
lowest depths of utter submission and complete obedience.
Madame Vesta was not quite sure whether those very lowest
depths had yet been plumbed.
“It was my original intention to have you birched, Julia,”
she said with solemn severity. rather like a judge; as if
there were right and justice in what she was doing. “Severely
birched, I may say. Because I consider your uncontrolled
behaviour on the deck this morning quite outrageous. Quite
unforgivable after all your training. It reflects on me...
and I scarcely know what your Master thought.”
 Julia gazed silently ahead, seeing her tormentor and the
black, muscled giants with folded arms behind her. The words
were getting to her but, somehow, not getting through to her.
It was as if her brain had become numbed with shock.
“However, Julia,” continued Madame Vesta, “I have decided
to have you put on the Ring... and there I shall deal with
you personally.”
“Ooohh... no... oooo...” It was more like a groan which
came form Julia and she shuddered convulsively. The first
sound she had made. In the background, Marisa could be heard
as she continued to weep.
The Ring, it should be said, was a contrivance on which
particularly stubborn or arrogant slave-girls were put in
their very early days of training. Julia had been on it.
It was a raised ring of iron in the centre of which was a
low iron pillory. This inner pillory could turn through 360
degrees and, first, the victims neck and wrists were clamped
into it. Perforce, her hindquarters were uplifted and draped
over the iron ring... around which it was possible for her
body to move, in view of the circular mobility of the pillory.
When the Ring was put to use, it was about the only time
Madame Vesta punished personally... and she used a
particularly vicious instrument. It was a four-foot length
of tapering whalebone which had been tightly bound with
plaited rhino-hide. The last six inches or so of this deadly
instrument (actually a cross between a whip and a rod) were
studded with diamond-hard zircons.
“Put her on,” ordered Madame Vesta. She had expected that
Julia would be pleading hysterically and resisting by now.
However, neither of these things were happening. She watched
with some amazement as the girl walked in a zombie-like way
towards the Ring... and then placed herself over it. Admittedly
she was shuddering uncontrollably, but that was very
understandable. If Ahmed was surprised he didn’t show it but
simply raised the top section of the iron pillory and locked
in Julia’s neck and wrists.
I am going to die... I am going to die... Julia kept
repeating to herself. It doesn’t matter. It will be a
blessed relief. I just hope it doesn’t take too long. Soon
it will be over. Everything...
Madame Vesta picked up the vicious hide-plaited whalebone
rod. It swayed flexibly up and down in her grip. She felt
a sudden twinge of sadistic pleasure as she gazed at Julia’s
luscious white bottom. The bottom she was going to lacerate
without mercy.
The rod went up and came whistling down and bit deep into
the soft buttock flesh, the zircons biting into the flank.
As the long red-purple weal blazed its way across Julia’s
convulsing buttocks, the first terrible howling-shriek of
agony echoed around and around the Punishment Room.

******

Julia did not die.

As she had prayed and hoped.
On the other hand, she fainted three times (only to be
revived) during her fearful flogging. As her lovely body
twisted and threshed over the Ring... and twirled round and
round it in a vain attempt to escape the deadly strokes...
Madame Vesta laid on without mercy, whiplashing again and
again across buttocks, or the backs or fronts of thighs.
Whichever happened to be most conveniently presented. She
had but to step this way or that to find a target. Or wait
for Julia’s threshing hindquarter to come full circle!
Soon the white flesh virtually disappeared...
Weal overlaid weal...
Soon Julia’s vocal chords cracked under the strain...
and, though she shrieked in agony, no shrieking sound came.
Only a hoarse, rattling noise from the back of her throat.

******

The fourth time Julia fainted, Madame Vesta tossed away the
rod. She knew it was pointless to continue. The ultimate
limit had been reached.
“Take her for Treatment,” she ordered. “Keep her there
for the maximum.”
The maximum was three days and, despite the miracles which
could be worked in the Recovery Room, Julia was going to need
every one of them before her poor lacerated flesh was restored
to its pristine beauty.
Julia had been scrubbing for an hour and her back was a
mass of aches. The sun beat down and the deck shimmered
beneath her.
He ordered me this, she kept thinking. He... him... THAT
MONSTER!
Perhaps it was the heat of the sun affecting her, but
Julia found herself seeing Quentin’s face grinning up out of
the deck beneath. Sobbing, she would beat at it with the
back of the brush.
THWACCCKKK!
The thong of leather blazed across her bottom.
“What do you think you’re doing, you stupid bitch?”
THWWAACCCKKKK!
“Yyaiieeeee!”
“You scrub it... not hit it!”
TTHHWWAAACCCKKKKK!
“Aaaghh... aaiiieee!”
“Get on with it... come on, put your back into it...”
“Yes... Yes... Miss...”
Julia scrubbed and scrubbed, regardless of her aches and
her exhaustion.
She had to!
For Miss Judith stood there, with the thong ever ready.
And this was but the first of seven long mornings that she
would sweat her guts out... because her Master had ordered
it!

******

The treadmill turned with agonising slowness.

Julia’s thighs and limbs seemed filled with lead. She had
lost all account of time; and almost of place. She just
lifted one leg up after the other and pressed it down,
straining with effort. Perhaps I have died she thought at
one point... and this is Hell.
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Click...
Another turn completed.
How many more turns to go? How much time to make them in?
So drenched with sweat was Julia’s hair and brow that she
could not even see the dials. What did it matter? She was
sure she could not make it...
Click...
Soon Miss Judith would be back. Yes, soon now. With that
blazing thong of leather. Yes, soon now, Miss Judith would
be reaching up to take the rod down from the wall.
Julia sobbed and panted breathlessly with self pity...
and her never-ceasing efforts.
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Are my limbs still moving?
Click...
Yes, they must be. So keep them moving...
On and on...
Up and up...
Round and round...
Click...
It was my Master who ordered me to be put on this treadmill!
Julia was almost past caring when she heard the door
behind her opening. Soon... soon... she would be able to
stop.
“This is the treadmill, Mr D’Arcy,” she heard Miss Judith
saying. “We usually put a girl on it for an hour at a time.
She has to do 120 turns in that period... and it takes
effort believe me.”
“I can see that,” said a male voice. “My God, this one
looks pretty done in.”
“Yes... she does, doesn’t she,” replied Miss Judith.
Then a low whistling sound came from her. “Not surprising,”
she said. “This girl has done 12 more turns than her allotted
stint. That’s very odd. And most unusual, I can assure you,
Mr D’Arcy.”
“Yes, that does seem strange. Perhaps she’s stronger and
fitter than some.”
“She should be,” said Miss Judith smiling thinly.
“Actually, I think the girl’s idea was to try and curry
favour with me...”
“Nice shape,” commented Mr D’Arcy.
“I’ll have her sent along to you, if you like, Mr D’Arcy.
When she’s recovered, of course.”
“Not a bad idea that...”
“Julia,” said Miss Judith with sudden sharpness. “You can
stop turning the treadmill now!”
Julia finally stopped. And hung by her wrist manacles in
a dead faint.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

“WELL NOW, HOW did it go then?”

Glenda Heine, wife-to-be of Quentin Osman eased herself
further into the soft cushions piled on the Ottoman upon
which she reclined. She wore a lightweight trouser-suit of
flower design. Her light, blonde hair fell to her shoulders
and this lessened the hardness of her rather angular face.
She was a woman who once might have been pretty but now, in
mid-thirties, was no longer that. On the other hand, she had
not become a beauty. In effect, she had one of those rather
timeless American faces. Rather immobile; verging on the
‘plastic’.
“Very well,” smiled Quentin Osman.
He never felt quite at ease in Glenda’s luxurious penthouse
apartment. Not did he ever know quite why that was. It was
a pity she hadn’t agreed to come to his house on the outskirts
of town.
“Been fucking yourself silly, I suppose,” said Glenda with
a little curl of her pale-pink, almost translucent lips.
Very thin lips, they were.
“Not so...” answered Quentin with a certain demureness.
“You mean to say, after all you’ve done - and paid - you
haven’t been really taking it out of that bitch?”
“I’ve been taking it out of her,” answered Quentin quietly,
“but, it so happens, I haven’t been fucking her.”
Glenda Heine looked slightly incredulous. She knew her
Quentin... and just how he felt about Julia.
“I can’t believe it,” she said.
“True though,” smiled Quentin. “Mind you - I had a little
touch of here and there with some of the others.”
Glenda smiled in return. “Ahh... that’s more like it.
That’s how thing go on the ‘Paradise’.
“Yes... that’s how they go,” agreed Quentin.
 “Well... tell me all about it then...”
Glenda had been expecting Quentin to be brimming over with
details of all the fun he’d had with his ex-mistress - now
his slave. But in the main seemed strangely reticent.
“Not much point,” said Quentin. “The girl wants to remain
as my personal slave indefinitely. And yours, too. She said
she would serve you in any way you want. Just as she has to
serve me.”
“Sounds interesting,” replied Glenda, raising pencil-thin
eyebrows. “Does she mean it?”
“She can’t help but mean it,” answered Quentin. “I own
her body and soul. I’ve only to send a cable at this very
minute and I can have her whipped.”
“Even more interesting,” smiled Glenda. “I always knew
you were a sadist Quentin. Did you know I was one too?”
“I guessed it,” nodded Quentin. “Perhaps that’s one of
the reasons why we get on so well together.”
“The difference is, I’ve never properly been able to indulge
my sadism.” said Glenda. “Never had an unwilling girl please
me. I reckon that would be really something.”
“It is,” grinned Quentin lecherously. His mind flickered
reflectively over the delights of Melissa.
“So, are you asking me something? I gather you want this
Julia as some kind of permanent slave. I don’t quite know
how you’re going to organise that. Especially from the
security point of view.”
“Yes... I am asking you something,” replied Quentin. “I
want you to agree to both of us having Julia as a slave. To
serve us in every way. But, particularly in sexual ways. It
won’t interfere with our own relationship.”
Glenda smiled wryly. “No, I imagine not,” she said. “I’m
all for this. It’s just that I don’t see how it can be
arranged.”
“Craigness,” said Quentin. “We own it. It’s isolated.
Just needs a little conversion... and we can keep her
there.”
“Possible...”
“But I’d like you to look her over first.”
“Julia, you mean? Well, I wouldn’t mind. Just for kicks.”
“But you agree in principle to what I am suggesting?.
“That we keep the girl as a slave? Oh yes! It sounds the
greatest fun. I just want to make sure about the security
aspect.”
 “Leave that to me... and Madame Vesta.”
“Very well...”
Quentin Osman stood up and moved towards the drinks cabinet.
He had not though that Glenda would make any objection to his
proposal, still he was glad everything had gone so smoothly.
Perhaps that was the main reason why he intended to marry
Glenda. She was the kind of woman who took the most bizarre
sort of suggestion without turning a hair. A kink. A
pervert. Unbalanced in so many ways. Yet absolutely balanced
when it mattered most. Yes... he liked that type.
“And have you had a good time while I’ve been away?” he
asked.
“Not very,” answered Glenda. “Had a row with Sandra.
I’ve got an idea she’s falling out of love with me.”
“Oh dear... what a pity...” Quentin was aware that Sandra
was one of Glenda’s most long-standing girl-friends.
“In a way,” sighed Glenda, accepting a drink from Quentin.
“But there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“And Julia,” smiled Quentin.
“Yes.. and Julia,” smiled Glenda in return.

******

“What about staff at Craigness?”

It was coffee-time after dinner in just about the most
expensive restaurant in New York.
“I could take Havers over,” replied Quentin. “I’ve got
enough on him to be absolutely sure he keeps his mouth shut.
Apart from that, he’d love having Julia occasionally. He’d
make a first class factotum.”
“Mmm.. yes.. I agree. I’d need somebody, of course. A
general amid.”
“Apart from Julia?”
“Yes.. of course apart from this Julia. We need some
proper staff as well.” Glenda sat pensive for quite some
time. “I think Rosalie is the answer,” she said at last.
“I’ve got enough on her, too, to keep her quiet. She was
that abortionist, remember?”
Quentin didn’t, but nodded. “Right then,” he said, “is it
agreed that all the other details are left to me? Organising..
timing.. and so on?” Naturally he had Madame Vesta in mind
as the one who was really going to lay it all on. But then,
why own a dog and bark?
 “Yes.. that’s agreed, Quentin. Order me another brandy,
my sweet.”
“A pleasure, my darling,” smiled her swain. “I’m so glad
we’re agreed on this one.”
“If we weren’t” answered Glenda, her pale blue eyes just
about as cold as slate, “we wouldn’t be getting married.”
“It takes a hard one to know a hard one,” said Quentin.
“Doesn’t it just,” smiled Glenda.
Outwardly she looked as tough as old boots. Inside she
was a jelly of excitement at the very idea of having someone
like Julia to play games with. After all, it is an accepted
fact that the female of the species is cruellest to its own
kind.

******

Cable to the ‘Paradise’

‘Now on honeymoon. Wish to bring my bride aboard in ten days
time’

Cable from the ‘Paradise’.

‘You’ll be welcomed aboard. And your bride. Julia is
behaving.’

Cable to the ‘Paradise’

‘Return Julia to silver. She is to be untouched ready for
the arrival of my bride.’

Cable from the ‘Paradise’

‘Your instructions received. Will comply. Julia still
behaving.’

******

Prior to leaving for a month long honeymoon in the Bahamas,

Quentin had flown to Scotland, landing at Ayr with his man
Havers and then driving North to the remoteness of Craigness.
This was a grey stone manor which Quentin had bought some
years before with the idea of using it for salmon-fishing and
shooting parties. It had only been used once for such a
purpose and had largely remained unoccupied.
“It will need quite a lot of renovation,” Quentin had told
Havers, “apart from the modifications I mentioned.”
 “I should imagine so,” Havers had smiled. He was a bullet-
headed man of around forty with a typical criminal face...
an opportunist who had turned his hand to many things; he had
also done several stretches. Now Quentin had enough evidence
of a certain crime to send him to gaol for life... so
naturally Havers was prepared to play ball, whatever Quentin
Osman said. Having made the position clear, Quentin did not
mention, or threaten Havers, again.
“The main thing is for you to keep your mouth shut tight.
See all, hear all, say nothing. I shall pay you will... and
you’ll occasionally be able to have some fun yourself. My
wife is bringing along a personal maid. If you play your
cards right, you should be able to enjoy yourself in that
direction as well. Remember, you’ll be alone at Craigness
for a lot of the time. Apart from Julia, naturally. But
she’ll be kept in her own private quarters. Got it?”
“Yes... I’ve got it. You can trust me, Quentin...”
“That’s why I chose you. Nut just one slip up and your
finished Havers.”
“I won’t slip up,” Havers had promised. He knew a good
billet when he saw one! Not that he was exactly taken with
Craigness when he first arrived. It was a bleak, stark
Victorian-style building, all the bleaker when seen in the
winter mist.
“You can get builders and decorators from Inverness to do
the renovations,” said Quentin. “Spare no expense. I want
this place exceedingly comfortable inside. As to the
modifications in the cellar, you’ll have to undertake those
yourself, on security grounds.”
“Of course...”
“Get in all the materials you need and go to it. You have
my outline plan. Soundproofing and escape-proof system are
absolutely essential.”
“Of course, boss...”
“Don’t worry about equipment, I shall be bringing that
with me.”
“Right...”
So it had been lift before Quentin and his bride flew off
into sunnier climates. And he was confident that Havers
would do a first rate job in the time allowed. The man was
an excellent organiser. Simply a pity that he was a crook.
Tanned and well-rested, Quentin and Glenda flew from the
Bahamas to the Far East. There they put themselves in the
hands of Madame Vesta’s organisation... and were soon on the
secret undercover route that ultimately
ended at the ‘Paradise’.
They helicoptered in late one afternoon.
Looking down from a great height, Quentin saw the vessel
just as he had left it. Like a toy. Then he thought of its
cargo. Its naked cargo, as he had once called it. He
thought especially of Julia, his own personal slave. Awaiting
his pleasure. And Glenda’s pleasure. It would be amusing to
see Julia’s reactions to having to service a woman. And,
thought Quentin with a sudden exhilarating glow, I reckon
this time I’ll fuck her. There were limits to his initial
policy of ‘rejection’!
The plane touched down softly and the blades quietened as
they slowly revolved to a halt. Madame Vesta was waiting to
receive the couple. She appeared absolutely no different,
garbed as ever in black and shod in lace-up boots.
“Welcome aboard,” she called as they reached the deck.
“Hi there, Madame Vesta,” replied Quentin. The thought
flashed across his mind that he, and everybody else, always
called her Madame Vesta. Not simply Vesta. She was that
kind of woman. “Meet Glenda...”
“I’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”
“Thank you, Madame Vesta,” said Glenda. Quentin could see
that she, too, was impressed by the owner of the ‘Paradise’.
She had the most remarkable aura of authority.
“I expect you’d like to go below and freshen up right
away,” said Madame Vesta.
“That would be nice...”
“This time, naturally, I’ve allocated you a double cabin,
Quentin.”
“Thanks...”
“And for the moment, I’ve given you just one personal
maid. It’s Marisa. If you want another one, just let me
know.”
“Sure thing...” Quentin felt pleased it was Marisa and, on
the way down to the cabin, he explained to Glenda that the
girl was the youngest slave on board.
“Only seventeen!” said Glenda. “My God, poor little bitch.
What a life at her age.”
“It’s the luck of the draw,” said Quentin callously. “It’s
no use getting soft and sentimental on this ship.”
“Don’t worry,” laughed Glenda. “I think I might surprise
you, my dear Quentin. I told you... I am a natural born
sadist who, hitherto, has been rather frustrated.”
The cabin was luxurious. Softly lit and furnished with
pink drapes and coverlet. The suite was in deep red leather,
with white leather cushions; the furniture had a Louis XV
look about it. Marisa was kneeling on a foot-stool at the
end of the bed, awaiting their arrival. She was, of course,
nude but for the tiny little white apron and cap, and a pair
of white leather high-heeled shoes. Glenda could not take
her eyes off the youngest; she was the first slave-girl she
had ever seen.
“Just use the house-phone if there is anything you want.”
said Madame Vesta.
“Thank you,” smiled Quentin. Already he was slipping into
the unique atmosphere of the ‘Paradise’. The door closed
behind their hostess and Quentin put his arm around Glenda.
“It takes a little time to relax.. to acclimatise...”
“Does it?” replied Glenda. There was the faintest trace
of a smile on her thin, pale pink lips. She strolled over
and stood before the kneeling Marisa. The girl’s eyes flinched
as they met the cold blueness of Glenda’s gaze.
Then Glenda smacked the girl’s face. Hard. She used the
palm of her right hand and, as Marisa’s head jerked round,
Glenda gave her an equally hard backhander. Marisa gasped.
“You look a bit cheeky to me,” said Glenda harshly. “Get
down and kiss my feet, girl. I like to be shown a little
respect by my servants.”
Marisa did not delay a second to do as she had been
ordered. Glenda’s eyes looked triumphantly across at
Quentin’s.. who stood there with his mouth open. Glenda’s
instant action had certainly surprised him. My God, he
thought, she is a Dominatrix to the manner born!
“Well.. well...” he said.
“I think I shall acclimatise quite quickly,” said Glenda,
giving Marisa a sharp little kick in the shoulder. “Go and
run a bath, girl.. and then come back
and disrobe me.”
“Yes.. M-Ma’am.. yes.. at once, Ma’am...”
Quentin watched with amusement as Marisa scuttled across
the room, her young, tightly-rounded bottom swinging and
bouncing. It certainly was a pity about the silver chain!
“And there was me thinking I’d have to wise you up on how
to behave here,” laughed Quentin, taking off his jacket.
 Glenda’s lips curled fractionally. “Where are the
instruments of correction kept?” she asked.
“Usually in a drawer.. the dressing table drawer...”
Glenda went across and opened it. She took out the single-
thonged strap and slim, whippy cane with hooked handle which
lay there. “These standard?” she enquired.
“More or less.. for bedroom use, that is,” said Quentin.
“Of course, there are longer, thicker and meatier ones for
proper punishments. These are just meant to give a girl the
odd reminder.”
“I see,” nodded Glenda. She seemed satisfied and replaced
the two implements and closed the drawer.
A short while later, Marisa came hurrying back into the
bedroom.
“Your bath is ready, Ma’am,” she said. She was a cowed and
terrified little creature. Understandable. She had received
a second birching since her initial one of ten strokes. It
had consisted of twenty strokes... and Marisa’s most urgent
desire was not to return to that Punishment Room. All her
energies, all her mind and will, were devoted to that cause.
“May I undress you, Ma’am?”
Glenda nodded curtly and Quentin, stretched out on the
soft bed, and watched idly. Glenda had a svelte, well-kept
figure. Good, but without the curvaceousness of a Julia or
a Melissa. When the last garment had been removed she
strolled to the bathroom with Marisa close in attendance. My
wife is obviously going to enjoy herself here, reflected
Quentin with an inner smile. So much the better.
Then he considered the afternoon and evening ahead. After
he had taken a bath, it might be an idea to send for Julia
right away. To get his ex-mistress and his new wife acquainted.
Still, he’d be guided by Glenda’s wishes on that. This was
largely for her benefit.
There came the sound of Glenda’s sharp voice from the
bathroom.
“My God, girl.. this water’s far too hot for my tender
skin. Help me.. out.. quick.. quick!”
Then there was the sound of several hard slaps. Quentin
grinned. What a marvellous woman he had married!
“Go and fetch that strap out of the drawer...!”
Quentin grinned even more broadly. Marisa came scurrying
in, face tense, to fetch the strap. Then she disappeared
again.
 “Bend over the stool!”
There was the sound of leather on flesh.. and a gasp from
Marisa.
Again.. thwack!
“Oww... oww!”
Again.. thwack!
“Ahh.. owww!”
I wonder how many she’s going to give, thought Quentin. I
hope she keeps a sense of proportion. Mild faults should be
treated mildly, serious ones seriously. Glenda would learn
that.
Again.. thwack!
“Oowww!”
Again.. thwack!
“Aahhh...”
“Get up, girl... and run some cold water in.”
“Y-Yer.. ess.. Ma’am... at once, Ma’am... I beg pardon,
Ma’am...”
Five, said Quentin to himself. Sensible woman. That was
just about what Marisa’s offence deserved. It did not seem
that Glenda had very much to learn.
He closed his eyes to the sloshing sounds of water and
Glenda’s crisp orders as she took her bath.
Perhaps he dozed, for when Quentin opened his eyes again,
Glenda was seated before the dressing table mirror, wearing
a long white dressing gown, and Marisa was brushing her hair.
“Taking a bath? asked Glenda, seeing Quentin awake.
“I think I’ll have a shower,” answered Quentin. “If
you’ve finished with Marisa, I’ll have her into soap me.”
Glenda’s lips twitched in a fractional smile. It must,
she thought, be quite something for a fat, middle-aged bastard
like Quentin to have a ripe 17 year-old do that for him!
Still, good luck to him. He’d been smart enough to organise
the whole set-up. “sure,” she said, any time.” She gave
Marisa’s reddened bottom a slap. “Run along, girl,” she
said. Never, never had she had such a
delightful personal servant. How often she had wanted to
order some hotel maid about and slap her face if she didn’t
please her! Now she could do far more than that.
Quentin stripped off the rest off his clothes and waddled
into the bathroom after Marisa. The girl was already running
the shower, adjusting the taps to her the right heat and
flow. She didn’t want another strapping! She stepped aside
as Quentin approached the cubicle. “Oh no...” he said, “you
come in with me...”
Marisa’s pretty features quivered and she bit her lower
lip. All the same, she stepped quickly into the shower. Two
birchings and a further warning from Madame Vesta had made
her realise that, whatever her feelings, she must submit
with apparent willingness to the obscene maulings of whatever
beast of a man happened to fancy her. And, it need hardly be
said, the gross, pot-bellied Quentin Osman particularly
revolted her.
No sooner had she picked up the soap than Quentin pulled
her to him, crushing her apple-round breasts to his chest,
squeezing those tight bottom cheeks. “Soap me, little one,”
he said.
The girl did her best, but could not get very far in his
bear-hug. “I... I can’t do... do any more, Master,” she
whispered, “if... if you hold me like this...”
Quentin released her. “Soap my prick,” he said, grinning
hugely. He was swelling and stiffening fast. Marisa did as
she was told, clenching her teeth. The effort she had to
make was very obvious. “That’s good,” said Quentin. The
girl went on soaping him, quite unnecessarily.
Then, when he was fully erect, Quentin took the soap from
the girl “Open your legs, my pretty” he ordered.
Marisa hesitated. But only for a fraction of a second.
The memory of those birching was strong! Looking down into
the girl’s face, holding her by her hair so that her head was
tilted back, Quentin massaged the slippery bar of soap between
the girl’s sex lips.
“Nice?” he asked after a little while.
“Y-Yes... sss... M-Master,” whispered Marisa, blinking
back her tears.
“Get hold of my prick...” said Quentin. “That’s it. Now
play with it. Gently. Just gently. That’s it...”
He dropped the soap and began to use his fingers between
the soapy lips... and then concentrated on the clitoris. “I
am going to make you come,, girlie,” he
said lecherously, still gazing down into the distraught
features.
“Y-Yes... M-Master...” Marisa shuddered violently. The
sickness was rising with her. Yet she had to fight it down.
She had to endure this monstrous indecency. She had to!
“Don’t try and fool me,” warned Quentin. “I shall know...”
Soap my prick, girlie...
 “Yes... M-Master...”
Quentin frigged the girl expertly, sometimes delving in
with his fingers. He knew what he was about and he knew the
girl would not be able to resist him, despite all her loathing
and revulsion. That was the way of the world!
Soon he was aware of a greater warmth and an even greater
wetness of the soft young lips which parted so easily under
his probing, titillating fingers.
“Nice?” He breathed.
“Y-Y-Yes.. ss.. Master...” nodded Marisa. The tears
were running down her cheeks.
“Feel you’re going to come soon?”
“Y-Yes, M-Master...”
Grinning lasciviously, Quentin worked his fingers faster.
My God, only seventeen he thought... and his prick jerked
under the girl’s gentle massaging. He’d have to be careful.
Much as he would have liked to let go, it would be wise to
save himself for something even more enjoyable later.
Marisa began to moan, her eyes closing. Then her haunches
and bottom began to give little jerks.
“That’s it,” said Quentin, “lovely, isn’t it, eh?”
Marisa had began to pant. Quentin knew the girl had
passed the point of no return... and he revelled in it.
“Go on... spend... spend... you little beauty,” he said
thickly.
The young body... the sex all hot and slippery... suddenly
jerked violently and Marisa collapsed against him, her mouth
opening, harsh rasping sounds coming from it.
“Lovely... just lovely...” smiled Quentin, continuing to
titillate his victim until the last spasm was rung from her.
Then he gave the girl’s bottom a stinging slap. “O.K... off
with you, little one,” he ordered with a raucous laugh.
Sobbing, face buried in her hands, Marisa tottered out of
the shower.
Still laughing, Quentin turned on the cold water. Partly
to remove the soap, partly to freshen himself up, but mainly
to get rid of his erection. Marisa was still drying herself
when he emerged... and he wondered in the bedroom with his
bath-towel draped around himself.
“What have you two been up to?” asked Glenda, with a mock-
expression of wifely indignation on her face.
“Nothing... nothing, my dear,” answered Quentin, smiling
away wickedly.
 “I don’t believe you,” said Glenda smiling back.
“Well... I couldn’t have been fucking her, could I?” he
said. “Not with her having that silver chain on.”
“I wouldn’t put it post you...”
“Oh no... I very much respect Madame Vesta’s rule on
that.”
“Well, what were you up to?”
Quentin managed to look suitably guilty. “I played with
her. Frigged her.
Till she came...”
“Lucky her!” laughed Glenda. She could just imagine what
it must have been like for that girl to have to submit to
such attentions from Quentin. The idea pleased her greatly.
Yes... life aboard the ‘Paradise’ was certainly going to be
fun.
“Yes.. lucky her,” agreed Quentin.
“What’s the programme?” enquired Glenda, in a wifely way.
“That’s rather up to you, my dear,” said Quentin, all
husbandly concern.
“Thanks...”
“We could have Julia sent up. We’ve got a couple of hours
to play with before evening drinkies with Madame Vesta.”
“Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all...”
“You might as well make the young lady’s acquaintance as
soon as possible.”
“Yes,” nodded Glenda. “I must say I’ve been looking
forward to that.”
Quentin picked up the house-phone.
“Mr Osman, speaking,” he said. “Have Julia sent up to my
cabin right away.”
“Certainly, Sir,” answered the unseen voice.
Quentin replaced the receiver and towelled himself dry.
Then he put on a dressing gown and seated himself in one of
the armchairs to wait.
And he, like Glenda, waited most expectantly.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

“NOT BAD... NOT bad at all...”

It was Glenda who spoke. At her feet knelt Julia in the
required slave posture, with hands clasped at the back of the
neck, back straight, thighs splayed.
“I am glad you approve,” said Quentin, smiling down
possessively. Julia looked no different, he thought, except
that possibly her features were more set in a mask-like mould
of control. Glenda raised a bare foot and jabbed at one of
Julia’s breasts with a toe. “Good boobs,” she said.
“Yes,” nodded Quentin, “and an excellent backside too.”
“I haven’t studied that yet,” said Glenda.
“Show your Mistress, slave,” ordered Quentin sharply. It
was a delight to be able to show Julia off in this way to
another woman.
Instantly Julia twisted around and thrust her hindquarters
high in the air.
“Mmmm...” said Glenda. “I see what you mean...”
On her brittle face gleamed cruel pleasure. It was quite
wonderful to see a woman being made to do such things. But
still she found it incredible that she could be made to do
them. Could she herself, she wondered, be made to abuse
herself so? It certainly did not seem possible. Yet, from
all she had heard of the Julia of former days, she was as
proud, arrogant and as stubborn as they make them. Yes.. it
was quite remarkable.
“Alright, kneel up again, Julia,” said Quentin.
Julia resumed her former posture, her face still impassive.
She had gained a considerable amount more control since I was
last here, thought Quentin. Now she is more like Melissa.
Not only tougher physically, but tougher mentally. But,
naturally, these things took time. By comparison, Marisa
was still very much a novice.
 “I believe you once considered Julia a bit of a tigress,”
drawled Glenda, walking slowly round the kneeling figure.
“True,” nodded Quentin. “And it was true. Still as Miss
Judith told me on the first day I came here, they are adept
at taming tigresses on the ‘Paradise’.”
“So I see...” Deliberately Glenda was trying to goad Julia
into some action. By both contemptuous words and looks. It
did not seem possible to her that any woman could just kneel
there and take it all without reacting in some way. Had she
not one atom of pride left? But then, of course, Glenda was
not cognisant of the extent and depth of Madame Vesta’s
training methods. It was understandable that she should be
incredulous.
“Did you get a birching on the day I last left, Julia?”
enquired Quentin. He turned to Glenda. “I’m afraid she made
rather an exhibition of herself on the deck... kept clawing
at me and hollering for me to take her with me. Before you’d
even seen her, mark you, my dear. I agreed that she be
punished.” He turned back to Julia and saw the tic of the
nerve in her cheek.
“No, Master,” she answered softly.
“Not birched?” queried Quentin, raising his eyebrows.
“No, Master... Madame Vesta had me put on the Ring...”
“Ahhhh!”
“...and flogged me until I was insensible, Master.”
“What’s the Ring?” asked Glenda.
Briefly, Quentin explained the working of this pinioning
device.. and also the instrument which was used. Glenda
nodded, eyes sharp.
“And then you scrubbed decks for a week?”
“Yes, Master...”
“And went on the treadmill?”
“Yes, Master...”
Quentin smiled as if he had done Julia a good turn. “Ah
well,” he said casually, “it all helps to keep you fit and
your figure in trim.”
For the first time, Julia’s set features quivered
uncontrollably and she bit her lower lip. It was bitterly
cruel to hear such agonies so lightly dismissed.
The new husband turned to the new wife. “Well,” he asked,
“is it O.K. by you if we share her as a personal slave? Take
her back with us?”
There was a sudden light in Julia’s eyes...
 “I think so,” answered Glenda. “But I am not yet quite
sure.”
“You mean, perhaps, you’d like Julia to service you first,
before you make up your mind?”
“That’s right,” answered Glenda.
Both knew, of course, that Julia was not a lesbian. Also,
as had been reported by Miss Judith - who had recently given
her some training in the practices - she had a very natural
revulsion for them. Something, which has already been said,
pleased Glenda, who had always wanted an unwilling girl.
She unbuttoned her white dressing gown and let it slip to
the floor. Her body was hard, smooth and white. Small
breasts, large nipples, flat bottom, slim limbs. A well-
preserved body.
“This is the body you will have to serve, Julia,” said
Glenda.
“Y-Yes, Mistress,” whispered Julia, her eyes flickering,
her nervous tic returning.
Now, thought Quentin, the strain is really on.
“Serve.. and please, Julia...”
“Yes... Mistress...”
“You have some training, I believe?”
“Only... only a l-little Mistress... Miss J-Judith...
she...”
“Alright,” said Glenda, raising a hand. “What you don’t
know, I shall teach you.” Glenda turned and slid down on her
back on top of the bed. “But first, let us start by seeing
what you do know.”
Quentin watched fascinated as Julia stood up and moved to
the bed.
Glenda’s limbs parted and Julia’s dark head slip between
them. He say her white shoulders heaving and realised she
was sobbing. The effort of will she was having to make to
submit to this final degradation was bringing her near snapping
point. He saw Glenda grip the dark head of thick hair.
“Start by just using your lips, slave” she said. Eyes
bright with desire and cruelty, she smiled up at Quentin.
She was obviously a very happy woman.
Quentin strolled over and poured himself a drink. He had
watched Glenda play lesbian games with a friend - and found
it most intriguing. But the fact that it was now Julia
between her thighs added a big plus to the scene. He
contemplated the curvaceousness of Julia’s bottom as she
knelt on the bed, head down. Quite superb. Yes... yes...
I shall definitely fuck her this time, he said to himself.
“Now start using your tongue,” said Glenda suddenly. Her
face was preoccupied. “Get it well in...”
Julia’s head bobbed rhythmically up and down. There were
little lapping sounds. Glenda raised her arms suddenly
above her head, stretching luxuriously.
Again she smiled at Quentin. It was evident that her
pleasure was increasing.
“Now concentrate it there,” she ordered suddenly. “You
know where a woman is most sensitive.”
Ah, thought Quentin, that tongue will be working on the
clitoris now.
“That’s it... good... that’s it...” sighed Glenda, eyes
half closing. Julia seemed to Quentin to be doing a remarkably
good job for a novice. Perhaps, though, Glenda was more
excited than usual because this was both a first-timer and
Julia and enforced lover.
“Now get your tongue in deep, girl,” said Glenda hoarsely.
“Deep... right in... girl... mmmmmmm... mmmmm...”
Quentin watched as Glenda’s haunches began to squirm this
way and that on the coverlet. Gradually she brought up her
knees higher and higher, clasping them and then pulling them
wide.
“Right in... slave... r-right... i-in... aaahhh... y-
yes...” she gasped.
There was snorting sound and slurping sounds. No doubt at
all, thought Quentin, that Julia is giving all she can.
“Aaaahhhh... AAAAHHHHH...” Glenda’s belly began to quake.
She suddenly clasped her breasts. Her cry grew louder...
higher. “AAAAHHH.. AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH...”
The climax contorted her body, sending it writhing over
the bed. She gripped Julia’s hair, again, keeping the girl’s
head down, making sure that probing tongue worked and worked
till the final spasm was over.

******

“She isn’t bad... in fact, for a beginner, she’s good.”

It was but a few minutes later and Glenda was contemplating
the figure of Julia which once more knelt beside the bed.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Quentin.
“Of course, there’s room for improvement.”
 “She’ll make it; never fear.”
Quentin watched as Glenda slithered herself off the side
of the bed and walked to one of her cases which lay on a rack.
She rummaged around for a few moments and then, to Quentin’s
surprise, she took out a large pink rubber dildo. A number
of straps were fastened to it and these she quickly secured
around her flanks.
“I always like to show a new girl who is boss,” said Glenda
with a wicked grin.
Quentin shrugged. If Glenda wanted to play games, that
was her affair. But with plenty of hard cock around, it
seemed rather unnecessary! However, he was impressed by the
startled look on Julia’s face as Glenda strode across the
room with the dildo swinging before her. No doubt at all
that the girl did not like the look of what was coming to
her!
“On to the bed... flat on your back... legs open wide,”
order Glenda briskly.
Just as briskly, Julia obeyed the command. Quentin saw
that she was trembling; her mouth beginning to crumble. No
doubt she had imagined her ordeal was over for the moment.
But no...
Julia proffered herself blatantly, as she knew she must.
Glenda smiled down with sadistic possessiveness. “You
like being fucked?” she asked.
“Y-Yes... Mistress...” quavered Julia.
“Good,” said Glenda. “Because you’re going to be. By
me.”
She positioned herself and, without any preliminaries at
all. thrust the dildo fully into her victim. Julia screamed,
her mouth gaping wide, her body wriggling like a caterpillar
on a pin. It was, thought Quentin, the very epitome of rape.
And how strange that it should be committed by a woman!
Having entered, Glenda clamped her hands under Julia’s
buttocks and began to thrust vigorously in and out. Julia
continued to utter short, gasping screams at each savage
thrust... but, gradually, these weakened.
“Put your arms around me, girl... kiss my mouth,” Glenda
ordered. Like Julia, she was panting.
Julia obeyed.
“Clasp your legs around me... you love me... remember...”
Julia obeyed.
Quentin just couldn’t help grinning as he looked at the
Put your arms around me, girl... kiss my mouth...
two woman on the bed, with Glenda’s small bottom humping up
and down and Julia writhing away underneath her.
You love me... remember. That was rich, he thought. If
ever any woman had reason to hate, it was certainly Julia.
Yet she was clinging to Glenda as if her life depended on it,
pressing her mouth passionately to the lips above. And,
soon, her haunches were beginning to work co-operatively
with Glenda’s as the dildo continued to drive in and out.
“That.. that’s it.. girl... let yourself go...” panted
Glenda, when she could break her mouth free for a moment.
“Hhhhhaaa... aaaaahhhh... hhhhhhhaaaaaaa...” Julia began
to gasp.
“Come... come... come then...”
“Hhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa... hhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa...”
Julia threshed violently, thighs clamping and unclamping,
as she spent herself in an uninhabited climax. Her arms
remained clasped around Glenda throughout, her mouth never
ceased to kiss.
The delight glowed on Glenda’s face. This girl was really
something. Hers. She revelled on the feel of the voluptuous
body palpitating beneath hers. How wonderful it was to know
that Julia was her slave! That she could do whatever she
liked with her, whenever she wanted. And that she could make
Julia do whatever she wanted to her. Yes... no doubt, about
it, to be the owner of a slave added an extra dimension to
one’s pleasures.
Abruptly Glenda removed the dildo and rolled off her victim.
“Marisa,” called Glenda, “come and take this thing off
me.”
The young girl, who had been ordered to stand in one
corner until she was required, came running to do her
mistress’s bidding. With a look of terror in her eyes, she
removed the large mock-penis.
“Go and wash it... then put it back in my case.”
“Yes, Ma’am...”
Marisa scuttled off once more to the bathroom. The sights
she had been witnessing made her realise the full extent of
the horrors that existed on board the ‘Paradise’.
“Why don’t you fuck her now, Quentin,” said Glenda. “She’ll
be nice and warm and juicy.”
Quentin regarded the figure on the bed. To be frank, he
was sorely tempted. Yet, somehow, it did not seem quite the
appropriate moment to take full possession. So he continued
with his previous policy of ‘rejection’.
“Oh no,” he answered airily. “I can’t be bothered at the
moment.” He stood up. “Like a drink, Glenda?”
Glenda looked at her husband admiringly. He had more to
him than she had once imagined. She realised how difficult
Julia must have been to resist at that moment. Also she was
aware how wounding it must have been for Julia’s ego
to be so casually refused.
“Yes, please, my dear,” she said. “Campari with ice and
soda.”
“Coming up...” Ice tinkled merrily in a glass.
“Julia,” said Glenda. “Go and kneel on that stool at the
end of the bed. You are not required for the moment.”
“Yes, Mistress...”
Obediently Julia rose from the bed upon which she had been
obscenely ravaged and knelt as ordered. Once again she had
managed to compose her features into an impassive mask of
submissive acceptance. She realised she was, as it were, ‘on
trial’. This maybe her last chance of getting off the
dreaded ‘Paradise’. Not that her future existence could be
exactly termed a bed of roses... but it couldn’t possible be
worse than the one she had to endure at that moment.
She bit her lips and fought down the bitter gall in her
breast as she watched Quentin and Glenda relax with their
drinks on the couch... and discuss the pros. and cons.
It was beginning to seem, however, that there were more
pros, than cons.

* * * * * *

Dinner that evening was its usual friendly affair, even if

there were only three of them at the table. It was halfway
through the meal that Madame Vesta made an announcement of
considerable interest to Quentin.
“I had some rather unfortunate news today,” she said.
“Oh yes?”
“You remember Melissa?”
“Very well...”
“I am afraid her owner is no longer with us. I had news
that he was killed last week in a car crash.”
“How dreadful!” Quentin considered the news. Where did
that leave the shapely Melissa? “So I suppose Melissa stays
here indefinitely,” he said.
 “That could happen,” agreed Madame Vesta. “On the other
hand, I could sell her.” She looked directly at Quentin, who
experienced a sudden tingling in his veins.
“Ah.. you could, could you?” he said.
“Who is this Melissa?” interposed Glenda.
“Oh, just one of the slave-girls here,” answered Quentin.
“One I happen to rather fancy.”
“Uh-hu. Is she worth buying?” asked Glenda.
“I should say so...”
Madame Vesta was beginning to get a satisfied look on her
face.
“Well buy her then, if you want to!” said Glenda.
“That I may well do,” answered Quentin, contentedly rubbing
his fat belly. “She’ll make the perfect companion for Julia
in Craigness. After all, we don’t want our Julia to be
lonely, do we?”
“No we don’t,” smiled Glenda. Already her mind was racing
ahead. Two girls to service her were far better than one.
And it would be the greatest fun to make them play games with
each other” Life certainly was a bowl of cherries at that
moment.
Quentin looked at Madame Vesta. “Price?” he asked.
The black-gowned woman shrugged. “Well.. she’s quite
some beauty. And, at twenty-four, there’s a lot in her yet.
What’s more,” she smiled, “I know you fancy her...”
“I can take her or leave her.”
“Maybe. Still, Quentin, you are an old client now. A
valued client. Shall we say ten thousand? Pounds, not
dollars.”
“My God... that’s too steep!” All Quentin’s natural business
instincts were aroused. It didn’t matter a damn; he could
just as easily have afforded twenty thousand as ten. Or much
more. It was the principle of the thing.
After ten minutes hard, but agreeable bargaining, Melissa
was sold to Quentin for a price of eight thousand five
hundred pounds.
It was, he thought, as they took coffee and brandy in the
ante-room, really quite some bargain. Possibly it suited
Madame Vesta’s book well to have a non-owned slave off the
‘Paradise’... which, in any event, never seemed to be short
of new arrivals.
“Has Svenson’s wife arrived?” he asked, apropos.
“Yes,” answered Madame Vesta. “Quite a woman.”
 “I might take a look at her tomorrow.”
“As you please, my dear Quentin.” Madame Vesta glanced at
her watch. “Ah well, I think I’ll turn in. It’s been quite
a long day.”
Quentin stood politely as their hostess departed.
“Enjoying it here?” he asked Glenda.
“Very much,” came the answer. There was genuine warmth in
Glenda’s answer. “It’s all rather like a dream though.”
“I suppose it is,” nodded Quentin. “A dream for us. A
nightmare for the slave girls.”
“I’d like to look at his Melissa, by the way.”
“Sure thing. I’ll have her sent up to the cabin when we
get back. But this time, my dear, it will be my turn. I’ll
accompany the news of her changed ownership with a good
fucking!”
Glenda laughed. “Well, why not,” she said. “I should
think you must be ready for one.”
“I am,” grinned Quentin, thinking how wonderful it was to
have such an understanding and co-operative wife. He finished
his brandy. “Like to go then?”
“Yes,” nodded Glenda. She rose, very soignee in a sleek
red evening gown. Already her mind was looking ahead to
Julia. “We can both enjoy our new slave together,” she said,
smiling happily.
Quentin put his arm around her. “A nice idea,” he said.
“A very nice idea indeed.”
The couple made their way slowly along the white-scrubbed
deck and down the companionway that led to their cabin.
 CHAPTER NINE

JULIA WAS ALREADY going down to Glenda - and her new Mistress
was sighing happily - when Melissa was led into the cabin.
Unchained, the girl made the familiar obeisance.
“Mmm... she’s pretty... rather like Julia,” said Glenda,
running her eyes greedily over the kneeling figure.
“Yes, isn’t she.” replied Quentin. “Thank you, Miss Judith,
that will be all for now.”
“Goodnight, Sir...” The powerful blonde overseer took in
the erotic scene with evident satisfaction, inclined her
head and left.
“You will have heard of the unfortunate demise of your
owner,” said Quentin.
A look of evil satisfaction passed quickly and briefly
over Melissa’s lovely face. “Yes, Master,” she said.
“I have some news for you, Melissa. I have bought you...”
A rather different expression passed quickly and briefly
over those same features.
“...and as you were quite expensive, I shall expect the
very best of service from you. Understood?”
“Yes... Master...” answered the girl submissively.
“Ahhhhh... aaaaaahhhhhhh...” moaned Glenda at Quentin’s
side... obviously coming to her first orgasm of the night.
“You may suck me,” said Quentin, stretching himself out
naked on the bed, pot-belly curving up.
“I am honoured, Master,” said Melissa.
Quentin smiled. Ah yes, that was the stuff. The girl was
honoured! He revelled in the feel of Melissa’s lush nakedness
- the breasts soft and warm - insinuating itself seductively
up his thighs. Then her lips began to press gently - almost
lovingly, it seemed - to his organ. he felt it stir at once.
The pressing of the lips intensified. Soon Melissa’s tongue
was flickering. Quentin swelled and stiffened fast. My God,
he thought, this girl really knows what she’s about. He put
out a hand and took hold of Glenda’s. He turned to look at
his spouse, to see an almost beatific expression on her face.
The eyes were half closed, the mouth a little open. She was
breathing quietly but fast. Obviously Julia was bringing
her as much pleasure as Melissa was to him. Quentin groaned
happily as the girl finally took his rigid organ into her
mouth and began to suck.
So smoothly...
So deliciously...
With such consummate skill...
My God, it was marvellous to know that this beautiful
creature was now his slave as well as Julia! Quentin relaxed
completely and then let the pleasure-lust mount slowly, but
irresistibly, within him. He knew that Melissa would complete
her task to perfection. Gradually he was being brought to a
climax, trying all the time to hold it back. trying to
prolong his delight. But, all too soon, he knew he was lost.
He groaned and moaned as the divine sensations spread all
over him, moving from his head down and his feet up, it
seemed, then filling his balls with exquisite, overwhelming
force.
His body jerked and jerked as he jetted the lava of his
lust into Melissa’s mouth. His eyes rolled back and his
mouth opened, breathless gasp coming from it.
And, in those final, joyous moments, he was aware that
Glenda beside him was making similar sounds.
They had reached Nirvana together!

******

“What do you do with them, when you’ve finished with them?”

enquired Glenda drowsily.
“Send for Miss Judith,” answered Quentin. “Or put a
collar and chain on them and secure them to the end of the
bed.”
“I see. Well, let’s do that, shall we?”
“Whatever, you say...”
“I might want Julia again in the morning... or possibly
Melissa.”
“Quite so. I suppose you want me to do it?” Quentin spoke
a shade petulantly, as if he had been asked to put the cat
out by his wife.
 “Yes, dear,” she said, smiling faintly.
Quentin rolled out of bed... and put a collar around two
slim, submissive necks. The he secured the chain attached to
each collar to the end of the bed.
“Goodnight, girls,” he said mockingly. “Pleasant dreams.”
“Goodnight, Master,” they answered in unison.

******

For Quentin and Glenda, there was, of course, no urgency

about getting up. In fact, after waking late but refreshed,
they decided to spend the morning in their cabin. It would
be their last day on the ‘Paradise’ so they might as well
take advantage of it!
Marisa served coffee and rolls... and then bathed them
both. Her round bottom got plenty of slaps, not so much
because she committed any faults, but simply because, Quentin
and Glenda found it something most enjoyable to do.
Finally, Julia and Melissa were released. To take a
shower and ‘pretty up a bit’, as Quentin put it.
Both girls came back looking quite ravishing.
“I’d like to see them playing games with each other,” said
Glenda.
“What a good idea,” smiled Quentin.
Julia and Melissa eyed each other a little nervously. it
was something they had never been called on to do before.
But they knew they were going to have to. And, most probably,
from now on, were going to have to do it quite frequently.
“On the floor,” said Glenda, sitting up on the bed.
The two lovely young women, naked and depilated lay down
on the floor, at once taking up a ‘soixante neuf’ position.
Melissa lay with her back to the carpet, Julia was on top of
her. Lips pressed to lips... tongues began to thrust...
flesh began to quiver.
“I think they like it,” said Glenda after a little while.
There was a laugh in her voice.
“So do I,” said Quentin. He was loving the way Julia’s
bottom was squirming, with Melissa’s dark head upturned
between her thighs.
For something like five minutes, the even tournament
continued.
Then there was a hectic and exciting thirty seconds as
both girls mounted to a climax. They twisted and writhed,
flesh juddering, gasping and squealing as the surging lust
gripped them.
The moment came...
Was sustained...
Then passed...
“Excellent!” cried Glenda, clapping her hands.
“Not at all bad for beginners!” agreed Quentin. The
spectacle had given him a solid erection and he was wondering
what to do with it. That Glenda had been excited, too, was
evident from the way she urgently summoned Julia to her. The
girl was still breathing heavily from her previous exertions,
but that made no difference to Glenda.
“Get your head down there, girl,” she ordered abruptly.
Julia obeyed, kneeling with her magnificent hindquarters
thrust up. it was at that moment, Quentin knew his policy of
‘rejection’ was finally over! Julia simply could not be
resisted any longer. With blood racing fast through his
veins... the desire like a brand within him.. he got up and
moved around to the end of the bed.
There was... his slave...
So blatantly exposed...
So provocatively exposed...
His for the taking...
He grabbed Julia’s warm thighs, felt their soft smoothness,
then positioned his hard knob to the liquid-worm sex lips.
Lips which his other slave, Melissa, had prepared for him.
Smiling, Quentin looked down into his wife’s lustful eyes...
then thrust deep into Julia’s depths.
He felt the girl jerk under him; felt her squirm. What
Heaven!
“Keep that tongue in!” ordered Glenda sharply, gripping
Julia by the hair. Keeping rammed in, Quentin savoured the
delight of the girl.

******

This was his Julia! All his!

His flabby haunches began to lumber back and forth. His
belly slapped and slapped against the curvaceous bottom,
which remained thrusting up. Inviting him; accepting him;
giving him everything.
She’d like liquid satin, thought Quentin, ramming in and
out faster. Like hot liquid satin. Oh God... what a
girl... now his to fuck whenever he wanted!
Faster.. faster...
Oh, he wouldn’t be able to last long, he knew that.
Faster... faster...
“What’s... she l-like...?” Glenda’s voice was tight, like
that of a woman on the verge of orgasm.
“Ahh... a... v-very... good.. p-poke...” panted Quentin.
Glenda opened her mouth to smile... and a series of
squealing gasps came out of it as Julia’s mouth brought her
to once more to the peaks.
Quentin quite lost control and, grunting bestially, came
thundering to his own climax.
“Tired?”
“No, not really,” answered Quentin. “I should say I was
relaxed.” All the same, his wife’s query reminded him of
something. He stretched out his hand and picked up a couple
of Madame Vesta’s pills. They would soon have him as right
as rain again. Fit as a thirty-year old. Fit to fuck both
girl’s within the space of an hour, if he were so minded. He
must certainly arrange for Madame Vesta to give him a good
supply of the pills before they left.
“Is it too early for a drink, do you think?” asked Glenda.
“It’s about half past ten,” said Quentin. “Still, we are
on what you might call ‘holiday’. Honeymoon, in fact!”
“Too true,” smiled Glenda. “A rather unusual one, if I
may say so!”
Quentin contemplated the two naked girls who knelt on a
stool at the end of the bed, facing them in the ‘slave
posture’. The posture which epitomised their unending
submissiveness.
“Yes.. I think you may say so,” grinned Quentin. “Marisa,
put some champagne in an ice bucket and bring a couple of
glasses. No.. make it four glasses!”
Marisa went smartly to work and, within a few minutes, was
pouring out the amber liquid. She handed one to Glenda and
then on to Quentin.
“To us,” said Quentin.
Both raised their glasses and drank.
“To us,” repeated Glenda.
“Now give a glass each to the girls, Marisa,” said Quentin.
Wonderingly, nervously, Julia and Melissa took the proffered
drink. It was noticeable that the hand of each shook slightly.
Was this some cruel trick?” Some trap?
 “To our future,” said Quentin, raising his glass. “To our
future together!”
He drank... Glenda drank. “To, our future together,” she
said.
Quentin nodded to the two girls at the end of the bed and
smiled condescendingly.
“To our future... together...” they both whispered softly.
Quentin and Glenda laughed heartily as the two girls choked
and spluttered on the now unfamiliar, bubbling wine. Neither
had touched champagne since their palmy days. Days gone
beyond recall. Days it was now far better not to be recalled.
“Yet, sometimes, how difficult that was...
“Drink up,” encouraged Quentin, “there’s plenty more. I
think it only fair to say you deserve it!”

******

“My God, what a size they are!”

Glenda was regarding the two black, nude figures of Ahmed
and Jason with some awe. Was she, Quentin wondered, referring
to the over-all size of the negroes or merely their genitalia?
Whichever, there was no doubt that Glenda was impressed.
Alongside them, looking rather self-satisfied, stood Miss
Judith.
It was a kind of a small ‘farewell party’ which Quentin
had dreamed up. Marisa was passing round the champagne
again.
“When are you leaving?” asked Miss Judith politely.
“Tomorrow morning,” replied Quentin. He smiled and gave
the blonde a little bow. “I would like to take this opportunity
to thank you for all your help,” he said. “Julia and Melissa
are a credit to you.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Miss Judith smugly. “Dare I say,
it has been a pleasure?”
“I think you may,” laughed Quentin. “I think the girls
would like to thank you, too.” He slapped first Julia’s
bottom and then Melissa’s. “Say it nicely,” he ordered
sharply.
The two girls went down on to hands and knees and crawled
to Miss Judith... and kissed the gleaming black leather of
her boots with abject servility. How they had hated that
woman! How terrified they had been of her!
“Th-Thank... you.. thank you.. M-Miss Judith... thank
 Slavishly they knelt erect...
and each kissed the massive organ that had so often...
ravaged them
you for everything...”
“Thank you... thank you for... for making m-me... a s-
slave, Miss...”
Each mumbled her words of complete submission and utter
defeat, whilst Miss Judith smiled down with a look of the
purest delight shining from her cold blue eyes... and Quentin
looked on like some benign father-figure!
“Now you can say goodbye to Ahmed and Jason,” said Quentin,
when he considered enough leather-licking had taken place.
“I don’t think I need to tell you how to do that.”
The girls crawled to the two waiting negroes. In what
horror they had held them! And with what revulsion!
Slavishly they kissed their black feet... slavishly they
knelt erect... and each kissed the massive organ that had so
often ravaged them. And, when each had made a ‘respectable’
farewell to one, they changed places, and each made it to the
other.
Glenda watched fascinated as the big, dangling organs
slowly swelled and stiffened into massive rigidity.
“My God...” she said under her breath. What must it be
like to have to service such brutes!
“Bottoms up!” cried Quentin with a laugh, as he emptied
his glass. Glenda and Miss Judith followed suit.
But, of course, for Julia and Melissa, the words had a
quite different meaning.
Both girls knelt and proffered themselves fully.
“O.K. boys” nodded Quentin, “enjoy yourselves...”
Eagerly the two blacks went down to the creamy-white flesh.
Soft, succulent flesh; flesh they had enjoyed so much, and so
often.
Now this would be for the last time...
Each plunged in, Ahmed taking Julia, Jason taking Melissa.
Like well-oiled machines, their gleaming flanks thrust
back and forth whilst the girls gasped and squirmed co-
operatively beneath them.
There were contented, possessive smiles on the face of
their owners.
Glenda their Mistress...
Quentin their Master...

THE END
 ENVOI

Two large packing cases stood at the stern of the ‘Paradise’,

under the wing of a waiting helicopter. They stood there for
about a quarter of an hour before a small squad of girls,
under Miss Mara, picked up each case in turn and humped it
into the plane. That the cases were heavy was evident by the
frequency with which Miss Mara applied her thong to the bare
flesh about her.
In one case were Julia and Melissa, under sedation.
In the other was a considerable amount of valuable equipment
supplied by Madame Vesta.
A little while after the two packing cases had been safely
stowed, three figures appeared on deck. They were Quentin
and Glenda... accompanied by the owner of the ‘Paradise’.
“I hope you have enjoyed yourselves,” said Madame Vesta.
“And that all goes well in the future. Just let me know if
you need any advise or help.”
Quentin and Glenda were profuse in their thanks... and
their praise.
Madame Vesta smiled one of her infrequent smiles. And
then with her mouth only. She liked to have contented
clients.
“Come back and see me one day,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Quentin, “I am sure I... we... would
love to.”
“And, if you ever want to send Julia or Melissa back, you
can, of course.”
“I won’t forget,” smiled Quentin.
“Or, you can always send anyone else you like.”
“I’ll remember that...”
“Goodbye now, then.”
Madame Vesta shook hands with them both. “Goodbye,” they
said.. and went up the small ladder into the helicopter. In
moments the blades began to whirr.
 “Well,” said Quentin, as the machine lifted gently off,
“Julia got her wish at last.”
“What’s that?” asked Glenda.
“For me to take her with me!” answered Quentin.
And he smiled and smiled... all the way to the horizon...

Don’t miss the sequel:

JULIA IN CAPTIVITY

Do you want to read this story from the very beginning?

Then order

‘Naked Cargo’
and
‘The taming of Julia Chant’

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