 |
|||
|
|
Part 5.
I pulled again, my arm joints aching, thighs bulging with the effort, listening to the collective moan of
the women as they pulled agonisingly against the resistance of the oar in the water, all of the naked,
filthy, welted bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. I leant forward again, lifting and pushing the oar,
in time with the beat of the drum ahead of me. That was the hardest of all, lifting the heavy oar and
pushing it forward before dipping and pulling again, moaning and gasping with the other women as we
used all our effort and weight to move the ship forward in the water. Despite my training, despite my
ability to deal with exertion and pain, I was clearly carrying a little more body weight than the other
rowers, who were lean and wiry, their bellies rippling only with muscle and slight folds of skin as they
leant forward and pulled back. I imagined that I would be like them in a few short weeks as my
reserves of fat and fuel ran out. I reasoned that we must be fed some high carbohydrate mix, but the
evidence around me told me that it was just enough to provide fuel for the vessel’s human engines.
I had been rowing for an hour now and I was drenched with sweat. I bore four new welts across my
back and two across my thighs, and could still feel the fire from the sting. Most of the strokes had been
early on, until I got the rhythm that the rowers were forced to adhere to, in time with the drum. I slowly
became used to timing my movements with the monotonous dull tone of the beat.
BOOM! Push forward with the oar above the water.
BOOM! Dip the oar in the water and make ready for the pull.
BOOM! The pull, where I realised quickly to use the power of my legs, at times extending so far that
even my toes pushed against the board in front of me.
BOOM! Push down on the oar to lift it from the water and ready for the push again. I found this hardest
of all on my shoulders. Somehow, my training had made the efforts of the pull easier on me as I flexed
my leg muscles, but lifting the oar from the water exhausted me.
I had not been able to help but urinate on the bench once as I rowed. I was disgusted as it came, as I
was forced to keep to the rhythm as I did it. I could not move from my position on the bench since it
would attract the whip and no one seemed to notice as the pool of liquid formed about me and dripped
into the bilge. I had not got used to either the smell of the deck, or the fact that my heels dipped into the
foul material beneath my feet. I supposed that over the next twelve months, I would become so.
Most women seemed to find the pull hardest of all. Some grunted as they moved, their heads lolling as
if they were poorly oiled machines. I focussed on the rhythm of the exercise, bathed in sweat,
conscious that one slight deviation from the rhythm would earn another stroke from the cruel whips of
the overseers. They were experts with the long handled instruments, causing agony with a flick of their
wrist as the thick leather snaked out gracefully to slap against the back or thigh of a poor rower. I was
slowly getting becoming accustomed to the sound of the swish in the air, followed by the slap and cry
or gasp of the victim. Instinctively, I would close my eyes each time I heard the sound, praying that my
back had not been targeted for their discipline.
I pulled hard as I heard the footsteps behind me, the motion of the push disturbing the foul bilge water
as my heels moved in it. I glanced up as I finished the motion, grunted as I pushed my weight down on
the oar to raise it from the water. As I moved with the drumbeat, my muscles tense, I realised that I had
slightly missed the beat through not paying attention. I gasped as I tried to push forward, to correct,
tensed as I saw him bring the lash down.
“AIIEIE!”
The whip caught me on the upper back, its end actually flicking round to catch my shoulder. My mouth
was open, eyes wide as I pulled, trying to keep pace. I had not expected the second lash across my
belly. It threatened to upset my rhythm entirely as I screamed, head down as I pushed, gasping for air.
It was the dark skinned overseer at my side now, coiling the lash as I ached from its bite. He spoke in a
language I could not understand as I regained the rhythm. As he began to laugh, the man who I had
first seen on deck emerged, as I grunted with the pull again.
“He says that he looks forward to you offering your mouth slave.”
I dared to glance at them as I pulled, the oar banging against the tag at my breast. I watched as they
stared at my stretched body, glistening with sweat. I tried to stare back, but did not want to risk missing
the beat again as the boom of the drum continued.
The overseers smiled as they watched.
“I’m Simon by the way and after Jareth here is finished with you, I think I might want to try those lips.
Clear slave?"
I grunted with the pull, staring hard at the back of the moving woman in front of me.
“I said CLEAR?” he repeated, slapping the lash lightly against my thigh as I winced.
“UGHHH y..yes overseer Ughhh…”
I closed my eyes as they walked on up the deck, pushing my feet against the board for another pull,
wrapping my toes around the top of it.
The oar shift continued. By now, with the movement of the massive galley, the woman on the horse
was screaming for release. So much so that she was gagged so that her cries would not upset the
rowers’ rhythm. I shuddered as I watched her ordeal, realising that if I did not ‘offer my mouth’ to
these people, I would end up riding that vile instrument. I winced with the effort of the pull, my arms
and legs numb from the exertion, but my heart rate strong. Jareth, who appeared to be tasked with
patrolling this particular section of the deck, took his anger out on the women, whipping
indiscriminately, constantly looking at my naked body, which was still reasonably clean, compared to
the others. I could tell that he looked forward to the end of the shift, when he was sure that my lips
would be around his cock. Would I have to do it? Surely if I said no, they would not force me to ride
that damned horse. Yet, I knew that it was hopeless, that I would indeed have to do it, offer my mouth
like the galley slave that I had truly become within a few hours of sitting on the vile wooden bench.
***
I gasped, breath tight in my chest. I was sweating so much that I was starting to become dehydrated, as
stars began to appear in front of my eyes. Hours had passed. I had received several more lashes from
Jareth, who it seemed, now specialised in whipping me across the thigh and belly, reasoning perhaps
that these softer parts of the body made the resultant sting of the lash more painful, yielding more
results in the longer term. I could not fault his reasoning, as thick red welts across my legs and body
bore testament to the number of times that he felt that I could do better. A muttered word as he walked
past and a movement of his hand to his crotch indicated that the shift was almost over. If I would get
water, it might almost be worth having to give him something in return. At least the rest of my body, it
seemed, would be left untouched.
My head lolled backward as I pulled, arms and legs shaking, mouth open as I gasped for water.
“Lower tier… Stop!”
The shout was gratefully received. The first three hour shift was over. The collective moan of relief
from the rowers just above the bilge was a cry of exhaustion and the desperate need of almost broken
bodies to stop. The upper level continued to row as I fell across the oar, my feet falling full into the
bilge water. I didn’t seem to care about the filth anymore as my exhausted body found some respite. I
watched the others pull their oars in, covered with water and spray. The whip slapped across my
buttocks as I had leaned forward followed by a scream in foreign tongue. I had not pulled in the oar.
The lash fell again and again across my ass and lower back as I screamed, pulling at the thick wood.
“I...I didn’t know. AHHHhH..PLEASE..I didn’t know. YAHHHH!”
The strokes ceased as the wet oar was pulled in and I fell shivering across it.
As I lay across the timber, breathing heavily, trying to recover from the pain that wracked my lower
body, he pushed the handle of the instrument that had dealt the blows under my chin. He shouted at me
in a language that I did not understand as he slowly raised my head. He pushed the handle until my
upper body was elongated to an awkward sitting position, my sweating breasts rising and falling as I
panted with exertion. His hand flashed forward to grab the tag at my nipple, pulling it savagely as I
screamed and raised my hands instinctively to his wrists. This simple action seemed to make him
incessant with rage as he backed off, tongues of spittle flying from his mouth as he raised the whip. I
cowered, trying to slink further along the rough wooden bench, which was slick with sweat and my
own urine, stretching the rusted chains and fetters that pulled at my ankles, as the whip came down
again and again.
I remembered receiving seven very hard strokes across my body, one particularly accurate stroke
striking the very tag that he had pulled, creating a sting of agony in my breast as I screeched, hoping
for respite from the fire of the lash. I heard words from the language that he spoke again, but this time
in a familiar voice.
I dared to look up as the whipping abruptly stopped. I was shivering as I stared into Joshua’s eyes, as
he in turn spoke sternly with Jareth. For the first time, Jareth no longer appeared to be the monster with
the whip that had towered over me a moment before. He nodded his head in understanding, bowing
apologetically to Joshua, as if he had carried out some major infraction against the rules.
“J...Joshua,” I gasped. He had never been kind to me in the brief time that I had known him, but if I had
been asked to offer him my mouth at that time, I would have done it without question. He had stopped
the whipping after all.
“Justine. I see you have started well on your first day,” he said sarcastically, adding that characteristic
smile that I had last seen at Jennifer’s party. Jennifer, I recalled, if she could see me now. It all seemed
such a world away from here.
“Jareth was a little overzealous on your first day. He tells me that you were to offer the mouth to him,
hmm?”
He said it in such a matter of fact way. I was disgusted yet amazed that such a place could exist, that I
was in it, that we were talking about me servicing this man with a whip in such a blasé fashion. I
nodded, still shuddering and sore from the beating that I had received as I cowered at the side of the
wooden hull.
“Well, you will not have to do that today. I have informed him that he will not get the gift of your
mouth at all. I am sure you are pleased.”
I began to sit up, delicately, head bowed.
“Thank...you, Joshua.”
“Yes, quite. Though he tells me that you raised your hands to him. You do realise that such behaviour
is unacceptable onboard. Though you are new, so we will restrict the spikes or indeed the horse until
later.”
I shuddered, staring, not knowing how to react.
“You will have your wrists chained to the oar however…oh and another thing…”
He nodded at Jareth, a non-verbal communication which he had perhaps given thousands of times in
the past, a message which imparted his order in combination with an indication of his power and
influence. Jareth, without mercy or warning, brought the lash down across my back. I fell forward as it
slapped across my flesh, breath knocked out of me, a dry throated cry my only response as I fell over
the wet oar. Grunting, I moved my feet in the bilge and began to raise my head slowly.
“Call me Master, slave.”
Whether by luck or cruel design, the chaining of my wrists to the oar had added a vicious torment to
the actions that I was required to undertake whilst rowing. During the pull, when my legs and feet
pushed against the board in front of me, when my naked body stretched to its full extent to pull back on
the oar, the chain from my wrists brushed against my breast, stroking the tag on each pass. With each
successive pull, the movement against my still swollen nipple was aggravating, causing ever increasing
pain and discomfort. I rowed hard, conscious that if the overseer decided to lash me across the breasts
and strike the tag, the pain would be unbearable and I would lose all rhythm. I stared at the wooden
horse, now empty, conscious that a loss of rhythm might cause me to be perched there. I closed my
eyes, concentrating on remaining invisible – a good slave, gritting my teeth as the chain grated against
the tag once more.
Unlike the fetters that I wore at my feet, the wrist fetters had been padlocked into place, the chain
between them approximately forty centimetres long. A thick nail at the centre link secured them to the
oar, meaning that if I had to pull the oar in, I had to move awkwardly along the bench with it. Such a
simple change to my conditions made every action hell. Even eating the hard biscuit that they fed us,
drinking water from the ladle that came along the deck, were made more difficult since my hands were
no longer free.
Joshua had not stayed long below decks, though I realised that he must still be on board, since we had
not docked anywhere. I neared the end of the third shift of rowing, though could not spare time for a
glance through the narrow oarport to determine where we might be. Jareth and Simon had swapped
their responsibilities in terms of the areas that they patrolled, perhaps through Joshua’s intervention.
Simon seemed less cruel, though no less efficient, using the whip only when required on his charges,
and then, usually across their sweating backs. He too watched me as I rowed.
I gasped for air as the shift ended, wasting no time in pulling in the oar, grunting as the steel manacle
bit my wrists. I had no option but to sit close to the overseers’ walkway as I pulled it in, my elbow
upon it. Simon’s whip handle rapped it sharply as I moved quickly away.
“Stay off the walkway slave. Wrist chains make it difficult eh?”
I nodded. “Yes, Overseer.”
“M…May I ask a question Overseer?” I stammered, fearing that he might welt me across the breast tag.
He nodded his assent.
“How might I have the wrist chains removed?”
“Good slaves are rewarded. Those who are pleasing are rewarded more quickly. You understand?”
I nodded, slowly raising my head. Turning to him and opening my mouth in an o shape, as sweat
dripped into my eyes from my hairless head.
|
|
|