CHAPTER ONE

 

Ordinary Seaman Kim Morgan heard the sound of strange voices nearby; female voices. Her mind was foggy, but she lifted and turned her head slightly, weakly, trying to focus as the voices grew nearer. She had been hanging upside down for some time now, and she anxiously awaited relief, waited for someone to come and release her, waited to make her desperate apologies and promises of obedience and good behaviour.

"Oh there's nothing in there. Just a paint locker," she heard Lieutenant Hodge said.

The voices passed further away, and after a moment her head sank again. She was exhausted, drained, and ached over every inch of her body. She had no idea now how long she had been hanging as she was, nor how much longer she would continue to do so.

The captain had said it was fitting punishment for one who was acting above her station, who habitually spoke out of turn, and who seemed more intent on doing nothing than getting her assigned tasks done with dispatch.

Kim had come aboard HMS Majestic, only four months earlier, as a bright, eager new recruit, her soft brown hair newly shorn to collar length, the soft curves of her youthful body hidden beneath the stolid blue cotton of navy jerseys and pants.

She had soon learned that discipline on the Majestic was harsh, and particularly unsympathetic to the women the politicians had forced the old navy hands to take aboard. The Majestic was a warship, a cruiser, and the men who sailed her were bitter at the inclusion of females.

The door opened then. She heard the soft creak of it, and then the little snick as the lock was turned once more. She strained her senses, her skin tingling as she awaited a touch, anxious about how rough, how brutal that touch might be.

She heard the sound of hands fumbling at clothing, but no word was spoken. A moment later she felt a touch at her thigh, felt a finger sliding along the narrow shaven opening into her body. A finger stroked her there, searching out her clitoris beneath the questionable protection of its hood.

She felt a small tingle there, inhaling sharply as the finger rubbed softly and deftly. Her limbs strained instinctively against the ropes binding them, then relaxed. A second finger touched her there, slowly twisting downward into her body as the first continued to rub lightly.

"Been a bad girl, have you, Morgan?" a voice whispered. "Going to learn your place now?"

She could not place the voice, though it was familiar. She heard a click, an electrical sound echoed in the small room, and she braced herself for pain before relaxing slightly. It was a vibrator. She felt its touch with a sigh of relief as it rubbed lightly along her slit, then dipped inside her.

She felt the tingling grow more intense, her body responding to the device. Again, her limbs strained lightly, then relaxed, and her head tried to rise, her eyes blindly seeking sight of whoever was with her.

She felt the vibrator thrusting down deep. It was a fat one, and long, and she felt some pain at the strain even as her body tingled more, welcoming the fullness of it. Fingers pushed at its base, jabbing, forcing the base in so it was flush with her straining pubic lips.

The hands withdrew, and she whimpered behind her hood and gag, her body straining, waiting.

She barely heard the hiss as the flog swept down, the long, light leather strips spreading out then striking directly against her hairless sex. The cut into her inner thighs and buttocks, and into the soft pubic mound spread out and bulging around the vibrator impaling her. One caught at her clitoris directly.

She screamed and twisted, writhed in her upside-down bonds. Her legs strained desperately to close against the ropes holding them wide. The flog whipped down again, and another battery of pain ripped into her mind, the strips like a dozen sharp needles cutting into her flesh.

She jerked and thrashed, screaming again, trying to beg even with the thick ball-gag in her mouth.

Again the flog descended, and again, and again, as her throat ached with unvoiced screams and her body streamed with sweat. The flog lashed against her until she thought she would go insane with the pain.

Then it began to fade - slowly. The blows continued, but a wall of pain seemed to screen her mind, the pain fading, only the feel of the impact staying behind.

Her mind floated weakly, a haziness gripping her. She groaned softly as the flog whipped against her pussy, her insides throbbing and roiling.

The expected blow did not fall. The vibrator continued to purr within her. She felt hands on her buttocks, spreading them apart, then something soft - yet not - prodding at her anus. She was pierced, a cock driving down into her and rutting furiously. A hand slapped down on her mound, jarring the vibrator inside her.

She sobbed and then screamed. The cock thrust deeper, pumping now, faster and faster. Again, the hand slapped against her sex, and then again, and again.

The climax arose like a geyser, sudden, jarring, fountaining up within her senses, then dropping back. Then it rose anew, or another did, screaming upwards, blotting out everything else as her body trembled and spasmed.

Every thrust into her body sent a new spasm of exulted pleasure through her mind. Every slap of his hand against her aching sex drew fire from deep within her.

She slumped weakly as the climax ended. She was hardly aware of him finishing, withdrawing, nor the door opening and closing.

Her mind drifted, for she had not slept in some time. Her head ached painfully, making it difficult to concentrate on anything.

She hung from her ankles, both of which were spread well apart, so much so that the tendons in her inner thighs ached from the strain. Her elbows were bound up together behind her, pulling her shoulders back painfully hard. Her wrists were also bound together, and pulled up high, so that they were almost behind her neck, attached to the collar there.

She wore a complete leather hood which blinded, and partially deafened her. The small round opening over her mouth was hidden beneath a thick leather strap which held the ball gag deep in her mouth.

The ship turned sharply and she heeled over a little on the end of the twin ropes suspending her. Then as it straightened she swung back again, making only the softest of groans.

Her usually pale skin had darkened under the sun as she had worked on deck, yet now it was more reddened, every inch of her exposed flesh criss-crossed with angry red welts and stripes from her whipping and beating - her groin especially so.

She remembered her first startled surprise on her second day aboard, when she had brought coffee to the chief and he had been dissatisfied with the temperature.

"Take it back and get me another that's hot," he'd snapped.

And as he'd turned her and given her a little shove his big hand had swung down and cracked her on the buttocks with such force she'd leapt forward with a cry of startled pain.

Such treatment was against all the posted rules, of course, and she'd seriously and angrily considered whether to protest, and to whom to make such a protest.

Such naivety.

Shortly afterwards she had witnessed a whipping, again, something that was utterly against all the rules and regulations she had learned. It took place in the mess. In one corner, a thick metal bar protruded from the bulkhead about a foot. Attached to it was a second, meter long bar, which ran parallel to the wall.

The male sailor who suffered the punishment, seemingly taking it in stride, was stripped to the waist, his wrists bound to the bar, just to either side of his head, and ten harsh lashes of a long whip given to his bare back.

She had been stunned. Such things simply did not happen in the navy. This was the edge of the twenty first century, after all, not the eighteenth.

She had been terrified, and done her best afterwards to be a meek, obedient sailor. She had endured sneers, curses, cuffs, and increasingly bold groping from male seamen and petty officers. But it had been for naught. They were determined to catch her out at something.

Two weeks into her first cruise, weeping and begging and cursing, they had dragged her up to the bar as other seamen looked on, sipping their tea or eating biscuits, most grinning in anticipation. Her wrists were strapped into place, and then, to her shock and horror, her tunic was torn free, her T-shirt cut loose, and her bra removed.

Several of the sailors whistled and made catcalls as her small breasts jiggled whitely in the glare of the overhead lights, and she pulled frantically at her bound wrists as the Chief read off her offence - insolence.

Right up to the moment the whip had sliced into the soft skin of her upper back she had convinced herself it was a show, that they would not really dare strike her.

Then the pain slashed across her mind and she had screamed in horror and agony, her body writhing and jerking desperately against the tight leather straps, her hips twisting, legs kicking and feet flailing.

The whip cracked down again, throwing her forward, striking the center of her back with enough force and pain to stun her. Tears spilled from her eyes, tears of rage, horror, humiliation and pain.

Another welt rose across her back as the whip swung again. This time the sadistic leading seaman who served on the punishment detail swung wide, letting the whip strike her back a full foot from its tip. This allowed the tip to swing around under her right arm and snap cruelly into the side of her breast.

She howled in agony, pulling even more frantically at her wrists, cursing amid her sobs, threatening them all with exposure, jail, death.

The next blow landed, and a tortured cry of pain broke her words and half knocked her off her feet. Sweat was streaming down her face by then, and beads of it were standing out on her white breasts, and under her arms.

Another blow landed, and another, and she sagged, screaming at the pain, then sobbing weakly. The seaman swung the whip wide again, even wider than before. It hissed in along a deadly curve, arching around her back and ribs, the tip snapping into the centre of her right breast just beneath the small pink nipple.

She was half twisted around, knocked off her feet now, sobbing hysterically. She let herself hang by the wrists as the next blow lashed her burning back.

She could hear some of the seamen behind her, their catcalls softened now, muttered, grunted, growled but no more sympathetic. She could feel their lust and desire, their eagerness as they watched her whipped.

"Little bitch is getting what she deserves!"

"Nice little tits on the little slag."

Crack!

"Little slut shoulda knowed better."

"Should be in a bordello somewhere, not on this ship."

Crack!

"She'll learn her place right proper now, I reckon."

"Like to see her turned around."

"Shoulda taken her trousers off too."

Crack!

"Something like that's for officers, lad, not the likes of us."

"Nice to look at it, though."

"They should whip those titties."

"I'd like to see that."

When it was done, they unstrapped her, then two powerful seamen had held her arms, half carrying, half dragging her, still nude from the waist up, back through the room. The sailors had leaned forward eagerly to see her bared breasts, licking their lips and leering as her head lolled bonelessly.

"Like to get me some of that!"

They took her to her bunk, where the ship's doctor had been waiting to apply a healing salve to her back. He had seemed very sympathetic, though somewhat eagerly so as he had applied the salve to her breasts, including the one which had not been struck.

No one on the ship had seemed surprised or disapproving, and she had no way of telling anyone else. Her mail was checked by officers before it could be sent off, and she was permitted no other means of communication.

The cruise continued, and she spent most of her time swabbing the deck on all fours, or cleaning out greasy trays in the mess, or cleaning the officer's uniforms.

She had not been surprised when the Captain had taken her the first time, casually, arrogantly, as though she belonged to him, as though she were a mere body for his use with no mind able to dispute his actions.

She had been bringing his uniform to his cabin late one evening. After knocking, he had let her in, let her place the uniform into his wardrobe, then, on turning, found the cabin door closed and the Captain removing his jacket.

"Strip off, Morgan," he ordered.

She had hesitated only long enough to see the coldness come to his eyes, then, frightened, had reached down and with trembling fingers, unbuttoned her blouse. She pulled it off, then, again with a brief hesitation, undid her belt and slid down her trousers.

She wore navy underwear, a heavy bra and ugly panties. He nodded impatiently and, red-faced, she had removed them and stood there, almost at attention, nude.

The stripes had faded from her body, but not from her mind, as he inspected her.

"Soft. A soft, woman's body," he said.

His hand rose and cupped one of her breasts quite casually, a thumb rising to rub across her nipple.

"Are you going to be a good, obedient little sailor, Morgan?" he asked quietly.

"Y-yes, Captain," she whispered, heart pounding, dazed.

"You know your place, do you, girl?"

"Yes, S-sir," she breathed.

"You don't want another whipping, do you?"

"No, sir!"

"Because you're weak. The navy is no place for females, Morgan. They haven't the strength of body or mind."

His hand closed slowly over her breast as he talked, squeezing tighter and tighter. The pain mounted, and she began gasping for breath. Tears filled her eyes and her hands half rose, her legs trembling as she shifted her weight from one to the other.

"P-Please, sir!" she whimpered.

"Something wrong, Morgan?" he asked.

He twisted slowly, and she felt the tears fall onto her cheeks. She could hardly breath as her body half turned, trying to follow his movements.

"P-p-please!" she sobbed.

He released her breast and she felt a wave of relief, yet did not dare raise her hands to clutch at the hot, aching mammary.

"Uhgh!"

His hand had cupped her sex, palming it, holding her casually. Then two fingers crooked and pushed up against her opening, seeking entrance to her body. They found it, and she felt her horror grow.

"I'm sure you've fingered yourself many times, Morgan," he said softly. "Rubbing at your pussy like the randy little trollop you are."

His hand pulled back and he stared at her, standing and trembling before him.

"Get on your knees, Morgan."

She looked downward at the deck, then slowly knelt, breathing raggedly.

"Get on all fours."

She knelt before him as he circled her slowly, frightened, anxious, humiliated. He halted before her once again.

"Do you see that spot on my shoe, Morgan. There near the toe. It's smudged."

"Y-Yes, sir," she said, not understanding.

"Get on my bunk, girl. Now."

She rose, then moved slowly to his bunk and climbed in. She lay on her back, quivering, watching as he casually undressed. When he was nude he approached her, climbing onto the bunk and roughly spreading her legs.

He knelt there between her thighs, his hands moving over her body, stroking, squeezing, and caressing. He plucked at her nipples, grinning at her, then dropped heavily atop her, lips crushing hers.

His tongue thrust into her mouth as his hand pulled at her hair, forcing her head back. Then he ripped his mouth free, and chewed at her exposed throat as he fit himself against her pussy.

With a grunt, he was inside, driving himself deep, ignoring her gasp and moan as he buried the last inch inside her trembling young body.

"The comforts of home," he grunted as he ground himself against her.

He used her for long minutes, rarely speaking. Several times he rose off her, moving back to his knees. Once he lifted her legs up over his shoulders. The next time he gripped her ankles and jammed her legs back against her, pumping down savagely from high above, arms extended, a leer of conquest on his face as he skewered her.

When he finished he rolled off, got to his feet, gave her a curt nod of dismissal and went into his small personal shower.

Kim had knelt there for a long minute, then slowly gotten to her feet, pulled on her clothing, and stumbled from the cabin.

It had not occurred to her to protest.