Quentin Osman sat
under the striped awning set up on the aft quarter deck. It was cool and pleasant there, though he
realised the heat was rising even if the time was only a little past eleven in
the morning. Dressed in a check sports
shirt, lightweight blue trousers and sneakers, he lifted the tall glass of
Bourbon at his side and sipped. It was
just to his liking. Long, pale and
ice-cold. Quentin felt very pleased with
life at that moment ... and sensed that, soon, he was going to be even more
He picked up a pair of opera glasses from the table and
focused on the port deck. This was
something that he had been unable to resist doing in the last fifteen or twenty
minutes he had spent under the awning.
The reason was not far to seek.
Although the deck was bone-white clean, a young woman was scrubbing it. She was stark naked and wore a lightweight
silver chain about her waist. She was
also depilated so that Quentin could observe her sexual charms unhindered. The hindquarters, he thought, were most
excellent and he wondered if the young woman would be aware she was under
observation. She scrubbed vigorously and
ceaselessly. With her body in close-up
in the glasses, Quentin could see the sheen of sweat on hr back. Remarkable, quite remarkable, that such a
thing could be happening right before his eyes!
Quentin picked up his
glass and drained his drink. His pulse
rate was definitely faster. He felt in a
dream-like state and, having only been aboard the ‘Paradise’ for some thirty
six hours had not yet adjusted to the incredible mode of life which
prevailed. It was a world apart. Unbelievable, yet real. For one could not deny the evidence of one’s
Feeling just a shade
self-conscious, he raised his arms and snapped his fingers. From behind him a figure approached and
deferentially curtsied. Quentin turned
his head and tried to look unruffled as he gazed upon the naked woman standing
“Master?” she queried
said Quentin abruptly.
The woman picked up
Quentin’s empty glass and disappeared.
She too wore a silver chain about her waist but, in addition, there were
small silver rings through her nose, her nipples and her clitoris. From these rings were suspended small green
emeralds. When he had first seen them,
Quentin had looked upon them with utter amazement aware, nevertheless, they
were potent symbols of the woman’s servitude.
She was a flame-haired Jewess with exceedingly white skin, her body
being just a shade overblown for Quentin’s taste. An excellent body all the same. Good, big firm tits; a sumptuous bottom. Her name, he knew, was Rebecca and he also
knew that her owner happened to be aboard the ‘Paradise’ at the time. The woman returned, breasts juddering
slightly as she placed Quentin’s drink on the table. Quentin managed a vague wave of
dismissal. He was only just getting used
to doing such a thing. For a moment, he
had been tempted to place his hand on one of the white flanks. On a buttock cheek, even. But something had prevented him, even though
he was aware that he was perfectly at liberty to do so.
Had not Madame Vesta
That formidable lady
was the supreme arbiter aboard the ‘Paradise’.
She owned the ship and she organised the whole operation. A close personal friend had given Quentin an
introduction to her. It was a great
privilege. And now that Quentin was
safely aboard the ‘Paradise’, that privilege seemed all the greater.
What a wonderful
world he had been introduced to!
A world of slave
girls ... ruled inexorably by Madame Vesta and her numerous assistants.
Quentin Osman picked
up his opera glasses, this time he focused them on the starboard deck. Here another naked woman was scrubbing the
deck. On her knees, she was moving
slowly towards him, her half-melon breasts swinging and joggling beneath her
without cessation. Her face, despairing,
and mouth partially open, was half concealed by strands of long blonde
hair. She scrubbed relentlessly, her
body also sheened with sweat. What makes
them toil in this fashion, Quentin asked himself? It was quite remarkable. He tried to imagine his Julia doing what
these two women on the deck were doing at that moment and could not truly
visualise it. Julia ... naked ...
depilated ... scrubbing on hands and knees?
It did not seem possible to Quentin that she could be made to do
it. Yet Madame Vesta had assured him
that that would be the case. Quentin
felt the increased pounding of his heart.
Could it really be true? What a
wonderful idea it was! That deceitful,
arrogant, headstrong bitch reduced to this!
Marvellous ... oh unbelievably marvellous! Though it might cost him a small fortune to
have Julia abducted and put aboard the ‘Paradise’ he reckoned it would be worth
The bitch, the
bitch! The overweening, insolent
bitch! Oh God, how superb to be the one
to make her suffer to the full! Quentin
drank some more Bourbon to try and calm his nerves. It wasn’t very successful. Finishing the glass, he snapped his fingers
again. Rebecca appeared almost
instantly. Perhaps emboldened by
alcohol, Quentin placed one hand lightly on a buttock cheek. Rebecca remained silent and submissively
“Yes, Master?” she
“I shall require
another Bourbon ... in a moment.”
Rebecca remained; Quentin ran his hand up and down the soft, warm
flesh. Under normal circumstances, if he
had done any such thing to a woman, she would have slapped his face and run
screaming. And he would have been
charged with indecent assault. As it
was, Rebecca submitted, with seeming calm, to his fondling.
“I ... I am told your
owner is aboard,” said Quentin as casually as he could.
“Yes, Master.” The voice was controlled. Quentin squeezed the lush buttock cheek.”
“Are you pleased?”
responded Rebecca in that same controlled voice. “As his slave, I am always pleased to be of
service to him. To ... to please him as
“I see,” said
Quentin. He squeezed the buttock cheek
rather more firmly. “And, has it always
been like that?”
There was a pause
before Rebecca answered. “No, Master,”
came the answer.
Quentin nodded in
satisfaction. “You were then, shall we
say, trained to it?”
“Fetch me that
“Yes, Master.” Rebecca moved away and, in moments it seemed,
returned with another Bourbon. I don’t
want to get drunk, reflected Quentin as his sipped, but I do want to get relaxed. This bizarre world, filled with slave girls,
was still an amazing revelation to him and rather unnerving. Also, he knew, Madame Vesta was going to ask
him the positive question that day. Was
he, or was he not, going to send Julia to the ‘Paradise’? With all it entailed?
Quentin, in fact, was
almost 90% certain he would.
Wasn’t it exactly
what such a cheating bitch deserved?
Yes ... yes ... it
Quentin glanced to
the port deck. The naked girl was still
scrubbing unceasingly, but now another figure appeared. This was a tall, broad-shouldered blonde
garbed in lightweight black leather. She
wore a bolero, the shortest of short skirts, and a pair of very high-heeled
calf-length boots. On her waist belt was
hooked a three-foot thong of black leather, something like three inches
wide. Quentin’s nerves tingled as he saw
the woman unhook the thong and swing it at her side. She advanced at an easy pace along the deck
and passed the kneeling slave. A few
paces past the still scrubbing figure and the blonde turned. The black thong swung high then cracked down
across the slave’s buttocks. A faint,
wailing cry reached Quentin’s ears as the naked slave writhed down on to the
deck. A pink-red band had appeared across
her twisting nates. A few moments later
and a second stroke fell in more or less the same area. Another wailing cry, more writhing and
kicking. The tall blonde was pointing
down to the deck at some point which the slave had already passed ... and obviously
barking some order. The girl scrambled
around and began to scrub the deck where the blonde was pointing. Quentin could only assume some part of the
deck had been overlooked during the scrubbing.
A third stroke of the
thong and then the slave slithered back to where she had been working. Her arm began to move vigorously once
more. Three bands of a bright pink-red
now encircled her juddering bottom.
Through his opera glasses Quentin gazed on them with sadistic relish.
Oh my God, he said to
himself, one day this could be my Julia!
The tall blonde made
her way along the deck and mounted the companion way to where Quentin sat under
his awning. She gave him a generous
wide-mouthed smile. He began to
rise. “No, please don’t get up.” Quentin resumed his seat. “Rebecca, a glass of iced mineral water.”
“Yes, Miss ....”
The blonde seated
herself in a chair alongside Quentin and was almost immediately served. Quentin’s gaze lingered on the big white
bottom as Rebecca bent. It was quite
unmarked but he supposed that it must, quite often, have been marked like that
of the woman on the deck.
“You are, I believe,
“That’s right,” said
Quentin. “Quentin Osman.”
“I am Miss Judith,”
said the blonde. “One of Madame Vesta’s
“Ah ... I am pleased
to meet you,” replied Quentin, trying to sound as if such a statement was
something perfectly natural to him.
“I understand you may
be sending a young lady to us?”
“That is correct,
Miss Judith,” nodded Quentin. “I am
considering it most seriously.”
“If she has offended
you in any way,” said Miss Judith, “I am sure this is just the place for
her. Has she?”
Quentin found himself
colouring. “More than offended,” he said
vehemently. “She has cheated me ...
financially and sexually. She has wilfully
denied me. She has made a fool of
me. She is an arrogant self-willed
bitch!” He saw Miss Judith smiling at
the venom of his words,
“She seems ideal for
the ‘Paradise’,” she said. “The more
arrogant, the more self-willed, the better!”
“And you have no
trouble with such a woman?” enquired Quentin naively.
Miss Judith laughed
lightly. “No trouble at all, I assure
you, Mr Osman.” Miss Judith pointed to
the figure on the deck across whose buttocks she had so recently laid her
strap. “See that girl down there,” she
said, “she belongs to a German Baron.
Name of Nerine. She was very
hoity-toity when she arrived aboard just about a month ago. Look at her now. Straining every sinew. In mortal dread that I might go back and give
her another taste of my strap. Believe
me, Mr Osman, pain is a wonderful persuader.”
“Yes ... yes ... so
it seems ...” Quentin more or less
mumbled. It was so difficult to adjust
to such extraordinary situations. Madame
Vesta, and this Miss Judith, took it all so naturally. Yet, in truth, it was all quite
unnatural. Thrilling, though. Very thrilling! “You mean ... well ... if I sent my Julia
here ... she ... I mean ... would be treated just like ... well ... that girl
on the deck?”
“Just like that, Mr
Osman,” smiled Miss Judith. “Or worse.”
Miss Judith laughed
again. “You do not imagine, Mr Osman, do
you, that my strap across a girl’s backside is the worst that can happen to her
aboard the ‘Paradise’?”
hesitated. “Well ... I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t been aboard long.”
true. But let me tell you that the strap
is about the least severe form of punishment a girl can receive here.”
“Really?” Quentin was truly surprised.
“Oh yes, really, Mr
Osman. There are canes, birches,
martinets, whips. They all hurt a good
deal more than my strap. You will be
aware of this if you attend one of our Punishment Sessions.
“Yes,” nodded Miss
Judith. “One is held every evening at
seven pm. Any girl who has failed in hr
duties, been disobedient and so on, will be taken there and punished accordingly. Madame Vesta normally adjudicates but, if she
is not available, Miss Kaufman, her deputy makes the decisions.”
“I see ...” said
Quentin musingly. Looking down to the
port deck, he noticed that the scrubbing slave girl had slumped down. Perhaps she has fainted, he thought. It would not have been surprising.
He saw Miss Judith
glancing at him. “Does it worry you that
your Julia will be treated in this fashion ... caned, birched, whipped and the
“N-no ... no ...”
replied Quentin almost too hastily. He
was beginning to realise just how much he wanted such things to happen. “It will do her good. Teach her some manners. Teach her not to be such a first class
“That’s very true,”
said Miss Judith, rather smugly. “I am
rather looking forward to meeting this young lady. She seems worthy of taming.”
“Will you be dealing
with her then?” asked Quentin.
said Miss Judith. “Madame Vesta has half
a dozen female Overseers and four male Trainers.”
“Four males, eh?”
Quentin found himself rather pleased by that.
Julia would not take at all kindly to being ordered about, or handled,
by any male!
“Yes,” said Miss
Judith. “Two of them are Negroes, one is
a Turk, the other a German.”
Quentin was even more
pleased by this piece of news for he was aware that Julia had a natural
aversion to coloureds.
he said. He saw the long-legged blonde
arise from her chair. She really was
“It looks,” she said,
“as if Nerine needs a little stimulating.” Quentin could only suppose that
Nerine was the slave girl slumped on the deck.
He watched as Miss Judith unhooked the belt at her waist as she strode
down the deck. He found his nerve ends tingling
with pleasure again.
On arrival at the
recumbent figure, Miss Judith realised that the girl had not actually fainted
but was merely exhausted. She laid her
strap viciously across the upturned buttocks, evoking a shriek which Quentin,
in the distance clearly heard.
“You slack bitch ...
get on with your work!” bellowed Miss Judith.
Again the strap cracked down.
Again the girl shrieked in torment.
Making some superhuman effort, she began to scrub the deck feebly. “I think we’ll have you doing it the hard
way,” said Miss Judith. She took the
scrubbing brush from Nerine’s feeble grasp, yanked up her head by pulling on
the dark brown locks. She saw the girl’s
petrified face, wet with tears, slack with exhaustion. That was how Miss Judith liked to see them;
when she really put the pressure on.
“Open wide,” she ordered. Conditioned
to obedience, the girl opened her mouth ... and found the wooden handle of the
brush shoved crosswise into it. From the
ends of the brush hung two straps and these were now buckled at the back of her
head. “Get your snout into that bucket
and get scrubbing again,” rasped Miss Judith.
Twice more the strap
fell across Nerine’s twisting bottom.
Convulsed with pain, she plunged her head into the sudsy water in the
bucket. Her head came up again; she was
snorting and choking. Down went the
brush to the deck and she began to jerk it back and forth. Miss Judith looked down with smug
satisfaction. She hoped the newcomer, Mr
Osman, was impressed.
“If you haven’t
finished with this deck in a quarter of an hour, my girl,” Miss Judith was
saying, “I’ll have you on Punishment Detail tonight and see to it you get a
really good caning!”
head plunged back into the bucket; groaning she began to scrub almost
frenziedly. With a friendly wave to
Quentin, under the awning, Miss Judith went down the companion way to a lower
“She’s a tough one
that,” said a male voice at Quentin’s side, making him start slightly. Then he noticed that the slave girl, Rebecca,
was on hands and knees at the man’s feet, nose pressed to the deck,
hindquarters raised high. “Allow me to
introduce myself, I am Gustav Heine.”
“Er ... how do you do
...” Quentin took the extended
hand. “Quentin Osman,” he said.
“You will have made
the acquaintance of Rebecca,” said the man, who was Jewish in appearance.
“Yes ... yes ...
that’s true ...”
“It so happens, she
belongs to me. You may kneel up,
Rebecca.” The white fleshed woman did
so, tossing back her flame red hair. She
clasped her hands at the back of her neck which lifted her half-melon breasts
higher. “Good tits, eh, Mr Osman?”
Quentin found himself
slightly embarrassed by the question and was annoyed with himself. Why under the circumstances, should he feel
“Yes ... excellent,”
“Not a bad arse on
her either,” said Gustav Heine. “Show Mr
Osman your arse, Rebecca ... NICELY.”