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 informed him?
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
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 every cent.
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 atall,
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
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!