Chained Cargo Read online

  “I can see that you’re wide open captain and so ready.” She parted Quinn’s labia and licked and kissed her clitoris. “You taste good captain.” Then she slipped her fingers into Quinn’s wet vagina.

  “Ah - that’s good. Put you hand inside me.”

  Sarah put her thumb and fingers together and gently reinserted them all. Her whole hand slipped inside and she formed her hand into a fist inside Quinn’s vagina and started to move it backward and forwards.

  “Oh fist me Sarah! Bring it out as far as you can! That’s good. Rub my clitoris with your other hand.”

  It was obvious that Quinn was close, her breathing quickened and her hand grasped the edge of the table. Then she let out a loud yell.

  “My God! Aaaaaaah! You fucked me good! Aaaaah!”

  Quinn lay back exhausted and Sarah gently pulled out her hand. It was covered in fluid and more oozed from Quinn’s gaping vagina. Sarah admired Quinn as she lay panting.

  Quinn sat up. “It’s your turn now. Lie with your back on the table, lift your legs and hold your knees with your hands. I’m going to rope you.”

  Quinn passed the middle of a rope under Sarah’s backside, which protruded over the edge of the table and pulled it to her waist. She tied one end around Sarah’s right knee and then tied her right wrist to it. She then went to her other knee and pulled the other end of the rope so that it spread Sarah’s right leg wide. After spreading Sarah’s left leg she also tied it around her knee and attached the wrist to it.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Vulnerable, but I like it. What are you going to do to me?”

  “I told you I was going to work your cunt hard. I’m going use the strap and my dildo to drive you crazy. You’ll come several times and you won’t be able to resist.”

  Sarah watched as Quinn went over to a cupboard and took out a belt with a large leather phallus attached. She attached the belt around her waist and fastened a strap around her crotch. The base of the phallus rested against Quinn’s pubis and protruded out a good ten inches. It was thick. Quinn rubbed Sarah’s clitoris and ran her fingers around the opening to her cunt. She moved her hand away and started to strap the top of the insides of Sarah’s thighs close to her vagina, crossing from one side to the other. Sarah laid her head back and relaxed. The strap cracked as it hit her skin. Then Quinn laid a stroke on the flesh just above Sarah’s clitoris. Sarah jumped and let out a cry. Quinn knelt down and brought the strap fully square onto Sarah’s labia. The strokes now came down entirely on Sarah’s cunt, making a different sound. She cried out, moaned and moved her head side to side.

  “Ah my young girl, you take a pussy whipping well!” She slid her fingers into Sarah’s vagina and caressed her clitoris with her thumb. Then she inserted the phallus and shafted hard. Sarah came immediately, writhing and groaning. Quinn continued to shaft hard, she was not going to let Sarah off easily. Sarah came several times with the dildo until Quinn, drenched in sweat from the exertion, stopped.

  It was now very late and they retired to Quinn’s bed, exhausted.

  Sarah laid in Quinn’s arms with her head on Quinn’s shoulder, she looked up. “Jacqueline, tell me about those brands and what happened to you.”

  Quinn laid back and looked towards the ceiling, stroking Sarah’s head.

  “I remember it all so vividly, as if it was yesterday. Like you, I once worked on the De Moncey plantation. I was an English teacher and child minder to Françoise. After a couple of years I had become a sex slave to Pierre de Moncey. He would put me on display, sometimes whip me in front of his friends and make me perform all sorts of sexual acts.”

  Sarah moved her head. “Yes. He did that to me as well – horrible man.”

  “I was young and impressionable then and I have to admit that much of it was enjoyable. Anyway, Danielle was jealous of me from the start and eventually found out what was going on. She planted a valuable ring amongst my belongings in my room and then accused me of theft. I was so annoyed with her, I hit her. That was a terrible mistake because she then accused me of assault. The police were brought in, the ring found and I was taken off to jail. No one defended me and Pierre just didn’t get involved.

  “I was tried and condemned to twelve years hard labour at the notorious Îles du Salut penal colony off the Atlantic coast of French Guiana. Immediately after I was sentenced I was stripped. They shaved my head, shaved off my pubic hair and gave me just a thin short-sleeved linen prison slip to wear. I’ve never forgotten that slip. It was too small for me and barely came down to cover my backside. I was half naked in it and my large breasts lifted the slip at the front. My shaved crotch was exposed for all to see. They put me in chains and took me like this down to the harbour to be shipped to the colony. Everyone stared at me as I walked. I was so ashamed. I have nightmares about it now. I was taken below deck to join a few other women in my predicament. We were kept there chained for the month’s journey to the colony. We were at the mercy of our jailors, we had to let them use us anyway they wanted or risk a whipping.

  “We finally arrived at the Îles du Salut and I learnt that I was to be dropped off at the lesser known Île Saint-Joseph, the southernmost island of the group rather than the infamous Île du Diable. My hopes were raised but soon dashed, because I discovered that this island was reserved for solitary confinement. Here the inmates are kept separated in their own cells with a small patch of land at the front where they have to produce their own food.

  “We arrived at Île Saint-Joseph and I was taken to the guardhouse. Once inside the guard took hold of the back of what was left of my filthy slip and tore it off me in one movement. I was now naked except for my chains and sweating in the hot stuffy atmosphere. There was no point in hiding myself, the slip hid little and I was their property now. After they had done their paper work I was given a prison number – number thirty-eight. I was no longer Christine Cartwright but just this number ‘trente-huit’. This was all I would be called from now on.

  “They took me to a building at the far end of the courtyard, which they called the blacksmith’s shop. I was pulled inside by my chains. It was stifling hot and dark inside and the first thing I saw was the glow of coals in a fire. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. In front of me, beyond a strange iron frame was the brick surround of a raging fire. There was a large anvil in front and a bare chested man soaked in sweat was busy hammering a piece of red hot metal. To each side of the room were tables with various metal working tools. Another bare chested man was sorting through them. I was pushed towards the frame by the guard. The floor was stone paving, but I remember it being warm under my feet. I was close to the frame and could see its form more clearly. There were two substantial vertical metal posts fixed into the floor about five foot apart and eight foot high. There were three identical horizontal bars running between them finished by rings at their ends that ran around the posts allowing them to slide up and down. There was also a low third post mid-way between the main posts, it had shiny round end to it.

  “I was told to turn around and move back so that my back touched the bars. The man I had seen sorting tools started to adjust the bars up and down. He slackened knobs on the outside of the posts to allow them to slide. He started with the top bar and got it level with my neck. Meanwhile the guard started to remove my manacles, freeing my wrists. The second and third bars had now been placed, level with my armpits and waist. The guard removed my ankle bands and chains and placed them on one of the tables. He then removed my collar. I was so relieved to be rid of them all.

  “I was told to walk around the posts to the anvil. I had to kneel in front of it and place my wrists on it. After looking at the size of my wrists the other blacksmith selected two thin iron wrist bands and pushed them over my hands onto my wrists. They were essentially open rings. He then held each one in turn with pliers and hammered them shut. They were tight enough to remain in place but not too tight to be of discomfort. I was told to place my neck down on the anvil with
my head face down over its edge. A much larger ring was slid around my neck and was hammered shut. The hammering was unpleasant as the collar took much more effort to close. I was then told to lie on my back and place my ankles in the anvil. As I lifted my head I could feel the weight of the collar. Modesty made me cover my sex as I lay down. Similar iron bands were place on my ankles.

  “I then had to go back to the iron frame and put my back against the bars and face the anvil. The low middle post brushed the inside of my thighs as I moved my back against the frame. It came to a few inches below my crotch. The two blacksmiths took my arms, lifted them behind my back and then over the bar level with my armpits. They pulled them down to my sides making me arch my back as the bar dug into upper arms and armpits. I yelled in pain as they attached my wrist bands by locking rings to the waist bar. They each took a leg and spread them to meet the posts, where they attached my ankle bands by locking rings to rings low down on the posts. I was now helpless and unable to move much except my head. However my collar was soon attached at the back to the top horizontal bar, which they moved upwards to tighten the collar against my neck making my head bend down slightly. Attention was now paid to the post between my legs. It was pulled upwards and thrust high into my vagina, then fixed in place.

  “I was completely helpless and unable to move. My chest was thrust forwards and my backside stuck out behind. My arched back ached and I could feel the sweat pouring down my spine. I watched as a blacksmith placed a number of irons into the hot coals. The other was selecting rings or links from boxes on the walls.

  “I heard voices from behind. The prison governor stepped in front of me, he was accompanied by a well-dressed woman. I was horrified, it was Danielle! She had gone to such a length to follow me to the prison. I learnt later that she had secretly paid the prison authorities extra to give me a special regime of hard punishment during my years on the island. She took a good look at my body, gave me a sly smile, and told me she had come to witness my branding. I shall I’ll never forget it.

  “The governor told me what was in store for me. In addition to my sentence of twelve years hard labour, my sentence had been modified due to the serious nature of my crime. Normally life sentences incur multiple brandings, but I was to receive these as well. Also I was going to be ringed in addition to my iron bands. I was to remain on the island in solitary confinement and under hard labour.

  “The blacksmith took out a white hot iron from the coals and brought it over to me. He placed it so that I could see it. He allowed it to cool to red and then blue-red. It was the fleur-de-lys, the symbol of the French state and was a good two inches high. He stood with his free hand on my shaved pubis and applied it to my left arse cheek, holding it in place for some time. I screamed as it burnt my flesh and then I passed out. I came to as a bucket of sea-water was thrown over me. The water felt good, but the salt stung my burn. The pain hit me as if I had been skewered by a sharp sword. The air was full of smoke that stank of burnt meat. It was my flesh that I could smell. I strained to see the mark but it was impossible. The governor remarked at the fine mark they had made.

  “The blacksmith returned with a white hot number thirty-eight. He applied it to the fleshy mound at the base of my spine, just above where the arse crease appears. I passed out once again. The water revived me, but I was now much weaker.

  “After these first two brands the air was thick with the smoke from my flesh. It was stiflingly hot inside and the governor and Danielle had gone outside for air. The blacksmith took pity on me and threw another bucket of water over me. My lower body was racked with pain.

  “Eventually the governor and Danielle returned, chatting as if at some function or dinner. They remained behind me as the blacksmith brought over a white hot “TF” for me to see. It seemed huge at three inches across. They told me that as I had been sentenced to ‘travaux forcées’ and that I would be marked accordingly. The iron disappeared behind me and then I felt it on my backside. I screamed as it burnt into my right cheek for several seconds, but I did not pass out this time. Danielle loved the mark and remarked at how deep I’d been branded. My whole body was racked in pain and my arms were completely numb.”

  “They left again to go outside. What was next? That was three brands. Another splash of water hit my back and cooled my arse. I was told it would soon be over, they were now going to ring me. I was only half listening and did not understand what he was saying. The governor and Danielle returned, this time to my front. Danielle was obviously enjoying the whole procedure.

  “The blacksmith came back with a pair of tongs. These had flat round ends with a hole in them. He pinched my first nipple with them aligning the holes in the middle of the areoles. The second blacksmith handed him a thick red hot needle. He passed the needle through the holes in the tongs and through to the other side, piercing and burning a hole through the base of my nipple. I did not complain, watching almost detached from it all as if they weren’t my breasts. They pierced the other nipple in the same manner. Two heavy inch and a half wide open iron rings were then threaded through the holes left in my flesh. I felt my breasts droop slightly under their weight.

  “I was released from the frame and my wrists were reattached behind my back. I sunk to my knees in front of the governor and Danielle. I was told that I would be whipped in front of Danielle before she left that afternoon. They both left and the two blacksmiths helped me over to the anvil. I knelt down again with my breasts on the anvil. After they had twisted the rings in my nipples through ninety degrees they hammered them shut. I’d suffered badly and I fainted and fell on the floor.

  “I was woken by more cold water, to discover I had been put in an iron yoke. They had attached two short chains to my nipple rings that met in ring. A longer chain was attached to this and a guard pulled on it to get me up. He led me out by this chain into the courtyard. After attaching the chain to the top of a post and pulling it tight so that I was on my toes, I was whipped in front of Danielle and a number of officials.

  “The rest of the story is too long and dreadful. I was chained naked all the time, but it was so hot and humid it didn’t really matter. I had to work hard and took whipping after whipping. The men used me regularly. By the way I was treated it was obvious I was not expected to survive the full sentence. But for six long years I did manage to survive.

  “Then one day, a tremendous hurricane devastated the island. At the height of the storm the chain attaching me to my prison cell was broken by falling masonry. In spite of the high winds and lashing rain, I managed to make my way to the sea-shore. As chance would have it, a small boat had broken loose and floated close by. I waded out to reach it and threw myself in. Something hit me and I passed out. The boat, driven by the wind, must have floated out to sea.

  “Many days later, after the storm had subsided, the pirate Captain John Booth, sailing from Trinidad to Cayenne found me floating in my half sunken boat off the coast of Guyana to the north. He took me aboard and took care of me, bringing me back to life. I served under Booth as a crew member for several years as Jacqueline Quinn. The prison authorities had listed Christine Cartwright as missing, presumed dead, so I don’t really exist anymore.”

  Sarah had been listening intently to Quinn’s story. “But your brands are different now?”

  “Yes I know. I got Captain Booth to disguise the prison marks on my backside. I let him brand me again over the original marks. That’s why I have the rose, the cross and the circles. The fleur-de-lys transformed nicely into the Tudor rose and TF became the centre of a cross made of two long intersecting rectangles. My number thirty-eight was over branded with four circles.”

  “What are you going to do with Danielle now you’ve got her?”

  “Wait and see. And keep your mouth shut about what I’ve just told you or you’ll be back in chain and tortured.”

  6. Antigua to Jamaica

  At dawn, the Scorpion set sail, passing between the mainland and Long Island, then she rounded the no
rth coast and out towards the western Caribbean and Jamaica. She had lost five of her crew in Parnham and Swift had not managed to find any replacements. Sarah was put to work on deck with the rest of the men and Swift took particular care of her, showing her what to do.

  Quinn was by the helm. “Well Fletch, let’s set full sail. We should make good progress with this wind. We’re a little short on crew, so we’ll keep out of any trouble. Set someone to keep watch for ships. Let’s hope we find more men in Port Royal.” Quinn then turned and whispered to Fletch. “You and I have more pressing matters with Danielle before we reach Jamaica. Let’s start with a flogging tonight.”

  Late that afternoon a block and tackle was lowered from the mainmast first platform. An iron spreader bar was hung on its hook by its centre and left hanging six feet off the deck. A second spreader bar was left on the deck underneath it. Fletch went below for Danielle and brought her up.

  Two sailors took her over to the bars, she resisted. “Non! Non! Pas encore!”

  Two other sailors came over to help. They attached the leg iron to spread her legs and put her wrists in the upper bar. Then two of them pulled on the block and tackle to raise her on to her toes. Some marks of her previous lashings crisscrossed her body and were plain to see in the late afternoon light.

  Fletch and Swift arrived, both stripped to the waist. They took up positions at the front and back of Danielle respectively, each held a prison whip like the one used two days before.

  Quinn appeared from her cabin aft and addressed them all.

  “Crew! I’ve organised some more entertainment for you this afternoon! The woman you fucked on deck is going to take a whipping!”

  The crew cheered and came over to watch. Sarah went up to the quarter deck and stood next to Quinn. They had a good view.

  “Okay Tom and Fletch, deliver forty lashes to her front and back at the same time! No pause! Set to!”