Harriet Page 3

  “Start her off, Maria!” Impelled by an enthusiastic smack and aided by the remorselessly guiding grip on her hair, Harriet put her uncertain lips to the soft and squashy crevice, already half fainting in the smelly warmth beneath the folds of Big Aggie’s skirts.

  “Eat it, you bitch!” The brawny bully thrust Harriet’s face into her fleshy loins, rubbing her victim’s mouth against moist slick sex-lips held open by sharp-taloned fingers for Harriet to access the inner surfaces. “Eat me!” Aggie’s voice, hoarse with the hot anticipation of lust, impelled Harriet almost as much as fear of the hairbrush returning to her bottom. She felt her mentor shudder at every tentative touch of her lips.

  “Use your tongue, bitch! It wont bite you!” Aggie snarled above the nodding head of the former governess turned hapless pupil in a new erotic art, kissing and nuzzling timorously beneath the big woman’s overhanging belly. Big Aggie knew more about this than did her victim. “Stick it in hard! Mmmm... That’s it! Mmmm.. Stir it up!” Harriet clutched convulsively at the wide female hips as Aggie squirmed and gasped in delight. Squatting on her haunches, she drew Harriet up between her thighs and settled to enjoy the erotic services of her victim, the envy of her gang who constantly demanded to be told how Harriet was performing.

  A novice but learning fast was Big Aggie’s complacent report. As Harriet’s obedient tongue probed and flickered in the warm mushy depths, the heavy thighs clamped her bobbing head between them, as if Aggie meant to crush her panting acolyte. Maria, meanwhile, having groped in the dark to fix the position of Harriet’s elevated behind, amused herself by working the stiff handle of the hairbrush into the victim’s vulnerable anus as her bottom waggled to and fro in her efforts to do justice to Big Aggie’s sex. Suddenly the big dominatrix let out a hiss, hunched over Harriet’s bent head. She clung to the hard-pushed girl as if she feared that Harriet might yet escape. “Ahhh ... go on ... yesss ... go on!” she urged savagely when Harriet seemed about to falter. “That’s it ... harder ... harder!” Half suffocated by soft female flesh, Harriet strove blindly to obey, to tongue and tongue with deep gasps, conscious of the desperate need to please. Above her, the exhortations became more savage, “Ahhh ... go on...! Girls...! I’m nearly...” She squirmed slowly and her petticoats slipped down to envelop Harriet in a stifling redolent tent.

  “Ahhh ... uhhh...!” Suddenly she shoved Harriet’s head from her just as the hapless young woman was about to make a desperate bid for air. “Aaaah! Get out, you stupid slut!” A bare foot, hardened by wear, gave Harriet a kick that sent her backwards into the surprised but clutching grasp of the other women. “Somebody else’s turn!” Big Aggie gasped in the darkness. “She could do with more practice!” There was an enthusiastic scramble by the others to take up this suggestion, struggling for possession of Harriet. She was made to repeat her services for each of the five girls, sucking them by turns, her ardour stimulated by frequent applications of the hairbrush to her tender bottom.

  “You aren’t finished yet, miss!” the gang leader hissed, as Bella lifted her pubis off Harriet’s hot wet mouth and aching tongue, last of the five, expressing her satisfaction. “Now to get you used to being shafted! And don’t start grizzling, neither!” she reproved Harriet who moaned and whimpered plaintively. “It’s not as if we girls are likely to put a babby in your belly!”

  Spread-eagled in the darkness on her throbbing bottom, with her legs wide open, overwhelmed by female odours, surrounded by their giggles, held by hands soft but inexorable, Harriet cried out in confused foreboding, thinking guiltily of a man’s hardness, but feeling soft feminine fingers instead cunningly brush the fleshy outer lips of her vagina.

  “Very sensitive, girls!’ Nance commented, as she felt Harriet twitch under her touch. “A real hot pussy, this one!” Harriet could do no other than submit. Unimpeded, Nance’s fingers insinuated themselves, the fingernails tweaking very gently, the fingertips caressing delicately. Harriet gasped and bit her lip. She made a quivering attempt to rise, but they held her steady. Other fingertips joined in, eliciting fresh gasps, teasing and tweaking her quivering nipples. Further fingers ran softly across her trembling belly, trickling and stroking. Big Aggie and Maria had joined in. Harriet could only tell it was the former bending over her by the tickling envelopment of long hair as her nipples were licked and sucked; the touch of the others was anonymous and multiple. Skilful fingers swirled round and round inside Harriet’s vagina, making her head whirl in sympathy. Little flickering touches tantalized her clitoris and kept her in constant quivering anticipation. A slender hand slid beneath her bottom, interposing soft warmth between flesh and deck, until the plump cheeks sat squirming painfully upon its spread fingers.

  “She remembers how she got whacked all right!” Big Aggie’s voice, laughing. Harriet could not repress the tremors of reaction that quivered through her body. She had told herself so many times that she had no option but to submit passively to her ordeal. Yet now she found that to submit was to be compelled to take part! Two fingers, curling deep within her, forced her to abandon the problem, submerging her reason in the wave of feeling that suffused her body. She squealed with hopeless passion, arching herself involuntarily between firmly restraining hands.

  “Wet already, I’ll swear!” Nance chuckled; it was evidently her teasing thumb that sent such demoralizing thrills through Harriet’s straining body, so that she clenched her teeth in a last despairing effort to conceal the effects that cunningly directed caresses had produced upon her. The effort was fruitless. Her body was betraying her secrets. She had begun to quiver and her rump ground gently and rhythmically against the warm feminine palm that supported it, her head swung to and fro, her legs, widely parted, high in the air and firmly gripped, assuaged a desire to kick and thresh by the curling and clenching of the toes. In a last moment of shame she let go a little series of quavering moans. Her lips opened and she began openly to pant and gasp.

  “Wet as a fart!” Nance revealed, giggling this time. Harriet hissed wildly. She gripped whichever of her tormentors she could catch at, as if to keep from lifting off the planks.

  “Nice tight little arsehole too!” Maria commented. As Harriet squirmed slowly upon her palm, the girl had curled her mid-finger upwards and wriggled it progressively deeper between the soft cheeks and into Harriet’s anus, hooking her upon it, deep in to the second knuckle, compelling the recipient to wriggle upon its point. Nance mumbled inaudibly a response to her colleagues. Evidently it was her head between Harriet’s thighs supplementing Maria’s fingers. A soft mouth brushed Harriet’s, Big Aggie’s perhaps, nearly burying her in a tumble of drifting hair. Another pair of lips closed warm and soft over one breast, caressing and tonguing, while soft fingers created in the other a tingling stiff-nippled awareness. The dazed female victim writhed and panted openly under the combined assault of multiple tongues lips and fingers, her body moved in rhythm with their caress, her hands came up to clutch blindly at the press of young bodies, limbs, bottoms, clothing, like a drowning victim clutching at straws. Suddenly her hips lifted in a desperate arch, carrying the fingers and lips with it that still worked upon her even as they triumphed. She strained wildly, as if to burst herself free of constraint, losing all control, overwhelmed by the desperate desire to reach the point of release, confused reactions all the more frantic since at the junction of belly and thighs. “Hairbrush!” someone whispered and the fingers were replaced by something harder and longer sliding much deeper. A shameful thought entered her head, of her Tom and of feeling him within her and of the cook’s manliness and how he too might assuage that particular ache. The smooth hairbrush handle thrust in slowly with small jerky twists, her stretched channel reacting with sharp little tingles. Licking her lips, Harriet pushed recklessly as the object sank deeper and deeper filling her almost as satisfactorily as her thoughts. Before it got fully home it began to thrust in and out, going a little deeper with every inward thrust. Harriet began to p
ant and mewl despite her best intentions, her thighs clapped together, half obstructing the back and forth movement of the insertion. She arched her back with a smothered gasp that burst out finally and rose into a long ululation, half of shame, half of sheer ecstasy. Hooting and giggling, the soft hands of the gang clung to her as she flopped and sprawled, her limbs enfeebled and her body shuddering with the dying spasms of her orgasm.

  By the time the faint four double rings of the ship’s bell from above sounded a change of watch, Harriet had been made to experience that exhausting ecstatic burst of sensation over and over again with every variety of implement, even the old rope from the bell, discarded because its loop was worn through, a stiff and knobbly shaft of intricately plaited rope painted white, with an even more knobbly turban-like knot on the end, a Turk’s head they called it, fortunately smoothed over a little by its coat of red paint. The latest item they had used upon her was then resting solidly between her thighs, a long wooden fitting that the sailors used to loop coils of rope upon, belaying they termed it, a club-like fitting of rounded wood about the length of her forearm, pointed at one end, thick at the other, smoothly rounded, fortunately it had been that end which had been within her, hard and mechanical compared with a man. She remembered Tom now with only occasional flashes of guilt between her hapless reactions. It seemed long ago and far away. With a groan Harriet opened her thighs and the impromptu dildo slid downwards quite easily, assisted by her own juices and its smoothness and slithering out, dropped with a clunk onto the planking and rolling away.

  “Is there plenty in that commode? Big Aggie’s voice asked in the darkness. “The girls have been pissing in it all night!” came the giggling answer. Harriet was seized again and carried between multiple hands, struggling with suddenly reanimated alarm.

  “Just to remind you this isn’t all for your fun!” There was a sudden liquid splash and gurgle, giggles and curses, as Harriet was held head down and thoroughly soused in the stinking acrid contents of the night commode. She tried not to breathe in but the cloth gag soaked up the urine and made it impossible to escape the vile taste. They dropped her then and suddenly she was free, shuddering on her hands and knees, with her chin resting on the edge of the tub, her soaked hair clinging around her head and dribbles of piss running down her naked body.

  “And put that pin thing back where it came from, before some fellow misses it!” Big Aggie ordered as she retreated with her gang into the warm darkness, dispersing back to their own bunks.

  Next day was a one of cold rain with everyone staying under cover. Impelled by frequent reminders of the commode and nerved by some humiliating preparation supervised by Mrs Grimes, Harriet waited nervously until the dinner time came and the crew were busy eating, with the anchor watch forward out of sight. She found the cook cleaning the slush from his pots, who rolled his eyes and grinned at her. Still half-hoping her shame would not be necessary, she told him in faltering tones what she wanted and saw his dark eyes gleam with quick appreciation of the situation. Evidently it was difficult to keep anything secret in such a confined society.

  “You got it, gal!” He reached out without ceremony and hoisted her quickly and bodily onto his lap, facing him with her legs spread wide, the short shirt hem riding up and giving ready access. Looking down she saw his fist around a great black penis, only the second such male instrument she had seen, bigger than she remembered it and quite a different colour. With a muted groan of shame and fervently hoping that the beeswax plug would be as secure as Mrs Grimes boasted, she set herself to endure what she must. But the cook, mistaking the reason for her hesitation, checked and reached out to dip two fingers into the slush pot, lavishly slopping the dollop around his gnarled shaft, with a large-toothed reassuring grin. Harriet had no further time to think, having to hasten the spread of her thighs to accommodate the cook’s large cock as it entered, her breath coming suddenly faster, nervously clutching his shirtfront as she was swiftly breeched and penetrated. His big hands on her bare behind beneath her sole garment bounced and jiggled her up and down, gasping as she was impaled deeper and deeper until the black scrub of pubic hair began to rasp against her clitoris. He was large within her, but not painfully so, lubricated as she was with the greasy pork dripping. She laid her hot cheek against his chest as she felt a similar warming sensation in the pit of her belly. The long strokes of his cock as he began to lift her regularly up and down, thrusting in and drawing out, stoked her into heat. Its solid bulk, going in and out, were so much more yielding of surface and varied in reaction than such things as a wooden belaying pin. It became so familiar a stimulation inside her, as to produce a sense of emptiness each time it withdrew, so that she clutched unthinkingly tighter to him. Every time his cock lingered on the edge of removal it renewed that urge in her to beg him to drive deep again, making her bury the humiliation of her position in the excitement it produced. Suddenly she realised that she was pressing her toes hard to the planking to meet his thrusts, almost propelling herself up and down upon his stiffness. Impulse made her shift her own grip too, from the man’s shoulders to his behind, seizing his narrow male buttocks, naked under his shirt tails, feeling that if she could only guide his thrusts and gyrate her hips skilfully enough she could soon achieve what she now lusted for.

  The cook warmed to his reception with grunting encouragement in some unknown language, increasing the tempo of his thrusts at which Harriet could not repress little exclamations of her own. Both were working hard and steadily, their combined grunts and gasps vying with the bubble and hiss from the still steaming kettles. The man slid his muscular black arms under Harriet’s knees and heaved her white thighs up and back, settling her ankles over his broad shoulders and almost bending her double. She clung to him valiantly and his hard sinewy body made steady smacking sounds against her resilient belly as he drove in and out between her thighs with sharply increased vigour and speed. Perhaps a dozen strokes went thus, and then he gave a sharp gasp followed by a deep-chested bellow of triumph. Harriet responded with a little frightened excited sound feeling his thick cock pulse deep within her belly, and carried over the threshold of her own ecstasy by the sensation. The cook jerked his black head up and down once or twice with heavy satisfied gasps, pink mouth agape, big white teeth grinning and then allowed her to slip down astride him, her dishevelled hair spilling down to hide her furious blushes.

  Unfortunately they had spent too long over it and Harriet was caught emerging from the galley, flushed and guilty smuggling the gin bottle under her newly resumed skirts. She was ordered to be put in irons and in the course of this, the heavy chests that had been newly loaded aboard were revealed to be full of chains and manacles. Panic ensued among the women who were sure that they were to be sold as slaves, that the ship was bound for the African coast where the women were to be sold to African chieftains in exchange for a supply of blacks and could hardly be convinced by the explanation that the owners normally employed their ships in the slave trade and that the ‘Cormorant’ was meant to explore the possible profit of a slaving voyage from Madagascar as the return leg of the voyage.

  Meanwhile the cook had been threatened with a flogging by the captain’s wife, for having stolen the gin from the cabin supply in the first place. Mrs Esmeralda Podlock, the captain’s wife had come aboard while they lay windbound, a very tall, bold woman with a cold and commanding demeanour and lots of fair hair, very fashionably dressed. She was the daughter and heiress of the principal owner and declared her intention of sailing with her husband’s ship to oversee its business activities. The captain himself seemed quite cowed by his wife, though his temper elsewhere showed a considerable deterioration. The affair caused a great row and the cook gave as good as he got, rallying other discontented elements, until together with several other men he seized the boat and they openly deserted. Harriet, secured helplessly in heavy irons, heard them go past, oars splashing, shouting imprecations and declaring that they had not signed o
n for a slaving voyage, with added jeers about petticoat captains. There were barely a dozen sailors remaining, raising hopes of delay among the convicts, but Mrs Podlock argued violently otherwise.

  “I can keep a watch as well as any mate,” she boasted. “We shall go south under easy sail and pick up replacements at the rendezvous. Until then the whores must be made to haul and scrub on deck. Mr Bones can go aloft and that great lout of a boy can do a man’s part, with one of the cleaner females employed in his place,” and she directed her husband to up anchor without further delay.

  Harriet was released and, included with other young females picked out for the purpose, clustered two at each capstan bar. By way of punishment for her theft Harriet had her skirts tucked up behind by Mrs Podlock’s order, leaving her round white bottom framed by bunched brown cloth. She knew what to expect.

  “Heave away!” Captain Podlock bellowed angrily. Harriet heaved with a despairing howl. The bosun was right next to her and her exposed thighs white above her black stocking tops suddenly acquired a wide red swathe from his swinging rope-end. She attested the invigorating effect by the desperation of her lunge forward at the capstan bar, intent upon getting out of his reach. The others quickly heaved like her, bending to the bars as they went round. The capstan turned easily at first, slack cable coming dripping round the barrel, but soon it came taut and the bosun bellowed loudly and swung harder. There was no need for capstan shanties, Harriet’s howl had inspired the rest of the convict gang and subsequent whacks of the harsh rope end were laid equally upon them all, differing only in sound as between bare flesh and swathing skirts. The cable came in steadily and the girls went round bent nearly double, bottoms waggling. Haplessly, Harriet was borne round with them, thighs straining and bared bottom bobbing like a target, coming in for particular attention from the rope-end. The bosun struck harder and more frequently as if conscious of the growing bulge in his breeches, catching each girl in turn as they passed, the swung rope-end thwacking the seats of skirts and then cracking across Harriet’s bared curves, conspicuous among them. Her howls rose higher and became more breathless, bare toes scrabbling at the deck, slithering in the harbour mud that was squeezed from the incoming rope as it reached the last few fathoms of cable.