Chapter 1

The sharp snapping reports of leather against flesh echoed through the clearing, each one immediately accented by the choked scream of the naked blonde strapped to the whipping-post.

Julia Dawson watched the flogging with dread, instead of the exhileration of revenge that she should have felt. She winced as the big Arab lashed into tinwhite back with the long, vicious whip. The woman': body was streaked now; the thin red weals being raised without any pattern between the shoulders and the lower part of the jerking buttocks.

That same morning, Julia herself had suffered the pain and humiliation of having to bare her own buttocks to receive twelve strokes of the cane from this same blonde. With the thought of that ordeal so fresh in her mind, the smarting heat still burning her flesh, she should have been gloating over every agonizing stroke that bit into the wealed, sweating body at the whipping post. But she wasn't. Her only feelings now were fear and an overwhelming disappointment.

"I'm not liking this one darn bit," muttered the redheaded Amercian girl at her side.

Julia glanced at Sylvia Carter, the only friend she had. Both of them had been lured out to this remote island in the Bahamas in the belief that they were coming to highly-paid jobs; Julia as tutor to the two teenage children of Cynthia Briggs, the woman now writhing under the lash, and Sylvia as personal maid. The jobs were there, all right, but they had found that the island was being used as a base for slave-trading and that Cynthia Briggs was the cane-wielding boss, with two white men and a score of Africans to back her up. There were also fifteen golden-skinned girls imported from the South Sea Islands, whose main chore was to keep the Africans happy.

Now the whole population of the small island stood silently watching with varied emotion as their erstwhile dominating mistress was flogged. They were covered by the guns of the men in green battle-dress, who had taken over the island less than an hour before, under the command of a huge, English-speaking Arab, who now stood close to and dwarfing, the big Arab carrying out the punishment he had ordered.

Twenty lashes he had sentenced her to and now the punishment was nearing its end. Cynthia Briggs was exhausted, the maddened jerks under the earlier strokes had now degenerated to a painful swaying of her body from side to side; her screams to whimpers for mercy.

Sssswisshhh...Craaahhkk!!

Another red weal appeared across the top of the buttocks, disappearing over one wide, writhing hip.

"After all the times she's laid a cane across my backside, I oughta be cheering that guy on," Sylvia whispered.

"Me, too-and all I can feel is pity." Then Julia gasped as she watched another punishing stroke lash into the streaked back of the tortured woman at the post. "Oh, Sylvie-what are we going to do?"

Less than an hour before, the two girls had been hugging each other joyfully as they watched the two armed motor launches nose into the bay and men boarding the ocean-going yacht owned by Cynthia Briggs and her gang of slave traders. Then had come the two helicopters and the swarm of Arabs in green battle dress, headed by the huge Arab in the resplendent uniform. They had watched from the window of Sylvia's room as the whole of Cynthia's gang had been rounded up. Then they had heard footsteps as the big ranchhouse was searched. Joyfully, thinking that this was an army contingent sent in by the authorities and that they were being rescued, they had thrown open the door and welcomed them with open arms.

Then had come the fear and shattering disappointment as they were ushered outside and made to line up with the rest; learned that, far from being rescued, they were being "taken over" by an even more highly organized and ruthless gang of slave traders. The flogging of Cynthia Briggs had been ordered as an act of vengeance because she had apparently been operating in opposition to them.

Another searing weal was laid across the sweat-filmed back and yet another to the full, squirming buttocks. Both Sylvia and Julia sighed with relief as the brutal flogging came to an end and the naked woman was released from the whipping post.

As soon as the thongs were untied, she slumped to the ground and by motionless, her back and buttocks a mass of weals. She lay prone, legs sprawl, her sex exposed to the whole company. The massive leader stood looking down at her, then inserted the toe of his jack-boot between her thighs and nudged roughly.

"Get up," he barked. "He hasn't killed you. Get up before I order him to give you another dose."

She stirred, then, and srtuggled to her hands and knees, her head hanging. She tried to rise, but hadn't the strength.

"Here-give me that whip." He grabbed the whip and lashed it down across the kneeling woman's taut buttocks, bringing a weak sob of pain as she sagged forward. "Want some more?"

"No-no," she choked. "No more-please-no more -you-you'll kill me."

She crawled forward and got her arms about the whipping post, hauled herself up painfully, and stood on shaky legs, her body pressed against the post that had held her for the whipping.

Julia glanced at the woman's two teenage children, not in the least surprised at the mixture of awe and excitement on their faces as they watched the pain and humiliation of their naked mother. These were the two she had been brought here to teach; the same two who had engineered her own punishment of twelve strokes of the cane. They were cast in the same mould as their mother; Julia had seen the unholy joy on their faces as they watched the frequent canings inflicted on the South Sea Island girls, knew the same look would have been on their faces as they had watched her being caned that morning. The punishment was made all the more embarrassing when the unfortunate woman to be caned had to expose the necessary parts on the spot, lifting and tucking in her skirt, unfastening suspenders from stockings and drawing down tight panties, an ensemble Cynthia Briggs insisted on them all wearing.

Julia's caning that morning had been her first taste of corporal punishment. To make matters worse, Sylvia had been forced to hold her down across the table while Cynthia Briggs seared her bared buttocks with the cane. Afterwards, Sylvia had been allowed to help Julia away, Cynthia and her two children losing interest as soon as the humiliating chastisement had been inflicted. Sylvia had taken her to her own room and done what she could for the wealed flesh. Julia had been in such a state, mentally and physically, that Sylvia had offered to make love to her, having found it had helped her when she had accepted it from one of the Island girls after her first caning two years before. Julia had been the injured party in a divorce only a few months previous and neither woman was lesbian, but she had accepted Sylvia's offer, and found that, after the initial shyness had been overcome, it not only helped take her mind of the shame of being thrashed as she was and the fiery agony of her bottom, it had also dranied off a lot of the pent-up sexual desires that had been accumulating since the break-up of her marriage. Knowing that Sylvia was in almost the same boat as herself sexually, Julia had insisted on returning the favour.

Then had come the short-lived joy when they thought they were being rescued. Poor Sylvia, thought Julia; she had hung on and suffered the shameful canings and other humiliations for the last two years, instead of rebelling and refusing to work as several other white women had done. They had been taken away and presumably sold as slaves; Sylvia hda preferred the devil she knew to the devil she didn't know and taken whatever came. Now, it seemed, it had all been for nothing -they would both soon be sold as slaves to God knew what monsters.

The invaders began to shepherd the Africans and the golden-skinned girls back towards the big house. Julia looked quickly at the two white men who had been Cynthia Brigs's lieutenants; one of them, the Englishman, George Westley, had been the woman's lover. His face showed no emotion whatever as he moved away with the German, Fritz Schroeder-the one who used to visit Sylvia when he felt like it, generally satisfying his own desires and leaving Sylvia's unsated.

"You two-come over here."

The two women, stomachs turning over, went across to the new boss standing by Cynthia Briggs at the whipping post, the whip still dangling from his hand.

"Sylvia-he-he's not going to whip us, too, is he? We haven't done anything," whispered Julia.

"I shouldn't think so, honey." Nevertheless, Sylvia's voice trembled.

They stood before the big Arab as he looked them up and down, idly nicking the whip. He flicked it suddenly at Julia, catching the hem of her dress and tossing the skirt up, laughing as she jumped back with a startled yelp.

"What's your name?"

"Julia Dawson-Mrs. Julia Dawson."

His eyes flickered with interest. "Mrs. eh? Where is your husband?"

"I'm divorced." Julia's eyes were fearfully following the swaying whip, like a rabbit following the undulations of a snake.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"And you?" he turned to Sylvia, letting the whip rest on her left shoulder.

"Sylvia Carter-I'm twenty-eight; not married."

"Twenty-seven and twenty-eight,' he said, nodding thoughtfully. He walked round them, taking the whip from Sylvia's shoulder and leaving a bloody streak where it had rested on her dress. "Good build; goodlooking-good age. Should fetch a good price!" He gestured towards Cynthia Briggs, still clinging, moaning, to the whipping post. "Take her down to the beach and put her in one of the boats."

Sylvia looked at the whipped, naked Cynthia and at the tattered remnants of clothing strewn on the ground.

"Shall we dress her first?"

"What for? Anyway, those rags won't be much good to her. Come on-hurry up and take an arm each over your shoulders-I want to be miles from here before nightfall."

As gently as they could, the two women took Cynthia's arms and supported her between them. Now they had seen the full extent of her punishment at close hand; the skin had been broken in several places, especially across the buttocks and high up on her shoulders. They turned her away from the post, feeling the heat of her sweating body and the heaving of her breasts.

Carefully, they stepped down from the low platform and moved off through the trees, taking nearly all her weight. They had gone about a dozen steps when he called after them to wait.

"Now what?" groaned Sylvia.

He caught them up and the two girls had to hold the drooping Cynthia while he inspected her with a new interest. Julia blushed and looked quickly away as he bent and thrust a hand in between the blonde's thighs and felt at her sex. Then he lifted the big breasts, squeezing them, before telling the girls to turn her round. He pinched and prodded the sore backside and pried open the cheeks to peer at her anus. His hands stroked down her thighs and went in between them again.

"Funny what a whipping does to some women," he mused. "Her cunt's soaking wet -and it's not with piss!" He forced Cynthia mouth open and looked at her teeth. "She's not bad, either-how old is she?"

"Thirty-six, thirty-seven, maybe," answered Sylvia.

"Should fetch a fair price. I had intended taking her out to sea and dumping her overboard, but that would be throwing good money away."

They watched the dark hands wandering over the white, glistening body, both of them shuddering as they realized that the same thing could happen to them. Cynthia hung uncaring between them, mind only on her hurts.

"I suppose we'd better do something for her broken skin, in that case. Take her into .the house and patch her up temporarily." He looked at his watch. "You have half an hour, that should be long enough."

"Are you taking us away, too?" asked Julia.

"I'm certainly not leaving you here-why?"

"May-may we take some things with us?"

"Whatever you can get into a small suitcase." He paced slowly beside them as they struggled with Cynthia Briggs, almost a dead weight between them.

When they got to the house, he beckoned one of his men and told him to keep a watch on the three women.

They went to Sylvia's room and laid Cynthia on the bed to attend to the red welts on hre body, both of them doing the best they could for her, although unable to forget the fact that they still bore the marks of severe cartings on their bottoms, suffered at the hands of this same woman, Sylvia having been caned by her the previous day.

The guard stood watchfully just inside the door as they worked on the wealed flesh. Sylvia poured a stiff gin and made Cynthia drink it, then had to pour a generous measure for the guard.

"I think you and I could use one as well." Sylvia put the bottle to her lips and took a good swallow, then handed it to Julia. She handed round cigarettes, again reluctantly including the guard. These luxuries she had paid for herself, Fritz Schroeder bringing them for her as his only return for the pleasure he obtained between Sylvia's beautiful, but reluctant thighs on his occasional visits. She lit Cynthia's cigarette and put it between her hps. The woman looked up at her.

"I suppose I should say thank you," she whispered.

"Not if it hurts too much!" Sylvia shrugged. "I don't know if you heard back there, but our great ape of a new boss said we could take a small case with us-shall I pack one for you?"

"If you would."

Sylvia went to the door, but was pushed back by the guard, his snob-nosed machine gun digging pain fully into her breasts. She pressed her hands to them.

"OK, so it ain't allowed-did you have to be so rough about it?" She turned back to Julia. "Guess we'll all have to go from room to room in one lump. I'll pack first, then we'll go to yours and then Cynthia's." She pulled a case from under the bed, then brushed close to Julia as she went to a cupboard. "I have a couple of bottles of gin and a few cartons of butts," she whispered. "Give him what's left in that bottle while I get 'em in my case, or he'll want the lot."

Sylvia packed her case, then they had to go to Julia's room for hers and then to Cynthia's, supporting the latter the whole time. They managed to slip a light dress on her to cover her nakedness, the guard breathing down their necks all the time they were in their ex-mistress's room.

Half an hour later, they were staggering down to the beach, having to carry the three cases between them as well as supportnig Cynthia, with no help from the guard. They noticed that the Africans were still standing in a bewildered bunch under the guns of half a dozen green-clad Arabs.

They were rowed out and put aboard the yacht, where they were lined up on deck with the coloured girls off the island and two others-one coloured and one white woman. Their new master walked up and down like a general inspecting troops. Finally, he had the four white women separate and taken down to a narrow cabin with two bunks, one above the other.

"Preferential treatment, huh?" muttered Sylvia, as she and Julia dumped the cases and helped Cynthia over to the lower bunk.

"They can get more money for us, sweetie."

Sylvia looked at the lovely, full-breasted girl with the chestnut hair, her lips curving into a pleased smile. "Say-where you from?"

"Brooklyn-and I wish I were back there now!"

"I'm not far away-Trenton, N.J. How'd you get into this fix?"

"I'm a dancer-thought I was coming out to Nassau to dance in a plush club." The girl looked at Cynthia Briggs, lying face down on the bunk. "What's with her? She's the one who met me at the airport and brought me aboard-even gave me a contract."

"And I suppose whoever hired you State-side made sure you had no friends and relations who might get curious and come looking?"

"That's right. Came to the club I was dancing in one night-I thought I'd hit the big time at last."

"When did you find out what they'd really got you here for?"

"Right after I came aboard couple days ago. Now we seem to have been hijacked. What's the matter with her? Say-what's that coming through her dress?"

"Blood, honey!"

Sylvia lifted Cynthia's dress up to her waist at the back to expose the marks of her punishment.

"Jeepers! She been whipped!"

"And then some! Twenty lashes-and a bonus one after she fell down when they released her from the whipping post and she didn't get up quick enough."

"Whipping post! What is this place-Devil's Island?"

"I don't know if it had a name-but that one's better than most. Talking of names, this is Julie Dawsonshe's from England-and I answer to Sylvia Carter."

"Margaret French-uh-hi, Julie," the girl said, her mind still preoccupied with the woman on the bunk. "They really whipped her, didn't they? I've got no love for the dame-but why take the skin off her back?"

"It seems she's been lousing up a few deals for this new-er company."

"So they brought along their own whipping post to get even?"

"No, honey." Sylvia smiled faintly. "That was Cynthia's own-she used to put it to good use, too."

"You mean she whipped people as well?"

"You just don't know! Her favourite weapon was the cane, though." Sylvia ran her hands down over her thrusting bottom and glanced at Julia. "As Julie and I well know, eh Julie?"

"It's true, Margaret," said Julia quietly.

"And you've been help her? That's ointment she's got on her backside, isn't it?"

"What the hell!" Sylvia shrugged. "Julie's got some on hers and I've got some on mine-we're all in the same boat. What worries me is-this new bunch seem to be as whip-happy as she was. How long did you say you'd been aboard? Two days? You haven't had your derriere warmed up yet, then."

"Hell, no!" Margaret really looked alarmed. "Isn't it enough to sell us as slaves? I didn't know we got whupped as well! You mean to say they caned you two?"

"Julie's first time this morning-she's only been on the island a couple of weeks. Me, I've lost count of the times I've had to peel the pants off my ass to have a cane wrapped round it -I've been here a couple of years."

All three looked over at the bunk as Cynthia stirred and pushed herself up on to her elbows.

"Well, Mrs. Briggs?" Sylvia went on. "Know anything about these new guys who've put you out of business-are they as whip^happy as you used to be?"

"I treated you with kid gloves compared with this lot," she whispreed, ending with a groan as she stretched the skin on her wealed back.

"Isn't there some way we can get out of this?" Margaret's voice was frightened.

"Do you mean to tell me that the thought of being caned scares you more than being sold as a slave did?"

"I-I don't know-they both scare me, I guess. This just makes it awhole lot worse. I mean-I don't suppose I've really thought about what happens to someone who's a slave, but I do know what pain is!"

"You never thrashed anybody aboard, then?" Julia asked Cynthia.

"We only kept them about a day, unless there were any hold-ups-we didn't want any marks on them when we handed them over."

"And now you're in the same boat," mused Margaret. "Do you know this guy who's taken over?"

"I know of him-Hakim The Sheik, they call him. He's an educated savage who would think nothing of blowing a man's head off or flaying the skin from a woman's body. He's a much bigger operator than we were and can afford to hang on to merchandise as long as he likes, so God knows what might happen to you between now and the time you're sold."

"I think us would have a better word, Cynthia," said Sylvia quietly. "Don't forget that you're part of the merchandise now." She looked round the small cabin. "Well, now-et's see what we can make of this. Any idea how long we're going to be at sea, Cynthia?"

"I believe he has a base somewhere along the coast of Venezuela-that's something like seven or eight hundred miles from here."

The three girls investigated the cabin. There was little in it apart from the two bunks, except a table and a flat leather couch, both fixed. The port holes were blacked out and one bulb gleamed overhead.

"At least there are plenty of blankets," remarked Margaret. "Hey," she said suddenly. "You two walk kinda stiff."

"So would you if you'd had a cane across your bottom-and Cynthia has quite a strong arm," said Sylvia drily.

Margaret shivered and looked incredulous. "It's all so hard to take ;all sort of unreal, like a bad dream."

"This is no dream, honey!" Sylvia's hands went under her skirt and she eased the tight panties down to her thighs; she lifted the skirt and bent forward, presenting her full, rounded bottom to Margaret.

Margaret swore sofdy as she looked at the pinkstriped buttocks.

"She gave me eight strokes yesterday." Sylvia straightened and pulled her panties up again. "You should see Julia's poor bottom-she had twelve this morning."

"And she did it?" Margaret turned to where Cynthia lay on the bunk.

"With her own fair hands! Strange .thing is, neither of us got any kicks watching that great Arab flogging her."

"Why did she beat you like that? What had you done?"

"Nothing, really," Sylvia shrugged. "She got peculiar little sex kicks out of it. She liked watching the girls' bare bottoms jumping as she caned them, I guess." "Is-is she a lesbian?"

"I wouldn't rightly know, honey-think she's a little bit of both. Are you Cynthia?"

But the blonde, exhausted after her whipping, had fallen asleep. Sylvia opened her eyes and took a carton of cigarettes and one of the bottle of gin she had managed to smuggle aboard.

"At least we've got one or two home comfortswhile they last." She uncorked the bottle and handed it to Margaret. "No glasses, I'm afraid."

They smoked and passed the bottle around for a while, Julia and Sylvia increasing Margaret's amazement as they recounted happenings on the island under i Cynthia Briggs' regime.

"She has two kids-Julia had the job of teaching them. Two horrible little creeps just like their mother -they used to be around when their mother was dishing out most of the canings."

"And you should have seen their eyes sparkle!" put in Julia. "They forced me into doing something so that I should be caned and stood watching while Cynthia gave it to me."

"Incidentally-I wonder what's happened to them?"

"I saw a boy and girl -about sixteen, seventeen, maybe-being put on one of the launches, when I was on deck."

"They'll be the ones. There was a sort of poetic justice back on the island when our big hunk of an Arab took over-Cynthia was flogged in front of them."

"It wouldn't have been a bad idea if he'd reversed the process and had them flogged afterwards-it might have done them a power of good," said Sylvia darkly. "There's a nasty kink in those two kids. Apart from getting kicks out of watching women being whipped, I'm sure they used to play around with each other."

"You mean incest?" Margaret asked, looking round quickly to see if Cynthia had been listening.

"I don't mean pinnockle, honey! Sure-I've seen them sneaking out of one of the empty huts back there."

"Some family!"

"You can say that again-I even had Cynthia touch by little cherry once, after she'd caned me."

"You mean she tried to-er-make you?"

"Not exactly. I was still bending over at the time and she always stroked her hand over our welts afterwards. That time, her hand sorta got lost. She only just touched me there and I pulled away-she looked all confused, like a kid caught stealing apples."

Later that evening, a guard brought tinned corned beef, hard biscuits and black, sugarless coffee. Julia woke Cynthia and fed her, afterwards pulling her dress up to her shoulders for Sylvia to treat the welted back and buttocks with the ointment she had packed.

"While we're at it, Iguess I'd better see to your stripes, Julia-that is, if you have no objection to Margaret seeing your behind in the raw?"

"Mmm -no objection," Julia smiled, colouring a little.

"Right, then," Sylvia said briskly. "Skirt up, panties down and kneel up on the couch."

Julia hoisted her skirt and with little wriggles and gasps of pain, eased her panties down from her sore bottom. She knelt up on the couch, hearing Margaret's exclamation as she leaned forward and displayed the angry stripes.

"Just-just as though you had been a schoolgirl," muttered Margaret behind her.

"But much painful than any schoolgirl ever got, I'll bet," said Sylvia, applying the ointment to the red weals on Julia's full, rounded bottom. "Still hurt, kid?" she asked gently.

"Oooooh-yes," whispered Julia. "It burns like fire. And it-ouch!--it feels all stiff and stretched." She got off the couch and pulled her panties up again. "Thanks, Sylvie-can I do the same for you, now?"

"Wouldn't do any harm, although the fire's gone out of mine-I've just got the stiffness."

Sylvia bared her bottom again for Julia to smear the ointment on with gentle fingers, while Margaret looked on with incredulous eyes.

"You poor things," she murmured. "What you must have gone through."

"I don't want to worry you, sweetie," said Sylvia, wriggling into her pants again. "But it looks like what we went through was a Sunday-school outing to what we can expect from this bunch."

"Oh, God!" Margaret covered her face with her hands, on the verge of tears. She looked up at Sylvia after a while, her eyes brimming. They-they'll put stripes on my body like that..."

"And more on ours. All we ca ndo is try and keep our noses clean until..." Sylvia broke off, biting her lip.

"Until they sell us," Julia finished. "And then what? More beatings?"

"It won't do us much good speculating-let's get to bed." Sylvia started to sort out the pile of blankets on the top bunk. "Any preference for where you want to sleep, Maggie?"

"None -guess I won't do all that much sleeping, anyway."

"OK -Julie and I'll share that couch, it's a mite wider than the bunk. All right with you, Julie?"

"Suits me." Julia's heart fluttered a little when she remembered what had happened on Sylvia's bed that morning after having her whipped buttocks attended to.

Margaret stripped off her dress and loosened her suspenders before climbing into the top bunk in panties and bra. Julia and Sylvia wore only panties beneath their dresses. Sylvia pulled off her dress and patted her pantied hips with a rueful grin.

"Guess we'd better keep our pants on-those blankets would be a bit rough on tanned fannies."

"F-fannie?!" Julia looked startled.

"Sorry," grinned Sylvia, bare breasts swaying as she threw her dress on to the table. "Fanny as Americanese for ass-bottom. Means something else in Limey-land, doesn't it?"

"My ex-husband used the word quite extensivelycome to think about it, he used the object quite extensively, too. It means-er-a woman's..." Julia broke off and looked across the cabin at Margaret.

"Don't be scared you'll corrupt me, Julia," she smiled. "I'm twenty-four, now, and I have been around just a leetle."

"I know what it means, all right," said Sylvia, spreading a couple of blankets on the couch. "It's what a woman has between her legs. And I don't think you need to worry that they'll whip us there-that sort of fanny is far too useful and valuable a commodity for them to risk damaging. It might knock .the price down!"

Sylvia climbed carefully on to the couch and Julia was even more careful getting in after her.

"If we lie on our sides facing each other, honey, there'll be less chance of rubbing our behinds."

As Julia pulled the blanket up to cover them, the light went out.

"And how about that for service!" came Margaret's voice through the darkness.

"All favours bestowed on this boat are entirely coincidental and bear no intention of any kind of service," misquoted Sylvia, turning towards Julia. "Snuggle up, honey."

Sylvia's arm went lightly about Julia's waist as her breasts touched. Despite herself, Julia's heart quickened its beat as she remembered the last time they had touched like that. What the dickens is wrong with me? she asked herself. I'm not a lesbian and neither is Sylvia. What she did for me this morning-what we did for each other-was-was-what was it? An act of kindness on Sylvia's part and a repayment on hers? She thought about it. Yes, that was it-it had to be -But...

"Hey, honey!" came Sylvia's soft whisper. "What gives? Those hot little nipples of yours are poking hopes in my titties!"

"I-I'm sorry, Sylvie," she whispered back. "Iooh-got to sleep!"