Ship of Remorse

We stepped in and the elevator went up. At least it felt like it went up. Then it stopped and although the doors opened the leash did not signal me to move.

People entered! With me standing, naked, bound and leashed!

“Halloween party,” Ms. Starched White quickly improvised.

I heard the giggling of a young female and within seconds, gratefully the elevator stopped again. We stepped out. In following the leash I knew my guide was ahead of me. So when I felt the furtive pinch of fingers on my slippery buttocks I realized someone was taking advantage. Did ‘Miss Giggles’ have a male companion?

Down another hallway we opened a door without knocking. Muffled voices, clinking glasses and the smell of tobacco told me the room was large and quite occupied. When I heard the door shut the cloth was removed from my eyes.

My sight adjusted quickly. The room was dark and numerous Asian men, all dressed in business attire were milling about. Serving in various capacities were Asian women. Young, diminutive and naked some were carrying trays of drinks, some food and one was on her knees being addressed by a rather demanding looking middle aged gentleman. Jewelry glinted from between the thighs of the girls. What little natural hair they had there had been shorn.

My ears detected no English. I believe the entourage was from Japan.

My leash was removed and Miss Starched White retreated. It was evident that the preferred state for women was nudity and the dour, uniformed termagant did not fit into the scene.

I, however, drew much attention. Madam Chang’s demand that I be well oiled was devious, for the coating highlighted my nakedness and drew attraction. The walls and ceiling were painted in black and the carpet was a deep red. Therefore the room was very dark except where spotlights, which seemed to be randomly hung from above, served to illuminate that which was placed directly below.

Thus I was positioned beneath one and felt as if I was standing on a stage. The room slowly became silent as more and more of the businessmen looked my way. My breasts were enormous compared to the slight Asian girls. And in my hairless shaven condition with my arms bound behind me and my nipples erect and ready to lactate I’m sure I looked like one large set of mammary glands.

Since I was given no instructions I did not move. But eventually the men approached. They examined me and were free with their hands. One finally pinched a nipple and when I soaked him with milk there was a rush of Japanese spoken and much laughter.

One of the naked waitresses appeared with a tray of towels, for every hand that touched me came away with the residue of mineral oil. For several minutes I was the showcase of what I presumed to be cocktail hour. Even the girls were amused.

Finally Madam Chang entered. I was surprised to see the reverence with which the misogynous Japanese men welcomed her. She was treated like a Queen but I detected some communication difficulties and her greeting to each was brief. Japanese was not her native tongue.

It became my turn to be greeted. When the emotionless woman approached I felt weak at the knees. Bound and collared, I was hers to do with as she pleased.

She stood to my side, pinched both nipples and sent to streams of breast milk arching across the room. The voices buzzed with amazement. She spoke softly.

“It will be an easy night for you. You just lie where I place you and let things happen. I do all the work.”

She hooked a finger through a ring in my collar, turned and stepped toward a peculiar table with posts at two corners, pointing toward the ceiling and holding aloft a crossbar.

“Interesting, is it not, how much the Japanese disdain femininity yet respect a woman with a whip? Except for me, every girl here is naked and you should consider yourself fortunate. Your little cohorts have been zipped closed. A few piercings and a locking chain keeps them chaste and eager to serve.”

So, the glint in the pubes area was not from decorative jewelry. It was no wonder the girls seemed so subservient.

I soon found myself prostrate on the table with my ankles secured and forcing apart my legs. I thought about my exposure. I know my oiled labia were peaking out below my buttocks and between my thighs. Then I learned of the utility of the stanchion over my head.

“Nose clamps. The Japanese love them. It will help you show off your breasts for them.”

Two strange hooks dangled at the end of an elastic cord held by the sturdy

horizontal bar over my head. The bar was in turn held in place by the vertical posts to the my right and left.

Madam Chang cruelly inserted a rubber coated hook into each nostril then lifted and tightened the cord forcing up my head and making me bend at the small of my back. My breasts hung freely and a soft feminine hand smoothed over my backside.

“It so nicely presents the buttocks, don’t you think. Two nicely rounded globes shining in the light and begging for attention.

“They requested the cane by the way. But not to worry, Ernie will overlook the welts. He even tells me that some peeps like to look at the marks.”

The night’s entertainment began. Madam Chang proved to be even more relentless than she appeared. My caning was strictly business for her. And the more I howled, screamed and begged, the more enjoyment I seemed to have provided. A semi circle of a half dozen or more Japanese men formed in front of me, some just standing and watching. Others sat in chairs while receiving fellatio from kneeling, naked serving girls.

Though my arms and legs were immobilized and the nostril hooks made me keep my head very steady, my upper torso was free to spasmodically twist and thrash about as each well-placed stroke of the evil cane caused an insufferable burning sensation. And my oiled skin caused a frighteningly sharp crack, somewhat like the sound of a gunshot. The first blow made the room go silent and during the ordeal I did not hear even the clink of a glass. Only the swish, the crack, and my entreaties for mercy that followed each stroke.

Sometime at about the fourth or fifth blow, the centrifugal force of my earnest twistings caused my nipples to give up milk. This brought sounds of astonishment followed by laughter as my white essence was strewn about like a prizefighter’s perspiration. This seemed to be the goal of Madam Chang’s fervent efforts... to have my own spasmodic movements force milk from my breasts. I was reminded of Maria during the more exhaustive exercise periods aboard The Scarlet Letter.

Swish after swish, no one counted the strokes. Therefore I did not know what culminated the session. I doubt if it was compassion. More than likely Madam Chang could not locate unblemished flesh and as an accomplished flagellatrix knew that further caning would cause permanent marks.