Whore and Order
Disclaimer: This is a fictional soap that contains tales of graphic authoritarian, homoerotic domination. These may not be legal in your area or you may be under age. If so or if the material is likely to offend you please leave now.
Chapter 3: Perdition
Steel interrupt my reading of the sea-bitch's confessions: "Hemming's arrived. Oh yeh, he was telling me earlier, one of these prisoners is a-team material." A convict with a' classification are basically potential PRIC officers, a' for authoritive. My penitentiary is a small affair but with these hard times I better look out for more screws because things will be getting busier. I flick the monitor to where the prisoners are normally inducted, the main interrogation room. Induction involves them stripping and the usual cavity searches. Prisoners can be washed and fumigated if necessary.
The room is eight by four by four metres, concrete and tile, windowless except for a large mirror on one wall that is a one way viewing glass. It is a cold room but in this climate that is not usually a problem. There is a high pressure hose linkable to a fumigation system, floor drains, ventilation grilles, strip-lights and barely noticeable, a couple of metres apart, the wristlets to the two chains that can hang from the ceiling. There are two doors opposite each other, one from an outside corridor, the other leading into the mirror room.
Hemming ushers three new prisoners into the processing room. Ted Hemming, is in his thirties, dark, big mustache, always ensures his cop uniform is neat and tight. Two of the prisoners are linked together, the other has personal cuffs. The arresting officer indicates a concrete shelf along one wall where his prisoners go and sit. I check the much smaller interrogation room on the monitor to see if it is ready to be used. It is likewise concrete, tiled, with the same observation room behind a mirror and second door. Wait! Someone hanging in there. He is snoring away, hanging by the left leg from the ceiling chain, his right leg swings in mid air, his chin and elbows are on the floor. He has been inducted because wears a PRIC collar, it even has a lead attached but that is lying about his head on the floor. Must have come in on the evening shift. His bare bod has many welts and strappings. He has a couple, no three police baton sticking out of his arse. He was either being made confess something or the night crew was having some fun.
"I've no paperwork. Get it up to me ASP." I abuse Officer Steel by phone. "Sorry boss, so busy." Steel has already done back to back shifts. "Renal brought him in about eight last night. I'll get a confession and report up to ya straight away." "What this with the three truncheons up his arse, he's like a baton box on a one line railway." "Standard procedure, proof that each shift checked up on him," Steel laughed, "I'll move him as soon as I can." "No hurry. I'd like to see how the potential `a' will react to him."
I flick back to the main interrogation room to see Officer Jones come through the door next to the observation mirror.
"Gidday Ted, sees ya keep keeping ya top cop, cop rate up," says Jones, former commando, forties, thinning hair but stays fit like all my staff is expected to. "It's easy Gill, they come to me." Officer Hemming unlocks the two of his prisoners hand cuffed together. One of these was brought in already naked, evidence of his crime. Ted is already processing him. He is stood and turned in front of the mirror, answering a few questions. He is south-east English by the accent. On another monitor I see Officer Steele in the observation room, typing in details, taking the photos. Gil measures the youth's prick and he bends the lad over to undergo an anal prob. "There no need for that," Ted spoke up, "this bugger penetrated deep with his personal ruler, so I think ya can give him bumboy status without having to mess around in the slops." "Cool!" Gill says as Steele clicks the `c', catamite, box. Gill puts a leather collar on him, the tag is #158.
The prisoner Ted had referred to as `this bugger' is the one of particular interest to me and is the main reason I continue to observe the monitors. The bloke is not yet twenty, a tall, blond white, on the verge of maturing into a hulking bloke.
"Strip!" Gill orders. The prisoner of interest lets the loose pants he is wearing drop. "Shit ya were kidding Ted, we better measure that." As the prisoner removes his shirt Gill goes to him, kicks his pants aside and takes his shirt and throws it on the bench. He measures the lad's flaccid dick with a tape. Gill strokes it. The kid is a natural, with attention his meat starts to swell, escape its foreskin. Gill lets it drop into an arch. I am impressed, not only with the organ but the kid's understandable machismo pride and lack of embarrassment. Ted had called in that he snagged a foot hard-on and he evidently had not exaggerated. The naked prisoner is lined up in front of the mirror window, being processed. When finished Gill issues him a collar with tag # 159. The category `a' is ticked, officer potential.
The third prisoner induction does not go as smoothly. He is very black, tall, muscular, and sinewy. I would say East African. This is the one suspected of being an illegal immigrant. He is slack at getting his gear off, gives lip in a savage tongue when Ted told him to hurry. He fat broad lips get fatter from Ted's leathered fist and with Gill's help one of his hand cuff's chain-links is attached to a wall lock there for such contingencies. I ring down to Steele, who is behind the glass, Gill hears me via an earpiece. "Let that one stew for now," I tell them, "tell Ted to get a statement from 1-5-9 in room 2." Steel conveys the order.
Steele came through one door to the small interrogation room as Ted arrives with the naked 159 on PRIC issued lead through the other. Ted pulls him to one side as he and Steel deal with the hanging number. This is an important test for #159. Is he pliable? As I watch, his cock stirs with interested while the police batons are removed from the hanging prisoner's butt hole. The prisoner is even less awake after his chain is released and he crashes to the floor. His wrists are cuffed behind his back while he is still wondering where he is and Steele leads him away. I try to settle back to watch Ted integrate 159's when I get a bleep on my computer that I have mail. The important local shareholder of PRICKorps about last night's incident. I curse that he lives in the district. It is a priority so I email back that I have Renal on to it then get back to the monitors and the rest of the sea-bitch's confessions. Where was I, oh yeh: `As we pull away I see the name of the boat I had been on the last couple of days: the "Perfidious"'
Sea-bitch part 2
Perdition I see is the name of the boat that is to be my new home as we arrive minutes later. The master of my new boat pulls my hair back to make me look into his eyes as we leave the dinky. "I am the only man on board who can whip my ship slaves but I will do so if you disobey the desires of any of my crew. Understand?" my new commander whispers. "Yes sir," my stiffy is throbbing in my pants. This is a much larger boat. The crew are on deck when I arrive. There are half dozen blokes apart from the captain and Ritco. They are a wild mix of wild men, different shapes and sizes but all tough. A couple are Arab or south Asia, a couple islanders, there is another European, the sixth is very black. They had real revolvers in their pants and were also glad to see me. As I board they obscenely abuse me with lewd talk of what they want to do to me. I feel they are a smorgasbord of men promising what I need. There is a little shoving and my bum flap is opened for perving but I am soon dragged by my captain down into the hull of the boat.
There is another sea-bitch onboard. He wears lose white pants, his feet are bare, the vest he wears is jeweled and shows white hairless chest. "Oh I like ya suit," he minced. Sergei is eastern European, very pretty, effeminate. "Shave him." "His head hair," asks Sergei. "Leave it for now." Sergei short head of hair is purple and green. The captain leaves me with him. Sergei no Indonesian and little English so we communicate little. "I've been a slave to sex on boat for maybe six months. I cannot say well, my time on boat, the drugs you know are the best. I do not care how long I am onboard. I love eight men wanting to fuck me," he gushes as he starts to lather then shave my body with a Gillette safety. "None of men want real women onboard, bad luck, trouble. All need root and the women's work done." Sergei shows me how to shave myself but there are difficult positions. He stripped so I could help him remove some whiskers around his groin and butt crack.
The captain returns in about hour. He checks out my shorn, smooth bod by running me over with calloused hands. My prick jumps to attention.
Smirking he throws my sailor suit at Sergei. "Oh I love it," he gushes and proceeds to put it on. "What will I wear," I timidly ask the captain. He turns to me. "A deck slut doesn't need to dress up, but yar will need this," he throws me a dog collar. It is black leather, with loops front and back. "That looks sexy," he said to Sergie who looked real cute in the sailor suit. I looked a real dag in it. "I said put it on?" This is to me. "Sure captana sweetie," I pout as I put the collar on. An open hand clout to the head and I am flat on the floor. The captain is furious at me as he attaches a chain lead to the front loop of my collar and pulls me back to my feet. My head is spinning as he drags me behind him by the lead to a small fore-stair. "The crew arn't queer." he explains as he pushes me up it. "We've got Sergei so we don't need another sissy cabin-mole," he continues. The stair led to small office with a bunk. "Though ya not a real man, for the crew's sake do ya best to act like one."
He sits in an office chair behind a desk. I stand on the other side. He stands. He has wrapped the lead around the chair and as he swivels out of it I am dragged forward by the lead to be dumped on the desk. I disturb some white powder open near me on the desk. "Did I say you could have some of that punk," he moves the paper with the powder further aside, as he comes around the desk, laughing. It is a cruel laugh. "Ya will live and sleep on deck while ya on my boat," he continues as my lips and cheek go numb. "I like a smooth shaved bitch," he mutters running his hand over my buns and nackers. "All the better to see the marks." The first cut of my strapping is totally unexpected. The sensation I experience is frightening as the effect of the powder kicks in at the same time. I turn to see the whip. It is a black, flattened, tapering metre of leather. A handle disappeared into the huge mitt of my master, the flay weaves and cracks, echo in the cabin as it loudly slapped the flesh of my bare back, bum and thighs. Each cut of the long flexible weapon seemed to last for minutes, the intensity of the pain enhanced rather than dulled by the drug.
I shift my face but cannot stop the inhalation of the dust that stirs about my head continuously as my master swings. At first I think my captain is punishing me for his fun but I soon see he is my protector.
I see he has a snake's head in his hand and it is its writhing body that lashes me. My master's cock is out of his fly. I watch through watery eyes as his serpent hardens with each whip of the snake's tale.
He pushes my head back to the dusty desk as his big fat head pushes out of its foreskin. I am right about his cock's shape, a big head with long thin shaft. "Yar need punishment don't yar dog," "Yes, sir." He uses the snakes head to loosen my arse's pucker, it is like the bite of a snake's fangs. "I gave yar a dog collar because yar a man's best friend," he tells me as the fat head of his dick replaces the whip in my fuck chute. "Well make a sea-dog out of yar," He giggles as mounts me as a dog would mount his bitch and roots me with a few deep hard jabs. A cry foretold the flood of his jizt in my bilges.
"The lads will want to meet their new cur tonight, Sergei will get yar ready," he tells me as his satiated mushroom cock pops out of my butt-hole. He unlinked the lead and I left, back down the ladder stair. Sergei tells me to wash and douche while he cooks me food. "I would not eat much," he advises. After I eat he hands me two wristlets to put on while he kneels to put anklets on me. On his way up he slipped a thick leather cockring over my nuts and bolt. They all match my collar though they only have one link ring each. He attached short half metre chain leads to each of them these. He links the arm chains together behind my back. My ankle and cock leads meet together between my legs. Sergei uses the neck chain to lead me on deck to where I am to be initiated.
Sergei takes me to the foremast at the front of the ship and secures my collar chain to one of its many hooks. I swing from a cross arm, my arms behind my back, my feet on the deck. I am naked except for the leather and chain. It is chilly in the evening wind. Most of the crew are there to mock and leer at me. My humiliation is complete when my prick hardens as they enjoy pulling on my chains, poking my exposed flesh. Dick and Dan are islanders, so alike they could be twins but actually come from different bits of the Pacific. They wore work boots, brief shorts. Both had huge boner-gourds hanging from leather belts in front of their groins, their chests naked except for traditional tats and ornaments. Dick wore a crown and carried a mock trident. Dan's head was topped by a sea-weed mop while the barbed spear he carried looked like it could be nasty. They stick the tail end of a fish on my stiffy to `make it smell right'.
They play a card game, the purpose of which is to decide the order of how the crew will get to use me. They play on deck in view of me. Sergei is there, in sailor uniform including sailor cap, waiting on them. Valal or the Buffalo gets me first because he disposes of his cards first. He is a big Arab, rotund but solid. He has dressed in colorful grab like a genie. His nick name is not out of place in relation to his cock. As he did not wear underwear, it is obvious in his lose green cotton trousers. He disconnects the cock-ring lead from those of my ankle and pulls me up towards him so my feet lift off the deck. He slips the joined ankle leads over his head. My weight hangs off my neck, gonads and my legs wrapping his body at the hips. My hull-hole is the height of the large cargo no longer in green bond. He let the sway of the chains and gravity roll the bulk commodity into me. Buffalo takes his time. We all know we have a busy night ahead.
I wrap my legs tight around the back of Buffalo waist. I am still lifting myself up and down on his dick when the card game finished. Suddenly I fall hard onto his hard-on. Someone has released my neck lead. Buffalo took my weight by grabbing my hips, my mouth is at his tits. Simon had released the lead. He is from the sub-continent, quite, compact, dark and handsome. He no longer had his pants on though he still wore boots, jewelry and braided singlet. Now all the blokes, with rampant cocks hanging out, work around Buffalo's fuck Before Buffalo blows he pulls out of me. The crew attach my ankles leads separately to a couple of the foremast's numerous hooks and pulleys. The one attached to my left ankle is jolted high in a sudden run up the flag hoist or `fag hoist' as the crew calls it. My other ankle is fixed so while my left leg is straight up my right is bent, my buttocks are stretched apart. My hands touch the floor. Buffalo is spraying his semen all over my upturned body and the deck.
"Is that to stop him getting pregnant?" laughs Ritco as he helps rearrange me. Ritco wore, tight leather pants and vest, no hat, often as tonight he is barefoot. His cock is hard, still in his pants. He helped Simon pull me under and up, where before I had my back to the deck I now had my stomach. This gave Ritco and Simon an easier access and control over my mouth. Till now it had only been used to agree with these men that they had big cocks and I am desperate for them to poke them in me or it let out the odd grunt. Hanging as I now am the two men are on either side of my head, Simon has my collar lead, Ritco grabs my hair. First Simon, the Ritco ply my sputum passage, then both together. The contradicktry bends of their members meant they could both angle them into my mouth from different sides of my head. Meanwhile Dick and Dan had commandeered one of my hands each for me to masturbate their genuine members, while they prod me with mock dicks and genuine weapons. Dan draws blood more than once.
My arse is feeling hollow so when Tries orders me to beg him to fill it, I pled as best I can with mouth doubly occupied. Tries is a black, African. Rather than some traditional attire he wore military fatigues, his chest crisscrossed with bullet belts. I cannot see him but I soon feel his attack. Climaxes happened in simultaneous spunk spasms. Both my mouth fuckers give my mouth a jizt feast. Given the volume and angle I hang at it flooded up out my nose. I can hardly breathe. Both my hand jobs are convulsing beside me spraying me and each other. The rhinoceros roar at my rear tells me the horn of Africa has finished its charge so my arse like my throat is chocked with glob.
I am left for a moment hanging upside down, my hands touching the deck. There is discussion amongst my captures about the array of positions that might amuse them. My left leg's lead is run further up the fag hoist with a few twists of a handle, as high as the mast's cross arm. I am turned more side on, only the right hand can reach the deck. My rear shag-hole is too high for even these big blokes to root. But I am the perfect high for hand play. My legs are sprayed apart as far as they can go. The idea that men want to stuff their fist up other blokes rectum had never entered my head. More cock enters my head as fingers and thumbs probed my anus. I still have one hand free to wank and pet my tormenters. There is no order only orgy as the seven crew, the captain is not here, debauch me and Sergei well into the night. Well that is what we are here for.
I wake in the sun on the deck. This is my new home. The leather bands on my limbs neck and gonads are my uniform. I do not wear all the leads all the time but the collar lead is always there. It is usually secured at my cock ring if I am not being dragged around by it. As a galley mole, Sergei cooks and cleans and like me looks after crew's cocks, feet and such below deck. As the deck slag, I serve on deck. Apart from relieving the sexual needs of the crew I seem to do any cleaning or fishing work that needs doing. Sergei gets little sun and remains amazingly white. Within days my skin is going from tan to black in the constant sun, I am manifesting myself as the demon my first captain kept in his cabin. The crew attach a bell to my collar at night so I do not startle them. There is a bit of gym setup on deck that all the blokes use including me. This and the sexual athleticism expected of me mean I am developing muscles that ripple like bubbles in pitch. You like me must wonder what these blokes do, where we are there are not many fish.
Which makes my body the primary fishing activity they indulge in. I am adapting to satisfying their many demands. Buffalo and Simon liked using me in unison and regularly. I reckon Dick and Dan are a couple. They always have me together, once a day. Greg only fucked me once calling me his black whore throughout, I doubt whether he came. Greg spends a lot of time with Sergei. Ridco and Tries like to use me alone though the bell I wear at night brings Buffalo and Simon running to join what ever might be happening. At least once a day the captain would severely punish me before he fucked me. The commonsense of my arse being regularly fisted came home to me when an Indonesian patrol boat is sighted near us. Contraband that is around the deck is quickly gathered into a domed metal cylinder, lobed and stuffed up my arse chute by Simon in seconds. A bit of netting is wrapped around me and I look the peasant fisherman. They come alongside and there is much tension in the crew but they do not board.
The captain enforced the rule I never sleep below. This is true even the night of a severe storm, about a week after coming on board. I am chained in a net to weather it on deck. I apparently weathered it better than most of the crew and the boat itself. Tense rivalries blow up down below. I do not hear the fight, fighting as I am to not be washed overboard in the storm. I did hear the gun go off. I can say little about it but I am sure Sergei's favors, drugs and racism all play a part. And the boats engines malfunction in the storm while the captain is settling the disturbance. I am ignored on deck as matters played themselves out. Apparently Greg has broken bones from a fight he had with Tries. Dick ended up with a ricocheting bullet wound. Now we hear of an impending cyclone heading our way. The captain decides to put in to an Australian port for shelter, repairs and medical help. He decides he has to dump me and Sergei on the coast out of town. Tries decides he will go with Sergei which obviously delights the captain.
We are put ashore on a small reef not far from the mainland. For fun they put the three of us ashore totally naked. "The mainland just there. Yar can walk there at low tide around sundown," the captain informs us. For me and Tries being naked for an afternoon is not a problem but Sergei would frazzle in the sun. Tries solves this by lying over him all the afternoon rooting him deep into a small patch shingle, anthracite on anthracene. We expected to be picked up once we got to the mainland. I was just trying to cover myself when I got caught at the at the motel laundry. I am a refugee...
Confession terminated