Ellie May's 4-H Project Pt. 03: Whore Ship

Part 03: Shipboard Slave Whoring

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. All characters who are enslaved or have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves are 18 years of age or older. This is fiction; no one should ever be deprived of free will nor used sexually without his or her uncoerced permission.)

(Note: Joe Doe again provided the situation and much of the dialogue and descriptions for this story, for which my thanks. He granted permission for another guest appearance by Professor Sarah Hollister, this time AKA "Flame" the Prime-rated slave whore, as well as other characters from his "Big D" Slave Market universe. All errors redound to me, not Mr. Doe.)

(Previously, as the slave whore turns (turns tricks, that is): His man-hating step-mother and her equally-evil daughter, Ellie May, coerced Steve Wilson into slavery in Texas. Ellie May permitted her "property" to return for his sophomore year at Harvard but kept him under control by consigning him to the university's Slave Kennels when not in class and by authorizing two women to use and hire him out: his ex-girlfriend, Stephanie, and renowned Slave Studies Professor Sarah Hollister.

As all devotees of Joe Doe are aware, Sarah's business ability to advise slave merchants in maximizing their Profit Per Pussy is based on her own submissive psychology, which loves nothing better than being a naked sex slave servicing dominant men. In a previous story by Mr. Doe, Sarah allowed her own slave-processing system to reduce her to a horny slut, sold at auction and branded with the Big D on her scrumptious rump. Now, Sarah, freed and returned to academia, has developed a risky plan in which, masquerading as red-headed Sandy Foot Girl "Flame," she will accompany slave Steve to serve on board the _Yo Ho Ho_, a floating slave brothel off Cape Cod. Sarah/ Flame sees this as an opportunity to indulge her submissiveness while proving to various investors, especially Big D owner Jake Henry, that no one will recognize their acquaintances if they encounter them as naked slaves. To accomplish this, Sarah employed her dubious henchman Rango to deliver Flame and Steve to the ship. Once he had her stripped and collared, Rango had ordered Steve to help spit-roast the slaving professor before delivering both of them to bondage and prostitution. Despite all her protestations, the slut inside Sarah's skull loved it.)

(Sarah Hollister's perspective)

Sarah, legs spread wide, hands behind her head, knelt slave naked on the deck of the Yo Ho Ho, staring at the wooden planks. She didn't dare to make eye contact with either Jake or Larry Black, the Wall Street investment banker she had introduced him to only a few weeks before. Recognition would ruin her plan to prove that acquaintances could be used as slaves without being recognized by the customers--not to mention add to her humiliation, if that were possible.

"You got some grade A pussy here, Jake, and a pretty boat, but what I want to know is if this idea can scale up."

"We're gonna need a bigger boat?" Jake said, laughing as he echoed the famous movie line. "Cuz I got plenty of pussy!"

"I do like the way her twat fur matches the teakwood planking," Larry said approvingly. "She wet-and-ready?"

"She can be," Jake said, motioning to Timmy with a wave of his drink.

Sarah felt Timmy's lash dangle down and brush her bottom. "Lather up," he said, simply.

Sarah's face was as red as her hair; using one hand to brace herself, she arched her back to raise her pussy high for the men's inspection, stroking her bean while finger-fucking herself for their amusement as the men continued their discussion. As they sipped their drinks and chatted, the two men, both of whom she knew so well, stared directly down at her, standing not more than three feet away. She couldn't believe that neither recognized her! The naked slut diddling herself on the ship's deck bore scant resemblance to the insanely wealthy academic who had helped Jake design this adventure, but the risk of discovery was always there, and it was driving Sarah both horny and mad. The good news was that with her hot box raised up for their viewing pleasure, neither man was looking at her face. Assuming a face consumed with lust and submission would still be recognizable, that is.

"How's your drink?" Jake asked.

"Good and stiff," Larry replied. "Like the front of my pants. She is a hot little number, isn't she?"

"I suppose," Jake said dismissively. "Most Primes are just cum dumpsters, with no brains at all, and they'd rather finger their stinky hole than breathe. Can't you hear her, gaspin' for air?"

Sarah groaned in humiliation as the two men laughed at her. Didn't they understand that she HAD to do this, and that her labored breathing was caused by the awkwardness of having to thrust her pussy up for their obscene inspection while masturbating for their viewing pleasure? Did they think she WANTED to do this? (Well, OK, the character she was portraying wanted to, but Professor Hollister would never admit it to others and rarely even to herself.)

As if reading her thoughts, Timmy, a slight smile on his lips, moved into her viewing range, far enough away from the men so as not to interrupt their conversation, but close enough for Sarah to spot him out of the corner of her eye. He smiled at her and ran the wicked tails of his slave lash through his fingers, as a warning of what would happen if she failed to please. This was another slaver whom Sarah was convinced MUST recognize her. Three years ago, she had taught Timmy (in a very condescending way) how to auction slave meat, and then he had recognized her and made her dance at the end of his whip when he sold HER ass as a Sandy Foot Girl. She reminded herself that she needed to focus on the conversation, not the past, no matter how thrilling the memory.

"So, tell me about this big boat idea," Jake drawled.

"I'm thinking of a full-up cruise ship, actually. Virgin is doing adults-only cruises with sex toys in every cabin. Why not a slave cruise line? Yachts for the 1% are cute, and you can make money on it, but I can only make so much money renting that little red snapper down there, no matter how hot it might be. My investors want to park $50 million, which, no offense, would buy and sell your entire business. But if I get 4,000 paying guests on a big boat, and enough fuckable slave girls to guarantee a week of variety and all the snatch you can handle, and we keep 'em at sea for more than a week, then you're talking real money."

Sarah orgasmed at the idea of being lined up with a 1,000 other naked sluts on a deck of a ship, "greeting" the guests as they walked onboard. She'd read about "welcome aboard" ceremonies where cruise ship entertainers introduced themselves to the passengers, but this would be different: 4,000 guests on a boat, of all shapes, ages, and sizes, each anxious to fuck all her holes and make her perform!

"Where would you cruise?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Alaska maybe. Or the Mediterranean, or around Africa."

Sarah was close to coming and quickened her pace. Alaska would be freezing for a naked slave girl, not that Jake or Larry cared. And a ship near Africa with that many slave girls on it would be a prime target for pirates! Sarah was desperate to join the conversation, desperate to protest, desperate to share her expertise! But all she could do was grunt and groan as her quivering pussy burst into another impressive orgasm.

"Look. The little bitch's dripping on the deck."

"Hot damn. Look at 'er go," Jake said. Her randiness impressing even him. But he still was looking at her tits and crotch, not her face, which just gave Sarah an excuse to increase her masturbating.

Sarah's pussy spasmed like Jello as the men laughed at her, and she imagined herself for sale in some centuries-old African slave market, stripped and sold off the docks like the days of yore. The analytical side of her brain wanted to regain her freedom, but the submissive side of her "Flame" brain was overloaded by the prospect of being a genuine African or Arab slave slut--FOR LIFE!

*****

Over the next several days, Sarah was constantly aroused by the risk of being identified, the thrill of being used repeatedly, and the fear of being sold--permanently--in Africa. Her lawyer would dutifully turn over the information she had left to the Human Trafficking Agency, which would track down Sarah's hired wrangler Rango and even Jake. That might get them in trouble, but not save her tight little branded tush from pirates and African slavers.

The first time that she wasn't reserved for use, Timmy had leashed her and marched her naked butt to his crew quarters, where he proceeded to fuck her skull, pound her pussy, and finally ream her ass, all the time mumbling about this "bitch" "Sarah Hollister" whom she resembled, and how he had always wanted to ravish the little whore who had made his life miserable as an apprentice auctioneer. After that, she had trouble recalling what he said because the humiliation of being dominated by the little twerp whom she had taught (and who had later sold her at auction) gave her a crashing orgasm. And finally, after he flooded her mouth with white cum, she had to first exhibit and then swallow Timmy's slime, an experience that simply fueled her lust for more humiliation.

Sarah had thought that she could blend in with the other girls but had never imagined that she'd be having near-constant close encounters with so many people that she knew. When Sarah had told Jake that she couldn't go on the cruise, that no-talent wannabee consultant Lindsay Williams had taken over and decided to stuff the initial cruise's guest list with travel agents, celebrities, and industry professionals. How ironic, Flame thought, that she was sucking customers while Lindsay tried her usual suck-up tactics for free. The celebrities were embarrassing, as Sarah hated having to perform like a trained circus animal before artists and celebrities she admired, some of whom she had previously met during her jet-setting lifestyle.

There was one actress in particular she had met several times in Hollywood. The actress knew Sarah, as the woman had portrayed a slave in a film and Sarah helped train her for the role. Professor Hollister actually had a picture of them together on her "ego wall" in Manhattan that displayed her with famous celebrities. On this cruise, the actress took a shine to "Flame" as a sort of pet slut. Flame gave the lady both a pedicure and an orgasm-inducing "slave massage" in the spa. Both women would have indignantly denied any Lesbian tendencies, but they certainly got off rubbing their nude bodies together.

Sarah couldn't believe that she didn't recognize her, but in their previous encounters Sarah had been training HER, and the actress was the naked pleasure slut writhing under the crack of Sarah's whip. Always the professional, Sarah had remained fully dressed as she coached the famous celebrity on her block moves. Sarah had quite enjoyed putting the little bitch in her place, and took her far beyond what was required for the film, "to help her understand the character," she claimed. But karma is a bitch, as was this particular actress. Now, the famous actress used a strap-on to give Flame a very intense buggering, slapping her ass and shouting, "Ride 'em, cowgirl" as Flame writhed in submissive ecstasy under her. Like little Timmy, the actress referenced her former identity as a slave studies professor. "I did a movie where I portrayed a slave once. The slave trainer college professor laughed and laughed as she watched me get fucked up the ass. I didn't understand why it was so funny, until I saw that stupid look on your face, slave girl. Truly, it is better to give than to receive." As she came again, Flame thought the actress had no idea how wrong that sentiment was--giggling at the subjugation of another was fun but being the subjugated one was far more thrilling.

At least Timmy had given Flame credit for her ability as a slut. "I love the way you swirl your tongue around the tip when I spurt. Reminds me of a Pleasure Slut I auctioned at The Big D, who had actually trained me. Of course, you're a lot skankier than she was."

*****

Another actor, whom she had known on stage in London but was more famous for his appearances in various television shows and science fiction movies, had Flame dress like an English school girl. Feigning outrage over her tattooed tramp stamps, her tweedy "teacher" welcomed her to "school" with six-of-the-best. The themed playrooms had been Sarah's idea, but it was Flame who found herself bending over the teacher's desk, being stripped for inspection in the Pirate Captain's cabin, or sucking the fat Sheriff's dick to get out of jail. Sarah was deeply humiliated, but Flame didn't mind THOSE scenes one bit.

Professor Hollister was pleased to see all the ideas that she had given Jake implemented, although her vantage point as part of the entertainment was now quite different. Knowing that cruises often attract an older clientele, Sarah had adopted many cruise ship ideas for the HO ship. In the mornings, guests eating their breakfast on the promenade deck had the option of watching the slaves do their morning exercises, really auction block positions known as Slave Yoga. All of these exercises were, to put it mildly, obscene. There were different schedules for male, female, and mixed slave groups, for passengers who didn't care to see swinging dicks while they ate, or passengers who wanted to see nothing but. Flame hated it, as it was freezing cold and Timmy knew how to crack her ass with the whip without leaving a mark, which meant that he could do it over and over again, just to entertain the guests. Everyone loved to laugh at the red-headed slut dancing with a freshly-switched butt.

Timmy always made sure the slaves worked up a sweat, and afterwards the guests got to watch as they were hosed down with seawater (the North Atlantic was cold at all times, but especially in March!), and (at Sarah's suggestion) deloused with a special chemical Sarah had picked so that Flame and the other "dirty sluts" could "feel the burn." "Never let them forget they are livestock," Sarah urged, and under her wise stewardship, Flame did not forget.

Rather than a Broadway show, Sarah had sketched out her idea for a "slave circus." Flame performed wearing clown makeup, a rainbow colored "cover" collar, a flowered hat, and nothing else. The audience laughed as Flame the clown crowded into a tiny cage with a dozen other slave girls. The audience roared as Flame got a bucket of jizz over her head. The sketches were humiliating and usually ended up with Flame bent over, getting her ass whipped, spanked, or reamed. What a silly slave clown she was!

Professor Hollister had suggested that when the ship's zip line wasn't in use, slave girls could be hung from it and left to struggle in their ropes to give the guests something to enjoy, while adding a bit of kinetic energy to the sea views. This wasn't nearly as bad as when she was tied to the prow of the ship as a "figurehead." She had also devised a "dunk pole," which would swing the bound slave girl out over the rail of the ship, then release her to fall head-first into the freezing cold water. It was fully automated, and as Professor Hollister predicted, the older guests in particular loved it. (Many of the women took special joy in punishing her for attracting the stares--and hard-ons--of their husbands.) Fortunately, the rope around her feet allowed them to quickly haul her up, so Flame got to experience the sensation of drowning over and over again.

Sarah's idea to spice up trivia night by turning it into a game of "hangman" had seemed like a bit of a throwaway, but Flame had drawn the dumbest couple of the ship, a pair of rich old geezers who could barely hear the questions. As the supports were removed from under her feet, Flame found herself struggling to keep her balance, with her situation growing more precarious with every wrong answer. Seriously, who doesn't know who Harry Potter is?

When the inevitable happened, and the supports under her feet gave way after her befuddled team failed to identify the capital of France, the rope tightened around her neck and Flame found herself dancing on air. The crowd quite enjoyed Sarah's bicycle kick "dance," judging by all the people who filmed themselves next to her. As she tired, and her struggles grew more frantic, she peed on a few of them, which earned her a few hard spanks. She welcomed that, as the people holding her steady for her spanking gave her something to lean against, reducing the pressure on her noose even as they set her ass on fire. The game went on for another 20 minutes, which is a long time to jerk your body up to gasp for air. As she kicked her life away, gasping, Flame's mind buzzed into confusion, a mixture of terror and arousal. She began to think of her free civilian identity in the third person, as a distant, superior being who had put slave Flame into this situation out of an excess of sadism.

"Professor Hollister is the devil. She must hate slave girls, to think of all these terrible things to do to us. What a cruel bitch she is! No, no, I mustn't think that. She is an important free woman, and I am merely a slave. I am here to entertain the guests. See how they're laughing at me? Sarah is a genius. I am honored to serve her as a slave whore. I shouldn't jerk so hard. I don't know how Professor Hollister is going to explain the rope burns on her neck when (and if) she gets on shore."

The duality of thinking of herself as both Flame and Professor Hollister gradually faded, and before long Flame began thinking of Professor Hollister as a separate and distinct individual. She reasoned that this mindset helped her "performance," but the terrifying reality explained why no one seemed to recognize her--she was developing slave mind, thinking of herself as just Flame the horny sex toy. Professor Hollister was not on the boat, she was somewhere in Boston, or her apartment in Manhattan. She was an important free woman. Flame was a naked Pleasure Slut who got her thrills out of being subjugated by free people.

Flame was worth too much money to be destroyed wantonly. Worse, actual harm could impair the guest experience. However, if something terrible happened to Flame, Professor Hollister had convinced the board that established the Yo Ho Ho to take out business insurance. Compensation would be paid to the professor's estate, and Flame would be thrown overboard as so much chum.

*****

(Steve Hollister's Perspective)

Damn, I'm glad Professor Hollister came up with the plan to have me on this ship for spring break. Instead of being tortured in Texas by my stepsister, I got almost unlimited pussy to eat and sometimes fuck, plus tips! OK, some of this twat was past its "sell by" date, but after being kept constantly in a chastity belt for nine months, I found even the menopausal women were like filet minion to eat, and even better to shaft after their first climaxes. Several of these customers (what's the feminine of a John--Jennine?) re-booked me every day of the cruise. And their husbands, who got to spend time shafting the female slaves, had been VERY generous in tips when I kept their wives orgasmically entertained.

OK, one middle-aged MILF named Martha Simmons got her rocks off by pounding my butt-hole with a (thankfully lubricated) strap-on, and that was as humiliating as it was uncomfortable. Again, I got a huge tip (not just the plastic kind) for letting her shaft me. I guess I've become too used to submitting to assertive, self-confident women like Professor Hollister and Ms. Simmons. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I shot a huge load just as she finished pegging me, with nobody around to film or jeer at me.