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

I suppose I should have felt some sense of justice when I saw how the "guests" were mistreating Professor Hollister. Still, she had been very kind and sympathetic to me, displaying a considerable sympathy for the mental trials a slave underwent. Not to mention that she had already given me a lot of time outside my chastity belt even before inviting me to this week-long fuck-fest. So, I couldn't help feeling sorry for my fellow "slave" when she was repeatedly spanked, whipped, doused with seawater, and almost asphyxiated by a hangman's noose. Not to mention edged and fucked in all three openings until she was shaking and dripping with desire, begging like the horniest slut to be face- and butt-fucked just to get off. I would always treasure the prelude to this cruise, when that slave wrangler actually ORDERED me to pound her velvet-lined cunt--talk about a dream "cum" true! (After her ordeal, the professor told me that most of the diabolical entertainments aboard ship were her suggestions, which made me wonder if she were really a masochist of some kind. At the time, however, I was getting a much better deal sexually than she did out of this "research.") In fact, I worried that if something happened to her I wouldn't get another chance to service mature women like this. Talk about the ideal job--this cruise ALMOST made up for all the suffering I'd experienced since Elly Mae put that 4-H project edger on me.

*****

(Sarah Hollister's--really Flame's--perspective)

The bar area was crowded with venture capitalists, slaving professionals, and business consultants. Sarah knew all of them, and this was the sort of venue where Professor Hollister thrived. It was the perfect locale for the professor to show her expertise, and Sarah usually formed a crowd around her, for she reveled in being the smartest girl in the room, especially when planning how to exploit female slaves. Only now, as Flame, SHE was the female being exploited, a source of both excitement and frustration to her.

Sarah had a crowd around her now, as well, for Flame was the naked centerpiece at a table near the bar where the wealthy and powerful were setting their drinks. On all fours, knees spread to shoulder length, and with a whip in her teeth, the red-headed slut kept perfectly still, not daring to move lest she jostle the table and spill one of the wealthy men's drinks. Spilling a drink might inspire one of the men to use one of crops, whips, or paddles that littered the table she was kneeling on. She knew they could whip her ass with impunity. After all, these were powerful and important people, and she was nothing but a naked pleasure slut. She felt her cunt dripping at the idea.

"I'm not sure why people want to go to a floating brothel when there are so many on land."

"You answered your own question. Novelty." Flame recognized the voice of Professor Lindsay Williams, of the University of Chicago. In Professor Hollister's eyes, she was an upstart, a poser, but now Lindsay was also a free woman while Flame was just a slut centerpiece. Lindsay was having a conversation with Bill Markup, an investor Sarah had used to help fund many ventures throughout the slaving world.

Picking up the riding crop, that skank Lindsay observed, "See how this bitch loves the whip? The great thing about a piece like this is you can lash her lazy ass and not worry about the marks, because you know she's not yours, and you don't have to wait for her to heal. You can just move on to the next rump."

"Why whip her?" Bill asked. "She looks pretty submissive to me."

Lindsay laughed. "Because it's FUN. The power is such a rush. She likes it too, see?" Lindsay withdrew the whip from Flame's cunt and displayed the 6 lashes at the end of the whip, now soaked in slave arousal juices. Raising the whip high in the air, Lindsay brought it down right across Flame's naked ass.

The pain was intense, and Flame drew far more attention than she cared to as she cried out with a humiliating little "slave yip", nearly dropping the whip from her mouth. Everyone in the room was looking at her face and her wild panicked eyes. She struggled to avoid moving, for fear of spilling drinks. But her butt twitched, begging for attention, for penetration.

Jake, the owner of the Big D, had been talking to Rachel, his accountant.

Professor Morgan, her mentor, was chatting with Sally Watson, who now worked for the slaving authority in Boston. Sally had interned with Professor Hollister, who had shown her the ropes. Sally had a very talented tongue, only this time she was more likely to get licked by Sarah/Flame rather than vice versa.

For a moment, Flame imagined herself fully dressed and greeting her former student and longtime admirer warmly. "Hello, Sally, nice to see you. I'm so pleased to see you doing so well."

Samuel Seawell, the infamous Boston slaving Judge, was talking to an older, "liberal" male senator Sarah had voted for. Again, she imagined the poised, elegant Professor Hollister saying, "I agree with you, Judge Seawell. The courts have gotten far too liberal, especially with bankruptcy cases. They'd do better to refer all those cases to you."

Using her riding crop, Professor Williams tapped the insides of Flame's thighs, forcing her to spread herself out even more widely. "Take this piece of red foxtail. She looks pretty skanky, with the nose and nipple rings and all, but some men like that." Lindsay Williams inserted the tip of the lash into the naked bimbo's wet twat and began fucking her with the first four inches as they talked. Knowing what was expected of her, and how Lindsay liked to use the whip, Flame began humping away. It was humiliating, especially in front of Bill Markup, a friend she had called upon so many times. Everywhere she looked, there were people she knew, and they were all looking at her. Her cover was blown. They must know. They all knew!

"You liked that, didn't you, pretty wench?" Lindsay said, tapping Flame's ass to signal she wanted a response.

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." Flame mumbled around the whip in her mouth, unable to control her arousal and dripping at the acute humiliation and vulnerability she felt.

Flame the slave slut gasped as Bill Markup grabbed her pussy, weighing and fondling it like it was a hunk of liver. "She's pretty wet all right. I don't like the tats and the studs in the tongue, but this is one sweet pussy. I suppose she does have her uses."

Flame moaned yet again as Bill removed a cigar from his pocket and slowly inserted it into her wet pussy. He began rolling it around, gently pushing it in and out, infusing his $500 cigar with slave juices. "You're right about variety. I think Sarah Hollister wrote a paper on it, and said it was an important part of marketing. People like choices, even if they can only fuck one pussy at a time."

She gasped as Bill pumped in and out of her with the cigar. As he slowly rolled it around, his hand was brushing her clit, and she was close to coming.

For a brief moment, the horny slut kneeling on the table pictured herself wearing Lindsay's short red dress and drinking a Manhattan as they chatted. "Yes, Bill, my paper 'Variety Excites Appetite' was published in The Slaving Quarterly three years ago. It caused quite a stir, but I had the data to back it up. It's industry practice now, but that's the key. Be the follower, not the leader."

Lindsay's sharp, nasally voice shocked her back to reality. "Sarah Hollister's washed up. She cancelled at the last minute, probably overbooked. She's getting too big for her britches, if you ask me."

Flame very much wished she had britches to be too big for. At least Jake defended her, even though he still didn't recognize her. "Lindsay, you can say what you like about Sarah Hollister, but she really has an uncanny understanding of both the business and the psychology of slavery--Sarah's made me a lot richer than I would have been otherwise, and she's certainly dedicated to the slave trade." While he was speaking, the businessman casually finger-fucked the slut, causing her butt to hump the air helplessly. Thank heavens, she thought, somebody recognizes my brains and not just my boobs!

In the mirrored wall of the bar she saw an actor... Ben someone? He was from Boston... had won an Oscar. He was standing behind her, smiling and sipping his drink. Some girl was chatting him up, but his eyes were glued to the slave's twat, watching as she humped the cigar.

It was so humiliating. Sarah Hollister had always wanted to meet him, to ask for his autograph. It was a thrill to see him looking at her, but not like this. Not like this.

Helpless to do anything but hump the cigar, Flame bit down on the whip as the little upstart bitch trashed her. "Sarah steals all her ideas from me. That's why Jake had me come aboard at the last minute, as her replacement, when Dr. Ego cancelled. She thinks far, far too much of herself, if you ask me."

Flame was left to hump the air as Bill withdrew his cigar, causing Ben to laugh. Helpless, she looked into the famous man's twinkling eyes.

"Randy little slut, isn't she?" he said, joining the conversation.

"Yes, but with the mark of quality." Flame gasped as Bill spread her cheeks to reveal the humiliating Big D brand between her butt cheeks. "We're looking at a real Sandy Foot Girl."

Ben laughed. "I'm impressed. I'd tap that."

By this time, Bill Markup had withdrawn the marinated tobacco from her dripping crotch and lit it up. "Nice flavor. You know, I might fuck her after all."

"You'd better hurry," Lindsay said. "I actually ordered a bit too much pussy. When we get back, we're going to do a ship-to-ship transfer and load 10% of the sluts onto a cargo ship bound for the Dubai, including this little twat. She didn't make my cut."

Flame bit down on the whip between her teeth as Lindsay caressed her helplessly exposed pussy. "Bon Voyage, my little red foxtail."

The slave's eyes widened in panic as she looked around the room. She thought she had been spotted, but she had not. Her plan, to blend in seamlessly with the other girls, had gone seriously sideways, and dye job or not, it seemed like her hot red snapper was the center of attention everywhere she went. She couldn't break cover now. She had totally humiliated herself and performed like the most shameless of pleasure sluts, giving the dozen slaving judges aboard more than enough cause to make her enslavement real.

But the alternative she was experiencing was even worse. No one recognized her, so she was just another piece of slave pussy to be sold to the Arabs. A trickle of cold sweat ran down Flame's back as the harsh reality set in.

Lindsay's right, she thought. I'm slave pussy, a skanky tattooed Ho with a whipped ass and a hot twat, headed for Dubai. Lindsay will get to replace me, after all. Sarah knew that somehow, she had to get off the list and save her ass. Literally her ass.

*****

At least she finally got to meet the famous film actor, who leashed her and led her, crawling, to his cabin. Ben smiled at Flame as he continued stroking her pussy. Reaching around, he took the whip out of her teeth.

"You can talk with a whip in your teeth. You didn't drop it even during your slave-gasm. I am impressed," he said, as Flame panted under his touch, her ringed tits rising and falling.

"Thank you, Master," she said, dipping my head in submission. "I give obedience where 'tis truly owed."

"Shakespeare," he said, continuing to stroke my sex. "Impressive, particularly for a Pleasure Slut. I noticed before that you were listening intently as Professor Morgan was explaining his study on the correlation between interest rates and enslavements. I couldn't follow the math, but you seemed to hang on every word. Perhaps you can explain it to me."

"I am nothing but a stupid slave girl, Master," Flame said, looking down.

"Bullshit," he said, tapping that prime ass smartly with the crop. "Answer the question, slave girl."

"He was describing a Baysean analysis, master. It's a statistical paradigm mathematicians use to make inferences--"

Ben's smile broadened as he began to stroke Flame's clit faster. "Umm... inferences -- you create a probability distribution of the unknown...oh! Oh! ... parameter, or parameters. Oh, Master!"

Ben laughed as the slut exploded into another slave-gasm in his hand. In that moment, he owned her pussy, her mind, every fiber of her being. His fingers were driving Flame crazy. He didn't really care about her pleasure, but it was the slave's reaction that amused him. Sarah realized in that moment that the powerful actor was mocking her, making it clear to everyone that no matter how smart she was, her pussy was the only part of a slave whore that mattered. Even in the bar, everyone she knew had been looking, laughing as the handsome actor made her come like a gusher all over his well-manicured hand.

"Your face is as red as your hair," he noted, smiling. "But that's what gets you off, isn't it? The humiliation? Everyone looking at you while you embarrass yourself? Let's do it again!"

"Please, master. No! No! Oh! Oh!" Ben laughed as she came on his hand again, her whole body shaking with shame, humiliation, and pleasure.

That was only the beginning. Over the next two hours, the actor proved that he was a master at arousing women, repeatedly edging the helpless, love-lorn slut. He only spoke a few times: "Suck my cock, slut." "Slave 4's--reach back and spread 'em." "Beg me to ream your tight little ass." She did it all and was thrilled, but he only let her come once. At the end, he demanded that she clean his cock, still soiled from its trip up her Hershey Highway. While she serviced him, he chatted on the phone with his movie star girlfriend.

At the end of the phone call, Ben hung up and discharged into her mouth, then demanded that she display the cum on her tongue before he consented for her to swallow the disgusting stuff. Flame (Sarah had receded under the influence of slave mind) tried to persuade him to intervene on her behalf, hoping that she'll be so amazing that he'll want to keep her around.

"May I ask a question, Master?"

"Slaves have questions, Masters have answers," he said enigmatically.

"Why did you choose me? You could have had any woman on the boat."

"Indeed, I could. But I wanted you," he said, kissing her gently on the forehead.

Resting her head on his shoulder, he gently stroked her hair. Sensing her moment had come, she said, "Master, I am going to be sold to Dubai tomorrow. I'm so frightened! It is a terrible place, and I'll never be seen again."

"So?" he asked. "I'm not your owner."

"But you chose me. You chose me because I'm the most beautiful!"

"No. Men don't choose slave girls because they are the most beautiful. Men choose slave girls because when they are done with them, they go away."

Ben used his foot to kick her out of the bed and onto the floor. She stared at him, naked and perplexed.

"Master's don't serve slaves," he said, regarding her coolly. "You were a good lay, but you're a slave girl, so I don't have to pretend that I love you. You can go now and be thankful I'm too tired from fucking you to lash your bottom. I'm going to take a shower. Enjoy Dubai."

Flame sat on the floor, mouth agape, as the handsome movie's star bare backside disappeared into the bathroom.

*****

Fortunately, after her sexual skills failed to impress the guests, the cold system of the National Slave Registry and its Slave Identification Numbers stepped in.

After six days of frantic fucking, sucking, reaming, and self-abasement Flame along with the other rejected sluts was lined up on her knees, hands bound behind her, preparing for transfer to a horrible fate and quaking with terror. Playing slave was one thing, being sold overseas to be a slave for life was quite another. Before the transfer, however, Rebecca, the accountant, checked the SIN numbers against the national data base. Working her way down the line of slaves, she finally came to the terrified slave professor in disguise--assuming that a slave collar and complete nudity is a disguise.

"Lip", Rebecca said, not even bothering to look at Flame. She checked her SIN tattoo against her iPad. "Not even close," she muttered. "That's weird."

Taking out her cellphone, Rebecca used her scanner to read the SIN inside Flame's lip. The slave knelt before her, naked, legs spread, showing her the registration number on her inside lower lip. As she realized her SIN was being checked by Rebecca, the girl whom she had once mentored, a rivulet of sweat ran down her back.

"What the fuck?" she whispered, staring at her phone. "Why would this Pleasure Slut have Sarah Hollister's SIN?"

She looked at Flame, then at the registration pictures of Sarah on the phone. She did this several times. "How did this get screwed up? Did Sarah register this bimbo, and give her own number by mistake? Not only that, but the little whore has the same birthmark on her left shoulder that's listed for Sarah. The only thing different is their hair color. I mean, what are the odds?"

Flame said nothing, and as the baffled accountant left the room she wondered if Rebecca would try to contact Sarah to find out what happened and discover why this Pleasure Slut was sharing her number. Rebecca wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, she thought.

Flame told herself that Rebecca was foolish not to recognize Sarah's little prank. Flame was nothing more than an exceptionally clever Halloween costume--a costume that had damn near gotten her sold into a harem! But as she knelt naked, awaiting her mistress's return, she had a peculiar thought. Perhaps it was her professorial attire that was the costume.

Come to think of it, Flame/Sarah realized, with a start, she'd been going at this all wrong. She'd been constantly nervous about being discovered, but the real thing she should have worried about was that slave mind had made her into this entirely different person, the tattooed pleasure slut, who could be used by anyone and disappear without a trace. Despite or perhaps because of the suffering of seawater baths, strangulation, and lack of sleep, she had become obsessed with pleasing people sexually, with being the perfect slave slut who got pleasure out of giving it to others, even (or perhaps especially) when those others were cruel to her and treated her like a whore. Even people who know her well and could see every inch of her body missed the obvious, because the idea that the elegant Professor Hollister had become this naked Pleasure Slut was simply inconceivable. Son-of-a-bitch; she had proven her hypothesis but not realized that by becoming a slave she had also become a different person. Now, how to explain that in academic terms?

****

Unable to eliminate the conflict between SINs and the National Data Base, Rebecca told Jake that they would have to return that red-headed slut to the Boston Big D; they didn't have clear title to sell her ass. Lindsay was furious that this little bimbo was messing up her plan to maximize profit per pussy and show up Sarah Hollister. Jake, however, was adamant:

"Lindsay," he explained, patiently. "When you have more experience in the slave trade, you'll understand this. Sarah would get it in a minute, but for your benefit, let's just say that any profit we might make selling Flame would be offset by the federal hassle we'd get for disposing of a slave when we don't have clear title. Let it go." Flame was relieved, and Sarah was secretly overjoyed that, even when she was a naked slave slut, she still showed up Lindsay's incompetence and Jake still acknowledged her expertise.

*****

By the end of the cruise, Sarah and Steve were both well-fucked and completely exhausted, looking forward to a return to Harvard and relative comfort. Rango took charge of the two naked, cuffed slaves when they were returned to the pier behind the Boston Big D and marched them back to her little car. Thank heavens, thought Sarah, emerging from the slave mind haze of Flame as he unlocked her cuffs and her freedom seemed to approach.