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Authors: Lisette Ashton

Amazon Slave

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Amazon Slave

Lisette Ashton

 

Rover Books
New york
www.RoverBooks.com

This book is a work of fiction.
In real life, make sure you practice safe sex.

This book is made available in electronic form by permission of VirginBooks by RoverBooks.
www.RoverBooks.com

First published in 1998 by
Nexus
332 Ladbroke Grove
London W10 5AH

Copyright © Lisette Ashton 1998

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-10: 0-7952-9903-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-7952-9903-2

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The author and publisher specifically disclaim any responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, which is incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly, of the use and application of any of the contents of this book.

One
 

Emily was awoken by the scream. The shrill cry carried easily through the still night air, chilling her semi-naked body. Too scared to move, Emily stayed hidden beneath the tarpaulin cover of the lifeboat. She strained her ears for sounds in the dark but after the scream there was only silence. Aside from the lapping of the river against the hull of the slow-moving boat, there was nothing to be heard. The only other sound she could discern was the gentle rustle of a cool breeze in the clipper’s tall white sails.

The moments ticked slowly by and her fear began to ease. As was usually the way with Emily, the emotion was replaced by curiosity. She considered moving from her hiding place to see what was happening. The idea of offering assistance pricked her conscience and she tentatively stretched her aching limbs, preparing to move.

A second scream stopped her.

Gooseflesh erupted on her bare arms and Emily knew it had nothing to do with the inclement tropical night or her lack of proper clothes. For the first time since her ordeal had begun, Emily realised how vulnerable her situation was.

Is this nightmare ever going to end? she wondered miserably. First the argument with Roddy, then getting stranded; alone and penniless. Now this! It was turning into a memorable holiday, she realised but for all the wrong reasons. If I ever get home, I’m never leaving England again, she decided firmly. The next holiday I have will be no more adventurous than Mablethorpe.

Sliding the harsh tarpaulin slowly from her body, Emily risked a wary glance at the world. Illuminated by pale silver moonlight, the tropical night was refreshingly cool. The gem-encrusted waves of the river sparkled brilliantly against the rich black waters. The uninhabited shores were shrouded by an impenetrable sable jungle. Above, the mackerel sky went on forever around a huge gleaming moon.

It isn’t Mablethorpe, Emily thought, a wry smile breaking across her lips, but it does have some benefits. She climbed carefully from the lifeboat and stretched each aching limb before moving.

This morning, when her world had been so different, she had been planning to spend the day reading a book and working on her tan. Ruefully studying her bikini and loose silk kimono, Emily realised she was still dressed for that excursion. She shivered as a cool night breeze brushed her legs, and cursed the skimpy costume.

Pulling herself to her full height, she was aware of each grumbling muscle in her body. She had been curled up in the lifeboat for what seemed an eternity during the last twelve hours. Bursting to pee, longing to move and hardly daring to breathe, Emily had felt like the victim of some particularly cruel captor. How she had managed to fall asleep in those circumstances was still a mystery to her. Now, every pore in her body rejoiced at this unexpected taste of freedom.

She was blessed with long coltish legs and a narrow waist. Her slenderness was accentuated by full breasts that pushed forcefully against the scant confines of her bikini top. Every inch of her skin was sun-bronzed and beneath the light of the moon her long dark locks sparkled with glistening silvery highlights.

She shivered and glanced warily around the ship.

The deck was deserted and she wondered if the bone-chilling scream could have come from somewhere else. Her knowledge of the wildlife in the tropical rain forests was severely limited. She supposed the scream could have been the harrowing cry of some wild nocturnal creature on the shore – or the mating call of some over-loud parrot. Either option seemed preferable to the images her mind had conjured up. Grasping hopefully at the idea, Emily carefully moved away from the lifeboat. Walking on tiptoe, she made her way slowly along the deck to investigate.

‘I should never have suggested we have this blasted holiday,’ she whispered angrily to herself. She cursed her own stupidity for trying something this adventurous. Things had gone wrong from the very beginning. Quickly, they had become worse and she could think of no one to blame but herself.

The first problem had been Judy, Roddy’s step-sister. She had invited herself on the vacation and then moaned about every loss of luxury they had encountered. A cock-up in the booking office, a flat tyre on the rented car and a loose cap on the bottle of sun lotion in her luggage had all contributed to the catalogue of disasters.

When Emily’s handbag went missing, it had been the final straw. At least if they had gone to St Tropez she would have been able to handle the language a little easier. In St Tropez there were authorities who could deal with things like missing handbags. Here, in the barely charted depths of South America, she had learnt it was her problem. The fact that it contained her passport, credit cards and all her money was unimportant. It was her handbag, she had lost it, and she could deal with the problem herself.

Roddy had shouted at the village official who explained this to them. Then he had shouted at Emily for causing the problem. His words had been hateful, vitriolic and severely cutting.

Emily’s retaliation had been worse. She dragged up every personal insult and slur she could think of. She screamed her anger at him and vented her spleen until her voice went hoarse. By profession she was a corporate financier and seldom had the chance to argue with such ferocity. That morning, she had made up for lost time. She and Roddy had argued passionately, allowing their tempers to colour the words.

‘Fuck you, Roddy!’ she had screamed into his face. ‘If you hate this holiday that much, why don’t you fuck off home?’

‘If that’s what you want,’ Roddy had screamed back at her, ‘I will.’

Ten minutes later, as she watched the rented jeep drive furiously away down the dirt-track road, Emily realised she was on her own. Judy had thrown her own things into the car with Roddy, and together the pair had deserted her.

‘Bastards,’ she had cursed softly.

The memory was still fresh and no sweeter.

Another scream broke the night’s still silence. A torrent of heart-wrenching sobs followed.

It was the sound of a woman crying.

She swallowed nervously. Words, English words she realised distantly, could be heard beneath the tears. Summoning all of her courage, she bravely walked towards the sound. Her bare feet were cooled by the hard wooden planks of the decking. She continued on, reminding herself that as long as she was barefoot she was silent.

‘I’m sorry, Captain Wilde…’

Emily heard the words as a whisper. The woman’s voice was strained and broken by gasps. Motivated by curiosity and concern, Emily moved stealthily towards the sounds.

‘…I’m sorry. It was an accident. The boat swayed and I…’

The sound of a sharp blow stopped her words. Her apologies were replaced by a low, guttural moan.

Emily stopped, shocked by the noise.

‘Thank you, Captain Wilde,’ the woman’s voice whispered softly.

Shafts of golden light spilled on to the deck and Emily froze. She cowered in the long black shadows and tried to reassess the situation.

The windows in the pilothouse were aglow with warm yellow light. Unsecured, the main hatch swung lazily open and closed. That was where the sounds were coming from, she realised. Fear held her in the shadows and she struggled valiantly with the emotion.

‘Harder, you worthless tosspot. Harder!’ It was a man’s voice, angry and threatening.

Emily sank lower in the shadows.

‘This hard, you fucking idiot!’ The words were followed by three swift whistles. It was the sound of a cane cutting air. Each swipe was punctuated by the crack of wood biting flesh. ‘This hard.’ Again, Emily heard three swift blows.

Curiosity bettered her fear, and she eased herself slowly from her hiding place. Moving cautiously along the deck, she crept bravely towards the pilothouse.

‘Sorry, Captain Wilde.’ This was a man’s voice, chastened and mumbling.

Emily pressed her face against the hatch, trying to see what was happening. It took a moment for her eyes to adapt to the bright light inside. When her vision had finally adjusted, she stifled a gasp of surprise.

There were three people inside: two men and a woman.

The woman was naked. Bent over one of the consoles, she had her back to Emily; every curve and contour of her frail figure was on display. The cheeks of her arse were striped with angry red lines. They burnt brightly against the pallid colour of her wan flesh.

Emily realised these marks were fresh.

She had not needed to be woken by the woman’s scream to guess this much. Nor had she needed to hear the chastened aftermath of her punishment. Seeing the two men standing over her, each one boldly brandishing a cane, was sufficient for Emily to work out exactly what had been happening.

The pair of them had been caning her arse.

Emily stared at the woman’s buttocks, amazed by the marks that had been inflicted. Beneath these welts she could see the fading bruises of previous punishments.

She glanced warily at the two men. The taller of them was dressed in a pair of loose black trunks. A mop of tousled black hair covered his brow, complementing his swarthy complexion. He had a broad build that looked muscular and capable without being affected. Emily considered his type of body to be a natural shape. She had never cared for the aesthetic perfection of professional bodybuilders, preferring the allure of an unfeigned physique. His olive complexion lent a rugged charm to his appearance. Judging by his dark frown and the arrogant set of his shoulders, Emily guessed he was the captain.

Her gaze shifted to the man standing next to him. With his fair hair and pretty-boy looks, Emily did not think this man looked half as formidable as the captain. He looked a little more muscular, but he lacked the commanding air of authority that seemed to come naturally to the dark-haired man. She wondered if that could have been to do with his nudity. From personal experience she knew that people seldom looked commanding when they were naked. As she watched the three, she wished the blond man would move so she could get a proper glimpse of him. He had his back to her and she could only see the side of his face and his pert, tight buttocks.

‘Do you think she’s had enough?’ the captain asked. He grasped the woman’s arse and squeezed one cheek with a merciless hand. The tips of his fingers brushed dangerously close to the rising mound of her sex. His touch was hard and uncompromising, forcing a gasp of surprise from the woman.

Emily drew breath. She was mesmerised by the scene.

‘Laura’s basque could have been ruined by your stupidity,’ he growled. His fingers tightened against the bruised flesh of her backside, pressing hard against the reddened skin. ‘I suppose you were lucky she was in a forgiving mood and asked me to punish you while she changed.’

The woman moaned, a soft forlorn cry. ‘I am lucky, Captain Wilde,’ she whispered.

Emily had to strain to hear her words.

‘And I am sorry.’

The captain spat, a harsh dismissive sound. ‘You haven’t even begun to be sorry, yet,’ he told her menacingly. He turned his attention to his blond colleague. ‘Stripe her cheeks,’ the captain snapped sharply. ‘Do it well,’ he added pointedly. ‘Or I’ll make up the shortfall on your arse, do you understand, Vincent?’

Vincent swallowed and nodded. He raised his cane and brought it down forcefully on the woman’s bare arse. Her cheeks quivered beneath the onslaught. Her pleasured cries of despair echoed through the night.

Emily watched as he rained blow after blow on to the woman. Her earlier thoughts of helping were now forgotten. Even if she had seen the boat was on fire, Emily doubted she would have found the strength to move.

As Vincent shifted position to get a better swing of his cane, Emily caught sight of his cock for the first time. Long and hard, it stood proudly before him. He had no pubic hair, she noted, and this seemed to accentuate his length. His testicles were a small tight pouch at the base of his shaft.

Peering closer, Emily realised there was a small, tight silver chain separating his balls. It was connected to a loop of metal around the base of his cock and, although she could not tell for certain, this appeared to be keeping his shaft hard.

His foreskin had peeled back to reveal a swollen purple head. Vincent’s erection throbbed eagerly and seemed to twitch with each blow he administered.

You cruel bastard, she thought incredulously. She did not know who the insult was directed at, and the accusation carried no real weight. She could not blame Vincent for his arousal. A tingle of dark excitement was sparking between her own legs, and she rubbed the heel of her palm gently against the crotch of her bikini bottoms. There was something so intimate and personal about the situation that Emily felt a yearning to be part of it.

‘Madness,’ she told herself angrily. The pair of them were gratuitously beating the woman, and she was enjoying the spectacle. Not only was she enjoying the whole incident, she was actually wanting to participate. ‘I’ve been out in the sun too long today,’ she told herself. ‘It’s starting to effect me.’

‘You’ve made Vincent get all excited,’ the captain noted. There was a trace of good humour in his voice. He grabbed the woman’s hair and pulled her from the console.

For the first time, Emily saw her face. She was a pretty brunette with pale blue eyes and a doll-like face. Her lips were parted in a gasp of surprise as she tried to free her hair from the captain’s grip. Watching intently, Emily barely noticed the woman’s face. Her attention was caught by the pair of silver loops that pierced her nipples. Her gaze was riveted on the body jewellery, and she tried to come to terms with what she was seeing. She had heard people talk about getting their nipples pierced before now. One or two of her more gregarious colleagues had joked about doing it but so far as Emily knew, none of them had dared. And here she was staring at a pair of tiny metallic ball closure rings penetrating the flesh of this woman’s breasts.

Unconsciously, Emily shifted position, leaning forward so she could get a better look.

The brunette’s breasts were small and pert with large dark areolae. They rose and fell softly, her breathing made heavy by the punishment she had endured. Her nipples stood hard and proud, penetrated on either side by the curved silver loop.

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