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- Thread starter Barbaria1
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
You are very welcome @Barbaria1These are nicely done, Fossy. Thanks for posting
J
Juan1234
Guest
Great start! Can’t wait for the flogging!
Harsh Martinet
Consul
I'd put up with him if Keira Knightley was starring as the castaway getting 30 lashes of the cat on her bare back.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Finally, the true story of the discovery of the Americas!
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Finally, the true story of the discovery of the Americas!
Hmmmm Barb....perhaps you'll follow this up with a tell all about the punishment of female passengers aboard the Mayflower?
connoisseurs
Senator
A man, who - after 3 days on sea and with many more weeks without woman ahead - reacts in that way has to be Catholic of that time.
There you go then. A nice trip to the Canary Islands
, and you get to play with the cat as well. That's nice.
I would have thought you might be whipped or something. 
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Worship was an intense part. When the person turned the half hour sandglass, he would cry, "Blessed be the hour of our Savior’s birth / blessed be the Virgin Mary who bore him / and blessed be John who baptized him.”
2.
Diego de Arana took her by the hand and led her away. As the master-at-arms it was his duty to maintain discipline onboard and oversee corrective punishment as ordered by the captain-general. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help the tinge of revulsion he felt over the prospect of having young Bárbara Morales flogged.
He sensed both her courage and her desperation ... running away in the dead of night and stowing away on a ship without even knowing where it might be headed or what might become of her was evidence enough of that. And besides, he was smitten over her beauty and appalled at the thought of witnessing ‘thirty with the cat’ applied to what he surmised must be a lovely bared back.
She followed him docilely to the fore of the ship where the carrack’s carpenter, Antonia de Cuellar, plied his trade.
“We’ll be needing to shackle this one, Antonia,” he said with a grim smile.
The carpenter looked up, gazed at her, and nodded. Wordlessly he began rummaging in a wooden box, and before long produced a pair of leg irons linked together by a length of chain, as well as a pair of wrist cuffs similarly linked. Returning to the box, he also came up with an iron collar with a round ring on one side.
“Have her kneel here with her neck on the block,” he grunted, gesturing to a heavy anvil-like chunk of iron bolted to the deck. “And best to have her remove her skirt and bodice first.”
There was a moments hesitation before Bárbara complied. She looked first to Diego for assurance, and only after he nodded and smiled wanly, did she proceed to remove her outer clothing, leaving her with only the thin knee-length linen chemise ... the undergarment she wore close to her skin.
The carpenter gestured impatiently toward the iron block. She started as though she had fallen into a trance, but knelt before it as requested, leaned forward and allowed him to slip the open iron collar around her neck and hammer it shut against the block, locking it with an iron pin.
From his vantage point, Diego de Arana found himself looking, as she knelt, down the gap that had opened between her chest and the drooping front of her linen chemise. The alluring sight of her pair of creamy, perfectly-shaped, dangling breasts, tipped with exquisitely pert little pink nipples, bouncing and jiggling about with each ringing blow of the carpenter’s hammer, had its predictable effect, and his attraction to her quickly rose to new and unimaginable heights.
Ordered to stand, she rose and stood with head bowed while her narrow ankles and wrists were shackled, and the length of chain connecting her wrist cuffs looped
through the ring of her collar.
“Is all this necessary? she murmured. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to try to escape by jumping overboard and swimming to land, is it?”
“Of course you won’t,” admitted Diego ruefully. “It’s just the way this Is done ... can’t be helped.”
At that moment a wild commotion arose astern. A seaman came running forward to announce that La Pinta was floundering, its rudder apparently broken and useless, and that Diego de Arana was needed immediately to help oversee the turning of the carrack about to go to the aid of the stricken vessel.
“Secure her to something until I return,” he snapped and rushed off.
Turning to Bárbara, the carpenter shrugged, led her over to the carrack’s forward mast, to which he backed her up, and forced her to raise her arms over and behind her head where her wrist chain could be secured to a belaying pin. And there she was left, forgotten, all through the afternoon and into the evening as work went on to rig ropes to La Pinta’s rudder so as to enable her to make the Canary Islands for repairs.
By the time a weary Diego de Arana returned, she had all but lost feeling in her arms, and her back and legs ached.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he released and supported her as they made their way below decks.
“Get some rest,” he whispered as he set her down against a bulkhead.
“I’m hungry” she wailed pitifully.
“Sorry, but from what I’ve been told you managed to eat more than your share from the ship’s stores while you were stowed away. I even had to dissuade the Captain-General from adding an additional ten lashes to your flogging. You’ll just have to get by on an empty stomach tonight. Besides, it’s probably best to be flogged that way too. Now get some rest!”
He left, and as she sat in the darkness listening to the creaks and groans of the carrack’s timbers, she thought about Diego de Arana, and about the terrible flogging she’d face at first light.
With regard to the carrack’s master-at-arms, she had to admit the deep attraction she felt toward him. She detected a kindness in his manner that she liked, and she also imagined he might have feelings for her. She had seen him look down her chemise at her breasts and was aware of his reaction. Given half a chance, she reckoned she would have him.
While those thoughts were intriguing and romantically delicious, the thought of being whipped with a cat was anything but. She had never witnessed a formal flogging, but she knew well enough what a cat was, and she knew from experience at the hands of her former master what it was like to be on the receiving end of a beating with a leather belt. Moreover, the thought of her body bared before the assembled crew ... she could well imagine that they would strip her to the waist, at the very least ... was a shamefully humiliating thought, to say the least. She could already feel their rapacious eyes upon her, and could anticipate the lurid kinds of comments that might pass amongst them.
Eventually she tired of such thoughts. She slept, but not well, and was fully awake long before they came for her. She had expected Diego de Arana, but it was not to be ... just three seaman assigned to bring her up on deck.
She emerged, blinking at the grayish-hued morning light. The sky was heavily overcast, the sea rough. The Santa Maria pitched about as she wallowed in the troughs and crashed over crests. The deck was wet from windblown spray.
They marched her to midship, where a short spar had been suspended horizontally on ropes from high in the rigging above. The ship’s crew had been drawn up in ranks along both gunwales. A hundred eyes followed her as she was led forward.
Cristobal Colon stood waiting for her behind the hanging spar, hands clasped at his back, a stern look on his narrow face. He was flanked on either side by Juan de la Cosa and Rodrigo de Escobedo.
Diego de Arana was positioned a short distance before them.
But most frightening of all was the tall, muscular bare-chested seaman who waited patiently for her, a dark leather cat-o-nine held firmly in his grip, dripping from the bucket of brine from which it had just been removed.
“Prepare her,” ordered Diego de Arana. She thought she detected moisture in the corners of his eyes.
Her seaman escorts took hold of her chemise and ripped it from her shoulders, baring her to the waist, torn folds of linen clinging precariously to her narrow hips. She stood with head bowed, shamed, as wind blown-spray cast a glossy sheen on her naked flesh and dampened the linen of the remains of her chemise to semi-transparency.
“Secure her,” commanded Diego de Arana, the second word seeming to catch in his throat.
She could hear the murmuring amongst the assembled crew as they attached her wrist shackles, high over head and spread wide, to the horizontal spar. The murmurs increased in volume and raucousness as the spar rose and stretched her, breasts wobbling from side to side, until only her toes touched the planking of the deck.
“When you’re ready,” muttered Diego de Arana to the seaman with the cat. “The count is to thirty with pauses on the sixes, a bucket of brine should she faint.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Diego de Arana took her by the hand and led her away. As the master-at-arms it was his duty to maintain discipline onboard and oversee corrective punishment as ordered by the captain-general. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help the tinge of revulsion he felt over the prospect of having young Bárbara Morales flogged.
He sensed both her courage and her desperation ... running away in the dead of night and stowing away on a ship without even knowing where it might be headed or what might become of her was evidence enough of that. And besides, he was smitten over her beauty and appalled at the thought of witnessing ‘thirty with the cat’ applied to what he surmised must be a lovely bared back.
She followed him docilely to the fore of the ship where the carrack’s carpenter, Antonia de Cuellar, plied his trade.
“We’ll be needing to shackle this one, Antonia,” he said with a grim smile.
The carpenter looked up, gazed at her, and nodded. Wordlessly he began rummaging in a wooden box, and before long produced a pair of leg irons linked together by a length of chain, as well as a pair of wrist cuffs similarly linked. Returning to the box, he also came up with an iron collar with a round ring on one side.
“Have her kneel here with her neck on the block,” he grunted, gesturing to a heavy anvil-like chunk of iron bolted to the deck. “And best to have her remove her skirt and bodice first.”
There was a moments hesitation before Bárbara complied. She looked first to Diego for assurance, and only after he nodded and smiled wanly, did she proceed to remove her outer clothing, leaving her with only the thin knee-length linen chemise ... the undergarment she wore close to her skin.
The carpenter gestured impatiently toward the iron block. She started as though she had fallen into a trance, but knelt before it as requested, leaned forward and allowed him to slip the open iron collar around her neck and hammer it shut against the block, locking it with an iron pin.
From his vantage point, Diego de Arana found himself looking, as she knelt, down the gap that had opened between her chest and the drooping front of her linen chemise. The alluring sight of her pair of creamy, perfectly-shaped, dangling breasts, tipped with exquisitely pert little pink nipples, bouncing and jiggling about with each ringing blow of the carpenter’s hammer, had its predictable effect, and his attraction to her quickly rose to new and unimaginable heights.
Ordered to stand, she rose and stood with head bowed while her narrow ankles and wrists were shackled, and the length of chain connecting her wrist cuffs looped
through the ring of her collar.
“Is all this necessary? she murmured. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to try to escape by jumping overboard and swimming to land, is it?”
“Of course you won’t,” admitted Diego ruefully. “It’s just the way this Is done ... can’t be helped.”
At that moment a wild commotion arose astern. A seaman came running forward to announce that La Pinta was floundering, its rudder apparently broken and useless, and that Diego de Arana was needed immediately to help oversee the turning of the carrack about to go to the aid of the stricken vessel.
“Secure her to something until I return,” he snapped and rushed off.
Turning to Bárbara, the carpenter shrugged, led her over to the carrack’s forward mast, to which he backed her up, and forced her to raise her arms over and behind her head where her wrist chain could be secured to a belaying pin. And there she was left, forgotten, all through the afternoon and into the evening as work went on to rig ropes to La Pinta’s rudder so as to enable her to make the Canary Islands for repairs.
By the time a weary Diego de Arana returned, she had all but lost feeling in her arms, and her back and legs ached.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he released and supported her as they made their way below decks.
“Get some rest,” he whispered as he set her down against a bulkhead.
“I’m hungry” she wailed pitifully.
“Sorry, but from what I’ve been told you managed to eat more than your share from the ship’s stores while you were stowed away. I even had to dissuade the Captain-General from adding an additional ten lashes to your flogging. You’ll just have to get by on an empty stomach tonight. Besides, it’s probably best to be flogged that way too. Now get some rest!”
He left, and as she sat in the darkness listening to the creaks and groans of the carrack’s timbers, she thought about Diego de Arana, and about the terrible flogging she’d face at first light.
With regard to the carrack’s master-at-arms, she had to admit the deep attraction she felt toward him. She detected a kindness in his manner that she liked, and she also imagined he might have feelings for her. She had seen him look down her chemise at her breasts and was aware of his reaction. Given half a chance, she reckoned she would have him.
While those thoughts were intriguing and romantically delicious, the thought of being whipped with a cat was anything but. She had never witnessed a formal flogging, but she knew well enough what a cat was, and she knew from experience at the hands of her former master what it was like to be on the receiving end of a beating with a leather belt. Moreover, the thought of her body bared before the assembled crew ... she could well imagine that they would strip her to the waist, at the very least ... was a shamefully humiliating thought, to say the least. She could already feel their rapacious eyes upon her, and could anticipate the lurid kinds of comments that might pass amongst them.
Eventually she tired of such thoughts. She slept, but not well, and was fully awake long before they came for her. She had expected Diego de Arana, but it was not to be ... just three seaman assigned to bring her up on deck.
She emerged, blinking at the grayish-hued morning light. The sky was heavily overcast, the sea rough. The Santa Maria pitched about as she wallowed in the troughs and crashed over crests. The deck was wet from windblown spray.
They marched her to midship, where a short spar had been suspended horizontally on ropes from high in the rigging above. The ship’s crew had been drawn up in ranks along both gunwales. A hundred eyes followed her as she was led forward.
Cristobal Colon stood waiting for her behind the hanging spar, hands clasped at his back, a stern look on his narrow face. He was flanked on either side by Juan de la Cosa and Rodrigo de Escobedo.
Diego de Arana was positioned a short distance before them.
But most frightening of all was the tall, muscular bare-chested seaman who waited patiently for her, a dark leather cat-o-nine held firmly in his grip, dripping from the bucket of brine from which it had just been removed.
“Prepare her,” ordered Diego de Arana. She thought she detected moisture in the corners of his eyes.
Her seaman escorts took hold of her chemise and ripped it from her shoulders, baring her to the waist, torn folds of linen clinging precariously to her narrow hips. She stood with head bowed, shamed, as wind blown-spray cast a glossy sheen on her naked flesh and dampened the linen of the remains of her chemise to semi-transparency.
“Secure her,” commanded Diego de Arana, the second word seeming to catch in his throat.
She could hear the murmuring amongst the assembled crew as they attached her wrist shackles, high over head and spread wide, to the horizontal spar. The murmurs increased in volume and raucousness as the spar rose and stretched her, breasts wobbling from side to side, until only her toes touched the planking of the deck.
“When you’re ready,” muttered Diego de Arana to the seaman with the cat. “The count is to thirty with pauses on the sixes, a bucket of brine should she faint.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Last edited:
Historical note: La Pinta really did suffer a broken rudder on August 6, 1492, which had to be secured with ropes, enabling her to limp into the Canary Islands for repairs. There was suspicion of sabotage on the part of the vessel’s owners who felt they got a raw deal in the manner in which they were compensated for her use in the expedition.
See how educational CF is?
See how educational CF is?
Migoz2
Senator
I came here for the naked women being tortured. I stay for the educational stuff.*
*I would probably have been one of those men who claimed they bought Playboy for the articles.........
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
“Secure her,” commanded Diego de Arana, the second word seeming to catch in his throat.
She could hear the murmuring amongst the assembled crew as they attached her wrist shackles, high over head and spread wide, to the horizontal spar. The murmurs increased in volume and raucousness as the spar rose and stretched her, breasts wobbling from side to side, until only her toes touched the planking of the deck.
“When you’re ready,” muttered Diego de Arana to the seaman with the cat. “The count is to thirty with pauses on the sixes, a bucket of brine should she faint.”
She could hear the murmuring amongst the assembled crew as they attached her wrist shackles, high over head and spread wide, to the horizontal spar. The murmurs increased in volume and raucousness as the spar rose and stretched her, breasts wobbling from side to side, until only her toes touched the planking of the deck.
“When you’re ready,” muttered Diego de Arana to the seaman with the cat. “The count is to thirty with pauses on the sixes, a bucket of brine should she faint.”
Attachments
Harsh Martinet
Consul
It's akin to withholding a fix from a desperate addict
Barb you are horrible to stop story in this moment.
It's akin to withholding a fix from a desperate addict
Ooh, Barb does love to tease....
Mind you, I'm still trying to figure out how to pronounce Bárbara
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Just healthy and natural male curiosity.
They had been ordered to pay close attention.
Often a crew would murmur at this point. It was the general resistance of the men to excessive discipline by the entitled officers. A certain rebelliousness that Barbara should appreciate.. I'm sure they all sympathize with her plight.
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Just healthy and natural male curiosity.
They had been ordered to pay close attention.
Often a crew would murmur at this point. It was the general resistance of the men to excessive discipline by the entitled officers. A certain rebelliousness that Barbara should appreciate.. I'm sure they all sympathize with her plight.
I'm quite certain that every man was "at attention"... okay, nearly every man.