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The long journey to Botany Bay

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jjjack

Magistrate
They had only stolen a piece of bread or an apple to feed themselves or their family, or had been caught on the street selling their bodies because no one was giving them an honest job. Some, who served as maids in the houses of wealthy bourgeois or noble families, had been unjustly accused of theft by their mistresses, jealous of the looks that their husbands stealthily cast at the young bodies of their handmaidens. Still others had rebelled against the abuses of their masters in the factories, when they had forced them to strip naked on the pretext of checking that they didn't steal anything from their workplace.
For all of them, fate had been the same: after a few days of detention, under the lewd attention of perverse magistrates and sadistic guards, they had been sentenced to deportation to the other end of the world. This meant that they could never go back to their families; that they would have to accept their status as state prostitutes, available free of charge to the guards and officials of the Botany Bay Criminal Colony, a place that gave chills just to pronounce it.
The day of departure had finally come. Dragged to the port, they had been forced to undress for the benefit of the crowd of onlookers and guards: women at sea bring bad luck; the best way to ward off a misfortune was for the woman to travel with her breasts uncovered, like the figurehead of the ship which for this reason is represented half-naked. But with so many young women on board, all destined to become obedient sexual slaves for the soldiers of Botany Bay, it was much better that they did not just discover their breasts: it was much better that they were completely naked, so they would soon learn their role of bitches and would have raised the morale of the men on board. And not just morale ...


before boarding for Botany Bay.jpg Departure for Botany Bay.jpg
 

montycrusto

Slave Trader
They had only stolen a piece of bread or an apple to feed themselves or their family, or had been caught on the street selling their bodies because no one was giving them an honest job. Some, who served as maids in the houses of wealthy bourgeois or noble families, had been unjustly accused of theft by their mistresses, jealous of the looks that their husbands stealthily cast at the young bodies of their handmaidens. Still others had rebelled against the abuses of their masters in the factories, when they had forced them to strip naked on the pretext of checking that they didn't steal anything from their workplace.
For all of them, fate had been the same: after a few days of detention, under the lewd attention of perverse magistrates and sadistic guards, they had been sentenced to deportation to the other end of the world. This meant that they could never go back to their families; that they would have to accept their status as state prostitutes, available free of charge to the guards and officials of the Botany Bay Criminal Colony, a place that gave chills just to pronounce it.
The day of departure had finally come. Dragged to the port, they had been forced to undress for the benefit of the crowd of onlookers and guards: women at sea bring bad luck; the best way to ward off a misfortune was for the woman to travel with her breasts uncovered, like the figurehead of the ship which for this reason is represented half-naked. But with so many young women on board, all destined to become obedient sexual slaves for the soldiers of Botany Bay, it was much better that they did not just discover their breasts: it was much better that they were completely naked, so they would soon learn their role of bitches and would have raised the morale of the men on board. And not just morale ...


View attachment 840872 View attachment 840873
Fantastic!! Did you do the photo montages too?
 

jjjack

Magistrate
Hello everyone and thanks for your comments.
@montycrusto: yes, I'm the author of the photo montages.
This thread is naturally open to everyone's imagination. The idea of this sea voyage has stimulated my imagination for some new images, taking inspiration from the backgrounds of films or TV series that I probably recognize. I don't feel particularly inspired to write a story, at least for the moment. I hope you will at least like the images.
 

Bad Boris

Executioner
Hello everyone and thanks for your comments.
@montycrusto: yes, I'm the author of the photo montages.
This thread is naturally open to everyone's imagination. The idea of this sea voyage has stimulated my imagination for some new images, taking inspiration from the backgrounds of films or TV series that I probably recognize. I don't feel particularly inspired to write a story, at least for the moment. I hope you will at least like the images.
I am interested to see what befalls those who do not do as the crew demand during the voyage? They would not want to waste their cargo by simply throwing them overboard so would need to keep as many alive as possible. Would they have a devilish whipping post? Or maybe for real sinners they could carry out a crucifixion of sorts against the masts.
 

jjjack

Magistrate
I am interested to see what befalls those who do not do as the crew demand during the voyage? They would not want to waste their cargo by simply throwing them overboard so would need to keep as many alive as possible. Would they have a devilish whipping post? Or maybe for real sinners they could carry out a crucifixion of sorts against the masts.

Hi Bad Boris, I can tell you that you won't be disappointed ...
 

mark sessnatz

Spectator
Well, this thread has inspired me! Here as my humble offering is my own little vignette from the voyage! Hope you enjoy!

The inclement sea lurched the vessel sharply, tossing Renee like a sack of flour against the port side. Her bare feet slipped out from under her, squeaking on the soaked timbers of the deck. She tried to grab the taffrail for support, but her manacled hands weren’t fast enough and she landed hard on her backside, winded, feeling a bruise forming around her tailbone. She groaned.

The sky was as gray as ash, and Renee shivered at the stormy chill in the air, but she couldn’t complain. She and her fellow convicts aboard the HMS Eulalia, en route to the Botany Bay penal colony, were only brought above-decks for fresh air once a day. Even the cruelest nautical weather was preferable to the suffocating, musty darkness of the cargo hold. She breathed in a crisp lungful of salt air.

There wasn’t air like that back home in Bristol, she reflected. There was just the heavy rot smell of the narrow alleyways where she’d propositioned her clients, the brandy-and-opium smog of the dimly lit brothel rooms where she’d practiced her dubious trade. She doubted she’d smelled true fresh air at all for the last eleven of her thirty years. A month ago, her number had finally come up when the constables went on the rounds to fulfill their whore quota. As the judge had signed the warrant for her transportation to the colony, she had wistfully thought, ‘at least there’ll be fresh air.’

“Nooo! No, sir, please!” whimpered a nearby girlish voice. Renee snapped out of her reverie. She turned to look behind her. The voice belonged to Molly, a pretty young girl of not more than eighteen or nineteen and the closest thing Renee had to a friend on this voyage of the damned. All prisoners were kept naked, (ostensibly it counteracted some maritime superstition, but the only material result was cold and humiliation) and one of the lecherous red-coated guards had taken the opportunity to vigorously grope Molly’s exposed breasts.

“Please! I’ve done nothing,” Molly cried. Renee felt a swell of fury within her. Molly was a truly innocent soul. She’d worked as a chambermaid to a very old man, and when he died, the man’s jealous daughter framed Molly for poisoning him. Taking her youth into consideration, the judge had been merciful, and the death sentence had been commuted to transportation. The girl simply didn’t have it in her to harm a fly, and certainly wasn’t made for the harsh life of a prison ship. Renee felt obliged to protect her as much as she could. She rose to her feet, the chain between her wrists rattling.

The redcoat had Molly cornered against the ship’s timbers. He pressed his face to the top of her head and sniffed her mousy curls while his fat-fingered hands roamed all over her, grabbing fistfuls of her breasts, belly, and thighs. The girl tried to squirm away. She held her hands up in an attempt at a defensive gesture, but he was easily twice her size and trivially overpowered her. She let out a desperate squeal as he clapped a hand greedily between her legs.

At that moment, another belligerent wave buffeted the Eulalia sideways. The redcoat’s feet went out from under him and he landed flat on his back on the deck. The diminutive Molly was thrown as well and landed on top of her attacker, her elbow catching him hard in the ribs. With a grunt of pain, he shoved her away and scrambled to his feet.

“Clumsy bitch,” spat the soldier, straightening his waistcoat. “Corporal!” A stocky young man heeled at his side.

“Sir?”

“Half a dozen with the cat for this little one! To get her back in line!”

“Sir!

The corporal went swiftly to get the dreaded instrument as his superior seized Molly by her wrist chain and began to tug her towards him. Molly struggled, dragging her feet as her lip trembled and she began to beg.

“Please, sir! Mercy! Have mercy!”

Renee couldn’t stay silent any longer. She rushed at the soldier and grabbed the sleeve of his coat. He stopped dragging Molly and looked disdainfully down his pockmarked nose at Renee.

“What do you want? Get back below,” he said.

Renee swallowed, though her mouth was dry.

“Please, Captain,” she said, forcing her tone to remain steady. “I implore you. Don’t flog her. She’s young, and foolish. If you insist—” she hesitated, “—I will take the lash myself.”

Pockmark glanced from Renee, to Molly, back to Renee, mulling it over. At that moment, the stocky Corporal returned to their side holding a drawstring bag of red baize, from which he extracted the aforementioned “cat”: a wicked instrument of torture consisting of nine long strands of tar-coated rope, knotted along the length for extra bite. Molly stared at it, shaking.

“You will take the lash?” asked Pockmark, turning back to Renee.

Renee closed her eyes gravely and nodded.

“I will, if I must,” she said.

“No! You can’t!” cried Molly.

“Quiet,” barked Pockmark. Still holding Molly’s chain tightly with one hand, he reached over and retrieved the Cat from the corporal. “Very well,” he said, smiling. He held the Cat out, offering Renee the handle. “You take the lash, and you apply it to the back of your little friend here!”

Renee backed away, shaking her head.

“No!” she said, aghast at the suggestion. “I can’t. I won’t hurt her!”

“Either you give her the six lashes,” said the officer, “or I’ll give her twelve and you’ll get six yourself!”

“I—” Renee stammered, looking over and meeting Molly’s pleading blue gaze. She felt tears welling in her eyes. She was trapped. She lowered her head and stared resolutely at her toes, feeling her face flushing with anger. She reached up and took the whip from Pockmark.

“Very well,” she said.

Pockmark tugged on Molly’s chain and she stumbled forward into his grasp. He twisted the chain twice around his hands, securing her tightly in place with her face buried in his chest; a human whipping post. To Renee’s left, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the corporal keeping his bayonet trained on her, ensuring compliance. Renee awkwardly adjusted her stance and looked at her friend and target. Molly’s back was hunched over, her shoulders tensed, shaking with shallow, fearful breath. Renee’s heart ached for what she was about to do. She blinked away tears.

“Please forgive me, Molly!” Renee said softly.

“It’s alright,” Molly whimpered into the soldier’s vest. “Just get it done. Quickly, please!” Her voice trembled.

“Go on!” ordered Pockmark.

“One!” announced the corporal.

Renee sniffed, stretched her arm out, and brought the nine knotted cords whirring through the air and down across her friend’s cringing naked back with a sickening THWACK. Puffy pink welts immediately defaced her virgin skin, and she lurched in the soldier’s grasp, crying out plaintively from the pain. Renee’s chest burned with shame. She wanted to jump overboard.

Pockmark tisked.

“Didn’t even break the skin! Grip it with both hands, love! Get a little more wellie into it!”

Hating herself, Renee followed his instructions, grasping the whip two-handed and winding up as the corporal continued the count. With the added strength behind them, each lash now left bloody streaks like claw marks across Molly’s back while she writhed helplessly and screamed, desperate to escape the torture. Renee flailed the cat through the salty air, not even able to aim accurately through the tears in her eyes, just wanting it to be done as soon as possible.

Each smack of the tails tore a piece from her soul. She wanted it to be her own back flayed to pieces against the rigging. It was what she deserved, not this innocent child. She’d promised to protect Molly and here she was, torturing the girl. She’d failed her. Betrayed her.

At last, the corporal reached the count of six. Renee threw the horrid scourge to the deck. Molly’s back was raw and inflamed, leaking blood from the tracks carved by the knotted tails. As Pockmark released her chain, she fell to her knees on the deck, hugging her arms around herself, as though trying to reach back and soothe her own wounds.

“Punishment complete,” sighed Pockmark. “Back below decks with the lot of you.” He and the corporal stormed off.

Renee ran to Molly and knelt at her side. Molly was sweaty and shaking, her chest heaving with shuddering sobs. Renee threw her arms around the girl and hugged her close, stroking her sweat-damp hair and whispering in her ear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Molly clutched Renee’s arm and sobbed softly into her shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Molly choked. “It wasn’t your fault. Just…p…promise me…promise me you’ll stay close,”

Renee kissed the top of her head.

“I promise. Whatever happens, I promise I’ll be by your side.”

The storm clouds grew and darkened on the horizon ahead as the ship continued its damnable passage to whatever horrors lay in store in Botany Bay.


-sessnatz.
 

twonines

Senator
A fine vessel to be sure, if steered with a firm hand... but she’s prone to leaking when things get rough.. :p

Great writing Mark! Really vivid and exciting.. much more than a “vignette”.. fantastic! :applaudit:
I agree about the writing, but that is a bit harsh on Eulalia, who has proved her stoicism on numerous occasions, though I suppose it all depends on your definition of leaking!
 

jjjack

Magistrate
Well, this thread has inspired me! Here as my humble offering is my own little vignette from the voyage! Hope you enjoy!

The inclement sea lurched the vessel sharply, tossing Renee like a sack of flour against the port side. Her bare feet slipped out from under her, squeaking on the soaked timbers of the deck. She tried to grab the taffrail for support, but her manacled hands weren’t fast enough and she landed hard on her backside, winded, feeling a bruise forming around her tailbone. She groaned.

The sky was as gray as ash, and Renee shivered at the stormy chill in the air, but she couldn’t complain. She and her fellow convicts aboard the HMS Eulalia, en route to the Botany Bay penal colony, were only brought above-decks for fresh air once a day. Even the cruelest nautical weather was preferable to the suffocating, musty darkness of the cargo hold. She breathed in a crisp lungful of salt air.

There wasn’t air like that back home in Bristol, she reflected. There was just the heavy rot smell of the narrow alleyways where she’d propositioned her clients, the brandy-and-opium smog of the dimly lit brothel rooms where she’d practiced her dubious trade. She doubted she’d smelled true fresh air at all for the last eleven of her thirty years. A month ago, her number had finally come up when the constables went on the rounds to fulfill their whore quota. As the judge had signed the warrant for her transportation to the colony, she had wistfully thought, ‘at least there’ll be fresh air.’

“Nooo! No, sir, please!” whimpered a nearby girlish voice. Renee snapped out of her reverie. She turned to look behind her. The voice belonged to Molly, a pretty young girl of not more than eighteen or nineteen and the closest thing Renee had to a friend on this voyage of the damned. All prisoners were kept naked, (ostensibly it counteracted some maritime superstition, but the only material result was cold and humiliation) and one of the lecherous red-coated guards had taken the opportunity to vigorously grope Molly’s exposed breasts.

“Please! I’ve done nothing,” Molly cried. Renee felt a swell of fury within her. Molly was a truly innocent soul. She’d worked as a chambermaid to a very old man, and when he died, the man’s jealous daughter framed Molly for poisoning him. Taking her youth into consideration, the judge had been merciful, and the death sentence had been commuted to transportation. The girl simply didn’t have it in her to harm a fly, and certainly wasn’t made for the harsh life of a prison ship. Renee felt obliged to protect her as much as she could. She rose to her feet, the chain between her wrists rattling.

The redcoat had Molly cornered against the ship’s timbers. He pressed his face to the top of her head and sniffed her mousy curls while his fat-fingered hands roamed all over her, grabbing fistfuls of her breasts, belly, and thighs. The girl tried to squirm away. She held her hands up in an attempt at a defensive gesture, but he was easily twice her size and trivially overpowered her. She let out a desperate squeal as he clapped a hand greedily between her legs.

At that moment, another belligerent wave buffeted the Eulalia sideways. The redcoat’s feet went out from under him and he landed flat on his back on the deck. The diminutive Molly was thrown as well and landed on top of her attacker, her elbow catching him hard in the ribs. With a grunt of pain, he shoved her away and scrambled to his feet.

“Clumsy bitch,” spat the soldier, straightening his waistcoat. “Corporal!” A stocky young man heeled at his side.

“Sir?”

“Half a dozen with the cat for this little one! To get her back in line!”

“Sir!

The corporal went swiftly to get the dreaded instrument as his superior seized Molly by her wrist chain and began to tug her towards him. Molly struggled, dragging her feet as her lip trembled and she began to beg.

“Please, sir! Mercy! Have mercy!”

Renee couldn’t stay silent any longer. She rushed at the soldier and grabbed the sleeve of his coat. He stopped dragging Molly and looked disdainfully down his pockmarked nose at Renee.

“What do you want? Get back below,” he said.

Renee swallowed, though her mouth was dry.

“Please, Captain,” she said, forcing her tone to remain steady. “I implore you. Don’t flog her. She’s young, and foolish. If you insist—” she hesitated, “—I will take the lash myself.”

Pockmark glanced from Renee, to Molly, back to Renee, mulling it over. At that moment, the stocky Corporal returned to their side holding a drawstring bag of red baize, from which he extracted the aforementioned “cat”: a wicked instrument of torture consisting of nine long strands of tar-coated rope, knotted along the length for extra bite. Molly stared at it, shaking.

“You will take the lash?” asked Pockmark, turning back to Renee.

Renee closed her eyes gravely and nodded.

“I will, if I must,” she said.

“No! You can’t!” cried Molly.

“Quiet,” barked Pockmark. Still holding Molly’s chain tightly with one hand, he reached over and retrieved the Cat from the corporal. “Very well,” he said, smiling. He held the Cat out, offering Renee the handle. “You take the lash, and you apply it to the back of your little friend here!”

Renee backed away, shaking her head.

“No!” she said, aghast at the suggestion. “I can’t. I won’t hurt her!”

“Either you give her the six lashes,” said the officer, “or I’ll give her twelve and you’ll get six yourself!”

“I—” Renee stammered, looking over and meeting Molly’s pleading blue gaze. She felt tears welling in her eyes. She was trapped. She lowered her head and stared resolutely at her toes, feeling her face flushing with anger. She reached up and took the whip from Pockmark.

“Very well,” she said.

Pockmark tugged on Molly’s chain and she stumbled forward into his grasp. He twisted the chain twice around his hands, securing her tightly in place with her face buried in his chest; a human whipping post. To Renee’s left, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the corporal keeping his bayonet trained on her, ensuring compliance. Renee awkwardly adjusted her stance and looked at her friend and target. Molly’s back was hunched over, her shoulders tensed, shaking with shallow, fearful breath. Renee’s heart ached for what she was about to do. She blinked away tears.

“Please forgive me, Molly!” Renee said softly.

“It’s alright,” Molly whimpered into the soldier’s vest. “Just get it done. Quickly, please!” Her voice trembled.

“Go on!” ordered Pockmark.

“One!” announced the corporal.

Renee sniffed, stretched her arm out, and brought the nine knotted cords whirring through the air and down across her friend’s cringing naked back with a sickening THWACK. Puffy pink welts immediately defaced her virgin skin, and she lurched in the soldier’s grasp, crying out plaintively from the pain. Renee’s chest burned with shame. She wanted to jump overboard.

Pockmark tisked.

“Didn’t even break the skin! Grip it with both hands, love! Get a little more wellie into it!”

Hating herself, Renee followed his instructions, grasping the whip two-handed and winding up as the corporal continued the count. With the added strength behind them, each lash now left bloody streaks like claw marks across Molly’s back while she writhed helplessly and screamed, desperate to escape the torture. Renee flailed the cat through the salty air, not even able to aim accurately through the tears in her eyes, just wanting it to be done as soon as possible.

Each smack of the tails tore a piece from her soul. She wanted it to be her own back flayed to pieces against the rigging. It was what she deserved, not this innocent child. She’d promised to protect Molly and here she was, torturing the girl. She’d failed her. Betrayed her.

At last, the corporal reached the count of six. Renee threw the horrid scourge to the deck. Molly’s back was raw and inflamed, leaking blood from the tracks carved by the knotted tails. As Pockmark released her chain, she fell to her knees on the deck, hugging her arms around herself, as though trying to reach back and soothe her own wounds.

“Punishment complete,” sighed Pockmark. “Back below decks with the lot of you.” He and the corporal stormed off.

Renee ran to Molly and knelt at her side. Molly was sweaty and shaking, her chest heaving with shuddering sobs. Renee threw her arms around the girl and hugged her close, stroking her sweat-damp hair and whispering in her ear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Molly clutched Renee’s arm and sobbed softly into her shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Molly choked. “It wasn’t your fault. Just…p…promise me…promise me you’ll stay close,”

Renee kissed the top of her head.

“I promise. Whatever happens, I promise I’ll be by your side.”

The storm clouds grew and darkened on the horizon ahead as the ship continued its damnable passage to whatever horrors lay in store in Botany Bay.


-sessnatz.

Congratulations Mark,
a great start! Please continue, maybe your story will inspire me for some appropriate image. The HMS Eulalia still has a long journey ahead of it.
 
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