Sex Slave at Sea: Chapter 4

Greg carries me up to the sun deck.

“You know,” he says, “I’m going to have words with Max about you – about the kind of stuff they’ve been putting you through.”

I shake my head. “Don’t. I signed up for this. For cash. Don’t mess it up for me.”

Greg sighs. His arms are muscled and strong, and I can smell his sweet, sexy sweat underneath his cotton T-shirt.

“Yeah. I sort of signed up for it too.”

“What exactly did you sign up for, Greg, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He sighs. “Something like what you did, only it’s for the promise of a job instead of cash.” He looks wistfully into the horizon. “It’s a helluva job.”

“But she doesn’t treat you like she treats me.”

Greg hesitates as he puts me down on the deck floor. The sun dips behind a cloud bank, and so the heat is tolerable. A deckhand is arranging the deck chairs, and he gives me a startled look. As soon as Greg favors him with a death stare, he quickly looks away.

I almost want to laugh. Greg is so protective.

“It’s different for me,” he says. “Alice and I go way back to when we were kids.”

“Uh huh.”

He looks down. “We’re engaged to be married.”

This time, the wind stops around us. My heartbeat halts in its tracks. There’s a roaring in my ears as an inexplicable dagger spears all the way from my gut to my chest.

B-but why am I feeling this way? I’m in love with Max. What has Greg got to do with anything? Why should I care if he marries Alice – other than the tragedy of a decent guy being condemned to permanent purgatory? Yeah – why should I care at all?

And yet here I am – my mind in a tornado of unexplained emotions. It’s like I’ve been told my best friend has a terminal disease and is going to die in two months . . . or however long it takes for them to crawl with a death rattle to the wedding.

“Yeah, I know you think the relationship we’re having is sick,” he goes on, still not looking at me. The sea breeze lifts my tresses and I shiver in my nakedness. “But it works somehow. For us.”

“I’m not judging you.”

Who am I to judge? I myself am embroiled in such a relationship – one that defies all normal decency and rules. Or maybe that’s the sick, twisted world we all live in now, and everyone has their secrets to hide.

Alice and Heather come up. Heather carries a mélange of wicked-looking instruments. My world – already reeling – takes a seasick plunge. The deckhand nervously makes to go, but Alice puts up a hand.

“Stay. I want you to help us. Greg, go tie her up on the railing . . . in the exact manner you were tied the last time.”


“I don’t think she can take it.”

Alice shoots him a frosty glare. “I’m the one who decides what she can take. Do it.”


“Greg, you’re trying me.”

The threat is thinly veiled. I can imagine the purported fallout – no dream job for Greg at an office at the top floor with blinding skylight and ceiling-to-wall glass windows. My heart thuds in its fragile nest of a ribcage.

After a minute’s hesitation, Greg thins his lips and gestures to the deckhand. “I’m going to need some help.”

Of course. Why would he give up dream job for me? He’s not even engaged to me, for Chrissake. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.

Something inside my chest writhes like a shriveled worm.

All the pain I’m feeling now is in my throat as they bend me across the railing, head down. The railing is made out of metal, with two bars running parallel all the way around the sun deck. I am folded in almost double upon my waist. With the ropes that Heather brought, Greg ties my wrists securely to the middle railing.

My arms are strung wide. My stomach is upturned, and so I feel really queasy. I’m staring at the rollicking sea far, far beneath with its white caps and foam.

“Hold tight, Gina, I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

He raises my left leg to the level of the top bar. I’m so frightened of falling that I clutch at whatever I can with my bound wrists. The deckhand raises my right leg to the corresponding position on the other side, and I let out a scream.

“I’ve got you, all right?” There is distress in Greg’s voice. “It’s OK, Gina. It’ll be over soon.”

Somehow, I don’t think so. I whimper as they tie my thighs and ankles down against the top rail so that my legs are stretched in an almost horizontal position. I think I’m only able to maintain that posture because I’m still young and limber.

My pussy and asshole are very, very open and facing skyward . . . and the gazes of anyone who cares to study my genitals in detail. I feel nebulous and imbalanced and very, very scared. I swear I’ve never been so scared in my entire Initiation.

I’m not afraid of water exactly, or heights. But the combination of having my sense of equilibrium turned on its head (or on my head) and being stretched so forcefully is getting to me. Big time.

“Please, please don’t do this,” I cry. “Please let me go.”

The ropes bite into my flesh at my wrists, thighs and ankles. I understand that Greg has to tie me up quite tightly so that I won’t fall, but my circulation – while not being completely cut off – is certainly being squeezed and compressed so that I can feel actual pins and needles in my hands and feet.

“Alice,” Greg begins. All I can see of him is his well-delineated swimming trunks with his impressive package, but I can certainly hear the anxiety in his voice. “I don’t think she can take this.”

“Shut up, Greg. Heather, bring the small whip.”

The bile rushes to my throat and pools at the back of it.

I now see Heather’s pert legs as she walks toward me. I look up at her face – smiling, as always – and I can even glimpse the girl’s face tattoo on her arm as I crane my head. A slender black whip – like a baby snake – trails from her right hand.

The pulse at my neck begins to strum up a wild staccato.

Heather reaches for my right breast. My tits are exposed through the lower rectangle of railing, and are buoyed by the gravitational pull so that the upper halves of my mounds form a clear juicy line at my chest. She grabs the side of my breast and plumps it out nicely, as if patting some self-rising dough. My flesh fills up with warm blood at her prodding.

“You ready, Gina?’ she says slyly.

“No,” I squeak.

Heather does not take her hand off my breast. With her other hand, she raises the thin whip.

“Make sure you hit her hard,” Alice says.

I wince and close my eyes as Heather brings the lash down on my tight flesh. The blow stings like a wide-bore needle – that sharp punctuation of white heat that flares up instantaneously and glowers as if it’s a bonfire.

She repeats this and I cry out. The third strike takes me on the nipple, and tears come into my eyes.

“Greg, why don’t you stimulate her a little? The way we stimulated you the last time?” Alice suggests.

I flutter open my eyelids and the tears run down my forehead. Heather continues to whip my right breast, which is rapidly becoming heated. I chance a look at it, and am aghast to find my tender flesh covered with red streaks.

At the same time, another shadow crosses me. I feel someone’s large and warm hand on my pussy, rubbing it gently. It’s Greg’s. One of his fingers runs up and down my clit, uncoiling a spasm of erotic tension within me. But all too soon, it’s followed by a hit on my burning breast, and I’m torn in between pleasure and pain once again.

Greg doesn’t stop caressing me. He strokes and compresses my clit and inner labia. Although I’m upside down, I can feel my pussy juices being secreted – a strange sensation of moisture and the pooling of it at my cervix. I’ve never felt anything like this before, mainly because I’ve never been erotically stimulated when I’m upside down.

It’s bizarre.

Heather continues to beat my right breast until I’m screaming and begging for mercy, even as my pussy is swarming with dizzying sensations. I know what Alice is doing. At least – I think I know what she’s doing.

And it ain’t pretty.

“OK, enough,” Alice says. “Now whip her other tit.”

As Heather transfers her attention to my left breast, the wind cools my tortured right nipple and mound. As one area’s pain abates, another excruciatingly flares up in my left tit. Greg strokes and caresses my pussy thoroughly – his ministrations are orgasm-inducing stuff. But the fire in my left breast is constant and unrelenting, especially as Heather decides to concentrate on my left nipple.

“Please,” I plead, my tears running down my forehead into my hairline.

I look up (or is it down?) at my mounds. Both are striped with red marks, as if I’m some sort of exotic animal. The skin around my nipples and areolas are flushed with red.

Combine this with the frenzied massage I am receiving from Greg in my pussy, and I am torn between the cornucopia of different sensations. My mind tumbles in this way, and that, and yet another – a kaleidoscope of pain, pleasure, torment, sensual delight . . . and oh, I think I’m going mad.

This is exactly the mental torture Alice in striving for. She intends to drive me crazy.

Greg scissors my clit in between his wet fingers – dripping with my now overrunning vagina – and I combust with the sheer ecstasy of this even as my left breast is being raked through hot coals. He plunges two fingers into my sopping mess of a pussy hole, and I scream – a long-drawn keen of pleasure and despair.

My pussy yearns so much for something to be inside it, and I clench my vaginal muscles around his fingers in desperation to grasp something – like a life buoy – in the midst of my confusing, shattered world. My own fingers claw in the air for lack of purchase. All my muscles are very, very tense, and my thighs ache with having to maintain the pull of my forced one-hundred-and-eighty degree plane.

“Stop,” I faintly hear Alice say. “Now apply the whip on her cunt.”

“Alice . . . ” Greg warns.

“Shut up. Heather, do it.”

“I won’t be part of this,” Greg declares.

I blearily look up. They are all vague shapes in front of me – hazy silhouettes that sway in the dimming sunlight. My neck aches with even having to lift my head this way, and so I let it dangle – my face towards the roiling ocean with its soothing white sprays.

“You will do as I say, Greg. It’s in the terms of your contract. You serve primarily me, or have you forgotten?”

I can tell that it’s a standoff. Alice’s will against Greg’s will (and contract). I’m too fatigued to fully concentrate on what they are arguing, but I want so badly for Greg to stand up to her for both of us. This time, it’s not just about me. I still can’t come to terms with their engagement, because he is so wrong for her . . . and she for him.

I don’t care if she’s an heiress to some billion dollar fortune and her Daddy is going to groom him for CEO. He doesn’t deserve to be with someone as spoilt and mean-spirited as she is. I haven’t even seen them being lovey-dovey even once since . . . uh, well, morning.

Or maybe they are having a lovers’ spat today.

(Though I’m hoping not, not, not.)


My heart contracts.

Of course, of course . . . I’m such a fool for even hoping . . .

“Good. Now step back, Greg, if you have nothing else to say.”

The whip catches my pubic cleft even before I can prepare myself for it. I don’t know how I intend to brace myself for it, but it does seem impossible in my position.

At first, it doesn’t sting. Not in the slightest.

Then the pain explodes like a supernova. My pussy screams into a pulsating throb, and I gasp out loud. This is immediately followed by another lash on my right pussy lip.

Each moment that follows is now a white-hot burst of pain in my entire pussy area. I scream and scream until I almost black out. I knew Alice can be cruel . . . but I didn’t know how cruel. I try to focus on everything else – anything but the excruciating pain on my soft, soft pussy lips. Their wetness – evoked by Greg’s gentle massage – now becomes the enemy, allowing the lash to sting in a way as if it’s been dipped into saltwater.

Oh my God.

I’m in hell. I’m in worse than hell. I’m in the hell of the abandoned, the neglected, the depraved, the shunned. The hell of sinners, and there’s no worse sinner than I am – and so I guess I deserve this.

The blows – oblivious to my internal struggle – continue, and my world winks out.

My mind transcends into a higher state. I’m floating somewhere above my pain – above my body. And I can see everything clearly from up here. I can see the grave faces of my mother and father judging me – if they should ever find out.

They must never, ever find out.

I don’t know how long my pussy whipping continues, but all of a sudden, there is a cessation – like air being sucked into a vacuum. My entire groin throbs, but in the absence of further whipping, the pain begins to abate.

I’m limp. Almost lifeless.

Sweat beads everywhere on my body, especially in between my breasts.

“Now I want you to fuck her, Greg.”

“No.” His protest wears the tint of the broken, not the obstinate.

“You like her so much? So fuck her. You’re getting your chance.”

“Not when she’s like this. I need to get her downstairs.”

“After you fuck her. Right here. I want to watch.”

“I’ll only hurt her.”

“That’s the idea.”


“This is not a negotiation, Greg. It’s a deal breaker. Are you in or out?” There is warning in Alice’s voice.

I lick the insides of my mouth. The breeze cools and dries my pussy, whose throb is receding with the argument that is going on before me.

I guess Greg makes the obvious choice again. I don’t blame him. I would too. After all, I’ve made the same choices – over and over again. It’s not that I don’t want to fuck him. I’m bewildered, tired and scared – and every time I think I’m on the threshold of an orgasm, the pain would take me away again. So I guess I’m more psychologically damaged by this than I ever thought possible.

Although my vision is bleary, I can clearly see Greg dropping his swimming trunks in front of me. The top rail is at the level of his groin. I have seen his cock before, so I kind of remember what to expect – a lovely, normal, decent-sized member.

But what Greg reveals is startling.

My heart – already suctioned downward by gravity – creeps to my throat.

Greg’s penis is pierced. It had not been pierced the last time I saw it in my Final Initiation. It had not been pierced the last time he fucked me in my stupor. But a silver barbell piercing now straddles the girth of his cock head. It starts from the right side of his head, just before the coronal fold that joins to his shaft, and comes out on the corresponding left side.

The barbells on either side of the hidden bar are fairly large.

No wonder Alice wants him to fuck me. She wants me to feel those silver domes inside my vagina. She obviously wants them to hurt my already chafed and sore pussy – reddened by all the lashes.

“Relax, Gina,” Greg says as he grasps his erect cock with two fingers and two thumbs. His voice is riddled with anxiety. “I won’t hurt you.”

I can only whimper as I feel his head abut against my stinging vulva. The whip has caught me at significant points on its moist and quivering perimeter, and I wince as Greg’s artificially enlarged cock head worms in. The metal bells stretch the mouth of my throbbing vaginal passage. The entry is always the hardest, and I moan at the sultry pain this evokes.

Greg’s penis is at an angle, and my pussy – despite its obvious torment – moves hungrily to meet and take in the rest of his shaft.

The barbells slide down my walls smoothly, sending an erotic thrill down my groin. I’ve been fucked by artificial objects before, but never like this . . . and certainly not by a cock with a piercing. Because of my bound state and the lack of angular leverage, Greg can only manage short, rapid movements, keeping his pumping trajectory within a range of two inches.

“Whooo . . . baby needs more space,” Heather remarks.

“He’ll make do,” Alice snaps.

I grunt with each of his thrusts. From my vantage, all I can see are his legs – firmly muscled and sturdy. If I crane my neck forward, I can see (and feel) his balls slapping my newly whipped perineum. Having his cock inside my vagina is a wonderful pleasure, but the friction of his external genitalia outside against mine only serves to amplify the flowering pain of my lashes. So once again, it’s a pain with pleasure psych trip for me – which Alice knows full well.

Because of my soreness, I don’t think I will traipse into orgasm despite Greg’s frantic rubbing of my G-spot. But he is certainly trying. He seizes both my thighs to gain further traction.

“How are you doing?” he says to me in a low voice.

“All right,” I reply weakly.

“Just fuck her, Greg.”

“I’m trying to, OK?”

Their relationship is so seriously weird I’m not even questioning my own.

The thrum of a motorboat in the near distance arrests me. Well, not only me – all of us. Greg stops, his pierced shaft nestling snugly in my pussy. I hold my breath to stem my beating heart. I realize I’ve been breathing too heavily in the past few minutes, and my head is starting to black out with hyperventilation.

“That’s not the boys coming back,” Alice says. “They went out in the Mary Jane.”

“That’s a different boat,” Heather agrees. “Who is it?”

I figure they must be straining to look into the distance.

“Gina, I’m sorry.” Greg withdraws his still erect cock from me.

I expect Alice to say, “Hey, I didn’t give you permission to apologize”, but she doesn’t. For once, she’s speechless. It’s definitely a first.

But not for long.

Alice says, “Oh my God, I think it’s my Dad.”


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