Seven Days on the Sea

The midday sun beats down on Jane with a relentlessness that seems deliberate. Even the hot wind that occasionally whips past her is a torment. She sits in the passenger seat of an old Land Rover cabriolet beside the man she despises most in the world and glances at him as he wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, cursing about the heat. Jane silently scoffs at the sight. He must be joking.

Meanwhile, she is dressed in clothes suitable for the opposite season, a long-sleeved white sweater made of thick, coarse wool. Her sweat-drenched body is crying out for a cold shower, but that pleasure is far beyond her reach. Hidden beneath the high collar of the sweater is a black leather collar, and attached to that collar is a thin chain that forks out at her clavicle and ends in clamps that cruelly squeeze her nipples. Every scratch of the itchy wool against her engorged nipples is pure agony.

Her face is flushed red, and her temples are dripping with sweat. Her raven-black hair is matted and stuck to her open shoulders, shining with sweat. Her eyes are fixed on nothing in the distance, trying to tune out the curious glances she receives from other vehicles on the congested road. They stare at her outfit with gaping mouths.

Like everything that has happened to her recently, this outfit is not her choice. It’s all part of Arnold’s twisted fantasies, which revolve around causing her misery and pain with everything he can find.

Every so often, she shifts on the spot, a small moan escaping her lips as she tries to suppress a more intense reaction. The twitching of her nose evidences her attempts to control her response as she focuses on drawing measured breaths. As you may have already deduced, or perhaps eagerly anticipated, dear deviant reader, her discomfort stems from the irregular movements of a vibrator buried deeply within her pussy.

It’s one of those pink, powerful, remote-controlled vibrators with an antenna ending in a long tail. In Jane’s case, the tail is pulled through her clit ring; each vibration shakes her whole being. An app in Arnold’s phone controls the vibrator, which is currently halfway through the fourth iteration of a sixty-minute public pattern aptly named “Stay Silent If You Can.” 

Arnold always carries a few of these, so the battery never saves Jane. He made her replace the dying vibrator with a fully charged one after its battery ran dry somewhere at the beginning of the third iteration of the pattern. Yet, she is grateful that he didn’t make her put another one in her ass. She experienced such double tortures many times, too, and she is sure she would soon taste it again. 

The word orgasm long stopped being related to a pleasurable occasion in Jane’s mind. For her, an orgasm is either denied, sometimes for days or even weeks. All the while, she is stimulated as much as possible, kept on the maddening edge of a release, unable to think of anything else, ready to give everything to be allowed to experience that sweet, sweet climax. Or it is forced, repeatedly, turning her into a babbling mess, each new orgasm only more painful than the one before, until she is ready to give everything for the constant stimulation to stop. 

Arnold, the twisted bastard, knows all too well how to ride her through these never-ending cycles. It’s like a snake biting its tail. He first drives her to the brink of madness with denial and need, pushing her to beg him to come, to agree to anything, any humiliation or punishment (and they are always inventive). Then he plunges her into a world of forced orgasms, tormenting her with a maddening rhythm, making her plead with him to stop even as she consents to, and even begs for, more extended periods of denials. He resets the cycle, restarting her sexual torture over and over, no matter which side of the edge she is on. She always finds herself screaming, “Please, no more! Please, please! I’m begging you, no more, please!” 

It is a semblance of free will; she chooses the next torment that will emanate from her pussy to consume her. But let’s not kid ourselves, for there is nothing consensual here. 

Arnold steals a glance at Jane, enjoying the beauty of the twenty-two-year-old woman, with perfect hair, face, and body. Even more, she is gorgeous in suffering, just as he likes. 

She was given to him as a reward, a gift from a man who shall remain nameless. So, we’ll call him just the Man. Arnold made a problem disappear for the Man, and his reward was the daughter of the problem, this sweet little thing called Jane. She is his to do as he pleases, and she knows it; she knows that it is useless to run away, there is nobody she could turn to that the Man could not reach, and her escape would only be an interlude to new and unbearable agonies. She knows it because she has already experienced it once. But that’s another story, which shall be told, but not now. 

Jane feels Arnold’s gaze on her bulging breasts, surely imagining devious new ways to turn them into globes of pain. She keeps her eyes fixed on the horizon, afraid of what she may see in his eyes, fearful of the promise of pain to come. Right then, the tormenting pattern in her pussy rises to a crescendo. It takes everything she has to stop the scream of pleasure rising inside her, to give in and beg Arnold to be allowed to come. She is pretty sure he won’t let her, or if he did, his permission would most likely be contingent upon her humiliating herself with a shameful display of her need to all those passing by.  

She knows that, at this stage, he wouldn’t force her to take the offer. Still, she is afraid she might do it willingly, putting herself through his cruel task, hoping she can momentarily satisfy her burning need, only to come out empty-handed, for Arnold is not a man who keeps his promises. Many times, after she had gone through a humiliating ordeal or suffered a sadistic punishment, he still refused to let her come, saying that she had failed the task, and her denial had to be extended due to her failure. Oh, how he loved toying with her mind!  

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Arnold asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

Jane tried to answer, but her voice was caught in her throat, drowned out by another sudden surge of vibrations that left her gasping for air. She shook her head, her eyes wide and filled with an intense yearning almost bordering on desperation.

So dear reader, this is the condition Jane is in, her body burning under the sun’s heat and ignited within by her need, as they approach the docks where they will take a short boat ride to arrive at the super-yacht waiting for them.