Recruiting Victoria: Part 2 Training The Girl

 

 

BOOK TWO—TRAINING THE GIRL

 

Day Five: Training Begins

 

You must give everything to make your life as beautiful as the dreams that dance in your imagination.

-Roman Payne

 

Oh, the sweetness of giving in, of full surrender.

-Sebastian Faulks, Engleby

 

The smells hit me first when I woke up.  The salty air, the mold and mildew.  A bitter taste staining my mouth.  I was alone.  It took me some time to come to grips with what had happened, to realize that the taste was left over from whatever drug I’d been given.  I had never before been drugged, nor had I ever awakened after an evening of drugs, so I don’t know why the thought immediately jumped in to my head.  But it did. 

 

I was sore.  I slowly sat up in bed, overcome with aches and pains.  My short term memory was fleeting and confused, but I’d sort that out later.  I immediately recognized that I already felt…..depressed.  Like a weight rested on my chest.  I vaguely remembered one of the men releasing my wrist from the head of the bed, but that was just a little while ago. 

 

I knew it must be before 6 or they would have been in to awaken me. He’d left me wearing the lingerie from the night before.  It was uncomfortably scratchy and all scrunched up around my chest.  So instead of continuing to lie in bed I got up and undressed, leaving on only my slave collar.  I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror—looked awful.  My shoulders still ached.  I was only nineteen, but I felt stiff and old.  I moved awkwardly, like an old woman, since the uncomfortable thing in my rear was causing me problems this morning and my legs felt weak.  More, I was really sore from having been twice worked over so thoroughly by Bossman last night.

 

I hadn’t slept well last night and I was exhausted.  He’d left our bed just past midnight and I…..why had I referred to this as our bed?  I closed my eyes and let another wave of humiliation wash over me.  I was awake, still bound to the bed by one wrist as he left.  I’d felt so helpless, suffering through yet another wave of panic and horror at my plight. 

 

Throughout the remainder of the endless night my mood had been like a pendulum, oscillating between worrying about my predicament---trying to understand myself and what a weak, evil woman I was---to being forced into some awful unknown as I was handed off to a strange man, and finally, to mortal terror and fear for my life.  My physical reaction at the same time had been no less extreme, alternating between impatiently throwing the covering sheet away as I was covered in hot perspiration and shivering in cold sweat as I lay hunched under that same sheet.  I did this until I was so drained by the fatigue caused by him and by what I had endured so far that I finally fell into an exhausted slumber. 

 

Even after all this mental effort, I still didn’t understand what happened last night.  I didn’t understand why I had suddenly been so willing to accept his control, so willing to submit to giving him…..me.  I felt my face get hot as shame burned me once more at the thought.  There was no tidal wave of emotion, but rather a slow rising flood of remorse and sorrow.  The kind that drowned you by inches.  I shook my head, refused to think any more about what I—wouldn’t think about.  The sheer wantonness displayed last night had not been the real me.  It couldn’t be, I knew this had to be true.

 

I had tried to escape, to hide my embarrassment in the blackness of early morning sleep.  But with the recurring stimulants of fear and shame, along with the forbidding life I had been told was ahead of me, slumber was impossible.  At the same time, going through my mind as if in an endless loop of tape was the idea that perhaps if I just tried to be a little more cooperative with him, a little more receptive, would that have help?  Perhaps the others wouldn’t hurt me so badly anymore? 

 

As I laid in bed, I tried to answer the question I asked of myself, if I was only pretending, how could it hurt if I were to just play at going along with these men a little? 

 

I tried to convince myself the answer to the question above was, it couldn’t.  But I couldn’t.  The inner pendulum of my awareness had continued swinging from rational thought towards the chillingly irrational punctuated with mindless dread and now it swayed back towards prudence again.  I drifted along accompanied by my thoughts, never really asleep.  I desperately needed to, but paranoia continued to hit like a sledgehammer; sleep would leave me entirely at their mercy once more and I must not allow that.

 

Lying bound to my bed last night, I tried to visualize the activity following the realization I’d been kidnapped.  A single hope surfaced for the hundredth time.  I would be missed at some point, hopefully early enough to begin a good search locally. 

 

My friends would have look for me eventually, and with no luck at the hotel they would surely have been worried.  I was sure they would personally go knocking on doors of the clubs we had visited after a certain point.  With no luck, their concern would have deepened.  At what point would they have suspected kidnapping, if they even permitted themselves to consider such a possibility?  Maybe that first night?  Probably not, but surely the second, please….  But then, they wouldn’t want to act too soon because it would cause me such embarrassment when I eventually showed up because nothing was wrong. 

 

Still, as they ran into more dead ends and as the time for the departure of our flight approached and my ticket had to be cancelled, they would have had to face the long-shot probability that something seriously wrong had happened.  Sooner or later, I hoped sooner, they would have reported my absence to the police, probably within forty-eight hours, certainly within seventy-two hours. 

 

I had been vanished, like someone had cut a slit in the world and taken me through it into another one. 

 

How long had it taken them to notify my parents?

 

Oh God, I’d been held by these men for over five days now and the police may have only been looking for me for only the last two!

 

 

I hadn’t slept well last night after he departed my bed---I’d finally cried myself to sleep as I vacillated between every emotion known to woman.  I think it was Dog Nose who had released me from my bonds earlier and I was in a grim, unattractive mood now.  I was their captive; I knew I had no choice but to cooperate with these men.  Yet, strangely, at times I almost felt an obscene desire to give in willingly, but I found myself immediately fighting this bizarre feeling.  I would never willingly give up my freedom. 

 

I’d been attracted to boys before, had battled this crazy, unsettling urge before.  It had been relatively easy, they never lasted for over a few seconds.  Still, even more than the physical, I resisted giving the men on this boat any access to the “inner me” that a couple of them seemed to pursue just as much as the others wanted me in other ways.  This was so much more important than what they did to my body.

 

These monsters could take whatever they wanted, but I felt a certain grim satisfaction at the thought I’d never let them think I enjoyed what they did to me.  I had to suffer through it, but I would die before I gave them that satisfaction.

 

Filled with grim resolve, I walked over to the mirror above the dresser and looked at myself.  I know I looked awful; I know that according to Bossman and Dog Nose I had to forever get rid of the stern, gloomy expression which now seemed to have habitually found a home on my face.  Under these circumstances, while on this boat, nothing would be harder than making my face seem to show emotions I did not feel. 

 

I looked in the mirror again and ran my finger under the soft leather and played with my collar, knowing this symbol supposedly represented a new beginning for me, a major turning point in my life.  One thing I felt for sure, if I went through with this, there would be no turning back.  He would not allow it. 

 

I thought about what had happened to me so far and of what I was afraid was about to happen to me.  The unknown frightened me but at the same time I felt a sense of determination to see this whole thing through.  If my family was threatened, I had no other choice.  

 

Stupid girl!  I just shook my head at my continuing naiveté.  The feeling of honorable surrender to protect one’s loved ones had no place here.  This was no novel or movie plot, this was real life. 

 

I’d wanted to die after the third day and had no desire to find out what other ingenious, awful machines remained they had not yet used on me.  If I had not given in, the thought of what they might have felt driven to do frightened me.  What levels of “inducement” were acceptable just to physically break me? 

 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  I had emphasized to myself the word “physically” because I knew without any doubt these men would never have my soul!

 

Or, I wondered idly, was this the last the act of a stupidly naïve young girl throwing away caution as she accepted a challenge she knew she could never win?  Shocked, I realized I might now be questioning my actions, my motives!  Had this been part of his plan all along?

 

At the same time, I felt so confused now.  I knew I should despise them, for they were animals.  It was insane, but at other times over the last day or so I’d found myself increasingly giving in to some of this.  It would be so easy to make all the rest of the belligerence go away and just give them what they wanted…..

 

My mind wasn’t working very well.  I kept thinking the same things over and over again.  Random thoughts, never in any particularly order. 

 

I had said things and acted a certain way which led to their increased expectations. 

 

But if I went back on what they saw as “my word to” them, if they felt I had “played” them yesterday, had lied to them in order to get a day of rest, they’d never stop. 

 

Yet, if I cooperated in this as they wished, my freedom would be gone forever. 

 

I felt this great sense of loss---my family was safe, but no matter what I did, I just knew somehow they’d never let me go now.  They had nothing to lose by continually upping the level of pain/punishment/torture until they’d won for good---or I died.  There could be only one “winner” on this boat, there was no in-between.

 

Incredibly, and this was what scared me so, there had actually been those rare, fleetingly short moments when I had almost wanted to just---accept; to let myself go and drown in the pain.  The desire to just go with the pain had become so increasingly seductive….. 

 

At one point when I had been lowered on that thing, that awful thing that had hurt me so much between my legs, the desire to cooperate with them, to let go of everything that I had ever been taught, to let go of everything I thought I believed in just to see where it took me had been almost overpowering. 

 

Those fleeting moments were the times when the pain had been so exquisite that the line between pain and pleasure had been erased to the point of almost non-existence. 

 

It had taken me awhile to be able to even articulate this thought.  But when I was finally able to admit that this flawed possibility existed within me, it scared me to death.

 

With my final surrender the day before to their awful machines and then again to him last night, I knew I had started down a road which never ended.  I was now in danger of completely throwing away my freedom and my humanity, of discarding everything I’d ever been taught or had believed in.

 

Yet, unsurprisingly perhaps, given my willing participation, the thought of what I done with him last night laid surprisingly heavy upon me.  I still didn’t quite know what had happened on this bed last night.  I was a quiet person by nature, not particularly exhibitionistic, almost always in control of myself and of my emotions.  As silly and as old-fashioned as it sounds, my teenage years had been spotless, without any rumors of hidden controversy.  A boring white teenage girl, I had been raised to always be careful and act like a lady—whatever that meant anymore…..at least I knew what my parents meant by that, and it had been drilled into me by my mother for as long as I could remember. 

 

While I’d had my moments of stupid teenage behavior--my actions on the Cancun beach that last night proved that--I had never been one of those girls you’d ever see on one of those old College Girls Gone Wild tape.  But by the end of last night, I had totally lost total control of myself, of my body.  I had almost been a virgin before this and the uncontrolled and wanton sex of last night had been so unlike me……I knew I’d wonder about this for the rest of my life. 

 

So, what had happened last night?

 

I think I was discovering that it is easy to be proper and make what everyone tells you are the correct decisions when the dangers and the pleasures of the outside world are kept away.  I knew I had always been protected; but now I realized just how unsophisticated I was about other people and how much of the world really worked.  I’d had an unrealistic, almost child-like view of how the world worked when first brought onto this boat from hell, but these men had rapidly removed that. 

 

I just wanted to wake up and have this whole experience turn out to just be a nightmare.  God, how I just wanted to go home and hug my parents again.  Instead, I hugged myself and fought back tears.

 

To be perfectly honest though, always in the back of my mind, at least that’s what I thought that’s I wanted…..

 

 

Is it better to win over the hearts and minds of the people, or imprison them and torture them into telling you they love you?

-Jarod Kintz, in Seriously delirious, but not at all serious

 

Bossman had awoken early himself.  He sat on the deck now drinking a dark, strong coffee and thinking about the women he’d taken over the years.  In his experience, for most females creating a pleasure slave out of an ordinary woman was a fairly predictable process.  Some took to the training and fit in well rather quickly while some shattered into a million pieces like a badly fired clay vessel dropped to the floor.  It wasn’t rocket science, and in the end, they all succumbed in one way or another. 

 

But every now and then a woman came along who presented a more complex or unusual set of challenges.  They might be particularly strong-willed or perhaps have a strong set of core beliefs that were diametrically opposed to what he might be trying to program, or they might even just be not very smart.

 

M would be an interesting challenge.  In addition to that which she was inclined by her nature, many of her conservative beliefs and a short lifetime habits were the result of her parents training---they’d originally programmed her in a certain way and Bossman knew this. 

 

He also knew when he began reprogramming her behavior, she would see him and his crew’s actions as a threat, not only because she knew what they intended to do with her but, and this was important, because if they were successful it would mean that she would be forced to change her core values and the way she viewed herself in some major ways.

 

It was odd, but he’d proved it to himself time after time; the women he trained and sold would more easily accept what their new future held for them than they would change certain beliefs or values they held about themselves.  In other words, for some odd reason of the mind, it was easier for them to accept the inevitability of being a sex slave than it was for them to admit they might enjoy it. 

 

Purely for practical purposes, he wanted M to value him, to need him, to see him as chief among her captors, but not as one of the major threats.  He didn’t do this because he wanted her to like him or because he gave a damn about her feelings as a poor mistreated middle-class girl.  But rather, he wanted her to see him as something like an anchor, one of the few mainstays available she could grab to help maintain her sanity.  Because this would help him later as he forced her to make some dramatic changes in her values and attitudes.

 

He’d taken his pleasure from her body three times now.  He knew he’d been ‘a little rough’ the first two times, he smiled at the euphemism even as his actions concerned him regarding his overall success.  But the third time…aaah; the third time had been different.  He’d taken her that time because he’d been weak and lost control.  It wouldn’t happen like that again.  He rarely lost control where women were concerned.  He knew he’d now have to somehow put some psychological distance between them, somehow put himself outside the process of training she was experiencing. 

 

To do this, he knew he had to give her his undivided attention in an oasis of calm she would soon look forward to entering.  But he could not be seen in a way that would be seen as sexually or even just physically threatening.  Like a spider and its web, he now controlled her fate, but in an indirect manner.  He’d sit and listen to her talk, listen to her catalogue the unfairness of what was being done to her.  He had to appear sympathetic to her and understanding, yet at the same time be able to subtly sabotage her attempts to heal the psychological and emotional damage his men inflicted upon her. 

 

This was an inexperienced teenage girl.  Like any normal person, he knew she would rationalize her actions, fooling herself into believing she had broken and finally acquiesced to their demands because of their threats to her and her family.  But if she was like the others, at some point she would finally realize, she would finally be able admit to herself that it was in fact the senseless torture and pain she had really wanted to avoid. 

 

Altruism and selflessness only takes a torture victim so far. 

 

The human body develops a memory of the pain it has endured.  Every man on the boat knew this desire to avoid future pain and torment was only human, but this girl’s ultimate recognition of what had truly motivated her to quit fighting them would be psychologically devastating.  For it would take away the inner strength she gained from seeing herself as self-sacrificing---it would negate her assessment of her motives, of acquiescing to his crew’s demands as an act of love for her family. 

 

He would do his best to push her quickly to this realization, since it would take away every emotional support she had built over the last two days.  This in turn would hasten her descent into a maelstrom of depression and, in the end, ensure her complete subjugation.

 

With his intimate understanding of this mysterious procedure, he had in the past always made the necessary time and gradually, like flowers laid at his feet, all of the other women he’d escorted through this process had opened up and eventually he’d owned them body and soul.  It was a seemingly impossible contradiction, but he’d worked it before with the others and he was confident that he would soon own M too

 

The bottom line was that if through his manipulations of her mind he could make enough major modifications in her beliefs about sex and sexuality permanent, she would be an excellent piece of property.  If he failed, she’d be passed on through the pipeline as flawed meat.

 

 

They obviously thought I was beautiful, but they would also find I had intelligence as well as looks.  I knew it was in my nature to be both pragmatic and objective, and if I was naïve, it was because I’d perhaps been just a little more protected than other kids my age.  Despite our differences though, I knew my parents loved me and I wouldn’t apologize to anyone for that. 

 

Although I was still shamed from last night, I felt less regret now at having been broken by the men on the boat---anyone would have shattered under that pressure---and I took comfort in the fact that my desire to keep my family safe was the final factor, the only factor that made me to cooperate with these men, with Bossman.  It was the only stable thing in my life at the moment and the one fact which trumped all other considerations. 

 

But, for some reason I also knew in the back of my mind that my decision to cooperate with them, so effortless and casually and so painlessly made that it was almost ‘odd’; it made me uneasy since it’d been an almost effortless way out of my predicament.  I really didn’t want to think about it.  There was a….incipient….empathy for the situation, in me for what I done, and….I really did not want to think about it. 

 

I’d held out as long as I could physically, but I knew what Bossman and his crew had promised to do to my family if I tried in any way now to double cross him or play word games…  I was fully prepared to go through with my end of the deal. 

 

In addition to the shame I felt at my inability to keep on fighting though, I now was afraid---afraid of what they would do to change me today and tomorrow, afraid of what they had planned for me.

 

I knew I was changing, that I was being changed by what they were doing to me.  It felt like I was developing a bizarre rapport with the mirror above the dresser.  Whenever the opportunity arose, I found myself gazing into the glass just to see who would be there. 

 

Sometimes this reflection looked like me.  At other times, I could see someone similar but somehow different—it was the person they were changing me into.  A few times, I felt like I actually caught the switch in mid-stare, it was in the mouth and eyes.  And as I changed, I felt my inner core change at the same time.  I would feel more confident or less confident; mature or childlike; sexually adventurous or withdrawn; freezing cold or sticky hot.

 

These….aspects….I knew that both resided inside me.  It felt like there were a bunch of rooms in my mind and, more and more often now, I found myself lost, with a sense of déjà vu, in some obscure part of my cerebral cortex, the part of the brain I had learned in school that played a key role in awareness, attention and memory. 

 

Everything I had lived through or imagined or dreamed while on this boat felt like it had been backed up on a video clip and then scattered among those alien rooms.  As a result, now when I least expected it, I’d stumble into any number of scenes, from the horrifically sexual, horror-movie sequences that were crude and painful, to visualizing Grandpa polishing his shoes.  I felt like I was going crazy. 

 

Worse, I had a good idea of what they planned to do to me; to do with me; what they would turn me into---and that was a whore and a slut.  Some already called me a whore, but I knew I wasn’t---at least, not yet.  I knew I was innocent about much of life, but I was pretty sure prostitutes did what they did out of necessity.  It was a business to them and they always separated business from pleasure. 

 

On the other hand, to me, sluts were generally openly promiscuous women---they did what they did I thought, because they liked it.  Sluts had taken their new sexual liberation far too far, and they just didn’t care about what anyone thought of them. 

 

To me, there was a big difference between the two.

 

I took a deep breath and thought bleakly to myself, Please!  Leave my family out of it and I’ll become whatever he wants.  In fact, I’ll be the best pleasure slave, the best whore he’s ever had.  But there’s still always going to be something inside that’ll be uniquely me—I’ll never give them everything. 

 

They might make me their whore and they can do anything they want to my body, but they can’t make me enjoy it.  I’ll be their whore forever if necessary; but I’ll never be their slut.  They can’t make me do that; they can’t have that.  They can touch me, but they couldn’t touch me, not the me that lay beyond my body. 

 

With that realization, most of my fear slipped away.  And as the fear subsided, so did any remaining rage I might have felt.  I’d try to hide it, but I despised them and their equally blind Master.  To hell with him and his crew!

 

 

Nothing was inevitable.  She had not chosen this way.  It was her fate.  It had been decided since before time began.  It had been decided before she began.  Nothing could be done.  There was no point in trying.  It was way too late.  The inevitability of nothing was totally supreme, overriding everything.  No way out.  No way through.  She could only accept the unacceptable.  She could only endure the unendurable.  Nothing was wrong!

-Laurie Matthew, in Fight!  Rabbit!  Fight!

 

And so Victoria gave herself over to becoming what she only seemed to be, and let that updated mask of self-guide her actions.  In this, she was more successful than she had ever dreamed she might be.

 

 

Looking around, I saw a small pile of clothing on one of the chairs and walked over to look at it.  There was a burgundy sweat band, very brief stretch bottoms and a sports bra, both light gray in color.  These in turn were lying upon white ankle socks and pair of athletic shoes.

 

Before dressing, I took off my breast chain and slave collar, laid them on the dresser and walked into to the bathroom where I cleaned myself off, paying particular attention to between my legs.  Although Bossman had forced himself into my bed last night (quit playing with words, I thought to myself, to my everlasting shame I’d given him exactly what he wanted), we’d finished with what could only be described as a sexual marathon.  Consequently, I knew I smelled like something that even the cheapest whore would avoid. 

 

I still burned with shame and embarrassment at how I had not only struggled ineffectually, but in the end had willingly taken him into my body.  That was the problem a small voice had whispered, it had felt so damn good.  I had freely given him, my rapist, the great physical pleasure which I had unknowingly denied myself for so long.

 

Walking back into the cabin, I saw that someone had come in while I was washing myself and had set a tray of food on the table.  On it lay one cup of lukewarm instant coffee, a warm croissant and my morning supplements.  It also held the antiseptic cream I needed to ensure that my recent, and unwanted, surgeries didn’t get infected---things were looking up.  Then I noticed that someone had brought in a TV and set it on the end of the dresser near my makeup.  Also, a small wall clock had been hung over the bed.

 

Not knowing whether it was hooked up or not, I walked over to the TV with my coffee and peeked in back—it was connected to a cable which went into the wall of the cabin and the power cord led to a normal outlet.  I turned it on and immediately, sound and light came to life on the screen, steadying after a second to reveal a female broadcaster I recognized. 

 

Going back to the table with the croissant and sitting carefully, I watched in disbelief as my mother and then my father, and finally my aunt were interviewed. 

 

My mother was a workaholic, always in control and emotionally undemonstrative; she had always been hard for me to get close to.  She was a woman who had worked hard to get where she was and she had a lot of pride in what she’d accomplished over her career.  I loved my mother, but never really knew if I came up to her expectations.  But on the television, my mother was distraught and seemed almost on the verge of losing control, absolutely unlike I had ever seen her before.  She must be heartsick worrying about me.

 

I was my father’s girl.  Although my dad was a little odd in some of his beliefs, when I needed someone to talk with or just some emotional support, I always went to my dad first.  My father always knew what I was thinking and why—we were that close.  Since he was at home, his television interview was by remote hookup.  On TV my father seemed little better than my mother, being almost incoherent with grief at times.  My mom had always been the stronger one of the two, but neither of them showed the strength during the interviews that I knew they had.

 

But it was my aunt who surprised me.  Aunt Samantha seemed a tower of strength to me.  She was with my mother and both were still on Cancun.  But where my mother seemed disorganized and pitiful, Aunt Samantha seemed totally in control at all times. 

 

Samantha was my mother’s younger sister, her only sister and had been a surprise to her parents.  She was twenty-nine years old now, a single, high-powered semi-feminist lawyer working in the city.  Her only remaining family was her sister, brother-in-law and myself.  Samantha was only ten years older than me; we knew everything about each other and there was a bond between us that went deep, deeper than blood. 

 

I called her Aunt Sam and in turn, Samantha absolutely spoiled me to death.  We were closer than most sisters could ever hope to be.  I blinked back tears as I watched my aunt.  During the interviews, Aunt Sam always looked beautiful, was always poised and icily polite to the reporters no matter how stupid the questions, continuously positive in her answers and outlook, and always optimistic that they would eventually find me.  

 

She was an exceptional woman, a fabulous looking tower of strength more intelligent than almost anyone around her, and these qualities couldn’t be more obvious than when she was on TV.

 

Sam always ended every interview on a positive note, insisting, “My niece will come back to us again.  We will get her back, we will see her again.” 

 

It was all that I could do not to break out in tears; I missed my family so much.

 

 

When you are a strong woman, you will attract trouble.  When a man feels threatened, there is always trouble.

-Barbara Taylor Bradford

 

I loved my Aunt Sam, but we were such very different kinds of people.  I knew I had always been much more reserved and well, shy in an old-fashioned “decent” sort of way.  I was by nature much more restrained and less open than my aunt.  I didn’t like to swear and was uncomfortable using vulgar language, let alone doing so in public. 

 

I think I sometimes made other young people my age uncomfortable because I had a sense of decorum and perhaps even dignity that was appropriate in someone two or three times my age.  There had often been times I wished I could be more demonstrative in public, but this was my nature.  And although young, I was comfortable with who I was.  No matter how many friends I had and no matter where I might be, my life had always been centered on my family and it was these values that had always kept me grounded.

 

I was more conservative than my aunt in other ways too.  I’d read about them, but had never understood the early feminist’s call to demonize Barbie dolls and Cosmo magazine, to look with disdain upon the female desire to go shopping, to apply makeup and hunt for sexy shoes and cute boyfriends. 

 

Instead it seemed these neutered women always wanted a world where men and women dressed alike and worked in navy suits and were equal in every way.  I’d just never understood this.  And when #MeToo came along, I supported equality, but they lost me when they began going after men in general. 

 

I admit it, I was old-fashioned and conservative, and about everything a person my age could be, to be uncool.  All I had ever wanted was to get through college, find a good man to marry and then stay at home and raise a lot of kids.  Nothing to me could be more important than my family.

 

Although a successful career woman, my mother was not much of a mother.  There always seemed to something missing in her life.  Almost like she’d missed out on something earlier in her life, like she’d rather have been a full-time mother than a successful business woman. 

 

I knew I’d never make that mistake.  My mother had always told me, “You can't be the best career woman and the best mother at the same time; you always have to choose one over the other."  While I felt my mother may have come to eventually regret the choices she’d made, I knew I had firmly chosen family over career.

 

This choice of mine drove my aunt nuts.  While I had never understood the attraction of feminism, my Aunt Sam on the other hand, had bought into most of the rhetoric about the “sex wars.”  She wore the navy power suits that emphasized her naturally dominating personality and as a lawyer, she delighted in taking cases in which she could defend women against men for real or imagined slights.  She just loved to screw what she called “loser men” to the wall. 

 

Then she’d come by our house later and mockingly laugh about what she’d done to them, how she’d been able to humiliate them in court and how the judgments that she was able to get against them oftentimes were actually unfair to the men. 

Fairness did not seem to have anything to do with it.  I loved her, but I did not understand this attitude and it made me uncomfortable.  So we just didn’t talk about it by mutual agreement.  It was not her most endearing quality, but Sam didn’t care however, as long as she was able to take care of her female clients.

 

A natural beauty, in a funny way Samantha had also made it clear to me that she was very aware that today technology is biology.  When Sam felt she had finally begun to age, she freely admitted that she was going to take complete advantage of it to retain her looks. 

 

I thought this a strange contradiction in my aunt, this odd confluence where American technology trumped American feminism.  But even as my aunt Samantha embraced certain aspects of feminism, she also hated the grubby, unisex jeans and no-makeup look and the drugs that zoned you out.  Even as a feminist, she still liked to look enticing to men.  I think a little of this was the “you can look, but you’ll never have this” touch with which she so dominated the men around her.  Another part though was that she liked to look good, and just truly did not care about what other people thought. 

 

Another really strange contradiction was that she couldn't understand the appeal of dances that didn't involve touching your partner.  Despite her sometimes stark feminism, in the universe of Eros, she longed for style and wit.  But she was always unhappy because of her conflicting impulses; make men fear her, but at the same time ensure this public face never failed to intimidate the few men she thought might be suitable. 

 

While Sam loved to play the corporate power games, I think maybe inside there was always a single regret that the one man she was meant to be with for the rest of her life would more than likely be driven away by the very things that made her so successful.

 

Hubris was a concept I think might have been coined just so there would be a term that applied to her.  Aunt Sam gloried in her achievements and the strength of will and purpose which finally enabled Samantha to engage life on her own terms.  It had taken a long, long time, but at last she felt she was in control of her being and her destiny.  There was no one that could tell her what to do anymore, and being in control of everything around her was so incredibly important to her.  

Samantha told me several times that only after she had become a lawyer did she feel she was safe for the first time, secure for the first time, free of men and their sexist demands and the necessity to mold her personality and behavior to please them.  She vowed then she would do everything possible to ensure that never again would she have to ask a man for anything.  And she hoped I would have the same chance at success as did she.  

For the first time, Samantha felt she could finally do what she wanted, when she wanted, how she wanted.  She was an independent soul, and like it or not, she was more than equal to most men now.  In fact, she was superior to the vast majority of men now.  

After more than twenty years of melding work and education and mental bondage and servitude, the kind most girls and women know well, her mind and body---yes, mind and body---belonged to no one but herself.

 

That was my Aunt Sam and God, how I loved her despite all of her faults.  A ball-buster, a feminist and a narcissist; hard on the outside and a hopeless romantic on the inside.  All wrapped up in one beautiful contradictory package.

 

 

The people who would like to manipulate and use you won't tell you your blind spots.  They may plan to continue using them to their advantage.

-Assegid Habtewold, in The 9 Cardinal Building Blocks: For Continued Success in Leadership

 

In the mirror, I saw Bossman enter the cabin behind me.  I turned to face him and immediately assumed the position that I’d been taught.  I, who had only been with one man before him; I, who had never before undressed in front of a man in daylight, now presented my naked self with little guilt and without hesitation to him.  I’d been taught to lose many of my inhibitions in less than a week; they’d been severe, yet quite successful lessons. 

 

Bossman looked at me, had obviously seen my eyes brimming with tears.  While I thought he might have a slightly sympathetic look on his face, all he did was point to the TV as he said, “M, turn that thing off.”

 

I did this quickly, then turned to face him again and assumed my posture of submission.

 

“Put your chain and collar back on.  NOW!”

 

I quickly put the collar back around my neck and locked it.  After this, I again donned my nipple chain.

 

Bossman continued, his voice suddenly harsh, “Keep that collar on from now on—next time I see it off, I will fuck you up.  Don’t make me do that.”

 

After a long pause, he continued in the same tone, “The men didn’t think you should be allowed to see the news about your disappearance.  But I’ve decided differently—it appears to be a slow news cycle right now and you’re at the top of every broadcast.  But I’ve no doubt soon something else will come around, some tragedy, some great loss, and then you’ll just go away.  You’ll disappear from the minds of the reporters and, eventually your family will learn to live with you being gone.”

 

I couldn’t help it, despite my best efforts I flared up.  “My family will never forget me.  They’ll never forget about me.”

 

I paused and then took a chance, even while keeping a submissive stance.  “I don’t know who you are, or if you’re married or not.  I assume you’re not, since you go about kidnapping women and raping and selling them.” 

 

With this brave declaration, I raised my chin and looked up at him for just a second, but then put my face back down to look at my feet as I had been taught.  I’d looked at him just long enough to seem to challenge him and I knew he knew I had done so.  He could take much away from me, but he couldn’t take away my family.

 

If I had stopped then, everything would have been…..okay.  But I couldn’t stop myself as I continued, “But a man like you might have a daughter somewhere too.  A daughter like me?  Would you forget about her?  Would you forget your own daughter?”

 

He seemed to fly across the cabin and picked me up with both hands around my throat, lifting me off of the deck of the boat.  His eyes were filled with rage and he seemed out of control.  I knew then he would kill me and there was nothing I could do about it.  He was choking me and I put my hands around his to support my neck but forced myself to not struggle.  My ears were filled with a vast roaring sound as if all the blood in my body were trying to race to my head, but couldn’t make it past my neck.  He seemed barely aware of what he was doing, his whole face was bunched, like it was held together by nothing but cords. 

 

After a few seconds he finally shook me once and then threw down on the bed, taking a deep breath as he stepped away from me.  He took a few more seconds to calm down and then looked at me again.

 

He sighed his voice softer, but still angry, “Slave…..M.  Girl, you test me.  Don’t continue to test me.” 

 

After a long silence, he continued, “Here is the truth.  If I had a daughter like you, I would never have allowed her to go to the places you did, where she could be taken like I’ve taken you.  I’ve let you have this TV so that you can get used to your new reality.  This,” he pointed around him, “this is it.  Believe it.  Believe in it.  Understand it.  No matter what happens in the outside world, your old world ends here and your new world begins with us---it will never change.”

 

“You may have been stupidly naïve, inexperienced when we brought you aboard, but now, now you know exactly what we expect from you, what we will have from you.  I am,” he glared at me, “the master of your body now.  Your flesh and your blood belong to me.  Your fear, your outrage, even your lust belongs to me now.  You get no more choices here than a butterfly floating on the wind, no more opportunities to decide anything for yourself.  And the sooner you realize this, the better for you.”

 

Several minutes passed as he paced back and forth in the cabin.  “Okay,” he said as he calmed down even more.  “This is my last explanation, so listen---listen very carefully.  Here’s how I see it……the vast majority of American females your age have had everything given to them.  Yet more and more of you act raunchy as hell in public and see no problem with this.  But what I see is a girl who is confusing sexual explicitness with sexiness.”

 

He paused, “I once had an Anthropology PhD candidate as a “guest.”  Odd combination, little bit of a feminist mixed with being a free spirit, and even as we acquired her, she remained convinced that a woman’s body is a “beautiful thing”---if a woman's got a pretty body and she likes her body, she should have no compunction about showing it off.  Men made the laws, she told me several times at first, and she wouldn’t let any man tell her what to do, especially here on the islands.  So screw the laws.  Besides, she felt her bravado exuded confidence….that was the word she used, exuded….when people wore little clothing and she had absolutely no compunction about exposing herself on the beach to pick up young guys.” 

 

“The funny thing was---maybe ironic is a better word----it was these acts of “freedom” that drew our attention in the first place.  In any case, she insisted she had every right to feel that way and I completely agreed with her.  Right up to the point where I broke her sorry ass and then, after I enjoyed fucking her for two weeks, fucking her until she walked bow-legged, and then I sold her beautiful, slightly worn cunt to three rather enthusiastic men with less than altruistic motives.  Ya see, I figured she’d enjoy researching the anthropological and intersectional imperatives of having her pussy and ass kept forcibly filled for as long as she still had a good body.”  

 

He chuckled, “I understand she’s had a change of heart somewhere along the line, but it was a little late to do her any good.  Anthropology and feminism be damned, I’m pretty fucking sure she regrets having been an exhibitionist and flaunting her herself on the beach down here."

 

He snorted then, but if from mocking amusement or something else, I could not tell.  “You have had many opportunities, but you have pissed them away.  Yours is a life wasted….up to this point.  Even so, you on the on the hand, are different from most of the young women coming out of the U. S. now.  Your misfortune was to be young and beautiful, and yet innocent about life.  Unfortunately for you, you’ll pay for that with your body and your freedom.”

 

“The rest of them?  They’re truly slutty cunts and they just don’t get it.  They don’t understand the link between behavior and consequences.  They get my attention by the way they act and dress?  I respond by giving them a little ride on my boat while I help them prepare for a new life.  It’s all a misunderstanding and they’re all begging me to understand them.  The cunts.  About as basic as you can get, stimulus and response, stimulus and response.”

 

He shook his head.  “No matter what they might be wearing on the outside; blouse and skirt or dress, or pants suit, it doesn’t matter---more and more of the ones I take are wearing nothing underneath.  They come down here and lay on the beach wearing nothing or next to nothing and once they’re on the boat they all assure me they weren’t trying to provoke men--and I think a lot of the stupid idiots actually believe that.  They tell me they just prefer to be naked because “that was the way that they were most comfortable”.  As if that made a difference about whether or not they deserved to be in my pipeline.”

 

“You know?” he looked at me coldly for a second.  “The one thing that none of them ever counts on is that sometimes there are monsters outside at night, and guys like me are the ones on the prowl.”

 

“The bottom line is that I love uninhibited, natural women.  I just don’t like it when they try to kid themselves about what are and what they’re doing.  As for you---I think underneath everything you’ve tried to hide from us, underneath everything you’ve tried to hide from yourself, you’re just the same as these others; that you’ll wind up proving me right and satisfying every man here at the same time.”

 

Changing subjects, Bossman pointed to the bed and looked at me, “We call this the Celestial Bed.  I know, kind of cheesy.  But it’s the best bed on the boat, and as you know, it’s temporarily yours.  After all, you seemed to willingly enjoy it last night, no?”

I was still thinking about what he’d said before, when suddenly I understood what he’d just said last.  I blushed and looked down at my feet.

“……and this is where you’ll receive your training for the rest of your time on this boat.”

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I felt like I had to say something so I asked, “Why do you call the Celestial bed?”

Bossman looked at me with a small smile as if he thought I’d never ask and replied, “Most men in my line of business don’t believe in heaven.  But I think that bed has converted many of them.  Men have gone to paradise on this bed---and I expect them to do so again shortly.”  

I grimaced, not finding his comments funny at all.  I shook my head to clear it.  I had been on the boat for days now and I still found it hard to pay attention all of the time.  It was like as soon as it got threatening, a part of my brain just stopped working, just refused to process what these men said.  

“But you know what?  I think I can pretty much guarantee the life you got coming is gonna be a hell of a lot more interesting than the normal bitch we take in here.  Living your new life is gonna be like owning a string of expensive pearls.  The only thing is, with you, you’re gonna have to go through a whole lot more string to get to the pearls than the average slut we train.” 

 

He seemed to change moods, “Now start getting ready, it’s exercise time.  Beginning tomorrow morning, we’ll bring your food after you’ve exercised.”  And with that he left my cabin.

 

 

The process of dissociation is an elegant mechanism built into the human psychological system as a form of escape from (sometimes literally) going crazy.  The problem with checking out so thoroughly is that it can leave us feeling dead inside, with little or no ability to feel our feelings in our bodies.  The process of repair demands a re-association with the body, a commitment to dive into the body and feel today what we couldn’t feel yesterday because it was too dangerous.

-Alexandra Katehakis, Mirror of Intimacy: Daily Reflections on Emotional and Erotic Intelligence

 

As I slowly walked over to the exercise clothing still lying on the bed, I vowed to never again challenge him like I had.  Whenever I pushed against the boundaries he’d laid down, I played into his hands, and…..part of me was shocked at this…..because for some stupid reason I actually felt the slightest sense of regret at having questioned or disappointed him.  That this last was not only stupid, I had no doubt, but it was also just wrong.  No matter how traitorous or illogical my thoughts might be, the man was a monster.  And I absolutely refused to put myself in a situation where I might find myself sympathetic to him….in any way and for any reason. 

 

What was going on with me?  What were these men doing to my mind?  Was I going crazy?  It was like the mind of a second person had been grafted onto mine, and this other person was more than a little perverted in the head.  But at the same time I felt a sense of determination building in me, that if he wanted to think they’d ride me to heaven, then to hell with them.

 

The shorts were just that, very short and tight as well.  They were cut high on the hips, climbed to the top of my butt crack, pulled tightly on the lips of my vagina and didn’t cover nearly enough of my rear.  After I’d put them on, I found that the crotch of the shorts were so tight they put uncomfortable pressure on the hard rubber pole still nestled inside my rear.  I could also feel air moving across most of the lower part of my butt cheeks. 

 

I did my best to ignore these distractions. 

 

The sports bra was not very large either, looking like it might have come out of something designed by a male jock for a Victoria’s Secret cum catalogue.  It didn’t give a full-bodied girl like me nearly enough support and I knew my breasts would be bobbing and swinging freely with every move that I might make.

 

I knew this was exactly what the men wanted, but how odd that this uninviting thought gave me the vaguest sense of….grim pleasure too. 

 

The nipple chain swung gracefully and hung down slightly from between the cups of my bra.  I carefully sat down and put my socks on and then the shoes, noting that for the first time I had been given shoes that were the correct size.

 

Just then Bossman walked back in carrying a DVD case and some light hand weights.  I immediately stood up and assumed the required position.  He dropped the weights on my unmade bed and walked over to the TV.  He pushed a button and a small tray came out of the bottom of the television.  Taking the DVD out of its case, he put it in the tray and showed me how to play it. 

 

“This,” he said, “is your aerobics work out video.  You’ll do a 30-minute workout, following this routine exactly; one might even say slavishly.”  He seemed to smile slightly when he said this. 

 

“Then,” he continued, “You’ll work out with the weights on the bed for about 20 minutes.  We have second video for that.  I’m starting you with light hand weights and as you become more accustomed, we can increase the weight.  I want you to stay in shape.  I hate to see my property over-weight---I really hate it!”

 

He looked at me hard for a second.  “There’s no laptop, no WiFi access.  So don’t fuck this up.  Don’t play some dumb ass, blonde-bimbo-game trying to get free.  Don’t try to hit one of us with the weights or anything stupid like that.  Remember what you are and where you are.  And most of all, think about what happens to your family if you stop cooperating.”

 

“Just remember this.  In return for your family’s safety, you have agreed to remain here.  You gave us your word.  And just because you think because you were coerced, they don’t really mean anything.  So I will tell you again, words have meaning here.  You gave us yours and I hold you to it.  Because we sure as shit will keep our word if we have to fuck up your family.”

 

With that he turned and began to walk out of the cabin, but then he stopped by my bed.  “M, from now one, you’ll make your bed first thing every morning and clean up this cabin.  After you dress, you will exercise, and then eat.  Finally, you’ll shower and put on your makeup, then put on whatever outfit you’ve been given.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Master.” 

 

With my agreement, he turned and walked to the door where he stopped and told me, “Tonight, we’ll talk after dinner.”  He left me alone in my cabin.

 

I went back to the TV and turned it on, moving it so that it was facing more of the center of the cabin.  I was familiar with the female aerobics instructor, but not this particular exercise set.  I’d always been athletic; running up and down a long field was my way of exercising, not jumping about to a video.  But I applied myself and by the end of her first workout, I was drenched with sweat.  I was a bit sore from having to move so much and so carefully with my butt plug in, but I found that if I tried, I could eventually ignore it. 

 

Taking a short break, I put the other DVD on and lifted weights for almost twenty minutes.  This, I found more tiring than I had expected and I knew it would take me some time to build up to what Bossman expected from me.

 

After working out, I took a quick break and then began to clean up the cabin.  I hesitated when I got to the bed.  Always before, I’d felt so insulated from all of my problems, so protected from the world in my bed back home.  A typical teenager, it was my safe zone and I’d always been able to relax there, allowing my mind to wander.  But not now. 

 

He’d called it the Celestial Bed.  This Bed was a symbol to the men of all I suddenly hated about my life right now, of what they did to me on it and of all that I had become to them.  The Bed was a loveless arena for me now. 

 

To these men I was not a human being anymore, but rather in their minds had been turned into an entity, a target, a thing, a sex object whose presence was immediately equated with being the perfect sex receptacle and whose place was in The Bed and nowhere else.  I was a Bed object to these men and nothing more. 

 

But then the thought came to me unbidden, as awful as my life is now, things could be so much worse.  I’d do the best I could in a difficult situation.

 

 

And that was my early morning routine for the rest of my time on this awful craft.  My exercise time turned out to be my only connection to the outside world, since other than these few morning hours, they somehow were able to remotely disconnect my TV from wherever the signal might be sourced. 

 

I quickly came to value this time, because it seemed as if they never left me alone for the rest of the time; one or the other of them was always beating me, preparing to take me or had just finished punishing me for some imagined infraction.  When not doing this, it seemed that one or more of them was doing something awful to me in the pursuit of making me a better slave, which to them meant more “submissive.”

 

The other times I came to value were the hour or two on deck just before dinner and my time alone after dining.  Before eating, I could finally relax and let my defenses down just a little, even though the men were often about.  Surprisingly, Bossman and I would often talk as the setting sun was reflected off of the deck or the water as it slowly baked us. 

 

I wanted to scream in frustration at the simplistic motives that drove him to do these terrible and inhuman acts of violence against women, against me.  Yet, at the same time, he was obviously well educated and well-read in other areas.  It was like arguing with a brilliant Ph. D. in some ways.  Always thought provoking, his view of the world was based from experiences I could only imagine. 

 

While I found him fascinating at times, it was like the fascination one feels for sharks or snakes---there was a measure or repulsion and you also kept your distance, just to be safe. 

 

Early on we talked about the weather, fishing, the Caribbean and any current events (other than my kidnapping) I might have seen on the TV that morning.  Later, he left the boat while I remained, but towards the end of his time on the boat, we talked about me (he was surprisingly candid about why it had been me who had been kidnapped and not one of the hundreds of other equally beautiful and certainly more suitably raunchy girls just as available on Cancun), about what I believed and about what I had experienced in life up to this point.  These were painful discussions, and sometimes my mind stopped working very well because of what his men had just done to me…..

 

Later, towards the end of my time on the boat, I found myself basking in the sun when suddenly, I realized I didn’t care about the past or the future anymore.  I found myself just fully engaged in the present, somehow enjoying the moment.  Actually somehow enjoying that moment on the boat!! 

 

And it was then I understood that what I had always wanted, that where I had always wanted to be more than anything else, was in the present.  In fact, I could only imagine flatness ahead, like a woman walking on level pavement, with nothing before or after or at either side, just an illimitable and featureless stretching forth of days. 

 

 

In a moment of surprising honesty, of which there were far more than I might have expected, Bossman told me they had reviewed a number of beautiful young girls as candidates to fill the position it seemed I was destined to occupy—how good to learn, I thought with disgusting irony mixed with more than a tinge of anxiety, I was that competitive in the category of girl most likely to be kidnapped and disappeared for life. 

 

The bastard for whom they were acting had requested a beautiful young woman idealistic about the world and innocent, but who underneath still oozed sex appeal.  This definitely did not describe me!  

 

Cold feet ran down my back as he explained that this female could not be overtly coarse or raunchy, yet the same time had to be capable of being trained to become an absolute whore, a total slut in bed. 

 

My mouth was dry and my throat hurt from suddenly being so tight.  Was this what they thought of me?  My future? 

 

In short, it seemed these men wanted a young woman that could be trained to move with the bearing of a Southampton debutante, but who could be re-educated to talk and fuck with the base vigor of a Victorian parlor whore. 

 

My mind seemed to stop working as he finished his description of how they apparently looked at me, but I don’t think he noticed.

 

By the second day I had come to his attention, it seemed he’d been pretty certain I was the one for whom they’d been looking.  I too remembered my carefree times on the beach that day, enjoying myself with my best friends.  But unknown to me, they’d taken videos of all of us at the beach and at a couple of bars we’d visited that night. 

 

These last videos of me were what had clinched it for the client.  Learning this made me angry although I kept my feelings hidden.  I felt a deep anger kindle inside me once more at them for doing this to me, but the most anger I felt, by far, was at myself for having been so stupid, for not having been more aware of my surroundings.  Because of my sophomoric stupidity, I had gone through hell and was going to be put through more.  Worse, I had dragged my family along with me. 

 

Irrationally, at that moment, I also felt fleeting anger at my mother for not having done a better job of training me and at my father for not being there to protect me. 

 

“On your last night,” he said, “ you collected the attention of everyone around you at T. O.’s as gracefully as fish swim through water----during the course of the evening, you’d energized the entire place without uttering a word loud enough for anyone but your two friends to hear.” 

 

What he had said was just stupid.  Never one immune to awkward attempts at flattery, I knew he was absolutely exaggerating what happened that night.  Perhaps in some idiotic attempt to appeal to my vanity?  Not in a million years! 

 

Well, maybe just a little.  God!  Was I really such a stupid, shallow person? 

 

“That last night, you were,” he continued, “a rare woman in that you were less interested in framing your beauty than embracing it.  The way you were dressed when we took you was proof of that.  That dress told us volumes about what you’ve kept hidden about yourself; qualities which you yourself have yet to realize.”

 

“We know you better,” he seemed to brag, “Than you know yourself.”

 

Suddenly, that tiniest feeling of pleasure I had been feeling just evaporated and I wanted to yell in his face that I was not impressed with his analysis of my charms.  I wanted to let to him know that being enslaved, gang-raped and tortured, and then sold as an unwilling sexual concubine is not the way to a girl’s heart. 

 

I wanted to scream at him that the fact that I’d been kidnapped and raped, that all of the pain and humiliation I’d suffered on his hellboat and the brutality with which I’d been treated would forever ensure I would always be a captive and never voluntarily a slave owner’s companion.  I wanted to scream all of these things but I didn’t because I still wasn’t sure how far I could go with him without being punished.

 

I didn’t say anything, but I think he saw the look on my face.  Suddenly, he got angry with me, angry at my self-pity.  “It’s time to shed the skin of your past.  Grow a new one, make it thick with your anger.  At least you’ll survive then.” 

 

 

Sometimes I didn’t want to leave the cabin, but they made me.  I lay on the deck in the sunshine and thought back to how I’d been feeling over the last couple of days; I wondered if this horrific experience was literally driving me insane.  I don’t….think….they were drugging me.  Yet these schizophrenic moments, first I felt one way and then suddenly I felt another way; first I was up and then I was down; I was depressed and then filled with a false sense confidence for no reason.  Anxiety tore me apart and nothing appeared constant.  My thoughts were inconsistent butterflies, flitting from one thing to another, never completely centered on the idea of escape or rescue, as I would have predicted before this had happened.  I felt like there was someone else in my head with me now, always whispering to me.  My instincts and empathy had generally served me well, but right now I had no idea of what or who to trust.

 

 

Why am I letting you comfort me?  He stared over her head.  Because I’ve made sure you have no one else to turn to.

-Kresley Cole, in Lothaire

 

At first I refused to speak at first, but he finally got me to talk about my family.  I think he thought he was actually being clever, talking about his early life just to make me more comfortable when talking about mine.  From his stories, I found he was a hard man in many ways; a strong disciplinarian and one that believed in strict control of his property. 

 

I was, he said, fated to be here, now, with him.  He told me about an ancient Chinese proverb which, roughly, went, an invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, despite time and place, despite the circumstances.  The thread can be tightened or tangled, but can never be broken.  Somehow, he convinced me of the red thread between us.

 

But I also found he had the oddest sense of humor and was not afraid to laugh—it seemed he’d not gone to the slave master’s school of evil after all.  True, he may often have laughed at the distress of the teenaged girl he’d sworn to turn into a slut---me, but at least he laughed.

 

I was conflicted, greatly confused; in turn I hated him and then felt I needed him for protection from the others.  At other times I wanted to hurt him as much as I could, then I would suddenly myself wanting to, if not necessarily help him in anything he wanted to do, certainly not wanting to disappoint him either.  How could these two emotions exist in me at the same time?  He was always someone with whom I could talk, but never one I could trust. 

 

And a few times, only a few times I told myself, even though much older than me, I thought there was even an odd….almost attractiveness…..about him.  I thought then about that long, hard night when he had first forced me to have sex with him, had ridden me so thoroughly, and it was these last emotions that most confused me.  How could I look at a man who had raped me as being attractive in any way?  How could this have happened and what did it say about me, how sick my mind had to be?  Was it even possible to have sympathetic feelings like this when he was the one ultimately responsible for everything terrible that had happened to me since I’d been taken from Cancun?

 

 

One thing I noticed in passing was his interest in my family.  When we compared our early lives, I talked a lot about my family.  He asked questions about my mother and father, grandmother and grandfather, cousins and nieces.  And while he seemed to ask a few more questions about my Aunt Sam than the others, I understood that too.  It really was reasonable to me since she was the coolest person in our family, even more so than my parents, and I was proud of her.  My mother’s sister, I recounted to him how my aunt’s only concern at this point was her career. 

 

While Samantha didn’t necessarily fit in with all the new brazen hard-charging world of feminism, she certainly embraced much of it.  We spoke of how both my Aunt Sam and I wanted large families, but Samantha had put her desire for a family on hold.  I talked about how my aunt felt that while on inside she was more of a fun-loving type than the other feminists, this was not readily apparent to most people.  We spoke of how after she had finally accomplished what she wanted, she would decades later be able come to life again as Sarah Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw. 

 

How there would always be time for her to get serious later.

 

I knew I had just emphasized to Bossman how odd I was for a teenager as we talked about how different Samantha and I were.  About how I loved the old black and white movies, the Art Deco glamour of the 30's; how I had dreamed of dancing with my future husband like Fred and Ginger in white hotel suites. 

 

I wanted to drink martinis like Myrna Loy and William Powell; live the life of a screwball heroine like Katharine Hepburn, wearing a gold lame gown cut on the bias, cavorting with Cary Grant, strolling along Fifth Avenue with my pet leopard.  All of these things I thought inordinately classy.

 

I had shown my aunt the 1995 publication of "The Rules," a dating bible which encouraged women to return to pre-feminist mind games by playing hard to get.  ("Don't stay on the phone for more than 10 minutes.. . .Even if you are the head of your own company……when you're with a man you like, be quiet and mysterious, act ladylike, cross your legs and smile.. . .Wear black sheer pantyhose and hike up your skirt to entice the opposite sex!")

 

But my aunt had discarded this with a curled lip and a few contemptuous comments.  At the same time, Samantha had once confided what she felt was her darkest secret to me after she’d had a little too much to drink at a family gathering; that she wouldn’t mind being a Maxim babe.  How odd was that? 

 

She knew the luscious babes on the cover of Maxim were supposed to be men's guilty fantasies, not their real girlfriends.  That although she knew she was now too old, she thought it would be kind of hot to be validated as a Maxim-type girl.  Maybe then she could get the Pamela Anderson “brand of approval” and find that “one” guy with whom to finally spend the rest of her life.  To me, these things seem inconsistent with her avowed feminism, but everyone gets to define the rules to their own game, so who was I to accuse her of hypocrisy? 

 

No one in our family though, ever thought she would find that one particular man. 

 

 

What was the point in satin and lace if it didn't make a man struggle to speak?

-Alexandra Ivy, in Embrace the Darkness

 

After exercising that first morning, I quickly cleaned up my cabin, made my bed and then took a shower after removing my collar and chain.  Coming out, I was just in time to see Dog Nose leaving the cabin.  Looking at The Bed, I saw a folded stack of lingerie with heels lying on top.  I slowed and then finally stopped short of the bed. 

 

My apprehension soared, my stomach flipped and it was immediately filled with acid-filed butterflies.  I felt my mind begin the process of shutting down and even though I fought to keep my wits about me, I moved now on autopilot.  God!  Why this?  Unbidden, an unwelcome thought entered my head and suddenly excluded all else: he must be first this morning. 

 

With this single thought dominating my mind, the images of what lay ahead took me to new lows of depression. 

 

Looking closer, I saw the color of the lingerie on The Bed was black and a totally extraneous thought flitted through my mind: somehow I instinctively knew he was the kind of man who would want me to wear a brighter colored lip gloss with what he had provided. 

 

I look around me and for the first time realize that the cabin feels drenched with pain, filled with the anguish of only God knows how many women.  Filled with a soul-searing depression, after staring at the floor for a moment, I knew I had to begin getting ready despite how that thought drove spikes through my heart.  I had to continually force myself to move.  I dried my hair quickly and then put lotion on my arms and legs.  Next, I began putting on makeup.  I had always been lucky in this and little was required.  A light skim of foundation, a touch of shadow on the eyelids and a dab of lip gloss, much as I hated it.  Finished, I reattached the slave collar around my neck and then brushed out my hair. 

 

Walking over to The Bed, I picked up the main garment I would be wearing; I shook it out uneasily and saw it was a sheer black babydoll top.  The cups designed to cradle my breasts were split in half horizontally.  The bottoms were made out of a sheer black material which while providing some small measure of support, did not hide my nipples or aureoles. 

 

The tops of each cup consisted only of three thin straps that ran vertically from the top half of the lower breast cup and met to form one strap three inches from where they had started.  It had thin lace straps going over my shoulders and which dropped down in front to meet the straps which supported the half cups.  From there, the babydoll was the standard piece that went down to just below my pubic area.

 

I put the top back down and picked up the garter belt.  It was black and had lace designs on the wide belt, while the garters themselves were fairly plain and without detail.  The main thing I noticed was that this garter belt had three garters to hold up each stocking, rather than the more normal two. 

 

I pursed my lips with reluctant purpose.  Stepping into the garter belt, I pulled it up around my waist and then tightened it a little.  It had been fitted for the average woman and my waist was more slender than that.  Next I shortened each garter to make sure there would be good tension on the top of my hose. 

 

I refused to think about what I was doing, my mind was blanked about the future.  My fingers shook a little and seemed to work fairly well on their own, without any commands from me.  It was as if I had no will of my own as I watched fingers belonging to someone else do these things, one after another. 

 

I then opened the package containing the stockings and shook them out.  The hose were black and very sheer, and had a slightly darker lacy, two-inch wide welt at the top inset with fine designs.  This in turn was topped by a one inch strip of an even darker but plainer lace of an even heavier weight.  I looked again to make sure that I had missed nothing and was not surprised to see that panties had not been provided for me to wear.

 

I sat down carefully on the edge of The Bed (the large piece of rubber still inside me demanded this caution) and rolled the stocking into a bunch in my hands as I had been taught, then lifted my right foot, reached down and inserted my arched toes into the hose.  The plug filling my lower colon made bending over difficult, but I found out later that, to the others, I managed to make even this simple act look elegant. 

 

Their comments did not later raise my spirits. 

 

Something within me began to collapse.  I folded inwards, became tiny, diminished.  The closer I was to being finished, the more my hands shook from apprehension and dread of what came next.  Forcing myself to work slowly and carefully to avoid snagging the hose, I pulled the stocking up my leg, first around my ankle and then up my calf.  Rocking my hands a little to get it over my calf and knee, and then using a gentler rocking/pulling motion after I had passed my knee, I finally got it all the way up on my thigh.  I stretched my leg out and tugged on the top of the nylon again to make sure I had it up as high on my thigh as I could get it.  Finally I fastened the three garters on my right side to the heavier lace top of my stocking, one garter at a time. 

 

Finished with my right leg, I began the same procedure with my left leg.  When both my legs were finally encased in the sheer nylons, I stood and tugged at the top each to ensure I had removed any wrinkles in the material.  When finished, I sat down again. 

 

I reached over and picked up the heels that had been provided by Dog Nose.  They were yet again another pair of strappy black sandals, but this time with five-inch stiletto heels.  There were two thin straps that crisscrossed over my toes and another strap that rose from around the side of the heels of my feet and which prevented me from slipping out of the sandals.  The straps around my heels were met in back by a thin ankle strap which then buckled around the front of my ankle and kept the sandals on my feet. 

 

They were very sexy and must have been both expensive and difficult for him to obtain.  I was also a little surprised overall at his choice of what he wanted me to wear; they were sexy, and while obviously expensive, still seemed cheap to me.  I’d sensed from the beginning that like all the others, he was a brutal and violent man, not sensitive at all.  Yet the lingerie were…not what I’d expected from him. 

 

As with my stockings and for the same reason, it was a little difficult to finally get my heels on my feet.  I struggled with them for a minute but finally I was ready.  The heels on the sandals were so tall, and I was just so unfamiliar with wearing extremely high heels that it took me a moment to be able to balance on them before I could move. 

 

After a little practice, I was finally able to walk over to the dresser and as I had been instructed, I faced away from it.  Keeping my legs apart and knees locked, I bent over from the waist and wrapped both of my hands around my right ankle.  Ignoring my unsettled stomach, shaking hands and slight tearing pain in my rectum, I slowly began to slide my hands up my leg, pushing any of the excess black nylon ahead of my hands, looking over my shoulder every now and then at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser to make sure that I wasn’t leaving any wrinkles or that my nylons were stretched or distorted in a way that caused either shadows or lighter or darker areas on my legs.  I found myself taking more time than usual to do this because I knew that Dog Nose liked my stockings to fit my legs perfectly, and for some unknown reason, it was important to me that my legs be flawless for him.  I had already suffered at his hands, and although I had no doubt would do so again very soon, I really did not want to give him additional motivation to hurt me. 

 

When my hands had finally slid to the top of my thigh, I unsnapped each garter one at a time and re-hooked it again after pulling my stocking up and pulling up any excess material from around my leg.  I then did this with my left leg.  While bent over I had kept my cheeks squeezed together to keep the plug in, but I eventually found this was really unnecessary since the hard rubber plug was tightly grasped by my anal sphincter.  This ensured that the hard rubber cylinder would never be accidentally expelled from inside me. 

 

Finished with my stockings, I stood up and took several deep breaths to calm myself. 

 

Heels and stockings now satisfactory, I slowly and carefully walked back to the side of The Bed.  Picking up the babydoll top, I hesitated.  It was as if by putting this lingerie on, I was irrevocably committing myself to following through with this part of the deal.  I knew I was already committed, but still, I wavered for another half minute. 

 

Finally, I took a deep breath, held it and then exhaled.  With that huff of air and despite my shore shoulders, I raised both arms to pull the lingerie over my head.  It first bunched over my breasts and then I tugged it on down to my waist.  Surprisingly well-designed, it immediately cupped and comforted my breasts, giving each a little support which I sorely appreciated. 

 

I tugged on the bottom of the babydoll and wiggled my hips, allowing it to settle snugly on my body.  I now went back to the mirror over my dresser and looked at myself as I adjusted my breasts to fit in the cups more comfortably. 

 

My slave collar matched my lingerie in color.  While I was embarrassed to be wearing something like this, a tiny, part of me seemed quite satisfied at how the babydoll top was tight over my breasts and hugged my flat belly beneath, emphasizing how my breasts jutted straight out from my rib cage.  I hated the irrational part of me that already seemed to have accepted my fate.  This was not right, this was not fair! 

 

Both my nipples and nipple rings were openly visible.  The top then tightly hugged my waist before it flared out over my hips, accenting my shape and finally ending about two inches below where my shaved vagina was still visible through the amazingly sheer material. 

 

It was not long enough however, to cover much of the tops of my stockings.  It was just long enough to slightly obscure a part of the welt at the top of my hose where they caressed the very tops of my thighs.  I stood a little over 6 feet tall in these heels and I was pretty sure I looked spectacular and sexy as hell---Guiltily, a fleeting thought flashed through my mind: that the men would be pleased as hell with the way I looked.  Startled, I suddenly hated that thought and yet took a tiny, perverse pleasure in it too.  I shook my head in an attempt to clear what had to be some of the most shockingly out-of-place thoughts I’d ever had. 

 

Taking several more deep breaths to calm my increasingly shaky nerves and shaking my head to get rid of the inappropriate thoughts I’d just had, I reluctantly picked up my nipple chain from the top of the dresser.  I ran it through my fingers a couple of times before acting.  Cupping my right breast in my right hand, I freed my breast from the half-cup by pulling down on the fabric with my left hand.  I quickly attached the chain to the ring in my right nipple, then pulled and eased my breast back into the meager support of the cup.  I freed my left breast from its tiny support and attached the remaining end of the chain to that nipple ring too.  After filling the empty sustaining cup with my left breast, I rearranged the nipple chain so that it hung symmetrically between my breasts. 

 

I looked at myself carefully and suddenly recognized I finished.  I was dressed.  Somehow I had done this without having any real memory of the act…and despite how naked as I might feel at this moment, there was nothing left for me to put on.  I looked at the clock on the wall, though absently--a girl who no longer had to worry about appointments.  I saw, but I had never seen.  Vaguely, I realized I had finished early. 

 

Unaccountably, the thought crossed my mind that he would be pleased. 

 

Walking over to the chair by the table, I gingerly sat down and waited for Dog Nose.  I noticed again how much I liked the tight, supporting feel of the stockings on my legs and the suddenly too-attractive whispery sounds they made as I walked---clearly, wearing hose which needed garters for support felt very different from the panty hose I was used to.  Unaccountably, and as crazy as it sounds, I found them an instant ego boost. 

 

It's hard to describe how they felt.  The best analogy I can describe is that it's sort of like having a second layer of skin.  They were tight on my legs, but I could still feel through them, almost as if I was bare.  They made my legs feel silky and soft.  But I have no doubt though, wearing the wrong size could be extremely uncomfortable and awkward.  I found the seam at the toe irritating, but I learned to make sure it was aligned with the tip of my toenails so that it didn’t push into my skin.  I had come to love them mentally, even if the physical practicality was absent. 

 

I knew too that wearing stockings like these back home would have left me feeling much more daring.  But they also left a girl much more open and sexually vulnerable—maybe that was what they were designed for?  In any case, more butterflies flew in my stomach and as I waited I took several more deep breaths in an attempt to center myself. 

 

I could already feel my mind close to disengaging.  What I was about to freely do would take me over the edge of a terrible new plateau--take me to a place which I’d never before been and had never before thought of going—that of willing participant rather than coerced victim.  Guiltily, I told myself again and again that I was a victim; that I would never have willingly wanted to go to this place.  Unfortunately, these assurances I gave myself did not make me feel much better.  Then I thought about my future once more and knew the men on this floating hellhole were bound to force me into a darkly veiled and terribly strange journey. 

 

It was obscene!!  I despised them…but the truth was….I despised myself too.  I now knew I was a truly weak person because I had capitulated to them, was willing to do or promise almost anything just to make the pain stop.  I closed my eyes, fought back tears.  Maybe I deserved this?  Certainly, I was pitiful because I also knew that by taking this next step, I could never go back.  It didn’t matter whether I’d been forced here or not.  What mattered was my free will; and if I did this willingly, no matter what the reason, I was lost.  But my family would be safe.  And in the end, that was all that mattered.

 

I prayed I would not vomit in sheer disgust while with the next man. 

 

I didn’t have too long to wait. 

 

 

In various states of undress, those about her joined in her fondling, lowering their mouths not only to her nipples but to her arms and legs, so that each limb was held captive about the wrist or ankle, and smothered in kisses and gentle nibbles.  In this way, perhaps eight of the assembly joined in pleasuring the young lady….

-Emmanuelle de Maupassant, in The Gentlemen's Club

 

Bossman walked promptly through the door just as the clock reached 9; the kidnapped girl leaped to her feet and assumed the posture of submission, a slave yielding to her master.  All of the men piled in behind him and looked at her in silence.  She obviously saw them out of the corner of her eye, for her beautiful face burned red with embarrassment, but as expected, she remained motionless.

 

Every man there immediately had the identical thought---this teenage girl was an absolutely magnificent sight; actually she was an exquisitely beautiful young woman wearing only that which is made to reveal, not to hide; that which is made to emphasize and to accentuate, not to conceal or help to remain undiscovered.  In both clothing and her posture, as unwilling as her presence might have been on this boat, everything screamed this girl was willingly….or unwillingly….presenting herself as a gift, making herself a present to all of the men in the cabin.

 

 

I looked up as Bossman cleared his throat and pointed to one man, “It’s time you actually meet the men who will be responsible for training you.  I may not always be here.  You don’t need to know their real names, but you may call him “Jorge”.  He’ll act as me in my absence.”

 

Dog Nose, I thought to myself.  He was carrying a couple of things in a bag and held it by his side.

 

“Enrique.”  Elvis.  He’s the one that took me in the rear the first time.  He hurt me and in my naiveté, I looked at him coldly.  I did not yet really understand the power he still had over me. 

 

Regardless of how he had treated me, I tended to see Jorge and Enrique in my mind as a pair. 

 

“Manuel.”  Number Three.  The bastard.  He’s The Evil One who took me from the back when I was standing, but tied so that I was bent over for him.  He’s the one who liked to use clamps on my breasts and who put the steel bar on the top of my feet---the metal piece that just about crushed my feet.  I looked at him carefully, neutrally; he was dangerous!  The sick, perverted bastard!

 

“And Roberto.”  Number Four.  I quickly glanced at him and then looked away.  I later found out he took this glance as a sign of fear.  A much bigger bastard than the rest, he’s the worst by far.  He’s the worst of all, he’s The Demon.  This is the one who made me wear the leather hood; who bound me and tied my ankles to the back of my thighs and lowered me onto that awful piece of wood.  This is one who made me want to die.  This is the one who is the most dangerous of all.  Him, I fear. 

 

These last two sadistic perverts were also of a kind….

 

 

I knew from my experiences over the last couple of days that Enrique and Jorge would probably use me hard sexually---and a small part of my mind unexpectedly understood I had no say in that, but that it was okay. 

 

What the hell??

 

Only nineteen years old and inexperienced at life, I was still doing my best to figure it all out.  These last two seemed to be of average intelligence and of normal desires.  And while exceedingly rough, I didn’t think they really wanted to hurt me as much as just enjoy all the sex they could with me.  I regretted it, but my karma was such that it would be I who assisted these two in their efforts.  These were men who in my previous life, I would have never even had known existed, let alone have associated with.  But yet, as a woman, I was pretty sure I understood them.

 

The Demon and The Evil One on the other hand—these were mean-hearted men, pure and simple.  They didn’t seem very smart, just brutal.  They liked having a woman to subjugate.  They liked hurting women.  Not for training and certainly not to punish for having done wrong,  But because hurting women made them feel good---it made them feel strong--it gave them a sense of power and purpose that was otherwise missing from their pitiful lives. 

 

A stray thought from my subconscious surfaced; I knew I didn’t understand their feelings towards women and I wondered if there was anything that I could do that might help them see women in a better light? 

 

I almost smiled at the idiocy of that thought.  Shaking my head, I reminded myself I had to remain focused here---these stupid extraneous thoughts would be my doom if I wasn’t careful.  And besides, they would be taking from me the only thing men like these ever wanted from a woman.

 

 

I knew that while it would take luck and all of my willpower, I could probably physically and mentally survive anything Enrique and Jorge did to me.  I thought these two could be manipulated; after all, they just wanted sex with me.  I couldn’t believe it was me thinking like this; that if I was right, that if I willingly gave them as much sex as they wanted, everything would be okay.  Sure, I’d be their whore, but that was all that they’d get from me.  And in the process, I might be able to turn one of them into if not a friend, then at least someone who might be a little sympathetic to my situation.

 

But even though there were times that I felt an odd, gentle compulsion to cooperate with them, The Evil One and The Demon still scared me too much.  I could see them getting too excited, getting carried away and perhaps maiming me, maybe accidentally killing me.  That Bossman would probably kill them in turn didn’t seem to enter into their small minds, nor did it give me much consolation. 

 

They scared me.  I hoped that if Bossman ever left, Jorge could stand up to them.  I knew that if necessary, I was willing give both support and strength to Jorge, in any way he needed.  In any way. 

 

With more than a sudden tinge of panic, I pushed that inappropriate thought away.  What was the matter with me?

 

Bossman continued, “At all times, you will call each of these men your Master when in their presence.  You will always treat them with the respect you give to me.  Today each man will be responsible for part of your training.  They will emphasize humility, submission and absolute obedience, various sexual techniques and tolerating pain.  Beginning tomorrow and from that point on, you’ll be expected to share any and all of this training with each man, at his command.”

 

I closed my eyes for a second to blot the scene from my mind.  I want to shout at him, at them, but I didn’t.  I can’t move; my lips won’t form words.  My mouth opens, then closes.  I swallow; I’m underwater, I can’t breathe.  This was sort of what I had expected, but the reality was still stunning, nonetheless.  In fact, given the way the last few days had gone, I had in fact been expecting it—I had been dreading it.

 

He then turned and said, “Jorge, I don’t know how you do it, but you choose things for women to wear that make them more beautiful than life itself.  But with this one, you have outdone yourself.  Do as good job as her instructor.” 

 

And with that all of the men except Jorge left the cabin. 

 

 

Bossman went up on deck and laid in a deck chair in order to get some early morning sun and sea breeze.  While he had positioned himself near a porthole into the cabin and could well hear what went on below, in reality he was deep in thought, remembering how his life had ultimately led to this. 

 

His mother had been a strange woman, in many ways much ahead of her time in the islands.  However, on the downside, she’d also named him Wolfgang Bernhard Spring for Christ’s sake, after Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the writer of Faust.  She’d loved to read Faust and even had memorized longs sections of it. 

 

He’d loved his mother, but that didn’t prevent him from realizing that she might have been a little insane.  And even though in school he went by “Wolf”, his full name was one that was difficult to live down in the islands.  There had been many fights, but he’d survived…..

 

 

Jorge waited until the men had left, deposited the bag he had been carrying by the chair and then walked over to where the girl was still standing, her posture seemingly making it clear she had in fact yielded herself to another.  He reached out and gently lifted her chin in order to look at her, she flinched only a little at his touch. 

 

 

Acceptance is not submission; it is acknowledgement of the facts of a situation.  Then deciding what you're going to do about it.

-Kathleen Casey Theisen

 

Jorge surprised me when he said, “M, our relationship, its different now from before.  This morning, today, we start over.”

 

“First thing,” he said, “you okay?  You look half dead.”

 

My first response was to look at him as if he were crazy!  What the hell did he even mean by asking me that question?  My second instinct was to think how inappropriate his question was.  Somehow I mumbled a reply, but even thirty seconds later I couldn’t remember what I said.  I assume it had been something trivial and flip, something unassured, something totally venal, something a slave said to the man acting in place of her master. 

 

I was glad though, the exchange soon trailed away first into banalities and then into oblivion.  I glanced own at my hands and concentrated until the quivering stopped.  Truly, how fucked up was it if I could not identify my emotions and keep them in check?  Taking a deep breath, I held it for a moment and then exhaled. 

 

I raised my eyes, looked at him and then lowered them again to gaze at my feet.  I knew this may have come off as a little overtly coquettish, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

 

Jorge reached over to me and raised my face to look at him.  He was about six feet tall, but in my heels I was able to look him directly in the eyes.  I carefully kept my eyes blank as he leaned forward and kissed me fully on the mouth.  His odor wasn’t strong as it might have been, his breath not as bad as could have been.  I was surprised at this and although I knew I didn’t dare be overtly rude to any of the men, I still pulled back from him a little. 

 

In response to my move, he leaned in even further, ending it by letting his body rest against mine, touching me from thighs to groin to breasts.  I was trapped, and then he kissed me even more deeply.  My stomach flipped then, but somehow I forced myself to remain motionless.

 

For some odd reason, I was the one who felt embarrassed for him. 

 

Pulling back, he said, “Woman, you have the soft mouth and men like that.  But you need to learn how to kiss a man, how to please a man with your mouth.  Right now, you kiss like you drive the trucks for a living.  We will start slowly today and you’ll concentrate on learning how to use what God gave you and which will ever put a man in your hands.” 

 

“Except us, of course.”  And he smiled.

 

I looked at him in surprise.  Totally inexperienced, I felt I had never been much good at kissing and so had convinced myself I didn’t enjoy it, but he seemed to like kissing me.  It would take a miracle for me to respond in kind. 

 

“I am going to teach you how to kiss, how to put your arms around a man and make his whole world seem like it revolves around you.  Your body is perfect and you look like you should be Helen of Troy.”

 

Since I had finally capitulated to Bossman and his crew, Jorge’s demeanor seemed to have totally changed.  His voice, his manner, his affect, all were different from before.  It was like he was a different man.  I was amazed.  He sounded like a third-world college professor, almost courtly and dignified. 

 

But while I had realized that our relationship had changed, I still did not understand that the context of our relationship had also been modified.  On the other hand, what he didn’t understand was that under my compliant exterior, I still had the urge to castrate him with a dull spoon if ever given the opportunity.

 

“And then I will be teaching many other things too.  When you and I are finished, you will be a magnificent acquisition for any man.”

 

And with that last, I came back to earth with a thud.  I didn’t trust him at all, but I’d still almost gotten lost in his voice and his eyes.  I felt the stirrings of panic because I’d…..I’d just wanted to lose myself in them for some reason! 

 

He wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but he wasn’t bad looking either.  He was in good shape, he’d shaved this morning and his teeth and breath were okay.  But it was in his voice and eyes that he had his major weapons, and I’d begun to get lost in them. 

 

That would not happen again, I vowed to myself.

 

He began to lead me to the chair and it was then he noticed my gait was rather stilted and I moved my hips moved both sparingly and tightly.  When he asked me why, I told him about the black rubber plug I still had inside me.  Jorge immediately told me to go into my bathroom and “…remove the contemptible thing”. 

 

“One of your beauty,” he declared to me, “should not be forced to prostitute yourself like that.” 

 

Hardly believing my ears, I went quickly into the bathroom and gingerly removed the plug.  I was finally getting used to its size and could not believe how empty its removal made me feel---but I was glad to have it out.  I also was thankful to him for letting me remove it in the privacy of the bathroom, rather than out in the cabin.  The gaping emptiness left behind took some time getting used to. 

 

 

Because arrogance is born in personal vanity, arrogant people are driven without mercy.  They can never get enough power to fill the soul's needs or enough respect to overcome the fear that they deserve less than they are getting.

-Lewis B. Smedes, in Love Within Limits

 

Up on deck, Wolf thought back to the time that it had started for him.  Long ago, as a gangly teen, he’d been devastated by a youngish white woman that had visited his island and then left.  She was older than he, just starting her career as a CPA working for a large corporation in the US.  She’d come into his life first as a visitor to his island, then into his village and home and finally into his bed and his heart.  In the space of three short weeks she’d conquered him. 

 

They’d spent every waking moment of every day together.  He thought she’d loved him and he knew he’d loved her.  They’d talked about their future and what they would do together.  He’d go to school and they’d live here in paradise where everything was cheap and they’d raise a large family. 

 

But when her vacation ended, she’d left.  Worse, she’d mocked him, his home and his mother.  She’d frankly told him she could never, would never consider living here with him and that she had a career of which to think.  She’d let him know that it had been difficult at times to not betray her mirth at him.  As a matter of fact, she’d assured him, he was laughed at a lot by the people who surrounded him.  The worst was when she told him that “…she could never be seen with him in New York or LA or anywhere else that was civilized, not the way he looked.” 

 

He’d never forgiven her the pain she had caused him.  Years later when he’d finally gotten his degree in psychology, he understood her…and himself.  He found he actually did not like women very much.  In fact, as he delved deeper into his own psyche, he began to find things that were not particularly accepted by society. 

 

What he found out about himself was that he was hardwired for sexual sadism.  He was aroused by women’s suffering, not necessarily physical torment, but their emotional suffering, psychological suffering.  Humans, he learned, in general always found some sort of bondage and submission to be sexually arousing to them.  It pushed the sexual arousal systems in the brain; blood pressure went up, hearts began to beat faster and a dopamine surge flooded the brain as the arousal level increased with the novelty of the situation. 

 

He took the things he had learned about himself and about others, and filed it all under future interests.  But he never forgot the woman…..  And as he began to accumulate wealth, he had a private detective look her up.  She was still somewhat attractive, but he saw she’d done him a favor by leaving him.  However, he still burned with anger at what she’d done and he vowed he’d look until the day he died for a way to hurt her as she’d hurt him. 

 

This much he believed to be true and he had found it out over thirty years ago: life sucks, and when your heart gets shredded—if not completely calcified---then you die. 

 

That is, of course, unless someone offers you a new start at the precise moment in which the darkness allows you to totally re-think your moral code.  That was when he had been taken in by the “Old Man”.  It was he who had taught Wolf how to do what he did, how to observe and to plan, how to make back-up plans for back-up plans, and most of all, how to safely sell white flesh. 

 

It was the winners that wrote history and the winners that defined morality.  There were no bad guys, any more than there were good guys.  There were only smart people, and stupid ones; puppets and puppet masters.  And those who controlled their emotions.  Morals were all to be taken in context, he thought to himself, and he’d never looked back.

 

 

When I finally returned from the bathroom, Jorge led me by the hand to the chair and after he sat down, he motioned me to sit on his lap.  When I did, he reached up and turned my face to his.

 

“We are going to work on how you kiss, be it man or woman.  This is a time of gentleness, a time of tenderness, above all, a time to be slow.  Slowly lick your lips for me.”

 

I did as ordered.

 

 

Bossman was thinking about his plans to conquer and subjugate the girl once known as Victoria, and he took a moment to play them back in his mind.  Submission as freedom, thirst as desire.  For the first four days, he’d played her like an instrument, gently caressing the notes at first, then building towards a frenzied crescendo. 

 

She’d been consumed, and I had worshipped my prey. 

 

“Damn,” he wondered out loud, “where did that last shit come from?”

 

Somewhere deep in hell Wolfgang Goethe was laughing his fat ass off.  Wolf thought of the girl and, although he was not sure how it had happened, he knew he now looked at her as something more than just new meat to be sold.  Despite this realization, he was also determined he would own her body and her soul before he left the boat.  He would bind her soul to him.  Forever. 

 

And even though in a way he’d become one of those men he most despised—weak and emotional; a hawk, or better yet, a wolf who had begun to feel just the slightest pity for his quarry---at the same time he would do anything necessary and nothing would sidetrack him from the pursuit and total domination of every part of the blonde teenager he now controlled.

 

 

Surrender to your fear so you may triumph over it.  Choose me, open you soul to me, and embrace the Devouring.

-Simon Holt, in The Devouring

 

I no longer looked at these men as perverts.  That was old thinking, thinking in which I could no longer afford to indulge myself. 

 

Jorge took my hand and caressed it.  He leaned towards me and said, “When you kiss me, put your hands first on my chest.  Lean in to me and softly pull me towards you with your eyes.  Slowly, looking into my eyes, turn your head slightly and press your lips against mine.  Close your eyes.” 

 

He whispered in my ear, “Be a woman for once, not a callow teenager.  A woman of passion.  After a moment, open your lips slightly and invite me in, slowly, using your tongue as a welcome.  Breathe when he breathes and softly explore your partner’s mouth as he explores you.  Take your time.  There is plenty of time.  There is always plenty of time to make the love correctly.”

 

I was amazed.  This man had been so brutal with me two days ago and had seemed like the worst sort of pig.  Now he seemed like he was one of the worlds most experienced and tender lovers.  For some reason, as much as this surprised me, it gave me a quick, fuzzy good feeling.  He hadn’t used the word bitch, cunt, whore, or slut one time and it seemed like he’d morphed into a new personality with totally different mood and vocabulary—a persona much more suited for the language of training in love.  But what truly amazed me was this morning he acted like what he’d done to me over the last few days hadn’t happened---it seemed like he really thought we were starting over fresh—with no history between us.  My lips thinned and I smiled a predator’s smile. 

 

I shook my head to clear it; it seemed more and more like strange thoughts just kept intruding into my consciousness, without warning.  But at the same time, I was also aware that I didn’t want to delay anything and offend Jorge by making it seem that I didn’t take him seriously.

 

I took a couple of deep breaths, talked to myself, anything to build my courage and to give myself time to remember what he’d said.  Finally ready, I leaned forward into him.  His left hand was around my waist while his right hand slowly slid up from the inside of my right knee to the top of my thigh and then back down, always caressing me, always appreciating the slickness of my nylon-clad skin. 

 

I wanted to please him, so I slowly kissed him as I thought he’d instructed, taking care to use my tongue in what I thought was a sexy and enticing way…..

 

Suddenly, he pushed me back and said, “No, no, no!  I said use your tongue to entice him to you, not like a matador using his sword to kill the bull.  Slowly, softly, with tenderness and much anticipation.  Again!” 

 

I closed my eyes, took several deep breaths through my nose to settle my stomach.  I swallowed, gulping down my fear, then did it again.  After a short hesitation, I concentrated on slowly leaning into Jorge again, this time proceeding much more easily and with what appeared to be much more eager tenderness barely controlling my desire.  His hand resumed its caresses of my thigh and after a moment, it slowly explored upwards until it could go no further.  There he lightly probed the increasing wetness that was me.

 

Suddenly, he pushed me back again and said, “You little vixen.  That last, it had more than a little promise in it.  Oh, you are a very bad girl!  Or a very quick student.  Which is it?”

 

I was surprised to feel myself breathing faster than normal, feeling a touch of pleasure at his pleasure.  But at the same time I knew that this was not what I wanted and certainly was not what I’d expected.  I was certainly unprepared to answer his accusation.  I reminded myself again that I would not, must not lose control.  This man, this situation was not to be trusted.

 

“I must decide,” he said as he pulled me towards him for a third time, like a child testing candy in a candy store.  Slowly, he kissed me again and we both held it as our mouths and tongues met.  His hand was now between my legs and I found to my surprise that without being aware of doing so, I had willingly spread my thighs for him.  He softly explored me with his hand as our mouths became more familiar with each other. 

 

We kissed slowly and softly.  I didn’t want to, but we did.  Amazed, I found myself holding on to him, leaning into him and….opening myself to him.  He continually touched me as we kissed, running his hands over my thighs, between my thighs and then up my belly where he would cup and caress my breasts.  As I sat in his lap, I could feel his erection pressing into my thigh.  I was breathing more heavily now, but his control amazed me.  It was mine which concerned me. 

 

Finally, Jorge put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away, more back on his knee.  And then his hand went back to stroking my thighs and vagina.  He looked at me for a second and took a deep breath, “Today you begin your training in learning how to bring pleasure to men.  You are a very sensual woman, more so than you realize, and already I know from last night that you enjoy the sex.  That part will be easy for you.  It is surprising how many women find that part difficult after we have taken them, but for you that will not be the problem.  There will be some hard lessons for you to learn and there will be some maybe not so bad…..much of your training will be physical.  But you’re a big girl and will be able to handle the pain of the discipline, of this I am sure.”

 

I looked away from Jorge as he said this.  I’d just changed my mind even as his hand continued exploring my body---I wouldn’t use a dull spoon to castrate him---but rather, I’d use a weed eater on him.  On all of them.  Although I had known that my life would be totally different once I committed to them, I hadn’t really had the time to think through many of the details yet.  His talk frightened me and his hand between my legs---the pleasure it brought frightened me too as it continued to do what it had been doing for so long.

 

 

It is easy to reform a woman's character once she is in the collar

-John Norman, in Vagabonds of Gor

 

“Much of your training’” Jorge continued, “Will be learning how to leave aside your wants and needs, learning how to not only accept pain, but to actually need it, to desire it in order to let it define who you really are on the inside.  I have taken women like you for over thirty years, and I know you better than you know yourself, girl.  And what I know right now is that eventually you’ll learn to absorb what we give to you.  Discipline, punishment, is essential in helping a pleasure slave like you get to better know your Master.  You will learn to take in the pain offered by your Master, because you will finally figure out that by doing this…that is what will please your Master.  From this point on, for the rest of your life, giving your Master pleasure is what will give you pleasure.  Remember this!  And if his bringing you a little pain is the price to pay to make him happy, then you will learn to pay it gladly.  That is a slave’s discipline.  A good, trained pleasure slave that is truly submissive always wants to please her Master.  Once you learn this, it will make you happy, it will make you whole—you will surprise yourself in this, I have no doubt.”

 

His damnable hand had never stopped the whole time he talked.  But what he said frightened me even more his touching me.  I had thought at first he reminded me of my grandfather—I blushed at the thought of making love to the old man who had died so long ago.  But as Jorge talked, my reality came back to crush me and I knew I had been fooling myself with this man.  He was not necessarily a cruel man, but he was willing to use cruelty to achieve his goals.  The odd thing was that part of me had already known this--that this was acceptable to me. 

 

Right now, I knew that I was his goal.  He had an agenda from which he had never swerved; making me the trained property of another man.  While charming now, he would do anything necessary in order to turn over a finished product to my new Master. 

 

Me?  I vowed I would work to acquire the polish on the outside he wanted me to have, but I would also never change on the inside where the true “me” existed.

 

Jorge interrupted my train of thought, “The Master/slave relationship is not what you might have thought it to be.  Fiction is always less interesting and more mundane than reality.  There are many types of Masters.  Some actually own their females, as your Master does.  Others develop an equitable relationship in which each voluntarily pleases the other.  It’s like a day job.  They live their lives, then come together when it pleases them.  Some Masters are drawn to this life because they like to give pain exclusively, others are more interested in the give and take aspects of a relationship which is in every way normal except for the boundaries to which both have agreed.”

 

Jorge looked at me and shook his head.  “As a purchased pleasure slave, yours will not be a consensual relationship.  You will be kept by your Master wherever and however he chooses to keep you.  You will no doubt however, eventually develop a relationship with him.  All good Masters learn what their slaves are like and use that understanding to strengthen their relationship.  I guarantee you are going to a good owner.  This not a man given to random brutality.”

 

Jorge’s hand continued to stroke the inside of my thigh and to play with my clitoris.  I closed my eyes and leaned in towards him.  Although in my mind I didn’t want it to be this way, I was wet between my legs for him and a dark part of me whispered that this was as it should be.  The more he fuzzed my clitoris, the more bothered I became.  This was not the way an almost virginal freshman college girl acts, I thought to myself, one who had been forcibly brought here only a few short days ago.  What had happened to me?

 

Jorge’s voice broke into my meditations, “Once a slave and her Master have been together a little while, they will develop a relationship that is unique to them.  I will tell you this now; I will be watching how you handle yourself with the men on this boat.  That will be a sign as to how you will be with your Master.”

 

“But I warn you!  Soon, you will come to think you know us.  And you will think that to know us is to be able to take….liberties.” 

 

Jorge had seemed to have difficulty in finding the right word.  “You are immature.  Believe it or not, you will soon adjust to the routine that is laid out for you here; you will become….if not comfortable…at least familiar….with the situation, and eventually you will come to think it will be okay to play silly games to fool us.  Maybe act a little challenging or even a little spoiled---for that is what you are now.  You come from a privileged background, you are pampered and spoiled.  That all ends now!  You may fool us some of the time, but you won’t be able to fool us all of the time.” 

 

“The relationship between a submissive pleasure slave and her Master should never be reduced to games by the willfulness of a child.  There will come a time when you not only won’t be afraid of being hurt, but you will seek out discipline.  I guarantee it!  When this time comes and you need attention, then you will ask your Master.  If you need to feel the pain, if you need the discipline from your Master, then let him know!  He will decide if what you have is a need or a desire, and then he’ll choose whether or not to fulfill it as he desires.  That is the key thing, doing things as he desires.  I repeat, do not play games with your Master. 

 

“Now, my dear M,” he said in a soft voice, “we are going to change directions here for a moment.  You’ve been bad, most bad; a very willful girl who has not been following my orders at all.  You do know you need discipline, to be punished?”

 

I almost shook my head in bewilderment; I felt I had entered some sort of alternate reality.  It was like he had gone into some sort of RPG, a Role-Playing-Game or something.  He had assumed yet another persona.  Truly at a loss, I felt like a character out of an awful movie as I replied, “Master, I have done everything you have asked me to do.  Why do I need to be punished?”

 

Jorge grinned as he ran his hand over my right knee, his hand apparently reveling in the slippery feel of my leg.  He grudgingly admitted, “Well, maybe you haven’t been too bad, but you still need to be disciplined before we go any further.  Stand up and lay down over my lap.”

 

I had done nothing wrong!  I looked at him, “I…over your lap, Master?”

 

“Do not make my repeat myself, slave.  Over my lap---NOW!”

 

Hurriedly, I stood up and then laid myself over both of his knees with my head to his left.  I looked up at him with questioning eyes.  With that, Jorge reached down and pulled a small riding crop out of the sack and put it next to him.  My stomach flipped as he reached down with his hands and brought both of my wrists up high behind my back.  He was able to then pin both of my wrists together and hold them with only his left hand.

 

I let my head drop.  I was looking down at the floor when Jorge gave me a light smack on the buttocks with his right hand.  I yelped and jumped with surprise at the soft blow.  I also intuitively knew it was not one meant to hurt me, but rather was a warm up, a taste of what was to come.  It was something to focus my mind. 

 

 

Jorge slowly ran his hand over the cheeks of the girl’s ass and thought to himself how truly beautiful she was.  He’d been in a bar one night following her in Cancun when he’d overheard one woman remark to another that this one had an ass like a horse.  It was not meant as an insult in the islands, but a compliment.  Her ass truly was gorgeous to see, and he felt privileged to be able to see her naked like this. 

 

He continued running his hand over her body, beginning at the back of her left thigh just above her knee and slowly sliding his hand up the back of her stockinged leg until he reached her ass.  He felt her relax at his touch, at which point he spanked her again.  This time he hit her hard enough to leave a small red mark.  She made no sound this time, but just jumped on his lap again.

 

Now he put his right hand between her legs from the back and cupped her vagina for a moment, after which he took his middle finger and slowly inserted it in her asshole, where he left it for a second.  The fit was rather loose because of the butt plug she had been wearing.  To him, a not very inviting entry into her body which had been artificially enhanced.  Still, this was not her, it was what they had done to her. 

 

Then he pulled his finger out of her body as his hand wandered back down the inside of her thigh and back up, all the while moving in slow, caressing motions.  When he next hit her ass, he used a lot more force and she cried out in shock and real pain this time.  She turned her bewildered face back up to him, but still never tried to get off of his lap.  He liked the fact that she submitted to this as he desired—it showed much promise for her.

 

“M, my dear,” he purred, “You are just in the beginning of the training.  I know you want me to stop.  But why on earth would I want to make the stop now?” 

 

She did not reply, but just let her head hang down and looked at the floor again.  He watched closely as she blinked away tears. 

 

Finally, after five minutes of spanking her with his hand alternating with caressing her lower body, he picked up the riding crop once more.  The next blow to her ass brought her head up with a real scream of pain and more tears in her eyes.

 

She still lay on his lap without any struggles, but she now shook her head ‘no’ and was vocal.  “Please, Master,” she begged, “you’re hurting me.  Please.  Please.”

 

Jorge replied, “You knew exactly what I was talking about when we talked about discipline.  You will lay here and accept what your Master tells you need.  If you fail here, you will be put back at the beginning and be treated even more harshly.  You well know, in your mind, that if you try to escape the cane, you will only wind up paying a heavier price in the end.” 

 

And with this he laid into her again.  This time, the crop left a sharp red welt across both of the cheeks of her ass and evoked an involuntary scream of pain accompanied this time by another arch of her body on his lap.  As she looked up at him this time, unshed tears sparkled in her eyes.

 

 

This went on for another ten minutes.  Jorge continued to keep my wrists pinned high on my back with his left hand, while with his right he either used the crop on me or put it down and stroked my body.  He hit me on my lower back, my rear and on the backs of my upper thighs just above where my stockings ended. 

 

Once he even laid the crop parallel to the crack of my ass and then slapped my tender anus.  I couldn’t help myself---I howled and arched up that time, making my highest bow yet on his lap before I could control the pain and my emotions, before I finally lay back down again.  Every now and then he would stop and stroke the back my legs, fondle my vagina or slowly stick a finger inside me from the rear.  These moments when I knew that his free hand was otherwise occupied with my body brought gasps of relief from me.

 

With every stroke of the crop, my head would arch up and despite my determination to not do so, I finally begged him to stop. “Oh God.  Ohmygod.  Owowow!  Owww.  Please, Master.  Ooowww.  Oh God, it hurts.  Please.  Stop.” 

 

But he would not. 

 

 

Towards the end, she had fallen somewhat off of his lap and more onto his knees.  Her buttocks now were a uniform rosy red offset nicely by a series of slightly darker red welts that would look unsightly for a day and then disappear.  But what Jorge found amusing was that when he had begun using the crop in earnest, her pelvis had almost immediately begun writhing on his lap.  And by the end of the spanking, by the end of being disciplined, she was unconsciously grinding her pelvis into his right knee in a slow, rhythmic, totally sensual way.  His erection was remarkable.  He felt like he was forty-five again!

 

 

For me, the spanking at first did not cause much pain.  But it truly embarrassed me.  I felt there was really something wrong with being spanked as an adult; yet I could see where the idea of that wrongness was somehow at the same time also deliciously erotic---it somehow pleased my Master and this was supposed to make me feel good.  I accepted the concept that my submission to the pain he brought me was what was what gave him pleasure.  Now I just had to accept the reality. 

 

I didn’t necessarily enjoy the pain, but at the same time I honestly couldn’t help but enjoy the way he explored my body as he spanked me. 

 

It was here also I found a new understanding of myself; I discovered I had the ability to somehow separate my body from my mind.  I discovered my body’s natural responses to a physical stimulus (his hand between my legs) were entirely acceptable to Jorge.  But more important to me, I found there was a part of me which was able to step back and look at everything objectively….a part which never seemed to lose control? 

 

A part of me still rebelled.  If I was ever to beat these men, I would have to make sure I never lost control again.  I may never escape them, but that didn’t mean I would always be at their mercy either.

 

However, these semi-erotic feelings fled when Jorge finally began to lay into me in earnest with his riding crop.  He would hit me and then wait, sometimes touching my body, other times he would not wait.  At the end, I was begging him for real to stop hitting me.  I hated being spanked like this, but Jorge’s words went round and round in my head.  Even though I had been specifically warned about false behavior, I knew now I would have to learn to pretend to like being hit this way just for my Master’s pleasure. 

 

While it was my rational mind that told me to eventually begin grinding myself into Jorge’s knee to distract him a little, my mistake had been in not realizing how good too, it would feel to me.

 

 

Up on deck, Wolf, Captain Luv, listened to Jorge work with the victim previously named Victoria and he was pleased.  He grinned to himself; while she could fight it all she wanted, the girl’s submissive genes were dominant.  He’d felt for a long time that this one’s make-up would drift that way. 

 

She’d make a beautiful prize when completely trained.

 

 

In the end, all I knew was that my ass hurt, my pussy was wet, and I didn’t care who knew.  Jorge may have been over fifty while I was only nineteen, but I knew my body had still responded to his stimuli just as we both had known it would.  I knew without a doubt my mother and aunt would have screamed their horrified disapproval of my actions, but at that point I just did not care. 

 

Jorge too must have felt much the same way, because after another five minutes of spanking, he finally gently pushed me away from him and off of his lap.  With difficulty he stood up and led me to The Bed. 

 

“You,” he said, “are already unclothed.  You will please to undress me.”

 

I hesitated for moment until I understood I had no real other options.  With that understanding, I began to unbutton his shirt.  When done, I helped him take it off.  Then I unzipped his pants and unsnapped them, letting them drop to the floor around his ankles.  I knelt and removed them from him along with his sandals.  I sniffed; he was old, but did not smell old.

 

My mind was filled with a rushing sound.  It was blank, I had no thoughts.  My body was working on trained reactions alone.  Standing up, I slowly inserted my fingers around the tops of his underwear and tugged them down over his hips, letting them drop to the floor.  I had gone into a slight crouch to remove his underwear.  As I let go of his underwear and stood upright, I noticed my right hand trailed “accidentally” over his erection—the touch between us was electric. 

 

He stepped out of his briefs and then led me towards the side of The Bed.

 

 

Having watched the news that morning, Bossman was on the verge of regretting somewhat his decision to give the new girl the TV.  He’d watched the coverage of M’s kidnapping and with a little surprise realized it seemed to stay in the headlines rather more than he’d anticipated. 

 

Much of this was due to M’s photogenic Aunt Samantha.  The woman was extremely attractive and media savvy, and a real pain in the ass.  Driven by love in this crusade, she was determined to recover her missing niece.  If M were ever to become aware of Samantha’s inordinate ability to play the media and keep them focused on her, he feared this might slow her learned responses to his training regime. 

 

He’d watched Samantha on numerous television interviews and had finally begun to get a handle on her.  When giving television interviews, he knew that here was a woman who was fully—he might even say gleefully aware--of how she changed a room when she walked into it. 

 

Tall and lean in a designer jeans sort of way, blessed with the grace of a dancer, long blonde hair flowing in liquid billows that somehow achieved slow motion even as you watched, explosively kinetic green eyes which appeared to run in the family and flirtatious lips that appeared equally comfortable with a coy grin or a pensive pout. 

 

Her lips were what ordinary men saw when their dreams crossed over the line from legal to illegal, naturally swollen with a pouty attitude and framed with dimples that misled you to believe in a sweetness somewhere underneath. 

 

But here was a strong woman too, not a sweet one.  Most painfully beautiful women are anything but complicated.  But Samantha was.  She was a walking enigma.  When on Cancun before finally taking M, he’d had the older woman investigated thoroughly along with the remainder of M’s family. 

 

As a result, he knew she was far too dangerous to attempt acquisition, so he’d reluctantly given up on Victoria’s Aunt Samantha.  But M must never know that much of his threat to her family was bluff or he would lose the leverage he continued to need for her initial training.  But he thought to himself, once he’d had M for a month, she would be his for good and he wouldn’t need any extra leverage after that.

 

This Samantha is a dangerous woman to us, he thought to himself.  A dangerous man filled with machismo himself, it pained Captain Luv to have to admit any woman might have bested him in any aspect of life.  Still, he thought he understood the aunt’s motives.  Although he had experienced it himself only fleetingly a long time ago, a smart man realizes the strength of love as a motivator. 

 

There were many different kinds of love; sappy love, romantic love, flippantly misrepresented love (“I love ice cream!”) and there was lust.  But in these modern days, rarely is love considered as a galvanizer, as a world-changer, as a bond or a purpose or as a belief.  However, history showed that the great people, the ones who are remembered, are almost never motivated by self-interest or even pride, but rather are often motivated by love to do great things. 

 

Through it all, he knew this aunt lived for her niece, the young girl getting fucked half to death at this moment in the bowels of his boat.  This aunt was the one who had kept the girl’s story alive on TV and in the newspapers.  M was her motivation and her purpose.  He repeated to himself indulgently, this aunt is a dangerous woman to us.  She is strong; what a great acquisition she would be despite her advanced age. 

 

But he knew that that would never happen.  What you could not have, you wanted to possess. 

 

Maybe go a different route?  Bodies were always available here in the islands or South America, at least for the right price.  Find a young white girl who had died of natural causes and substitute that body for his captive’s.  Some blurry photos, a few bribes to police and some data substitutions in the decrepit forensic labs on one of the islands, and the DNA would be proclaimed as Victoria’s.  Tell the family and that fucking bulldog Samantha that the body was too badly decomposed to keep and had been cremated. 

 

Rather simple really, even if not totally believable.  But it would be enough to sidetrack the hounds.  And with that, he put the aunt out of his mind. 

 

 

All that can be said is that Jorge was in surprisingly good shape.  While he was not as large as Wolf, he was hard and ready to take the girl with what he knew was far more than enough to do the job.  Helping her onto the bed, Jorge slowly got on his knees beside her; she on her back and he down by her feet.  Glancing down, he saw that her painted toenails were visible through her sheer black hose---for some reason he absolutely loved that look. 

 

He slowly reached down and picked up her left foot.  He had been stroking her legs for what seemed forever, but now Jorge wanted to see if there were any spots on her legs that were sensitive to a man’s touch.  Gently slipping his hand around her ankle, he undid the buckles of her shoe and let it drop to the bed. 

 

He’d always loved small, dainty feet, especially on big women.  He looked at her foot and then bent down and planted his lips on her sole.  M squirmed, not in discomfort, but he kissed her foot even harder.  In his mind, he admitted that the feel of the nylon on her legs and feet was driving him crazy, likewise he thought he could detect a response to his caresses in M’s body. 

 

It seemed she did like to have her feet kissed, so he gave the sole of her foot a long lascivious lick with his tongue.  Her foot arched involuntarily and he knew then she had liked it, a lot, no matter what she might actually say.  Next he moved his lips up and slowly kissed her toes before he moved up to her ankles.  He kissed her there, then continued running his hands and lips all over the lower part of her leg.

 

Taking his time, he worked his way up her leg.  Gently pushing her knees apart, without any resistance, he lifted her left leg until her toes pointed at the ceiling.  Glancing down, he noticed that the sole on the high heel that he had removed was new and unblemished by walking on gravel or concrete.  He smiled to himself: Bossman liked this kind of economy.  He knew her high heels would pretty much always look the same, getting very little wear on the bottoms since her feet would be in the air most of the time when she wore them.  He snorted, it was an exaggeration of course.  But one he knew the men on the boat would fully support.

 

Jorge was finally half way done with his explorations and, accompanied by the unexpected, but increasingly loud moans of anticipation from his student, he let his mouth finally come to rest inside the back of her knee.  He kissed her there softly and then suddenly gave the back of her leg below her knee a long, loving lick with his tongue. 

 

Jorge saw the visible shiver that ran down her body and he smiled to himself.  He knew now that parts of her legs were going to be very sensitive to his manipulations.  Just imagine, he thought to himself, how sensitive they might be if she weren’t wearing stockings. 

 

Oh well, he thought to himself with a small smile, we all have to make trade-offs in our business. 

 

He wondered about the back of her knees.  After he’d worked her there with his fingertips and then his tongue for a moment, she hadn’t seemed to react quite so strongly to his touch so he moved on.  Action and reaction, observe and modify, this was how a man first understood and then changed a woman like this. 

 

He wondered about the inside of her thighs just above her knees.  Slowly, ensuring that he gave them the proper attention they deserved, he began to work on the insides of both the blonde teenager’s legs above the knee.  He never tired of the tactile input.  The feel of her nylons on his hands and fingertips remained a totally sensual experience. 

 

She’d inhaled so quickly when he began his work between her thighs that she’d actually hissed as she drew her breath in.  After a couple of minutes, the girl was even moister between her legs and her breathing rate had increased significantly.  Okay, this one definitely liked a man massaging and licking and kissing the insides of her thighs.  He somehow just knew she was finally ready for him in that magic area where her thighs met.  But he wanted her to feel more tension before he went there.

 

 

Jorge now moved even with the captive girl and laid on his right side so that he could look at her.  He slowly caressed her left breast, eventually freeing it from its nearly non-existent confines.  He leaned over and kissed it and then took much of her breast in his mouth.  Both nipple and ring were at the back of his throat and as he sucked gently, he also worked the rubbery nubbin with the back of his tongue. 

 

There was a salty, yet sweet taste unique to her breast that he just loved.  This beautiful young blonde had the kind of nipples a man could suck on for days and never tire of having them in his mouth.

 

Although he generally liked his female slave trainees to be ringed on both the nipples and the labia, he found that the golden metal through Victoria’s nipple annoyed him a little as he worked his tongue over her flesh.  He knew Enrique had pierced her upon Wolf’s orders, but he himself would never have desecrated in that way a temple dedicated to beauty such as this teenager’s body was.

 

At the same time his mouth was softly enjoying her breast, his left hand was again caressing M’s body.  He started low on the inside of her left thigh and as his hand moved up, he again enjoyed the smooth, polished feel of her nylons on his fingers and palm.  Reaching the top of her stockings, he played with the coarser lace at the top before running his fingers under her nylon and stroking the firm flesh of her thigh. 

 

After slickly sliding his fingers down the inside of her thigh again, his hand then began its sensuous journey back up her other leg, suddenly ending where her legs met.  He stroked her there for a moment before putting one finger inside her waiting moistness.  While his hand and fingers confirmed the girl was wet and fully ready for him, he was still not yet ready to take her.

 

 

Submission is not about being used, submission is about being of use.  Submission is not about what is done to you, submission is about what you do for others.

-Unknown

 

I had no idea what I was doing as my hands both went up on their own and cradled his head upon my breast.  I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help myself then as I moaned deeply with each touch of his hand on the lips of my vagina.  I could feel him down there and knew it was only normal that my body should be responding to his touch.  My hips were quivering, making tiny, very small jerking motions into his fingers.  This response of my body, I told myself again and again, it meant nothing….

 

I knew that my labia were both tender and engorged at the same time--and my vagina was secreting the love fluid that would make it easy for him to enter me---why did I find myself thinking that this was the way it should be?  God!  I think I’m going crazy!!

 

I wanted him to stop, I really did. But he wouldn’t and his mouth was continually working on the half of my breast that was buried in his mouth, it was driving…me….crazy.  Soon, he started sucking even more hard, even as he began flicking my nipple with his tongue. 

 

The tugging at my chest first began as a light touch, but soon increased in strength and passion.  I looked down then, but then, and I am not sure why, I wished I hadn’t.  All I could see was the top of his head moving in small back and forth motions which paralled the suction I felt.  Eventually, the pull from his mouth became almost painful in its intensity and I couldn’t tell if I loved it or hated it--if my breast was just tender from his attention or if he was actually beginning to hurt me.  He must have realized his attention to my left breast was becoming too much because he released it from his mouth and looked up at me with a languid smile.  He then turned his head and used both of his hands to lazily release my right breast from the miniscule cup which still confined it. 

 

I gasped with pleasure as he leaned over and took this one into his mouth.  My head snapped back at the first pull and I tried to keep the sound in.  At the same time, his left hand again slowly traveled back down, fingers lightly trailing over my stomach and finally onto my vagina, where he changed the positioning of his hand so that he now completely cupped all of my moistness in his hand.  His middle finger slowly broke from the rest of his fingers and descended into me, probing with gentle movements of his wrist. 

 

I still couldn’t help myself—my body demanded it.  A small groan escaped from me and I arched my hips quickly, making his finger disappear into me like a knife cutting into hot butter.  Without meaning to and watching almost as if from a distance, I felt myself draw my thighs firmly together, bring my feet closer to my buttocks and raise my knees, all the better to keep his hand firmly clamped in its place.

 

 

“Not yet,” Jorge cautioned her.  “Not yet.  You get what you want when I’m ready to give you that pleasure.  That is one of the lessons for today.”

 

He knew he was making her insane with his slow fingers and demanding mouth—this was his goal.  M whined in frustration and tried to get his mouth away from her breast, but he was merciless.  Suddenly the kidnapped girl got what she desired as she came in a mini-orgasm that wouldn’t stop. 

 

She just came without warning and then finally it was over. 

 

Jorge was annoyed with himself because he hadn’t planned on letting her cum for a while yet.  But she had just exploded beneath his mouth and hands.  He knew he would have to learn her body better, in order to more completely control her.

 

M finally relaxed her thighs which still captured his finger inside her.  He began his insistent movements with his hand all over again, and he could see the fire begin building inside her once again.  Finally, he let her breast fall out of his mouth—he took a moment to just look at her. 

 

He watched as a wave of red washed over her face.  Being observed, like this, embarrassed her.  He smiled to himself at her continuing innocence. 

 

Both of her nipples were a wet puckered red and stood proudly erect.  Bossman had already told him about the flush which developed on her breasts and chest when she had lost herself in a total orgasm; with interest, he saw her skin there was still of normal color. 

 

He knew his student had truly climaxed--there was no way that she could have faked it—but at the same time, somehow she’d reserved something for herself, somehow kept herself from going all the way.  So, he thought with a tinge of annoyance, she still wanted to keep something from him, after all that he’d done to her this morning?  This was going to be more challenging than he had first thought.

 

He reached down and pushed her thighs apart again and then slowly climbed between them.  He looked down again at her waiting, out-thrust pelvis and his hand this time penetrated her pussy in unrestrained eagerness.  His finger slid up inside her, swirling and groping, sometimes pressing or stroking that delicious spot women hid just behind their pubic bone.

 

 

Her hips were jerking wildly against him finger.  Victoria’s eyes were closed as she softly sighed, “Oh, Master!  Oh God, that feels so good!” 

 

Inside, she asked herself, what just happened?  What am I doing?  Why did I do that?  And she answered, God only knows. 

 

As an inexperienced teenager, she had read about it, but never believed it before now.  Jorge had found her G-spot and was slowly working it to both her humiliation and her great sexual gratification.  His fingers kept taking her higher and higher. 

 

As he continued to touch her there, Victoria physically felt like her body was part of a time-lapse film of a flower opening its petals---each time she could finally begin think rationally once more, another petal would open inside her pelvis and her body would be claimed from her all over again.  She instinctively knew this man was in many ways the most dangerous of all of them to her freedom and yet, at the same time she wished that she could somehow prolong this delicious moment for both of them as her hands fluttered helplessly by her side while his fingers did their magic work inside her pelvis.

 

Jorge ignored her increasingly loud gasps of pleasure and continued to work her with his hands as she lay opened to him on the bed like a flower spreading its petals; her hands now flat beside her hips again.  Her knees now willingly opened wide as he nudged between them.  Jorge gripped his engorged cock and swung it softly upwards against her pussy, making a wet thump that sent shocks from her swollen labia throughout her body. 

 

He swung it again and again until she seemed somehow to have become used to the sensation.  Sometimes, he held it against her clit and drew slowly backwards giving her what he knew would be a wonderfully pleasing sense of friction between her lips.

 

He moved up further and the teenager’s nylon-clad thighs spread willingly even wider for him as he sank onto the mattress between them.  He remembered the times he had raped and sodomized her and knew a tinge of regret.  Not because he had done it, but because he knew that to take a magnificent female like this in that way was a blasphemy. 

 

But he’d had a job to do and he’d done it then as he was doing it now.  Jobs requirements may change, but the journeyman’s skills remain forever.

 

As M writhed beneath him, Jorge slowly moved his hips and finally made the first thrust into her body.  It was not the full bore plunge her body desired and which his genetic coding screamed for, but the restrained move dictated by his years of experience. 

 

He continued his short penetrating strokes, slowly building up into more full bodied moves that involved his whole body instead of just his hips.  With this move, he now slid over her sweaty torso with each in and out thrust of his hips. 

 

The captive blonde responded magnificently and even though untrained, her body and her moves brought to mind what he read of the genteel decadence of the French Court of three hundred years in the past. 

 

It was a sublime feeling to have the honor of taking a woman like this.

 

 

As he continued his deliberate moves that always promised deeper and deeper fulfillment in just a moment but which never delivered, I found myself again losing all control of my physical being just like when ridden by Bossman.  That’s the only way I can describe it, I was being ridden by an erotic master again and even though I instinctively fought against losing control, he had finally mastered my now willing body.  

 

But this time, I was mentally prepared to be dominated and even as my body reacted honestly to his moves, I desperately maintained that tiny point of brilliant white diamond-hard restraint in my mind.

 

 

Jorge slowed down and then stopped moving, keeping his student fully penetrated, but never giving her an excess of pleasure.  He stayed this way upon her for a minute and then began all over again.  Twice more he did this, taking her body up the crest of the volcano, but refusing to allow her to erupt. 

 

This was an important part of her training in submission; the inexperienced American learning that the will of her Master took precedence over her own needs, over any needs but his own.  Finally, he began moving in a strong, animal-like fashion and it was obvious even to the girl that she was being ridden hard, that he was riding her all the way this time, taking her to the crest and allowing her, no, forcing her to go over it.

 

The teenager exploded beneath him again, slamming her hips up to meet his evermore urgent thrusts into her, subconsciously synchronizing her moves so that she ensured maximum penetration of his erection into her.  When she reached her last and most urgent climax, she arched up to grind her loins into his and used her magnificent ass to keep them both off of the mattress for over a minute. 

 

After a final couple of quick hip thrusts into him, the girl crashed back onto the mattress with a heartfelt groan of pleasure and laid still beneath him; her lungs giving great shuddering heaves as she replenished the air she had just used in her joust with him.  Her climax had been real--she’d been his willing whore this time.

 

Jorge could feel her vaginal muscles still contracting upon his cock in an orgy of sensations and he whispered into her ear, “Slowly my dear, slowly.  Too fast and you won’t be ready for the next one.”

 

 

I heard his voice as from a distance and couldn’t believe what he was saying.  His erection was still a great rigid bar buried deeply inside my belly and…he…had…not…yet….cum.  While our bodies were both slick with sweat and we touched from chest to groin, we were physically connected only by his manhood. 

 

He began moving his hips again and despite my body’s exhaustion and its weakness, despite my initial mental unwillingness to respond, I felt myself reluctantly beginning to answer his demand for me again. 

 

This time he did most of the moving and he was an expert.  He rode me low and went for deep penetrations that explored the depths of my womanhood.  He filled me and rode me high and used against me the friction of his cock rubbing on my clit—and it felt great.  Actually, it felt too good!

 

 

Finally, in the darkest recesses of her mind, she knew what had happened to her last night!  She now knew why she’d lost all control.  It was her clitoris that had betrayed her.  While the men on this boat had manipulated her and massaged her clit, they had not done so to the exclusion of other acts---she knew now that they just hadn’t done it long enough to have the full effect on her reluctant body.  But last night, Bossman had spent more than enough time working on her; it was this that had allowed him to be the first on the craft to enjoy the full consequences of his actions on her body.

 

Victoria was a normal, healthy young woman and had masturbated many times.  Sometimes she used her fingers, sometimes she used a vibrator.  But she’d always found that her best orgasms by far occurred when she came with clitoral manipulation.  The only problem was that it always took a long, long time when she did herself this way, and it almost never occurred when she manipulated herself with just her fingers.  For some reason it had to be something other than her own fingers touching her before she truly lost control.

 

Just now, the position that Jorge had assumed on her had resulted in some intensely erotic sensations.  And while she had this confusing urge to please him by responding exactly as she knew he wanted, at the same time she also knew that if he’d continued that motion for much longer, she’d have been lost.  Again!  She knew that she couldn’t let them do this to her again.  This was a moment of extreme danger to her and she knew that she had to somehow regain control again; to make sure that he hadn’t realized what he’d almost done to her.

 

 

Dominance.  Control.  These things the unjust seek most of all.  And so it is the duty of the just to defy dominance and to challenge control.

-Robert Fanney

 

Making my legs writhe around his lower body in apparent helplessness, every now and then I “accidentally” hooked him with my remaining high heel.  He never seemed to notice, but he was soon distracted enough to change positions on my pelvis again.  Once I had gotten him away from my most sensitive area, I began to try take over. 

 

I arched my hips and reached under to grab his ballsack as it moved in with his thrust; once I had it like this I began manipulating him with my fingers.  While this gave me a slight sense of regret as I knew I had just denied him his goal, it made me feel good when I heard him groan in pleasure at my move.  With both a sense of anticipation and remorse, I knew if he allowed me to continue, he’d shoot his load into me a lot sooner than he wanted.  

 

But, looking deeply into my eyes, he made me stop by pulling my hands away from him in that way.  I smiled back and still moved my hands continually, from being around his neck forcing him to kiss me, to my fingers digging into his back and shoulders to finally grabbing his ass with both hands and pulling on him, as if trying to drag another inch out of his cock and into me.

 

Finally, he allowed it to go on again and in minutes, we burst together.  Part of me just watched, the other part experienced a truly wonderful series of orgasms while pierced by him.  I felt him flex inside me as he lifted his body off of me while keeping my hips pinned and my vagina still fully penetrated; the weight of his body finally preventing me from arching my hips as I liked to do. 

 

I looked deeply into his eyes and watched his face as he held himself up by his left hand while his right hand slowly explored my belly, pressing hard against it to feel my abdominal muscles contract and then release with each of my orgasms. 

 

At the end, he had been hammering into me as if he wanted to kill me, like some kind of a maniacal, medieval torturer.  Suddenly, like an electrical circuit, the intense feeling of pain/pleasure was complete from my cervix to my clitoris, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.  My nails dug long strips of skin from the back of his shoulders and my lust-filled cries of delight seemed to quicken him as he gave a final lunge that almost cleaved me in half…

 

I gave one final wail of anguish and of satisfaction, and then it was over.

 

When he had finally allowed me to cum this time, it was real, oh God, was it real.  Jorge was a skilled lover and I found I thoroughly enjoyed his touch, his hands and his lips, his flat belly tight against mine, my legs spread wide and the pressure of his body between them, the feeling of his semen jetting into me and the usual atomic explosion of heat at the top of my vagina—these were all things I found I enjoyed—maybe too much. 

 

But there was still a fire there, an unseen battle between us for I knew what he really wanted was my total subjugation, my total loss of control.  And this…this thing he wanted from me on behalf of his master, I wasn’t willing to give to him…  Somehow I had maintained that minor presence in my mind which still allowed me to watch and to judge his reaction to my body. 

 

I looked into his eyes and despite the pleasure we had given each other, despite the pleasure he had taken from my suddenly willing body, I was sure Jorge had somehow sensed my reluctance to allow him complete control. 

 

 

As M’s body finally began to quiet beneath him, he told her, “Tighten onto me with the muscles in your vagina, then release.  Tighten, and then release.  Go ahead, tighten slowly and then let go.  Concentrate on me, on pinching my cock and keeping it.  Keeping it inside you forever.  Concentrate.” 

 

He exhaled in her ear, “Slow and Easy.  Slow.  And.  Easy.”

 

“Milk me; you desire every drop that is inside me.  Use your muscles to grab me and then let go, grab me and let go.  Milk me for every drop.  Aaaahhhh.  That is the way.”

 

She was grabbing him with her vagina and it seemed she stroked almost the entire length of his penis with her velvet fist.  But at the same time, Jorge looked down at her and saw that she still did not have the flush he needed to see on her there.  Still an amateur at deception, she hid things, important things, a prisoner forced to perform. 

 

He however, was a professional and as such, would not allow himself to be fooled by one of his captain’s captives, let alone an amateur.  But he still was glad Wolf had given him this apparently foolproof telltale about her body….and her mind. 

 

He lay on Victoria for a minute to catch his breath and plan his next assault on her body.  Ever the gentleman in bed, he kept his weight on his elbows and off of her. 

 

After a moment, he commented, “That felt very good, very professional.  Are you sure you’re not an expert, my dear?”

 

“No, Master,” she answered with the slight smile that women the world over have always used when the man they have just fucked has asked them a stupid question like How was I? 

 

“I’ve only ever had one man before…..coming on the boat.”  She had answered reluctantly, yet with a raised chin and, unless he was greatly mistaken, a hint of pride in her voice. 

 

“I find that remarkable,” he replied honestly.

 

He changed positions, making her roll slightly onto her left side.  He lifted her right leg and then gently moved between her thighs, dropping her right leg down so that the inside of her silky thigh was now draped over his left hip as he faced her. 

 

He instructed Victoria to put her hands down between his legs and to begin stroking his still moist, flaccid cock and his testicles.  At the same time, this position also gave him unprecedented access to her pussy and he began to stroke her moist clit and rub her wet labial lips with his right hand while his left hand casually, almost absent-mindedly, stroked her knee or the top of her stockinged right thigh. 

 

He never noticed that every time he stroked the beautiful teenager’s leg to the top where her labia met, she would stop talking or moving when his fingers moved over her clit.

 

“M, you seemed more innocent than most of the females who have ended up here.  You’re a little different, you started in a place much different from the usual women we take—the ones destined to be enslaved for a man’s pleasure.  Most of them have seemed more…’common’ than you.  But you are here; your fate that of being forced to be with numerous men in ways that is uncomfortable or often seems disgusting.  And yet, mentally you have begun to adjust to your new life as fast as any of the women that we’ve groomed before you.”

 

He stopped in order to think of how to put his thoughts into words.  “You really are a natural lover of men, but you just don’t know that of yourself yet.  But you will…..you will quickly learn to love what your Master does to you.  This I swear is true; your Master is a successful business man, and me?  I have had many samples from which to compare in order to understand this of you.” 

 

He had a small, almost sad smile on his face as he said the last to her.  He was thinking, we need more men.  Better men, for this one.  To do the job right. 

 

 

I instinctively knew he was telling me what he thought was true.  The truth!  Could anyone on this boat handle it?  Trying to ignore what his hands did between my thighs, I slowly turned my head and looked at him for a moment before I said, “Master, I think perhaps I am a better actress than you give me credit for.  I’ll do what I have to do to save my family.  In a while, perhaps I’ll even be able to say that I’ve found a new life I can somehow accept.  Maybe I’ll even believe that if I say it enough.  But I’ll never tell you I enjoy it or love it.”

 

I looked him in the eye and felt a moment of slight doubt even though I had committed myself.  I found myself raising my chin a little defiantly, perhaps a little too proudly, “Master, please believe me when I tell you I’m not trying to challenge you, but you can’t make me say this about myself and I refuse to believe it.  Like every other woman and girl who has ever gone through here before me, all I want is to be free and just left alone.  I want to do what I want to do.  And have no one, especially a man, to tell me what I have to do, what I must do.” 

 

“You know,” I looked at Jorge with a wan smile, “white slavery isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be in those novels I read years ago as a teenager.”

 

 

Jorge looked at her sharply and said, “M, you still don’t understand---you don’t get to make choices for yourself anymore---and nothing’s going to change that.  But what you’ve just said tells me there are still layers inside that you protect from all others.  This is unusual for a slave of your limited experience…that after what you have been through, you are still trying to keep something back, keep something small hidden for yourself.” 

 

Not surprised at her silence, he waited for a moment and asked again, “Aren’t you?” 

 

 

Shocked at his insight, or perhaps at my stupidity for speaking so openly, my eyes slid sideways to meet his gaze and I hesitated a long time before answering, “I’m not sure what you mean, my Master.” 

 

He gazed steadily into my eyes as he responded, his attempt to read my honesty open and unhidden, “You understand me perfectly, I think.  You are one that needs to be mistreated in love.  You are the type of woman who, after what we have done to you here and if you had your freedom, would always from now on seek out angry and aggressive lovers.”

 

 

My emotions flared as I answered, my voice tinged with anger, “I am a decent person!  Does any decent woman ever want to be taken by force against her will by strangers?  Has any woman ever come to you and said, I want to be drugged, kidnapped, dragged somewhere, tied down, branded and sexually assaulted! Not, that is, unless she’s mentally sick too?”  

I continued my protests, “I’m not what you think I am.  I’m nothing like that…..”

His voice now rising, he interrupted, “You have no idea what we think you’re like, and frankly, unless it affects the way you respond to us here, we don’t usually give a shit what you’re like inside.  Really!  It’s what we turn you into that interests us---it’s your actions that count.  From now on, this is our, and your, new reality.”

The word reality sank into my like a dagger.  “Please, Master.  Whatever you see on the outside, whatever you may think you saw that night at T. O.’s, don’t believe any of it.  It totally distorts the real me, what I am on the inside.  I’m an ordinary, normal girl on the inside, with the same fears and hang-ups and problems as most women.”  

I was losing his interest, “If you had daughters, they would be exactly like me….”  

His head snapped up and he looked at me, looked into my eyes as I spoke, “It’s just that I happen to look a certain way and may have sometimes accidentally presented myself a certain way.  But the person that you believe I am, who you think you have here, is false, a façade, with absolutely no substance in reality.  

Somehow I found myself begging this man to understand, this unknown, often brutal man with whom I had just made the most tender love, “Master, I’m a boring freshman college student.  I may look a certain way, but it’s an invention, something women have done from the beginning of time, something I’ve used only those few times that I wanted to be friends with a boy.  But the truth is, and I hate to disappoint you when I say this, the truth is I have seen that look in men’s eyes when they looked at me for as long as I can remember, and what most men wish me to be is not what I am.  Not on the inside.”  

I truly was begging him to understand me now.  Both my hands captured his hand between my legs and pulled it up so that it rested on my chest.  “I’m no different from any other woman you’ve ever known.  Please!  You’ve got to believe me!  You must tell the Master.”  

I almost screamed at him, “I led a quiet, decent life at home and school---I am a decent girl!!”  

Now I sobbed, “I.  Am.  Decent”

I sniffed to keep back the tears that demanded to be released.  “And as for men, I feel towards them the way that most normal women feel.  Maybe one day I’ll find a man who cares for me as much as I care for him.  If I find him, I’ll want to marry him.  But the honest truth is I haven’t had anything to do with men, not the way the way you think, in over a year.  

I hesitated then, not knowing if I was getting through to him.  “I know to you this is like a caricature of a teenage girl, but I have a life….that is….I had a life.  I have ever only been interested in myself.  I see that now.  I have only ever wanted to know who I am.  Can’t you see that I want to belong to me, not some man I have never met?  I want to be free, just the way you do.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence then as Jorge studied my face with a serious expression.  At least, it seemed, he had actually been listening to me. 

 

Finally, he spoke.  And as he did, my heart fell.  “Forget about your ‘choices’, M.  Forget about finding a young man to marry.  Truly!  Forget about these things!  You’ll be given to men that are powerful and wealthy and you’ll do exactly as they wish you to do.  You won’t be marrying any of them; and probably none will even want to really get to know you.” 

 

He smiled then almost sadly, “It’s your innocence that will inflame them and which makes you so valuable to us.  They’ll make you perform things for them the likes of which you have yet to dream, even in your worst nightmare.  Later, after your innocence has fled, plucked like an expensive orchid, they’ll just want your body.  And like I said, you’ll do exactly as they wish; you’ll do anything they wish at that point, because that’s all you’ll have left to cling to.  I do not wish to be coarse, but that’s what you are to them now and will still be to them then, their beautiful blonde Yankee fantasy ‘fuck-girl’ come true.”

 

As he had previously instructed me, even as we talked, I had continued slowly stroking Jorge’s cock beginning at the top and pulling the skin down tautly from its circumcised head.  At one point, I had gotten emotional in my exchange with him and I had stopped my stroking motion and just gripped him as I talked.  This quickly drew an annoyed glance from him and as soon as I had realized what I had done, I resumed caressing him again.  

 

“Master, you are so wrong in what you think about me.  I have so many regrets now.  My parents?  I know I’ll probably never see my parents again.  Or my friends.  And you know?  I’d trade it all in a heartbeat to go back and do that part at T. O.’s over again.  I’d even stay here if that’s what it took.”

 

“But I’d like to take away the pain that I’ve cause my parents and friends.  I’ve hurt my family so much with my mistakes.  I just want to go home again,” I said fighting back my tears. 

 

“I want to see a light in my parent’s window and smell the violets my mom planted in the flower garden, hear their voices and feel my arms around them…..just….one more time.”

 

Something I had just realized was that a figure once written about, whether a Visigoth chieftain or serial killer, is never completely missing.  Yet a young woman like me, too young to have had time to accomplish anything and who was recorded only in the memory of those who knew her, is truly gone, or at least would be when the last of those who could recall her were gone too. 

 

Woodenly, tears slowly running down my cheeks, I continued with my assigned task---I switched my right hand over to his balls and began to slowly and softly caress them and run them through my fingers, while my left hand continued deep stroking his penis as he had instructed.

 

I finally regained control of my emotions.  “You think I’m dishonest with you, but I can honestly say that because of my time here, I’ve found I’m truly a different person now on the inside.  I’ve always tried to be an honest person.  But I hate the idea that someone thinks I am their property.  I just hate that I’m so controlled and forced to do anything that any Master or Mistress might want me to do; that I’m passed around like a cheap sex toy.” 

 

My eyes flashed, “I just hate it!

 

Jorge listened silently.  Then he looked at me and said, “Be aware, M.  You’re not making any more choices about your life---no more worries about finding a boy to marry.” 

 

He looked at me intensely, “Words have meaning with us.  And you?  You are playing games here with me again.  Much of what you tell me may come from the heart, but there is dishonesty too.  And manipulation.  I am not yet done with you, and will figure you out.” 

 

 

At this point, his penis was fully erect again and was pointing directly at the beautiful teenage girl lying in bed with him, stroking him.  Jorge was now ready to review again his previous impressions with this beautiful prize.  

 

Rolling onto his stomach, he found himself between her thighs.  He lifted himself up off of her and said, “M, I want you on top now.” 

 

The blonde closed her eyes for a second, and then rolled over to her right and got up on her knees.  Jorge lay down on his back in the center of the bed and she hesitantly straddled him.  His erection jutted up towards her pelvis and with a slight grimace on her face, she slowly, tentatively lowered herself onto him, using her left hand to pull the lips of her now dry vagina apart while her right hand grabbed the shaft of his erection and guided it into her.

 

As the head of his engorged penis slowly penetrated her, the American girl’s face went up towards the ceiling and her eyes closed.  She showed little expression on her face except for what be the tiniest smile as she slowly sank onto him and him into her.  Without, it seemed, her even being aware of this, after a couple of rocking motions she’d stopped her descent onto him when she’d taken in only about six inches of Jorge inside her body.  She then began a slow up and down motion with her pelvis. 

 

Jorge put his hands on her hips and, with the exquisite timing of one man’s need and many years of experience with captive female bodies, he pulled down fiercely on her hips just as Victoria’s pelvis was descending. 

 

At the same moment, he thrust up sharply with his hips, fully burying his last two inches inside her belly in one plunging move.  This act was rewarded by a heartfelt gasp filled with what could only be grunted approval from his teenaged beauty.

 

After a moment, Jorge reached up and grabbed both of her nipples and without brutality, slowly pulled each of them forwards, towards him.  Thus encouraged, Victoria leaned ahead and put her hands on his shoulders, allowing her breasts to hang down freely into Jorge’s face.  Both of his hands went up to Victoria’s bared breasts and he slowly stroked them, concentrating on her nipples. 

 

Every now and then, he would pull one of her breasts down and absorb her nipple and half of her breast into his mouth.  Sometimes his hands would wander down to her thighs and he would stroke her legs slowly like one would a favorite cat.  Clearly though, he derived significantly greater sensual pleasure from this than did she.

 

Victoria’s eyes were closed and on her face she finally showed what looked like sublime ecstasy as she began to rock back and forth, moving her hips up and down on him.  It only took a few moments before Jorge had his second eruption in an hour. 

 

 

Although I had not achieved an orgasm this time, I felt his cum flare briefly, deeply inside me and I was confused as I almost reveled in the feeling of satisfaction it gave me when I pleased him this way.

 

 

Don't shrink from nature’s brutal perfection.  Take joy in it. Embrace it.  Understand it and revel in it.  Respect its strength, its wisdom, its brutality and its all-encompassing power.  The highest law has always been, and shall be, nature; and the greatest wisdom forever lives in and through nature's eternal Fascism.

-Boyd Rice, in Standing in Two Circles: The Collected Works

 

Both rested for a moment and then Jorge looked at the wall clock, noting it was time for her to get cleaned up for the next crewman.  He looked down on the girl and felt the tiniest bit of possessive sadness that she was to be passed around like this.  This would affect her for the rest of her life.  Yet, if he were to be honest with himself, he knew the melancholy was not because there was any goodness left inside him.  He was old enough to be her father, her grandfather.  But rather, these were selfish feelings, due to him not being able to keep her all for himself. 

 

He helped her stand upright and turned her to the side.  Victoria wobbled on her high heels and clung to him for a moment in an effort to maintain her balance after which she stood by herself once more.  He looked at her then and all he could see was a beautiful young girl standing alone, forlorn, her face confused and looking like nothing so much as a small, lost girl-child dressed up in adult’s clothing. 

 

He dressed, telling M to “make herself clean for Roberto,” since he would be visiting her next.  With this, he left the cabin.  As he walked away and climbed into the sunlight of the beautifully cloudless day, a touch of sadness remained.  Yet now it was mixed with delight, a physical delight with how drained this beautiful young woman left him feeling.  She had taken everything he’d had and then begged for more.  They really did need more men if they were to train her properly. 

 

She was a marvel---and yet still remained a challenge!

 

 

After taking off my babydoll top and removing my heels, I carefully rolled the stockings from my legs and tossed them aside.  It was early and already I felt exhausted.  I slowly walked to the bathroom on unsteady legs, my knees were still quite wobbly from what Jorge had forced my body to endure and my feet felt like they were made of lead.  There was a cold, slickness between my thighs where I could feel his essence draining out of me.  I thoroughly washed myself of Jorge’s multiple gifts and then walked back out to put away the stockings and lingerie I’d left behind. 

 

They thought they were turning me into a slut and that there was nothing I could do about.  My God, it was just the opposite—I was cooperating as much as I could, but to be their whore, not their slut—despite my kidding myself about what was going on here, motives still mattered.  Still even more shocking, even more surprising to me was the fact that there was any measure of satisfaction I could feel by pleasing them with my whorish acts. 

 

What was going on, what was wrong with me?  What was this all about?  This was not me.  I was not this way normally—I was…not…this….way! 

 

Was there any truth in what Bossman had told me, “It must all be in the context?”  I didn’t think so, because I was pretty sure nothing he said could be considered true. 

 

Regardless of the almost incoherent thoughts mashing their way through my mind, by the time I had finished cleaning myself, I saw The Demon was waiting for me, his dark eyes glittering with anticipation.  I was deathly afraid of this man and as soon as I saw him, I assumed my best position of submission. 

 

I hadn’t had time to brush my hair or even freshen my makeup.  But apparently this was okay; he was impatient and showed it in his roughness as he pulled me by my hair towards The Bed where he’d stacked his selection for me.  He was a bastard all right and I cried out at his unnecessary brutality.  But his impatience worked for me too, as I reminded myself he had not ordered me to put the hated black rubber plug back inside my body.

 

I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes and shuddered.  Paralyzed by dread, I watched him strip down to his underwear, the bulge at his crotch looking like a boulder, a long boulder. 

 

I wanted to beg him, to plead with him; I didn’t deserve this, I hadn’t wanted this, why me I wanted to ask him, why me.  But I remained silent, for this was not the more easily manipulated Jorge--my pleading died in my throat as I looked at him.

 

What he had selected for me today appeared to be a black rubber body suit and mid-calf black boots with five inch stiletto heels.  In addition, he had what looked like a two piece mold made out of plaster, a bag which turned out to contain fine black powder and a large rubberized hair net.  On the side of The Bed, there was also had a small bag which contained some things I couldn’t make out.

 

With him standing immediately behind me and leering over my shoulder, I carefully held the suit up and looked at it.  When I finally stepped into it from the back, I knew the rubber suit would tightly encase me from my ankles to high on my neck, except for where a few sections were “missing”. 

 

There were two holes cut in the front of the suit where my breasts must go, but they were much too small for one of my figure.  I would have to force my breasts through both holes and the rubber would then tightly constrict them at the base.  I was sure this was no accident, that he must have had the holes sized like this on purpose.  It might seem more exciting to him, but it would just make my life even more miserable than it already was.

 

The area around my vagina would also remain uncovered, as would my rear.  This gave the suit a distinct Wyoming cowboy “chaps” look for which I sincerely did not care.  The suit was closed by laces which ran up the back while its sleeves ran from the shoulder to mid-thigh and had zippers with which to be opened and closed.  With a sinking feeling, I knew this was how he would bind my arms. 

 

By donning this suit, I would be making myself helpless and completely place myself at the perverted monster’s mercy---the worst part was that I already knew this one felt no mercy for me.  Finally, I saw that there were 2 two-inch wide thick leather straps sewn around the chest of the suit, one above and one below each the breast cut-outs.  Right now, they hung loose in front and had Velcro buckles on the ends.

 

Still afraid, but resigned to endure whatever he may do to me and with the forlorn and oddly inappropriate hope that by giving him pleasure with my complete cooperation he might show me some small measure of compassion, I slowly took off my nipple chain.  I knew I was dragging everything out by moving so slowly now, and so did The Demon.  

 

With a snarl of impatience on his face, he handed me a bottle of baby powder.  My stomach sinking, my fingers shaking, I slowly sprinkled the powder inside the suit legs and arms, this allowing me to more easily pull them onto my limbs.  I had to struggle to get my breasts through the openings in the suit, and when I finally had them positioned, it was extremely uncomfortable.  The front of the suit clung to my chest like a leach, it felt like a second skin.  I’d been correct when I supposed that the rubber would tightly constrict my breasts at the base.  Even as I finished pulling the rest suit on I could already feel the blood supply to my breasts being cut off as they became more and more engorged with trapped blood.  I felt myself withdrawing, becoming less cooperative and more sullen, yet I continued to fight my unbidden emotional response to this man, continued to try to remain compliant. 

 

 

He was gonna hurt this bitch.  He liked hurting the cunts Bossman brought aboard.  Roberto pulled on the ties in the back of the suit, ensuring it fit her tightly everywhere like a soft, custom-made leather glove.  Following this, he roughly rotated the snatch’s slave collar until the ring on it was pointing towards the back.  Increasingly filled with a feeling of what could only be anticipatory approval, he then had her put on the black boots which strapped tightly around her ankle just above her feet. 

 

The boots seemed to fit her well and had metal rings sewn to the back of the heel: they were obviously used to subdue the wearers feet whenever necessary.  The boots were awkward and had even been painful for some of the whore’s to wear—he didn’t give a shit what happened to this slut as long as he got his nuts off.  He watched as finally, without being told to do so, she re-connected her nipple chain and stood up still facing the bed.  Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned and faced him. 

 

Roberto looked at her standing there compliantly, patiently, slavishly waiting for his next move.  He truly looked at her then and for the first time realized how beautiful this girl was.  Always before she’d been nothing more than a piece of meat, a mobile vagina and asshole waiting to be fucked.  Of course, in his defense, that was how he looked at all the bitches they took. 

 

Her natural blonde color and flawless skin was magnified by the jet black skin-tight suit she wore.  For the first time, he marveled at how it emphasized her tiny waist and full thighs, how it framed her gorgeous ass, how it immediately drew ones attention to her bosom.  The vein-marbled white of her breasts stood in stark contrast to the total, infinite darkness of the suit. 

 

Other slits had worn this suit too, it wasn’t something he’d brought aboard just for her.  But while the others had looked at least as good in it, she had….something…the others the others lacked. 

 

Shaking his head as if to dispel any further random notions of her beauty or helplessness before him, Roberto roughly twisted her left arm and put it into its sleeve and zipped it shut.  He then did the same with her right arm.  He’d done this enough times before that the moves seemed almost memorized. 

 

He led the now lost teenage girl back to the bed, telling her to sit down on the edge of it.  He looked at her and took a deep breath—time to begin.  Without warning, he suddenly slapped her face.  Hard.  “You think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you, you bitch?”

 

 

“No, master, I don’t.”  I had already begun to sweat inside the rubber suit and my lips were quivering.  I knew that right now I was as helpless, as defenseless as I had been at any time on this hell-boat, and in as great a physical danger as I had ever faced in my life.  Yet even as I acknowledged the danger in my mind, I hated myself for showing weakness, for replying with such an obvious pleading tone in my voice. 

 

With the rubber suit now completely on, even though I was willing to cooperate with him, I knew that I was also powerless to stop him from doing anything he wanted to do to me.  This man had the meanest eyes I had ever seen and I somehow sensed he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if he thought it was necessary or that he could just get away with it.  He, and the situation he had engineered, totally intimidated and dominated me.  Tiny thrills of terror constantly ran up and down my spine. 

 

“You are white and think you’re better than us, don’t you?”

 

“Please, Master,” I heard myself beg, “No, I don’t think that.  Please.” 

 

God, I hated myself at the moment.  I was such a weak woman, a totally worthless person. 

 

He suddenly changed tack.  “Do you like sex?”

 

I didn’t know how to answer and hesitated before answering, “Yes Master, I think I like sex…..”

 

He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so that I had to look at him as he interrupted harshly, “That’s not what I asked you.  Do you like sex?”

 

Finally, I told him what he wanted to hear, “Yes Master, I like sex.”

 

He looked at me for another minute without saying a word.  “Bitch,” he said, continuing the line of questioning, “Do you like having sex with me?”

 

I didn’t know what to say.  Bossman had told me to never lie, no matter what I had been asked.  But this man, he was an animal, a true beast.  He’d hurt me and enjoyed it.  I had no doubt he’d continue to do this to me again and again, until one of us died.  And I knew that one would be me. 

 

Desperately stalling for time, I looked at him and asked, “Master?”

 

He repeated himself, “You are a particularly stupid slave, woman.  Do you like having sex with me?”

 

I knew the correct answer for him was yes, but the truthful answer was that I’d rather be forced to have sex with my father than have anything to do with him.  Just then this absolutely crazy, totally wrong thought flitted through my mind that I was afraid to hurt his feelings, to disappoint him in any way. 

 

I froze then in confusion.  Worrying about his feelings.  This was an absolutely insane thought, totally irrational and senseless.  Yet I answered him then and I have no other excuse except for my burgeoning insanity.  I reacted physically but my mind was not part of my actions, and so that’s why I found myself filled with such shock as I heard my disembodied voice say, “Yes Master, I like having sex with you.”

 

Silkily, he asked me in a tone filled with unspoken layers of warning, “Do you like making love to black men?”

 

After hesitating for only a second, I replied, “Yes, Master.  I like making love to black men.”

 

“You are a stupid, stupid woman,” he looked coldly at me.  "You don’t even know how to speak to a man the right way.  Nor do you lie well.”

Roberto shouted at me then, leaning in close so that his spittle flecked my face, “You have to learn how to talk like a real woman, how to talk to a real man and not the college weaklings you normally fuck.  You have a pussy, or if you’re feeling particularly nasty, you have a cunt.  When I finish with you, it will always be a cunt to you forever more.”  

My eyes had filled with tears and he stopped then, his chest heaving with his agitation.  He took a moment to calm down and then continued, “I have a cock and you have a cunt.  Don’t play games when you talk about sex; don’t say ‘it’ to me, you always TELL a man you want his cock.  You don’t say you want it in you, you say you want him to fuck your cunt, or to fuck your pussy!  Understand?  This is such a simple thing for most women, but you American cunts just don’t get it!  Do you finally understand this, you stupid woman?”

I felt my eyes tear up again and I nodded my head yes.  I was helpless in front of this madman and the terror I felt inside was only multiplied when he yelled at me like this.

“And here’s something else, you stupid bitch,” he continued.  “You will be sucking on a lot of cocks while you’re here; don’t wait for one of us to tell you to take him deeper inside you, instead you take him deeper in your throat on your own, automatically.  Deeper is always better.  Do you understand this?  Is there anything about this that is intellectually too difficult for a stupid female slave like you to understand?”

I first shook my head first no, that it wasn’t too hard for me to understand, and then afraid he might misunderstand, I shook my head yes, that I understood what he had said.

He closed his eyes in exasperation.  “God, you are such a stupid woman, you cunt.  I’m going to love fucking you up when you forget it—excuse me, disciplining you.  You will learn obedience while on this boat.  Now, let’s try it," he challenged her.  “Talk to me.”

Closing my eyes helped a little.  My mouth was dry and I licked my lips to moisten them.  I opened my eyes then and looked at him as words went through my mind.  Finally, I took a deep breath and responded to his demand.  "Fuck my cunt with your cock.” 

Even I knew I had spoken woodenly, without emotion, like a talking doll whose string had just been pulled.  I hunched up, pulled my shoulders in then, waiting for his blows to begin.

He leaned forward and screamed into my face, spittle flying again.  “You stupid woman.  You’re a slave, here for nothing more than sex.  If you want a man to fuck a slut like you, you’d better learn to act like one too.  If a retarded woman like you wants to get better at this, you’d better learn to beg every man on this boat to fuck you until you improve.”

He grabbed my hair and twisted, forcing my head to the side at a painful angle.  “You’re the right age to have been a slut in high school.  But you are going to need to fuck more than one man at a time to graduate from this school.  The things you’ll learn will make any man watching you horny and you need to be able to please them all.  Now try it again,” he demanded.

This was awful, stupid and awful.  One part of me said they were nothing but words and I’d had little experience in that.  But I just didn’t like to talk about these things and had never liked to talk this way.  I knew it was both my nature and my upbringing that made me this way, and I knew he was doing this to purposefully humiliate to me.  

Trying to embarrass me like this, I knew it was an attempt to change me, to coarsen me, to in some ways dehumanize my picture of myself in my own mind.  This was another of their efforts to beat me down emotionally as deeply as they had physically, to work on the new person they were trying to bring forth.  

I closed my eyes again and this seemed to make it easier as I attempted to gather my thoughts, thinking about what I would say that might somehow please him, somehow make him stop.  

By throwing together in my mind the foul words and actions he’d described to me, I made up a series of phrases that were essentially purposeless to me, at least at that point they were.  So, knowing these words could never hurt me because I was too strong, I closed my eyes then and recited aloud in a slow measured tone:

I love to be fucked.  Please fuck me.  I need a cock filling my pussy.  I need your cock in my cunt.  It feels so good when I’m being fucked.  I’ll even suck somebody else’s cock while you watch.  Please!  I’m begging you!

I opened my eyes then and stared straight ahead as I took a deep breath.  My face burned from the flush of blood in my cheeks.  The awful constrictions I felt around my breasts cut the flow of blood to them even more as I inhaled, but I ignored the painful sensations.  After a second, I looked at The Demon and he nodded his approval, so I continued: 

 

I’m a cocksucker.  I was born to suck cocks.  I love to suck white cocks.  I love to suck black cocks.  There’s no cock that I wouldn’t like to suck on.  I’ll spread for anyone.  I love being fucked.  I like being hurt.  I like being punished.  Oh God, somebody fuck me, please.  

I had finally run through the litany of filth I had prepared in my mind and so I stopped.  

 

What I had just spewed seemed to satisfy The Demon temporarily since he now stood up and put a fairly large earphone over each of my ears and then put a thin rubber cap on my scalp, tightly covering all of my hair and my ears.  He then made me lie down on The Bed and laid my head in the lower half of the body of the mold. 

 

Next he forced a two-inch long penis shaped gag into my mouth and fastened the strap around my neck.  Finally, he fixed the upper half of the mold onto the bottom half and locked the two pieces together.  I was frozen in place!  Claustrophobia rushed in from the darkest corners of my mind but I fought it back.  There was a large hole in front of my face through which I could still look and breathe, so my anxiety remained barely within control.

 

 

The Demon now put on a small ear mounted boom microphone so he could talk to his victim.  Turning it on, he asked Victoria if she heard him.  She tried to nod her head, but it was frozen in place and she could not.  Seeing her jerky, limited movements and correctly interpreting them, The Demon proceeded to carefully reach through the two inch hole on the top half of the mold and roughly insert a wide yellow straw into each of Victoria’s nostrils. 

 

The straws had soft foam molded rubber tips he pushed well into her nostrils, sealing them off around the straws.  She tried to jerk her head away reflexively, but was stopped by the weight and design of the mold encasing her head.  The straws were about six inches long and seemed not too uncomfortable as he inserted them.  He next grabbed the bag of powder and after adding almost a pint of solvent, began to work the bag with his fingers, ensuring that its contents were thoroughly mixed. 

 

Telling the captive teenager to keep her mouth and eyes closed, The Demon poured the thick black mixture into the hole on the top of the mold; the viscous fluid flowed over and totally covered Victoria’s face, then seeped around to the back of her head where it pooled.  With her face completely submerged, the only way she could breathe was through the straws in her nostrils. 

 

 

Immediately, a panic attack rocketed from my brain to my lower spine and from there back into my stomach and lungs.  I couldn’t breathe!!  I wanted to please him by lying still, but I couldn’t because for the first time in my life I felt claustrophobic.  It absolutely controlled me, it totally dominated my every thought.  I couldn’t breathe and tried to sit up in a panic, but The Demon leaned over and put his weight on my hips and belly, and held my shoulders down with his hands.  My strength began to wane then and I felt my struggles quickly became weaker as I ran out of air to breathe--in less than ten minutes it was done.

 

The Demon had mixed and poured fast-setting liquid latex into the mold.  As the chemical reaction began to heat up on my face, my gibbering mind knew it was beginning to harden.  I continued to be consumed by claustrophobia, and, if anything, it somehow seemed to get even worse.  As if from a distance, I knew The Demon was talking to me, trying in his own clumsy way to calm me, but it didn’t do any good.  I was held prisoner by a fearsome dread that would not leave, and wouldn’t be able recover until I had conquered my fears on my own.

 

When I first realized what he was doing, in my frenzy, I tried to scream.  But as soon as I had started to open my mouth, liquid latex had begun to seep in.  My whole body, especially my legs began shaking and I knew then I would die.  Desperately, I closed my mouth, blocked my throat with the back of my tongue and concentrated on breathing though my nose, in and out, in and out. 

 

Finally, as the awful concentration required to just breathe like this drove fear of him to the back of my mind, as my determination to not let him finally win came back, these things began to drive away my demons. 

 

I will never know how, but somehow, in the end I was successful.  It came at great emotional cost.  Finally, I was able to force myself to lie motionless on The Bed, but I had been in a battle and could feel the sweat pouring off of me in all the areas he had left uncovered.  At the same time, I could feel a cold breeze blowing over my erect nipples and I knew I was trembling all over my body, breathing and snorting for air only though the two straws.

 

 

The latex around her head had finally set up and Roberto now removed the halves of the mold and lifted the teenager up, talking into his microphone and ordering her to sit on the side of The Bed.  Head now totally encased, the helpless girl sat there, immobile except for her shallow breathing. 

 

The two yellow straws protruded from the grotesque mask of her face.  Although blurred from the thin latex film covering them, her fine features were still somehow recognizable with her mouth looking as if it were slightly open in an unending scream that no one could hear. 

 

The straws were steadfastly held in place by the now firm latex.  If Roberto had been worried about her safety, he would have ensured she had a second way to breathe if her straws ever became kinked or collapsed.  But he had not. 

 

And when she later went over in her head what he had forced her to endure, the fact that he hadn’t done this spoke volumes to Victoria.

 

Roberto pulled the high neck of her suit down a little and trimmed the bottom of the latex mask around her neck.  Then he pulled the collar of her suit up over her newly acquired mask and just below her slave collar.  He next tightened the suit around her upper back again.  Except for her breasts and groin, and a thin strip down her back where the suit laced, Victoria was now almost totally encased in black rubber.

 

Roberto had used these suits before and knew he had to be careful.  A slut’s internal body temperature built up quickly when the bitch was covered like this, so there had to be places for her body to vent heat.  Heat meant sweat, and he loved his women to have sweaty bodies.

 

“I’m glad you like having sex with me, you stupid woman,” he said to her via the microphone, “Because you and I will be having a good time now.”

 

 

A sound disturbed me as I concentrated on breathing.  I was still trying to master my emotions and calm my mind.  Consequently, I barely heard The Demon when he spoke and what little I did hear was as if from a distance.  The most important thing to me was that I was finally beginning to get my breathing back under control. 

 

The rubber suit covered much of my body, and in an odd way, its tight fit almost felt….supportive.  Yet, I also knew I was helpless, helpless even as the most intimate parts of my body were uncovered, left open and exposed to this madman, thus was made available for his intimate and unlimited use. 

 

A shudder of dread ran through me. 

 

 

Roberto looked at her gorgeous breasts.  While some men were leg men, he was a tit man.  He loved women’s tits, the bigger the better.  While not huge, this young teenager had absolutely magnificent breasts for her size and he was transfixed by them.  The funny part was that she herself seemed oblivious regarding what wonderful tits she had. 

 

But they were beginning to get a darker red now.  Yet they still jutted out from her rib cage with no support and her erect nipples pointed accusingly at him.  He thought this was hilarious—and sexy as shit.  Her breasts were covered with fine beads of sweat from both her previous exertions along with obvious her terror, so he leaned over and licked the sweat off of each, enjoying the salty taste of fear she exuded.  She jumped at the unexpectedly rough touch of his tongue, and he laughed with delight. 

 

“Can you smell that?  It’s your fear.  A very intoxicating scent.” 

 

Roberto watched her struggle with her fears for a couple more minutes and knew this was a strong one.  But he could handle that.  Telling her what he was going to do on the microphone, he used his hands to guide her back down on the bed again.  She couldn’t struggle, because as soon as she made any effort at all, she ran out of oxygen. 

 

Reaching down to her feet, he quickly used the rings on the back of her boots to attach her feet to the bed posts at the foot of the bed.  With a smirk on his face, Roberto thought to himself she was familiar with this position—this he knew for a fact!  He then tied a rope tightly from the ring in her slave collar to the head of the bed.  For sure, this beautiful bitch was going nowhere without his permission.

 

Roberto then sat on the edge of the bed and began talking to the kidnapped girl as he stroked her rubber covered body.  “You, my dear,” he softly crooned into her earpieces, “belong to me now.”

 

“I know you are afraid.  This is okay.  That’s right, it’s okay to be afraid.  You are strong.  But you can be stronger.  You need to take your fear and welcome it in.  Take it and make it your own.  That is the only way you will survive your future.”

 

 

I was taking quick, shallow breaths trying to keep the blackness away.  I was fighting a losing battle, since I could hear the monsters raging in my mind.  But in the distance, as if in a bad soundtrack I could still hear The Demon droning on.

 

“Make it a part of you.  You learn do this with fear, and you will learn to do this with pain; I promise you that you will become a slave in a million.  No, one in ten million.  You have much potential.”

 

Perverted bastard!  Monster!  No, she corrected herself in the small part of her mind that remained sane, he was a fucking, perverted bastard.

 

 

Roberto soon realized that the captive girl was not responding to him as she should, as he expected.  He soon became enraged that even as restricted as she was, this arrogant bitch still tried to frustrate him.  As he grabbed the end of the straws through which she breathed and pinched them off with his fingers, he said, “Bitch!  Listen to me!  You act like a spoiled child, but your time of being a brat has come to an end.  Right now, you belong to me and I swear this to you.”

 

What Roberto didn’t realize was that at that moment, I wanted to cooperate with him.  My most fervent desire was to give him whatever he wanted.  But I was as paralyzed psychologically as I was bound physically.  With slavering beasts in my mind everywhere I looked, I couldn’t have physically satisfied him at that moment if my life depended upon it---and it did.

 

As Roberto watched at this point, Victoria’s upper body was arched off of The Bed in her desperate attempts to get sufficient air to fill her screaming lungs.  Her feet made a helpless tattoo on the mattress as she struggled.  But to no avail, for her widespread, bound feet and the rope attached to her slave collar ensured she would forever lay on her back on this bed for as long as he desired.  Suddenly, a little life-giving air came through her only access to the outside world—he’d allowed her to breathe again.  She moaned loudly.

 

He looked at her sweaty breasts as her lungs continued to give shallow heaves, always begging for more air.  He watched her for a few more seconds and became aroused again.  He leaned over and again licked her breasts clean of the sweaty film that had accumulated there.  After this, he worked on her nipples for a minute.

 

The whole time he was licking her breasts his left hand was between her legs, stroking her hairless vagina.  His thumb and index finger and captured her labia between them and pursued a long stroking motion, like that which might be done if one were continually drawing a long line in the sand.  Long stroke over slick, sweaty skin, fingers exploring and tracing perspiring folds; another long stroke after the first. 

 

Finally, he leaned down and ran his hand between her legs and up the crack of her ass, lifting her pelvis from the back and cradling her hips in his hand for a short moment.  She moaned again—he knew then she must like him touching her between her legs.  Then he slowly released her and dragged his hand back from behind her and up over her vagina once again, letting his fingers slowly trail behind. 

 

He then reached back between her legs with his left hand and quickly ran his middle finger up into her asshole and put his thumb in Victoria’s pussy.  The bound girl jerked at this move, but that was the only move of which she was capable.  Using just this grip, he squeezed his fingers together and after a moment, he again lifted her pelvis off of the bed for almost a minute before he then trailed his hand over her sweaty labia as he released her from his caress.  He just loved working with a beautiful, sweaty, compliant bitch like this.

 

Reversing positions so his back was to her face as he straddled her stomach, Roberto leaned down over Vicki and put his hands on each of her rubber covered thighs.  Leaning down even further, he put his mouth over the upper vee of her naked vagina where her lips met her clit.  Her hips continually jerked as he sucked lightly on the flesh there before searching for the small, elusive button of feminine flesh.  Finally trapping it, he lightly tugged on her clitoris as he took it between his upper teeth and lower lip.  Then he moved his mouth barely away from between her legs and said into the microphone, “Show me how much you like this.” 

 

But the cunt remained motionless except for the full body quivers which occasionally ran through her body, so Roberto leaned over and took her whole vagina in his mouth this time, putting his nose down near her ass.  But he didn’t care about that because she had a wonderfully musky smell to her pussy mixed with sweat and fear; it was a wonderfully sexy aroma. 

 

Roberto began sucking again and this time Victoria’s hips came up into his face within fifteen seconds; finally she proceeded to grind herself into his face.  She stopped rotating her pelvis into his mouth after a minute, but he supposed it was more because she was heaving for air through her straws rather than that she’d had enough of his loving. 

 

Roberto continued talking to Victoria as he let her catch her breath.  Always a man that felt he told the truth, he confided he found her quite desirable this way and he hoped she was enjoying this as much as he.  He snorted then to himself.  If she was not, it was her fault because he was trying to help her understand how one could become always stronger through will power alone.  If she chose not to listen to him, then who was she to complain?

 

Roberto also continued running his hands between her thighs, reveling in the sweat-slick feel of her now heated skin and inhaling the musk of her sweaty genitals.  Finally, he knew he was ready for the next step, and perhaps even the one after that too.  The increasing urgency of her moans indicated to him she too was ready. 

 

I hated and feared this man but I responded to his physical manipulations between my legs because I knew this was what would most please him.  At this point, it didn’t matter how much I might hate him too, I was terrified and would do anything to get this over.  His sucking on first my clitoris and then my whole pussy had actually felt good after a moment.  And the fact that that was what he wanted, that I had perhaps satisfied him even if only temporarily, somehow took my mind away from my situation--until I found myself heaving for air again. 

 

I felt The Demon connect the ends of the strap that wound above my breasts in front.  He tightened the strap to the point where I could barely expand my chest to breathe.  The Demon then connected the ends of the second belt that went below my breasts and did the same again. 

 

If at all possible, my situation now was even worse than before.  In addition to the straws limiting the air I could take in, I could barely expand my chest to breathe. Again, dark terror took over my mind as the now familiar clenching grasp of claustrophobia grabbed at my lungs and ran through my body. 

 

I talked to myself constantly then, trying to calm myself, but it took incredible willpower to keep with it long enough to have any effect.  Finally, after what seemed like hours of internal struggle, I was able to get myself to the point where I could begin taking even, timed breaths as deeply (shallowly?) as was possible.  It was torture to force myself to slow down enough to do so, but I knew without a doubt I was lost if I did not.

 

I continued breathing slowly and regularly, trying to get enough air to breathe.  After what seemed like hours but must have been only minutes, I again seemed to be able to get just ahead of the oxygen debt I had accumulated in my struggles and responses to The Demon.  Finally, the screaming claustrophobia that had ruled my mind slowly began to recede ever so slightly.  

 

It was like my lungs were filled with alternating layers of stale, musty air and carbon dioxide; and I could only breathe off the top layer.  And that level was also the only one I had any realistic hope of replenishing as I took only the shallowest sips of air each straw allowed me.  No matter what I did in my attempts to please him, this hated man was a true master of torture.

 

 

Roberto stood up and walked over to the cupboard near the head of the bed and pulled out a red and a black candle.  Pulling out matches, he lit the black candle and used the melted wax from it to fix the burning candle to the table in back of him. 

 

Next he took up the red candle from the table.  This one he would use on her first, because he most preferred the contrast of red wax on the straining and now reddish-white skin of her breasts.  The beautiful breasts that were marbled with light blue veins, then all encased in midnight black rubber. 

 

Roberto leaned over and told Victoria in crooning voice, “Don’t be afraid.  I am just enhancing your beauty a little.  There will be tiny little points of heat.  Tiny, golden pinpricks.  Enjoy feeling these slowly harden into exquisite patterns on your beautiful skin.  You may be a stupid bitch, but you are a marvelous, blank canvas.”

 

He lit the crimson red candle and held it above her left nipple and slowly let the hot wax drip onto her unblemished breast.  Some of the wax he let drip on her nipple, encasing it in its own crimson version of her black rubber suit as it hardened.  Some drops were allowed to fall on the top of her breast, while others landed on the breast’s curve underneath.  Still other drops he allowed to accumulate on the ends of the gold ring that pierced her perfect breast.  He then turned his attention to her right breast and duplicated his painting in red wax. 

 

Their captive’s breasts seemed naturally tender from the way she reacted.  They had been made even more so due to the additional and enthusiastic attention each had already encountered from her “mentors” in this hell she now inhabited. 

 

Each small drop of wax that fell onto the bound teenager burned her skin and caused a brief pin prick of pain before it cooled.  The large gobs and drips of wax that landed on her breasts however, tended to run in rivulets and took much longer to cool.  Each of these rivers of wax caused her a lot more pain than did the drops. 

 

Each hissing kiss of the wax, whether large or small, drew a shudder from her chest that made her breasts jiggle like Jell-O.  This both amused and aroused Roberto. 

 

Finally, both breasts were about a third encased in hard, waxy red.  Roberto then switched his attention to her vagina and pubic area.  Large rivulets of hot wax running off of her lower abdomen and onto her clitoris made Victoria arch and give out muffled screams of pain.  A vicious cycle, this however, caused her to begin breathing too hard and she began a shallow hyperventilation again. 

 

Roberto continued with the molten wax on her labia, letting it run from the top of her vagina and follow the natural contours of her body as it ended up near the crack of her ass.  She bucked desperately and moaned loudly as he did this.

 

Roberto liked this reaction so much that he switched from the red candle to the black and began the procedure all over again.  Black on red on top, and black on red on the bottom—a most auspicious beginning for this piece of body art. 

 

Roberto looked at his canvas and finally realized it was incomplete.  It still needed a snowy white for the final contrast.  Reaching over into the bag in which he’d brought the candles, he pulled out a bag of large marshmallows.  Taking the still lit black candle, he held up a marshmallow and lit it, eventually allowing strings of molten white to dribble on to her bare breasts, covering the hardened candle wax.

 

Victoria’s bound body bucked futilely as white hot flame exploded across her bare chest.  While the affect was superficial only, he knew the acid-like burn of the sticky, melted white substance lasted far longer than that of the wax.  The bound teenager they had kidnapped began throwing her body from left to right as far as the rope attached to her slave collar would allow.  Finally, after both of M’s breasts had been blessed in white, he stopped before doing her vagina. 

 

These would temporarily leave red marks on her skin. 

 

After waiting for several minutes, he crooned into the microphone he would now remove her “color” and that she should remain absolutely still while he did so.  “This is a test of how well you have learned to obey.  You see,” he said, “I must use a razor blade to clean my canvas.  Be very still bitch, it would be most unfortunate if I were to remove a nipple or perhaps circumcise you.”

 

 

His voice finally beat its way through my haze of pain; I immediately froze as I heard his words in my ears.  Instead, I concentrated on taking in the necessary, yet small and inadequate sips of air his straws allowed through my nostrils. 

 

Finally, after everything else it was just too much, it was just too hard to continue like this.  I felt myself begin losing this unwinnable race and after a moment, I began seeing small white sparkling dots on the insides of my eyelids; then everything started going dark gray. 

 

I begged God for forgiveness and prayed my parents would find out someday what had happened to me---that I had not run away from them---that I had cared for them right up to the end…….

 

 

Wolf still sat up on the deck and listened as the moans from Victoria became louder and more insistent.  It had gone on for about thirty or forty minutes when he was deafened by a sudden prolonged silence from below.  At this point, he quickly got up and went down into the cabin. 

 

There he saw Roberto pulling on Victoria’s nipple chain and her wax encrusted chest was arched up off of The Bed as far as it could go without tearing out the nipple rings.  It looked like he was getting ready to take a knife to her breasts. 

 

Her chest barely moved as she feebly tried to breathe through the straws; M was clearly in great distress. 

 

Wolf roared, “What the hell are you doing?” and the sound of his voice was carried clearly by Roberto’s microphone—Victoria heard it all in the distance as she continued to fade now towards black.

 

Roberto started stuttering and Wolf told him to “…get the goddamn rubber off of her face”.  When he didn’t act quickly enough, Wolf leaned over and ripped a hole in the rubber covering her mouth, then quickly withdrew the gag.  She drew in a shallow shuddering breath. 

 

Looking at her, he asked Roberto, “Why isn’t she breathing better?”

 

Roberto replied, “She’s strapped so that she can’t breathe too deeply.”

 

 

Victoria thought she heard over his microphone the sound of Bossman hitting Roberto and then, “Get the damned suit off of her NOW!”

 

Roberto scrambled and began working on her.  He began unstrapping the two belts around her chest which had so terrified her; the girl could feel him unclip her slave collar and pull her upper body up.  Finally, she could breathe again. 

 

Roberto pulled the two straws out of her nostrils and then began ripping off with his hands the thin layer of soft rubber that encased her face and then the rest of her head.  She pulled in deep breath after deep breath.  He looked into her eyes and saw a wildness in her pin-point pupils that had not been there before.  In passing, he noticed her face was extremely flushed and beaded with sweat.

 

He then untied her feet from the bed posts and helped her stand up.  She was unsteady on her feet and he held her upright as he unzipped and freed first her left arm and then her right. 

 

 

When I was finally able to move both of my arms, I weakly pushed The Demon away from me.  After removing my nipple chain with shaking fingers, I began trying to remove the hated rubber suit myself.  But I couldn’t get at the back where it was laced and I was stymied until Bossman walked over and with a sympathetic look on his face, began unlacing her.

 

He had saved me….  My life had been saved by the man who led the kidnapping team!!

 

Finally free, I kicked off my boots and threw myself out of the rubber monstrosity, almost ripping out in the process the rings that still pierced my nipples.  In the end, I stood sweaty and naked in the boat cabin.  All that remained from before was the hair net and the ear pieces---and the multicolored wax on my skin, mostly covered in white. 

 

I took off the hair net and weakly shook out my hair.  It was sweaty and matted, full of rats and kinks.  My swollen breasts under the multicolored wax were still a dark reddish color due to the constricting rubber suit.  Now that they had been freed and I was standing upright they ached with the pain of a thousand needles.  Just as bad, my vagina remained stiff from front to back with dried strings of both red and black wax, wax that cracked and fell off with each move I made.

 

After taking out the ear pieces, I looked at The Demon and began to walk towards him slowly.  While unashamedly submissive all day up to now in my attempts to please this man, I also knew what he had just done to me demanded this one great act of defiance.

 

 

Wolf saw the eyes of blazing green and the look on her face.  He grabbed a handful of the girl’s hair as she stalked by, a furious look on her face.  He swung M around by her hair and slapped her in the face.  Not hard, but in a way to ensure he shocked their captive out of her inappropriate rage.

 

He said, “M, stop.  I’ll take care of this.  I don’t think you can take much more, and if you take even one more step it’ll be you that’s in trouble, not him.”

 

Turning, he said to Roberto, he said, “Get your stuff together and get up on the deck now.  You’re off this boat in five minutes.”  Roberto looked at him for a second and turned on his heel and without a word left the cabin.

 

Wolf turned back to Victoria, “M, if you’d hit him, it would’ve have been you being punished.  I would have been forced to damn near kill you.  It’s better this way.  He was the newest member of the crew and I’ve been watching him.  He’s gone for good now and won’t bother you anymore.”

 

 

I suddenly realized that as his property, my anger had been both improper and perhaps even dangerous.  My body was finally beginning to react to what I felt was my near-death and I was shaking all over from excess adrenaline.  Without any warning, my legs buckled and I dropped to my knees. 

 

My Master’s leg was the closest support and I hugged him as if only he could save me from drowning.  Sobbing, I buried my face into his thigh.  After a moment, I was able to look up at him and all I could think of saying was, “Thank you, Master.  Thank you.” 

 

It was heartfelt and I looked at him in an entirely new light; he’d saved my life—I was sure of it.  I knew I was his property and had he chosen to do so, he could have let my die right there and then just dumped my body overboard---no one would have ever known.

 

Master looked down at my matted hair and touched it softly for a minute saying, “M, you need to now it’s not over.  You have almost an hour before Manuel comes to you.  Get some rest.  It shouldn’t have gone that far.”

 

 

Wolf turned to leave when she collapsed, sobbing, onto the floor.  He gently helped her stand back up and walk over to a chair where she dropped bonelessly into it; her uncontrolled sobbing continued helplessly. 

 

Wolf then walked through the galley and up onto the deck where Roberto was waiting.  He and Roberto walked to the end of the boat where they could not be overheard. 

 

Wolf said to his man, “Here’s the extra money I promised you.  Good job.  I’ll have Jorge take you to the island in the runabout, and you can catch a fishing boat back to the mainland in the morning.  I have new meat coming through soon and will need you again in two or three weeks---that okay?”

 

“That’ll be fine.”  Roberto said, but then he hesitated. 

 

“She’s tough,” Roberto commented.  “Damned tough.  I wasn’t sure she’d break, but in the end, she responded just as you predicted.  In the end, they all do.  Don’t they, Jefe?”

 

“Yes,” Wolf replied absently without looking at Roberto, “in the end you all do.”

 

 

I stared down at the floor of the cabin with the gaze of unseeing exhaustion.  I was finding it difficult to understand that this particular trial was over.  After a few moments in which I could not control my crying, I finally got up and walked over to the bathroom where I blew my nose.  I looked at myself in the mirror and began to cry again. 

 

Finally, I stepped into the shower and ran the water as hot as I could stand it.  I stood there for about ten minutes just soaking and washing my hair; after a few minutes my sobs had finally stopped.  The moist heat helped me get most of the wax and marshmallow off of my body, and I was able to use my finger nails to scrape off the rest.

 

I was mentally exhausted and knew that no matter how much time I had, it would not be long enough for me to be either mentally or physically prepared for The Evil One.  Strangely though, I just didn’t care at the moment.  I quickly toweled my hair and then used a hair dryer to blow it dry.  I walked out and swiftly brushed my hair, then like a robot I finished doing my eyes before I did anything else. 

 

And this was how Manuel found me when he walked into the cabin.

 

Although still feeling dull mentally, I immediately assumed the necessary position.  The first thing he said to me was, “Put your hair up in a ponytail.  Now!”

 

Trying to obey even though my muscles felt like they were made of rubber, I quickly began tying my hair back and after a little searching on the dresser, found a small band to put around my hair to hold it in place.

 

He carried nothing in his hands when he walked into the cabin.  When I looked up at him quizzically, he just looked at me for a second and then said, “Where are the heels you were wearing when you decided to join us for this cruise?”

 

Looking at him, I suddenly felt even more exhausted.  I knew where they were, but had hoped never to wear them again.  They represented a different part of my life, a part that was in the past, a part in which I had stupidly assumed I owned the world and that what I did never had an impact on what happened in my future.  I didn’t know if I could even look at them again without feeling revulsion.  But it didn’t matter to The Evil One, he insisted I get them and put them on.  And this I did.

 

I now stood in front of him naked except for my collar, nipple chain and black high-heeled sandals with crisscrossing straps going up my calves.  Finally back to their normal milky white color, both of my breasts were blotched by faint red areas from the wax and only fading reddish rings around their base remained to remind me of The Demon.  In addition, there were a few small reddish blotches marking my groin, chest and even my nipples. 

 

Looking at these marks, Manuel asked, “Who fuck’ ya up, bitch?”

 

My eyes were blinking furiously and I told myself, no tears, no tears.  I felt myself blushing under his stare and not wanting to fall into any kind of trap, I replied, “I was last with Master Roberto, Master.”

 

“Okay; dat ‘splains dat.” After a hesitation, he said, “He doan like you, I think.”  

 

Manuel now walked over to the bed and quickly undressed, after which he sat down on the edge and said, “C’mon here, slut.”

 

I walked over and stood in front of him.  He looked up at me for a second, then reached up and used my nipple chain to drag me down to my knees in front of him.  It hurt a lot as he pulled me down to his level, but I kept my face blank as I tried to assume what I thought would be an appropriate position.  One which would please him, with my knees tightly together and my hands resting on my thighs.  I did not look at him, but rather down at the floor.

 

“T’day,” he said, “I hab the ‘stinct pleasure of begin’ yur lessons in how to please a man wid yur mout’.  Ya got a gorgeous mout’, better be soft too.  It is, ya make a spectacular slut wid’ it.”  His lesson began almost as much with language as it did with physical training.

 

“We startin’ at da ver’ beginin’.  Look at me, bitch.  Dat’s right.  Take my cock in yur hands and stroke it, real slow like.  Dat’s right.  Ya see how a real man ‘ppreciates yur ‘tentions?  Real men always gonna respon’ dis way.” 

 

I obviously did not want to do this and it showed on my face.  This annoyed him, so I guess he decided to humiliate me.

 

“Now look at me an’ lick yur lips.  Slowly lean into me down der an’ kiss my cock.  Dat’s right, kiss it like it’s made of jewels an’ diamonds—you come from a wealthy family bitch, and know of the value of dem tings.  Yah?  Show me now yu value me as yur Masta an’ a man.” 

 

Both of his hands were on the top of my head, forcing me down to his hips.  His voice changed a little.  “Dat’s right.  Now lick real slow.  Preten’ yur licking ice ‘n cream cone.  Lick it wit’ anticipation!  It yur pleasure to lick my ice cream, no?  Make sure you lick un’erneat’ and right on da tip.  Ahhh, dat’s nice.”

 

His penis and the wrinkled skin of his balls were a darker color than the rest of him and his erection was quite large.  He was circumcised and the veins on the outside of his penis pulsed and bulged with trapped blood.  I tried to withdraw into that special place I had discovered in my mind, but I still felt my eyes begin to brim with tears at the humiliating way he was talking to me.  He smelled of old sex and unwashed skin, like he hadn’t bathed in days.  I fought nausea and was barely successful in keeping my bile down.

 

“Now take it in yur mouth, slut.  Slow, real slow.  Ahhh, dat’s right.  Yur doin’ well here; ya know ya like whatever a man tells ya to do.  Dis is da way it should be.  It da difference ‘tween bein’ a well-train’ mare an’ a wild mustan’.  Da mare, she may not have as many options as da mustang, but she please her stallion a whole bunch more.”

 

At his insistent tugging on a handful of my hair, I finally leaned over into his lap and began to work on him.  His head snapped back—I guess I did have a soft mouth—the thought mortified my.  All he could see was the back of my head bobbing up and down on his pole and then I know he felt a liquid warmth on his lap as my tears fell onto the tops of his bare thighs.  But I continued doing as he had ordered.

 

 

My time on my knees represented my first experience with oral sex.  I was---or always had been---a very fastidious person, squeamish and fussy, particular to the point where people laughed at me.  I didn’t even like to touch cigarettes, for God’s sake, or even put them on my lips.  I had honestly never, ever felt the desire to take a man into my mouth, let alone swallow his bodily fluids.  Frankly, the last thought just disgusted me. 

 

But here I was, kneeling in front of The Evil One while he made me lean forward and take his foul smelling erection into my mouth.  Knowing I had no choice, I reluctantly kissed his stiff shaft and then opened my mouth and took him inside, tasting a man there for the first time. 

 

For some reason and without my being able to stop, tears of shame again began flooding my eyes and falling on him.  He was a large man, although not as large as Bossman and it was difficult at first to get the head of his penis past my lips, but finally I succeeded.  He filled my mouth with his manhood.

 

 

He kept his hand on the back of her head as he moved toward the middle of the bed, forcing her to follow him on her hands and knees like a dog on a leash of hard flesh.  Her unconfined breasts hung down, swaying as she crawled up on the mattress after him, never allowing his cock out of her mouth.  Whore looked like a mongrel being trained for an absent master and she knew it.  Uncontrollably, her eyes began filling again. 

 

It was meant to be that humiliating, so he kept a grip on her pony tail and never let her mouth roam from his groin and what he desired.

 

“Bitch, follow my cock like yur life depen’ on it.  Ya bite me, even by acciden’, I swear I’ll pull every toof in yur head.  Never le’ my cock out yur mout’.  It yur life.  It yur reason for bein’.  Follow it like some men follow da flag and never let go.  Dat’s right.  On yur knees agin ‘tween my legs.”

 

“Yur head, move it up and down, up and down real slow like.  Ya take all me in yur mouth and suck ‘til I say yu done.  Dat’s right.  Now take it deep’r in yur mout’.  Deep’r, you stupid cunt.  Deep’r.  More.”

 

All of his language was designed to make her understand just how insignificant she was. 

 

“OK, I’m gonna slide in yur throat and yu show me how well ya handle my cock den.  Dat’s righ’, you concentrate on takin’ it deep and don’ gag, ya gonna git an ‘A’ yur first less’n.  Concentrate on yur breathin’, no gaggin’ an’ no vomitin’; ya do dat an’ I’ll beat da shit out of ya.”

 

“Now take my cock in yur han’ and pull down slow-like on da loose skin as ya move up ‘n down on my cock.  Suck hard all da time, when yur mout’ is full an’ even when it ain’t.  But don’ let my cock come out yur mout’.  Never!  Not ‘til I say ya can.”

 

He could tell that at first she wasn't quite sure what to do, but it seemed like she quickly caught on and finally began a clumsy and graceless sucking motion.  Her cheeks looked hollow as she sucked on him, but then would regain their normal contours as he would partially pull out of her mouth.  After a few moments, Manuel withdrew from her mouth, but then quickly pushed his cock back in again.  He kept going on like this until he’d established a rhythm that was easy for her to follow. 

 

 

It went on like this for what seemed like hours.  I sucked on him and stroked him.  He hit the back of my throat again and again, and I hunched up reflexively as I felt the urge to gag each time, but somehow I controlled it.  His cock was in me up to the root and my face was buried in his bushy pubic hair.  He smelled awful and I continually fought the beginnings of nausea as I thought about what he was doing to me. 

 

Somehow I forced myself to go on even as his balls continued smacking me on my chin.  I desperately tried to do as he had said.  I was somehow able to keep myself from gagging as he took his deep strokes into my mouth.  Drool ran from the corner of my mouth and my eyes were closed as he used his handful of my hair to crush my face into his pubic area. 

 

My nose was buried in his black, curly, smelly pubic hair and every time I breathed in, my nostrils caught the putrid smell of urine, sweaty cheese and old cum.  Despite my nausea, I somehow continued forcing myself to ignore his aroma.  As he somehow pushed even further into me, I finally realized I could only handle him this way if I took it more slowly.  So, with bone-crushing despair, I began to actually concentrate on sucking his huge, always pulsating need, and God help me, eventually, after an eternity he finally began to cum in my mouth.  I gagged then….

 

 

Manuel didn’t care about the inexperienced bitch sucking on him as long as she didn’t bite.  Bad head was a thousand times better than none at all.  He was in heaven, fully involved in mouth-fucking the blonde, teenage whore, and as he got closer, his motions became quicker, more agitated, even as his English became less intelligible.  He didn’t know and didn’t care what he was saying as long as his cock was buried in the new bitch’s warm, moist, tight mouth. 

 

Finally, he began to cum.  Bitch looked like she was going to vomit, but he made a threatening face and she pulled herself back together.  At that exact moment, all he truly cared about was filling her mouth with everything he had left inside his nuts.  She snorted for air once and he felt her head move, felt her try to shake him off once, but he used his handhold on her ponytail to keep the slut’s mouth right where he could target it with every move of his hips. 

 

When she was finally able to pull free from him enough to turn her head away and cough, it had been something he had permitted.  He allowed it for it allowed him to paint her face with the rest of his load.  Once finished, he casually used the still choking girl’s pony tail to wipe up any cum he might have left on her face. 

 

God!  He felt so damned good, so fucking relaxed.  The colors seemed so much clearer, everything was always so much brighter after a man got his nuts off in a pretty face. 

 

Everything was good with the world!

 

 

He allowed me to rest for a few minutes.  I choked up more of his now saliva-diluted cum, but swallowed it again rather than take a chance on his anger.  I knew my face expressed what I was feeling as I wiped my mouth and tried to ignore him sitting next to me.  It seemed at first like he might have satisfied himself with just this one round of sexual crudity, but then, in a rough and brutal manner I felt The Evil One suddenly grab a handful of my hair, locking my head back in place again.  This allowed him to hold my mouth steady for his second assault. 

 

With no other options and not knowing what else to do, I reluctantly took the perv back in my mouth and began again, sucking and working his disgusting semi-erection with my tongue.  With my attention, he soon became hard again and grew back to his normally engorged size. 

 

After I’d worked on him for a couple of more minutes, I suddenly felt his hips begin to jerk into my face and his meat begin to spasm.  By the time I realized what it meant, he’d shot a second large string of cum deep into my mouth, almost down my throat. 

 

Surprised at the vile feeling of unexpectedly warm and salty, yet almost sweet tasting fluid which filled my mouth, I shook my head again.  Revulsion and intense disgust filled me as I once more unsuccessfully attempted to pull away from The Evil One’s crotch.  But he continued to keep an unshakeable hold on my hair and I couldn't escape as he discharged his remaining semen all over my face.

 

 

Bitch looked hesitant.  Manuel could see the teenager was unsure how to react; she looked revolted by what he had done to her and he laughed with amused pleasure.  When she tried to turn her face a little to spit his cum out of her mouth, he suddenly pushed his still erect cock back into her mouth and filled her with his manhood again.  He thrust his rigid shaft back into her mouth where it slid over the majority of his cum which still lay in gobs on her tongue.

 

 

He was so perverted, yet I still tried to please him!  Without his urging and without him aware I still had his seed in my mouth, I finally began to slowly suck on him again.  My jaws were aching at this point from being pried open for so long but there was no escape.  The Evil One would pull his penis out of my mouth and use his fingers to dip and scrape his cum from my face and then either push it back into my mouth or paint it on his penis. 

 

He would put his cock back in my mouth and tell me to ‘clean it, suck it clean’.  He did this two or three more times until my face was relatively free of his discharge.  I hated it---the remaining film of his semen dried quickly on my skin and felt both sticky and tight and crusty, all at the same time.

 

I kept my eyes closed the whole time that The Evil One was ‘cleansing’ my face.  Eventually, not knowing what else to do, I made an instinctive decision to try to please him by swallowing everything he had put in my mouth. 

 

It was hard to swallow saliva and my mouth was filling with his bitter-sweet fluid.  Finally, even knowing that it would put me in a place from which I could never return, I resolutely swallowed what he’d put in me.  I didn't particularly like the taste and I was grossed out by what I was doing, but I knew of no other way to make this torture end.  As I did this, I felt nausea begin to billow again in my stomach and punch up against my diaphragm, it threatened to bring everything on my stomach back up again.

 

 

Manuel was happy with the blonde puta’s first attempt at giving an extended blow job.  They’d all beat on her, it was time to motivate her.  So he patted her on top of her head like a dog, telling her she had “done good” and “he knew bitches been whores for years dat weren’t good as she.” 

 

“She was,” Manuel assured her, “a dam’ natural at dis an’ woul’ only get better wi’ practice.”

 

 

Not particularly conceited in any way, Victoria had always taken great pride in what she was, a decent and good person.  She was a rule follower, or at least as much of one as an active teenager could be.  She valued herself and was both choosy about those with whom she associated and had always acted in a way that ensured she would never bring shame to herself or embarrass her parents.  While some may have thought she was stuck-up, it more that she was just naturally reserved.  The other thing: she was finicky about being “proper” perhaps to an unreasonable degree for that’s what she’d been taught by her mother. 

 

This is why she responded to The Evil One’s warped praise with a resolutely blank face, for she knew exactly what this one act would later cost her in self-esteem.  Feeling complicit and totally humiliated, she was ashamed of what she had just done and of why she had done it.  Physically, emotionally, mentally, it had always seemed before, on this boat from hell, she had been the unwilling victim of terrible circumstance. 

 

But here, in this last act just consummated, Vicki felt like somehow she had for the first time actually cooperated in her ruin, had somehow been an active and willing participant in what had just happened to her rather than just sitting in the audience, watching some sort of perverted play unfold onstage to another person.

 

 

The Evil One made me resume me kneeling position on the floor at the side of The Bed while he rested for a while.  Eventually, he began talking to me, needling me, prodding me.  His goading was well planned and of the worst kind because it attacked my view of myself and forced me to face what he thought would be my ultimate destruction.

 

“I tink yu like dis stuff,” he said.  “Yah?”

 

I closed my eyes before attempting to answer.  The Evil One was challenging my view of myself, that inner core that I suddenly found was so important to me.  Well, I wouldn’t let him have it.  These were just words and they couldn’t hurt me. 

 

“Yes, Master,” I replied as I looked into his eyes, as if it had been an agreeable afternoon in which we both willingly participated.

 

“Yu like givin’ blow jobs?” he asked.

 

I hesitated answering, the thought constantly going through my mind, God why are you letting this animal torture me like this.  “Yes, Master, I like giving blow jobs,” I finally replied, feeling inside like I wanted nothing more than to just die.

 

“Yu a cunt?”

 

Oh God, please make this stop---but he’s glaring at me, I have to answer.  “Yes, Master, I’m a cunt.” 

 

Please, no more.  This is not me.

 

“No, yur nah a cunt.  A cunt’ll take a man an’ make him happy.  Yu a slut?”

 

Tears begin to brim around my eyes as I agreed and replied, “Yes Master, I am a slut.” 

 

I am NOT a slut though.  I am a teenage girl who has been kidnapped and tortured, raped and sodomized.  But I am not a slut!

 

“No yur nah a slut.  A slut’ll do two, t’ree men an’ be happy.  Sluts like sex.  How many men yu have on dis boat?” The Evil One asked.

 

This was so unfair.  He took so much pleasure in trying to make me cry, trying to break me down.  He truly was evil.  Tears now begin trailing down my face as I desperately played for time, “Master, do you mean how many men are on the boat? 

 

”No, stupid woman!  How many men take yu on dis boat?” he asked again.

 

“I understand, Master; I’ve been with five men on this boat, Master.”  The words were torn from my throat like skin flayed from my body.  I understood now what Bossman meant when he said words do have meaning. 

 

“Five men, all one time.  Dat makes yu a whore.  Yu un’erstan’?” 

 

Now he raised his voice, yelled into my face, “Five men, one time, dat make yu a nasty whore.  Yu un’erstan’ me.  Say it, yu bitch! 

 

“I understand, Master,” my eyes teared up again as I replied, my face cast down, trying to be evasive in the only way my slavery allowed.

 

“SAY IT!” he yelled at me and I jumped in fear.

 

“Yes, Master.  Fucking five men at one time makes me a whore; I’m a nasty whore” I finally repeated back to him.  Even though my tears, I was holding back, attempting to deceive, trying to keep the remaining shreds of my dignity—yet even so, it still hit me like a blow.  I was finding that words do have meaning.  They also have a weight and a volume and a density.  They can hit you harder than any rock or bullet.

 

“Yu take five men in one time?” he asked silkily.

 

“Yes Master.  I’ve taken five men at one time.  I am a whore.  I have taken five men at one time and I am a whore.”  I finally began to actually feel the words that described the reality of my new life.  I was beginning to understand what I was now and would soon become even more.

 

“Yu like gang-bangs too?’ he continued.

 

Tired with trying to play dumb to his bumbling Clouseau, there was little emotion in my voiced as I replied, “Yes Master, I like being gang-banged.”

 

This last exchange seemed to finally satisfy him.  He allowed me to sit in the chair while he lay on the bed---not a word passed between us.  After he had rested for about half an hour, The Evil One said, “Dat be da old way for a cunt.  Now bitch, yu an’ I gonna do a new way.”

 

I had been in my own world for the last twenty minutes, it was blessed relief.  When I now looked at him, I could see he was playing with himself and had the beginnings of another erection.

 

“Get dat look off yur face.  I do da work wid dis one.  Come here.  Lie down on da bed sideways on your back, your head hang off da edge.  Dat’s right, dat’s right.  Now cross yur legs, grab yur right high heel wid yur left hand and yur left heel wid yur right hand.  Un’erstan’, yu stupid cunt?”

 

“Yes Master, I understand,” I replied.  My mind whirled, I tried to understand what he wanted, what he was going to do.

 

“Den do it!  Okay.  Now hang on to dem.  Don’ let go yur heels, no madda whad happens.  I don’ wanna see yur hands flappin’ around, no matter whad I do.  Yu un’erstan’, stupid bitch?”

 

“Yes Master, I understand,” I again replied.

 

With that, The Evil One got down on his knees in front of me.  He reached down with his left hand and jerked my head back and down hard by pulling my hair toward the deck of the cabin.  I now knew why he’d told me to put my hair up in a ponytail.  My head was no longer on a plane with my body, but was tilted backwards so that I was looking upside down at the wall in back of The Evil One.  In fact, all I could see was the wall behind him through his spread thighs and the giant black tube of his cock which now hung immediately in front of my face.  His balls dangled directly in front of my eyes.

 

I couldn’t help myself, I gasped in shocked horror.  As he pulled hard on the back of my head using my hair, my mouth was forced wide open as I gaped with pain.  The Evil One then used his right hand to guide his erect cock into my mouth.  Because of the way I lay on The Bed and the manner in which my head was hanging off of The Bed, he had a straight shot down my gullet and his erection took up every inch available.  With one move of his hips, he drove the head of his engorged penis into my mouth and down my throat, and then he just held it there.  He watched my face in fascination as his erection filled my throat to the point where I felt it actually might cause a bulge in my neck.  He had suddenly cut off my air. 

 

The only words I heard from his gravelly voice were, “Suck on it, yu whore!”

 

Almost immediately, I had gagged on his cock and I shook my head back and forth.  I panicked then and began to move my hands away from my feet and towards my face.  I was going to paw at him, force him out of me.  There was no way I could breathe with him down my throat like this.

 

The Evil One said, “Put yur han’s back on yur shoes or I’ll break yur fingers.  An’ I say suck on it, bitch!”  And then he gave my face a contemptuous back and forth slap with his right hand as he continued pulling on my ponytail with his left. 

 

“Last warnin’!  Han’s on yur feet, bitch!”

 

I somehow forced my hands back so that I could grab my heels again.  But there literally was no way I could please him.  I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t breathe and so I found myself gagging again.  He softly growled his frustration as he pulled out a little and I took deep lungful’s of air through my nose and threw my head back and forth to try to get a little clearance around his erection in order to breathe.  This time my nose was closer to his ass and his smell just got more gamey; much worse than before. 

 

It was race, an awful race as to what was worse, being choked by him or having to smell his awful lack of hygiene. 

 

But all of that went away as he pushed back into my mouth again and his sack started banging into my face, slapping me between the eyes and on my forehead as he began making long drives into my face with his hips.  I threw my head back and forth in an attempt to breathe, but he used his handhold of my hair to keep my head pulled down and now began a slow, rhythmic driving motion into my mouth, all the while he was cursing me…..

 

“Awww, yur debinitely a slut.  Yur gonna learn ta lub it dis way.  Goo’ lookin’ cunts like yu always lor’ it over guys like me.  But every one of yu, yur all da same when a cocks in yur mout’—yu lub it!  Suck on it, bitch.  Suck har’ on it, bitch!”

 

The Evil One had been driving into my mouth for over a minute now and my gag reflex was finally beginning to die down a little.  I found I could breathe a little if I timed it for when he was pulling out of my mouth.  But I was humiliated to find that my mouth had begun salivating as he kept it filled with his penis and the excess saliva was running out of my mouth and down (up?) my face. 

 

Also, by this time, my eyes were now tearing incessantly.  As a result, both my mascara and eyeliner were now running towards my forehead, forming long dark streaks on each side of my face pointing to the corners of my eyes.  I looked like hell and I sensed he enjoyed being the one who had caused me to look this way. 

 

Throughout all of this, he wore my continually deteriorating looks like a badge of honor. 

 

He would drive his cock into my mouth and then stop with it buried in my throat.  The Evil One seemed fascinated by the bulge in my neck that his erection seemed to cause and whether or not it actually existed, he would bury himself in my throat and then almost in amazement he would softly stroke my neck with his right hand.  He’d do this for up to thirty seconds at a time, at which point I always began to panic for lack of air.  Then he’d pull out and begin the strokes again, forcing me to time my attempts at breathing with his thrusting hips.

 

The sound coming out of my mouth and throat and which echoed around the cabin was a mortifying, ”glick ga-glick” each time he drove into me.  It was the wetly awful, brutal and humiliating sound caused by a man driving himself deep into a woman’s throat and violently expelling all the moist air from her lungs. 

 

My saliva continued to pool in my mouth, eventually running in long strings of drool out of the corners of my mouth and running down my face towards my eyes; this only lubricated his engorged cock even more.  He had no problem now with completely burying his manhood inside my mouth.  Every now and then, he’d reach down and caress my throat again, feeling it bulge ever so slightly as he penetrated to previously unimaginable depths.

 

”Ga-glick, ga-glick, ga-glick, ga-glick, GA-GLICK,” it just went on and on and on.  He called this “throat-fucking” and he was merciless as he brutally throat-fucked me.

 

Suddenly, he reached down and pinched my nose nostrils shut with his right hand as he said, “Suck on it, bitch.  You’ll get air when you suck on it hard enough to please me.”

 

Only through sheer will power was I able to keep my hands locked on my high heels.  I tried to please him….sucked on The Evil One’s cock as hard as I could….I needed air.  I heard a roaring sound in my ears and saw grey spots at the edges of my vision.  If he didn’t let me breathe through my nose soon, I’d pass out. 

 

So I sucked on his cock for my life.  I pulled as hard as I could with my lungs and felt no shame in doing so.  My cheeks were hollowed by the suction, pulled in so deeply as I sucked on him I knew I must have been almost unrecognizable.  Soon, it must have been only seconds, but it felt like years, he released my nose and I could breathe again.

 

“Dat’s wha’ I’m talkin’ ‘bout, bitch.  Righ’ at da end dere, yu gibin’ me some pretty good heat.  DAT”S wha’ I wan’ ALL da time; yu un’erstan’, yu stupid whore?”

 

I could breathe, sort of.  But he wasn’t satisfied yet.  Keeping my hands firmly on my high heels, I sucked for my life again.  I did not want him to plug my nose again—that had scared the hell out of me.  I was so caught up in the act that I had forgotten my depression.  All I wanted was to satisfy this man. 

 

Like everything else on the boat, this too finally ended as The Evil One gave out a soft groan and began a more furious motion with his hips.  Finally driving into my throat one last time, he held himself motionless for about twenty more seconds before he suddenly began to cum again. 

 

I was looking at his balls from an upside down position as they rested upon my forehead.  But he was like an endless reservoir of horror; I could see his buttocks begin straining and clenching again when suddenly a hot, thick load of cum shot down my throat.  He was buried so deeply inside my throat that all I could do was attempt a brief swallowing motion and then, it was magically gone.  It had been ejaculated so far past the back of my tongue that there was no real taste involved, just the feeling of hot, thick, syrupy fluid. 

 

But I could still feel it’s’ slow, warm travel down my throat and into my stomach.  It seemed to take forever to end, and the very feeling of it going down my gullet made me want to vomit.

 

I think he was finally done.  He backed away just enough to withdraw his cock and then said, “Lick it, baby.  Lick it jus’ like a Popsicle.” 

 

The things he said and had done to me let me know exactly what he thought of me, where my place was in hierarchy on the boat.  I was the lowest of the low, a female slave suitable only to be used for the most demeaning acts of sex. 

 

My hands were shaking as I finally brought them up from my high heels and reached out to take The Evil One’s penis.  The veins on the outside of his cock were still prominent, but not as hard as they had once been.  I grabbed his penis and without hesitation began licking up its sides and then used the tip of my tongue to finish off the last drop on the head of his now flaccid organ.  When I had finished, he left me without another word, my head still draped off of side of The Bed and my pony tail resting on the floor. 

 

I lay still for a moment and then struggled weakly. 

 

 

Fellatio is defined as oral sex.  It is generally assumed that it occurs between two consenting adults, perhaps when two are in love or maybe when money has changed hands.  Less often, non-consensual fellatio may occur during a rape.  Rape is an act of power of one person over another.  But what The Evil One had done to me went far beyond the planned cruelty of rape.  There is a savageness, a viciousness, a depraved indifference that occurs only when one looks at their partner as something far, far less than human. 

 

This was what The Evil One had done to me.  His studied actions had purposefully dehumanized me, turning me at least in his mind into a bloodless, mechanical receptacle for his desires.  Most damaging, his attack had been as much, or more against my mind and my view of myself as a woman as it had been against my body.

 

 

I had never before met people like The Evil One and The Demon.  They just didn’t exist in the places in which I had been raised.  Perhaps a few secret groups might exist, but no one would dream of doing in the open the acts these two men had so enthusiastically performed upon me.  In contrast, while I may have had no choice in being there with him, Jorge had treated me in all things gently, and how do I say this….even correctly…..as a pleasure slave while maintaining a clearly non-aggressive relationship. 

 

Always firm, after I had capitulated, Jorge had never exhibited gratuitous violence against me.  Neither, for that matter, had Bossman.  But The Evil One and The Demon hated me, and I was pretty sure they hated all women.  Both were brutal misogynists attracted to this kind of life.  They must have had had mothers and perhaps sisters at one time.  What had happened to make them hate women so much?

 

After The Evil One walked out of my cabin, I literally fell off of The Bed and onto the cabin deck.  I sat on the deck with my back against the bed frame and just stared dully at the wall in front of me.  I’d finally realized it didn’t matter to him whether I wanted to cooperate or not---that wasn’t the issue to him.  In fact, he’d have been disappointed if I had wanted to please him.  What he’d wanted was the opportunity to display his mastery over me, to show me how little value I had in his world. 

 

Suddenly, I couldn’t control it anymore.  I jumped up and barely made it into my bathroom where I knelt and vomited into the toilet everything that was in my stomach.  After a moment, I spit one last time into the toilet bowl and then leaned back against the bathroom wall, crossed my hands tightly over my chest and began a slow rocking motion.  My body was trembling, my armpits sweating and I could still feel the sick at the back of my throat.  Though my eyes remained open and dry, I saw nothing as I held myself and rocked.  I kept repeating in my head, “they can’t get me here, they can’t get me here.”

 

Suddenly, I couldn’t help myself---I screamed and with fumbling fingers took off first one of my high heels and then the other, finally throwing them both out of the bathroom.  I went back into a rocking motion and it took me fifteen minutes to be able to move from the bathroom wall. 

 

Eventually, I was able to pull myself up slowly from the floor.  After first brushing my teeth for a long time and gargling, I walked into the shower where I quickly washed myself.  If not for my religion and love of my family, I’d have seriously tried to kill myself right there.  Instead, I wearily dried myself off and walked back out to begin getting ready for Enrique’s impending visit to The Bed.

 

 

Days later, Manuel again tried to get my to wear these high heels for him, but I refused.  Enraged, he beat me mercilessly for half an hour, but I still refused.  Manuel began to beat me a second time when Bossman was drawn by the sounds of my cries and the blows on my body.  After listening to Manuel, he allowed me to take the sandals up on deck and throw them overboard.  He’d immediately realized I would be much more docile if allowed to win this one minor skirmish. 

 

On my part, I looked at the sandals that I’d been wearing when I was captured, the ones that I’d been so proud of and had paid so much of my own money for, as both mementos of a period of arrogance in my life which I now regretted immensely, as well as a monument to the absolute stupidity of a young teenage girl. 

 

I never wanted to see them again---it actually made me ill to look at them, let alone wear them again to sexually titillate one of these animals.

 

 

And it’s hard to hate someone once you understand them.

-Lucy Christoperh, Stolen; in A Letter to My Captor

 

Enrique walked into my cabin and stood silent, looking at me.  I knew I wasn’t ready for him, but I didn’t care.  I had washed and dried my hair like a robot, and was in the process of mechanically brushing it out when he entered.  I turned from my dresser and numbly, without thought, assumed the position which proclaimed my status on the boat.  He had no clothing for me to wear and he remained silent, looking at me for an overly long time. 

 

I finally dared to raise my eyes and looked up at him to see his face set in a grim mask and his mouth in a thin, tight line showing obvious disapproval.  He continued staring at me with an intensity which made me uneasy, and as I lowered my head again, I wondered if my lack of preparation was what made him look so angry?  This thought was quickly followed by, what awful thing he had planned for me today?

 

 

Finally Enrique turned and walked over to the chair, sat down and then motioned to the kidnapped girl to come over.  He was tired.  He found it more and more difficult to get to sleep at night, and it felt good to just sit for a minute.  As ordered, the American girl walked over and stood next to him wearing only her slave collar and nipple chains.  She was absolutely beautiful despite what she’d gone through.  After a moment of silence, he gestured for her to sit on his lap.  The girl could not hide the emotions that played across her face.  Obviously confused and apprehensive, she did as he commanded. 

 

Enrique knew that when necessary, cruelty is one of the many tools a man can use to subjugate a physically weaker female---he himself had never hesitated to use it in the past when necessary.  But a smart man never used it against a woman when it was totally unnecessary.  If sufficiently motivated, unless she’s dead inside, even the most tame and submissive of female slaves will find a way to exact some kind of payment for what has been done to her. 

 

You may safely take away a woman’s freedom, you may even take away her ability to choose among whom she will forever have sex; these are things a woman is strong enough to endure.  But threaten to take away her child?  You will pay. 

 

The point is, we all have limits.  Barbarism and savagery when used in training or to satisfy his own needs are legitimate tools for a Master to apply to his slave.  But when applied for their own sake, just to cause pain, they are generally counterproductive in the end.

 

The problem with Enrique was that while he knew all this, he also knew he just wasn’t a smart man when it came to having a beautiful, intelligent woman like this one in his power.  At the same time, he personally found himself enjoying what he did to these women less and less.  Yet, while he was good at what he did and even if he did want to quit as a crewmember, he was weak and unable to say no when a female as beautiful as this was involved.

 

 

In total silence, Elvis put his left arm around my back and began stroking my hair with his right hand, his hands soft as they touched me.  I put my hands on his chest and pushed back from him just a little in order to better look into his face.  I was quickly learning to be less trusting, but I still couldn’t just look at him and tell what he was thinking.  Yet, as I looked Enrique in the face for a moment, he looked back into my eyes without expression and just continued stroking my hair. 

 

After this, I somehow sensed I needed to take him at face value.  Suddenly overcome with what I had just gone through in the last two hours, I put my head against his chest and broke out in great, heaving sobs—I tried to stop but couldn’t.  He started making a soft rumbling sound in his chest that somehow comforted me and I clung to his neck as if it were the only thing that could save me from drowning in the new life I was being forced to lead. 

 

It was like I was a child again, a child in a woman’s body perhaps, but a child nonetheless.  We remained this way for a quarter of an hour, without either of us saying a word.

 

He finally said, “I want you to know---I am a hard man.”  I nodded, my head against his chest. 

 

 

Enrique hesitated, “I am not a good man.  I know myself and the longer I am with a woman, the….rougher I am with her.  I am often a crude man and I am not proud of these things, but…..this is the way I am.  I….I….just wanted you to know this about me.  I tell you these truths so you are not shocked when you see the true me.”

 

He reached down and picked her chin up with his right hand and looked at Victoria in the eyes.  “Today, you and I still have something left to do.  I know this is not what you want or need right now, but your wishes do not count here.  However, I promise to try to be as quick with you as I can be.  You and I, we need to spend some time together.  If you fight me or try to deny me, it will be much more painful---and in the end you will not be successful.  The choice is up to you, anguish and pain or pleasure.  But be clear on one thing---you will have one or the other with me, now, today.  Come.”

 

And with a slight movement of his hands, he pushed her off of his lap and onto her feet.  Standing, he took her hand and led her towards her bed.

 

 

The man I had named Elvis stood by my bed and put his hands on my shoulders.  Leaning forward, he slowly moved his face towards me, invading my personal space.  I pulled back without thought, then stopped—there was nothing I could do.  I waited, and suddenly he gave me a light kiss on the lips.  Surprised, I hesitated for a moment.  My mind was literally running a million miles a minute at that moment.  Then suddenly, without thought, I then responded with a fervor which surprised both of us.  I leaned into him and put my arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to the level where I could better reply to his initial moves. 

 

Despite the fact that I had been kidnapped and raped by this man, I somehow felt protected as he stood there and I opened myself to him. 

 

We continued our kiss for a moment before he stepped back saying, “I need to remove my clothes.”

 

God, I felt so alone.  I didn’t want it to go to this.  I wanted to trust him--I needed to trust somebody--but he was with them and had already hurt me earlier.  I hated every moment when these men were using me like this, but was helpless against them too.  I felt numb inside now but knew I would eventually pay a price for what was being done to me.  I couldn’t hide from the men on this boat, I couldn’t hide from psychological trauma forever. 

 

Finally, in response to his request and with all hope gone, like a robot with its batteries almost gone, I began to help him prepare to rape me again.

 

 

Enrique watched as the girl dully nodded her understanding and began unbuttoning his shirt.  As he slid it off of his shoulders, her hands began unbuckling his belt.  She then groaned softly as he lay down on her back on the bed and slowly spread her legs a little as he finished removing the rest of his clothing, at which point he lay down next to her on his right side. 

 

Her legs were fabulous!  Enrique first pushed her legs together before he slid his right arm under her head and pillowed her with it.  He looked into her face and slowly stroked her breasts, going back and forth from one to the other.  Soon, he leaned in and kissed her, while his left hand slowly slid down her firm belly and onto her mons, at which point he pushed her thighs apart and softly formed her vagina with his fingers.  His hand did not move, but just remained gently cupping her even as he continued kissing her. 

 

 

Despite my inexperience except for what had been done to me on this boat, I now knew it was not wrong to feel like a highly sexually-charged woman.  But not here, not now.  This was not sex, this was raw power used for terrible reasons.  Even though pathetic and completely inappropriate, my new understanding of my sexuality was the only thing for which I could thank these men. 

 

As for myself, I regretted it had taken such a long time to bring me to this realization.  Despite the crushing anger I felt towards these men, a part of me also recognized how much I had missed.  At the same time, even though I knew it was in my best self-interest to cooperate, no matter how much sex I might be forced to have with them, I was still determined to deny them the real “me” that cowered somewhere deep inside my mind.  Saving this had taken on an almost religious purpose. 

 

As Enrique lightly stroked my body, I wondered in passing if things might have ended differently if I had known this about myself earlier.  Would I have met someone on Cancun and been with them; would I have then been safe from being kidnapped if I had only been more willing to be with a man there? 

 

But it didn’t matter now---I was here---and I belonged to them.  And finally, I wondered if I might not have lost my sanity, for Enrique’s light touch was starting to arouse me just a little even though I was not all anticipating what we were going to be doing.

 

 

Perhaps intuiting the beginnings of interest as shown by her pelvis, Enrique made a move with his body and the girl, sensing what he desired, rolled onto her right side so that their body’s pressed together like spoons.  He knew she could feel his hardness pressed against her as his hips moved slowly, not yet really demanding anything.  He softly licked the back of her neck and nuzzled her ear; his breath feeling hot on her skin as he breathed in and out. 

 

Finally, he asked, “M, it’s time.  Are you ready?” 

 

After a moment during which she was filled with apprehension, she nodded.

 

Enrique lay with his groin pressed against the back of the teenager.  The truth was, he pitied her situation a little.  But there were always times too, when it was all worthwhile.  How else could he be what he was and still make a living?  But maybe, just not like this?  He was finding it harder and harder to get it up and he really didn’t mind taking some time to comfort the girl.  But that wouldn’t stop him from ass-fucking a woman’s brains out either. 

 

This one seemed to read things into what he said and did, more so than with all the other except perhaps Jorge.  This amused him some because she would soon learn what was real and what was not.  He’d told her the truth about him, but he could tell from her face, from her reactions, that she’d chosen to not listen.  It was a pity, but like he’d told her, he was not a good man and she was forewarned.  If she didn’t believe him---at first---that was her problem.  He reminded himself to be sure to tell Wolf that the whipsaw they worked on her, alternating the good and the bad, seemed to be working.

 

She had to know what was coming.  Yet the kidnapped girl’s gorgeous body perfectly fit against his, her hot skin pressed to him from thigh to groin to chest.  As he slowly stroked her soft skin, he became more and more aroused.  She lay tightly against him; his erection was getting bigger by the second and he now had it pressed into the crack of her beautiful ass.  While the warm, tight cave formed there between her buttocks felt wonderful to him, he knew he wanted more from her, that he would have more from her. 

 

At the same time, he truly didn’t want to hurry her.  While this kid would someday belong to someone else, making an exceptional pleasure slave for as long as her body held out, at least right now they had some time.  He knew he’d get a lot more pleasure out of her body in a little while if he didn’t hurry her too much at this moment.

 

Finally, he asked if she was ready to go on and even though he knew she wasn’t, the blonde girl hesitantly nodded yes.  He rolled away and reached out to pick up a tube of lubricant from his clothes which were on the floor by the bed.  She in turn got up on her knees by his side.  Lying upon his back now, he gave her the tube and told her to put some on his erection. 

 

 

I thought I knew what it was all about.  What’d been done to me over the last four—or was it five days--had made it pretty clear I’d been terribly naïve when they brought me onto their floating laboratory.  But I’d just been through hell too, and I now knew what it meant for a woman to be broken and then begin their training as a pleasure slave. 

 

The Evil One had called me a whore and he’d been right.  A good woman wouldn’t willingly fuck the three men who had kidnapped and repeatedly raped her.  Well, I knew what they wanted now and that was a whore, a woman willing to prostitute herself at the basest of levels.  And I knew I could be the best goddammed whore they’d ever had---even if it meant I forever gave up whatever it was that made me unique to everyone that had ever known me. 

 

They all wanted to fuck me?  I’d fuck them all as much as they wanted.  They wanted blowjobs?  I’d suck everything on North America, if that was what they wanted.  As much as I hated the idea, I’d take it in the rear too.  I’d fuck animals, I would do whatever it took to convince them I was the whore they all seemed to want me to be.

 

Enrique was bad, but he wasn’t one of the worst ones here; there were others much worse than he on this craft.  But I also knew he was a follower, that he only did what he was told to do.  It was just the fact that he enjoyed it so much that made it hard not to lump him in with other two really evil bastards. 

 

He handed me the lubricant and then leaned back on the mattress with an expectant look.  Obediently, yet less than willingly, I tossed the tube on the mattress, closed my eyes for a second to gather my courage and then leaned down over his groin and took hold of his erection.  His cock was coal black, about nine inches long and quite slim for its length.  It had a curve in it and was just the right size for my hands to grasp. 

 

I closed my eyes for a long moment and then looked at him.  Helpless to stop, my eyes started tearing at exactly that moment, but I ignored them.  I then leaned over and gave a quick flip of my head, throwing my hair over my right shoulder and out of the way.  I kept my face expressionless through sheer willpower alone and without any prompting I leaned forward and slowly took him in my mouth.  He seemed amazed that I was willing to do this to him after Manuel’s brutal oral sex with me just a little while ago. 

 

My stomach still churned, but they still didn’t know how strong I could be when necessary. 

 

He was big enough that it took a second to finally fill my mouth with him, and then I began doing what The Evil One had been so devastatingly effective in teaching me.  I wanted to please this one, so I worked Enrique’s cock like The Evil One had taught me; stroking the base of his penis with one hand, massaging his sack with the other and tonguing him as I sucked on his stiffening rod.

 

I hated what I was doing, but I forced myself to continue.  I initially took only the first couple of inches inside my mouth and slowly began sucking.  My fingers slowly stroked and pulled on his skin in unison with the bob of my head.  The fingers of my other hand gently fondled his testicles. 

 

With my head bobbing up and down on his groin more quickly, I knew he could feel the exquisite pressure begin to build on the tip of his penis.  I slowly increased my suction and finally began to take more and more of his shaft inside.  I continued to build the pressure on him with my mouth until he finally looked like wanted to scream with anticipation and pleasure. 

 

It appeared there was one thing that I could do right.

 

 

Finally, Enrique was forced to grab the girl’s blonde hair and pull her off of him.  While he had been keenly aware of the intensity of the moment, he was not here today to fuck her in the mouth.  He continued using his handhold on her hair and moved so that he could look at her face.  Little more than a willing automaton at this point, her eyes were closed and tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks. 

 

Suddenly engulfed by a strange emotion, he was still hard as a rock and intensely aroused, but he didn’t know what he felt; it had never gone like this before.  As he pulled her to his side, she broke out openly crying.

 

Enrique mentally shook himself.  He was a professional, but he was rapidly losing control here.  He’d trained many captive women before and never had a problem with conditioning them and then sending them on to their fate.  But that was not how it was here with this one, and he knew that he had to regain control here. 

 

He liked this bitch, but she was a slave and enough was enough.  He was done playing games with her.  He forced himself to give her several open-handed back–and-forth slaps, not too hard though, and then roughly shook her shoulders for about thirty seconds.  The girl’s head bobbled like that of a cheap tourist doll riding on the dashboard.  He did this even though she had done nothing to earn her punishment. 

 

Eventually, the girl stopped crying and looked at him with her hands cradling her cheeks.  She had a shocked animal-like look in her eyes he had not seen in her before, although it was familiar in the faces of many of her predecessors.  It was so unlike anything he’d seen in her up to this point that he was a little taken aback by it.  

 

She sobbed, “Please.  I can’t do anything right!”

 

 

I couldn’t do anything right.  I felt an overwhelming urge to flee, to run away screaming.  But there was no where I could go.  There was nothing I could do. 

 

I was so humiliated that I could not seem to please even Enrique.  I felt as if someone for whom I had little or no respect and for whom I looked down upon, even he couldn’t appreciate what I had given up, didn’t appreciate what I’d tried to offer to him. 

 

Although often brutal as the rest of the men, I knew Enrique had treated me with what he saw as decency.  Yet when I tried to do what I thought he might like, I found I apparently couldn’t even perform at an acceptable level for him.  I’d made a conscious commitment to being their whore, with all of the emotional baggage that had required.  Yet now, when I finally acted on that commitment the first time, I was found I was inadequate even in that. 

 

I felt rudderless.  I had nothing left to anchor me, no place of emotional safety left inside me or refuge on the boat.  I had no value to anyone here except as a mobile vagina with legs, to live my life only for men’s pleasure and worth nothing else.  I began sobbing again and couldn’t stop. 

 

 

Enrique now made the still-crying blonde captive lie back down on the bed facing away from him.  He knew she had to learn this lesson---she had to learn that it was her Master who chose what happened to her---that she had no choices and no say in the matter.  Hardest on the girl, she would have to be deeply humiliated in order to learn this lesson correctly.  

They’d quickly learned that she was one of those people who found it difficult to say anything about the act of sex.  These words and the ideas they represented went against her very conservative upbringing and her view of herself.  Even more, they embarrassed her.  It was silly and stupid and so goddamm female, but that’s the way she was.  

Enrique took in a deep breath, held it for moment and exhaled.  He would do what he was being paid to do and he would do it well.  But he just wasn’t finding the enjoyment anymore like he had in the past when he’d successfully take down one of the Wolf’s women.  But if he could get this one used to these things, no matter how humiliated she might feel now, once she’d been desensitized to them, she would be well on the road to becoming what they wanted.  He was pretty sure he’dfeel better than and this would definitely please her Master.

He waited for a minute and then began the program he knew would eventually be used against her by stroking her neck as he asked her, “Does it excite you?  I mean the thought of my cock disappearing inside your ass?”

I stiffened in shock!  This…this was unexpected, and not good!!  I twisted to look at Enrique like he was crazy.  Tears still filling my eyes and with a pleading tone in my voice, I answered, “Master, do I have a choice?  The thought of you doing that to me….it frightens me…and…it disgusts me.”

He laughed at me!  “So.  You think it’s disgusting?  Huh.  We’re teaching you how we want you to act—you need to learn how to think and talk that way too.  Alright, say this to me and say it in a way that makes me believe it.  Say, “I want you to fuck me in my tight ass.  I like to be fucked in my tight ass.”  SAY IT!!!”  With this, I realized he’d rapidly lost what little charm he’d had earlier.

I looked at him like he was crazy.  But after a moment, I realized he was in earnest as he nodded his head at me as if impatient with my stupidity.  Finally, my mind spinning in a disconnected way, I complied with his demand but purposefully made sure there was no emotion in my voice.  It was the voice of a well-made dummy with the ventriloquist far away yet still able to mouth her lines, “I….I want you to fuck me in my tight ass.  I like to be fucked in my tight ass.”  

As I repeated his sentence, my eyes filled with tears again, and I stopped, unable to continue.

“M,” he said in a chiding, yet slightly menacing tone, “convince me.  Say it in a convincing tone.  NOW!”

I felt as if I were back in one of my high school plays being directed by my old drama coach.  At the same time, my emotions were on a roller coaster, and at that very moment, they were rushing to destruction on the downhill side.  

I closed my eyes and my next attempt came out in a much more clear and believable voice, “I want you to fuck me in my tight ass.  I like to be fucked in my sweet ass right between my tight buns.”  

I found that, for some reason, it was less emotionally destructive if I wasn’t looking at him when I said these awful things.  Somehow, this allowed part of me to pretend it wasn’t me, yet another part knew it really was me, mouthing these awful words in this horrifying little make-believe scene.  

“Now say, ‘Suck on my tits, stick your fingers in my pussy and ass at the same time.’  Go ahead, say it.”

Face suddenly burning with shame and with my eyes closed, I repeated this with little more conviction, “Suck on my tits, stick your fingers in my pussy and ass at the same time.”

“Now say,” he continued.  "I want his black cock rammed up my ass!  I need to be sodomized.  I want Jorge to fuck me up and make me hurt.  I want him to fuck my ass!  I want you to please slide your greasy cock up my ass and fill my asshole with your cum!"

 

“I want his black cock rammed up my ass….I want Jorge to sodomize me…I want him to fuck my ass…”  I started to repeat what he had said as if I were a tape recorder, then I began to silently cry.  While the language these men used had bothered me at first, after a while I’d finally learned to shut off my emotions and hide in that little safe place in my mind even as I spewed forth their filthy demands.  “….I want you to please slide your greasy cock up my ass, and fill my asshole with your cum!"

 

Finally, he was done with this charade, but I knew this man had literally changed again before my eyes.  He’d seemed more sensitive earlier, but like a switch had been flipped somewhere inside him, now he was less caring, more dominating and certainly more aggressive. 

 

As the lesson time approached, he seemed to have less patience, seemed less willing to think of me as a person and more of his desires and needs---and of the role I was being forced to play in satiating those desires in him.  Even for him, the one I saw as the best of them, I was just a sex receptacle to be used in The Bed. 

 

God, how could I even hope to survive let alone gain even a little influence over a man like Enrique if he didn’t give me a chance?

 

 

Her face was still wet with tears.  She’d thought he was finished with her—but he wasn’t.  Her last efforts satisfied him for little while, but soon the silence became uncomfortable even for Enrique.  So he told her they would have to finish her lesson since they were now running short on time.  And finally, he began to explain some things to her, the most important of which was to quit playing her silly little-schoolgirl games with them. 

 

The one thing he felt she obviously did not yet understand was that it was her Master who was the one who made the choices in the relationship, not her.  And that the blowjob, what she had just tried to do to Enrique, was not only wrong, but was even disrespectful to him.  It implied that he did not know what he wanted or know what his slave’s body needed.

 

The girl gave a short nod of understanding and wiped her runny nose on the bedding.  He watched as M now slowly squeezed out a thick, clear inch long line of lubricant onto her palm and began to rub it into her fingers preparing to coat his penis.  Correcting her, Enrique told her to slowly work it for a minute and get the jelly to body temperature before putting it on him.

 

 

Before anything had even happened, before I had really started on him, I had already begun crying again and couldn’t stop.  God!  I felt like such a fool!  I literally couldn’t stop, it was like I was hysterical, but without the emotional outburst.  It was only after Enrique had slapped my face again that I was able to regain control.  My cheeks burned with both embarrassment and his blows.  I realized just how worthless a human being I was then, for I finally understood that I was incapable of doing anything right. 

 

Even when I conspired to pervert my moral upbringing, my religious training and, and my nature, just to please them, I found I couldn’t debase myself enough.  I couldn’t even do that correctly.  I sniffed loudly again. 

 

Other than spreading my legs, I was of no value to anyone; not my family, not to Bossman, not to any man here.  I was damaged now and I knew no man I would ever meet from now on, once they truly got to know me, would ever want me for myself. 

 

Worse, I obviously had no skill or ability at what these men had made of me; they had begun with a weak, stupid person when they began with me.  And even worse, after willingly coupling with these men, I now had no pride or self-esteem left with which to face them, and certainly not the right anymore to face anyone I cared for, like my family. 

 

I hated it when these men made me repeat obscene things for them.  I would never willingly do this.  Perhaps that was the whole reason for having me do it?  Even though I tried and tried to pretend it didn’t bother me anymore, to have look into a man’s face and tell him I wanted to “suck his cock,” or “have him fuck me in my cunt,” or that I “wanted him to fuck me in my ass,” saying these things absolutely mortified me and made me feel like the cheapest kind of lowborn slut.  These words and the ideas themselves were vulgar and lewd, they were coarse and used at a social level far below that with which I had been familiar.  In my limited experience, only the truly uneducated trash talked like that.

 

 

Finally, still sniffling, the newly acquired, incompletely-trained slave-girl leaned over his groin and began to rub the clear jelly on to him.  Starting at the tip of his penis, he watched her closely as she slowly apply it beginning with the circumcised tip and then work down his stiff shaft.  When he was ready, Enrique told her to lay on her right side.  Remaining on his knees, he moved around towards her thighs and faced her hips.  He then reached up and grabbed Victoria’s left leg and raised it in the air, finally draping her thigh and knee over his left shoulder. 

 

This move forced her to turn more onto her right hip and completely opened her up, exposing both her vagina and ass to him.  He then leaned in towards Vicki’s hips and told her to begin manipulating her clitoris.  At the same time, he put his left hand over her hip and onto her left cheek, and pulled her buttocks apart to expose the puckered brown hole which had been fitted with the hard rubber plug for so long.

 

 

I followed all of his instructions exactly, without emotion, like I was made of metal and wood and plastic from top to bottom.  But nothing mattered now, I was lost, my plan destroyed.  There was no place, no way for me to gain any control over the situation---he just didn’t care enough for me to allow me the opportunity to manipulate him.  He was on course, on schedule and nothing would delay him from taking me according to his ‘lesson’ plan.

 

I lay on the bed with my legs spread and I felt him between my cheeks trying to part and enter my flesh, but while the pressure assaulting me became stronger and more urgent, successful entrance was not being made.  First I tried to ignore it, but soon I found myself heaving with fear, like a trapped doe.  I closed my eyes tightly, begging inside my throat---for some miracle or a rescuer, a savior---anything to stop this.  But there was no answering cry, no saving response, nothing but me, alone with weaknesses, in my helplessness. 

 

It was then that Enrique forced me to move once more as he spread my cheeks even further apart; he moved with me, trying to slide into me.  But the awful plug I’d been wearing for the last five days hadn’t worked as they’d wanted! 

 

I closed my eyes and prayed that it was over for now and I thought that for at least for a moment I was temporarily safe, but I wasn’t.  I grimaced at the awful sensations but he took his time now and worked me with his fingers for a moment.  Then on his second attempt to enter me, the tip of his erection finally slid into me with only a little difficulty.  What he did was extremely uncomfortable, but thank God there was not nearly as much pain as the first time when he took me by force.  However, I still couldn’t stop the first smothered groan that escaped. 

 

 

Enrique groaned with pleasure at the sensations.  God, she felt good on him.  He knew this was not a moment of pleasure for her no matter how much she had been prepared or how much he might be enjoying it.  On the other hand, that this wasn’t bringing her pleasure didn’t really matter to him either.  The girl belonged to him for the moment and he was going to take full advantage of that. 

 

 

I held my breath and tried to pretend I was watching a movie; that the awful things happening to the woman up on the screen weren’t really being done to me.  But that too didn’t last long.  My eyes were still closed tightly and my lips clamped to avoid making noise, but I had finally been forced to take a big fold of the bedding into my mouth to muffle the sounds he was forcing out of me.  I felt Enrique slowly press another inch of his cock into my rectum as he guided his slick erection in his right hand. 

 

I tightened myself and fought him as best I could.  I knew that it was tough going for him at first as my anal muscles fought a losing battle with the slickly lubricated invader.  My rectum was begging me to stop the pain, but there was little more I could do.  I was able to defend myself at first, but after a short second of resistance his erection began to slide more easily into me.  The plug had done its job.  I couldn’t help myself as I groaned again at his penetration, but I quickly forced myself to be quiet. 

 

 

By keeping her leg pinned against his shoulder, he maintained a great view.  He loved seeing his cock disappear inside an unwilling woman’s ass; he always had.  It always aroused him and this blonde teenager felt great on him; her warmth and tightness, the way the elastic muscles of her anus stretched to accept his greased shaft.  The way her dark hole first tensed up and strained in order to keep itself unviolated.  The way it would always stretch and then accept all of him, finally stretching and making accessible to him everything this young female wished to keep to herself.  The way her asshole tightened on his cock and unsuccessfully strained to expel him. 

 

He didn’t push hard or deep at first, not wanting to hurt her more than he already planned to--besides, he had to negotiate the turn in her colon which occurred about six inches in.  He was a master at gauging the pain that he forced into his women and the sounds he forced out of them—how much pain or pleasure he was causing measured by how much the bitch under him bucked and how vocal she became.  Even though young, he could already tell this one would be a good ass-whore by the way she continued touching her vagina as he had instructed her to do, both manipulating and rubbing her clit and finger fucking herself despite the pain he was giving her. 

 

 

Suddenly, he was in me and I gasped from the pain.  Thrusting, deeper and deeper, filling me, burning, hurting, almost ripping me apart—he stopped, then hesitated. That move left me with a sudden immense pressure in my bowels--a threatening to tear me apart sensation.  After a movement of his hips finally reduced the pressure a little, it all came back and more as he began burrowing even deeper, sinking down and down inside me. 

 

Immediately following his first penetration of perhaps five inches, I closed my eyes and ground my teeth on the gag to keep to myself from screaming any further sounds I might want/need/feel compelled to make.  I wanted to explode with horror and outrage, to buck and shake and twist, to vomit him out of my ass, and all the while I would be screaming and sobbing, trying to escape as some unknown person would finally save me from this. 

 

But nothing happened.  And even though I knew in my mind he had not yet achieved full and complete penetration, it still felt like he filled me completely.  His presence expanded me unbearably, extended my tortured flesh, shredded me.  He more than filled me on the inside, but the feeling was unlike anything I could explain to another.  I assume men like these took pleasure from what they did, but he caused me incredible pain with this.  The thought went around and around in my head, but it still didn’t make sense to me. 

 

Eventually, he pressed hard against my cheeks, the inside of his thigh pushing against them.  Enrique had negotiated his way to the maximum depth it seemed he was capable of exploring and now began to make slow, yet overpowering and rhythmic plunging penetrations into me.  My body had involuntarily stiffened in response his first full penetration, and I remained frozen like this.  Even my tightly clenched jaws could not prevent other, more loud involuntary sounds from escaping between the gag of bedding I had forced between my lips.  He was that big and it was that uncomfortable! 

 

It seemed like everything was going much slower than the first time he had taken me this way; almost it seemed in slow motion and consequently, I was much more aware of intensity of the sensations associated with what he was doing to me and inside me.  Yet he was oblivious to the devastation his entry caused me and unbothered by my lack of cooperation.

 

I had not fought him, could probably be accused of cooperating in this.  His presence somehow made me feel as if he had permanently altered everything inside me.  I felt both enlarged and somehow extended--I knew I was dilated and experiencing an extremely exaggerated feeling of fullness.  I felt as if my colon were bloated by excessive gas or he had somehow left an overstuffed balloon inside my abdomen.  It was an awful feeling and it seemed to extend from my anus to my colon, from there to my diaphragm and finally it seemed, to my throat and tonsils.

 

I had sudden cramps in my abdomen which he looked at as a victory.  He had completely, unarguably filled me.

 

 

Enrique now began taking slow, rhythmic short strokes into M’s ass.  She gasped or groaned with each of them.  From what he could see of her face, M had her eyes closed and her lips were set in a straight line grimace over the quickly self-imposed gag.  She was sweating profusely on her forehead, but little else where. 

 

Her body was trembling and she was attempting to stifle her groans, making instead soft grunting and gasping sounds now with each move of his hips.  But he wasn’t cooperating—every time she tried to control her emotions, her reactions, he moved in way which hurt her or made her cry out again.  He enjoyed playing with her like this as her anal sphincter keep grabbing at him, tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening.  But her muscle couldn’t hold onto him because of the lubrication she herself had put on his erection and he quickly resumed taking full strokes into her body. 

 

Her perfect black hole was exquisitely tight on his cock and it felt warm and moist.  He quickly glanced down and watched her sphincter stretch into a small shroud around his erection as he pulled out with his cock, moving his hips back in preparation for another thrust inside her.  And when he slammed back into her, bitch would shudder as her anus reversed and almost disappeared inside her body. 

 

The blonde teenager would be a little sore tomorrow, but it was like heaven being buried inside her tight ass tonight. 

 

He didn’t think she’d realized it yet, but he still had a couple of inches he hadn’t given her yet.  He’d let her get used to being his “medium-depth” toy before he went deep on her.

 

This went on for a couple of minutes before he methodically began to increase the length of his stroke into her.  There!  Now she’d finally taken it all!  Her head had popped up and there were even louder groans from the kidnapped blonde teenager.  At this point she squeaked or squealed and groaned with every thrust he made into her. 

 

The position he’d made her assume ensured their bodies were perfectly married at the hip.  If he hadn’t made her lie on her side, he wouldn’t have been able to get nearly the penetration of her body that he was achieving right now.  Enrique hoped someday when she had more anal experience, she would appreciate his attention to detail.

 

 

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

-The Buddha

 

I would never enjoy what he was doing to me, but I forced myself to accept it.  Through it all, the one emotion which crystallized in me was my sudden recognition of how much I hated him—of how much I hated every man on this boat.  I tried to control my reactions, but the sounds coming from me were a rhythmic, humiliating, “Uhnnn, uhnnn, uhnnn.”  These were punctuated by my occasional muffled wails of pained disbelief, all of which were perfectly synchronized with Enrique’s driving lunges into me.  I hated the fact that he could make me perform upon command, force me groan with any move he might make. 

 

His cock felt huge going into me and I could feel the greasy sensation between the cheeks of my butt as his erection slid out and then was easily buried in my flesh again and again and again.  At the same time, I continued to manipulate myself as he had ordered, as if by doing this I would be getting some kind of sexual pleasure from this act. 

 

The unwelcome sensation of unendurable….fullness…..in my lower body never seemed to end.  In the end, accompanied by the now familiar abdominal cramps, he penetrated to unimaginable depths inside my rectum and all I could do was to try to control my emotions and pain.  Tears of exquisite pain and mind-numbing humiliation again began to flow from my eyes. 

 

After an eternity, Enrique began to move more quickly, demanding much from me but always taking more.  I could feel him--the man sodomizing me was in me up to his scrotum, his cock completely buried in my most private of holes.  Then, he stopped for a moment, perhaps to both to enjoy his power, his control; the feeling of being buried deeply in a helpless woman

 

The pain eased a bit for me as he just lay there on me without motion.  My abdomen continued to cramp, but not as bad as before.  I began to hope it was over as I prayed he was satisfied, that he had done all he wanted to do.  I continued to softly cry into the fold of now saliva-wetted bedding in my mouth I had put it in my mouth as an additional gag; my face was wet with the tears that now soaked The Bed. 

 

I looked at him with my tear-streaked face and Enrique smiled back at me.  God help me, he smiled at me!  Then I felt him pull out of me slowly, slowly, allowing a wave of temporary relief to wash over my poor body.  I felt Enrique pull out until all but the blunt, circumcised head of his erection had been removed, and I felt a moment’s relief. 

 

Even so, he continued to torture me for the ridge around the tip of his erection remained just inside my body where it could be grabbed by my anal sphincter, and it was.  If this was all he wanted from me now, I knew I could accept this.  God, I was so glad that he was done, that it was all done for now.  I could finally breathe again.

 

He held this position and he held it…….…for what seemed like forever……….and then he rammed the whole length of his coal-black cock back inside me again, all at once.

 

The makeshift gag could barely contain my wailing scream of agony, mixed with sudden frustration at the situation.  Enrique dug his fingers hard into my hips and began to fuck me wildly, filling my rectum and bowels, pounding my poor ass with his big, hard cock; taking me in a brutal anal rape that went on and on and on. 

 

He held onto my waist and began pumping me like a madman, in and out, long, full driving thrusts into my rear end, sawing in and out.  Twisting my hips didn’t help because it felt like he had me nailed to The Bed.  I raised the leg that was still draped over his shoulder just to ease the depth of his penetration, but I realized I was inadvertently exciting him even more.  Shrieking for mercy into my self-imposed gag, the sounds of my muffled screams overwhelmed the boat’s seemingly serene environment. 

 

He rode me harder and harder—there was no change of pace, no goodness, no kindness, no mercy and no finesse--only his chosen weapon of sadistic anger and triumph smashing my insides like a pile driver--pushing deep in me like a fist pounding at my colon.  It was like a piston implanted in my flesh, a piston that was going in and out at a hundred miles an hour, a piston gone berserk, distending my flesh, splitting me in half. 

 

“Ohhhh God, no use.”  I hurt so much now.  My legs and my ass couldn’t fight any longer.  I was choked with humiliation and pain, and then blinded by tears of indignation and hate.  Me, to me of all people, to happen to me of all women---I was a victim, after all of the years of protection by my father, his safety and security; to believe that I was forever beyond servitude and ill-usage---and now to be smashed and shattered and destroyed by primitive animals like this---“Ohhh God, please God; let me die, let me die forever.”

 

 

The blonde girl he was raping continued to cry out, groans of pain mixed with begging screams for him to stop.  Her slim body wiggled and squirmed under him, but against Enrique's tight grasp on her hips all it did was to further inflame him.  He felt this experience more fully than almost anything else he’d ever done.  Every one of his senses was involved here--he heard the slaps of his loins striking between her legs, heard her breathless whimpers of pain and humiliation…felt not only the tight, hot friction of her asshole gripping and rubbing his cock but the gentle softness of her shaved and naked pussy against his balls each time he rammed home to the hilt…he could smell her body’s pheromones see her beneath him…. 

 

He knew he was hurting the girl but he couldn’t help himself.  In fact, that was his ultimate weakness, for at this point he liked doing that to her, a lot.  His fingers continued bruised the skin of her waist and hips as his grip locked tighter, pulling her onto his cock harder and faster.

 

He’d actually tried to stop when he pulled almost out, but…….the temptation to continue was too great, the need too strong and he was too weak.  He’d ravaged her at the end and while it had not necessarily been what he’d planned for her, for him it was still okay. 

 

His erection was now buried in her up to the root when he began making the small jerking movements of his hips that betrayed to both of them that the end was near.  His fingers were digging deeper and deeper into the muscles of her left thigh and hip as her left leg continued to be draped over his shoulder. 

 

When it was time, Enrique let go of his load deep in Victoria’s ass and proceeded to cum for what seemed like hours. 

 

 

Even with the gag in mouth, I tried to clamp down on another scream as his fiery cock drove into me again and again, ripping apart my insides.  I cramped less now, but my burning body was still filled to the bursting.  His presence there was a malignant tumor splitting me, with two halves of my helpless body parting as if drawn by the rack---I had never stopped screaming into my gag even though no cared who could hear, when I felt him go rigid.  Then he leaned over and I heard him sigh from the depth of his bowels, a sigh that morphed into a long drawn out groan of pleasure.  With his awful breath in my face, I felt his rotten burning pollution begin fouling every private crevice of my being. 

 

Finally he was done with me for today.  He dropped the full, unrelieved weight of his body upon me, exhausted now, he was heaving, exhaling, sucking for air.  A half minute, a minute, more while his penis slowly lost its size and eventually slipped out of my body--- soon to be followed by a thick-feeling trail of what could only be his milky white semen as it lazily dribbled out of me and then pooled onto the sheet below my hips---and then he was pushing his weight off of me. 

 

He was finished.  I knew what the pig must be thinking, for he had said it to me enough already when I was being assaulted by the others; one more nice old-fashioned ass-fucking under my belt. 

 

“So that was the real M,” I heard him say. 

 

I lay there as if dead, hardly a breathing human; pulling in ragged breaths, breathing like a tortured animal with what was left of my resistance in tatters after my exertion and helpless defeat.

 

Today’s lesson may have been pleasurable for him, but I had never approached this myself.  It had been an unnatural and terrible act; an unpleasant and painful experience for me, one I was doomed to repeat on this hellboat time and time again over the next two or three weeks.  While it seemed the rage in what passed for sophisticated circles in other places, I knew I would never understand how some women could feel any erotic pleasure at all at being taken from the rear….I knew that I would never willingly offer myself to a man like that. 

 

I would rather die than choose to be dominated that way.

 

My body moved with the mattress as he took himself off of The Bed.  Still refusing to look at him, I heard him walk to the bathroom and water run, then the sound of his return.  When I opened my eyes, he was standing near the dressing table, putting his clothes back on. 

 

 

Enrique considered her briefly, “You’re gonna be alright.  But next time, you’ll try to be better, right?  When you learn a little more cooperation, you’ll be better off.  You gave me a little trouble there for a while, but I promise you, next time we’ll go the full distance.”

 

 

We have two lives, the life we learn with and the life we live with after that.  Suffering is what brings us towards happiness.

-Bernard Malumd

 

I rolled onto my back lay there looking up at the ceiling, a rushing sound in my ears, feelings of degradation suffusing my mind, making it feel as if dirty things were crawling inside and outside of me, leaving me unclean and sick, feeling suicidal again.  More sensitive to me at the beginning of his “lesson”, now he seemed to have reverted back to what he truly was—a monstrous animal.  Once more, I’d totally misread one of these men’s true nature and had paid the price for my naiveté.  What he had just done to me…..  He wasn’t a man I could control, let alone trust; he wasn’t Elvis anymore, he was an animal.  He was The Animal.

 

I know he looked at what he’d just done to me as a learning experience, nothing more than a teachable moment.  “You’ve got to admit,” he’d said. “It didn’t hurt you too much, it didn’t do anything too bad to you, didn’t change anything permanently, did it?” 

 

“Some free advice here girlie, why not just relax from now on?  You know what it’s like now and it’s not that bad, so what was all of your fussing about?  It’s over, so why not relax from now on?  You’ll definitely learn to like it.  But you need some discipline and I don’t have time for it today.  We’ll have to see if we can’t do something a little different tomorrow.” 

 

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one having gone through the humiliation and pain of forced anal sex.  I still had the fold of bedding in my mouth.  I bit hard on it to avoid saying anything even as my eyes filled with angry tears once more. 

 

He walked over and pulled the bedding out of my mouth, “I guess you’ve earned the right to breathe a little better.” 

 

“There, baby.  Better, isn’t it?”  I clenched my jaw and looked away from him, I said nothing. 

 

It seemed the silence between us went on for hours.  Finally, I couldn’t help myself, “God, why’d you do that?  How could you?  I trusted you.  If I ever had the chance, I’d do back to you what you just did to me---but I’d use two feet of broom handle on you, you bastard.”

 

 

Taken aback for a second; Enrique really hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from the beautiful blonde he’d just fucked in the ass.  He truly didn’t think he’d been that rough with her—just a little wood up the ass.  But rough or not, she was being disrespectful---and he was a little embarrassed.  So he reached down and with almost casual disdain, slapped her twice across the face for her disobedience.  Still glaring at him, she took the blows without trying to defend herself. 

 

At the same time, he forced himself to respond to her impudence with a grin, “But you already got me, honey.  You got all of me---again---the most you’re ever going to get.”

 

 

He got up and walked over near the door to pick up a white and green box that was about the length of a cigar box, but only half as wide.  He tossed this at me on the bed and I saw through my tears that it had not yet been opened. 

 

“I told you I wasn’t a good man, so don’t blame me for what’s happened,” he said to my tearful, anger-filled face.

 

The Animal sat down next to me and opened the box without showing me the contents.  I moved away from him and began to get up from The Bed when he hit me contemptuously once more in the face.  This time my nose began to bleed.  I pressed my nostrils together and held my head back for a moment. 

 

Once my nose had stopped, he then roughly pushed me onto my stomach once more and spread my butt cheeks apart.  I started to rear up in protest, but he roughly pushed me back down again without saying a word. 

 

I was still lubricated from his cock and the semen he’d left behind inside me, so it was not difficult for him to put two fingers into me up to the last knuckle.  This action was so unexpected that I swallowed convulsively and clenched my fists as I cried out in surprise. 

 

 

This was the part Enrique hated the most.  He thought to himself, she’s got more than I just gave her coming as a surprise.  At the same time, he felt an odd measure of satisfaction at what he was about to do to her.  She’d just acted like a stuck up American teenager and he didn’t feel bad at all if what he was about to do took her down a peg or two. 

 

He removed his fingers from her ass and it was then that she could finally feel the cold rubber of the new butt plug resting against her dark hole.  The pressure increased as he pushed it in at the same time he rotated it, literally screwing it into her body.

 

 

The pressure on my sphincter increased to the point where I felt I could feel my flesh begin to tear, and the cold, lubricated rubber tip finally slipped into my rectum just as it had begun to tighten after the last assault. 

 

It was HUGE! 

 

As it finally began to slide into me, I was overwhelmed by a wave of panic---it was too BIG--it felt as if it were trying to pull all of my flesh inside me with it. 

 

I fought the urge to scream, but could not contain another soft moan of pain.  My God, I thought in terror; that thing was way too big, it would rip me apart; why was he doing this to me?  

 

I felt it spreading my hole until I was sure I must be ripped in two.  I felt his hands slowly pull it out of my body and I let out a big sigh of relief, felt sure that The Animal had only been trying to teach me a lesson, but he was through and would not do this to me anymore. 

 

To my horror, I felt it begin to press back into me once more, trying to rip me into pieces.  

 

But even as tears flowed down my cheeks, I gritted my teeth and still somehow forced myself to lie on The Bed and accept it.  Up into me and back out again, it moved inexorably, grinding and forcing its way deeper, ever deeper into my dark passage.  

 

Constant tears of pain were rolling down my cheeks now and my breath was coming in quick, jagged gasps.  Soon, it was driven impossibly further inside me and then, finally, I felt my anal sphincter close hungrily around the narrow shoulder at the outer end of the plug, firmly locking it in place deep inside me.  

 

I felt The Animal let go of the plug and without thinking, I strained to force it out.  He watched me for a second and then laughed.  He knew exactly what I was doing. 

 

"Too many girls been in the same position, and they were never successful either.  You might as well stop fighting it, you’re not going to be able push that fucker out on your own," The Animal told me. 

 

“Congratulations sweet thing, you’ve been promoted.  You’re gonna to be a big girl soon.  Hey, until tomorrow and a little something new.”  And with that last threat, or a promise, he turned and left me lying on The Bed.

 

 

Enrique walked out of the cabin and stopped in the galley to get a cold coke.  He put the sweating can against his forehead and closed his eyes.  This was the last one, he thought to himself.  He was a weak man, but he was also tired of pretending he didn’t care whether or not he helped prepare these young women for hell.  He liked the unlimited sex of course, what man wouldn’t? 

 

But he knew that what he did with these women was wicked, it was wrong and he was done.  But tomorrow he’d follow through with her like he’d promised, because that was the way he was.  For sure though, this trip was the last one for him.  He’d spend more time with his family, maybe go to confession and try to begin over.

 

 

I lay on my stomach for over ten minutes, trying not to move or even make any adjustment of my hips that might catch the attention of the great brutish invader which had just been so zealously introduced to me.  I wanted to die from humiliation and rage and cramps, and then finally, from helplessness I felt. 

 

My sphincter muscles continued to work feverishly on the narrower ring at the end of the new stopper, grasping it and then relaxing.  I continually felt a ripping, burning, cramping sensation in my rectum; the muscles there uncontrollably spasming every now and then.  Finally, after a while, it seemed that my body had somehow finally begun to accommodate the huge piece of rubber.

 

I wiped the tears of frustration from my face, and after a while was finally able to crawl over to the side of The Bed.  Using the wall at the head of my bed for support, I shakily pulled myself up and then stood for the first time since The Animal had introduced me to my new plug. 

 

Standing for the first time was not pleasant.  Keeping my knees together and swiveling them to the side as I bent over, I slowly picked up the discarded box it had come in.  No wonder it was so uncomfortable; it was over two inches in diameter and over seven inches long!

 

According to the schedule that they had me on, I was finished with all of the men for today.  Hopefully, I had at least fifteen or sixteen hours in which to recuperate.  I realized later that the only good thing about the new plug was that it took my mind off of what I had been through that day. 

 

I closed my eyes for a second and then stiffly walked over to the shower, where I showered for fifteen minutes.  It helped, for I felt a little better after afterwards. 

 

Coming out, I looked at myself in the mirror.  My eyes were swollen and red from crying---I knew I looked awful.  Well, I thought to myself with a perverse sense of satisfaction, they may have wanted a beauty, but this is what they have instead. 

 

I brushed my hair and then put on the minimum makeup that would suffice for the men.  Looking good for them was the last thing in the world I was worried about---but at the same time, I really didn’t want to disappoint them either, so at the last minute, I did take a little more care than I had planned on at first.  This kind of dual irrationality, of suffering conflicting thoughts, was becoming more and more common, and I wondered then if I was beginning to see the first stages of insanity. 

 

I would think about my bizarre behavior later, for on The Bed I had just noticed a small pile of clothing waiting for me to don for this afternoon.  Walking over and picking them up, I found the stack consisted of jade colored, lacey shelf bra with matching thong panties that were decorated with corst ribbon.  

 

The bra was made for uplifting a woman’s breasts, but for me all it would do was increase my cleavage.  The thong was lacey and fairly wide at the top near the waist band, coming up high on my hips but leaving most of my ass cheeks uncovered.  Thankfully, the back which covered the crack of my ass was wide enough to go over the new butt plug, for the mirror told me that the wide black rubber head which still peeked out of my body was significantly larger than my previous insert.

 

The black strappy high heeled sandals from earlier this morning were lying on the floor and apparently completed my ensemble.  I was nineteen and unlike most of my friends, apart from what was required for more formal occasions, had never really felt the need or desire to wear fashionably high heeled stilettos much before.  In fact, the longest I’d ever worn them prior to this was three or four hours.  And even then, they’d generally been not more than about three inch heels.  Consequently, my feet were killing me from wearing five inch heels all day.  They still throbbed as I thought about having to put on another pair again.

 

Even worse, it really was murder just bending over to pick them up, but I finally had them in my hands.  Next, I had to figure out how to get them on.  Sitting down normally right now was not an option.  Finally, I was able to sit down on one cheek on the edge of The Bed and stretch my legs out one at a time to put the sandals on.  My feet were a little swollen and the heels were always at least half a size too small for me.  Combined with the plug in my ass, every move brought a low moan of discomfort.

 

Even as I was groaning the whole time I put on my shoes, in my mind I knew this was okay.  I found my thoughts confused---it was good to help, because they might treat me better.  Even if it did make me a little uncomfortable or caused me a little pain.

 

I was slowly, yet surely going nuts.  Getting up like I was a hundred years old, I kept my hips rigid and unbending as I walked through the mess and to the steps which led up to the deck.  As usual, the men were sitting around the table and two were working with PC’s. 

 

The Demon snickered as he saw how carefully I was walking—God, how I hated them all at that moment.  I know my face turned a little red, but I somehow ignored all of the men.  Unfortunately, and to their even greater delight, when I reached the stairs, I had to go up them sideways with my butt pooched out and off to one side. 

 

Up on top, I carefully laid out a thick towel on the deck in a spot in back where I could get some sun.  I cautiously laid down on my stomach with my forearm cradling my face and I sighed.  At least at this point in my confinement, my breast chain was had not been attached by a long leader to the deck railing. 

 

However, after a moment, I felt a shadow standing over me.  Shading my eyes with my hand, I looked up and saw Bossman.  Immediately I began to try to get up, but my new insert slowed my efforts dramatically.  He told me to stay where I was and wordlessly offered me a tube of sun tan lotion as he gently attached me to the boat by the chains through the tips of my breasts.

 

Getting up on an elbow, I looked at him for a second and thanked him—for the lotion.  Then I lay back down onto my stomach again.  I did not feel like talking to anyone right now, especially a man.  Particularly any men on this terrible craft. 

 

But that was exactly what I lacked right now—free choice.

 

 

Wolf pulled up a deck chair and leaned over M.  After drizzling the cold lotion onto her, he slowly began to work it into her back and shoulders.  There were no overtly sexual overtones to anything that he did.  After a moment, he pulled the thong down to apply lotion to her buttocks, but never mentioned the end of the new plug visible between the crack of her cute ass.

 

After a moment of silent massage, he began asking about her childhood and how she had been raised.  The girl answered him, as she must.  But she answered tersely, not really giving away much in the exchange.  However, he persisted even though it went against his nature to have to harass one of his females for an answer.  Eventually though, she opened up more, beginning to actually participate a little in the conversation.  This eventually led to other conversations and other topics.  Soon, it appeared the kidnapped girl almost forgot where she was and what she was. 

 

This is how things went for the rest of time he was on the boat.  Bossman would be waiting on deck after she’d finished training for the day and if she was in the mood—if it had not been an overwhelmingly difficult day—they would talk about subjects that ranged from current events to her upbringing to his taste in music and even certain parts of his life. 

 

That first day, they talked about music.  She was knowledgeable about a lot of the music from as far back as the 40’s, but particularly liked classic rock.  This disappointed him.  Even though raised by his mother on classical music, Bossman himself was a Blues aficionado, especially loving the old Blues masters.  Hearing what Otis Spann did to a piano had stopped him dead in his tracks as a kid.  Not only did he become enthralled with the Blues, but he’d spent the next twenty years learning about it.

 

 

I felt like my mind had fractured into huge pieces and each one had its own agenda.  How could I spend the end of the day talking about such normal things with the man who led the group gang raping me during the rest of the day?  I hated this life, I wanted it to end now!  Yet, still, compared to the other men, I found him almost….charming.  What was going on with me?

 

After my third or fourth day on deck, Bossman began to talk to me about growing up in the Caribbean and the way he had been raised.  I knew what he was doing, how he was trying to put me at ease, but I still played along.  After he talked about his mother and in what he believed, I was a little more willing to talk about myself and my family.  Our first true conversation about him took place the next day when he talked about growing up in the islands:

 

Bossman told me, “I wasn’t your typical teenager, I guess.  When I was 18 and hitchhiking around the islands after a woman had broken my heart, I met this guy.  I was fast on my feet, a good talker and you know, all of my options were still open.  This old man saw how I moved and how I handled myself.  He watched me and for some reason he liked me; he taught me some amazing lessons about life. 

 

He watched me and listened to me, naïve as I was, and he bought me food and gave me a place to stay.  This old man was wealthy and the member of several country clubs, but he had a secret life.  While he ran an import/export business, the way he really made his money was by taking and selling women.  Women like you.  I was a big, good looking young guy and for some reason, he opened up to me.”

 

“Females are what he always called a “product.”  Kept it impersonal, even though what he did was perhaps the most personal thing a man could do to a woman.  I had certain….proclivities he thought would be useful in this business, and they were.” 

 

“Mostly though, he taught me how to pick the right products for the market, how to watch and how to plan.  Always how to look for every angle, to research every move and make back-up plans for back-up plans.  You many not believe this, but I can be really charming when I want to be and he taught me all the moves I needed.  Probably the most important thing that he taught me is that the thing that makes what I do hard is morals; and there are ways to get over that problem.  It’s easy to see how a kid who had nothing would want to hang out with a guy like him, but it’s harder to see why he would hang out with me.  Maybe he saw something in me, I just don’t know.”

 

“What I do know is that I was filled with anger and hostility towards women at that time.  Taking them, like we’ve done with you, is now nothing more than a money proposition.  Yet it’s more too, or at least it began that way for me.  It allowed me to demonstrate my power over women, because I could either keep the ones I took or release them.  Yet my fantasies always revolved around ownership, possession, domination, and control.  It was their helplessness, their captivity which enthralled me.  Early on, I used these women the same way I used every other prop or toy I have, they were strictly for the gratification of me and my crew; they fed into my fantasies, and my fantasies were very, very dark at that time.” 

 

He turned to me then and asked, “You wonder how I can do what I do.  Well, here’s how.  Do you think you personally can do bad things and still sleep at night?  Do you still believe there are times when it’s okay to do something bad?  Can you always stick to the moral high ground?  If you do or think you do, you’re kidding yourself.”

 

He shook his head, “If you’re married and you tell your husband how busy you are while on your business trip, but you’re really hooked up at a local hotel doing your secretary…that’s wrong.”

 

He grinned at her, “I’m not sexist by the way.”

 

He laughed, “But if you’re a guy and call your wife late (because you lost track of time) when you’re hanging out with friends and she expects you home, and you tell her that you had a lot of extra work at the office….is that wrong?”

 

He looked at her harshly, “You steal a Porsche, and you’re evil.  You steal a loaf of bread for your family and you get written up as a hero in some political novel.  Right?  Wrong….It’s all wrong.  You fool some of the people some of the time and all of them occasionally, but you can fool yourself every second of the day.  Those guys who pretend that these moral situations are different from each other are just making excuses for themselves.  Stealing is either right or it’s wrong.  Lying is either wrong or it isn’t.  Hurting other human beings is either right or wrong.  But you can save your justifications for someone who cares.  Everyone wants a free ride on the morality bus.”

 

There was silence for a couple of minutes.  “Were my questions hard ones?” Bossman had finally asked her.  “No, they’re really not.  The answer is simple and it’s the same to all of them.  Morality is what you make of it.  If you’re okay with it, it’s moral.  End of story.  If you feel bad because of what you did to one of your people, then you shouldn’t have made that decision.  You have to know where your own line is.  I don’t spend time trying to come up with reasons justifying what I do.  I do it because I’m okay with it and then I put it behind me.  It’s either all right or it’s all wrong.  Just because something’s legal doesn’t make it right, and just because something is illegal, that doesn’t make it wrong.  If you still think there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed and that the line isn’t blurry, congratulations.  Keep on attending your Catholic school.”

 

He finished, “But I come from the school of thought that holds goals as sacred, and I pursue them with a passion, leaving out social niceties like subtlety and tact.  Over the years this approach has served me well.  When I saw something I wanted, I took it.  So in the end, I guess that my allegiance is to my people and my crew, and not to ideas.  My story ends with that.  And that’s why I have no problem with you being here with me.”

 

He looked at her when he finished and while her face remained emotionless, he could still tell she was shocked.  But that was her problem; he just didn’t want to talk about it anymore anyway.  He didn’t want to talk about the part where it was just business and how there was nothing personal (except for that lawyer from Amsterdam) against any of the women he took and sold. 

 

Or about the part where was never a lack of independents doing what he did, but at the same time, every day, there were fewer and fewer competitors.  If they were stupid, they got caught quickly.  And if they were too smart for the police, sometimes they were turned in by their competition…… 

 

Or why he’d been so successful, or about the part where it was just as in any other business.  Winners emerge, losers fade away.  And about how it was precisely this game that made his organization so efficient and profitable.  But he knew that explaining any of this to her would be like explaining a butcher’s shop to cattle.

 

 

I didn’t know how to react, my emotional stability was gone, shattered like a cheap plate dropped from twenty feet height.  He talked and I listened, there was nothing else for me to do. 

 

I had no idea of what to make with his brutal truthfulness.  He’d opened himself to me, told me things that both amazed and appalled me, but there was no doubt in my mind that he was an awful man.  What he told me of his past did not make him appear at all attractive as a person.  Yet, at the same time, he was correct in that he could be a charming brute when he wanted to be. 

 

I wondered what his motives were for being so frank with a woman he had just kidnapped and raped.  There was this awful, awkward silence between us.  I didn’t know what he wanted from me.  It felt like a bitterness which could be sweetened with one word, like when my mother and I had fought.  But neither of us was willing to add that ingredient…..

 

On another time, he talked about his successes and failures as a slaver.  To him, it appeared he thought of himself like a butcher or baker might view themselves.  It was then he admitted to me, “There was only one woman I couldn’t break.  She never knew when to quit.  That was her talent and my flaw.  Sorely in need of a tight leash from those around her, she was kept on no leash at all.  And in the end, although it cost me a great deal of money, I destroyed her.”

 

It seemed that by discussing it with me in this way, he somehow made it all okay in his own mind.

 

“You know,” he said a short while later, “a man I used to know always said, ‘God loves a woman who gives in without enduring reckless abuse.’  He always used that term, ‘reckless abuse.’  I absolutely agree with that philosophy; I would much rather work with a woman and train her properly than beat her close to death.  I’ll beat my women if I have to, but it’s not my first choice.”

 

I hated him at that moment.  Bossman to me was a contradiction in everything.  While he projected a “physicalness” that often frightened me, at the same time he had a destructively devious side to him; an almost oblique way of approaching things.

 

I continued to listen like a rabbit enthralled by a snake.  On another night, he talked about his concept of “honor.”  One time he’d lost a lot of money to another man in a high stakes card game.  He later found out that the local Venezuelan judge he’d played against had cheated to win. 

 

After a long search, he found the perfect tool for his revenge.  He’d responded to the judge’s affront by paying a man with herpes and syphilis to fuck bareback a beautiful, young prostitute for a couple of weeks.  After waiting another month, Wolf then paid the whore $5,000 to seduce the judge and let him ride her without protection. 

 

“I told her to do whatever she had to do to get her pussy wrapped around the cocksucker’s dick.” 

 

She agreed and passed along the drip to the judge.  A quick shot would take care of the syphilis, but the herpes would stay with him forever. 

 

“The judge,” Bossman grinned with almost childish delight, “had some explaining to do when his wife came down with it.” 

 

He didn’t know if the hooker had gotten to him or not, but it made him feel better to think the judge would be itching his pecker under his robes for a good long while.

 

This appalled me, but at the same time I realized there was a perverse side to me that somehow felt drawn to this edgy side of him.  The dangerousness he exuded?  It just dripped from this man. 

 

Bossman was a total contradiction to me.  He had the kind of expansive personality that could be supportive when it was most necessary, yet he could also brutally cut off at the knees someone in need of reassurance or enlightenment. 

 

There was no obvious weakness in him.  I was used to boys, and he was a man!

 

He was totally unlike any man I ever met before; the meanness, the amorality, the ability of his to hurt others without a second thought.  And when combined with his charming side, this somehow made him seem even more dangerous.  Yet, if I were being completely truthful, he was also darkly attractive to me as I lay alone and often aching under my covers in the middle of the night.

 

Late in the afternoon of the first full day of my training, I went down in to my cabin to prepare for dinner.  My shoulders felt better, but I still hurt in places; I was physically and emotionally exhausted.  Although my feet still pained me, I was still moving a lot better than I had been just a couple of hours ago. 

 

It seems that the human body is infinitely adaptable.  Even so, I thought to myself, if The Animal kept this up, I was afraid that they’d being trying to push a manhole cover into me by the time I was taken to meet my new owner.

 

There was a dress hanging in the corner now and some things lying on The Bed.  Going over to the gown, I took it off the hanger and looked at it.  I saw that it was long white stretch lace bridal dressing gown with a split front.  This was definitely made for after the wedding, not before.  Someone here, I thought, thinks they have a sense of humor by making me wear this. 

 

Bastards!

 

There were designs woven into the sheer lace; the split in front went up the left thigh to the waist, uncovering any panties I might be allowed to wear.  The material was sheer enough that the bodice allowed a man to clearly make out my nipples and aureoles. 

 

For the first time on the boat, underwear was included.  The panties were a sheer white lace G-string, tiny enough to leave nothing to the imagination.  This would go over a white satin garter belt which, if I was any judge of what they wanted from me, would be holding up white stockings. 

 

Moving the stuff on The Bed around, I uncovered a package of very sheer, white bridal hose with a three inch wide band of white lace making up the stocking welt at the top on which to hook my garters.  Finally, there was a pair of matching white pumps with five-inch stiletto heels.  My head went back, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply through my nose—it would never end. 

 

I went over to my dresser and began to refresh my makeup.  Finished, I brushed my hair and then walked over and, after another deep sigh, began putting everything on.  As demanded by the routine set up by the men holding me captive, I first put on the garter belt and stockings, followed by the heels.  This was remarkably difficult for me. 

 

The new butt plug gave my torso an abdominal rigidity which didn’t allow me to bend very much.  Thus, I couldn’t comfortably bend over far enough to reach my feet to put on my stockings.  However, accompanied by many grunts and groans I eventually got them on and held up on my thighs by the garters. 

 

Going over to the dresser again, I performed the required routine of facing away from the wall and bending over to ensure my stockings were straight, tight and had no wrinkles in them.  I wasn’t sure why this was necessary, but it had been impressed quite strongly that I was to follow the same script every time.

 

Walking back, I put the G-string on over my garter belt and finally donned the long white gown.  The G-string was tiny, tiny, tiny, barely covering the thin vertical strip of pubic hair I had left.  The gown was skin tight in the bodice and hugged my body down past my hips where the skimpy skirt took over.  The gown’s skirt was edged in a ruffled lace and was cut long in the back, leaving a sort of short ‘train’.  But the edge of the skirt rapidly climbed as it wrapped around my thighs.  The right side of the skirt rose to my waist in front while the left side of the skirt attached to the side of my hip.  The opening in the front of the gown was at least six inches wide at my waist.  I knew that in any other setting, the gown would have been exquisitely sexy. 

 

 

As Victoria walked into the galley of the boat, her lovely stocking clad left leg was always in view from ankle to thigh, while the right leg was covered only momentarily as she walked.  But the gown was so sheer that nothing was ever truly hidden from view.  Despite their physical exhaustion from today’s long sessions fucking this same woman, every man there instantly had a raging erection again.  She was sexy as hell and fucking gorgeous! 

 

The only thing really hidden on her body was the new butt plug…..but Enrique knew.  He knew as he watched the stiff way her hips moved when she walked.  It was nothing like the sexy glide which had been so characteristic on Cancun.  She was, he knew without doubt, still in the grip of his giant hard-rubber tool. 

 

Manuel kept her serving them for the next hour, making her walk back and forth getting drinks and second helpings.  They all knew the exercise would get to her sooner or later.  Yet both Jorge and Enrique refused to join Manuel’s game and he eventually tired of playing it by himself.

 

At the end of their meal, the men all got up and waited for her to finish clearing the small table.  They all watched as she fixed herself a small plate and then prepared to lean against a wall while eating.  The men were surprisingly full of old-world manners that night and would have none of that.  The Evil One insisted she sit to eat and he even grabbed her elbow and escorted her over to the table.  She then knew they were all waiting for her to make her first public attempt at sitting on a hard seat with the new plug in her rear. 

 

 

I was embarrassed, yet filled with anger too as the men played their stupid games with me, yet I kept it tamped down.  Mustering as much of my composure as I could, I slowly began to sit down on the unpadded bench.  I had been cramp-free for over ninety minutes now and was just leaning over the table with my knees bent when anal and abdominal cramps began to hit me again, but now both attacked at the same time---and this time they were serious. 

 

I heard The Evil One snicker as I froze in mid-air and closed my eyes as I grabbed the edge of the table with both hands.  My knuckles were white as I held onto the edge and I knew that my face was a bloodless white under my light layer of base. 

 

Finally, the cramping began to ease, and after a moment I was able to resume sitting, finally making it to the bench.  But it was immediately obvious to all that I was sitting on my left cheek as best I could, trying to keep my new plug from making contact with the hard wood beneath me. 

 

In my embarrassment, I didn’t notice Enrique leave the galley, shortly followed by Jorge.  I was so humiliated that it was a struggle to not start crying in front of the men.  But that small objective part still hiding in the so-far unreachable part of my brain told me to ignore them.  All things eventually come to an end, it told me.

 

 

Once more, I had trouble sleeping.  I lay in bed that night wearing only a black fishnet stretch lace bra and thong bottoms.  I was thinking about what had happened today and knew I had fooled them except for the one time that I was ready to kill The Demon.  That had been a major mistake. 

 

I first rubbed my aching feet and then shifted my hips carefully in an attempt to get comfortable on The Bed.  I’d been humiliated again tonight when hit by a sudden urge to have a bowel movement.  I’d fought unsuccessfully to remove the new plug myself for over thirty minutes, at which point I’d been forced to beg Jorge for assistance.  He took his time and instead he finally sent in The Animal. 

 

By the time he arrived, I was again suffering from awful abdominal cramps.  He’d smirked at my discomfort and blushing face, and unscrewed the plug from my rectum as I lay face down on my bed with my legs spread wide for him.  He’d acted almost as nonchalant as if it were a wine cork he’d been removing; the whole thing had been so humiliating that I wish I could have died on the spot.

 

I finally was able to do what was necessary, but my anus was so very tender that it was difficult to wipe.  Without the plug in, I leaked a lot.  All in all, the whole awful experience was something I’d rather just forget.  It was then that I’d gotten my first good look at the new plug I had filling my rectum, and I was appalled to find it actually had threads on the outside to help another person screw it into me. 

 

The truth was, you never really get used to something this large.  It felt just as bad inside me the second time as it did the first.

 

With reluctance, I acknowledged to myself that I was putting the moment off.  With a deep breath, I faced the reality of what had happened today.  I felt my mind going over and over what I had suffered through.  The more I thought about what these men had done to me, the more I felt myself withdrawing from reality.  More and more, I felt my mind internalize and begin build additional barriers against letting the pain hurt me anymore.

 

I cried for a few minutes and then wiped my eyes.  I knew I had to be a lot tougher than they thought I was.  I later realized I spent my time that night trying to understand whether or not my mind would break--was I was strong enough to continue---or was I too weak to go on?  Understand, I was not consciously voicing these thoughts, rather they were just random parts of my mental environment and I accepted them at the most sub-conscious of levels. 

 

The choice that faced me was stark--literally black and white.  I could withdraw completely and go almost catatonic—God help me, this was actually appealing because it meant that while they could keep my body, they would no longer have access to my mind.  It was such a seductive idea, leaving it all behind that way. 

 

Or, I could remain mostly sane and fight them.  No matter what happened, I had been changed by all of this.  I was rightly depressed and could actually feel myself withdrawing at times from this horrible reality, internalizing and setting up barriers, segregating my mind from my body.  I really felt the draw of giving up—I would never be allowed freedom again and this seemed such an elegant solution. 

 

But a part of me still wanted to fight, to retain my sanity even if they continued to hurt me in the process. 

 

I lay my head down and closed my eyes.  Clearly, there were no assurances regarding how I would come out of this, but I was somehow aware of how everything was trending.

 

I lay there awake for a long time.  One other thought popped across my mind as I was finally getting sleepy and it occurred when I re-lived the abdominal cramping at dinner tonight. 

 

I was late. 

 

Normally as regular as clockwork, my period was late by a few days.  This, I assured myself as I took a deep breath, meant nothing in view of the stress I’d been under. 

 

Nothing at all. 

 

 

Day Six: Training Continues

 

I hadn’t slept well last night and so was up early this morning.  Even so, I felt better than I had in several days.  My mind was made up—I was going to hang around and fight rather than just give up, shut down and drift away.  I know I’m not explaining the process I went through very well, but all I can say is that different parts of my dilemma became clear over time, and only later was I able to put it all together. 

 

After my exercise period, I looked around the room to ensure everything was clean.  Going over to the tray of food on the table, I grimaced as I washed my supplements down with coffee and munched on the croissant---my throat was sore, very sore. 

 

After eating, I rubbed in the antiseptic cream I needed to ensure my breast piercings didn’t become infected.  I had already cleaned up, my makeup was on and my hair fixed.  Now I waited for the first man to arrive.

 

 

Sitting in the chair ten minutes later, Jorge watched M dress for him after he’d helped her remove her new anal stopper.  He marveled again at how sexually arousing he found watching a woman put on stockings.  The girl may be new to this, but she learned quickly.  The way she rolled them up her leg starting from her foot and ankle and ending with her thigh; sometimes standing up and bending over to address her thighs while at other times, despite the plug in her ass, she would just lazily stretch her leg out from the bed; pulling the top of the hose up and stretching the garters down, and finally the slow sensual act of attaching each garter one at a time..  It all seemed impossibly erotic to him.

 

Jorge was a man who appreciated the beauty of a woman’s legs more than anything else.  While he was not in any way immune to the beauty of a woman’s firm breasts riding high on her chest as they defied gravity, with erect nipples poking into the air… 

 

Whether legs or breasts or the beauty of a woman’s face, he had always most enjoyed the beauty that the natural symmetry of a woman’s legs brought to her body.  This was why he always had his women put on their bras (if he allowed them one) last.  He loved to see their breasts bunched together as they put on the rest of their clothing. 

 

The view of M leaning over with her long blonde hair hanging down as it covered her face, attaching her garters to her stockings, breasts bobbing as she moved, her arms pushing her breasts together and creating additional cleavage, it all created a picture that never failed to stir his loins.  He’d known from an early age that any woman could be beautiful if just given the chance, and he was a man who had been lucky enough to give numerous women many opportunities to show him their beauty whether they’d wanted to or not.

 

The sum of this particular girl’s eroticism far exceeded the aggregate picture she presented or actions she had performed this morning while preparing for his attentions.  When M was finally finished dressing, he had her stand in front of him and slowly turn around, allowing him to really look at her, to truly see her perhaps for the first time.  At that moment, he could appreciate the totality of her beauty, the entirety of her femaleness. 

 

For some reason today, perhaps because he knew he would be having her in any way he might choose and that she would be forced to willingly give him anything and everything he desired, his hormones allowed him to take his time and drink in her beauty without the bone-deep urge every man on the boat had to ravage her body.

 

She had impossibly long legs.  Her feet were small for her height, yet were high-arched and perfectly shaped.  This allowed her to comfortably wear the stiletto heels, of dark blue this time, that all of the men on the boat so enjoyed seeing on her.  While her calves were already quite muscular, the muscles were further accentuated by the heels she wore; but smoothly so, for there were no jarring angular muscles here. 

 

He marveled at the smooth interplay of muscles on her legs, especially the small ones behind her knees that most men would never notice.  He groaned inwardly at the provocative curve of her belly, the pouty hairless labia visible between her thighs, the tight quadriceps that drew barely seen lines along her thighs.

 

The changing hue of her cinnamon stockings as she turned caught differently the light coming in through the porthole.  The small shadows that came and went on her calves as the silky fabric of her hose caught the sunlight forever altered his perception of her.  And the changing highlights reflected by the nylons on her thighs as her firm muscles played under her soft skin; these things all emphasized to him just how beautiful this teenaged girl they had taken less than a week ago really was. 

 

It was only now that he noticed her thighs were a little larger than one might expect for a girl of her build, a legacy he suspected, of her dancing or her innate athleticism.  As a result, the tops of her stockings were stretched impossibly tight over her shapely thighs, and proof this exotic vision was evidenced by the lighter tan sheen reflected from there when viewed against the rest of her legs.

 

When she turned to the side, his gaze was drawn immediately to her firm, gorgeous ass.  From the back, it was framed horizontally by the navy blue garter on top and vertically below by the darker flesh-colored tops of her stocking rising from beneath.  Her butt was round and firm and high, and had not a trace of fat as it perfectly met her gorgeous thighs.  There were no incipient saddlebags here; it was astonishing in its perfection, rivaling that of the most developed dancers.  The only flaw here was the ugly black piece of rubber peeking out from between her cheeks.  But this was a necessity. 

 

Now she had turned again and his eyes traveled up from the pouty lips of her vagina to her waist; appreciating again how her hips indicated she had the child-bearing capacity that men’s genes force them to find so attractive, but which then narrowed above to a remarkably slender waist only emphasized further by a flat, well-muscled stomach without an ounce of fat. 

 

From there his eyes moved to her breasts.  These could be seen unhindered by the short navy robe of sheer chiffon she wore over her shoulders but which fell open in the front.  Ah, her breasts.  Even though not a breast man, in all of his travels he had rarely seen such perfection.  Both were the same size and dropped symmetrically from her chest. 

 

They were not too large and not too small, and hung firmly, assuming a gentle pear shape as they fought gravity and won.  She had the smaller brown aureoles that so aroused him, and not the larger ones which covered much of a woman’s breast.  Lighter brown, almost pink nipples rode high on her breast and stood out even when not erect. 

 

They were perfect.

 

Finally, her face.  She was a blonde angel, blessed with the intelligent eyes of jade green a thinking man could sink into forever.  Her long thick blonde hair was parted in the center and framed her high cheek bones, hanging loose down almost to her butt.  It whirled and moved with each puff of morning breeze and seemed to be almost a cloud that followed her wherever she went. 

 

Her makeup was lightly applied, the merest whisper of base.  But she’d spent time on her eyes as mascara emphasized the thickness of her lashes and liner the shape of her eyes.  She’d put on a lighter shade of lipstick this morning and perhaps lined her lips, because they too were perfectly shaped.

 

She wore the long dangling earrings he’d brought in with the lingerie and they hung down just as he’d hoped, moving with each turn of her head or tilt of her face. 

 

The velvet navy choker that replaced her normal slave collar emphasized her long and slender neck, and only drew more attention to the beauty that lay above.

 

 

Motioning, Jorge beckoned as he sat in the chair.  She walked over and at his nod, sat carefully in his lap. 

 

“I have talked,” he said, “with Enrique and know what they did to you.  We saw you fight your battles in your mind, and we saw your decision.”

 

He smiled at the look of surprise on her face.  “What?  You think you are the first to be forced to face this truth inside?”

 

He continued after a moment’s silence.  “Whatever might have been used to motivate you in the beginning, you have willingly given yourself to us now.  There was no reason for the brutality other than that is the way they are.”

 

“Using viciousness when it not needed is not only bad business, but it is bad for the soul.  It coarsens a man and takes years off of his life.  When their karma is finally added up, it will take those two a good portion of eternity to get everything straightened out. 

 

“But you,” he smiled, “your aura fights their karma, and it is a wonderful battle to watch.  And while tough on you now, in the end it is they who will be suffering for what they have done in this world.”

 

He gently pushed M off of his lap and standing, he took her hand and led her to the bed.  He stopped and told her to remove his pants while he took off his shirt.  Finally naked, he told her to get on her knees in front of him. 

 

 

It was like he understood a little of what I’d gone through, and I wanted to cry at first.  But now this.  Looking into his eyes for a second to make sure I understood, I slowly dropped to my knees to find myself facing his flaccid penis.  I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice of assuming what these men wanted, so looking up at him for a second I took his nod as approval to proceed. 

 

I fought back the first rumblings of nausea.  This was not something I wanted to do, yet I also knew that delaying his satisfaction would not be in my best interests either.  Exhaling to flush my lungs, I inhaled deeply and reached out to take his slowly stiffening erection in my hands.  I stroked it for a second and then swallowing stiffly, slowly began to lick it prior to putting it in my mouth.  I tongued his penis for a second and then began moving my head back and forth as I increased my suction.  I was getting better at this, and that realization rocked me.  Without conscious thought, at the same time, my left hand continued to grasp him towards the root of his cock and pulled down as I moved my head away from him.  His cock would slide almost out of my mouth, but I never allowed it to reach that dire strait.  Then my head would bob towards his groin, I absorbed his meat into my mouth and the dance would begin all over again.

 

 

After working with their captive for only a little while, he realized she had an extremely long tongue.  She had a lot of muscle in her mouth and he took full advantage of her natural gifts. 

 

Jorge groaned to himself, damn!  This girl is a natural!  Then he took her back to some serious fellatio.

 

After a few minutes of pleasure, he put his hands on her face and pulled away from the captive, forcing the kidnapped girl to look up at him.  Jorge caressed her face once again and ran his fingers through her hair, and then he slowly guided her mouth back towards his cock. 

 

 

I knew what he wanted and had no choice but give it to him willingly.  As the distance between us decreased, I closed my eyes and accepted the tip of his erection again.  Despite how it made me feel, I was really trying to please him, since my objective mind kept telling me how much control it gave me over a man.  I’d decided to cooperate completely with him this morning.  I’d figure out what I was going to do with The Animal and The Evil One when the time came.

 

I began sucking harder and using my tongue more aggressively.  Every time he groaned with pleasure, I felt an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction.  For the first time I consciously wanted to please one of these men.  It didn’t matter how had I arrived at this point, I just knew I wanted to do this the best I could!

 

Soon, I was receiving a full-on face fucking from Jorge and I was working hard to perform as well as I could.

 

 

Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer and grabbing her head from the back, Jorge pushed his cock in as deep as he could and began to cum in her mouth.  The young blonde still wasn’t used to having a man do this to her, so to his frustration, she turned her head away and he finished cumming on the side of her face.

 

 

I worked hard at pleasing him, but at the last second still found it impossible to willingly let him cum in my mouth.  Overall though, Jorge seemed pleased with my actions.  He gave me what I guess he thought was further encouragement by scooping his cum off my face with his finger and then putting it close to my mouth.  

 

This was a new scenario for me.  I knew what he wanted, but it was so difficult to accept!  Finally, I knew that all I could do was follow his lead.  Fighting down the bitter taste of bile in my throat and the instinctive shudders of revulsion which originated deep within me, I accepted the gobs and strings of sticky, silky fluid by licking them from the sides of my mouth with my tongue.  Still hiding shudders of distaste, I continued letting him feed me his cum until my face was coated with so thin a layer of his semen diluted with my saliva that no more could be scraped off with his finger.  I could feel the nasty mixture immediately begin drying on my face, giving my skin an unpleasantly tight feel.

 

My stomach roiled with nausea, yet my objective mind told me to forget about being sick because of what I had just swallowed.  This was my life these men held in their hands—I reminded myself again and again that I had to be pragmatic and would do whatever was necessary to retain an advantage. 

 

This wasn’t some abstract situation, some theoretical condition.  This man was the least objectionable of the crew.  And despite whatever might happen, I knew I had to maintain some kind of control over my life.  Pleasing this man was perhaps my only choice, my best chance at doing this.  I also knew that Jorge was going to fuck me next and, given what I had already gone through, probably take me from the rear too.  After all, last night they’d all just as much promised they would today.  

 

That would probably almost kill me…

 

Regardless, I knew had to get Jorge to hurry for the others were waiting.  With only a little urging from me, we moved on to what I knew he would consider the main event.  I worked him hard, and with an inner feeling of minor triumph, at the end I felt that Jorge had finished more quickly than he had planned.  However, he appeared to be pleasantly tired from his time with me and left, not suspecting anything might be other than he’d planned. 

 

This was the first time I had felt like smiling since my kidnapping. 

 

I was finally cleaned up and my makeup was refreshed, but I did not mind admitting that the next man who would come through the door frightened me.  I was waiting for The Animal to appear.  I admit that I was nervous because he’d all but threatened me as he departed yesterday. 

 

I was filled with trepidation, anxious to get today over and spend some time alone trying to figure out how to retain my sanity. 

 

 

At the appointed time, Enrique entered the girl’s cabin.  He watched as the naked young female leaped to her feet and adopted the posture required for a slave of her status.  Ignoring the kidnapped girl at first, he laid out at the foot of her bed several loops of rope, a three inch long penis gag, several different types of dildos, a small canvas bag, and ankle and wrist restraints.  Following this, he walked around and checked out her room, confirming she had in fact cleaned up following Jorge’s departure. 

 

The pantomime he had just gone through, the threatening silence, the heavy menace he exuded, while real, it all was all calculated too for maximum psychological pressure. 

 

Enrique already knew what he was going to do to the bitch.  She wasn’t particularly going to enjoy her time with him, but it would make him happy.  And what he planned, while not necessarily required by Bossman, it all certainly fit within the guidelines allowed him for today. 

 

Today had nothing to do with sex, but everything to do with submission and humiliation and pain.  It had everything to do with discipline and training, with conditioning a helpless teenage female to accept whatever may be forced onto her.  It had to do with forcing a girl to accept continued degradation, with making an individual abase herself in the most awful ways.  It had everything to do with using discipline in teaching one to permanently accept her fate and nothing about it was erotic. 

 

He knew it was a wicked thing to do---he was well aware of what a wicked game he played with these women.  He was finding he told himself this more and more often every day.  But in his mind, he’d gone too far with this young woman to stop; there was no backing out here.

 

He realized suddenly that he was stalling for time, so with a deep breath he began the deliberate dance they both knew would end with her being debased and in pain.  Enrique barely lifted his eyelids to look at her.  But when he saw the look of fear in her eyes this time, his baser nature kicked in and despite his initial intentions, his interest increased dramatically. 

 

“I may not be a good man,” he said, “but I’m not a dumb one either.  I see that you fear me—that’s good.  But you also have an air of calm, of confidence, and that doesn’t necessarily fit with a young girl in your situation.  Now that we are past the preliminaries, what are you hiding from us?  And to the real question, who truly are you?” 

 

He smiled as he shook his head.  “I’m not sure you can even answer that last question.  So, now we get to spend some time finding out about your true self.  I’m going to spend a lot of time with you, so tell me, why do you let me do this to you?  Why not tell me what I want to know and we’ll speed past the bad stuff.” 

 

He didn’t think she’d believe that, but when one was torturing another, it never hurt to try the easy road first.

 

He didn’t really want an answer; he didn’t know if she even knew the answer to his question and he didn’t wait for an answer, but walked to the wall of the cabin down at the foot of her bed.  Numerous eye-bolts were set in the wall there at various heights and distances apart, and a small, clever pulley was partially hidden in the ceiling.  He knew this teenager had not yet been ‘put to the wall’ and he figured it was about time.  Besides, he was still a little annoyed with her from yesterday.  On the other hand, her reaction today had definitely piqued his interest in her.

 

He peremptorily motioned her to come to him and this she did slowly, reluctantly.  When she finally stood next to him, he made her put on most of the bindings herself.  It never ceased to amaze him at what they could make these women do after only a few days of pressure.  

 

He knew he would never have cracked as easily as they did.

 

 

First he gave me the gag and told me to put it on.  Grimacing with distaste, I complied with reluctance, loathing every minute of the sham we both knew we were going through.  Finally, it was in my mouth and I had fastened it loosely in the back.  He tightened it himself until I briefly closed my eyes due to the discomfort of my jaws.  The bastard knew then that it was about right.  Next he had me put on the leather wrist cuffs.  When these were on to his satisfaction, he told me to sit down with my back to the wall.  This I did meekly, almost, it must have seemed to him, deferentially.

 

I hated what he’d earlier made me do for him and feared what he had planned next.  I had originally thought he was one of the few good ones, a man not quite as evil as the others---I had been so wrong---how wrong could one person be, I wondered.  It was bad enough to let him do these things to me without struggling; but to make me an accomplice when being bound, to make me an accessory like this….I knew he only did this to emphasize my total helplessness in the face of their demands. 

 

Suddenly, I realized how much my jaws hurt.  The gag was on tight, too tight!  This frightened me, for I wondered why he would feel the need to do this to me.

 

 

Enrique now took the captive girl’s right wrist and ran a short length of rope through the loop on the cuff and through an eyebolt on the wall that was a little higher than her shoulder and about three feet away from her head.  After fastening her wrist to this, he proceeded to do the same with her other hand. 

 

The captive girl they had named M now sat naked on the floor with her back to the wall.  Her wrists were tied to the wall in a way that forced her shoulders back and which made her arch her chest forward a little to relieve the pressure.  This one was a beautiful, well-built young woman, and Enrique appreciated the added bonus this position offered his viewing pleasure.

 

Next he dropped to his knees and tied a piece of rope to an eyebolt located at the intersection of the floor and the wall, immediately to her left side.  He then ran it across her flat belly and then through another metal loop that was directly behind her on the right side.  When he pulled the rope tight and tied it off, it dug cruelly into her abdomen and hips.  With her wrists tied up, the rope going around her waist and then down to the eyebolts in the floor ensured she was not moving again until he released her.

 

He knelt between her long, widespread shapely legs and looked at her for a second.  After a moment, he reached out and touched M’s nipple chain.  Taking it in his hand, he gently pulled on it, stretching the skin of her breasts and bringing to a point the tip of each of her tits.  The blonde captive teenager moaned and thrust her chest forward in response, doing her best to determinedly push each of her nipples into his face.  Smiling at her struggles, he finally let go of the chain and leaned back away from her. 

 

Now looking at her without the slightest expression on his face, he said, “Now we get to see how submissive you truly are.” 

 

With that, he tied loops with slip knots in the ends of two pieces of rope.  Taking one piece, he looped it first around her ankle and then around the big toe of her left foot and proceeded to run the rope through an eyebolt that was located about a foot higher than her wrists and about a foot further away.  When he pulled it tight and tied it off, her hips were still pinned to the wall while the toes of her left foot were almost touching her hand that was pinned to the wall. 

 

His actions had rotated her body around the rope restraints around her waist and she was now facing more towards the left than she had been.  All of the stress the position caused, all of the torque her twisted body produced, everything was anchored by the loop of rope around her one big toe.  While not immediately painful, it immediately uncomfortable and quickly started to ache.  He could tell from the terror in her eyes the girl knew that within minutes the pain would be horrible.

 

When Enrique picked up the remaining piece of rope and approached her right foot, he was ready for her kick at him.  “Not so submissive now, are we?”  He chortled. 

 

“Remember, you always need to remain in control here.”

 

 

When The Animal had looped my left toe, I’d had no idea what he was about to do.  I was immediately filled with fear and appalled as he pulled my foot up and tied it to the wall.  This left me helpless, or as close to helpless as I would ever want to place myself with this maniac.  And if he tied my other foot like he had this one, it would be awful. 

 

I knew he was determined to do what he would do, but I still had to try to fight him.  So with a feeling of determination, laced with an overpowering feeling of resignation, I tried to resist.  However, I soon found it to be useless.

 

 

He easily caught her foot and after putting her right ankle and big toe in this loop, he tightly bound her right leg to the wall above her shoulders and almost touching her right hand.  At this point, the blonde captive was now sitting on just the back tip of her pelvis with her legs spread wide and both her legs and hands tied to the wall.  Only the rope tied around her waist kept her body from sliding away from the wall and while her knees were only slightly bent, both of her legs were stretched wide apart, as far as they would go. 

 

In the past, Enrique had especially liked putting his women in this position because while in it, there was nothing they could do to protect themselves---this position left their genitalia completely open to him, inviting any activities he might choose to enact.  With this one though, he had not yet made up his mind how far he was willing to go. 

 

Finally, he shook his head and said in a conversational tone, “You are one flexible piece of ass; I’ll say that for you.”

 

 

Oh God!  I had hoped that if I cooperated with The Animal, perhaps he would go a little easier on me, perhaps not feel quite as much need to hurt me, maybe feel less desire to try and totally dominate me as he had threatened to do yesterday afternoon.  But I now knew this had been not only a false hope, but a particularly foolish one as well.  I felt betrayed, not so much by him but by how stupidly I had been acting in my attempts to direct anything in this hell I now inhabited.  I had allowed myself to be made helpless before I even knew what his ultimate plan had been, and now it was too late, far too late to try to stop him.  I cursed myself for my stupidity, my continuing naiveté.

 

With my hips bound to the wall and both of my feet tied to the wall above my shoulders, the pain in my hip and knee joints was already incredible and rapidly approaching unendurable.  In addition, it felt like the full weight of my body was pulling on my big toes, as they were the only point at which the wall was attached to my lower body.  With each passing moment it felt more and more like each toe would be dislocated, actually pulled from my foot.

 

Psychologically, I was frightened most by how vulnerable my spread legs made me feel.  The tormenting feeling of total unprotected openness, the complete vaginal exposure, the feeling of such comprehensive nakedness that this position brought with it had to be experienced to be believed.  Short of a massive physical assault, there was literally nothing that he could have done to me that was more emotionally devastating than this.

 

 

He could see the beautiful green-eyed bitch looking up at him.  Her eyelids were flickering and there was a pleading look in her eyes.  Sweat was already beginning to run off of her face and impressive chest.  Looking down at her, he said, “It’s a little late for begging.  You should have thought of that earlier, before you began with your games.” 

 

At this point, he kneeled on the floor in front of her and closely examined her sex.  A quick look up showed him that she’d closed her eyes for this examination.  A quick sniff told him she needed to do a better job of cleaning herself after she’d been with a man.  He looked forward to punishing her for this.

 

Her pussy lips were stretched wide apart and much of her moist, pink vagina was open for his view.  Nodding to himself, he now grabbed the small canvas bag and opened it, spilling numerous types and sizes of alligator clips and small vise grip pliers on the floor in front of the blonde’s pussy.  When she saw this, the girl began struggling as if possessed. 

 

While Enrique appreciated her spirit, her effort, he knew that she was going nowhere tied the way she was--none of them ever did.  As with all the others too, within about a minute, even though she’d calmed down some, she soon started huffing for air through her nostrils.  Sweat was pouring now off of her upper body and face.  Finally, her muscles quivering under their unaccustomed strain, the girl just put her head back until it rested on the wall and closed her eyes as she fought the discomfort, caught up on her breathing and waited patiently for the inevitable. 

 

 

How could I ever have thought this man was less evil than any of the others?  If only I had known what The Animal had planned to do, I’d have fought him until hell froze over.  He’d have had to knock me out to get me into this position, if only I’d known.  If only….. 

 

As he picked up the funny looking pliers and looked at me, I already knew how badly these things had hurt me in the past.  I closed my eyes and waited for his fateful move.

 

 

Enrique was on his knees between M’s beautifully toned legs.  Although uncontrollably quivering much of the time now, the muscles on the insides of her thighs were taut and muscles stood out like cables under her smooth skin.  Reaching down, he slowly picked up a pair of the vise grips and showed her how they worked. 

 

Although she pretended to have no interest, after he felt she had become thoroughly familiar with them, he lowered them to her vagina.  At this point, he pulled out her left labia with the fingers of his left hand and put it into the jaws of the pliers.  Both of her vaginal lips were of a perfect size to fit on the head of pliers like these. 

 

The tender folds of her naked skin were sweaty to his touch and felt quite warm to his fingertips.  The smell alone that wafted from between her thighs made him hard as a rock.  He spent a minute slowly massaging her genitalia with his fingers before he was ready to get down to business. 

 

All pretense of ignoring him was gone now.  He watched M desperately throw her body from side to side within the limits of her bonds, so he knew that she must be watching him despite herself.  Pinching her labia, Enrique slowly tightened the jaws of the pliers until they held the vaginal flesh firm, but still not tight enough to cause significant pain or injury. 

 

He looked into her eyes then and waited almost a full minute before he slowly began to tighten the jaws of the pliers again.  A master at using tools like this, he knew exactly how much pain he was causing her at this moment.  And yet, it was not something about which he was terribly proud.

 

 

Almost immediately I felt a crushing, squeezing pressure as the pliers began to mash the tender folds of my trapped skin.  The pain was as bad as anything that had yet been done to me and it wouldn’t stop, no matter what I did.  I tried to throw myself from one side to the other, but it was useless.  My wails and howls of anguish were made inarticulate by his gag and carried no further than the deck of the boat.  I knew Bossman must hear me, but didn’t feel the need to intervene. 

 

I was doomed…

 

I mostly had my eyes closed as I frenziedly threw myself about against my bindings.  But at one point I opened my eyes and to my absolute horror, I saw him preparing another set of pliers.  Frozen now, like a deer looking into car headlights at night, I watched in absolute horror as he reached between my legs, stretched my remaining vaginal lip out and attached the second set of pliers to me.  After thirty seconds, I felt him begin tightening these pliers as he had the first.

 

With the first touch of the cold steel, I felt myself come back to life and I began my helpless struggles all over again.  But it was no use, and God, oh God, the pain…..

 

 

After he’d attached the second set of vise grips, Enrique leaned back and just watched his victim.  What he was doing was similar to how an old western bronc buster would tame a wild horse.  Take the horse and hobble it tightly, then let it wear itself out fighting its bonds.  In the end, it settled down because it soon realized how hopeless it was to continuing fighting; it was just worn out. 

 

Enrique just felt that there was something funny about this girl, and he wanted to take her past her supposed act of submission, back to the basics and see what she would do.

 

After about a minute, he saw she had finally worn herself out a second time so he knew it time to get on with it.  Enrique was aware that he’d put the pliers on her tight enough that she would have bruises shaped like the pliers jaws along the lengths of both of her outer labium. 

 

She looked at him with teary eyes as he now reached down and tied short ropes to each of the eyebolts that held her hips down to the floor.  Next, he took the rope from her left side and ran it under her left buttock and through a small metal loop attached to the end of the pliers on that side.  Finally, he pulled the rope tight and tied it off; this in turn pulled sharply to the outside the tender skin gripped in the jaws of the pliers. 

 

He watched Victoria’s lower back arch even further away from the wall as he did this; he watched as her eyes slowly closed and she acquired an almost prayerful look on her face.  When he attached to the other set of pliers the second rope located on her right side and pulled that labia away from her vagina, the inexperienced blonde teenager gave out a muffled scream but never opened her eyes.  Her labia were both now tightly stretched away from her vagina, exposing her most private parts to the world. 

 

The moist pink areas between her legs quickly began to dry in the ocean air.

 

 

I prayed I could just endure The Animal, whatever he may do to me.  There was nothing else I could do; and oh God, how I hurt down there.

 

 

Still on his knees in front of her, Enrique looked at M for a moment and figured she was probably about ready for the other clamps. 

 

But first he thought he’d use a dildo on her before she got too dry.  He stood up and walked over to where he’d dropped them on the bed.  Picking up the smaller of the two, he walked back and dropped to his knees in front of her again.  Reaching down, he started to push the device into her.  But he found there was too much resistance at first.  He shook his head and put it down for he just didn’t have the will power to go through with this part right now.

 

Now Enrique reached down and grabbed one of the alligator clamps.  He snapped it a couple of times to get her attention and when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him, he grabbed her hair with his left hand and forced her to watch as he proceeded to clamp her left nipple.  Both nipples were erect at this point from her exertions, and the soft buttons made nice pieces of flesh upon which to fix the jaws of the clamps.

 

These particular models had little turn screws on them which allowed the person applying the device to achieve horrendous pressure with the jaws.  M’s reactions to his application of the clamp showed that she entirely agreed with his analysis.  Her muffled screaming however, was grating on his nerves, even starting to annoy him a little.  But ever business-like, Enrique went ahead and put the second clamp on her other nipple. 

 

He leaned back again and waited another couple of minutes.  She was generally motionless now except when some part of her body would independently shake in some weird spasm.  Enrique leaned in close to the girl’s face and softly asked, “Are you ready to cooperate now?  Are you ready to truly cooperate with me now?”

 

 

I heard him, but didn’t understand at first what he’d asked.  The only way I could survive being treated like this was to retreat into that small part of my mind, which although far away, was always watching, always awake.  My hips were on fire and both of my toes felt like they’d been pulled out of joint.  My vagina was being pulled apart and my labia felt like they are being ripped from my body.  And finally, but not least of all, both nipples felt like someone was crushing them beneath the sharpened heel of their shoe.  But finally, in answer to his question, I nodded my head.  This seemed enough for him.

 

He put both hands on his victim’s jaws and slowly massaged them for a second, then told her, “Okay, here’s how it goes.  You’re gonna take me in your mouth and you’re gonna give me the best blow job I’ve ever had.  You bite me and I’ll knock you out, tie you up with an anchor and throw you overboard.  You understand?”

 

He watched her closely and she nodded her understanding.

 

He continued, “As a measure of my faith in your willingness to cooperate, I’ll take off one set of clamps.  If you make me happy, I’ll the take the other set off too, but your legs stay tied.  You with me?  Are you willing, can you do this with me?” 

 

At her nod, he reached up and took the gag out of her mouth.  When he moved his hands away from her face, she said, “Please take the pliers off.  Oh God, please get the pliers off as quickly as you can.  Quickly, pleeease.”

 

 

I was in agony as he took the gag out of my mouth and finally allowed me to talk.  My hips were killing me but I knew he would not free my legs.  I was barely coherent as I babbled, pleading for the pliers to be removed first.  The only situation I’d ever been in that in any way compared to the pain Enrique was causing me now was when I’d been forced to ride “the horse.”  That had put a crushing pain on my clitoris, but this, this pain radiated throughout my hips and genitals. 

 

The way he’d tied my legs ensured my hip joints were stressed beyond belief; the worst part was that they never seemed to go numb.  If he wouldn’t free my legs, removing the pliers which both crushed and pulled on the folds of my skin was a close second.  I never thought I’d feel this way, but the clips on my nipples were way down the line when it came to the list of pain and what I wanted removed first.

 

 

Within a minute, he had both pliers off of her labia.  As the last vise grip was removed, he watched the teenager lean back against the wall and take a deep breath.  The alligator clips were still tightly clamped to her nipples and stuck out obscenely from her chest, but these seemed to bother her not in the least now that both pliers had been removed from her vagina.

 

 

There was immediate relief as soon as the vise grips were removed from both sides of my vagina.  My hips were still killing me, but it was a tremendous improvement over what I’d been enduring just a minute ago.  If all it took was giving him a blowjob, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

 

 

Enrique let Vicki take a couple of deep breathes, and then he knelt on one knee and leaned into the blonde American girl’s face, feeding her his cock.  He was semi-erect and she willingly, almost greedily opened her mouth and accepted him. 

 

Quickly becoming hard, he drove himself into her for about five minutes.  Bitch wasn’t particularly good, but he knew in his bones she was definitely trying her best to please him.  It seems, he thought to himself, that when a woman like her is chastised sufficiently, she reverts back to her ancient form in an attempt to please the men around her.  

 

His eyes were closed as he nodded his head; she came from good stock.

 

 

I opened my mouth as he leaned into my face.  I accepted him without reservation and tried my best to give him what he wanted.  I knew I was completely helpless and under his total control; that he could still do anything he wanted to me if he felt like it.  I desperately tried to please him and yet…and yet…I hated myself for every moment that I cooperated with him.

 

 

When Enrique had had enough for the moment, he pulled out of M’s mouth and looked at her again.  Tracks of tears ran down her face and even as she looked at him impassively, he had the feeling she was afraid on the inside as if fearing she had somehow displeased him.  Without saying a word, he reached over and untied her left toe from the wall and let her leg down. 

 

She cried out and then began crying in pain as her leg finally felt like it had become attached to her body again.  He silently watched as she leaned back against the wall and closed her tearing eyes as the pain in her hip overcame her for a second.  He then untied and freed her right leg and lowered it slowly to the floor of the boat. 

 

Tears of pain once more ran down her face as she silently endured the agony of blood returning to joints and muscles that had been isolated for at least half an hour.  If nothing else, this reminded him again of what a strong one she really was.

 

The girl still couldn’t move from the floor without the rest of her bonds being removed.  Enrique took his time, but eventually she was freed of all the ropes.  Standing, he looked down on her and then told her to get up. 

 

Like an ungainly infant, she rolled over to get on all fours, needing to get on her hands and knees before she could attempt to stand.  Finally, acting and moving like a seventy year old woman, she struggled up using the end of the bed as a crutch and stood in front of him. 

 

Without a word, he removed both of the alligator clips from her nipples.  Both of her nipples were a darker red than normal for her and had an angry, bruised look to them.  After this, she stood there with her head bowed, taking deep breathes as if that were the most wonderful thing in the world.

 

 

My knees shook with fatigue as I stood there, nipples red and bruised.  I still had the fading red stripes that marked my bottom from yesterday when Jorge had used his riding crop.  My vagina throbbed and my hips ached terribly.  My legs were shaking and didn’t seem to work right and I knew I couldn’t walk yet. 

 

I realized I was a mess; my hair was a wreck and my face was stained with tears, my eyes red from crying.  But with my heart racing inside my chest, I slowly raised my face and looked at my torturer as I said nothing.  I looked at The Animal as if to say, what else do you have for me?  I knew it was a stupid, dumb, insolent thing to do as soon as I did it, but I couldn’t help myself.  He’d beaten me at the time, but I had come back quickly afterwards—maybe I had pushed him too hard.

 

 

While he’d felt some pity for her in the past, the studied insolently blank look on her face as she looked at him immediately enraged Enrique.  It was as if she’d slapped him in the face.  He grabbed her shoulder and roughly pushed her in the direction of her bed.  She resisted a little and he pushed again with all of his strength---she literally flew across the room and bounced on the bed, landing on her back.

 

“Stay on the bed,” he commanded her.  But he could see she didn’t want to obey him and this enraged him even more.  He had done to her what he’d had to do and then he had relented.  Now, he felt like she’d taken his pity for her and thrown it back in his face. 

 

Enrique knew later that he’d lost it when he’d begun ranting about this latest refusal as being her last.  She was going to be a ‘humbled slut,’ a ‘tamed bitch’ and that while she may not want to do this with him, she didn’t get to “choose” anything anymore---that “choices were for cattle” but not her.  He vowed to humble her again and again if she didn’t cooperate. 

 

He knew he was being extreme at this point in her education, but in the heat of the moment, he felt she deserved it for her last refusal to cooperate with him. 

 

In truth, it was his pride that had been hurt.

 

Leaning over his victim, he cocked his fist to hit her if she showed any signs of resistance.  When none appeared, he roughly rolled her onto her stomach and tied her hands up high behind her back.  He then tied the end of the rope off on her collar, ensuring that her bound hands and forearms stayed uncomfortably high on her back. 

 

Taking another piece of short rope, he connected the ring in her slave collar to the head of the bed.  Rolling her onto her back, he took the loose end of the rope and tied it over the top of her breasts so that they were flattened by the pressure of the rope on her nipples. 

 

 

I lay on the bed and listened to his tirade.  I had stupidly challenged him and now I would pay.  He’d hurt me earlier and he would do it again---I knew this like the sun rises in the east.  This whole thing had rapidly spiraled out of control for both of us.  I’d never planned on challenging him like this.  It was crazy of me to have done so and would lead to nothing but pain for me, especially since I had no plans other than passive resistance.  Worse, there were at least three other men to help him if he felt he needed it, and if I defended myself now, what would they do to me then? 

 

Hesitatingly, filled with a sense of personal doom, I again withdrew into that special part of my mind and made no effort to fight The Animal as he began preparing me for the next part of his torture.

 

 

Taking a second piece of rope, Enrique tied it around her left ankle.  Next he tied her ankle tightly against the back of her left thigh, but after a moment of hesitation, decided to leave her right leg free.  Finally, he tied a rope around her right ankle and ran it through the pulley in the ceiling down by the foot of the bed where he’d earlier tied her up against the wall.  Enrique now pulled on the free end of the rope and dragged her right leg up and towards the ceiling of the cabin.  At the same time, this motion pulled her body down the bed until she could no further because of the rope tied to her collar.  Pulling her leg as high as he could now, he then tied the rope off at the foot of the bed and just looked at her.

 

He’d had all sorts of plans to fuck her and use double dildos and clamps on her.  But as he looked down, he saw she was in pain and attempting to relieve the stress on her body by weakly supporting herself.  The collar was pulled tight around her neck and was choking her.  The only things she could use for support were just the toes of her left foot as it was tied to the back of her thigh and her bound wrists which had been tied up by her shoulder blades. 

 

The rest of her body wasn’t touching the mattress; not her hips nor her head and neck; not her ass nor her legs.  Only two points of contact and nothing else; and since he’d forgotten to gag her, he could easily hear her heavy strained breathing and occasional whimpers. 

 

After a moment, he left.  Forcing himself to wait thirty minutes, he walked back in and without a word, let her right leg down from where the pulley held it, untied her left ankle from her thigh and finally removed the ropes that bound her arms.  When he was finished, he turned and left her silently crying on the bed.

 

He knew he’d reached the end when he didn’t want her body anymore, but only to hurt her.  He….WAS….NOT….like Manuel and Roberto.  He was afraid of what he’d become and knew for sure that she was the last.  No more would he do this for Wolf, no matter what he might offer.  He also knew he would make an effort to treat her better from now on. 

 

He was done.

 

 

The days continued to pass.  My training was often brutal, but always consistent.  The three remaining men were now concentrating more on technique than anything else now.  Each man tutored me in anything they desired.  Each man took from me everything they wanted. 

 

I thought it must be heaven for the men like them, but knew it was hell for me.

 

 

Day Nine: Bossman Talks About His Morality And Other Things

 

It was on the afternoon of my ninth day on his rape boat; I was exhausted but still somehow looked forward to my time in the sun on deck.  Bossman and I had talked about things that surprised me, like how he looked at morality.  We talked more about my life before him and what would happen to me now.  When he suggested I had actually learned things about myself, about my deepest desires and needs, I felt like the truth was bursting inside me and I finally could hold it in no longer. 

 

“Master, may I please answer you without fear of being disciplined?  You’ve always told me to tell you the truth—may I speak it freely now?”

 

Wolf nodded his head gravely.

 

“Master,” I said.  I had not learned perhaps as much as I should have because my voice was drenched, just a little, in sarcasm, “You say that you think I’ve learned about my deepest needs.  Manuel has taught me how to give what he calls the perfect blow job.  Jorge and Enrique have helped him sometimes.  During this time, I’ve probably swallowed a quart of their semen.”

 

He looked at me in surprise.  This was not the way I’d talked when they’d grabbed me less than two weeks ago.

 

“But I hate it,” I continued.  “I hate what they’re making me do.  Do you really think this is teaching me anything about my deepest needs?”

 

“You’ve had Enrique and Manuel disciplining me every day.  Even now, Manuel still ties me up almost every day.  I move like an old woman, my joints, my back and my legs are always in pain.  And he hurts me a lot---he chokes me and he beats me terribly, EVERYDAY.  You think I like being hurt?  You think I will learn to enjoy it?  That I’ll learn something about myself from it?  You’re crazy!”

 

There was no sarcasm now, just a pleading tone begging to be understood; “You’ve always told me to tell you the truth whether it’s what you want to hear or not.  Your crew on this boat has done awful things to me, Master.  And then laughed at the pain they brought me.  Tonight you implied things that just aren’t true.  That I know about your crew.  That I enjoy being tied up and beaten.  That I especially appreciate being tied up and beaten and then raped afterwards.” 

 

I barely held back a sob.  “I’ve been made to say things about myself that you know aren’t true.  Your crew has gone on and on with these things and I’ve had no choice but to listen to them and do whatever they ordered me to do.  And then tonight, you tell me much the same thing.  Master, you know these things are untrue.  Oh God, they are so untrue.  And you and your men know that!”

 

After a moment he replied, “It’s a fucked up world.  There are a lot of beautiful women out there and things can go badly for them as well as good for them.  For someone else, things go well.  You?  You’re young and beautiful---but for you, not so much good anymore.  It all balances out in the end, but it’s hard on individuals.” 

 

He looked at me and said, “Remember, it’s not what I am, but what I do that defines me.  Keep that in mind.”

 

 

Bossman looked at her for a minute and knew she still didn’t get it.  “Okay.  I’ll show you what I mean.  Remember Pretty Women?  There were prostitutes out there who were better looking than Julia Roberts and rich guys that could fall in love with hookers and marry them as well as some other woman.  Those weren’t lies.”

 

“But you STILL don’t know yourself.  The lie for you was when you began to find out what your true nature was; when you continued to tell yourself that you believed in things you finally knew went against your true nature; when you finally began to realize a few days ago what those small cravings inside you meant.  But you continued to tell yourself you could be happier going straight when you know now you wouldn’t be.”

 

“The truth is, you’re just as bent as any other person on this boat---but you just won’t admit it yet.  Honest people use that lie to protect themselves, they think it is fun not being in control.  Just like hookers know that things are better if someone else is running the show.  I know, I know you’d be happier as a pleasure slave if you could just give control to another---but you continue to deny it.  But someday, you’ll have to accept who you are---you still have to learn who you are.  You will be happier when you do that.”

 

“But I’m careful about the women that come through my hands; what these women never forgot and which you need to remember is that there is a contract between us.  If you honor your part of the bargain, I’ll honor my side and leave your family alone.”

 

“You need to make sure you know what you want in the end: the female members of your family going through exactly what you’ve been going through, only worse, much worse.  I guarantee I would make their lives a living hell.  Or you can honor your commitment to me and become what I want, fulfilling my every desire until I say otherwise.”

 

 

I had trouble getting to sleep that night.  The next morning, he was gone.  He’d left the boat early; there had been no warning of his departure and I’d not found out myself that he was gone until 10 AM, long after he had already left.  Late that night, his last night on the boat, we had talked about his view of me and my future after they had all eaten. 

 

Bossman had told her, “You’re in a fucked up place emotionally.  There’s nothing new or strange about that.  Most of the women I’ve been involved with over the years have gone through the same things that you are now.  “Do I give up my freedom in exchange for the safety of those I love,” “can I trick him now and maybe escape later,” “do I ever have to truly commit to what he demands of me,” or “can I exist in limbo, in a world in which I take it one day at a time pretending to be something that I’m not.” 

 

He shook his head, “These are all issues that have been worked out many times before by many women much smarter than you.”

 

Gazing intensely into her eyes, he said, “So let me give you the answer, M, or some of the answers.  None of the women that I’ve taken have ever been free again unless freed by their master.  None, not one, has ever escaped from me on her own.  I’ve never experienced anything bad for the things I’ve done to these women.  You see, I’ve always enjoyed a good relationship with the local police where I live.  I keep a low profile and I’m not on any police lists, so I don’t have to worry about them.  You don’t know where you are or the name of this boat or the real name of any of the men who are working on you.”

 

“Besides,” he had continued with a small smile, “who’s going to believe you when you tell them you were kidnapped by big black man that had half his face covered with a tattoo?”

 

“When you are finally taken to your new master, I guarantee he’ll keep you on a tight leash, literally on a physical leash for the next few months until he’s sure of you.  So you won’t be telling anyone about me.  During this time, things will be done to you to absolutely determine whether or not you have truly committed to your new life of slavery or not. “

 

“And if you haven’t truly submitted to your fate, then that will be the worst of both worlds; you’ll still be owned by your Master and the other female members of your family will join you eventually.  And after they’ve been forced to service hundreds of men, they’ll be sold at an open market, which is the worst place for a female slave to be taken.”

 

“Finally, whether or not you adjust to your new life is up to you.  You’re mentally tough, so I figure that if you have a strong enough desire for some peace in your life, you’ll adjust.  If that drive isn’t strong enough, you won’t---and there’s not a thing I can do about that.  So I don’t even think about it; I haven’t lost a bit of sleep over it.  Because in the end, that doesn’t affect the bottom line, which is that you’re mine and nothing’s ever gonna’ change that.”

 

 

At the end of my afternoons with him, I felt I knew my Master as good, and perhaps better than did the men that had worked for him for years.  I knew Bossman as a hard master, sometimes a brute and always a tyrant, an oppressor and as a hard disciplinarian. 

 

But he was almost cruel too in his honesty towards himself as well as those around him and, oddly enough, there was somehow a sense of quietly distilled straight-forward integrity in him—he may be a monster, but he had a code and he obviously felt he adhered to it.  While he had an innate, natural dignity about himself, the kind of instinctive aristocratic self-regard that is immediately known as authentic, at the same time I often sensed a barely controlled violence lying immediately beneath his calm exterior.  

 

He knew himself and never tried to pretend that he was something he was not.  When he was pleased, he was indisputability a charming man, one that any woman would enjoy being with as long as she didn’t know what he did for a living.

 

 

Day Ten: Bossman Has Left the Boat and the Men Have Special Plans

 

I woke up the next morning still tired from my disturbed sleep.  I’d been woken earlier by the runabout leaving, but had gone back to sleep.  The sleep had been neither deep nor resting. 

 

I once had a marionette when I was about eight years old.  I had the boat’s routine down pretty well, but now I understood how it had always danced to another’s tune.  By 9 AM I had exercised, showered, eaten and cleaned up my cabin.  I had rubbed moisturizer onto my legs and arms, particularly concentrating on my feet, knees and elbows.  I’d taken my supplements and massaged the antiseptic cream onto my breast piercings; I now stood by The Bed waiting for Jorge to arrive, massive butt plug cleaned and back inside me, ready to begin the new day of torment.

 

Instead of Jorge coming in first as had always happened before, The Evil One walked in showing me his normal oily, insincere smile.  He was carrying a small bag and had apparently talked Jorge into letting him go first today with me.  Looking at me and waggling his eyebrows, The Evil One said, “I have some special plans for you today.” 

 

I didn’t like The Evil One and looked at him as only slightly less intimidating and evil than The Demon.  But I cooperated exactly with whatever he told me to do, not wanting to give him any more of an excuse than he already had to display his brutality.  I was doing my best to convince them that I was cowed and collaborating totally with all of their demands.  But at the same time, I was always scared to death of what this particular bastard might do to me, because I honestly felt he was crazy. 

 

The Demon may have been banished by Bossman, but his deranged sidekick The Evil One still rode me in his place.  And Jorge had made it clear that I had no choice except to cooperate with his twisted fantasies.  But despite his warnings, I knew I’d do nothing on my own to give him any satisfaction.

 

 

Manuel didn’t like Victoria.  In fact, the first time he’d seen her, he knew he wouldn’t like her.  He’d been taking videos and following her for over a week on Cancun.  She was a knockout and had been flirting with guys in a bar in Cancun, but he knew she had no intention of going through with anything. 

 

He knew her type.  He’d gone to a school in Trinidad that had a lot of expatriate kids in it, and although he’d tried to make friends with some of the girls there, they’d pretty much ignored him---except for when they were mocking him.  Many of the expat students in his school were from the southern US.  Since that time he’d always mockingly called any southern girls they took “CP’s” or ‘Confederate Princesses’. 

 

Manuel loved his job.  He’d worked as sort of a contractor for Wolf for quite a few years now, but when the man didn’t have a gig going, he worked for himself as a freelancer.  The Bossman never wasted his time with anything but the best product, but when he was freelancing, Manuel would grab just about any female he could get his hands on.  There was always a market for pussy, even if it wasn’t great looking pussy.

 

Manuel really loved his job.  Manuel didn’t particularly like women, but he loved them as the object of his job.  He loved having their sweaty bodies lying helpless beneath his hips as he looked into their eyes, seeing the pain and shocked disbelief pain in their face.  He loved hurting women; making them scream, forcing them to cry and groan in pretend pleasure as he went about making their lives miserable.  He especially liked working on goody-girl CP’s; mentally, some of them seemed to take it the hardest when mounted, broken, trained and eventually turned into sluts by black men. 

 

It seemed like the CP’s he’d been breaking were getting younger all the time.  This cunt, for example, was still fairly young, not even twenty yet.  In the past, they’d generally been in their mid to late 20’s and often professionals. 

 

He especially loved breaking the professionals.  They thought they were experienced, well-travelled and hard-headed; they were the ones who had the money to go on what they had thought would be an exotic vacation to the Caribbean, and South and Central America. 

 

Instead, they’d run into him and would just disappear from family and friends forever.  Most of the earlier ones he’d help break and train would have already been sold again by their Masters, but now to pimps.  These women were probably crack whores now, infected with incurable STD’s and looking 60 years old instead of being in their early 30’s as most of them were.  Life was a bitch, he thought, and then somebody sold your ass a hundred and fifty or two hundred times a week.

 

In his time, he’d had the opportunity to help break lawyers, CPA’s, engineers and even a medical intern once.  She’d been great.  He liked to keep his pets gagged while he trained them, but not this one.  She’d been smart as hell and he’d made her tell him the medical term of every part of her body that he was fucking up, while he was fucking her. 

 

It still cracked him up the way she’d whimpered or screamed out each organ or orifice and how her voice would crack with pain as she described to him in great anatomical detail how and where he was using a whip on her genitals and what it was doing to her.

 

Manuel really didn’t like Victoria.  She reminded him of the worst parts of his early life.  She was, he thought, spoiled and stuck up, a typical rich American bitch.  He knew she thought she was special; her parents had probably given her everything she’d ever wanted and he knew a girl like her would never even pretend to notice a man like him.  Women like her always saved themselves for the men that had it all.  So it was with great pleasure that he used her body against her, and it gave him even greater pleasure that it was all against her will. 

 

He looked at her for a second and then said, “You’re all the same.  You think you’re hot shit.  But where’s all that confidence now, huh, bitch?  You’re so fucking pretty, but I’m only the man giving you about eight inches of what you deserve.  Haven’t you realized that?  That I love to make examples of women like you?”

 

He had to be careful, he always wanted to hurt her.  He wanted to humiliate and degrade her.  He’d never really needed penetration to enjoy doing a woman.  He’d always been able to get his nuts off by hurting them and seeing the look of shock and pain in their eyes.  It was that look which really turned him on. 

 

At the same time, he was not averse to trying to make them cum every now and then, but only because that was what he wanted to do.  He didn’t give a goddamm about pleasing them.  It was all about manipulation and today he was going to see what it was about this particular teenager that seemed to have turned on every member of the team.

 

The cunt had a fearful look on her face as Manuel first bent her over the foot of the bed and roughly half-pulled, half-turned the giant threaded plug out of her ass.  Her quick gasp and grimace of discomfort made him feel like he was starting the day off right. 

 

Grabbing a handful of her thick hair, he pulled her head back and stuffed a thick, two inch long penis gag into her mouth and fastened it in back of her neck.  Without a pause, he then pushed her toward the bed and told the slut to lie down on it naked. 

 

Taking a pair of leather wrist cuffs, he put them on her wrists and pulled her wrists down by her sides, attaching each arm to small recessed eyebolts about half way down on either side of her bed frame. 

 

Being totally submissive to him, she’d offered no resistance and was now helpless, with her arms now immobilized and pulled away from her body.  Taking leather cuffs with D-rings attached, he placed them around the cunts’ ankles and tightened them.  Then he took a long piece of rope and tied it around her waist with the free end at her back.  Finally, he then ran it down between her legs to the foot of the bed where he pulled it tight before he tied it off. 

 

Next Manuel grabbed her left ankle and pulled her impossibly long leg straight up into the air and then back towards the head of the bed.  Pushing down on the back of her left calf until her knee was touching the top of the mattress beside her head, he then fastened that ankle cuff low down on the corner bedpost.  She’d finally started struggling a little and began making a few mewling noises now, so he knew what he was doing to her probably didn’t feel too good.

 

As with the left leg, he bound her right ankle by tying it very low on the other post at the top of the bed.  This time as he began to bind her, she attempted to fight him, but he just kept hold of her ankle and leaned into her with all of his weight. 

 

Fighting it didn’t do her any good—her bound wrists and the rope around her waist ensured that her upper body remained fairly flat on the bed, but both of her ankles were now tied up around her ears and spread a little over four feet apart. 

 

Coincidently, her long legs allowed him to put a lot of pressure on her hips in this position---added inducements to behave were always good. 

 

In addition to keeping the bitch healthy, the aerobics had also kept her flexible enough to be bent almost double.  He loved working with women with hidden talents like this. 

 

Finally, to make sure she didn’t try to move around on the bed, he took small alligator clips attached to long pieces if twine and clipped one to each of the slut’s nipples.  He then ran the free ends of the twine to the side of bed closest to each nipple and tied it so that each line was taut.  No matter what direction she tried to move, she would find a clip pulling on one of her tits.  That’d make her want to stop pretty fucking quickly, he thought to himself with a smile.

 

 

With my arms tied to the sides of The Bed and my legs spread and tied to the bed posts to either side of my head, I suddenly found myself resting only on the upper part of my back and my shoulders.  The clips on my breasts were very painful and made me want to keep my chest immobile.  My lower back and hips on the other hand, were lifted straight up into the air.  But my lower back was pulled towards the foot of the bed because of the rope around my waist, while my hips were pulled towards the head of the bed because of the pull from my bound ankles.  In this position my tormented ass was the uppermost part of my body available to view---and the perfect work bench for him. 

 

My hips and lower back were killing me in this position and the joints in my hips and knees screamed to be released from the terrible pressure he’d just put on them.  This position and the pain it caused me brought back immediate and terrible memories of what The Animal had done to me only a few days ago.  My hips still ached every now and then from that and I still had not fully recovered in other ways from what he’d done to me.

 

 

The captive girl’s genitals were completely exposed in graphic detail.  Her stretched, gaping brown asshole now gazed unblinkingly at Manuel with her curved ass cheeks lying in emphasis on either side of the hole.  The hairless pink slit of her cunt was visible just above it, with the little shaved pubic hair that remained pointing towards Victoria's belly button. 

 

He’d never really taken the time to look at this teen, to really feel what her body was like.  So he slowly leaned between her legs and slid his hands up the back of her thighs to the area behind her knees.  The muscles in the back of her legs were now stretched impossibly taut.  He was amazed at how soft her skin was, yet how firm her legs were. 

 

Her body arched protectively as his hands slowly wandered back towards her vagina and he slowly stroked her.  She’d begun to sweat in between the folds of her skin there and as his fingers opened up her labia, he exposed the cavern between her legs which all of the men on the boat had taken so much delight in filling. 

 

Manuel could hear her chuffing for breath through her nostrils—the sound of someone struggling to survive amused him.  He looked between her thighs and gazed at her face.  Her green eyes were wide open and the pupils dilated—she must like this, he thought to himself.  Manny heard Victoria moan softly as he manipulated her vagina.  He explored her with his fingers and marveled at the musky smell she left on him---her pheromones alone made him so very hard for her.  He slowly gave his fingers an exaggerated lick, just for her benefit.

 

“You cunt,” he said to Victoria, “you belong to me today.  I don’t give a shit how much you want to do good with me; you’re in my house today.  And it’s always been the house of pain for sluts like you.”

 

Still leaning between her spread thighs, he slowly moved his hands up her abdomen until they covered her breasts.  Even folded in half her stomach was taut with no rolls of excess flesh.  Her breasts were rather squashed with her knees pushing into the sides of her chest, but he still enjoyed playing with the clips on her nipples for a minute before he let his hands trail back down her belly and between her legs.  He noted that she closed her eyes as he explored that part of her body again.

 

She was nude between her legs except for the thin sliver of curly pubic hair which had been left on purpose.  His fingers now explored her ass, with first one and finally two fingers pushed into her.  He wiggled them inside her and then spread them apart as far he could while slowly pulling them out of her rectum.  He heard her give a couple of appreciative groans, but he wished she was a little more expressive.

 

Finally, he couldn’t help himself.  He seldom had oral sex with the women he trained; eating them seemed so nasty since they were generally already so full of other men’s semen by the time he got to take his turn.  But she was so fresh this morning, so untouched----so totally available at this moment that it seemed like the right thing to do. 

 

Slowly he lowered his face between her legs and let his mouth cover her vagina, making such a perfect seal for the suction that followed that he felt her hips jump in pleasure.  His tongue probed her and she jumped again.  He slowly licked her vagina with his tongue for a little while longer.  He knew she was enjoying this a lot. 

 

After giving her a couple of minutes of pleasure with his mouth and tongue, Manuel took out a large vibrating dildo and teased it around M's clit a bit before inserting it in her now gaping cunt.  He easily stuffed it in as far as it would go and then switched it on. 

 

The overwhelming vibrations immediately made the girl begin bucking in her bonds and he smiled with pleasure as she groaned in rhythm with the mechanical buzzing sound.  He knew the slut was in such intense pleasure she just couldn't help thrashing her head from side to side and moaning through her gag. 

 

Finally, he stripped and climbed up on the bed with her.  He was relatively hard after his initial play with her, but taking his cock and running it over her vagina as it vibrated really turned him on.  Finally, he removed the vibrator from where he’d drilled it into her pelvis. 

 

Leaning forward and bracing himself with his left hand on the wall in back of M, he leaned into her upthrust hips and with one practiced move, buried himself up to his balls in her gaping cunt with the first move of his hips.  She may have been a little dry, but damn, she sure was opened up and waiting for his cock.  And when he’d given it to her, she bucked like a goddammed wild woman.  God, he loved this position for the way it opened these sluts up for fucking.

 

 

The Evil One was a sick son of a bitch, had always been a sick son of a bitch and would always be a sick son of a bitch.  He was rough with me from the beginning I supposed, because he liked hurting women. 

 

He’d thrown me over the bed and almost ripped the plug out of my rectum in his haste to fuck me.  I couldn’t help but give out a grunt of pain, but he only seemed turned on even more by it.  After cuffing and gagging me, he’d pushed me onto The Bed and then began tying me up.  Unfortunately, as soon as I realized what he intended, I tried to fight him, but it had been too late.

 

By the time he was done, I was in such a contorted position it was almost impossible to breathe.  This scared me because Bossman was gone--I just didn’t have any confidence in Jorge being able to control Manuel. 

 

My body was tied up and I felt the oncoming touches of being sick.  Yet the impulsive perversity, the contrary willfulness that seemed to be continually building inside me and which controlled more and more of my thinking reared its awful head once more for suddenly I realized the way he touched me didn’t feel too bad….actually, at times, it felt rather good. 

 

A new kind of panic filled me.  Oh my God, I thought to myself, I’m getting used to being touched, to being controlled by these men.  They have my body, I thought, and I can’t stop that, but they’re somehow changing the way I think too. 

 

Ice-cold chills shot down my spine as the levels of my pain receded…how could I become so accepting of what these men did to women, so accepting of what they were doing to me?

 

Mentally, I struggled, fighting the urge to accept my situation, to willingly allow them consent to control of every aspect of my environment.  Yet, no matter how I fought, it still seemed right in my head to sometimes cooperate with them, to open myself to the urge to allow them to have everything they wanted of me….from me.

 

Despite being helpless, I still didn’t care for the way The Evil One kept running his hands over my body.  And I especially didn’t care to have him performing oral sex on me.  No matter how determined I’d been to avoid anything that might mistakenly urge him on or give him any satisfaction, when he’d pushed the vibrator into me, it’d gone in so deep and so hard I hadn’t been able to prevent a groan of pain escaping from me. 

 

Finally, I could tell he was ready.  I felt total resignation when he reared up between my legs and aimed himself into me---the look of intense concentration in his eyes, the sweat beading on his upper, the way he held his erection in order to better aim---everything he did focused his sexual urges on my helpless body. 

 

I closed my eyes as I saw the beginning of the move that would impale me; I knew it was coming, but I still couldn’t stop from crying out even as he pushed himself deeply into my dry vagina.

 

 

The cunt lay underneath him and groaned in pleasure with each of his thrusts into her pussy.  Damn, I’m good, he thought to himself.  She was moist for him now, and her pussy was warm and even somewhat tight on his erection. 

 

He knew he had to be careful here.  The angle at which he had her tied meant he couldn’t comfortably push straight into her pussy.  Instead, he had to lean over her and push himself off of the wall at her head or her snatch would force his cock down and away from his body at angle more than was normal or comfortable.  Last thing he needed was to break his dick.  At the same time, he knew from past experience that this angle of penetration into her pussy didn’t feel too good for her either.

 

The more she responded to him though, the wetter and more lubricated she was, the more brutal his moves became until he was urgently slamming his hips into hers with no regard for her pain or pleasure.  Finally, he’d gotten what he needed and he came in a tremendous burst of semen that went deep into her bound, motionless belly.  He held his final thrust in place inside her for several minutes after he’d drained his balls into her.  It seemed like the tip of his cock was on fire as he kept it pushed into the thick, burning pool of ejaculate that had accumulated inside the bitch near the top of her cervix. 

 

Damn it felt good, he thought to himself.

 

 

The Evil One raped me in just the way I’d expected him to do.  Bastard!  What a perverted pig! I thought to myself.  It had hurt a lot when he first took me, I hadn’t been moist and wasn’t ready for his penetration.  But none of this had stopped him.  Yet, as he raped me, I finally became lubricated and the pain seemed less cutting inside of me.  But most of his thrusts did go deep and they really did hurt me, but if ever I could help myself, I’d be damned if I’d give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

 

His lovemaking style was a seemingly endless series of loveless lunges and penetrations into a woman who would never respond in kind.  He not only buried himself in my vagina, he pushed my pelvis toward the wall with his hips in an attempt to further contort my body and drive me through the bottom of the bed.  Even though it felt like my arms were being pulled out of their sockets, eventually, it was over.  He groaned appreciatively and leaned into me, resting on my hips and using his weight to drive my shoulders into the mattress and then hold them there as he caught his breath. 

 

I looked at him leering down on me and then closed my eyes and turned my head away from him as best I could.  At first he seemed to be satisfied with what he’d done to me, but within moments I had glanced at him out of the corner of my eyes and his face had taken on a darker look.  This was a man who hated being disrespected…..

 

 

At first he felt good about having done her, but after a moment something different came to mind.  He looked down at her suspiciously and said, “You know, you stupid cunt, most women don’t like being fucked like that.  Something about the angle that I’m pushing into them or something.  But you, you bitch; you moaned like you loved it the whole time.  There’s something rotten about you.”

 

With that, he pulled out of her, got off the bed and stalked out.  He was gone for a second, but returned with a short, supple cane whip.  He was flaccid now, but even then, he was as large as most men when erect.  His penis hung down on his left thigh as he returned; it gleamed slickly and looked moist from her juicy pussy. 

 

He got back on the bed between blonde teenager’s legs and showed her the whip, bending it back and forth to show her how flexible it was.  Pleasurable anticipation washed through him as he watched the cunt’s eyes widen in horrified recognition.  She went nuts struggling, shaking her head and trying to free herself from the wall; all he could do was laugh at her pathetic attempts. 

 

“Fucking pussies,” he said, mangling his metaphors, “on the other shoe now, isn’t it bitch?”

 

Manuel took the vibrator he’d put down a few minutes ago, turned it on and then stuck it all the way into her gaping hole again in one smooth move of his wrist.  Her body arched in pain and there was a juicy slurping sound as it went in; he knew his semen was still pooled right at the entrance to her cervix, and that had helped make that sexy, incredibly wet sound.  He thought this was funny too---just let her stew in his juices for a while.  Then he picked up the cane whip and cracked it once in front of Victoria’s face. 

 

 

Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea to just go with the flow with this man.  I’d been so involved in thinking that I was controlling the game that I’d forgotten that there were still some rules of which I either wasn’t aware or over which I had no effect.  When he came back in with the whip, that’d scared the hell out of me.  Everything he did scared the hell out of me from this point on! 

 

Without warning, Manuel hit me viciously in my genitals with his whip.  It burned and stung like acid and left a continuous red mark that began on the right side of my lower stomach, went immediately over my clit and continued on the left side of my vagina where my labia were pushed out by the vibrator.  It then went on up the inside of my left thigh a little before going back down and ending on the underside of my left buttock. 

 

Tears blurred my eyesight.  It stung like fire and my clitoris felt like someone had just held a lighted cigarette to it.  I was so shocked I couldn’t make a sound at first.  I bucked a couple of times, and then finally gave a muffled scream of pain and arched what little I could in an attempt to move my private parts away from any further assaults that might come from him.  He looked at me for a second, touched his fingers to his tongue to get them wet with his saliva and then slowly ran them over the red streak on my flesh which was rapidly turning into a nice red welt.

 

Slowly, taking his time, he cocked his arm back with the whip and looked into my eyes.  I was pleading with him with my eyes and through my gag, but it did no good as he whipped me again on my genitals, but now on the other side of my vagina.  I was screaming and throwing my body from side to side in a desperate but futile attempt to free myself from his bonds. 

 

 

Manuel laughed and said in a light tone, “Beg for your life, honey.”  He listened to her screaming and crying, and watched her body jiggle with fear.  But there was nothing coherent coming from her because of the gag.

 

“You‘re gonna have to do better than that, sweetie.  You can’t treat men like you do and not expect to pay for it.  Beg, you bitch!””

 

He took his time, hitting her not more than once a minute on the average.  Manuel removed the vibrator from her pussy after about five minutes because it seemed to be getting in the way of his whip.  After less than ten minutes of being whipped, the girl was covered with sweat and had been reduced to a screaming, whimpering wreck, even as she continued begging him through her gag to stop. 

 

It was an amazing sight, but he could actually see slut’s anal sphincter straining, the puckered brown hole opening and closing as if it were a fish gasping for air!  Manuel thought this was hilarious.  The insides of her thighs, her cunt, her ass and her belly were covered by a fine crisscross pattern of red that was rapidly rising into welts. 

 

 

Finally, he hit me again with the hardest stroke he’d used so far, and it was at an angle that allowed him to rip both sides of my vagina with one blow.  The agony was too much for my body and suddenly I lost control of my bladder.  Urine began to squirt up and out from between my hips.  Totally humiliated, I tried to stop, but controlling myself was impossible. 

 

It pooled between my legs and ran down my rear.  It ran down the front of my body around and between my breasts.  Almost immediately I was lying on my shoulders in a small puddle of my own urine.  After a moment, I ultimately was able to exert some influence and the stream of yellow slowed to a trickle and finally to a stop.  I closed my eyes and turned my burning face away from The Evil One.  He had done this to me, may he rot in hell.

 

 

This was the first time, Manuel thought to himself, that anyone had really just sat down and given a nice whipping to the lying bitch.  Maybe that’s what she’s needed all along. 

 

He walked out and talked with Jorge and Enrique.  Jorge was furious with what he’d done; while they both agreed that she was hiding something, it was probably impossible to do anything more with her right now what with the being soaked and all. 

 

After a little while, Manuel walked back in and untied the blonde bitch, all the while belittling her, telling her what a poor excuse for a cunt she was and how unworthy she was.  Finished with her for today made her clean up after herself.  Under his piggish eyes, the freshly whipped girl moved slowly and with difficulty as she changed the sheets and used enough freshener to get rid of the smell. 

 

Manuel watched her take a quick shower before Enrique arrived.  She moved stiffly and was in no shape to take on another one of these men, let alone two more, but that didn’t really matter to any of them.

 

 

It was late and I was lying in bed, but I couldn’t sleep.  I kept rocking myself, like a child.  Part of me felt empty inside, more so than usual.  I hurt all over, but mostly I was in pain between my legs.  For the first time, there had been a razor left in the shower and I had used it.  I shaved my legs, the same number of strokes on each leg.  An absurd need for symmetry I had not needed in years.  I carefully moved again to try to get in a more comfortable position, but the giant rubber plug in my butt wouldn’t allow it.  I didn’t think that it was an accident that this had happened on the day that Bossman had departed the boat. 

 

I thought back to yesterday afternoon.  He was gone now and, God help me, I missed him somehow.  While I knew many would consider him an awful man, he also was also the mainstay that kept everything going smoothly on this boat.  He’d also saved me from the maniac Roberto and I owed him my life.

 

More than that, I had finally realized there was something more going on with him than he’d ever let on to me before.  I’d gone over this in my mind, time after time again.  And it always added up to one impossible fact. 

 

Yesterday afternoon, he’d begun talking to me, steadily looking into my eyes as he did.  He talked about himself and things he had done in the past.  He spoke about me and his insights into why I was the way I was.  He talked about the future---his and what he would do next, and about mine---I had none. 

 

I’d listened though.  I had first been aloof, then curious, and finally sympathetic; I’d studied his broken face and his eyes had been eloquent as I listened.  But I had not guessed his secret.  Not until my last look—strange, deep, potent—had I even begun to fathom there were things going on here that I would not know until it was too late.  He’d already be gone by then.

 

 

And now, with intelligence and a woman’s intuition, Victoria went over in retrospect the previous meetings that she’d had with Bossman.  At first there had been the quick, brutal sex.  But she felt that it was somehow more than that now, and the afternoon talks with him had eventually made that clear.  And finally, after a long review of her time on the boat, the truth she suddenly discerned made her sharply catch her breath---he cared for her, Bossman had fallen in love with her! 

 

Her intuition declared this, while her intelligence screamed and fought and denied it.  Never before had she been afraid to look into herself, but she felt something here that could not explained.  Now she was finding unknown depths of feeling, secret chambers of dreams into which she had never let the light; strange instinctive activities, more physical than mental.  When in her life before had her heart ever beat like this?

 

Victoria finally cried herself to sleep.  That night, for the first time she had nightmares.  In her dreams, she was always chased by this huge fish that tried to eat her.  It was an abnormal fish, like a video-game fish.  Then, Bossman always came into the picture and saved her. 

 

 

Day Twenty-Six: Victoria Watches Television

 

Victoria’s lower back had been in bad shape for a couple of days after Manuel’s attentions; she could barely walk, but the demands on her body from the men never ceased.  It took two days for most of the marks from the whippings to begin to disappear from her body, but it took months for her mind to really heal.  However, her remaining time on the boat was less eventful than the day on which she had been whipped---if one ignored the rapes, the sodomies, the beatings and torture and the bondage. 

 

 

I think it was now the morning of my twenty-sixth day on the hellboat.  Bossman had now been gone for fifteen days, but I still thought of him daily.  The more I thought of him, the more my emotions changed, the more I found myself idealizing him.  I sighed, then lay still for another moment. 

 

I got up and went through my early routine in preparation for the day’s training.  The early part of the day was always okay, but to get through the rest of the day I had learned to put my body on cruise-control and shut my mind down for the most part.

 

Odd thoughts whizzed through my mind, strangely inappropriate for my situation.  I realized how much I missed the companionship of another woman; I thought about how much I missed my aunt and parents, and I wondered how my friends were doing in school.  It was crazy, but I even wondered how the football team was doing.

 

I wondered if an event like my kidnapping brought my family closer together or splintered them apart.  I guess it depended upon how thick the glue was which had already been laid.  I already knew my aunt had remained strong, but now, with 24-hours news and the internet, anyone with cable or an internet connection could see how this event had affected my family.  When it is your family’s worst nightmare made public, made entertainment, made eternal.  The memory of it to my family could never be blocked, the horror was only a few channels or clicks away. 

 

I shook my head, forcing these thoughts away.  While waiting for the first of them this morning, I thought back to how I’d been trying to handle them.  I’d submitted and pledged my cooperation, but that did not include any promise of giving, of loving, of warmth.  They’d inadvertently had that a few times, but none had cared enough to determine how they’d dragged that emotional response from my resisting body. 

 

Even so, I found myself cooperating with their physical demands more and more easily.  Like a mental contagion, it was so much more difficult in the beginning, but got progressively easier.  It began with limits, but those limits just dissolved over the space of a few days or a couple of weeks. 

 

Sometimes, it was as if I almost found myself willingly satisfying their lust and their demands.  The first time I had capitulated to their demands had been the most difficult.  But each additional step, each new act seemed just a little easier for me to perform than the one before. 

 

And soon, it wasn’t difficult at all to convince myself it really didn’t matter….I mean….how far it seemed I was actually willing to go. 

 

This last frightened me when I finally realized how far I had gone, how far gone I was, how despicable the men actually were and how complicit I had been in my own degradation.  But worse, it was what they had done to my mind, my self-values, my morality that I feared the most---sometimes I just felt like I was going insane or was already schizophrenic. 

 

Bossman was long gone, but he still haunted my dreams.  I had merely promised him I would go along passively, without vocal or physical resistance.  As contradictory as it sounds, even as it became increasingly easy to give these men what they demanded, it was becoming more difficult to contain my venom toward them; to restrain that increasingly strong, almost automatic instinct to oppose or thwart them. 

 

At the same time, I had to remind myself constantly that I dare not go too far without the risk of losing their promise to leave my family alone.  I just knew that the terrible things being done to me on this awful boat made me, a few times, lose my touch with reality.

 

Despite the realization I had no other choice, I still hated myself for agreeing so easily to the bargain that I’d made, for putting myself in a situation where I was continually being forced to submit to them sexually.  Yet this self-hatred was somewhat relieved by the knowledge that I hated my captors even more; that I abominated and abhorred them with a passion which could not be articulated. 

 

I know it was a feeble attempt at self-justification, but the fact was that I hated them with a passion even as I cooperated with them.  What they did left me filled with a hate filled drive to retaliate against their inhumanity, to obliterate each of the remaining three from the face of the earth.  Even Jorge was now included in this group. 

 

But I couldn’t do anything because of my bargain with Bossman.

 

Right now, I was waiting for the nightmare to begin again.  I just wanted them to hurry, to come into my cabin so that I could have it done with, so that I could earn my temporary escape onto the deck above and into the sunlight.  The Evil One apparently was first today, since he’d earlier dropped off what I was to wear first this morning.  Surprisingly, it was a nice, decent skirt and blouse combination.

 

I dressed and then waited for them, as I had so many times before in the last few weeks.

 

Jorge, The Evil One and The Animal walked into my cabin en masse and I leapt from my seat to assume the hated position that recognized their superiority, which acknowledged I was owned by another.  Instead of one of them taking me to The Bed, they began to set up a small laptop and connect it to the TV.  When all was ready, The Evil One pulled a chair near the bed and instructed me to sit in it and watch.  I was not to move until they gave me permission to do so.

 

As the other two men hooked up the laptop to the TV monitor, Jorge began to explain.  He said, “Every now and then over the last ten years, we’ve been able to “recruit” a talent that is simply far superior to what we are normally able provide to our clients.  When this occurs, we take extensive videos of this woman while she is being trained.”

 

Manuel now took over the explanation.  “You may wonder, you stupid woman,” he said, “What this has to do with you?  Well, we’ve made the half hour film which starts with you on Cancun and ends yesterday with us still training your sorry ass.  When we can, we’ll finish by taping a few hours of your first days with your new Master---assuming he approves.”

 

He continued, “When we grab a piece of ass that is beautiful enough to make it worth our while, we create a sort of dark web “how-to” file for the business.  Think of this as a YouTube-type presentation….except that this video is for private consumption and will never be posted on the internet.” 

 

“I want you to know I don’t think you are at that level, but I am at a disadvantage, for the certainly others do.  Your current Master allows us to make and sell these files.  We get to keep the profits and they make us much money in Asia, Eastern Europe and Latin America.  I can tell you that all men around the world are the same; they just love to see the real-time process of a beautiful young woman being broken and sexually enslaved; and they’ll pay a lot of money to see it.  So thank you for offering to help us make this film.”

 

I sat in my chair with my mind blanked by shock.  The Evil One was a coarse, vulgar man and I’m sure this is the effect he wanted to have on me.  I wasn’t even thinking about what the film might mean to me.  Instead, I felt both embarrassed and angry that he could still be so successful in manipulating me after all that had occurred in this place of pain.  I knew I was so much harder inside now than I had been even a couple of weeks ago, so why did he still so easily bother me like this?  I had no answer to this question.

 

The TV screen now flickered into life and I saw a relatively amateur screen which proclaimed it to be Volume Number 7 of the “The Collectors,” followed by “Recruiting M” on the next line.  This was followed on the next screen by a standard disclaimer which proclaimed that everyone involved in making this movie was a paid model and that the whole thing was a piece of fiction.  A wave of mirth worked its way around the cabin.

 

Huh, thought to myself, I’m a paid model. 

 

 

While Victoria was not aware of this, six previous movies had already been made in this series.  The first was of the self-important brunette lawyer with the long brunette hair from Amsterdam.  Wolf had been so infuriated by her arrogance that he’d insisted that a record be made of the Dutch lawyer’s total humiliation and subjugation, recording every detail of her being broken and of her pride being shredded, all so that he could view her total enslavement over and over again at his leisure long after she was nothing but a distasteful memory. 

 

 

And so the practice had begun.  He had not done his usual psychological workup on Dutch the bitch; it was a grudge thing from the beginning.  He didn’t care what made her tick, what her strengths and weaknesses were---he just wanted to humiliate and break her. 

 

The Dutch lawyer had fought well for two days and then her will and internal strength had collapsed suddenly and unexpectedly early on the third day.  While it gave all of them some measure of satisfaction to be fucking and humiliating this gorgeous bitch as much as they’d wanted, in the end she hadn’t presented the challenge they had either expected or needed. 

 

These men lived and survived in a personal and professional sewer.  But they’d broken her too easily and dragged her down so deeply into the gutter that she had in the end been below even them.  For being such a haughty bitch, there’d been no real challenge and she’d earned no respect for being tough.  It was then that her real degradation, her real punishment had begun, but whether for her previous attitude towards men or because of the weakness of character she’d showed the team, none of the men could really say.

 

This European woman’s subsequent treatment---there was no real training at this point---had been brutal even for the boat boys.  The men continually performed more and more severe acts both with her and upon her, always searching for new and innovative ways to give her agonizing pain no matter how well she performed or how deeply she abased herself.  This woman was intelligent and beautiful, but that didn’t matter---she was broken like the lowest beast on earth and tamed like the cheapest mare to ever be taken for a ride. 

 

A truly beautiful woman, her breasts had been full and high, her legs long and shapely… The men enjoyed every inch of her body.  She’d been branded and pierced and whipped; she’d been slapped and beaten, punched and pinched and spanked; she had been twisted into knots by ropes until her muscles had cramped unmercifully; her hair and skin had been pulled and she’d been ridden by them and had ridden the wooden horse; she’d experienced long periods of machine pain and electrolove and enemas; they’d used weights to crush her arches and to pull down on her labia and nipples; pliers and clamps had been draped off of her body every day. 

 

Every imaginable piece of equipment in Wolf’s possession that would give her the fancy'd pain he felt she so richly deserved had been used enthusiastically and repeatedly on her slowly deteriorating body.

 

She’d never carried any extra weight; that was one of the things that had initially made her such a sexy bitch.  But by the time that she’d completed her training for the slavery that would put an end to her legal career, she’d lost weight and her face had become gaunt.  They’d fucked her brains out for two weeks and showered her with punishment long after she’d been broken. 

 

She’d been a cunt before they’d turned her into a whore; and a slut and a cunt she had remained to them afterwards.  By the end, she’d become a broken-back old mare to them---fit to be ridden, but not to be seen with. 

 

And not a one of them felt any compassion for her when they found out that Wolf had sold her to one of the cheaper whore houses in Panama City. 

 

Basically, what goes around comes around and the bitch had deserved it.  Every man involved knew she wasn’t arrogant to men anymore---she’d been completely cowed and broken, tamed of any attitude.  Rather, she was licking their shoes now---and their balls if told to. 

 

She never again would be allowed to practice law as an equal to men; all she was good for now was to be ridden like the hag she was until her looks fled.  Then she’d be allowed to do their laundry for her meals and perhaps help her master every now and then when some young woman new to the trade needed to be broken in.  They knew that a bitch like her would be more than glad to help enslave other women if she thought it would benefit her in any way.

 

The next to have her debasement documented on video was the blonde Australian bride kidnapped in South America on her wedding day.  A gorgeous young woman who thought she had her life ahead of her, she‘d fought them hard for four days before breaking.  Wolf had spread a few anonymous rumors in the city from which she’d been taken and soon it was being reported on local TV that she was unstable and that she’d run away from her wedding and her fiancé. 

 

She’d been desperately in love with her fiancé—her love for the man was what had allowed her to fight them for so long.  But the final straw was when Wolf arranged for her to watch a live broadcast of the disappointed and angry groom as he was interviewed on television.  Bitter and loveless now, basically he had written her off as a faithless psycho. 

 

Wolf had let her watch the interview and after everything else that had been done to her, she’d almost lost her mind when he had removed the anchor that gave her strength.  When she came apart, she cracked all the way, ending up at the very bottom and retaining only shreds of her sanity. 

 

Even though psychologically she was a mess, the team had still never deviated from her training.  At Wolf’s directions, they’d forced her to wear different bridal lingerie while continually being raped and tortured; this single requirement alone which Wolf had of her tormented the young woman beyond belief. 

 

At the same time, she was finally able to again approach psychological stability only because of the Wolf.  He took her once at the beginning of her indoctrination and never touched again while his team was still in the process of training her. 

 

Instead he’d acted as a counterweight to her torment, spending a lot of private time on deck with her.  It was only through his conversation and counseling that she was able to come back and feel that she had something for which to live again.  He’d in effect, become her new anchor in life. 

 

After he’d had her with him for that extra month she was much more stable, well trained and now thoroughly in love with him; she didn’t want to leave him.  Now that she was doing better, he was able fuck her hard until he was pretty sure she was pregnant and then he’d sold her to some acquaintances in the British East Indies.  He might have kept her a little longer but for having been impregnated by one of the men.  In any case, he made sure she was gagged and handcuffed as he prepared her for delivery, for he wasn’t in the mood for a scene.  Bottom line, he didn’t want kids around and he’d never had a second thought about her after that.

 

The third to have a rental movie made of her fate was a young real estate agent in her early 20’s they’d noticed working late one night in Belize.  She was originally from Spain and had long brown hair and green eyes.  She was tall and on the slim side, but she had a great body.  Tiny waist, spectacular legs and ass, and nice breasts all combined to make her a knockout.

 

But she’d grown tired of what she had called the post-Christian European decadence and secularism that had surrounded her in Madrid.  So she’d moved to the Caribbean to take advantage of the slower life style there.  She’d been religious and was that rarest of the rare now days, a virgin.  Because of her “condition” she’d presented a particular set of problems to the men while being processed and trained.  But they were up to the challenge and it had only taken them a little over two days before she’d finally broken. 

 

Like their current project, she was naïve about certain aspects of life and rather immature.  Like all of the others too, she was subjected to the usual physical coercion---and to this she stood up to this well. 

 

Even as she remained a virgin, she was mentally unprepared for the brutal and continued anal rapes to which they’d subjected her.  In the end the mental degradation and humiliation being sodomized was what broke her and not the physical pain. 

 

She’d cried all the time on the boat after that no matter what they did or didn’t do to her and they all were ready to dump her ass overboard when her new Japanese owner had finally picked her up.  Although she was the proverbial pain in the ass, Wolf always looked back with fondness at the time that he’d been able to sample that superb, tight young body.

 

The fourth to have her story told on film was a young woman now from the Dominican Republic, but whose father had originally come from Germany to work for the local government.  She was a magnificent twenty-three year old brunette and they’d first noticed her when she’d competed in a contest on the beach to see who could create and wear the smallest bikini. 

 

She’d won hands down as all she wore were very small banana-shaped pieces of white cloth taped to her nipples and over her shaved pussy---her ass and everything else had been left bare. 

 

This girl had long shapely legs, long brown hair, brown eyes and a beautiful smile.  Her skin was tanned a deep nut brown by the summer sun and she was just a gorgeous girl that loved to show off her body to appreciative males.  The Wolf was deeply appreciative. 

 

Even before he took her he knew everything about her body that he needed to know; that she shaved her pussy, that the small-aureoled nipples on her unconfined breasts rode high on her chest, and that her ass was tight and firm without the need of corset or confining and body shaping under garments.

 

A medium-sized hurricane gave them cover for her kidnapping.  They’d been watching her for over two weeks by the time the hurricane warnings were being given, so all they’d had to do was find a safe cove for the boat and then lurk around the capital city until the storm hit.  In the ensuing chaos they were able to grab her without being detected. 

 

The men found it almost an honor to be with her, since she’d fought them as hard as she could for over six days before she’d finally had enough.  But once she recovered from the injuries inflicted during her initial processing, she’d become a favorite of all of them.  She was finally submissive, totally cooperative, sexually experienced and quick to learn all of the men’s favorite moves; she was a sexy bitch and a natural-born whore.  She did her best to please them right up to the very end.  They’d all felt a little down when Wolf had sold her to some Arabs living in Buenos Aires.

 

The fifth woman to have her story made into a movie was a fabulous looking, long-haired blonde from California who was just starting to have some luck in the movies.  They’d grabbed her away from her boyfriend while both were on vacation on Andros Island; the team had spent a luxurious three days working on her before she finally broke. 

 

It took her a day to recover physically before they could begin training her and in the end, it turned out that she was faking her submission to them.  Once she tried to escape and they knew that she had been playing them, as promised, her time on the boat became as brutal as that of the lawyer from Amsterdam. 

 

Her perfidy had been discovered by Jorge and he was the cruelest of them all in that situation; even more so than Roberto.  While her acting ability hadn’t been good enough to pull off her role of a lifetime, it had been just good enough to ensure she was brutally violated non-stop for the next month.  They had even brought in two Great Danes to do her on the video at the end.  For four weeks, her muffled moans and wails of anguish were music to their ears and no one had cared when Wolf had sold her to one of the worst pimps in central Mexico. 

 

This whoremaster was infamous for the way he mistreated his string of women and he always needed replacements.  Wolf had sold her cheaply, asking only that she be given to the worst of the pimp’s clients for the first year.  Only twenty-three years old, it’d only been a couple of years since she’d passed through Wolf’s hands but already her looks were gone. 

 

Her new pimp had immediately hooked her on crack; now HIV positive, she’d aged thirty years in the last eighteen months. 

 

As for Hollywood, it never missed a lesser talent like hers and her absence was explained among insiders as a common occurrence for the marginally gifted as they went back home to Omaha or Bismarck or wherever else they might have originally come from. 

 

It seems a movie producer she had previously met at several parties had actually seen her once while she was whoring on the street when he had been surveying a movie location, but he’d passed it off as a coincidental similarity.  She too had seen the producer and had hidden from him, not wanting anyone to know what she’d become. 

 

Her family never did find out what had happened to her.

 

The sixth film detailed the breaking and training of a mother and daughter pair from Minnesota.  The mother had been thirty-two and her daughter sixteen---she’d had her child when she herself was only sixteen.  After the mother’s experience with a weak man who’d finally left her, she’d become a militant feminist.  Coming from a relatively wealthy family, she’d never had to marry and had instead raised her daughter by herself.  Needless to say, both females had what the Wolf called “a wrong attitude towards men”.

 

The pair had been on vacation in Grenada when the young girl was noticed by one of their talent scouts as she was tanning herself on the beach.  Definitely a “Lolita” type, the team had originally planned on taking only the teenager, but soon found the mother to be an excellent chaperone---they couldn’t get to the daughter alone. 

 

So in the end, both women had been taken from a jeep they’d chartered while visiting the mountains on the island.  The logistics of having two females on the boat at the same time had proven to be daunting, but in the end it was decided to put the women in the cabin on alternate days in order to have video of both. 

 

The mother had short blonde hair and had worked hard to keep herself in shape.  She looked as if she were actually a slightly older sister to the teenage girl.  She had a fabulous build and while a little older than the women they normally trafficked, she was still an exquisitely sexy example of mature femininity. 

 

Her daughter had shoulder length honey blonde hair and was a beautiful teenaged girl—almost on a level with M.  While not yet totally filled out, if her mother was any example, she too would be drop-dead gorgeous in a year or two. 

 

The mother had initially fought like a lioness to protect her daughter, while the teenager had appeared to be in some kind of shock.  One advantage the two had inadvertently furnished Wolf was their strong, almost militant belief in feminism.  But his team took delight in showing the two again and again the fallacy in their passionate belief in the superiority of women---at least the physical superiority.  

 

The other tool the two gave him was their strong feelings for each other.  There was a deep mother/daughter love between the two, so it was easy to use this as leverage against them from the beginning.  If one cooperated, the other would not be hurt, and vice versa.  It worked like a charm and within forty-eight hours both females were determinedly, if not enthusiastically collaborating in their mutual degradation. 

 

As usual, the training on the boat had lasted over a month and the men had lazily enjoyed every minute of it---having as the daily prize their choice of a beautiful woman in her sexual prime or that of her beautiful young daughter just about to enter her own sexual peak. 

 

What made it even more delicious for the men was that the boat was small enough that mother and daughter each knew what was happening to the other pretty much at all times.  The deliciousness of the torment each felt as the other was being sexually brutalized can only be imagined.  Sometimes, even often, a man would take both of them one after the other; these two females had filled the crew’s days and nights with continuous sex. 

 

Despite her militancy, the mother was a pragmatist and had quickly understood that it was her destiny to involuntarily service numerous men each day for as long as she kept her looks.  It had taken her two days longer to finally accept the same was probably inevitable for her teenaged daughter too. 

 

She did her best to try to protect her daughter, to make a deal in which they could do their worst to her, but would spare her daughter.  She had little to offer but her body---but that was worthless coin for the men already had that---and family money.  The men knew it would be stupid to attempt to get money from her family for her and so they refused. 

 

In the end, the only concession granted the mother was on a whim---but one which they honored explicitly, enthusiastically and repeatedly---was that if any of the men felt the need to get rough, to really hurt one of the two women, only she would was to be used that way.  In return, she’d promised that she would satisfy their every sexual desire, no matter how extreme the act demanded of her as long as her daughter was exempt. 

 

The mother had been as good as her word and the men had put her through an excruciating hell of sexual torture, punishment and bondage.  She’d done everything she was ordered to do and had given them willing access to every part of her body they wanted. 

 

She sweated under them and she groaned as they did things to her body that nature hadn’t intended; numerous times each day she’d been forced to gag herself with a towel or bedding to muffle her involuntary screams of pain. 

 

She always attempted to hide from her daughter the bruises and the welts that eventually covered her body.  She desperately worked at concealing her sacrifices, but there was no way to hide the limping stiffness of movement caused by the bruised and strained thigh muscles, the soles of the feet that had been beaten and the arches that had been bruised and crushed by weights, and the excruciatingly sore vagina and brutalized anus. 

 

Mother and daughter were allowed to meet once a day and she did her best to hide from her daughter her sacrifices for her.  But the men didn’t care if the teenager knew or not, and after a while a competition developed between the men to see who could make the mother scream the quickest, the loudest or at the most unexpected and inopportune moments. 

 

By far the worst part for the mother was the psychological trauma.  She was not forced to dress up like a whore for the men, but rather they put her in matching panty and bra sets combined with high heels as they raped and sodomized her.  But the sixteen year old was forced to wear the lingerie---the stockings and the garters and the five-inch stiletto heels, the babydolls and the bustiers normally required of the women training; all done to please the men and further torment the mother. 

 

Overall, the team had made many promises to the two to keep them cooperative, but obviously they had no intention of carrying them out.  Inevitably, the men had promised the pair that they would be kept together when sold.  So on their day of reckoning--their last day on the boat--both now newly pregnant females were allowed to dress together.  And then both unwittingly and voluntarily submitted to being handcuffed with their hands behind their backs---this was nothing new and so aroused no suspicions.  Finally, they were both gagged since no one wanted to hear their begging or screaming as they were dragged off the boat to separately meet their new owners. 

 

For in the end, the mother was sold to a pimp in the Turks and Caicos Islands, while the daughter was purchased by a wealthy older Russian expat living in Montego Bay.  The mother’s fetus was aborted and she was immediately hooked on heroin to better maintain control. 

 

The teenager on the other hand, was allowed to carry to full term, for the Russian enjoyed having children around.  Well, at least until he had sold the infant.  The men on the boat knew the mother and daughter would never see each other again, and that both were going to their own separate versions of hell.  But they’d made a lot of money that day and deep in their hearts, none of the men gave a damn about the two former feminists.

 

 

We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.  The old skin has be shed before the new one can come.

-Joseph Campbell

 

The movie being shown of me began with what were clearly amateur videos of my friends and me.  It went on and followed me training throughout my time on the boat.  It was humiliating, purposefully meant to be so.  It showed me at my worst on the boat, my screams and tears, the rapes and sodomies, the tortures.  Once this had finished, there was silence as the men looked at me.  Tears were running down my cheeks.  I couldn’t bear to look at any of them.  After a moment, Jorge announced there was another version, one a little more polished, one which was more for Bossman’s benefit.  A part of me stood aside and watched from a distance as the new video began. 

 

 

Two different shots showed me sunning myself; one taken on a public beach apparently in Cancun, the other was a shot of me sunning on the deck of this boat.  The bikini I wore on the beach looked positively Paleolithic compared to what I was shown wearing on the boat. 

 

Despite what was shown in the first video, this one was so much more difficult to sit through than the other.  I looked at the video of my friends and me on Cancun and found I was trying to swallow an unswallowable lump in my throat---I terribly missed my friends and couldn’t look at them on the TV without my eyes misting.  While my friends were in almost every scene, it was clear from the editing that I was to be the “main character” in the more formal movie on slavery.

 

The movie scene quickly shifted to documenting my vacation night life.  There were enough short clips of me in different dresses and bikinis that I knew they’d been watching me almost the whole time I’d been on the island.  I’d assumed so much, and been so careless about myself and my safety---it was far, far too late to do anything about that now.  The last shot was of me was when I was wearing my short black dress and crisscrossing strappy heels, so it must have been taken on my last night at Cancun as I was heading to T. O.’s.  I felt almost incredulous as I watched the picture of that young girl blithely walking with her friends as if she had conquered the whole world.  I had gone through so much since then that it seemed like it had occurred over a thousand years ago.

 

Then the voice-over began, and it was Bossman speaking: “This is the seventh in a series that documents the story of women whom have been supplied for non-consensual slavery to various brokers.  The following is based on standard CIA techniques and addresses the issue: How do you take an average, teenage North American female who comes from a good background, with a strong family support group, and turn her into a willing and submissive sex slave?”

 

“On this tape, we show you a bright, healthy and beautiful young girl I have named ‘M’.  Nineteen years old, she comes from the southern U. S.; protected more than is common for one of her generation, she is generally quite naïve about life.  She has a strong familial support group and is moderately religious.  Sexually inexperienced and chaste, she is for all intents and purposes a virgin.  So, how would you begin?”

 

“We,” his voice continued, “compel untrained and non-submissive females like ‘M’ (the scene on the TV goes to various shots of me still free in Cancun, walking with friends to T. O.’s and then on the beach, wearing a bikini and laughing with my friends again) to act as we choose in matters of sex (the monitor now showed multiple shots of me, now clearly under coercion, putting on stockings, donning and wearing at least three different sets of lingerie, zooming in to show me carefully positioning my breasts in multiple cupless brassieres.  From these it flashed to a scene of me seemingly willingly fucking Jorge.  The view is from the top of my bed and shows me on my back, raised knees welcoming Jorge between my thighs and what appears to be obvious pleasure is reflected on my face as I look over his shoulder at the ceiling.  Next it shows two quick vignettes of me each time dressed in different clothing and performing oral sex on both Jorge and Enrique).

 

My breath catches in my throat.  I’m in shock as I realized for the first time that the whole assault on my mind and body has been filmed.  All of the shots had been carefully picked to accompany the dialogue.  One of the cameras must be at waist height on the wall across from the bed.  It showed the whole room from the dressing table on the left, to the bed in the center of the room to the cabin doorway on the right.  I realized too there must be another camera directly over my bed.  How much has it seen that even I don’t know and how many other cameras are there?  Clearly planned, none of the men are shown with recognizable faces, but God, my face is easily recognized in every scene.

 

“We’ve put ‘M’ in a stressed psychological state where her mind essentially worked FOR us and against what she absolutely knows are her best interests.”  The scene on the screen changes to that of me standing by my bed and readily donning the rubber suit offered by Roberto.  It shows my difficulty in shoving my breasts through the too small holes in the chest of the suit and then allowing my arms to be bound in the suit.  It shows my crotch and ass are left bare by the suit.  The scene then flashes to me lying flat on my back; my face is clearly recognizable as it begins to be covered by liquid rubber, zooming in to catch my silent scream as the liquid covers my face.  This particular shot is hard for me to watch.  The shot ends with my obvious difficulty in breathing through the two small tubes inserted into my nostrils.  Finally, a close-up is shown of a female’s breasts and genitals as Roberto covers them with different color candle waxes; with the face covered, the audience must assume it is mine since there is no way to tell for sure.  The chest of the female covered in black rubber arches as the hot wax hits her skin and she writhes in obvious pain as more hot wax is dripped on her genitals.  Finally, the scene zooms out—it is me.

 

The screen blacks out and when it returns, it shows me naked from above as I voluntarily allow Manuel to tie my hands to the side of the bed and after my legs are spread wide apart, my feet are tied to the wall by my head.  This position directly bares my vagina and ass to the camera as it zooms in.  Quickly the scene then shifts to me still in this position as I am being whipped in the genitals.

 

“We’ve been able to do this by making her feel emotions like shame (the picture shows Manuel sliding across the bed on his back and I am desperately following him on my hands and knees trying to keep his cock in my mouth.  The screen flashes to a side view of my face as, apparently successful in my attempt to please him, my head is now bobbing up and down on him.  I’m performing oral sex on Manuel and the look on my face shows how much I hate what I am doing; my tears are falling onto his thighs and lower stomach.  From there the scene jumps to me repeating words and phrases said by Enrique and Manuel.  Here the volume comes up a little and I hear myself repeating back to the men whatever I’m told; it’s obvious from my face that I find all of this distasteful.  The scene now changes to me looking into the camera and sobbing.  I’ve got melted red and black wax on my breasts and between my legs.  The next scene shows me crying as I shower and remove the melted wax and marshmallow from my body.  Finally, the picture on the television flashes to me lying over Jorge’s knee and being spanked.  The shot is now from the other side of my bed and zooms in on my slowly and erotically grinding my pelvis in to his knee; my face shows that I appear to be enjoying this moment, but that I is also shamed that I do); worthlessness (now I am looking at myself from the ceiling as Manuel brutally throat fucks me.  I am again humiliated at watching my head hang off of the bed, even as the ‘me’ on the bed never relinquishes my death grip on my high heels as The Evil One mercilessly drives himself into my mouth and throat.  The sound coming from my mouth on the TV is an awful, rhythmic Ga-Glick, Ga-Glick with each thrust of his hips.  The picture zooms in now from the wall at the head of my bed and focuses on the mortification and pain in my face, my concentration on trying to breathe with a large penis being driven down my throat, my tears running towards the floor and the saliva drooling out of my mouth; and then suddenly it flashes to me in bed with Enrique.  The view is from above again and I am on my knees and bent over his waist giving him a blowjob, when he suddenly grabs my hair, pulls me off of him and slaps me.  The scene appears to represent a continuum in which I have been taught a sexual act that I’d then tried to apply incorrectly somewhere else and a dependency upon us (the scene now shifts to me being comforted on Jorge’s lap, and then on Enrique’s lap, and ends with multiple shots of me talking earnestly with Bossman on deck).

 

Oh God, I thought to myself as I watched the video, a camera behind the dresser mirror and all of my conversations with him on deck were recorded too.

 

The film continued….”We use physically intimidating and coercive techniques on her (the picture now switches back to a view from the top of the bed with an obviously female body encased in rubber and tied with her legs spread eagled on the bed, as Manuel dripped wax and melted marshmallow on her breasts and vagina and then cut off her air supply.  I watched in horror as the “she” in the film fought a losing battle for air), and by acting as an overpowering outside force (viewed from above, for the first time I see myself being branded and my nipples pierced without anesthetic; I am gagged but even with my mouth full of the hard black rubber, I am giving out screams of pain that are obviously loud enough to carry for some distance.  Then the scene shifts so that I see a montage of every man on the boat slapping me.  Finally, it flashes to my bound body being dragged by my hair to the bathroom shower stall by Bossman where I am tied into a tight bow in which my back is painfully arched and then I am left for the night.  The picture goes to black and then reverses to white and everyone sees me still lying in the same position in the stall, but now it is morning; I’m covered in my own filth in which I laid all night.  This fades to black and then to white again where we now see a ceiling shot of me laying at the foot of my bed with my knees spread and in the air; I’m gagged and my hands are tied behind my back, while my feet are tied about three feet apart to a steel bar.  There is some activity by two men at the foot of the bed, and then it becomes clear that a machine-powered penis being set up.  It is started and begins driving into my vagina.  Within moments I see in the movie my body is being driven towards the head of the bed by the piston entering my vagina and then as the piston retreats, the taut bindings at my ankles pull my body back toward the foot of the bed just in time to again receive the forward thrust of the mechanical penis), we break these women’s will to resist us (the scene shifts to me being lowered onto the wooden horse, my ankles hog-tied to the back of my thighs, my arms bound tightly behind my back and my head covered by the tight leather discipline helmet.  The picture zooms in on my smoothly muscled thighs straining as I unsuccessfully attempt to save myself by gripping the thin horizontal wood of the horse with the insides of my sweaty thighs.  The views of the wooden horse change quickly as they show me from different camera angles, but all of them concentrate on the moment my vagina finally touches the horse and my reaction when my full body weight finally and fully pinches my clitoris between my pelvis and the wood of the horse.  The audience watches as my covered head is thrown back in obvious torment as I slowly rock back and forth on the thin edge of the polished wood between my legs and upon which all of my weight now rests, proving to all watching that I am incapable of protecting my own femininity. 

 

Next, it flashes to show a picture within a picture, basically two movies are up on the screen at the same time.  One is a shot from the ceiling camera which shows me gagged and with my hands tied in back and my wrists pulled up tightly and suspended from a rope to the ceiling.  The other is a perfectly synchronized view of the same event taken from the side.  Even though I am wearing high heels, this view emphasizes the heavy iron bar bound to the arches of my feet and how I’m bent over in agony.  The scene now shifts to the side and a little to the back as it shows Manuel step up to me as I’m bent over, spread my butt cheeks with both hands and with one smooth move of his hips, bury his long, black glistening erection up to his nutsack into me from the rear.  Even bound and gagged, it is clear that I am obviously suffering excruciating pain from this assault and attempt to rear up in protest, but that I’m also prevented from doing so by the way my bound arms are tied to the ceiling.  There is laughter from other men and the soundtrack makes it appear that there was an audience viewing as I am being sodomized.  Finally, the scene ends with me begging them to stop, telling them I will do anything, everything they want if they will just stop hurting me.  It is clear they have won and that I have submitted to them--they have won.

 

Silent tears are running down my face at this point as I watch this horrendous movie.  I wish I could stop crying because I don’t want to give any of them that satisfaction, but I just can’t help myself.  I am so caught up in my own misery that I keep missing details of what Bossman is saying as each horrendous scene is followed by one even worse.

 

“By taking away M’s ability to rely on herself, by stripping her of her external rituals (the scene shifts to show my daily exercise routine.  The camera zooms in and pans my body showing the scant exercise outfit I wear.  The camera angle purposefully emphasizes my butt plug) and social supports and forcing her to look inwards for strength (the scene shifts to one taken from the head of my bed showing me watching my family on television), by letting her see things like her family on TV, but knowing that they can’t help her, we force her to go back to an earlier, more vulnerable level of behavior (the television screen now shows me crying myself to sleep at night, then shifts to a scene of me rocking back and forth in the bathroom like a catatonic patient.  My arms are folded across my chest after being forced to have oral sex with Manuel on the first day of training.  It is obvious I am in acute psychological distress).  We can then take advantage of this emotionally weakened state and get these women to voluntarily do whatever we want, (the scene now coming on is taken from the ceiling and shows me allowing myself to be tied up by Manuel.  After being gagged, my wrists are tied to the sides of the bed while my body is bent almost in half and my feet are tied to the bedposts at the head of the bed.  This opens up my defenseless genitals to the view of the camera and it zooms in on them for a second.  Even now, I shudder at how vulnerable and unprotected I felt at that moment.  The scene then shifts first to me being fucked by Manuel; my eyes are closed and my face looks like that of a zombie---it’s obvious that I am just trying to get through this.  The camera now seems to zoom in again on my crotch and suddenly one can see my anus opening and closing.  To my final and complete mortification, there is muffled laughter in the cabin of the boat as this is shown.  Suddenly, the scene cuts to me still tied in the same position, but now I am being whipped by Manuel in the genitals again and again until I abruptly begins to urinate all over myself.  The scene goes dark and when it again becomes light again it first shows me naked and sitting against the wall, then it shows Enrique begin to tie me up.  First it shows me putting my gag in my mouth without obvious coercion, and then it shows my hands tied to the wall.  From here it quickly shows my hips being tied down and then my feet tied up by the toes to the wall near my hands.  Even the men winced and then groaned in sympathy at the awful position I have been put in.  When the pliers and clamps are brought out and applied, all of the men laugh and groan in mock sympathy at the same time at my predicament.) even though, as you can see, it clearly is against their own self-interest.”

 

“Think of the ‘essential you’,” Bossman’s voice continued, “as a monolithic structure.  By carefully intermixing people with her that she perceives as caring (I am shown sitting on Jorge’s lap being comforted, then on Enrique’s lap, again being comforted.  Finally, it cuts to me earnestly talking with Bossman up on deck), which are then forcefully counter balanced by those that are perceived as uncaring (short vignettes of both Roberto and Manuel as they hit me), by discrediting her learned beliefs and inherent personality traits (the television picture quickly shifts from one scene to the next, each one first showing me undressing or dressing in front of the men, then of me naked in front of one of the men and then of me each time wearing a different set of lingerie.  It is clear that I am being desensitized to being naked in front of men, to wearing lingerie for them and to performing demeaning tasks for them.  Next, the scene shifts to me being forced to repeat previously unthinkable language in various sexual contexts which would have been unimaginable for me just three weeks ago.  Finally, it flashes to Bossman and me talking on deck.  It is now abundantly clear through the video context that he’s subtly attacking my belief in family and the loyalty I feel towards my parents), by fracturing that internal structure, we can affect everything from her personality to her normal bodily needs and functions.”

 

“We’re able to strip away the traits she’s learned from her parents (the monitor again shows me being made to repeat vulgar and sexually explicit words and phrases.  As the scenes progress, it becomes obvious that I am becoming more comfortable with these words and that it is becoming easier for me to use them.  Finally, it shows me spontaneously using this language in a couple of different situations.  I blush at how I now know I must sound to others.  The TV screen next shows me being forced to stand naked in front of various men and how gradually it appears this too becomes easier or at least less damaging to me to do so.  This scene closes with me shown as now being very comfortable with the extensive modeling of very racy lingerie for Jorge), take away her ability to deal with complex social situations (the scene now snaps to one of me wearing exquisite bridal lingerie when I go to serve the men in the galley, but suddenly it cuts to me cramping midway as I try to sit down at the dining table due to the increased size of my new butt plug.  My discomfort and embarrassment at that time is obvious to all watching, but now it only makes me angry.  From here it shows quick shots of me attempting to relate to the men.  While in actuality these efforts had quickly ended on my part, that is not the perception left by the film), remove her ability to cope with stressful personal relationships (the camera is now from across the room and it shows my obvious fear of Roberto and his rubber suit, but how, when left with no other choice, I do it anyway.  Then it cuts away to show my inappropriately non-submissive reaction after being let out of the rubber suit.  I gaze raptly at the screen--my blazing green eyes coming toward the camera—I am stopped and slapped by Bossman; these are striking visual scenes.  Finally, the camera shows my first anal rape by Enrique.  It starts out with a view from the side as he sheathes himself in me, but then goes to an aerial view which better shows my agonized facial expressions as he begins to finally slam himself into my ass—my distress is obvious to the world in the view of my face, for mirrors pain, horror, humiliation and rage as I am anally raped.  Eventually, I am shown voluntarily putting bedding in my mouth, apparently willingly gagging myself to muffle my screams) and with repeated frustrations (the scene shows me talking earnestly to Jorge about wanting to be left alone to do just what I want to do.  This is juxtaposed with various shots of me being forced to give blowjobs to most of the men.  This part ends with various cuts of me removing my butt plug in the bathroom; the last scene is that of me unsuccessfully trying to remove the latest butt plug, by far the largest one, by myself.  The way it is edited indicates that a lot of time has passed as I try and fail to remove it on my own.  My face shows that I am obviously both ashamed and frustrated at having to ask another person for help with this). 

 

I blushed with humiliation as I remembered how grateful I’d been to Jorge for letting me go into the bathroom to take out the hard rubber plugs in privacy.  God, I felt so stupid.  And it had been stupid of me to assume that I’d had any privacy on the boat.

 

“Her rapid transition to the “modern sexuality” that we have defined for her and which we demand from her (the television shows a shot from the foot of the bed in which Jorge has my left leg raised and pointed to the ceiling.  He’s removed my sandal from that foot and he is kissing and licking the inside of my knee and thigh; it appears on the video that I like this as it shows me clenching my fists and then a shudder of pleasure appears to run through my body.  The picture then cuts to a side view of me fucking Jorge; as the subject of this video, it now appears that I obviously have accepted him willingly and am vigorously meeting each thrust of his hips with a counter move of my own that ensures maximum penetration by him.  This scene reaches a climax as I am apparently overcome by an orgasm---my hips and belly are arched up against Jorge to the point that my buttocks no longer on the mattress.  My hands are shown digging into his shoulders.  Jorge’s hands are shown reaching down and each grabs a cheek of my butt to both ensure he maintains the maximum penetration of my vagina and to balance himself on my upthrust groin; the video shows me holding this position for an incredible length of time before I finally collapse under his weight.  The scene then goes to a ceiling view in which my nylon clad legs are wrapped around his lower body and my neck seems to be straining as I rise again and again to meet his thrusts into my belly.  The scene starts to repeat, but now is shown from the foot of the bed.  Again I am shown with Jorge, except now I’m wearing different lingerie.  It is clear both times I had been with him after I’d capitulated; I was now enthusiastic in my ‘voluntary’ lovemaking with him.  The scene snaps to a ceiling view of Jorge and me lying in bed together.  I’m lying on my back and he on his side to my left but lying between my legs.  My right leg is draped over his hip and I am fondling his penis and balls in an apparent attempt to make him erect again.  It’s clear that we have just finished having sex because the picture is clear enough to see his semen drying on the insides of my upper thighs, on my labia and on my lower belly.  The scene shifts to me now riding Jorge’s groin, willingly impaling myself with every move of my hips.  Again, the video makes it obvious that I am is doing this willingly.  I am facing the camera, but my eyes are closed.  I lick my lips to wet them and continue riding him.  Finally, in a scene shot from the head of the bed, I am again shown on my knees giving a blowjob to Manuel.  This time I am wearing a skirt and blouse combination) is then complete; we’ve changed her sexually, but her underlying psychology remains the same.  On her journey from virtual virginity to trained sexual dependency, we expect moments of almost wondering disgust at herself (a scene shot from across the bed shows my face as I submit to performing oral sex with Manuel.  My face shows how I loathe what I am being forced to do to him; as one continues to watch, it seems I have also reserved much of the disgust shown on my face for myself, for willingly performing like this for him.  This shot then goes to another scene in which I am being forced to repeat Manuel’s demeaning comments to me) and at us (the scene on the TV is again taken from the ceiling and shows me being brutally throat fucked by Manuel. It shows my bulging and tearing eyes.  It shows him threatening me and then running his hand over the bulge in my neck as his erection is completely buried in my mouth and throat---and it shows my body being driven across the bed with each slam of his hips to my face.  Then it zooms in on my hands desperately clasping and unclasping from my high heels, all the while in the background all one hears is wet Ga-Glick, Ga-Glick, Ga-Glick.  The scene ends with me sitting and rocking in the bathroom, then vomiting into the toilet and finally screaming and throwing my high heels out of the bathroom.  From this, it next shows my pathetic rage at Enrique after the first day of training and his lesson in anal rape.  I am shown stupidly threatening to “get even” or kill him for what he’s done to me); these events are markers on her journey of transformation into becoming what we want and are to be expected.  In the end, these women always turn to anger in search of an outlet.  While the unreleased anger of these women has been known in some to turn some simply from being mad and continuing on into madness, clearly ‘M’ has satisfactorily internalized our needs and demands (the TV shows me now wearing black lingerie, stockings and heels, lying on my back on the side of the bed.  With a small smile on my face, I slowly raise her legs until my feet are pointing at the camera eye in the ceiling and then I spread my legs slowly apart, as wide as I can, obviously granting Bossman full permission to explore my vagina.  After two or three minutes of him exploring my legs with his hands and my vagina with his mouth and tongue, the scene finally shifts to me being “heroically” ridden by Bossman until all I can do is scream both for mercy and for him to never stop.  The scene is reminiscent of the most graphic of pornographic movies and the details captured in this scene seem to depict me as what I truly am; a natural-born whore).

 

What I do to these women robs them of their most basic ability to relate to reality and, thus, is the psychological equivalence of their death.  I shatter these women’s sense of self (the scene now shown is where Bossman renames me ‘M’ and gives me the slave collar I am to wear for the rest of my life?  The corollary to this is that he is also forever taking away the name given her by her family).  By isolating them and taking away their anchors (the movie scene now shifts to one taken by a camera located behind the dresser mirror and shows me putting on several different sets of wedding lingerie, in an attempt to attack or take away the value of that custom.  This scene is then juxtaposed with one is which I am talking to Bossman about my belief that I would wear white and be married in a church, with my family in full attendance.  Finally, it shows me being quizzed by Bossman as he subtly attacks and demeans my value systems), by questioning and attacking their most precious beliefs (several vignettes on deck with Bossman are shown in which he discusses my lack of uniqueness, my inability to fit in with my generations’ views of sexuality and sexual freedom, about how poorly my parents training in ‘life’ skills have served me, about my aunt’s selfishness, and about good and evil.  He ends by subtly attacking the overall ‘me’ that has resulted of all of the above), they have nothing familiar left to hold on to: family, home, personal belongings, loved ones, language, nor name.  Nothing’s left---they lose it all, along with their sense of freedom.  Then they are mine.  I now build them back up and bring them into MY reality, the one that I have defined AND designed for them.

 

Here his dubbed in voice seems to smile broadly, ”Here’s a translation for you---by putting her in positions where she thinks that acts like sleep, nourishment and excretion are degrading, animalistic and dehumanizing (the scene starts with me on my hands and knees eating nasty looking food out of a bowl and then goes on to show multiple shots of me dressing up in sexy clothes just to serve the men dinner, and of them mocking me and laughing at my problems with the new butt plug.  It ends with me shown being dragged out of the shower stall, covered in my own excrement.  I have spent the whole night lying in it and am both humiliated and degraded by having been forced to do this), we can change the most basic parts of her personality.  If I’m given enough time, I can make any woman WANT to do anything I desire her to do. 

 

“So, that is how we took a normal, innocent young girl like ‘M’ (back to original scene of me being dressed up in Cancun and walking with friends), and by using various motivations (the scene shifts to a side view showing alligator clips being tightly clamped onto my nipples and the electric leads being attached to various parts of my body.  Then both Jorge and Enrique are seen inserting the electrified dildo into my vagina and asshole.  When these items are turned on, the television picture documents my wild gyrations on the bed mattress as I involuntarily responded to various parts of my body being electrically stimulated.  The scene fades to black and then comes back showing me being slammed viciously by the fuck machine again, and the shot zooms to my face which is contorted with screams muffled by the gag in my mouth---my eyes bulge, looking like they will pop out of my head with the awful sensations.  Finally, the scene fades to black again and when it comes back this time, the view is from the ceiling and it shows the men roughly inserting the first butt plug into my anus.  Then it shifts and shows Enrique roughly inserting an even larger plug inside my ass.  The camera zooms in and documents in detail how my rectum hopelessly fights against this last invasion.  This scene ends with my bound and helpless body being lowered onto the wooden horse.  My body language here makes it abundantly clear that I am in agony) and taking her through various scenarios in which we make her do things that seem to have no reason to her (the scene now shows me wearing only a garter belt, butt plug, stockings and heels.  The camera view is at about waist height and I walk up to the camera eye and turn my back to it.  I then spread my legs and bend over to grasp one of my ankles, shooting a perfect beaver into the camera.  My shaved vagina is emphasized from the back by my labia and the butt plug appears to wink at the camera. 

 

Even sitting there watching the film, I winced and wondered how it had stayed inside me when I was bent over in that position as I faced away from the mirror over the dresser.  I had had no idea at the time why the men had demanded I do this each time I was wearing stockings for them, but now the reason was clear---more humiliation for me in the end.  Face burning, I watched as my hands finally come slowly back into view as they auto-erotically slide up my leg, and I then re-do my garters one at a time. 

 

On the monitor I bent down and did the same thing again with my other leg.  Again my hand slides up my nylon clad leg, slowly, sexily, erotically.  This sexually titillating scene is repeated over after over after over, but each time with different lingerie.  (The overall implications of this scene when taken into context with all that has been shown previously are that I have been successfully broken and trained, and willingly performing as a whore who has been sexually satisfying these men for a long, long time), we end up with this (the final scenes in the movie begins with me apparently willingly and enthusiastically fucking Bossman.  It looks down at Bossman’s broad shoulders and back as he covers the teenaged girl beneath him.  My hands are digging into his back, which is already scratched by my nails.  All the while my nylon clad legs are writhing around him in pleasure; the view lasts long enough to show my legs sometimes coming up and wrapping around his waist while other times they are just intertwined with his on the bed.  My face is shown looking at the camera over his left shoulder; my eyes are closed but my mouth is open and I appear to be all alone in my world of exquisite sexual pleasure—I am even speaking to myself occasionally.  It is hard to really see my face however, as Bossman is making bull-like thrusts into my willing body, each one violently slamming me up and out of focus of the camera.  The scene shifts suddenly and Bossman is replaced by Jorge, still riding me much to my obvious pleasure.  At this point, the scene again shifts to a full frontal still shot of me as I stand naked except for my nipple chain and the high heels which emphasize my calf muscles.  My hair is brushed and I have my makeup on.  Both of my nipples are erect and my labia look pouty and swollen, red and tender.  My head is slightly tilted and there is an inquisitive look on my face; even I have to admit that I look stunning.  This wonderfully erotic shot is held for the final commentary.)  Finally, our system is rigorous and the results are robust.  Seven of these films have now been made and each subject has eventually been made aware of the video in which they have ‘starred’.  For you see, that’s the beauty of our training---it doesn’t matter what they know or don’t know about what we have done to them.  When we are finished with them, they are ours permanently.  For them, there is no going back and in the end, they know this.” (The final scene then does a slow fade to black.)

As ordered, I still sit in the chair---I feel stunned and had never attempted to move from it.  God, it’s true.  My training on the boat is already taking precedence over the independence of my former life.  My eyes are on my feet, my arms are wrapped tightly across my chest and I can’t breathe.  I don’t know what to think, I’m not able to think.  They have made a documentary of the most awful, the most degrading, yet inarguably also the most pivotal moments of my life.  They have tortured and defiled me on the boat and the film is just a documentary continuation of their psychological brutality.  I have been thoroughly, professionally debased and my shame is now forever available for the whole world to see.  The other one, the other film, it was cheap and poorly done compared to this one.  The thoughts begin to spin faster and faster in my mind.  

Enrique looked at the cunt they’d been fucking and grinned his evil grin.  “Notice that both videos have been ‘zeroed out’, no one can see our faces and the background gives nothing away as to what or where or even when this was filmed.  You stupid woman, we’ve also been working on another short surprise for you too.  Now, watch this…”

 

The third video begins and immediately I knew it was explicitly meant for my family---more specifically, for my father.  It is short, not more than eight or ten minutes, but it is devastating.  It shows me fucking or being fucked by all five of the black men on the boat, performing oral sex on them or having it carried out on me.  The video partially shows the face of every man as he takes me.  It clearly shows me, lying on my back and willingly spreading my legs for the men, and sitting on top of the men fucking them on my own.  It shows again and again the men’s huge erections as they disappear inside me both from the front and the rear. 

 

The camera zooms in on my face and shows my ecstasy as I am taken by Bossman and then by Jorge.  The film culminates with my orgasms; my sexual release each time is immediately obvious to anyone viewing the film.  It shows me being fucked in the rear by all of the men, and immediately afterwards the scene snaps to me taking Jorge’s moist genitals in my hands after we’ve just finished having sex and apparently fondling him in order to make him hard again.  In all cases, the camera angle always shows me, but not the fact that there are men giving me instructions as to my next act with them. 

 

Over the film my voice has been dubbed; what I am saying is carefully edited to fit with exactly what is being shown on the screen.  My voice goes on and on and on: “I like sex; I love being tied up and beaten; I like being hurt; I like being punished; I love to be fucked; I need a cock filling my pussy; Oh God, somebody fuck me, please; I especially love being tied up and beaten and then fucked afterwards; I’m a slut and a cunt and a whore and I want to do what I want to do; I’m a cocksucker; I love to suck cocks; I was born to suck cocks; I’ll even suck somebody else’s cock while you watch; I’ll spread for anyone; I love to suck white cocks; I love to suck black cocks; There’s no cock that I wouldn’t like to suck on; I’m a whore for cocks, especially niggar cocks; I like making love to black men; I want you to shove your hard black cock deep in my nasty ass; I want black cocks rammed up my ass; I want them to rape my ass; I want you to please slide your greasy cock up my ass, and fill my asshole with your cum; I love being fucked; please fuck me.”

 

The film shows a quick series of shots showing me dressing for the men in sexy lingerie or short skirt and sheer blouse combinations.  It shows multiple shots of me bending over and tightening my stockings, in each shot I’m wearing different lingerie.  Never is there any type of coercion shown towards me, either explicit or implicit.  The worst shot for me is the one taken from the ceiling showing me with Manuel as he brutally throat fucked me. 

 

My saliva-covered face is clearly visible in the video as he drives himself into my gaping, waiting mouth.  The makeup running from my tearing eyes makes me look like the cheapest whore.  Not only my consent, but my active and willing participation is implied as I lie there accepting him into my mouth and throat, saliva pooling in my mouth and running down the side of my face as all the while I voluntarily keep my hands down by my feet.  Again, there is no obvious coercion here.

 

It shows me apparently voluntarily allowing the men to put me in tortuous positions and to do awful things to my body.  It makes it seem that I like pain and being hurt by them.  Always, the video does a wonderful job of making it seem as if this is something that I love to do, not something that I am forced to do.

 

Finally it ends with a montage of shots showing each man cumming over and over again either in me or on me.  The look of ecstasy on their faces as they strain to get just a fraction of an inch deeper inside me before they cum; the way they would pull out and cum all over my face and body---everything is caught on film.  The final scene shows me lying on my bed covered with the semen of three men having cum on me multiple times.  It steadies on the look on my face.  It’s a look that could mean anything to anyone.  As the video ends, my dubbed voice repeats over and over, “I think I’m pregnant, I think I’m pregnant, I think I’m pregnant………”

 

I shook my head NO! as I listened in increasing horror to my voice saying things I had never said.  But wait!  I actually did remember saying that one particular phrase.  And then another, and another.  Finally the reality truly dawned upon me.  From watching the first movie, I’d known that they’d been copying the audio the whole time.  But I had never thought about my being forced to parrot things back to The Animal and The Evil One.  Manuel had obviously put my repetition to the visuals they had been planning the whole time. 

 

Oh God.  Oh my God! 

 

I recognized another comment as something that I had said, but on the video it was all wrong.  The way it was presented gave it exactly the opposite meaning of what I had actually said.

 

The film continued and I recognized more and more of my comments either taken out of context or put in as dialogue that was just totally misleading.  Especially when viewed with what I was shown doing on the screen.  As the drama continued to play out on the small screen, I remembered more and more of what I had said.  But on the TV, in the way it was shown, it was all so misleading.  It was all so wrong!!  They had created a complete fabrication about me, about what I was like, but it looked and sounded so real.  If I didn’t know better, I’d have believed it myself. 

 

Finally, mercifully, the video ended.  Tears now ran freely down my face as I sat there stunned, feeling as if I had been hit between the eyes with a hammer.  Oh God, I was lost!  All was lost!  My family would never believe me now, not after they’d seen this video of me with all of these men.

 

 

Manuel looked at the once-arrogant cunt and laughed.  “Just think, bitch.  If you ever decide to play games with us, ever, all we gotta do is send a few copies of this to, oh, let me see; your parents, your aunt, all of your friends in your home town and at college, the local newspaper, your church---did I leave anyone out?  You gonna’ tell them you were kidnapped and raped?  You gonna’ ask them, ‘who are you going to believe?  Me?  Or your lying eyes?’  You’re fucked, bitch.  So behave like the nice little piece of ass you know you are.  OK?”

 

 

I realized that it was true, something I thought I had noticed a little while ago--I was increasingly less able to think clearly about what was being done to me on the boat.  Although my mind seemed more and more ‘fuzzy’ to me all of the time, almost like it was packed in cotton, I’d convinced myself for a while that I still had been wrestling with my capture by these men and my responses to their threats and their training. 

 

I was now, finally, aware that one of the greatest questions a person can face in life is how to determine to what extent they are going to accept their environment and to what extent they are going to fight it.  While I had fought them in numerous small ways, I’d also unthinkingly put off the final resolution of how I would react to my impending slavery because I had thought I’d always still have more time----time to fool the men, and time to still come up with a plan to get off the boat and still save my family at the same time. 

 

But once more, I’d underestimated the lengths they go to, what they would do to keep me theirs and overestimated what I could do against their attacks.  The problem now, I realized at last, was that events had finally passed me by; that by creating this last film, my struggle against them had been resolved in their favor without the battle I’d envisaged even taking place.  

 

Suddenly, the anger within me was absent, the venom and the fire was now gone.  There was no more emotion left in me, no more hatred left towards any of them. 

 

Without a word, I got up and walked over to The Bed in a daze.  I was wearing a short brown wrap-around skirt with a narrow leather belt and a white silk blouse with a plunging neckline.  I had on cinnamon near skin-tone stockings which were held up by sheer white lace garters and I was wearing black, strappy sandals with six-inch stiletto heels.  I wore no jewelry except for my nipple chain which was visible swinging between the natural cleavage exposed by the daring blouse.

 

Upon reaching The Bed, I laid down upon it on my back without looking at any of the men.  It was obvious I was voluntarily waiting for them, one by one, to begin their normal assaults on my body, and for them to leave their disgusting, yet unavoidable gifts between my thighs.  There were no tears left in me.  I laid quietly, without moving, on The Bed, looking only at the ceiling which had so betrayed me in the end.  My eyes remained dry and my mind seemed to have shut down—I knew now I would be here, in this position, forever. 

 

The others finally left and it was The Evil One that started getting ready for me—truly, nothing had changed in my life.  “I see you’re behaving like a good little girl now,” he said.  “Today, it’s time for a nice, slow ride.”

 

He was on The Bed now.  This was normally a difficult moment, for at this point my entire body would be tensed, wanting, aching to resist him, but I would somehow always hold myself motionless.  But this time, there was nothing left inside me, I was blank.  There was no reason to force my body to remain still this time.  I was empty, numb, a vacuum that nothing could fill.  There was nothing more he could do to me that would hurt me more, affect me more, than what he had been party to, and had just done to me with the movie.

 

I just lay there for him, without looking at him.  Up came my skirt as his rough calloused palms touched my thighs, but I never flinched nor did I even look at him.  And then I felt it bunch over my belly.  Quickly, without speaking and without looking at him, I raised my knees and spread my thighs to make his penetration easier, quicker, less requiring of force.  I wanted no games at this moment.  I wanted to get the inevitable over with fast.  But I could sense he had mistaken my gesture of total withdrawal as more of a willingness on my part to participate. 

 

He was between my thighs now as he laid down upon me.  “You’re a fast learner, baby.  I knew you would be.  Now that you know what side your bread’s buttered on, you’ll be lots happier.”  He rubbed his rough hands around the insides of my thighs that were not covered by nylon and under the cheeks of my buttocks.  “Okay, now just lay back, baby, and enjoy it.”

 

I winced as he pushed himself inside my dry vagina, but tried to remain stoical.

 

By now, the way he had mounted me had revived memories of all of the other one-way copulations with him and the others--the recollections made me shiver with barely felt disgust and I tried to erase from my mind what now followed.  The ride by him was a pleasureless, endless one, and as before, he pounded me like a jackhammer made of insensate flesh. 

 

Twice he had seemed on the verge of cumming, but to my disgust, had slowed down to contain himself before continuing.  Each time, I’d been slightly tempted to start rocking my hips and my belly in pretend response, to stimulate him into coming faster and thus to get rid of him.  Yet I had simply been unable to bring myself to make any movements which would have been misinterpreted by the monster as his having success in exciting me.

 

An eternity it had lasted and finally, when we were both slippery with his sweat, he exploded inside me and the ordeal was quickly over then.  Like the unthinking monster he was, the man was pleased with his effort.  In fact, while leaving The Bed, he wanted to know how I had liked it.

 

I shrugged a non-response and looked away, my eyes still dry, my mind still empty of any thoughts.

 

He reached down and grabbed his underwear, shirt and pants.  Everything went on the bed except for his underwear which he began to put on.  His black penis hung down, soft now.  It glistened in the light, wet with fluids from inside my vagina. 

 

“I know, I know, you just can’t bring yourself to admit that you loved it.”  He looked at the clock on the wall as he buckled his belt. 

 

“Yeah, well, thirty-one minutes of it…..okayl, let’s call that one a quickie.”  And with that, he left.

 

The men of the boat crew were correct, nothing had changed, and they all visited me as usual.  The day dragged on, seemingly lasting forever, but finally I was alone.  I cleaned myself quickly, yet thoroughly, and without eating crawled into The Bed and lay facing the wall.  I have never felt more alone that I did at the moment, like a young child taken away from her parents, from everything that gave her life meaning.  I lay there in the dark, thinking about what had happened today and what I knew that it meant for me.  Finally, my eyes began to flood uncontrollably and I sobbed, for what I had and for what I had lost. 

 

I cried myself to sleep over those missing parts of my life….of me….that had been taken and destroyed by these men.

 

Still later that night, Jorge watched both videos again and again.  Enrique and Manuel had been the ones to edit the films, while Wolf had dubbed the second one.  He then went back and looked at some of the original footage to confirm his suspicions.  He would be ready for her tomorrow morning.