Recruiting Victoria

Author: Scotchlass

The disappearance of a teenage American girl in the Caribbean in 2005 is well documented.  That is the kernel of the idea for this story, in all other parts, this story is based upon my own imagination.  It is about a naïve young woman and a hard, uncaring, amoral businessman.  It is about the things both of them learn about each other and about themselves.  It is a brutally dark tale of one man doing whatever he wishes to this girl and of him bending her to his will. 

Recruiting Victoria

If there is one thing I learned early on, it is that you have to live with what you have done.  Not the total submission and whoring required of a sex-slave.  If you couldn’t do that, it would have been better to early on have been sold in one of the local flesh markets.  No, I’m talking about the consequences of accepting your slavery—to your conscience, your relationships, your future, your life.  If you knew at the onset what you understood at the end, would you make the same choices, take the same risks, accept the same sacrifices?  No.  No one would.  You cannot appreciate the weight of that burden until you have assumed it.  You can’t comprehend what it really means.

But that first week, I didn’t know any of that.  And acquiring that knowledge almost killed me. 

 

BOOK ONE—BREAKING THE GIRL

Day Zero: The Prize Is Taken

The whole family of pride and ignorance are incestuous, and mutually beget each other

-Charles Caleb Colton

I think it's always important to be vigilant of what you're doing and aware of your surroundings.

-Leona Lewis

 

She walked down the street of the Caribbean party town, arm in arm with her two best friends from school.  Falling into the same trap that many others like her had, she assumed that cultures around the world were the same, that her values were their values, and that she was safe because of this cultural relativity. 

Her walk was a thing of beauty, a long gliding step that caused the thin, cotton knit dress to sway back and forth with each movement of her hips.  Her extreme high heels slowed her walk a little as they forced her hips back, yet her remarkable chest was thrust forward in order to maintain her balance.  A striking young woman, the girl acted like she owned the world.

Their two week vacation in Cancun had been a complete success, but now they were all exhausted and ready to go back home.  The plan for tonight was to hit a couple of small places after dinner, and then finish up at the Tropical Orange (known only as T. O.’s) before they went back to their hotel early next morning in preparation for departure.

 

Victoria was nineteen and a starting freshman at the University of Florida, although she actually came from a small place in southern Mississippi.  The town in which she had been born was not what anyone would call sophisticated, so her parents had sent their only child to a small finishing school for her last couple of years before entering college.  After all, they could afford it.  In addition to a better education, they also wanted to keep her away from the trashy local kids around her age, especially if they weren’t---suitable.  They just didn’t want her associating with them, and let her know this in many subtle—and unsubtle-- ways.

She was one of those girls who stayed close to people online but didn’t hang out with them much in real life.  A person who was more socially nimble behind the cocoon of a screen than in front.  Despite her beauty and the attention it drew, she was a person who consistently missed the normal social interaction cues in school. 

She’d dated some at her private Catholic school, but had never found the right guy—she was waiting for the perfect boyfriend; a cowboy, a Southern gentleman.  An innocent, despite her parent’s wealth and superior airs, she had turned out to be a nicer person than one might have expect, liked by pretty much everyone despite her slight social clumsiness. 

She was a careful girl too, not a rule bender.  She was a good jazz dancer and being able to maintain a straight “A” average allowed her to avoid finals in her senior year.  So, while Vic was a popular girl and still found herself the center of attention from all of the local boys, most of them also accepted that she was pretty much unavailable.

 

The three girls walked into the first place and immediately drew the attention of the men there.  The girls all were young and tourists, very good looking and obviously appeared to be having a great time.  Best of all, they were unchaperoned. 

A single short phone call had been made upon their entry, but none of them paid attention to the anonymous black man that slipped in about five minutes later, sitting down about twenty feet away and ordering a cheap local beer.

By this time, Vic and her friends had their rum and cokes well in hand.  The girls were vivacious and alive, bringing smiles to even the most hardened of faces that looked upon them in that tatty little place.  While two of the three were quite attractive brunettes, the third was a stunning, long haired blonde.  She had a superb body covered by a sexy black cocktail dress.  Despite the obvious attractiveness of the other two, the first thought of every man in that place was that the long-haired blonde was by far the most desirable of all.

Vicki moved her head to talk to one of her friends and her thick blonde hair swirled around, framing her face.  Her hair was one of her favorite features and she had let it grow almost to the small of her back.  She was tall at a little over 5’ 9” in height and in excellent shape, weighing a little over 130 pounds.  She was athletic and had long, shapely legs that allowed her to run for hours when playing sports.  They were also one of the main reasons she looked so good in bikinis and cut-offs, sundresses and short, sophisticated cocktail dresses.

Her ankles were shapely and slender, tapering off to rather small feet.  Victoria had just shaved her legs that afternoon, emphasizing the luminous glow of legs, her softly muscular and yet quite shapely calves, and her gorgeous set of thighs.  These in turn ended in the other reason that she looked so good in skimpy clothing.  She had extremely firm and well-rounded buttocks, and they filled every man that night with lust as soon as she had walked in.  Most of the men there silently agreed that she probably had the best ass they had ever seen on a white woman.  Her shoulders were rather broad for a young woman, but helped to place her large breasts in perfect perspective.

This was their last night at the resort and all three friends had decided to dress up a little for their final dinner at the hotel.  The hotel also had a casino and they visited that too.  Although she had learned to pretend confidence, Victoria was by nature a somewhat shy young woman and generally didn’t call attention to herself in what she felt were the overly coarse ways that characterized many of her age.  Even if she was overdressed for beach bars, tonight was a night to celebrate, and different rules applied. 

As usual, Vic’s natural beauty had first attracted the eyes of every man there, but the way she had dressed ensured they never drifted to her friends.

She was wearing a black spaghetti strap dress that came down to about three inches above her knees along with a one inch wide black velvet choker around her neck.  The dress was tight around her narrow waist and billowed freely below.  It plunged both in front and in back, and every man there agreed that the cleavage the blonde revealed ensured that she was not only NOT wearing a bra, but in fact, sure as hell didn’t need one either.

Her toe nails were painted bright red and she was wearing black, strappy sandals with 4 ½ inch stiletto heels.  The sandals were kept on her rather tiny feet by long leather laces that wound up her lower leg crisscrossing half way up around her tanned calves and then were tied in back.  She had been saving for six months to buy this dress and heels, and she wasn’t going to let them go to waste on her last night on the island.  A small fashionable black clutch containing her identification, money and a few other items completed her ensemble.

She liked the way her hair looked tonight---and especially her eyes.  After dressing, she’d crossed the room to the full-length mirror on the closed door of her hotel room and struck a pose.  Shifting her weight, she turned on one heel.  The dress was the color of ink and seemed almost transparent. 

She liked the warm tone of her skin underneath and the way her breasts seemed to bob with her slightest move.  It had been exactly the right choice.  She wore little jewelry except for some long dangling earrings, but while putting on her makeup tonight, Vicki had decided to emphasize her beautiful green eyes.  She thought her eyes were her best feature, but most men would strongly argue that she was mightily in error. 

A little bit shy most of the time, Vic was generally conservative in both her dress and in behavior.  Never one to be driven by peer pressure, she thought that bizarre manifestations like body piercings and tattoos were unrefined and vulgar; something she would never consider herself.  But tonight she was going to show her two friends that she too could get into a festive mood on the last day of their vacation.

Because of her flawless complexion, she needed little else to be ready.  Her lips were always a luscious red without having to use much lipstick (which she generally hated to use anyway because of the taste) and somehow always looked moist.  Her naturally light olive skin tone, in conjunction with her green eyes and long, thick, slightly curly blonde hair, ensured that all eyes would be on her.

 

When first a teenager, Vicki had wished she had been a little better endowed by nature, but at around fifteen she had begun to blossom into something remarkable.  Her body still remained slender, taking after her father’s side of the family, while her breasts had suddenly begun to grow, taking after her mother.  By the time she was seventeen, Vic was what Hollywood star makers dreamed of—looked five years older than she was and had that indescribable ‘something’ that made her stand out from all others.  Her breasts were not the huge, ungainly things that many women now had artificially created for themselves.  But at 36D, hers were naturally slightly larger than average.  Even better, they were also naturally high and firm with small tan aureoles and pink nipples that jutted into the air. 

She truly was a beautiful girl with green eyes, a nice smile, and a naturally sunny disposition that was immediately obvious to all who might see her.  While also smart and well-read, she hadn’t been allowed to travel a lot and was still oddly naïve about the world in general and specifically about how her looks affected every man around her.  Victoria wasn’t a virgin, but had only been with one boy one time and that was well over a year ago.  It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience and she wasn’t in any rush to get involved with any of the immature youths with which her small school had seemed to be filled. 

Victoria often dreamed about her future.  She sometimes had regrets about her single sexual encounter because she felt that she had perhaps been cheated.  Hopefully, when the time was right and she had found the right boy to give herself to, she had far more of substance inside her to offer than she had so far been able to give.  But, she often thought, that was life.  Vic consoled herself with the knowledge that college would be different.

 

The girls all stayed for over an hour at the first dive.  One of the brunettes ended up lying on the bar with men taking jello shots out of her navel.  All three had been dancing provocatively at one time or another, mostly with each other.  Eventually, they left together in search of the next place to conquer.

Their shadower followed them out and remained around 100 yards behind them, maintaining his distance.  When the lighting was right, every now and then he would move in closer and take either another photo or bring out a small camera and take a short video of the girls. 

Even when not close to them, he could follow them by sound as they walked under the uneven lighting, the click-clacking of their high heels always pin-pointing their location for him.

He knew the strip of beach clubs intimately and watched intently as the trio came to the next place.  They walked in, repeating their entry pretty much as they already had done twice before.  Later, when questioned by the police, everyone admitted they specifically remembered the beautiful young American girl. 

The laughter continued and another hour had gone by before the three friends were finally ready for the main event; a night at the T. O.  The T. O. was the one place that all of them seemed to enjoy the most, and while in Cancun, they had ended too many of their evenings there fending off various men in the bar.

 

The girls entered the T. O. and, as usual were seated at one of the best table’s still remaining open near the dance floor.  Vicki loved to dance and this was the one place she could lose all of her inhibitions.  Frankly, to the men watching, it didn’t matter how good a dancer she was, she danced provocatively and was just generally sexy as hell to watch.

Also, as usual, Victoria was asked to dance by a multitude of men, but she generally turned down most offers.  Even so, she still danced most of the night and was having a great time.  Around two in the morning, both of her friends were ready to go back to their hotel, but Vicki was thoroughly enjoying herself.  More than a little drunk for one of the few times in her life, she told her friends to go on back to the hotel room they shared and that she would catch up with them in the morning.  They were a little reluctant to leave her there alone, but with a smile Vicki waved at the crowd around them and asked, “What could happen here?”  “Go back and get some sleep,” she mouthed to her friends and shooed them away with her hands.

 

Both girls got up and gave Victoria quick kisses on her cheek before reluctantly leaving her alone at the table by the dance floor.  Looking back on this choice later, she realized this was the single greatest mistake she had ever made, one that changed her life forever.  Later, she would sometimes wistfully wish she had just been just a little less eager for more fun that night, just a little less drunk, just a little bit more responsible. 

 

The worst part was that Victoria later knew she had no one to blame but herself.

 

 

To avoid getting raped, “…young ladies should not drink too much.

-Lai Tung-kwok, Hong Kong’s secretary for security

 

Kidnapping is such a strong word.  It should be thought as “Surprise Adoption”

-Unknown

 

Victoria’s shadow watched the two girlfriends get up and leave the blonde teenage sitting alone at the table.  A man with great experience in human behavior, he knew this was the moment for which he had been waiting and that it would not last long.  He looked at the sweat-stained and folded picture of Vicki in his hand, just as he had looked at it a hundred times before.  It had been taken at a nearby hotel beach ten days ago and it showed Vic in a rather subdued and unadventurous bikini.  Still, regardless of the conservative beach wear, he knew this was a gorgeous young woman and he felt his groin tingle with anticipation at what was to come; he could hardly wait to get the operation under way.

 

The Collector’s team consisted of five men, he being one of four on the island.  Their tactics were flexible and they always waited for the best moment to make their move.  He had been involved in this kind of thing four times before and knew how to make it happen smoothly….and quietly.

 

He walked up to the bartender and pulled him aside.  He showed him a small vial of colorless liquid and told the man that he would pay him $50 right now if he would put this in that blonde’s drink, pointing out Victoria.  Once the blonde started acting a little woozy, he would pay him another $450 if he grabbed anyone, and he meant anyone in the bar, and had them help take the tourist girl out to a yellow taxi that would be waiting near the entrance to the bar.  This taxi would be driven by a woman who would then pay him the remainder that he was owed.  He was too loudly tell the female taxi driver that she was to take Victoria back to her hotel, the Renaissance.  Finally, the dark man assured the bartender that he wouldn’t get in trouble because he would have a witness as to what he had done.

 

It was a lot of money to the bartender and he was tempted.  He looked over at Victoria and thought to himself, “What the hell.  She’s a big girl and if she gets fucked a little tonight, no skin off my back”.  With that, he nodded and took the $50. 

 

It was getting quite late as he put the vial in his pocket and went back behind the bar.  He watched the waitresses, and when Vic ordered her last rum and coke, he was able to slip the drug into her drink without the barmaid noticing.  From there, the plan worked perfectly.  Shortly after, a wobbly and obviously drunk Victoria was helped outside by the bartender and a patron of the bar that had volunteered to help.  She taken to a conveniently waiting yellow taxi driven by a hard-looking older woman, and in one of those coincidences for which the men could only pray, the stranger that helped the bartender had danced with Vicki earlier and knew where she was staying.  Thus, in front of unsuspecting witnesses, this man took it upon himself to give the driver her hotel destination.  No one saw the taxi driver slip the bartender a wad of cash just before she left.

 

The woman driving the cab had helped the ‘collectors’ before.  She’d had a hard life growing up and could care less what happened to any of these young, spoiled white tourist bitches she saw partying on the beaches every night.  Bad things happened every day to better people than these tourists, so, to hell with them. 

 

There was no danger to her, both since the cab had been stolen and since she wasn’t a taxi driver anyway.  In less than two hours, the taxi would be cleaned of all prints and returned to the driveway of the actual owner.

 

As planned, she drove the taxi less than half a mile before pulling into a small, dark secluded parking lot.  There, the four members of the team quickly transferred an unconscious Vicki into a small van.  The taxi driver was paid and both vehicles left the lot, the van heading toward a small secluded natural cove that was about ten miles away.

 

Once there, Vic was carried to a small runabout and dumped in it.  The small boat was pushed away from the beach and it then headed out for a larger boat waiting offshore.  This new boat was over sixty feet long and had been set up to stay as sea for long periods of time.  It had a large canopy covering a 10’ x 20’ foot deck area in the back, and the side rails all had canvas liners that blocked most of the view of the back deck. 

 

The small boat carrying Vicki finally hooked up with the yacht and was tied off at the back.  With a lot of work, a limp Victoria was transferred onboard by the four men and finally taken down below into the main cabin.  This was where she would spend the next three or four weeks, depending upon her mental toughness and how quick she a study she was.

 

The four men carried Vicki down the stairs and through a galley where they met a fifth man in the cabin; he told them to strip her right where they were holding her.  Most of the men in his crew called him Bossman.  She was completely unconscious at this point and so had to be held up at all times. 

 

First, her dress was unzipped and allowed to drop into a puddle around her ankles.  She wore no bra and her black French-cut panties were slipped over her slim hips and pulled down to her ankles.  One of the men reached down and picked up one sandaled foot at a time to remove the dress and panties.

 

The man in charge told them to remove the choker and earrings, but to leave her heels on.  Because he well knew the ‘Principle’ that had just purchased Victoria, he was also aware that she was going to get used to wearing high heels all the time from now on.

 

She was taken to the cabin’s queen-sized bed and laid upon it.  To avoid marking her delicious body, instead of metal handcuffs the men attached wide, soft leather cuffs to her ankles and wrists.  Her wrist cuffs were locked together and then tied to the head of the bed.  One man grabbed each of her ankles and her unresisting body was pulled down the bed as far as possible before they spread her legs and tied her ankle cuffs to the posts at the bottom of the bed.  The leader then reached into a cupboard and pulled out a large ball gag which he proceeded to insert into Vic’s mouth and tie around her head. 

 

Finally, he went into the cupboard one last time and pulled out a piece of hard black rubber that was about four inches long and about 1½ inches in diameter, generally resembling a stubby dildo.  After lubricating it, he inserted it into her unresisting asshole.  There was a narrow ring around the end of the plug and her anal sphincter greedily closed itself around the smaller diameter of the plug end. 

 

At this point, even though she was still unconscious, the captive blonde gave a soft moan as her stretched anal muscles locked onto the hard, black rubber now firmly seated inside her body.  There’s no time like the present to start working with her, the man thought to himself as he looked down upon the young, female beauty his men had taken.  All she was wearing now were her high heels, ankle and wrist cuffs, butt plug and a gag; that’s just about right amount of cover, he thought to himself with a satisfied smile.

 

He looked impassively at the helpless girl.  What a pity.  What a stupid, stupid girl.  Girls with utopian views, pretty girls just like her were disappearing around the world at an incredible rate.  All of it due to diversity and inclusion, and the chaos which engulfed the Middle East, Africa and the ‘Stans.  Stupid progressive twats who ignored government warnings and believed all that quixotic shit they learned at university about spreading love in dangerous places—the ugly truth is, not all cultures are equal, some are better than others.  He didn’t think a girl had to be a hermit to survive, but she sure as shit better be aware of her surroundings. 

 

Canadian Edith Blais, missing in Burkina Faso; the two Scandinavian tourists raped and behead in Morocco; Jay Austin and Lauren Geoghegan, mowed down off their bicycles and stabbed to death by Islamic terrorists in Tajikistan; Pippa Baca, a solo hitchhiking Italian performance artist raped and strangled to death in Turkey; Amanda Kijera, determined to preserve the dignity of Haitian men, held prisoner on a rooftop and repeatedly raped.  Unable to learn from her experience, she later wrote about it and blamed white men for what happened.  Zaida Catalan, a Green party politician who was raped and beheaded, then left in a shallow grave in the Democratic Republic of the Congo; Elly Warren, environmentalist raped, murdered and dumped in a toilet stall in Mozambique.  This shit was so common place now that the news barely carried it, but NGO’s and charities routinely covered up the crimes so as to not stigmatize poor countries and migrants.  Innocents abroad, the fucking morons. 

 

He inhaled a deep breath and then huffed it out as he looked at his new girl again.  Her profusion of dark blonde pubic hair proved that she’d probably never had a bikini wax, which fit with what he’d learned about her.  The tan lines on her chest indicated she rarely if ever went topless while sunbathing and it also appeared that she wore a larger bikini bottom than most female tourists her age flaunted.  Her delicate feet were arched in a position dictated by the high heels she still wore and her calves were exquisitely shaped by the tensed muscles beneath the leather lacings.  If you like leather, the Bossman thought to himself, you’re on the right boat.

 

She was gorgeous, but this caused him no real sympathy for or interest in her.  He’d collected too many fabulous looking women in the past to let this one’s looks stir his blood.  He and his current crew had been doing this for years.  He kept a very low profile on the islands and sandy coasts, and only a few trusted men knew what he really did. 

 

A slaver, he worked the Caribbean and east coast of Central and South America and had been offering unwilling female slaves he’d kidnapped and trained to various individuals and organizations for over twenty years.  He would move his boat up and down the long coastlines, never hitting the same country twice in a row.  The local police either never talked to each other across national borders or the politicians hushed everything up to keep tourism going.

 

 

To bring under mental or emotional control, as by persuasion or intimidation; render submissive.

-www.doctionary.reference.com

 

To render submissive; to bring under command; to reduce to mildness or obedience; to tame; as, to subdue a stubborn child; to subdue the temper or passions.

-www.brainyquote.com

 

There was an incredibly strong and remarkably steady demand for the kind of high quality product he handled—the rich just never seemed to be able to get enough.  He’d never kept track of the total number, cutting notches in his gun as it were.  But it must number in the hundreds by now and without meaning to, his mind went backwards in time, going over various women he had ‘collected’ in the past.

 

It had become a true meat market out there over the last ten years.  As youth tasted the freedom that social revolution offered, young women had become carefree, unwilling to admit that there were limits to anything in life.  Increasingly desperate to experience the next new thing, as time rolled by, many of these young women wound up taking far more risks than was necessary. 

 

And it was this market of needs that he trolled so successfully.  It was interesting, he thought, how his pursuits intersected with the lives of so many of these women; it seemed almost fated that they would eventually belong to him.  It had been written in the stars for as long as they’d been alive that one day he would own their bodies and their souls. 

 

He felt he performed a valuable service; skimming off the very best of the best, keeping these beautiful young women isolated from lower class males and those of lesser abilities, providing the high-quality females instead to men of proven means and power.  Even though he earned a good living by trading in these females, he preferred to look at his efforts as part of the ‘natural selection’ of life, a proven way to improve the species.  The most beautiful and talented women were provided as pleasure sluts to men of demonstrated ability; any offspring from this union were therefore bound to be superior even if unsanctioned by law. 

 

It was, he thought to himself, his little contribution to improving the world.

 

He had taken girls as young as fourteen, thinking about the short-haired blonde English teenager they’d snatched off of a Dominican beach.  Accompanied by her wealthy parents and a younger brother, the family had showed up and two children had then been allowed absolute freedom at their hotel.  Totally unsupervised by her parents, the girl had had a remarkably well-developed body for her age and even at that young age had enjoyed flaunting it by wearing a tiny bikini while at the beach. 

 

What could her parents have possibly been thinking? 

 

At the same time, she’d been seen as being very stuck up and arrogant with the few local boys that saw her at the hotel and on the beach.  It turned out she was actually just a little shy, but that really hadn’t matter to him in the end.  They’d snatched her off the beach one day when she’d been snorkeling in shallow water.  He’d had her checked out after making their snatch and unfortunately hadn’t been able to sample her wares; she’d been a virgin and that “complication” brought a shit-load of money from corporate clients in Japan. 

 

That was a few years ago, and at seventeen or eighteen now, he didn’t think she was doing much flaunting anymore—given what the Japanese did to enslaved blonde Caucasian females, he doubted he would even recognize her now. 

 

In the end and far too late to accomplish anything, her parents had gone nuts when she first disappeared and he wondered if they were even looking for her anymore.  Did they ever accept even the slightest responsibility for what had happened to their daughter?  Had they even changed their parenting style once their young daughter disappeared?

 

He knew for a fact she would never want to go home again after what the Japanese would have done to her.  Those guys took their sex slaves very seriously and when you were put in a company brothel as a young girl, you were used by countless men each day over a period of years and, without attempting to downplay the impact or significance of massive sexual activity, it tended to affect your outlook on life.

 

 

He’d taken older women too, some being professionals like the well-tanned, lovely brunette lawyer from Amsterdam.  She had a dark, even tan and long, naturally wavy brunette hair, high cheek bones and brown eyes.  Her face was beautiful in its technical proportions, but ice-cold from lack of warmth and kindness. 

 

She’d been “recruited” after he saw her one night dressed to kill at a bar on Andros Island.  She’d been an arrogant bitch then; he’d known this immediately as he’d watched her walk in one night wearing a short sundress and fashionable five-inch stiletto heels.  The cunt had come in and looked around as if she were a queen or something and owned the place. 

 

After picking out a table that ensured she was the center of attention, she’d walked over regally and sat down.  After a moment, she crossed her gorgeous legs and looked around to see if anyone had noticed.  In his own mind, he immediately knew he’d own this bitch within two days.  He’d had no particular order to fill at that moment, but he knew he wanted her, needed to take her down to the bottom of the gutter where she belonged.  This one had been born to be one of his slaves.  And there would always be a buyer for this kind of high-quality merchandize when he had finally tired of her. 

 

For a smart woman, she’d been pretty dumb.  It was easy to drug her drink and then grab her.  Staying on the open seas, moving from port to port in the islands, the boat had been his personal dungeon as he’d personally fucked her brains out for two weeks and listened to her scream in broken English the first couple of days as she begged for his mercy---mercy he was unwilling to show.  She’d especially been a screamer when he fucked her in the ass that first time. 

 

Regal attitude gone now, almost surgically removed as he showered her with punishment and rough sex, eventually he sold the whimpering wreck of a bitch to a pimp who needed more bodies for a string of prostitutes he ran out of Panama City. 

 

Purposefully selling her to a man that offered mostly worn out, lower class prostitutes, she’d been grunting and sweating on her back in a whore’s crib for three years now and he was pretty sure that she’d forgotten how to practice law.  The only practice she got nowadays was letting strange men fill all three of her holes at one time and then sucking on their cocks afterwards.

 

 

He thought about all of the young, uneducated, poor and even middle-class girls he’d grabbed over the years.  There were so many that their faces merged and then just ran together.  Many had been tourists, but more than just a few had been locals. 

 

One woman in particular had belonged to the local police force on a small island off the coast of Venezuela.  She’d been a strikingly beautiful girl with smooth skin tanned dark brown from the sun and long dark brown hair with reddish highlights.  Athletic and with a great figure, she’d fought his men like a tiger from the beginning and his sex with her had been great. 

 

This one had been different from the others.  It wasn’t just her body he’d wanted, although it had been a joy to fuck her.  It had been her energy, the thing that made her her---that was what he’d wanted.  Eventually, he’d taken it all and it no longer pleased him to fuck her. 

 

He’d ridden her like a mare in heat without taking her in the ass, and even now just the thought of when he’d first taken her, when she still had all that fight left in her, it gave him a major erection.  Her personality upon initially being taken had been naturally aggressive, remarkably so.  Pure speculation, but this belligerence was what had probably attracted her to police work in the beginning. 

 

At the end, he’d left her on a small, uninhabited island with his men for a week just to ensure that her pussy became very well used, and then he’d come in and fucked the cunt in her back door, just once, just to get one last piece of ass off the bitch.  He’d purposefully crippled her by almost puncturing her colon before he left a full load in her ass.  Nude body covered in sand, her face driven into the loose sand on the beach where he’d pushed on the back of her head as he rode her ass, he’d left her without any clothes that night, half paralyzed, crying softly and babbling in Spanish. 

 

Whether as a taunt or a lesson, he wasn’t sure. 

 

He hadn’t sold her then and he knew she’d survived, but since his men had “counselled” her, she’d never said a word about what had been done to her.  She was a different woman now because of him---the fire had been snuffed out forever.  A pity, he thought; he’d truly enjoyed that arrogant flame for a moment, a fire so filled with temporary belligerence and violence.

 

 

He pictured the two Japanese sisters he had taken off a beach in Buenos Aires and how submissive they had been from the very beginning.  They had been eighteen and twenty years old and had brought over $60,000 since he’d sold them as a matched pair. 

 

They both had been secretaries, but a little later he’d found out they now starred in certain underground films and it was rumored they quite enjoyed their trade.  He’d found that these two were different from most Oriental women in that they weren’t bowlegged.  Damn, he hated women with ugly legs.  There should be a law, he thought to himself with a snort of amusement.

 

He’d made sure both were present as he fucked each of them in the cabin of the boat, but he didn’t enjoy them quite as much as he’d hoped.  Part of that he thought might have been due to their yielding so quickly to his will.  It was then that he’d discovered another truth about himself. 

 

He didn’t particularly care to physically hurt his women, but he immensely enjoyed the looks on their faces when after a long fight, they realized for the first time that they truly were his property and would never be free again.  That look of broken will in their eyes; the utter subjugation that their posture screamed to the knowledgeable was worth all of the other bullshit with which he put up. 

 

In any case, these two were almost too easy and it was with pleasure he got rid of them. 

 

 

He remembered the two different times that he had been able to grab brides on their wedding day.  To reduce the inevitable bad publicity that must follow such potentially high profile kidnappings, the corrupt and incompetent local police had each time performed a quick investigation and then hastily reported that the brides had decided not to go through with their weddings because of nerves. 

 

To the world, after a week of fruitless, and incompetent police work, the official verdict was that it seemed they had simply decided to run away. 

 

In other words, it was all the fault of the women….

 

But he knew the truth!  As did the grooms.  Both men vehemently denied that their fiancées had run away or departed voluntarily.  But after a couple of weeks of interest from reporters without anything new to report, the stories had died down, just as he had known they would. 

 

Both brides had been beautiful women, one a twenty-eight year old Brazilian, the other a twenty-year old Australian.  He’d taken them straight out of the hotel rooms on the afternoon in which they’d actually been dressing for the wedding.  He assumed they loved their husbands-to-be, but he still savored the look of absolute horror on their faces as he was the first one to lift their bridal dress and go down on them on their wedding night, instead of their new husbands.  It had been one of life’s delicious ironies that it had been him to slowly remove their wedding garters before initiating them into their new life of slavery. 

 

Both had been indoctrinated while wearing mainly bridal lingerie; it had been his little attempt at humor even though the two brides had not taken it particularly well.  It had taken him four weeks to fully train each to his complete satisfaction.  He’d quickly become bored with the Brazilian bitch, though he’d kept the Australian for almost two months. 

 

She’d been a very special case; loved her accent and the way she talked, especially when he’d taken her to the verge of cumming.  Truly a beautiful girl….and ultimately, so responsive to his every need.  He was pretty sure she had never talked to her fiancé that way.  And now she responded in bed to another man, unless he too had sold her ass in one of the island’s flesh markets. 

 

Ironically, he had seen the Australian a few months ago, trailing her current owner in an upscale beach hotel.  She was now twenty-six or twenty-seven, but he had barely recognized her.  She was tall and still moved with the studied grace of a model, carrying herself like a woman who was used to being looked at.  But her lips were painted a cruel slash of crimson which looked like it had been applied in anger and her eyes had been shadowed in grey, giving her a sad, haggard appearance that was belied by her still perfect body.  Heavy gold rings fell from her ears, more gold hung around her neck.  It was difficult to tell if she was a sickly woman dressed to look like a rich man’s wife, or a beautiful woman trying to pass as the languishing victim of a vampire.  He wondered if that was how she herself wished to appear or if it was her owner.  She only glanced at him once, but he had seen a flash then, but whether of anger or some other emotion he could not tell.  Seeing her this way made him angry.  A woman like her should be cherished as a slave, not debased publically or be allowed to do this to herself. 

 

He would never sell another woman to the man who had purchased this one. 

 

Right now, there was an active but little known sex trade going on in the Caribbean, and he was a major part of it.  He took these women, trained them and then sold them.  Ironically, surprisingly, many came to care for him, or at least said they did.  In the end, he always explained to each of them that they were not his friends, not his partner, and they were not comrades in any way.  It was purely a business relationship in which they provided a temporary benefit but represented a potentially ongoing cost.  The less the outcry when he kidnapped them was additional benefit, while the time spent training them increased their cost to him.  Nothing but business despite their tears, cost versus benefit…..

 

 

He was a serious man, a thoughtful man, a strong man.  His men followed him because of this.  Yet he was a man of many facets too.  Sometimes he had moments of lightness.  With all the women he’d taken, he sometimes thought of himself as Captain Luv or even the Slow Cosby.  When he had sex during these times, he sometimes drew the syllables and consonants of these names out like a black crooner.  It was a childish foible, but he indulged himself nonetheless.  The look upon their faces when he did this was always priceless. 

 

Other times, he suffered from a darker side, probably brought on by the head injuries of his youth.  There was a mania which descended upon him which depended upon the circumstances, on how severely temptation beckoned.  There was literally no way to tell ahead of time.  The mania had fooled him more than one time, bursting into life when peace should have reigned.  In these times, when he took them, it compelled him and he hurt some of them. 

 

He thought of them all as his victims.  Despite having been kidnapped, most of them responded to him in the end.  He worked hard at satisfying them and he was good at sex, very very good at sex.  The ones who responded the best, he thought of as his lucky victims for they always got more in the end than they wanted, more than they likely had ever dreamed of.  These were the ones who were always sated when he finally finished them, before he passed them on.  He saw to that—he kept working until they were.  And in the end, he was as generous a lover as he was patient.  It was the only time he was ever careful with a female that way. 

 

 

Over the last eighteen months, he had already acquired for his own use a very nice redhead from Ireland and a tasty brunette from France.  But his current principle’s tastes ran to young and hot, yet naïve blondes from North America and Victoria seemed the perfect answer to the most recent order the wealthy man had put in.  As with all the others, when these tourist girls disappeared, if the snatch was done correctly, the search would generally last for no more than a few weeks before the excitement died down, so the business had really been quite profitable.

 

He felt the odd little rush he felt whenever he had successfully invaded another’s private space, whether physical or online or mental.  Victoria’s future was rather grim.  Once trained and delivered, if she pleased her new owner, she would be kept around for the foreseeable future or at least until her looks were gone; he knew for a fact that females used strictly for physical pleasure in this way tended to age quickly when getting their guts fucked out day after day after day.  Especially when you combined that with the continual physical and emotional punishments inflicted upon these women.  And if she did not please her owner enough, in a couple of years she would be sold to any one of a hundred anonymous brothels that existed in the shitty cities of South and Central America.

 

Once she’d been sold a second time, he knew her new pimp would immediately hook her on heroin or crack, the better to control her, and then put her in a locked room and force her to sell her ass.  All the men here wanted to fuck pretty young blonde American girls, so there would be no end of customers. 

 

She’d also probably be sold from one pimp to another, and after a few more years when her looks were finally gone, she’d be reduced to offering blowjobs on back streets just to survive.  None of the girls he’d provided over the years had ever wanted to go back home once they’d been reduced to that state.

 

 

Leaving the naked, teenaged blonde lying spread-eagled on the bed, he left to take the boat to more secluded waters.  The engines started quietly and the boat smoothly departed.  Building up speed, the craft steadied at over fifteen knots and continued like this for over ten hours.  When the crew finally reached its destination, they anchored about three miles off of the deserted side of a small island that had few permanent inhabitants. 

 

They were now over 180 miles away from where Vicki had been “recruited” and the local police there were just now beginning to be aware that there might even be a problem.  The boat was anchored facing shore, so that no one could see anything on the back of the boat.  When needed, the runabout would go ashore on the other side of the island and pick up supplies at the small store there.

 

 

Victoria had briefly regained consciousness while it was still dark.  Her mouth tasted like hell and her head hurt.  She was on some kind of a hammock she thought, since there was a rhythmic motion that had almost immediately lulled her back to sleep.

 

 

Day One: The Prize Is Softened

 

This just didn’t happen to girls like me.  This just didn’t happen to anyone.

-Jenna-Lynne Duncane, in Hurricane

 

To the sexual offender, possession is power, and total possession is absolute power.

-Stephen G. Michaud, The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood's Journey into the Minds of Serial Killers

 

When I next awoke, I was disoriented and nauseated.  Somehow I knew it was morning, but had no idea what day it was.  My body felt like a block of lead, and for some reasons my shoulders and hips ached.  My mouth tasted awful.  This was worse than the worst of hangovers I’d experienced in Cancun. 

 

There was a bright, almost stabbing sunlight shining through a couple of small portholes immediately over my head, and the room spun and jittered with every move I made.  Without thinking, a heart-felt groan of discomfort bubbled up from my core.  I took deep breaths and slowly the walls stopped their spinning. 

 

Even though my mouth felt as if was filled with saliva, my lips felt dry and parched.  I tried to smack my lips together a couple of times since my mouth tasted awful, but I seemed to have difficulty doing so and my jaws ached.  It was when I tried to rise off of the bed that I realized for the first time that my hands were bound to the head of the bed.  At that point, I drifted off into another hazy interlude. 

 

I awakened again, and not sure what had happened, I turned and twisted my head in order to look but it felt like my head was too heavy for my shoulders.  But after a moment I tried again and after my eyes had finally focused, I saw wide leather straps around each wrist that were tied to the head of the bed.  First a wave of queasiness rolled over me, instantly this was followed by a rush that coursed through my blood, like a narcotic had flooded into my veins. 

 

Immediately filled with panic, I began to struggle and that was when I found that my ankles were tied about five feet apart to posts at the foot of the bed.  My hips were killing me from having my legs spread wide like this for what must have been hours while I was unconscious.  For some reason my anus hurt and when I looked down at my feet, I realized in shock that except for my beautiful sandals, I was also naked.

 

 

I felt my mind fracture, felt pieces fall away.  A sudden fever burned through me…  A for-real thrill of terror ran through my spine now and I began struggling frantically against my bonds.  Because I had been tied so tightly, there was little slack for me to maneuver.  My struggles forced me to breathe strongly through my nose and it was this realization that told me I had been gagged.  My nipples were stiff now from my exertions and I was quickly covered with a light sheen of perspiration both from the humidity and my fear.

 

Wait!  WAIT!!  You stupid girl!  Calm down, Victoria.  This has to be a nightmare, I thought.  I’m going to wake up in the morning and laugh about this.  This can’t really be happening.  It’s like something out of a cheap romance—or a horror novel. 

 

I was snorting for air when I finally stopped struggling and even though my head still hurt, I began to think.  I tested my bonds one at a time.  It was hopeless.  I finally realized I wasn’t getting out of this on my own.  An inexplicable chill ran through me.  Another slow, controlled breath helped me overcome it.  Nothing mattered.  I had only myself to save me.  No daydreaming.  No false hope.  No reliance on the abstract.  One hour at a time.  Think.  Plan.  Act.

 

It was then I noticed an odd burning smell and felt an additional fear try to take hold.  I could see myself tied helplessly to this bed while everything burned down around me.  I closed my eyes again and forced myself to take even, deep, calming breaths.

 

Eventually I began to look around the cabin.  There was a small dresser fastened to the wall with a mirror on the wall behind it, a couch was set against the wall and two wooden chairs were anchored to the floor around a small table in the corner; it was then that I saw the man sitting motionless in one of the chairs.  He was like a huge statue, medium brown in color and with muscles jutting out all over his body.

 

I froze at the first sight of him and then felt an uncontrolled shudder run through my body as I looked away.  As I jerked at my bonds, I thought about what I had seen.  He was an old man, probably a maniac, a convicted criminal of some sort.  Another deep thrill of fear ran down my spine.  He was definitely a degenerate peeping tom.

 

The thought brought my mind to a standstill—he was also probably a sex maniac if my luck held, and clearly some kind of pervert.  He was old, old---at least fifty, fifty-five years old, his face was broad and heavy, and seemed sodden with dark, brooding thought.  Under bushy brows his eyes were nothing but dark gleams of fire.  He had lines and wrinkles but they were hard to make out for one half of his face appeared normal, even handsome—to a fifty year old woman maybe--but an intricate tattoo decorated much of the other half. 

 

I was hyper-ventilating through my nostrils.  I closed my eyes to help better recall what I had seen, but it didn’t help much.  All I remembered was that the pattern was complex, professionally designed and skillfully applied; it gave him a fierce, almost demonic look.  He looked like a black Lucifer of some kind.  It was clear that the tattoo was a mask meant to stop other’s eyes from seeing what lay beneath.  In a later moment of unguarded truth, he later told me the tattoo covered damage done to him in his youth by an angry father when he had first begun trafficking in young women. 

 

Suddenly, reality roared back and, my mind filled with a chaotic deafening sound which paralyzed me, the sight of this unknown man brought fresh paroxysms of struggles, again to no avail.  I was naked, why was I naked?  Why was he here?  Why was I here?  Why were they doing this to me?  God, please help me!! I was only nineteen, barely out of high school.  Please God!!

 

Nothing made sense.  My mind was still filled with chaotic roaring, buzzing sounds only I could hear and I couldn’t think.  I could not reconcile his presence here in my mind….for that matter, I could not reconcile MY presence here. 

 

I writhed again, trying to cover myself a little more—I failed again and suddenly I understood.  I was trapped and we both knew it.

 

 

You see in others who you are.

-Bernard Malamud

 

The Bossman sat in the chair for another five minutes without saying a word, just watching Victoria, his beautiful new prize.  He could tell that being naked in front of a strange, unfamiliar black man totally terrified her….as planned.  It also humiliated her too.  He watched as she writhed slowly, trying to achieve a position in which her vagina was covered, but as he had planned from the beginning, she was unsuccessful in her attempts at modesty. 

 

Well-conditioned by her culture, although not her fault and even as petrified as she was with fear, it was obvious the blonde captive’s nakedness still shamed her; she could not know that her inability to cover her nakedness was part of his plan.  He watched as her eyes darted to various parts of the cabin, as if there might be a rescuer hiding in one of the corners if only she could find him. 

 

There was no one on the boat that had any plans to rescue her.

 

 

Generally, he was not a man who liked to rush the taking of a woman.  A perfectly planned job was like a seduction in some ways.  Hours spent looking, wanting, turning the target around in his mind.  And then, he moved closer, maybe even brushing past, making contact, just to see what would happen.  And when everything was ready, everything was right, all of that preparation paid off in one sudden moment. 

 

The team had taken photographs of the younger female tourists then currently available on Cancun.  All of them together had then winnowed that group down to the fifteen best-looking single, white women, and had forwarded these to the “Principle”.  Upon reviewing at the photos, it was clear that Victoria was the cream of this crop and the man had put in his order accordingly. 

 

Once the choice had been made, the team had followed her day and night during the remainder of her vacation.  When she walked into a clothing store, they knew her dress size thirty minutes later.  After she had visited multiple stores, they were aware of her every measurement including shoe size. 

 

Being confident of their skillset regarding acquisition, they had purchased clothing and lingerie for Vicki, as well as numerous other things.  Given the opportunity, they planned on ensuring she would be a well-trained slut when they were finished—quite well trained indeed!

 

The man in the chair finally gave her a slight smile and said, “Good morning, Victoria.  Listen to me….and listen carefully.  How your next few weeks go depends solely upon you.”

 

Bossman had watched her reactions as she awakened and had seen nothing different from any of the females he had previously taken.  At the same time, he also knew that each woman had to be treated differently—he didn’t need to see into these women’s souls.  He owned them.  After taking so many women, he had become something of an expert in the psychology of turning unwilling ‘recruits’ into willing slaves.  He thought back to the last meeting of his team just before they’d kidnapped the blonde teenager; it was then that they’d finally decided how she would be handled.

 

He was known for providing top of the line females to his clients and he prided himself on his reputation in this niche market.  He’d made a lot of money doing this, but actually it was as much a sport for him as it was a business.  In addition to his formal training, he was a natural psychologist and he’d spent a lot more time just learning about people in general.  He used this knowledge when analyzing the women he took; this was why he was always so successful.  But he’d have been this analytical anyway, whether or not he was a slaver---because this was his nature.

 

Bossman knew everyone has beliefs.  The more central these beliefs are to the idea of who we are, the more difficult they are to change.  But if that central belief is changed, the greater the effect on that person.  If he could force a change in this teenager’s view of herself more towards what he desired, the more profound effect he would have on all of her related beliefs and values.

 

It would take controlling everything around the girl because he was most successful in an environment of complete coercion.  Finally, he was aware that people are most likely to change when fed a line of bullshit that is consistent with what they see as their own values.

 

The act of creating a good slave always consisted of two parts.  Depending upon the individual female and what he did, breaking their will to resist generally took less than one day to three or four days.  Breaking them consisted of subjecting the female to pure and simple physical and sexual torture under controlled conditions, all of which continued non-stop until the recruit broke.  Sometimes he joined in on the initial part of this stage, but after that he tended to maintain a distance from the “prize,” all the while allowing his crew full access but always under his specific directions and control. 

 

The second phase took place after the subject had been physically and sexually broken.  This was where he began the psychological manipulations with which he had been so successful.  He took a young woman who had generally been protected her whole life, a woman who had been taught from birth that all people were equal and had equal rights, and that good things happened to good people, and he turned her into a compliant and even enthusiastic slut who willingly did anything her Master might order.  He rarely participated in either physical or sexual activities with the slave during this stage since it tended to defeat his purposes.

 

Bossman was very familiar with what was needed to reprogram another’s behavior---both with and without the accompanying use of drugs—and he had incorporated this into his business model. 

 

Russia had experimented with ‘brain washing’ drugs from the ‘50s to the ‘70s.  While their military had not followed up on this research, some of their government labs had greatly advanced this science in the last fifteen or twenty years.  He had obtained the advanced psychoactive drugs that he used on his recruits from a couple of Russian expatriates he knew in Cuba.  He’d found these ‘friendship’ drugs rather helpful because they suppressed a woman’s natural inclinations and emotional defenses and opened their minds to points-of-view that were radically different from what they might normally feel. 

 

Regardless of what might be read in fiction, most people aren’t too enthusiastic about being mentally reprogrammed by another and tended to fight it every step of the way.  He’d been using these drugs for the last fifteen years and they were a true marvel; his subjects had no idea they were getting them with their morning supplements. 

 

Best of all, after two or three days the full effect of the drug really screwed the bitches up.  They became confused and didn’t know what was going on in their heads; they’d feel both pleasure and fear at the same time when they saw his men, they’d want to please the men and at the same time want to fail in their training.  They’d be unhappy at disappointing his men, yet unconsciously trying to undermine them at the same time. 

 

It fucked their minds up, and he found it delicious watching the women try to figure out what the hell was happening to them.  But over time, the drugs really worked---damn did they work.  Once he’d switched over to using them, he’d multiplied by ten-fold the effects of his psychological and physical manipulations---and that alone made his work both easier and resulted in a much higher success rate.  His income had at least quadrupled with these drugs.

 

At the same time he used these “friendship” drugs and denied his captive her sleep, the female was also subjected to unusually intense and prolonged periods of physical and sexual “persuasion”.  This sex had nothing to do with eroticism and everything to do with demonstrating absolute power over the captive.  Coercion, domination and humiliation in equal portions, all the time.  As time progressed, these stages became longer and increasingly aggressive as the crew followed the menu that he’d laid out. 

 

Ultimately, the vast majority of women quickly realized they were in a situation from which there was no escape; they were isolated on the boat and brutally forced into modifying their behavior.  The finality of this realization and its impact on their psyche was important in both initially breaking them and ultimately training them.

 

To help drive home the finality of their situation, he kept them gagged during this initial period except for the short time when they were allowed to eat or drink.  Even then, they were threatened to not say a word unless answering a question.  If they did, they were punished severely.  These girls were not allowed to give up too early---for psychological purposes, it was critically important that the female only surrender on his terms and not hers. 

 

Even though the women did not know this, to hammer this point home, he ensured the recruit’s sexual torture and pain continued for many long hours after their victim had finally given up all hope of ever being saved—it was only in this psychological extremity that he felt he could achieve the perfect Realization.  Here, he used the word as a noun rather than a verb.  For him, a woman’s realization was the end of one phase and the beginning of another.  It was much more of a place of the mind than an act. 

 

He’d found it was only by this act of realization that the slave truly understood, at a “gut level,” what had happened to her.  Physical defeat was not enough.  Her will to fight also had to be totally crushed early in her new role as a slave.  It was only by grinding his captive into emotional and psychological dust that she reached a place where his victim finally understand that she began her new life at the very bottom.  That she only earned relief from their torture by her continued and increasingly acceptable behavior.  This was their moment of realization. 

 

Once he broke them, their training began, albeit still accompanied with continuing coercive techniques.  Emphasizing this new stage, he now took away anything signifying their individuality and which might give them emotional sustenance.  He allowed nothing from their previous life that might give them support in any way at the same time they were forced to participate in continually more intensely sexual acts and scenarios. 

 

The cruder and more extreme behaviors in which they were forced to participate were chosen because of their “foreignness” to the victim.  Consequently, these acts were also considered both demeaning and degrading to all but a small percentage of them.  The more he forced them to buy into what they were doing, the more he could accelerate their forcible indoctrination.

 

At the same time he began to increase the dosage of drugs his captives received, he also began coercive reprogramming of the female’s beliefs.  It was at this point he really started to get inside their heads.  The one thing which he could always depend upon was the fact that each woman always had something which shamed them--some little act or peculiarity of character---something about themselves that they kept from everyone else. 

 

There were also things they kept even from themselves---everyone lied to themselves about something.  He dug and he pried until he had figured out what it was.  Then, with these tiny little things at tools, he would attack their beliefs about themselves and the world around them.  If all went well, by the end of ten to fourteen days, in addition to being a well-trained piece of ass, most of his women had adopted the majority, if not all of his perspectives on sexuality and relationships.  He’d reprogrammed them. 

 

He’d proved this to his satisfaction time and time again; so much of sex and sexuality was in the mind, not the body.  And when he was successful, at this point they would want to do just about anything a man demanded just to please the man.

 

The four men in his crew were not so much similar in appearance as they were in inclination.  Uneducated men, they liked danger, violence and money.  They got all of this with him.  But mostly they liked the lazy days on the boat where they had full access to the beautiful young women who would never have taken one look at them under normal circumstances. 

 

So, once he’d taken the newly acquired woman on an unexpected psychological journey to the point where she’d begun some rather deep introspection about her values and worth, the rest of his crew’s time was spent both in training her in new sexual techniques and in reinforcing her new beliefs. 

 

Above all else, Bossman firmly believed in aggressively reinforcing the aspect of ‘total submission’.  There were minor acts and major acts of submission demanded of all of his women during this part of their re-education.  Again and again, he put his recruits into terribly demeaning physical, psychological and emotional situations; situations which demanded complete and total submission to a man, her new Master. 

 

But while each act of submission was carefully thought out to ensure that it allowed the recipient to successfully face increasingly higher levels of pain and humiliation, the men of his crew were only human.  The women being trained were always beautiful and sometimes when they didn’t cooperate, the men became angry or a little too enthusiastic in their training; they strayed a little too far from the boundaries he’d set.  At that point, he was forced to quickly improvise as he incorporated into his training whatever stupid thing the men might have done.

 

 

As for the teenage blonde called Victoria, while there were some very specific things he had to do, the program would end with her being eventually broken.  Of this, he had absolutely no doubt.  As her training progressed after that, almost every act of submission would be demanded, no matter how small.  And no matter how much she “gave” to them, no matter how many times she cooperated, each performance would be judged as unacceptable, each episode would ultimately still always end badly for her, would require that ever more humiliations be demanded of her.  She wouldn’t be allowed to succeed at anything, but she would also learn that not giving in to their demands was even worse. 

 

And at the same time, her ongoing psychological training would ensure that the urge to cooperate with her captors became more and more compelling.  The ultimate test would be to see if she would submit to a man’s will even if she understood that doing so threatened her life.

 

 

Continuing his train of thought, the Bossman said aloud to his victim, “We know everything about you.  But what you need to know is that your life has just taken a big-time change.  You’re not your mother’s daughter now and you’re not your daddy’s little girl anymore.  You’re not a teenager going to college anymore and there’s no boyfriend or super hero coming through that door to save you.  No one knows you’re here and in a week or so, no one will care about you anymore.  And in a week---you won’t want anyone rescuing you.”

 

 

I was amazed as people must be who are seized and kidnapped, and who realize that in the strange world of their captors they have a value absolutely unconnected with anything they know about themselves.”

-Alice Munro, in Lives of Girls and Women

 

He spoke with a trace of a Caribbean accent, but one blunted by years away from home.  I struggled briefly, absolutely freaked out all of this, by what was happening.  My eyes filled with tears at my frustration and fear, and I wouldn’t, I just couldn’t look at him now.  I wanted to leap off the bed, race screaming up the stairs and throw myself over railing—I wanted to swim to the nearest shore wherever that was and report this monster to the police.  But I couldn’t.  The way I was tied, I wasn’t able to free myself or fight him.  But I knew that if I ignored him, I could maybe somehow pretend to myself that he wasn’t there.

 

Sand on the beach, make a hole for my head!!!

 

He continued and without thinking, my gaze went back to his impassive face.  “Girl, there is an eternal sexual dance that all of us go through, but which women feel that men simplify and look at all romantic things as either strategy or obligation.” 

 

I struggled to cover my nakedness again as chills ran down my back.  What the hell was he talking about?  Yeah, he really did talk too much.  My anger ebbed as an existential fear suddenly washed over me and my stomach turned into a hard ball.  Incomprehensible shock and anger were suddenly replaced by true fear. 

 

A ball of lead formed in my stomach; I had heard of the sex slave rings in the Caribbean.  Only a few girls and women were ever rescued—the names of the men and women using these slaves made international headlines, were among some of the most important people in the world.  And I’d also read about the horrible conditions these women were kept in—starvation, drugs, beatings and torture, gang rape—but I would never have dreamed in a million years I would experience any of this myself.  Just the idea of the existence of these rings, the human misery and suffering where the unspeakable was endured on a daily, relentless basis…..

 

“But”, he stated, “I’m also going to show you there’s a seductive power found by women, found in women, when they embrace the inexplicable with utter abandon.  You’re eighteen, nineteen, and your oh-so protected life so far hasn’t yet taught you this, but the mind is the most sensitive and responsive sexual organ in the human body.  I’ve had to take away your options at life because I’m going to help you find and embrace the future…that for you…is inevitable.”

 

I stared at him as I tested my bonds again, pulling and pushing as hard as I could, my fear almost gone, almost fascinated, certainly repulsed by what he said. 

 

“As a teenager, I’m sure you’ve read those ridiculous novels written about seduction fantasies--but you always knew that they were just that, fantasies.  But here.  On this boat.  Now.  This is really happening.  The reality here, your new reality, is that I’ll have your body no matter what you do, no matter how much you fight me.  But it’s your mind that I’m really after.  You’d better understand that from the very beginning.  I own you now, but I’ll OWN you when I’m done with you.”

 

Even though helpless, my chin came up in denial.  I was owned by no man!!

 

Seeing this, he stopped for a moment, and then continued with a small smile on his face, “The simple truth is that you’ve been “recruited” as a sex slave for one of my clients—in the vernacular of my trade, you’re a piece of ass now.  And in the next couple of week, you’ll be trained for him by us.  I prefer obedience to independent thought; it’s so much less work for me in the long run.  So---you can either fight me, and you’ll lose with a lot of pain involved on your part, or you can give me what I want now, with minimal pain; your choice.”

 

I felt my head shaking back and forth in helpless terror.  I frantically jerked at my wrists again and then struggled to free my ankles—nothing worked.  I felt sweat trickling from my hairline and another drop of sweat run from my naked chest over my rib cage.  Finally, I lay there on the bed panting for breath through my nose as he went on in his horrific, totally confident monotone.

 

“I have no doubt that you are like every other teenage girl alive.  That you’ve had fantasies you‘ve never told to anyone else.  Well, that ends here.  We’re going to teach you to embrace the fine line that separates your dark fantasies from reality.  We’re going to help you to blur those boundaries ahead of time, and help you see what happens.  Many popular girls your age are wanton sluts---I blame the MTV genre for that.  The rest however, are fit only to work in libraries.  You however, on the surface seem to be different from all of them; beautiful, yet shy.  Naturally sexy, yet truly naïve about your effect on men.  But I’m going to take pleasure in proving to you that you are just as much a creature of sex as the sluts are.”

 

He shook his head in frustration.  “Young people like you just don’t understand.  Our lives are connected by a thousand invisible threads.  In these sympathetic fibers, our actions run along these as causes and return as results.  Think about that, Victoria!  What this means is that nothing is coincidence, fate is real.  Do you honestly believe that life is little more than the sum of your choices?  That if you do something often enough that, your reaction changes?  And that these choices define who you are?  I say no.” 

 

He nodded his head, filled with a crazy certainty.  “Let that thought give you a measure of confidence in the coming weeks and months.  You are who you are, and I am what I am.  And your life only ends one way.  Fate has controlled you from the very beginning.  You have always been meant to be here, now.  Have faith you have found your future.  ”

 

Insane talk, the talk of a man who needed help.  Again, I tried to twist my wrists free as he talked.  While the black man told me, in detail, what he had planned for me, I had continued my struggles, still unsuccessfully trying to free my hands and feet.  After another moment of utter futility, I stopped and lay on the bed taking deep lungful’s of air through my nose staring at the boat’s ceiling, trying to not to panic at my feelings of suffocation.

 

As he began talking again, a second man walked into the cabin and stood waiting.  I quickly glanced at him and noticed in a crazy moment of thought that he looked like a black Elvis might at 50 years of age.  Great!  Another pervert!

 

This second man stared at me, devouring my nakedness.  I blushed again at the intensity of his gaze.  Unconsciously, I tried to cover myself again, but it still didn’t help.  My nakedness humiliated me, as much as my helplessness infuriated me. 

 

I breathed out, then inhaled again shakily as the big man continued, “You know, to seduce a man, women will wear a pair of killer heels in bed, maybe a teddy or a mask; maybe change the way she holds herself as he watches.  The line moves forward, the dance changes tempo, the props evolve with it.  Suddenly, the music is deliciously dark.  And she has seduced him.”

 

Without glancing his way, I emerged just a little from my welter of incoherent thoughts and tried to listen.  I tried once more to pull my knees together—what the hell was he talking about?  He was just vomiting words, an old man saying crazy stuff, stuff that would get him arrested in any civilized place.  He was insane, clinically insane!  Had to be.  I had no idea what he was talking about, and here I was, his naked prisoner. 

 

Like any maniac, he continued his incoherent rambling in the same vein, “But for me to connect with a woman, I’ve found that it’s different.  It’s about knowing how the entire dance relates to your past; your cold and distant father, or perhaps it’s about that one boy that went too far too fast.”

 

Wait, I thought to myself.  What?  What!!  What was he talking about?”  My mind was spinning, I couldn’t think straight.

 

He just wouldn’t stop talking, “It’s about your needs, about me caressing them, taking them and swallowing them whole.  It’s about your fear, which in moderation can be very sweet.” 

 

He was at least fifty.  He was a creepy perv.  A dirty, perverted old man.  No, I screamed in my mind.  No!  There would be no caressing, no swallowing anything!

 

His face and voice were serious, he actually meant what he was saying!  “Victoria, you’re too naïve to know this yet, but I… Really.  Don’t.  Care.  Soon you’ll be pretending I’m just some dark forbidden pleasure---you won’t be able to help yourself.  But in reality, what I’m going to be doing is feeding your demons; and these things are never going away.  You’ll always have them and you’ll always be mine.”

 

Forbidden pleasure?  Demons?  Even if I couldn’t protect myself from this creepy maniac, I still continued to avert my face from him.  But his first comment finally registered as my mind spun madly, trying to get traction.  It made me to look at him again.  Oh my God, I thought to myself, how did he know about my one experiment with sex?  How could he know just how unfulfilling and just down right unpleasant it had been? 

 

I felt of myself in a way as a romantic.  I’d even thought I might be a sexual person if just given the opportunity.  But I’d shut myself off after that one time and had not yet met anyone that I felt I might be comfortable with. 

 

 

The Bossman looked at the blonde and smiled to himself.  A girl this stupid would almost be too easy.  He thought for a moment and then spoke again.  “You’re young, haven’t been beaten up by the world much yet.  You might even see yourself as the kind of person who’s selfless, always wanting to give to others.” 

 

He smiled a sort of dirty old man smile as he said, “You won’t understand this yet and I know you won’t believe me when I tell you my demands are eventually going to be intoxicating for someone like you.  But soon you will—and you won’t be able to help yourself.  You’re too young and too inexperienced to understand yourself yet---you don’t understand your needs and when you feel their demands they frighten you sometimes.” 

 

The girl was looking at him as she shook her head no.  It wasn’t the headshake of a panicked teenager.  It looked more like the unconscious movement of a woman who was willing to fight to the death. 

 

“A girl like you?  With your looks?  You’re gonna hate it and you’re gonna love it.  Being a sexual creature--it’s a balancing act you’ll experience, half way between worship and consumption, between possession and obsession, both absorbing and devouring the things that inflame your lust.  I’m gonna show you the unlimited ecstasy which comes with willingly handing over everything, your spirit and self-control, your anguish and your body, to a dark lover.  A man who causes your pain, yet who licks away your tears even while he puts you in a protective embrace.”

 

Her beautiful eyes were huge and she still shook her head.  Her wild eyes told him he was crazy.  He snorted.  Most of them reacted just like this at first.  But they all came around eventually.  They all ended up willingly spreading for him, letting him do almost anything he wanted to them

 

He nodded his head eloquently, perceptively.  “I’ll know what you need the moment you need it and I’ll give it to you in ways you never imagined, in ways which transcend all those books you’ve read and even more, anything that you could have dreamed.”

 

At the same time, in his mind he was thinking, you poor, stupid teenage girl.  I could almost pity you.  You’ll eventually understand that what you’ve given me when I’m done with you is everything you are.  I already have your body, but what I really want is your mind and your soul.  How frightened would you be if you knew I’ve already taken a hundred women like you and broken them all?  That every one of them has given me exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed?  That I’m good at my job and I enjoy it—I just wish I could tell you how very much I enjoy it.  How I KNOW that a young woman with your kind of looks was put on this earth for only one reason, and that’s to give pleasure to a man.  That inexperienced bitches like you should not be allowed to squander your body on just any man, but needs to be subdued and domesticated like any other wild animal, and then savored and enjoyed by the right man.  A man who will appreciate your beauty and your youth, one who will choose when and how and where he takes you and who will then choose, maybe, to share your beauty with others of his kind.  And if you learn nothing else, I promise you, you’ll learn to obey and to give pleasure.

 

 

I pretty much ignored most of what he said at the end.  I laid on the bed and writhed in anger and frustration, in terror and humiliation.  My face felt on fire from the blood rushing to it as I barely listened to this man talk about things I didn’t understood, things that I did not want to understand.  He wasn’t going to absorb me and there was no way I would ever willingly cooperate with him---in anything!!  Whatever he wanted, he would have to take by force and it would be against my will in every way and forever.  I would fight him to my last breath. 

 

 

Bossman continued speaking as his chocolate-smooth voice dropped an octave.  “It may take a day or two, but I’m going to show you that it’s all about you giving, while you continue to tell yourself that I’m taking.  In the end, it’s about intimacy, about you and me wallowing in naked honesty….”

 

 

Naked honesty?  My outraged gaze snapped back to his face as I screamed incomprehensible obscenities at him through the rubber which filled my mouth. 

 

 

“……..about you not being alone with your fright and your distress and your pain.  You have fears and needs, and once I have broken and trained you, you’ll want to lose yourself in that desire, to offer me the gift of your suffering….and the more dismal the better, because there, in the darkness you will pretend that you have no accountability for your own cravings, there you are a little girl again and a victim of your own beauty.  And I’ll be there to save you from yourself and to give your life meaning.”

 

 

Absolutely bonkers, crazy.  I looked away from him.  As confused and terrified as I felt at the moment, I was pretty damn sure I had no cravings and there was absolutely nothing this form which this monster was going to save me.  I was not going to lose myself in desires of any kind, and I most definitely wasn’t giving this…this…dangerous….criminal…any gift of my suffering.  Where did he get this kind of talk? 

 

 

Bossman looked at her, deep into her eyes as he said with an enigmatic smile, “In the end, to do this to you is in a way really very simple.  There are only two things I need to discover and then take from you.  One; what is it that you hide from us?  With ones like you, there is always something, one small critical thing that you hide from others.  The other is what do you hide from yourself?  There are always things about which we lie to ourselves; what is it that you keep secret even from yourself?  You may not even be aware of these things yet yourself.  But as soon as I approach them, you will immediately know how valuable they are to you---and to me.  You will fight me, you will try to deceive, but in the end you will fail at that too.”

 

“Once I discover what you wish above all else to be kept hidden from us, you’ll have given me the lever to move your world.  And when I strip away that cloak of familiarity which allows you to lie to yourself, you’ll have no place left to run to or hide when all of your other beliefs about yourself come crashing down around you.”

 

 

My mind focused a little as he spoke, but my emotions still ran unchecked, my anxiety and fear remained undiminished.  I was being held captive, naked, by this crazy man.  I knew he was absolutely insane.  He just had to be.  But insane people can hurt you as much as the sane.  Regardless of what happened, he…he was unsettling.  Even more distressing, his words actually seemed to mean something to him.  It was as if he was speaking a language only he understood.  That it had meaning to him and to others even, but I was the only one who didn’t understand, who wasn’t educated enough to understand what he was really saying to me. 

 

He spoke like one of my college professors, like my Behavioral Psych prof—I had hated that man for some reason.  Chills ran down my spine and I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck as these thoughts scared me all over again.  

 

 

“And by doing this, I will push you through the biggest turmoil you have ever faced.  What you eventually do here, for us, will be of far greater significance to you than being kidnapped.  It will mean that you will have to change your view of me and you and your whole world.  What you get here will be the equivalent of a cosmic mid-life crisis.  I’ll change your beliefs about yourself.  I’ll change your values and the way that you want to behave---and there’s nothing you can do to stop us.”

 

The dark man shook his head at the young girl’s feeble attempts to first free herself and when that failed, as it must, to then cover her complete nakedness.  Stupidly, she continued the same unsuccessful attempts to cover her nakedness over and over again. 

 

“Shit, woman, know this.  You can’t escape from me.  If you try, you’ll find that you need to swim, a lot.  And even if you did somehow manage to get away, do you believe I would allow your family to also be that lucky?”

 

Bossman stopped for a second, an annoyed look on his face.  He slapped the ankle closest to him, the one she had been pulling and tugging with. “And stop trying to get yourself free.  Ain’t happening.” 

 

After a moment, the annoyed look disappeared and he continued. “Your parents are on TV right now, talking about you and your disappearance.  They love you profoundly---do you love your mom and dad as deeply in return?  Do you love that pretty aunt of yours?  I gotta tell you, she looks pretty sexy.  Do you love your family enough to keep them out of this and safe?  You know your purse had every bit of personal info we needed on you.  We know your home address in Mississippi.  We know where your aunt and your grandparents live.  We know where your friends live.” 

 

He shook his head but put the inscrutable smile on again, “Police can’t protect all of them forever.  You belong to me; and I will have your body.  But if necessary, I promise that we’ll kill your father, and have your mother and your aunt here inside of twenty-four hours and then they’ll take your place on this bed.”

 

“I often find that people care about the lives of loved ones than they do their own.”  He gave a small shrug, “Aren’t people funny?” 

 

 

My parents?  My family?  The thoughts of harm coming to them shocked Vicki, shocked her to the core.  I…what….I…..  Even in her mind, she stammered.  He can’t hurt them!  He—they—can’t be allowed to hurt them.  I…I won’t allow it!  The resolve she felt at that moment, the purpose, was the first really familiar emotion she’d experienced in the last couple of hours.  Vicki rotated her hips and ankles again in an increasingly familiar failure to accomplish anything.  She didn’t really think she’d accomplish anything, but she wasn’t the type of girl to give up.

 

 

Bossman leaned forward and stared at his captive intensely.  “Do you want that?  Do you believe me?  Is that what you want?  Do you want to see your mother taking your place here, tied down, spread eagled and naked on this bed?  Only you can protect them---only you!” 

 

Without waiting for an answer, he leaned into her face and glared fiercely, “You will never speak of us.  Because if you do, your father will die and the other two women in your life will both wind up slaving in your place.  Guaranteed, no matter how long it takes.  The threat against your family stands for as long as you live.  I doesn’t have an expiration date.  He will die and the white lilies at his funeral will be from me.  I am a man of my word.  Look into my eyes—do you believe me?”

 

His captive looked into his fierce brown eyes and she believed.

 

“Of course” he leaned back into his chair, “You can always try to commit suicide.  But that’s not really an option for a good Catholic girl like you, is it?”  

 

 

The girls are usually branded impersonally, perfunctorily, as cattle.  Though they feel the mark intensely physically, it is felt, interestingly, even more intensely, more profoundly, psychologically; not unoften it, in itself, radically transforms their self-images, their personalities.  They are only slaves, not permitted their own wills, rightless, at the bidding of masters; the mark is an impersonal designation and this is understood by the girls.  When she is marked she understands herself not to be marked by a given man for a given man, to be uniquely his, but rather, so to speak, that she is marked for all men.  To all men she is a slave girl.  Usually, of course, only one among them, at a given time, will be her master.  The brand is impersonal, the brand marks her as property.  The brand is impersonal, the collar is intensely personal.  The brand marks her property, the collar proclaims whose property she is, who it is who has actually taken, or paid for, her.  That the brand is an impersonal designation of absence of status in the social structure is perhaps another reason why masters do not often brand their own girls.

-Tribesmen of Gor - Page 42

 

The blonde teenager ignored his jibe.  For some reason a guilty look came over her face and she refused to look at him.  Bossman gave a quick, unseen nod to his man and while he talked, the other man approached Vic.  “Your future owner has several requirements regarding his newly acquired slaves.”

 

With his left hand, Elvis quickly grabbed a handful of Victoria’s blonde hair and twisted her head sharply toward her right shoulder, while with his right hand he reached down and grabbed a small electric device that had rested unnoticed behind Vicki’s head.  The faint burning smell she had noticed before was suddenly explained as the end of the rod was heated to a white, orangish-red glow. 

 

Without warning or hesitation, he immediately plunged it behind her left ear just below her hairline.  Her whole body arched stiff, Victoria gave an inarticulate cry as she felt an intense burning pain and suddenly smelled burning hair.  When he let go of her hair and withdrew the small branding iron after about five seconds, her green eyes were bulging in shock and pain as she looked at him again.

 

Bossman had a slight smile on his face as he explained in a reassuring manner, “Your new master likes his property properly marked as to ownership, so there’ll no mistakes, no errors.  Your brand will be small and quite discrete.  Others have worn it before you without problem and I guarantee yours won’t bother you at all.”

 

 

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, wait, wait, stop!

-Gary, in The Muppets

 

He’d branded me.  He’d had me branded!  Part of me was in shock, part of me was filled with disbelief.  I’d been branded like a cow—I couldn’t believe it!  I hadn’t even had time to begin crying and the act was already complete.  I forgot about my nakedness, and as I looked at him, my eyes flooded and then tears of pain fell on my cheeks.  As I began to cry, I blushed too with my embarrassment at crying.  Finally, a burning rage began to build inside of me. 

 

This just can’t be happening to me, I thought as I raged uselessly once more against my bonds.  This just isn’t possible in this day and age.

 

Without another word, Elvis then climbed on the bed and straddled my stomach.  His weight made it almost impossible for me to expand my chest to breath and it totally immobilized me.  I couldn’t breathe and panic filled me!  I began to struggle weakly, but the two men just ignored me.  Reaching just above my head, he removed a rubber glove and put it on his right hand.  Holding that hand clear, he then used his left hand to slap first my right breast and then my left. 

 

His blows didn’t hurt, but no one had ever treated me like this and for a second I lay frozen with shock.  But then I reacted, struggling even harder, wildly heaving my hips in the air to buck him off of me, pitching myself from side to side in an attempt to get his weight off of me.  He settled his weight even more deeply on me, and I knew struggling was futile from the beginning.  But I had to try.  Keeping me pinned almost effortlessly, the man continued pinching my nipples and slapping me, first on one breast and then other, until both nipples were standing completely erect. 

 

Grabbing my left breast and roughly immobilizing my nipple between his left forefinger and thumb, Elvis smiled at the black man and said, “That’s very nice”.  Reaching just above my head again, but now with his gloved right hand, he pulled out something about the size of a large Bobbie pin and without hesitation, drove it from the outside to the inside of the base of my nipple, completely piercing my left breast.  I bucked shocked surprise and shrieked my pain through the gag, resulting in a surprisingly loud howl of wordless anguish.

 

Still keeping me pinned with his body, the man left in the first needle piercing my breast.  He reached up to grab a second one and proceeded to pierce my right nipple in the same manner.  I was gasping and huffing for breath now, choking with the saliva that was accumulating behind my gag, trying at the same time to blink away the tears of pain that were streaming from my eyes.  The pain in each nipple was both sharp and intense and wouldn’t go away.  It just seemed to build and build.  Or perhaps it was in my mind, I just don’t know.  However, I was heavily sweating now from head to foot and I found it even more difficult to get enough air.

 

 

Little blood leaked from the small punctures in the blonde’s breasts and without a word, Elvis withdrew the needle from the teenager’s left nipple and, accompanied by muffled feminine huffing sounds, pushed a fine, one-inch diameter gold ring through the hole left behind.  There was a one-inch ring on one end of the bar, while the other end was threaded.  Turning to her right breast, he pierced that nipple too.  The cunt now had a ring through each nipple.  He closed each ring and finally put a drop of liquid-gold solder on each gap, effectively locking each ring into the bitch’s breasts. 

 

She was glaring at him now through teary eyes, sniffing when her nose ran too much.  Bossman looked at her thoughtfully and said in a soothing tone more appropriate for talking to a two-year old, “This hurts now, but you’ll be OK soon.  We’ve done this before and I guarantee you’ll be healed by the end of the week.”  Standing up and walking over to her, he took a small tube of ointment out of his right pocked and softly rubbed it into soft flesh of each pierced area.

 

 

Through the tears that refused to stop, I knew my eyes blazed with rage at what he had just ordered done to me.  No matter what it was, I would die before I gave him satisfaction of any kind.  I turned my face away, refusing to look at him.  If I could just hold on long enough, I knew something must happen that would give me a chance to escape.  My nose was running.  I sniffed in misery. 

 

 

Capture a woman's body, you get sex.  Capture a woman's heart, you get love and loyalty.  Capture her mind, you get the woman.  Any Man can bind a woman's flesh, but only a true Master can bind her heart.

-Unknown

 

Bossman smiled to himself.  Having done this so often before, he could read her flashing eyes like an open book and was not at all worried.  She would never have a chance to get free while on the boat, and by the time he was done with her will, her mind, she wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly.

 

It had been good start with the nipples and the branding, he thought.  She really was quite naïve.  With this one, her beautiful green eyes were a window to her soul and they let him know at every step just how effective he was and what he had to do next.  It was time to begin. 

 

He had broken many females before, some as young as or even younger than this one, some older.  With all of these women, there was always a script of some sort he needed to follow.  His experience told him that the psychological aspect was always more important in breaking a woman’s will than was either physical force or intimidation to sap her strength.  And developing that script kept everyone on task, sort of. 

 

While he knew that he wanted the new blonde, he still hadn’t decided in detail what was required to turn her into what he wanted.  She didn’t seem particularly strong willed, at least at first scan.  But on Cancun his crew had uncovered some interesting facts.  She did have some strong beliefs, particularly about her family; these feelings of loyalty and belonging were rather quaint and old-fashioned and he thought he might be able to take advantage of them.  And while intelligent, she’d been overly protected by her family and as a result was fairly unsophisticated. 

 

Another interesting tidbit was that while she tended to view herself as modest and shy, perhaps even chaste, there were also instances in which she’d portrayed just the opposite behavior.  Certainly there had been a couple of times in Cancun when to their surprise, the watchers had felt that after a couple of drinks, she’d actually come onto a couple of guys, one at the beach and another at a bar one night.  At the same time, while she’d also dressed in a way that his men had perceived as quite provocative, she had never allowed anything to come of it.  But it was interesting because it seemed anomalous.  To him, there seemed to be a disconnect between how she acted sometimes and how she always saw herself.  Taken together, this tended to suggest she was much more sexually charged than perhaps even she was aware.

 

Beautiful, yet not overly taken with her looks, at least not more than any other teenager with her upbringing.  More popular than normal, yet not particularly outgoing.  Sexually inexperienced and a little conservative by nature.  Smart, yet naïve, and strongly loyal to her family. There was a ton of shit to work with here, the script almost wrote itself. 

 

When she had finally been selected, his crew had taken additional pictures and made videos of her on Cancun.  Everything had been emailed to him on the boat.  His first thought when he saw her was how young she had looked.  But, then again, they all looked young to him now.  After viewing the films taken of her by his crew at Cancun and listening to her conversations that had been secretly taped, he decided to follow normal protocols: the crew would isolate her on the boat and would begin to sexually brutalize her.  At the same time, he would also put her on an immediate program of the “friendship” drugs. 

 

Within reason, all of his men would have free rein with her body.  That kind of sexual deviancy screwed up every woman’s mind.  As usual, the teenager would be gagged and not be allowed to “quit” too early.  She must be forced to experience the full brunt of terror and helplessness; gagged most of the time, she wouldn’t be able beg for mercy or tell anyone how she wanted to cooperate and make it all stop—it only stopped when he said it did.  She would not be allowed to sleep and she would be given the minimum amount of food that would allow her body to still continue functioning. 

 

There would be no clocks so she would soon become disoriented, losing any sense of time other than daylight and darkness.  She would not be allowed to perform her bodily functions in a normal manner and multiple ways would be found to punish her using her own filth for extended periods.  This last tended to hasten the psychological fracturing of the young and previously protected girls.

 

Once she’d broken, once she had achieved realization, he would begin his re-education program.  He’d take away her given name to remove any emotional support that it might give her.  As best he could, he would also develop a positive relationship with her—sometimes that was the hardest thing of all to accomplish, other times it was far easier than expected.  To insulate himself as best he could from being seen by the teenager as her main terrorizer, once he’d initiated her, he’d make sure he was not actually involved in most of the follow-up; the physical aspects of breaking her or participating in her day to day sexual reprogramming or training that followed. 

 

In fact, he would pretty much avoid the girl during her training periods.  He had to be seen as the absent ‘Master’, perhaps only being around afterwards.  A corollary to this he had discovered was that once she was broken, one or two of the men had to be seen as particularly brutal in their training and discipline, while she had to see at least another one of the crewman as being almost supportive or even being worthy of her trust. 

 

During this initial period, the evil men would be gentle with her every now and then, while the nice man might present himself as supportive one day and abusive the next.  This was all necessary in order to keep her psychologically off balance---confused, she must unlearn any habits of being able to trust her instincts.’

 

The training program consisted of using force to compel her to perform explicit sexual acts, most of which he was sure that she would initially find both humiliating and degrading.  When she cooperated, she would be rewarded, except for the times when she was punished for not cooperating enough.  At the same time, strong physical and psychological punishments would be used to punish unacceptable behavior.  If she was like the others, the young woman would very quickly devolve, to begin to performing sexually for the men, even as she continued to consider that behavior demeaning and degrading.  Once she’d been started down this road, the level of sexual humiliation would be continually revised upwards.

 

While physical force was important, probably the main psychological coercion used against her would be her family (continually physically threatening close family members if she was uncooperative, convincing the girl that her family had abandoned her and through conversation, subtly attacking loyalty to family as old-fashioned and perhaps even inappropriate or unwarranted under the circumstances). 

 

Finally, he would convince her she explicitly presented a sexually conflicted personality.  He would use this to undermine any defense of her conservative sexual core-values in order to bring out what should be the ‘true, more liberated’ her.  Hopefully, this would allow his young captive to eventually view the willingly promiscuous behavior demanded of her as not only acceptable, but perhaps even desirable or ‘freeing.’ 

 

Taken together as a whole, the reprogramming he put his women through was extremely powerful.  Even if they were educated and knew exactly what was being done to them at that moment, it was generally impossible for the women to fight.  And when the uninitiated were shown later what had been done to them and why, their reaction was invariably that of tears of shame and finally, acceptance of their fate, rather than continuing to fight.

 

Bottom line: in this kidnapped teenager, he wanted to create both a woman that was submissive, who liked sex if had not become addicted to it and who would also be totally indiscriminate in her behavior at the demand of any she perceived as dominant.  If he was successful, she’d be everything he wanted.  And he had no reason to think he would fail here after he’d been successful so many times in the past.

 

Like many powerful men, Bossman always reserved first taste for himself.  He now began the dance that would ultimately end with her total subjugation by turning away from her and saying; “I don’t think I like you; I know I don’t like what you stand for.  You have an over-bearing pride, you’re white and wealthy and you’re from the south.  We’ve been watching you for two weeks, and you don’t seem to like black men.  Now, I find that interesting.”

 

She had been naked for a while and nothing had happened to her.  But it seemed the atmosphere in the boat cabin had suddenly changed.  Warily, the blonde teenager now watched him from her bed as a mouse might watch a dangerous cat. 

 

He had taken off his tank top while speaking and folded it.  He was nothing if not a methodical man.

 

He then began removing his trunks: “And the thing that’s interesting is that I have a handpicked crew of four more just like me waiting up top for you.  You’re going to be broken and trained by the very thing in life that you have done your best to avoid.” 

 

He heard a soft whimper from the bed but ignored it, casually folding his trunks and putting them on top of his tank top.

 

He now stood up straight still facing away from her.  He was tall and built like a bull from the back.  “Think about your mother and your aunt, and whether it’s better for you to go through this ordeal alone or if both of them should be here taking your place.  By the way, your aunt’s a tasty piece and I almost hope you do something stupid.”

 

 

I just want to sleep.  A coma would be nice.  Or amnesia.  Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind.  Did he rape my head, too?

-Laurie Halse Anderson, in Speak

 

With that he slowly turned around and faced me.  It took me a moment to register what I was looking at—Jesus God, Jesus!  Without thinking, I screamed and frantically began struggling against my bonds.  He was huge!  At least 9 or 10 inches long and the straining purple head of his circumcised cock looked like it was the size of a navel orange!  His erection and nutsack were a darker color than the rest of him and even as I was looking at him, I saw his engorged penis slowly rise until it jutted out into the air like a huge flag pole.  A massive black flag pole which narrowed only a little from tip to base.

 

I was now only subconsciously aware of my nakedness and the vulnerability it offered him.  As I struggled, frantic thoughts that I didn’t remember two seconds later kept racing through my mind.  I’d only been with one man before—I knew there was no way that this mutant could fit into me without tearing my flesh, ripping me to pieces--he was a monster, an inhuman monster.  I struggled desperately; as he approached, but nothing worked, nothing helped. 

 

Stop it, my father’s voice suddenly demanded in my head.  You’re being weak.  Stay focused!   I inhaled as best I could once, and then closed my eyes as I tried to focus on what had happened, on how I could get away from this. 

 

“Welcome to your new life,” he said quietly. 

 

I looked at him.  He stood in front of me for a minute, literally ensuring I could see him clearly—all of him.  I tried to look away, then looked at the ceiling.  My eyes flicked down once more to him and then back to the ceiling as I slowly, methodically twisted my wrists in an attempt to free myself that I knew from the beginning would fail.  But I had to try. 

 

Then my mind went blank as it was taken over once more by sheer fear.  My mind stopped working altogether and I suddenly felt cold spreading throughout my body, frozen as if I was filled with mile-thick layer of glacial ice as he slowly lay down on top of me between my wide-spread, tightly bound ankles, letting his weight settle onto my belly and chest. 

 

I couldn’t even help myself then.  He was like a mongoose and I the cobra—I looked into his eyes and saw nothing human there.  I screamed then.  But both heavy and solid, he snuggled against my body and my breathing became instantly more difficult.  I couldn’t scream again, I couldn’t fill my lungs!  Claustrophobia roared into my mind as I slowly suffocated: I felt nauseous and thought I might have to throw up and that would be awful with a gag filling my mouth.  The thought, God, no. No, no, no, nnnnooooo, kept running through my head.

 

As I threw my head from side to side in my struggles, I felt him move around on my belly and hips, settling into a more comfortable position on me.  I kept trying to move to make it more difficult for him, yet when suddenly he moved his hips the first time---his aim was perfect!! 

 

However, my vagina was dry and my labia difficult at first to part; he stopped abruptly after forcing only about half an inch of his erection’s massive head into my pussy on his first attempt. 

 

I was a sexually inexperienced teenager and this felt like someone was trying to hammer a mailbox inside me or drive a truck into me.  I screamed even though there was only minimal penetration at this point, because I knew he was only in the initial stages of tearing me apart.  My shriek fell on deaf ears.  I muffled my next cry, trying to control the pain.

 

He pushed again and I bucked my hips in desperation as I felt the lips of my vagina stretching beyond belief this time.  Once more I desperately tried to close my legs, but my bindings still kept my legs open and me completely vulnerable to him.  I almost felt the muscles on the insides of my thighs pull into cramps as they strained against my spread ankles.  At the same time, my screams morphed to even more desperate sounds, at the end reaching the level of one long “Uhhhhnnnnmmpphhhhhh!” 

 

 

Bossman groaned with sheer pleasure as he buried about four inches of his bone into her this time.  Her hips bucked desperately under his, surprisingly hard given how little air she could get into her lungs.  He kept her belly flat on the bed, and since the little bitch’s pussy had finally begun to lubricate a little, he knew he’d be able to bury his cock to hilt in her when he slammed his next thrust home.  He looked down at her face, the look of total shock on it and in her eyes showed how completely rational thought had fled this teenage beauty.  The cynical manipulation of her mind combined with his sheer overpowering maleness, it was an unfailing combination.  He lifted himself up on his elbows, pulled his hips back and….

 

 

I found myself looking at the ceiling over his right shoulder through eyes continually blurred by tears.  My nose was running from all the crying I had done, and this further complicated my breathing.  God knows I tried to struggle, but I couldn’t seem to get enough air.  I don’t think it would have mattered even if I had been both free and strong enough to try to throw him off of me. 

 

And I was suddenly convinced that he was toying with me, stretching the rape out for some reason.  After suffering through his first two partial penetrations, I knew he would be able to take from me whatever he wanted from this point on.  And even without fully penetrating me, his erection felt absolutely huge and still seemed to completely fill me.  I was crying continually.  I was both frustrated and shamed by my helplessness; I was filled with horror that I could not stop him.  It was a total violation of me and he was in complete control.

 

Then it happened—massively—thoroughly—without mercy.  With his third bull-like thrust, I knew with absolute certainty that he now possessed me completely---there was nothing left inside me he hadn’t explored with his last move.  I felt my eyes bulge as the head of his thick cock seemed to bang against the base of my throat.  Still crying, I screamed again into the gag that filled my mouth as I felt my flesh tear.  My cry of horrified anguish carried out over the water through an open porthole but was lost long before it reached the nearby island. 

 

Amazingly, my rectum hurt almost as much as my pussy when he filled me beyond my physical limits time after time after time!  God help me, why was this happening?  Why me, God?  Why me?  My world had been destroyed—it was as if my whole world had fallen off a cliff and lay crushed at the bottom.  My previous reality had just disappeared as if wiped clean by a cosmic eraser. 

 

His shaft was finally buried inside me up to hilt and it felt as if it was the size of a tree trunk. . He was so big that every time he moved on me, it made me instinctively try to pull my knees up into my chest to protect myself, but all I could do was strain helplessly against my bonds even as my knees clamped against his sides.

 

 

He now began taking long, slow, deep satisfying strokes into his sweet little blonde’s inexperienced body.  With every thrust, his balls slapped against the crack of her ass.  Her whole body shook and quivered under him.  To him the moist heat from her cunt felt great; she felt extraordinarily tight around his cock and he knew that each time he thrust into her, he was filling her completely.  As usual, the idea of forever possessing an untamed woman as beautiful as this one was wonderfully erotic. 

 

Even more satisfying was the way she responded to his every thrust with a muffled “Mmmmppphhh” or “Kkkgghhnoooo” and to each withdrawal with a soft, heartfelt moan.  This was always the best part, he thought to himself; to be able to control a beautiful, undomesticated woman like this and to know that he could do anything to her in any way he chose.  No one would ever try to stop him.  She was his and he was going to tame her his way, making his claim permanent the best way he knew.

 

 

My whole world centered on the sensations I endured.  I shuddered uncontrollably and kept losing my breath as he slammed into me.  This made it almost impossible for me to scream, but yet I still tried almost every time he buried himself in me.  I began hiccoughing as I cried and saliva continually built up in mouth.  I choked and swallowed convulsively but could never seem to get my mouth emptied of saliva. 

 

His huge erection not only filled me, but also seemed to be rubbing and pushing and sliding against every organ in my body.  As inexperienced as I was, the sensations were totally unlike anything I had ever felt before.  He gave such a feeling of unnatural fullness that my vagina felt like it had been expanded far, far beyond what it should be and it was now rubbing, pushing against my pelvis from the inside.

 

He was a machine made of ebony flesh and wouldn’t stop.  My continued sobbing only energized him, never seemed to make him feel guilty, never made him want to stop or set me free.  Sweat continually rolled off of him onto me.  My body was quickly covered with his sweat, and it was especially slick on my belly and chest.  His sweat somehow felt thick and smelled…musky.  I was unused to a man’s odor like this and the raw animal smell made me want to vomit. 

 

Every now and then he would just stop and lay motionless on me, but he always ensured he kept me filled.  He would be breathing heavily, but that was his only movement. 

 

I think this was another of his tortures. 

 

His giant organ remained buried completely inside me during these moments of stillness, and although it was motionless, it still seemed to throb and pulse like something alive as intense heat radiated from it in waves.  I had never felt anything like it---it seemed to be like an animal lying in wait, ready to take me by force again even as it consumed me over and over. 

 

During those moments in which neither of us moved, I was physically connected to him only by the rigid, black bar of his engorged flesh, but it was enough to still control my body and my every thought. 

 

It finally began again.  I was no longer crying as he thrust into me again, randomly changing angles of penetration as his hips drove into me, first slamming into me at a shallow angle to my body.  With each of these lunges, he did his best to drive my body toward the head of the bed.  Only the restraints at the foot of the bed kept me in a position ready to receive his next frenzied attack. 

 

I cried out often in pain or when begging for his mercy, but that was all—my tears had mostly dried up at this point.  In some ways, the worst part was that his size was no longer so intimidating.  I had somehow begun to accommodate his manhood even as my faltering mind had somehow acclimatized to being raped by him. 

 

Then he slid up my stomach and assumed a blunter angle to my body, where each thrust would rub more against my clitoris and he seemed to trying to drive me into the bed under him, as if he had to break its springs.  The pressure and friction on my clit from the unceasing hammering while in this position was almost unbearable. 

 

This was not sex, it was a controlled violation of my body.  He was like a force of nature.  How could you fight a hurricane or a tornado?  There was no fighting this, all I could do was try to survive.  I knew I was being totally consumed, ravaged and raped by an animal obsessed with destroying me. 

 

And all I could do was endure. 

 

I told myself it would soon be over and prayed he would let me go then.  Very soon, it became a little easier as I got wetter between my legs.  To my humiliation, my juices had finally began to flow freely—I was horrified at the thought he might think I was enjoying this.  But none of that really mattered as he just kept going on and on, pistoning his cock into me for over ten minutes.  He got heavier and heavier lying on my chest, his weight at the end was unbearable on my sweat-slick belly and groin.

 

Finally, I heard him groan softly in my ear.  With a feeling of total horror, I instinctively knew he would soon achieve orgasm within me.  The thought filled me with absolute disgust, with overwhelming horror.  I was dizzy at this point, and either kept my eyes closed or tried staring at a point on the ceiling of the cabin.  My inexperienced vagina was very sore at this point from his unending pile driver slams into me.  I could feel how my body had betrayed me by finally stretching to accommodate his enormous erection.  I knew I would be sore later.  How sore I remained I wouldn’t know for hours and days later. 

 

 

Bossman had found his teenaged captive to be a physically extraordinary women, fully capable of accepting his full cock from almost the first thrust.  Few white women were able to take what he’d given her without first being gradually warmed up by taking only a few inches at a time.  When he’d fucked some of the other bitches like this, he’d actually injured a couple of the lesser ones. 

 

He was an expert in this and regardless of how she might feel right now, her vagina had taken him in without injury and she was now easily accepting anything he could put into her.  If he wanted to hurt her, he knew he could put her body in other positions that would allow him to make her scream for mercy in seconds.  But these moves he kept for later punishments

 

To extend his pleasure with his young blonde, he’d been stopping whenever he felt an orgasm build.  He always tried to maintain control when he was on a job, and he always knew when he’d gone far enough.  He felt a full-on boiling in his loins now, and he knew he was going to cum soon and couldn’t control it anymore. 

 

He wanted her to feel his ownership, emotionally, intellectually, physically.  He needed to plant himself in her so deep that she would never be touched like this by another man.  If he’d had her in certain other….positions, he knew that he would have had to be more careful.  But once he’d measured her capacity as a woman, with her flat on her back like this, he knew that he could finally let himself go, give rein to his overpowering animal lust and penetrate her as deeply as his heart desired without hurting her too much. 

 

With nothing in his mind except the will to dominate and to subjugate, the basic driving male need to prove eternal ownership over a female, the desire to impregnate every woman available, Bossman pushed off the end of the bed with his feet and tried to get that all important last centimeter deeper into her hot and tight, fresh and moist hole before he finally lost all control.

 

 

I had the sniffles and still struggled to breathe as my body jerked back and forth under him on the bed.  I felt so alone and vulnerable and afraid at that moment.  God!!  I was only nineteen.  Inexperienced nineteen-year old girls should not have to go through this, no one should never have to suffer this!  I wanted to be home again.  I hadn’t talked with either of them very much in the months preceding my trip here—I guess I always assumed they would be there whenever I wanted them.  I wanted my mother now, to hold me once more; I wanted my father to tell that everything would be okay, that he would protect me. 

 

Instead, my mind took me back to the boat and it filled with horror as I felt the man lying on me hunch up on my sweaty belly and then brace his feet on the foot of the bed, allowing him push into me as deeply as he could one more last time.  It was almost as if with this last move, he somehow felt he could claim my body as his forever, if he just planted his seed deeply enough in my belly. 

 

He was now deeper in me than seemed humanly possible, bumping right up against, painfully pushing against my cervix with the tip of his erection.  It was a new move and filled me with a horrified anticipation of even worse things! 

 

Then he began to ejaculate and huge great waves of heat began to blossom inside me as he injected his hateful semen into my helpless body in a series of explosive ejaculations.  Detestable, repugnant sensations filled my body as tears blinded me once more; I knew I could never go lower than this feeling of total helplessness had taken me. 

 

I could actually feel him ejaculate in pulses; he came in gushing, cutting jets of semen that seemed to travel almost to the tip of my womb, all resulting in a series of vibrating sensations so intense I almost passed out.  I could tell when each spurt occurred, because of the lava-like heat each generated anew inside my vagina.  It felt like he came in torrents, leaving his blistering hot fluid deep inside my belly. 

 

I was humiliated anew as each spurt of semen caused a scalding pain/pleasure throb that seemed to go on forever.  Pleasure?  God, I was so embarrassed to admit the truth.  Finally, God help me, he was finished with me for the moment and lay upon me as he caught his breath—waves of revulsion rolled over me.  I have never hated another human being as much as I hated this man at this moment. 

 

 

He’d just had a pretty good orgasm inside this beautiful young teenage girl.  Not the best ever, but pretty damn good for an inexperienced piece of ass who was tied down. After a couple of minutes, he finally had caught his breath and was ready for act two.  He grabbed Vic’s hair and pulled her head to the right again and whispered into her ear, “I hope your birth control is working well, because if it’s not, you’re gonna to be having a nice little half-breed nigger baby to take home to daddy in about nine months!” 

 

He was playing mind games now, using any psychological wedge that might help him eventually break her or control her.

 

 

With shock, I remembered I’d been at the end of my BC patch and had planned on replacing it when I got back home.  I hadn’t been with a man in over a year and used birth control simply to help regulate my periods rather than protect me from an unwanted pregnancy.  I’d become thoughtless and uncaring, careless with this---oh God!  He couldn’t have known this, it must have been nothing more than a coincidence. 

 

At the same time, a small voice whispered in my head, telling me he was right.  I remember my mama telling me a woman always knew these things.  Godgodgod, he might be right!  After what he’d just done to me, I might be pregnant!  I might be having his child!  And if I couldn’t get free of him, there was nothing I could do about it, no way could I stop it. 

 

I have always been an optimist, and something told me I would somehow get out of this bind.  But oh my god, what would my father do?  What would he say? 

 

While I was not a violent or aggressive woman, even with his penis still inside me, I felt a white-hot rage begin to grow.  At this moment, I felt no shame from what had just been done to me, for this was not something I had wanted or deserved.  One man had just branded and pierced me, and another had just brutally raped me.  Each was a monster and I knew if I had a chance, I’d try my best to kill them both.  It didn’t matter what these men did to me, I’d beat them at their own game somehow and make them pay for what they were doing to me.

 

 

The silences after his last gasp were sung together by a blackbird.  I lay there, my eyes unable to close.  His were unable to open.  I listed the places where I hurt, and how much.  My loins felt ripped.  Something inside had torn.  There were seven places on my body where he had sunk his fangs into my skin and bitten.  He'd dug his nails into my neck, and twisted my head to one side, and clawed my face.  I hadn't made a noise.  He had made all the noise for both of us.  Had it hurt him?

-David Mitchell, in Ghostwritten

 

Bossman finally rolled off of Victoria and stood up.  Her hard, flat stomach was slick with his sweat, and he rubbed and patted it in an almost possessive sort of way before he grabbed his clothes.  He looked down upon her sleek, bound body and shook his head with admiration. 

 

She wasn’t crying anymore, but just stared up at the ceiling, her shiny eyes blinking rapidly.  She made no effort to cover her nakedness anymore.  It was obvious her mind had temporarily shut down.  He wasn’t surprised.  Young and naive.  Kidnapped in a foreign country, then taken to a boat somewhere unknown, then stripped, branded and raped by a guy who looked like he should be starring in a porno film. 

 

The physical compulsion to control the situation was foremost in his mind, controlled his every action.  He was too disciplined to stop now, despite how well everything had gone so far. 

 

 

Turning around, he went into the galley and spoke.  She remained motionless, stunned, and incapable of thought.  She could hear him say something, but could not understand what he said.  It must have been funny because anticipatory laughter followed his announcement and she heard a lot of feet coming down the steps and into the cabin.

 

She vaguely remembered two of the remaining four men in the recruiting team now surrounding her, just looking down at her.  The men stared at her, assessing her with open hostility and contempt.  What they saw deserved their scorn. 

 

Her hair was tangled and sticking to her head with sweat.  The rest of her slender body was covered in sweat too and the insides of her firm thighs were streaked with white, honey-thick rivulets of Bossman’s semen.  One small pool of cum was cooling into a sticky mess, trapped along with sweat, in her belly button.  Most of his seed however, was either still entombed deep inside her belly or was slowly draining out of her vagina, down the crack of her ass and onto the bed.

 

 

Suddenly, part of my mental fugue disappeared, replaced by an overwhelming sense of shocked vulnerability and fear…..and helpless rage.  While my rage gave me strength, my other emotions actually controlled me.  With the sudden entrance of the other men it only got worse.  Horrible chills, one after another, ran through my body as I was engulfed by the primal fear every woman who has ever lived has experienced at one time or another.  It threatened to overcome me, seemed to rise from my very bones and chill my blood.  A tiny part of me understood that what was happening was all planned, but my vulnerability was still real nonetheless. 

 

Stupidly, I began crying in my helpless rage and once more struggled on the bed.  But my attempts were weaker now than they had been before.  I soon stopped, my sweaty, naked chest heaving for air.  This scene just seem to excite them and the four men just laughed at my feebleness, even as their eyes ranged up and down my naked body like wolves staring at their next meal.  I have never felt so exposed and defenseless in my whole life. 

 

They laughed and spoke to me in the broken English of the Caribbean!  One of them, apparently the leader of the four, told me their boss always went first with a new trainee.  God!  I was their trainee!!  My eyes were blinking again and I fought back more tears.  He complained then, saying his boss often ruined their new women for other men.  But by God, they were willing to make an attempt to match him with me this time!!

 

 

She felt like a baton getting passed along in a relay race, completely devoid of any control over her destiny.

-Gretchen McNeil, in Possess

 

All of the men quickly stripped down.  The one I had nicknamed Elvis in particular was already hard and appeared impatient to get started.  I began to struggle, for he was apparently was lucky number two.  His eyes were angry, burning with hatred, accusing me as a white woman of things I hadn’t even done—and never would. 

 

His erection too was coal black and while over 8 inches long, it was not nearly as thick as his leader’s.  I was shaking my head no, no, as he impatiently crawled between my legs and settled down on my stomach, moving his hips against my sweaty flesh to get more comfortable. 

 

 

Since the bitch had already been Bossman-fucked once already, her pussy was already wet and stretched out.  With one thrusting motion of his hips, Elvis buried himself completely in her.  The kidnapped American teenager arched her back and gave a muffled involuntary scream as he too seemed to bang the top of her vagina. 

 

Gags were used on women like this for a reason.  When his women wore gags, Elvis really didn’t like them making a lot of incomprehensible noise so he raised up on his elbows and gave her two quick back and forth slaps to the face.  He didn’t care whether or not he cut the inside of her mouth and this happened again and again. 

 

Soon she lay quiet beneath him, stunned by his blows.  With his feet braced at the foot of the bed, each of his massive thrusts into her pussy drove her senseless body up towards the head of the bed, her ankle bindings then forced her knees together as her bindings became taut.  Each time he pushed into her body, her toes would involuntarily point together and her feet would arch towards the wall away from the foot of the bed.  It was like a professional dancer pointing with her toes and the men with Elvis snorted with laughter at this.  Every inch of their new whore’s body, it seemed, was under his control.

 

 

The rage was gone, a total waste of energy.  Now I just wanted to die.  The worst part was how the other men’s eyes never left my face or body while I was being raped.  Filled with anticipation at their turn with me, they laughed with each spastic move of my tortured body.  They mocked the moans I could not keep inside and the muffled screams my rapist caused.  Again and again, they struck me, just to keep me quiet.  It was clear my screams did little more than annoy them as they raped me. 

 

My head lolled to one side as he let go of my hair.  I vaguely heard them even make bets on who could get the most action from me.  I didn’t even have the strength to wonder what they meant by “action.” 

 

They called me “bitch” and “cunt” and “whore”, but most often they referred to me as their “slave”.  Except for actually raping me themselves, watching me be gang raped seemed to be the high point of their day.  I really did want to die of humiliation.  To these men, this was as much a spectator hobby as it was a participant sport.  The weight of my horrific new world settled in on my body then, crushing me with depression.  I had no way to fight them, no way to keep my pride or dignity, and any decency I might have once had was now gone.

 

They raped me all afternoon. 

 

Each man took his turn; all eagerly partaking of my helpless body.  Sometimes in addition to the rape, they’d use a cane to whip the insides of my thighs or belly or ribs, sometimes they’d hit me or slap me with their hands.  I was helpless, unable to avoid anything.  At first, while I still had the strength I tried to fight them physically, attempting to keep my body away from the worst of their abuse.  And I tried to fight them mentally by pretending that any woman could beat them--after all they were only five men.  I fought them emotionally by withdrawing deep within myself and not allowing my mind to feel the pain they were inflicting upon me.  By letting my body and mind shut down, I hoped to come through this horrible day without giving these animals the satisfaction of knowing how much they were hurting me.

 

But these last four, they were beyond anything an inexperienced teenager could ever know.  Obviously bored, or horny, or both, each of them took their time with me again and again and again.  Every man was well endowed; some were longer, some were thicker.  But all wanted multiple visits to the bed where I lay bound. 

 

As I lay there and one of them was cleaning my vagina with a wet cloth for perhaps the tenth time, I wanted to die of shame, of humiliation.  I had done nothing wrong, but I was humiliated nonetheless. 

 

The only one who had not come to my bed more than once was Bossman.  I knew he just sat up on deck and lazed in the sun, listening all the while to what his crew had to say about me--the prize they kept in the cabin below.

 

By the time the sun was setting, the men were exhausted for the day.  I think I was in severe shock at that point.  I know I lay quietly crying on the bed, my legs spread wide, still wearing my beautiful high heels.  There were no thoughts in my mind then.  It felt like my mind had been wrapped in multiple layers of protective cotton or bubble wrap.  I felt cutoff from all sources of outside stimulation. 

 

Perhaps it was my mind trying to protect itself?

 

I had tried, God, I really had.  But at the end I no longer had had the strength to fight them and my rage had fled after the second man had finished lying between my thighs.  Right now, as darkness finally settle over the water, my face was turned into my shoulder away from any man watching.  I was quietly crying with shame and humiliation at what had been done to me.  I did not even remember taking that position. 

 

My face was slightly swollen and there were light red welts on my stomach, tops and insides of my thighs, and over my exposed ribs.  My jaw ached terribly from the large gag and my mouth stung from all of the cuts on the inside of my mouth.  I was drooling excess saliva, it was running down the side of my face from the corner of my mouth.  There was a large wet spot outlining my hips on the sheet beneath me, consisting equally of sweat and the semen of five men. 

 

I was exhausted.  But if I could just get some rest, I would be able to fight them tomorrow.

 

I could occasionally hear the men on deck, each bragging about what they had done to me on different occasions.  I lay on the bed, alone with my thoughts and my pain.  Hearing them, that was the worst part; how could anyone enjoy hurting another person like they had? 

 

One I had named “Dog Nose” made lewd comments about my breasts and the new piercings, while another bragged about what he would get me to say when finally my gag came out.  One however, was particularly brutal and laughed about when he had made me scream; many more times than had the others. He seemed to have enjoyed my pain more than the dead-body, zombie sex he had with me. 

 

They were drinking beer on-deck as the sun went down.  It was like it was a normal end of the day for any typical bunch of workers.  I heard this go on for over an hour.  Yet, despite the horror I had just experienced, the respite allowed me to slightly clear my head and to get a little energy back.

 

Bossman finally came downstairs and just looked at me.  Even though he had been the first to rape me, he hadn’t been as abusive as the others.  Without saying a word, he took the ointment and again silently rubbed it into my pierced breasts. 

 

He looked at me for a long moment and then told me to stop crying.  Finally, he asked if I was thirsty.  I looked at him for a moment trying to decide if it was a trick and then sniffling like a little girl, I nodded I was. 

 

Bossman hesitated as if trying to reach a decision and the abruptly said, “Listen to me.  I’m going to take your gag off now so that you can drink some water through a straw.  I don’t want you saying a word to me unless it’s a yes or no answer to a direct question.  Do you understand?”

 

I nodded my understanding and Bossman reached down and released both of my ankles from the bed posts, causing incredible pain in my hips.  He next told me to rollover onto my stomach.  Filled with fear, I obeyed slowly and with much pain.  My hips hurt so much.  I had difficulty in doing this because my legs didn’t work right and I kept getting one or both of my heels hooked in the sheet. 

 

He gently straddled my body but not in an overtly sexual way, taking care to keep his weight off of me and unhooked my wrists from the top of the bed.  Unlocking the wrist cuffs from each other, he quickly rotated my arms down and into the small of my back where he again locked the cuffs together.  There was no fight left in me.  Next, he reached down and fumbled with the cheeks of my ass. 

 

His act filled me with fear at what might come next.  But suddenly, the incredible fullness and pain I had been feeling all day in my rectum disappeared.  Finally, taking my shoulders Bossman helped me rollover again and then scooched carefully over to the edge of the bed.  The semen stained bedding beneath my body had begun to cool and dry a little and it felt unpleasantly rough, yet sticky as I moved over it.

 

 

Her feelings were easily hurt, a valuable property in a slave girl.  Too, she could not control her feelings, another excellent property in a slave girl.  Her feelings, vulnerable, deep, exploitable, in her expressions and on her face, betrayed her, exposing her to men, and their amusement, as helplessly as her stripped beauty.  They made her more easily controlled, more a slave.

-Tribesmen of Gor - Pages 103 - 104

 

Bossman looked at his new cunt carefully.  Rotating up using just her abdominal muscles, she sat straight up on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.  Suddenly, she began to cry silently without looking up.  The girl’s shoulders shook as he allowed her to sob for another moment.  Then, he snapped his fingers and she finally looked at him, her breasts helplessly thrust forward, wrists still bound behind her back.  Her long blonde hair was a tangled, sticky, sweaty mess after one of her “recruiters” had cum in her face and hair.  What little remained of the blonde’s makeup was smeared around her eyes because of tears and she looked like a ridiculous raccoon. 

 

The girl’s knees were spread in an unladylike sprawl and finally she noticed him looking at the inside of her stained thighs.  A small amount of blood from tiny tears in her vagina was mixed with his semen and their sweat, staining her skin a light bronze.  High-heeled sandals emphasized her still perfect calves and as she sat erect with her arms bound behind her, her pierced breasts and swollen nipples reflected the glow of the setting sun. 

 

Physically only nineteen-years old, she looked like a bloody, yet unbowed goddess to him.  Mentally, he had no doubt she was in a whole different zip code. 

 

Bossman slowly unhooked the strap on the back of her neck that kept the black rubber pear in her mouth, and took the gag out.  She moved her jaw around a little and then sucked on the straw he offered, delivering gloriously chilled water to her parched throat. 

 

“Are you hungry”, he asked?

 

She glanced at him quickly out of the side of her tear-reddened eyes.  Like a small child who suspected some sort of a trick, she gave him a tiny nod in return.  He got up and walked over to the other side of the cabin where he picked up some hard, bland crackers.  Her eyes watched him move all the way there and all the way back.  He offered her sips of water alternating with the crackers, and both seemed to taste heavenly.

 

“Do you have to go to the bathroom,” he asked?  After another hesitation, still like a small child she nodded yes.

 

 

I shrank away from him, I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.  But I could barely walk even with his assistance.  He helped me stand up and walk over to a previously un-noticed door in the cabin.  I was unstable on the heels that had been on my feet during the entire rape and I could barely walk, could barely lift my feet.  My knees shook uncontrollably and my legs felt like they were made of lead. 

 

My lower back ached and I knew I walked bowlegged in a slightly bent over position, but I couldn’t help it.  The pain in my hips was due to my legs having been tied so far apart for so long and the unfamiliar cramps in my groin were a direct result of the monumentally brutal number of vaginal penetrations---the rapes to which I’d been subjected. 

 

The lips of my vagina felt raw from the abuse I’d been forced to suffer through all afternoon; my rear end ached and everything below my waist hurt with each step I took.  I truly did not want him, or any other man on the boat to touch me, but I couldn’t do this alone--someone had to help me.  So Bossman held me as I unsteadily made my way across the cabin with my wrists still bound behind my back, my stride now nothing like my walk that last night on Cancun. 

 

He opened the door and I could see a bathroom inside, equipped with a surprisingly large shower stall without a privacy curtain.  He told me there were two buckets for me to use, depending upon my need.  I looked at him for a second in disbelief as he said, “Go on.  Do what you gotta’ do.”

 

I know it was stupid--I felt stupid.  But even after being gang-raped all afternoon, I still felt inhibited about peeing in front of another person.  I stood there swaying with fatigue, unsure if he would give me any privacy, when he pushed me forward roughly and said, “Go in the bucket now or forget about it for the rest of the night.”

 

Filled with an odd disbelief, as if THIS was a bad thing despite what they’d done to me all afternoon, I slowly walked into the cramped bathroom.  My face burning with shame and the door still wide open, I squatted over the pail and let loose a torrent of pent up urine.  Despite the humiliation, I felt a hundred percent better when I had finished. 

 

My mind was finally beginning to work again.  I ignored anyone watching and looked around while I was squatting.  In addition to the shower, I saw a small stained basin with a leaking tap.  This was not a pleasure boat, at least for any women these men took.  There was a small porthole high up on the wall.  When I looked through it, I had seen nothing but water.  It was too small in any case, for me to use to escape.

 

In the door way, Bossman asked a question.  All I heard was, “…if I had to shit…”  I shook her head no, somehow not shocked at his coarseness.  Being bound, I could not wipe myself and I dreaded having him doing it.  But instead, he just hosed me down—my poor sandals--and wiped me off with a rough towel.  Then he grabbed my upper arm and tried to lead me back to the bed.  I pulled back as best I could but he was irresistible. 

 

The still-fresh memories of what had been done to me on this bed made my skin crawl, I was terrified to be going back, but I somehow let him guide me there anyway---what choice did I have? 

 

It seemed like I was walking in a dream, my feet mired in molasses.  But my poor pussy felt like I was living in a nightmare.  We sat down again besides each other.  I looked at him and unconsciously licked my dry lips.  I couldn’t help myself as I blurted, ”Please.  I’ve got money.  And I’m pregnant—you don’t want to hurt my baby.  Let me go, I promise not to tell any....ooof.”

 

I could not protect myself and the last sound was that of the air exiting my lungs as his stiffened fingers punched deeply into my solar plexus.  I gagged and slowly sagged over onto my side away from him.  Angrily, he grabbed the pear gag and roughly inserted it back into my mouth and tightly fastened it in back.

 

 

Stupid bitch!!  They never learned, never understood that he was serous without a lot of unnecessary pain.  Without warning, he punched her in the stomach again.  Grabbing the teenager’s ankles, he removed both of her sandals and then stood up and grabbed her ass plug from where it lay on the bed along with a handful of her hair.  She was still handcuffed, so using the hair as a handle he dragged her stumbling ass back across the cabin to the bathroom and threw her half into the shower stall onto her stomach.  Reaching down, he grabbed the unclean butt plug and roughly inserted it back into his new girl’s ass again.

 

When she started to struggle weakly, he hit her one more time and then locked her ankles together with ankle cuffs connected by one link of chain—no way was she running for freedom hobbled like a goddamn camel or goat.  Going back outside, he grabbed a training collar and piece of rope.  Bringing them into the shower, he fastened the collar around her neck without any resistance. 

 

The collar was made of thick leather and wide enough that it almost immobilized her head like a punishment collar might.  He then tied the rope to a metal loop on the back of her collar.  From there, he ran it between her wrist cuffs and then between her bound ankles under her cuffs before returning it back towards her wrists.  While she was lying on her stomach, he pulled hard on the free end of the rope.  This movement pulled her head up and back and her ankles up and towards her head, leaving her body arched into a painful bow which totally immobilized her.  He made sure she could still breathe before he tied the rope off on her wrist cuffs; all the while she lay softly crying into her gag, trying to look at him with pleading eyes. 

 

Bossman shook his head in disbelief and disgust.  His voice filled with anger, he said, “You’re one stupid bitch!  You still don’t get it.  Your life has changed forever.  You are no longer mommy and daddy’s little college girl---you don’t belong in that world anymore.  I could kill you right now and no one would ever know.  Get it though you’re head that you are a slave now; you’re meat, a fucking piece of ass that belongs to a man you’ve never met.”

 

He stopped and took a deep breath, finally cooling off before he continued, “When I tell you something, or one of my men tells you something, or any man tells you to do something, you sure as hell better do it from now on.  Obedience is everything.  Do you finally begin to understand that you are nothing but property now?”

 

With that he disappeared for a second and then reappeared with her urine filled pail.  He looked at the blonde girl for a second and then threw the still warm contents of the bucket on her.  She cried out in disbelief as he pushed her feet into the shower stall and then locked the door behind him before walking away. 

 

He left the dumb cunt there all night long. 

 

 

Day Two: A False Submission

 

Tears gently rolled down Anne's cheeks and she looked at me like a forlorn puppy.  But I've always tried to be so submissive, she said.  I started speaking again, gently.  Yes, Anne, you see whilst you were being so submissive to men, you still didn't do what the Holy Spirit was telling you to do on many occasions. 

-Kathie Walters Ministry, in False Submission or Just Another Kind of Rebellion

 

The next morning, Elvis reached the shower and looked in.  He wrinkled his nose at the smell, at her misery and said, “Man, you guys come down and check this cunt out.  The bitch shit all over herself and she’s been laying in it all night.”

 

It was true.  The clean wholesome all-American girl who everyone loved had had an uncontrollable bowel movement during the night.  She had fought it as long as she could, but stomach cramps had finally won out over personal hygiene.  It had forcefully driven out the plug that had been quickly inserted into her the night before and fecal matter the consistency of pudding had oozed out all over her legs and lower body; it was cold and wet and ground into the skin of her belly and hips and thighs.  She had been laying in it for hours and the smell of it was in her nostrils and her hair---an absolutely miserable Victoria just knew the smell would never come out of her skin. 

 

Physically she was a mess, psychologically she was in shock.  He was pretty sure he was talking actual shock with low blood pressure and everything.  He looked out into the cold emptiness of the Caribbean and knew it was reflected in himself.  Drinking coffee up on deck, Bossman knew this wasn’t bad for him at all, that he could use it.  Forcing any young innocent middle class girl to lie in her own excrement overnight was a huge mental blow, something that would shake her to her very foundation.

 

The other men came down and stuck their heads into her little world of the barnyard smells and left laughing and making dirty jokes at her expense.  It was the most shameful moment of her life, the most recent in the long line of devastating humiliations she had just undergone.

 

Elvis came in and untied the rope, took off the training collar and unlocked her ankle cuffs.  He made her stand up in the shower on legs that were unsteady, turning the water on and allowing it to sluice over her body washing away the night’s filth.  He turned her by her shoulders multiple times, leaving her much cleaner in the end even with her hands still bound behind her back.  Elvis was more than willing to be helpful, running his hands all over their victim’s slick body and his probing fingers into her various crevices and holes.

 

 

I felt so helpless as he pushed me out of the shower and roughly toweled me off while paying special attention to my breasts.  Then he led me toward the bed as he told me to sit down on the edge.  I thought I still could smell my fouled skin even after the shower.  I carefully sat down because of the object still protruding from my rectum and closed my knees as best I could, just as I’d been taught my whole life.  He left and in a second Bossman walked down the stairs.  He looked at me and shook his head, all the while getting a cup of cold water and a straw. 

 

“Ya’ think you can keep your mouth shut this time,” he asked roughly?

 

Not having being able to sleep during the night, I nodded wearily.  He sat down beside me and removed the gag.  I thankfully sipped the cold water he offered and ate part of an apple he held for me, along with swallowing a couple different kinds of vitamins and the supplement pills he offered. 

 

When I was done, he reinserted my gag and looked at me for a minute.  “Yesterday was the first day of your new life,” he said.  “Welcome to the second.”  He took out the antiseptic ointment and proceeded to gently rub it into my pierced breasts.

 

I had not slept for over 24 hours, but a sudden inexplicable fierceness filled me.  I knew although exhausted and shaken by my night in the shower stall, I would fight these men today with a rage that would not allow me to back down.  When gang-raped yesterday, the assault had been so sudden, so unexpected, and I thought to myself, had continued to be so brutal for the rest of the day, I hadn’t been able to catch up, to prepare myself mentally to fight them. 

 

My body ached all over and my mind felt fuzzy from lack of sleep, but today my rage and my pride would not allow me to again be made into an object by these bastards.  No matter what they might do to me, I felt I was too valuable for them to seriously injure, let alone kill.  I would use this weakness to beat them at their own game.

 

Suddenly, he made me stand again and led me to the shower stall.  Reluctantly, I followed until I stood in the still wet shower.  “Are you really pregnant now,” he asked.

 

I fiercely nodded my head yes.

 

Bossman looked at me for a second and then held up a pregnancy dip strip.  “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.  But if you’re really pregnant,” he said, “this will show it.”

 

He waved the test strip in front of my face.  “Keep in mind that if you are lying and continue this farce, when this strip shows you are not pregnant, I will allow the men to beat you twice as badly as they did yesterday—and they will still take you sexually.  Now, again I ask.  Are you really pregnant?”

 

My fury-driven courage now all gone, I looked at the floor as I miserably shook my head no—I was not pregnant. 

 

He just nodded his head and took me back out to the bed, where I sat quietly on the edge. 

 

Bossman then went up on top without another word; immediately the other four swarmed down the stairs. 

 

 

He hadn’t really thought she was pregnant, but it didn’t really matter.  For today, he thought to himself, she was to be initiated into the glory of anal sex.  Well, at least he enjoyed it.  She had an absolutely great ass and while he knew he desperately wanted to fuck her there himself, he was far too big for her as she was right now. 

 

There were few women alive who could accept his engorged cock without a lot of preparation ahead of time.  He remembered a pretty Cuban girl he had maimed during his inexperienced youth and knew now that he had to be careful.  It had been a pity what had happened to that girl just because of his naive stupidity and lust.

 

 

Women enjoy anal sex because it feels amazing.  It's a totally different sensation than regular sex.  It's not her vagina, yet it's inside her.  In other words, it’s a completely alien feeling that she isn’t used to, which makes it intriguing.  Meanwhile, the rectum will just suck up your penis like a vacuum.

-Askmen.com

 

Anal sex was my least favorite bedroom activity.  Even through half a bottle of lube, the whole charade felt like pooping backwards.  It was a negotiation token- something I begrudgingly did in exchange for backrubs and switching the television from football to Sex in the City.  Anal sex was something I tolerated in order to be a cool girlfriend, because it was and still is common knowledge that that men love shoving their dicks in buttholes.

-Maggie Young

 

No?  Is that all you know how to say?

-anonymous, in projectunbreakable.tumblr.com

 

Laughing and now refreshed from yesterday’s Olympian exertions, the four men grabbed me and flipped me onto my stomach on the dirty bed. 

 

As they removed her butt plug, I heard one of them laughing, “We gonna party you up, babe.  And when we’re finished, you gonna like it here, you won’t wanna leave anymore.” 

 

Suddenly, I knew what they had planned, what was coming.  I had been a fool to let it go this far without fighting them.  I struggled frantically and screamed, but was helpless against them and quickly found myself lying back on the center of the filthy bed.  There, they took a minute and put my sandals back on my feet.  I tried to kick the men holding my ankles, but they were too strong and were able to avoid my heels. 

 

I never stopped struggling, even when my wrists were released from the small of my back and my cuffs were locked together back over my head and attached to the bed.  With one man pulling on each ankle, I was then stretched out tightly and my ankle cuffs again locked to the bed posts. 

 

I now laid once more helplessly spread-eagled, but now with my stomach and groin on top of the now cold and stiffly stained bedding.  I kept looking up over my shoulder at my captors and tried not to show the bastards any fear as I snapped my wrists and strained with my ankles.

 

Elvis laughed as he stood in front of me and stripped.  He picked up a tube of lubricant and proceeded to rub it all over the tip and shaft of his extraordinarily long but narrow erection.  Climbing on top of me, he pushed my cheeks apart to bare the puckered brown hole that was his target. 

 

He said, ”Awww, c’mon baby, you’re gonna to learn to like this.  I’ve ass-fucked a million young bitches like you and they all learned to love it in the end.  And that’s where you get it today baby, in the end!” 

 

Now knowing what he intended, I screamed my rage and frustration into the gag that filled my mouth and did my best to keep myself safe by moving my hips back and forth and clenching my buttocks together with all of my might.  Yet Elvis parted my cheeks with little difficulty and, keeping my defenseless anus exposed with his left hand, he guided his stiff penis into me, past the first muscles that futilely protected my anus. 

 

 

The other men looked at the crewman the girl thought of as Elvis.  The crew was a mixed bag, and all did what was required.  But some enjoyed inflicting unnecessary pain much more than did others.  Elvis was a man who did not treat women with gentleness.  Instead, he tested their physical, emotional and psychological limits; he fucked them hard, perhaps for good reason, perhaps just for the hell of it.  Yet he was not the worst of them by a long ways. 

 

All of them saw the devilish grin of anticipation on his face as he took his place on the girl’s body…..

 

 

My head reared up as I bellowed my pain and rage, “GGGGNNNnnnooo” and immediately stiffened as much as I could, desperately clenching my buttocks and anal sphincter, arching my back in a futile attempt to buck and remove myself from his attack. 

 

However, as the other men laughed and watched from the side, it was apparent to all that my attempts were useless because of the way I’d been dilated.  With one quick move of his hips, Elvis had effortlessly sheathed his banana-sized erection deep inside my body. 

 

I immediately froze in horrific disbelief.  I did not realize this at the time, but he actually took care to not rupture me, to not puncture my colon.  Not because he cared for me, but to avoid damaging or even killing the Bossman’s property and thus bringing the giant’s wrath down upon his head.  I was their “product,” and such must be protected.  Nonetheless, and despite his horrific, perverted attempt at what he must have seen as a display of some sort of sensitivity, the discomfort, shock and pain was literally overwhelming. 

 

As if from a distance, I heard him saying, “The bitch seems to like it!  That’s why she’s not fighting us anymore.”

 

I could smell his breath as he leaned over and whispered into my year, “That’s right honey, this is how you’re gonna learn to take it, you bitch.” 

 

He pulled out then, hesitated for the slightest second and then drove himself back inside me.  His second full thrust into my body brought an even stronger response from me as I began bucking again and inarticulately bellowed, “KKKNNNOOOOOO!”  As every man there had known from the beginning, my clenched cheeks had been a hopeless defense once he’d lubricated himself. 

 

They laughed at my naiveté and howled at my agony.

 

God, I couldn’t help it---my body’s reaction was both instinctive and instantaneous.  At first when he had thrust into me, I had felt almost paralyzed and had been afraid to move for fear that I would further injure myself.  Later, as my anal muscles had stretched and finally began to be able to unwillingly accommodate his huge penis, I had been able to fight him more.  I had never before been violated like this, had never even dreamed of doing this with a man.  Again and again, I howled and screamed in my agony into the wet rubber that filled my mouth.  With his every stroke into my body I cried out and every time he pulled back out I gave an involuntary moan of relief, “Uuuuggghhnnnn”. 

 

There had been no small increments of movement in and out, no tentative thrust and retreat, no testing for pain and waiting for acceptance.  There were no soft offers of love with this, no concern for my pureness here for at nineteen years of age, he preferred to dominate me in a most brutal and uncaring way. 

 

I was “owned,” completely penetrated and totally possessed, all in one smooth move of his hips, and he continued his ownership for what seemed an eternity.  I was sure he had torn my flesh with his first thrust.  He took what he wanted and to hell with me.  I was his virginal bride and he owned me at this moment, body and soul.  He controlled my body, but more to the point for him, it was his way of letting me know he also owned the me I tried to hide from him inside.  But with this, there was no place to hide.

 

The pain of this huge erection stretching my insides was incredible.  Hs hands cupped my head, he had my face pushed towards the wall.  As I stared at it through my tears, it was like I was looking through the wrong end of a telescope as my vision swam dizzily and more and more of the boat cabin took on a tunnel-like look.  As this monster thrust himself into me using the long, smooth full strokes of a professional sodomite, I knew he couldn’t see my face because my tangled hair covered me—it was obvious he didn’t see me as human anymore. 

 

But I honestly don’t think he would have cared even if he had been able to look on me.  My mouth was open in a rictus of agony around my gag and my eyes were squeezed shut as I shrieked for mercy from him, but all these men knew was their immediate physical pleasure.  All of them could see there was no pleasure here for me, but that wasn’t going to stop them. 

 

The worst thing was the terrible, ripping feeling of fullness inside me, stretching me and forcing my insides into positions they were never meant to experience.  My abdomen continued to cramp again and again as if from the worst attack of constipation anyone had ever endured.  Every nerve in my anus was on fire and I felt my torn anal sphincter spasm and convulse as it continued to be both stretched and forced out of shape by the brutal invader’s unending and uncaring motions.

 

 

Elvis groaned then with the sheer pleasure of his cock being buried in the blonde American bitch’s tight, warm cave.  Upon complete penetration her anal muscles had clenched around the base of his penis and would not let go.  Then her sphincter began to release and contract on him in uncontrolled spasms. 

 

The bitch may not have been aware of what she was doing, he thought, but damn, it sure felt good!  He knew that when he blew his load in her beautiful, tight little ass, it would be a mind blowing orgasm.

 

 

Just as I felt I had begun to adjust to this brutal sodomization, I heard myself scream again before I actually felt the new pain.  He had just thrust back into me viciously, but this time adjusting his angle to push more upward than before, stretching me in a new and totally unpredictable way.  I felt my flesh tear, and he had done it on purpose.  He did it again.

 

My muffled wails went up a full octave as it once more felt like my flesh was being ripped within my body.  I almost blacked out then, my throat felt raw and I was finally beyond screaming as only a ragged moan passed from my throat and snot ran out of my nose. 

 

As he pushed my face into the mattress, Elvis stopped for a few seconds and then thrust in again, once more changing angles to make sure I had received the most pain he could give me.

 

 

Bitch’d been weakening, but he’d awakened the beast again.  The new cunt’s blonde hair began flying once more as she continued thrashing beneath him.  He was toying with her now, changing angles, thrusting and lifting his hips off her ass a little, stretching her out even more.  And for every time he thrust into her like this, she matched him with a muffled scream of pain and an unsuccessful attempt to buck him off of her back. 

 

When he pulled out, she almost always gasped her relief in some pitiful way, but it was an act which struck no chords of sympathy with anyone watching here.  Suddenly impatient with her games, he finally grabbed a long handful of hair which he used as reins to pull her head up and back, gaining an additional measure of control over her. 

 

The teenage blonde’s bound feet made short pushing motions as she tried to climb up the bed, tried to push up and away from each thrust into her ass.  But these men were experienced in enjoying women in this situation and they had already planned on controlling her struggles--the way she was tied ensured she would never get traction as she continued to writhe helplessly beneath him, forced to fully accept anything that he desired to do to her. 

 

Much of the time that he rode her, their new ass-whore made a high keening wail.  It was an eerie sound that carried out over the calm morning waters of the Caribbean. 

 

It seemed to him like it went on for days, when in reality the vicious ass-fucking of their new slut probably took less than ten minutes.  Finally, covered in sweat, he knew he was ready to blow his load and he warned her, "You little ass-fucked whore!  Get ready"! 

 

He thrust in as far as he could now and exploded.  And even as she wailed her loss, he filled her insides with wave after wave of his scalding hot semen. 

 

He’d once read that except for the asshole, there were no nerve endings in a person’s ass.  But he had convinced himself that everything he injected into her ass, she felt as a white hot burning feeling deep inside her abdomen.  She certainly acted felt like he’d put his giant cock all the way up into her lungs and its blunt end had torched her throat with his hot jizm.  He knew that to an inexperienced bitch like this, it must have felt like the tip of his cock had a burning coal on it and she was being branded on the inside of her intestines. 

 

At least that was what he wanted her to feel, for he wanted to ensure that the American bitch never forgot the first man who’d fucked her in the ass. 

 

His sweat falling upon her now motionless body, he finally lay still upon her, breathing heavily while his cock slowly shriveled to a more human size.  When it had shrunk to the point that it was not long enough to stay in her fully reamed out ass anymore and had slipped out, he got off of her back and without saying a word, motioned to the next lucky man. 

 

She was to be passed around among the crew like a cheap sex toy.  What better way to take away any pride the girl might feel for herself? 

 

 

Like yesterday, each man seemed not able to get enough of Vicki.  There was no drinking of alcohol and each wanted seconds and some even came back for thirds.  Even though she was gagged, every time one of them thought she was getting too loud they would choke her with their hands or push her face into the mattress for up to a minute, making it even more difficult for her to breath and muffling her cries completely. 

 

When she made too much noise to satisfy Number Four, he put a loop of rope around her neck.  Even as he took her and made her scream, he took particular pleasure in choking her with it until she was almost unconscious. 

 

In this way, he had double the pleasure---fucking her and physically brutalizing her at the same time.  Finally, she no longer had the strength or the will to scream anymore, but just cried, grunted and groaned as each assault occurred.

 

The Bossman was not a man who endured agonies of conscience afterwards.  He never had.  Nor was he cold or unfeeling either.  Without remorse, regret or triumphalism; he was like a man who worked in an abattoir and earned a monthly wage.  An enigma and not at all understood by the others, yet he was depended upon. 

 

At the end after hours of pain and humiliation, when the last man finally pulled his shorts on, the cunt’s tormented asshole was ripped and bleeding.  She was hoarse from screaming, but little of the sound coming from the cabin of the boat had been loud enough to disturb the nearby seabirds. 

 

The sodomites stood around for a last moment, looking at their prize.  Even bruised, bleeding and almost unconscious, the cunt was still lovely.  But that didn’t matter to them now for they had temporarily satiated themselves with her helpless body.  What they were was hungry after a long day of good exercise, and they all trooped out into the galley and started talking about making dinner, as if the battered female they’d left nearby below did not hunger, or even exist.

 

 

She couldn’t get any farther away inside from her skin.  She couldn’t get away.

-Cynthia Voigt, in When She Hollers

 

My mind had shut down hours ago, but nonetheless I wanted to die, I silently begged God to die.  My neck burned from having been branded and my throat was sore from having been choked so often.  I felt my rectum spasm--it felt like my anus could not completely close because of the way I had been assaulted.  I could feel the wet slickness of their semen.  The semen I knew must be mixed with my blood as it slowly drained out of my rear end and lower colon. 

 

From there it mixed there with the sweat in the crack of my butt and on my inner thighs and then pooled onto the bed sheet under me.  My stomach and lower back were cramping, and because of how far my legs were tied apart, my hips felt paralyzed. 

 

I did not want to move, could not move.  Everything hurt too badly.  A massive pain coalesced, centralized around the middle of my body.  I wept then helplessly, for I just knew I had been damaged for life. 

 

Just when I thought it could not get any worse, Bossman walked in and stood looking down at me.  I wanted to scream at him but did not have the strength.  I still lay spread-eagled on my stomach, my eyes were closed and my tears were soaking into the cotton sheet beneath me.  Because of my rape by him yesterday, I was well aware that if he too sodomized me, I would not survive. 

 

After a moments inspection of my naked and bruised and tormented body, he said as if to an audience, “So, what to do now?” 

 

He looked down on me then and answered his own question as to my fate, “I think I’ll keep you.”

 

He clarified, “For myself.” 

 

After about a minute of silence, he sat down on the side of the bed, reached over and grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled lightly on my head, forcing me to look at him.  He said, “Listen to me closely girl, because your first lesson begins now.”

 

 

Bossman shook the teenaged blonde’s head to get her attention, “I know you’re hurting and this is the last thing you want to hear.  But you need to learn the rules.  I can be your best friend or your worst enemy, your choice.  I can help you to learn or teach you helplessness.”

 

“Listen closely,” he demanded.  “You’re a slave now---understand that, believe it with all your heart.  Forget about whether or not this is wrong.  Winners are the ones who write history and they are the same ones who invent morality.  You’ve lost here and you have entered our world, and it’s a world controlled by our morality.  Morality?  Shit, I don’t even know how to spell it anymore!”

 

He smiled grimly.  “We’re going to teach you everything you’ll need to know.  You’re a gorgeous young woman; excuse me,” he said with a small smile, “teenager.  You’re young enough to learn quickly, and smart enough to know what you have to do.”

 

“We’re on this boat to teach you what you need you to know to please a man.  If you’d just cooperate, little of this would be necessary.  But, we’ll go into all of this in more detail once you’re ready to listen and to learn.”

 

 

I looked at him through eyes reddened and swollen by tears of pain and humiliation.  I wanted to scream, After all I’d been through, after all they’d done to me, and these men still wanted me to cooperate with them?  But instead, I just shook my head stubbornly. 

 

They had taken too much today and yesterday and the day before.  I didn’t care anymore.  These people planned on destroying me and taking away all that I loved.  After all that I’d been through, in my ignorance, I felt there was nothing more he could do to me.  It seemed at that moment that there actually was power in my despair, I felt like this man could not touch me anymore, could not harm again the me I had hidden deep inside. 

 

Like a naïve fool, I felt they had nothing left with which to threaten me.

 

 

He thought to himself, a girl like you never willingly cooperates with someone like me.  Letting these guys have you as much as they want is how I’m going to break you.  I don’t give a shit if you know that before we start, you stupid, foolish bitch, because there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.  Sex and pain and a few drugs, taking away your sleep and food, your honor and your belief in yourself, that’s all I need to turn you from an average nineteen-year old ball breaker that gets off on MTV, video’s and tormenting boys and into a beautiful, tame and submissive, well-trained slave to an important man.  You belong to me now, sweetie pants.

 

“Say it now through your gag,” he said to her. “Say it out loud,” ‘I’m your slave.’” 

 

The American girl he had kidnapped looked him in his eyes and didn’t make a sound, instead shaking her head no as a scared, yet determined look filled her beautiful green eyes. 

 

Bossman repeated himself, “say it out loud, say ‘I’m your slave.’” 

 

She shook her head no once more.  Even though her eyes were brimming with tears and the look on her face this time was more of shock and fear than determination, the captive girl remained firm.  She had committed herself to war with him. 

 

When he repeated his order a third time, she just turned her face away from him without responding and he could see the tears running down her cheeks.  Bossman looked at her with a little frustration, and decided it was time to escalate to the next level.

 

“Honey, you just don’t learn.  You’ve just been ass-fucked today by some experts and I’m guessing it hurt you a lot.  Kinda’ tore you up inside, if you know what I mean.  You also know how big I am, and that none of the guys that rode you today can match my size.  You know this too.”

 

“Well, here’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to take you right now and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it.  The only choice that you get to make is where you take it.  You can take it up your ass or in your pussy, your choice.  I’m going to untie your ankles and if you want it in the ass, you just lay there like you are.  Of course, you know that if I ass-fuck you right now, you probably won’t survive.  At that point, we just weight you down and toss your useless, well-fucked ass overboard.  Then we’ll grab your momma and that great looking aunt you’ve got and they get to take your place.  Just think about them spreading for me and the crew right here on this bed.  Pussy and ass, pussy and ass, that’s where they’ll be taking for days and weeks.”

 

“Or you can cooperate: you can roll over onto your back, spread your legs, and I’ll fuck you in the pussy.  Your choice.”

 

 

With that, the monster walked down to the end of the bed and released my ankle cuffs.  I lay there on my stomach for about thirty seconds as Bossman began taking off his clothes.  It didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore.  I was too tired to resist, too tired of being hit and choked.  I just didn’t care anymore, I just wanted it over.  But when he noticed I hadn’t moved, he said as if to himself even though I knew he was talking to me, “OK, you want it in the ass.  You made a good choice.” 

 

With that comment, I groaned and scrambled to roll over onto my back.  At least I had a little freedom to move now.  Surprisingly, he leaned over and removed the gag from my mouth. 

 

They hadn’t taken me in the vagina yet today, but I was still quite sore from yesterday.  I tried to spread my legs a little, but the pain in my hips and vagina made me stop after I had moved my feet about eighteen inches apart.  I groaned and tried again.  It was no use, it hurt too much.

 

 

You’ll tell yourself anything you have to, to pretend that you’re still the one in control.

-Jodi Picoult, in Change of Heart

 

Bossman knew that by freeing her legs and then making her choose how she got fucked, he was forcing her into taking an important psychological step towards accepting her slavery.  It would be her first submissive step of many on this boat.

 

The big man was now kneeling on the mattress by her feet.  Grabbing an ankle in each hand, he pulled them apart and spread her wide.  The girl he his men had kidnapped cried out at the pain and tried to raise her hands to protect herself, forgetting that her wrists were still tied to the head of the bed.  He knelt between her thighs and stroked his cock, finally bringing it to full attention after in less than a minute.  She shook her head silently at him, didn’t seem to want it anymore.  What with being gang raped and sodomized in the last thirty-six hours, it seemed she may have somehow forgotten how massive he was. 

 

He looked at her for a moment like a lab specimen, and finally lowered himself onto her body.  As he had stroked his cock, it glistened with what must have been previously applied lubricant, because with one smooth movement of his hips he buried his huge rigid cock up to the nut sack in her.  Victoria cried out at the sudden violation as his penis again spread her dry lips wide apart, and it all came back to her in a rush as she felt him completely fill her vagina.  Again, it seemed more than she could take as he pulled out and slammed it back inside her again.

 

 

Keeping me impaled on his cock, he raised himself off of me and while looking down at my face, he told me to wrap my legs around him.  I shook my head and he said, “Then take it in the ass.  God, you’re a stupid bitch-slave.  You don’t get a choice; do what I say or take it in the ass!”

 

Scared, I tried to raise my legs and after a couple of attempts, finally had them wrapped around Bossman’s waist with my ankles crossed.  This seemed to satisfy him.  My hips ached with any movement of my legs, but I knew that didn’t matter to him—his attitude towards me said that he always got what he wanted from his women.

 

 

She really was coming along very nicely, he thought.  He now possessed her completely, having made her choose how she was to be violated and then making her cooperate in her rape.  His body was slick with sweat allowing him to slide easily upon her belly even as her firm teenage breasts poked into his chest. 

 

It went on and on, he never stopping, she never responding unless complying with one of his orders.  The expression on her face was almost blank; only her dazed eyes changed, the pupils sometimes getting larger on some particularly deeply vicious thrust he would make into her. 

 

Once, he grabbed her hair in both hands and pulled her head back, forcing her chin towards the cabin’s ceiling. When he had exposed her throat, he took the flesh of her neck above the collar and bit down, keeping it softly but firmly pinned between his teeth.  His hands then went down and he filled them with handfuls of firm ass flesh, and he fucked her mercilessly. 

 

As she lay there beneath him passively looking up at the ceiling, her body was driven toward the head of the bed with each thrust he made into her pelvis.  Each time he pulled out, it seemed like she was drawn back down toward the foot of the bed.  She was the moon and he was the earth, without her will her body rotated around every movement of his groin. 

 

 

It was as if I wasn’t in my body, but was floating above near the ceiling, looking down and watching everything that happened but without actually participating.  As before, when he did finally cum, I snapped back into my body.  It seemed then like he spewed pints and quarts of his semen inside me.  It burned like wildfire and seemed to invade every niche and cranny of my womb.  It jetted out of him with enough force that it squirted between the tightly stretched lips of my vagina and the base of his engorged penis, and then it splashed on the inside of my thighs. 

 

I knew I was inexperienced with men.  However, I remembered him raping me yesterday and his comments afterward.  While wildly sexual in both of his attacks on me, he was not as sadistically brutal to me like the others.  My mind kept going around and around in seemingly random patterns, my thoughts disjointed and fuzzy.  I remembered the way he’d hammered me for what seemed like hours yesterday and then seemed to cum and cum and cum inside me.  And now, he was doing it again after having rested less than a day.  He was not a young man, so how was this possible?  Was this normal?

 

Suddenly, my stomach lurched and I turned my face to the side just as thin, foul-tasting bile rose from my stomach and trickled from the corner of my mouth onto the sheet.  Instinctively, I swallowed convulsively and got most of it back.  It was sour and burned since it was filled with stomach acid, and it epitomized my life. 

 

I had been “partied-up” by the full crew and their captain, and I just wanted to die. 

 

 

And torture can be employed to advantage as a penalty when the subject is far enough along with the treatment to accept punishment as deserved.  To this end I devised several forms of disciplinary procedure.  One was known as the Switchboard. Electric drills that can be turned on at any time are clamped against the subject's teeth; and he is instructed to operate an arbitrary switchboard, to put certain connections in certain sockets in response to bells and lights.  Every time he makes a mistake the drills are turned on for twenty seconds.  The signals are gradually speeded up beyond his reaction time.  Half an hour on the Switchboard and the subject breaks down like an overloaded thinking machine.

-William S. Burroughs, in Naked Lunch

 

Having just fucked her brains out, Bossman was feeling more relaxed now and was ready to continue with Victoria’s education.  He liked fucking her—no, he loved fucking her.  But she still had to learn to obey him.  He usually did this kind of training himself, but for some reason didn’t want to do it with her this time.  So he left her lying there with her hands tied to the head of the bed, but with her legs free for the first time in almost two days and went up on deck.  There he gave orders to the two men that Victoria had come to call Elvis and Dog Nose.

 

There was a small stun gun kept on the shelf over her head; not the model shaped like a gun, but the one shaped like a rod and which was used for infighting.  Elvis pulled this out, and after gagging her again, he put the two electrodes to the hairline on the left side of the blonde’s neck and mashed the trigger button, watching as her body arched up in uncontrolled spasms.  He almost felt like yelling “CLEAR,” like he had seen in the movies.  After fifteen seconds he let off on the button and her body slowly sank back to the bed where she lay twitching uncontrollably, eyelids half-closed, staring glassily at the ceiling.

 

Going over to the cupboard, he pulled out a roll of medical tape, a small box that had a slide on it like the controller on an electric train set, a small control board, two clamps, and a special dildo. 

 

Still conscious, she lay stunned and unmoving when Elvis leaned over and took most of her left breast into his mouth and began sucking.  Her nipple was at the back of his throat while the ring piercing it lay rough on his tongue.  There was a strong sweaty-salty taste associated with her nipple and within thirty seconds, it was erect and ready to be clamped.  Taking her breast out of his mouth, he noticed that when erect, her nipple stood up over half an inch.  Was there nothing about this slut that wasn’t special, he wondered to himself?

 

The nipple clamps used by Dog Nose had smooth jaws and strong springs.  They hurt a lot, he knew, since he’d tested them on himself.  After applying some conductive gel to prevent electrical burns, he attached a clamp to her hard pink button and then went through the same procedure with her other nipple.  As the second clamp was applied, she jerked her chest away from him and to the side, so he knew she was beginning to regain a little motor control.

 

Number Three and Number Four then grabbed Victoria’s ankles and stretched her out, spreading her legs wide and locking her ankles once more to the bed.  Then with Elvis looking on, Dog Nose took the double pronged dildo and lubricated it.  Two small metal leads were located on its tip and numerous metal contacts glistened on both shafts. 

 

The piece going into her vagina was about eight inches long and two inches thick.  The probe to be inserted up her anus was about one inch in diameter and about six inches long.  He smeared both with conductive gel and was trying to insert both of them into her together when she began weakly trying to fight him.  However, because both prongs were lubricated he had no problem finally sliding both pieces into Victoria up to the maximum possible depth.  Her eyes were closed and she was now taking heavy, deep breaths through her nose as he taped the base of the dildo in place, completing his initial preparations.

 

While Dog Nose was busy with the dildo, Elvis had been attaching clamps to both of her big toes and her ears.

 

Dog Nose looked up at the blonde girl’s face from between her thighs and with a laugh said, “Bitch, this is going to hurt you a hell of a lot more than it does any of the rest of us.  Young, arrogant cunts like you always need a taste of the juice early on to really learn a lesson.  Sort of acts as positive reinforcement.  Learned what that meant by listening to the Bossman.” 

 

He attached lead wires to each nipple clamp, to both contacts on the dildo and then to each toe and ear.  Running these to the control board, he attached them to eight of the more than twenty available receiver pegs.  The small variable output transformer was then attached to the control board and plugged into a wall receptacle at the side of Vicki’s prison bed. 

 

 

The danger from shock was not from voltage, but rather from amperage.  That is, all things being equal, it’s not the overall power that’s dangerous, but instead how quickly that power moves through your body.  That’s why even low voltage systems at home can be so dangerous---the current was moving fast.  As long as resistance is low—the way it is, say, when your skin was wet—a low voltage shock can be enough to cause ventricular fibrillation and immediate unconsciousness, maybe death.  But the team had been trained by experts, and it turned out there was a sweet spot for producing ventricular fibrillation—between 100 and 200 milliamps.  Below that bottom threshold, although the muscles in the vicinity of the shock might seize up, the heart itself wouldn’t be affected. 

 

 

The transformer-like box varied the maximum amount of electricity offered to the generally unwilling recipient.  While the voltage was set and would not change, the control panel generated a random sequence controlling the amperage of the electricity passed to the leads, which lead would receive the electricity and for what amount of time.

 

After taking a long look at her face, Dog Nose turned the transformer to about half strength and turned it on.  The control panel did not pass any juice through at first.  Suddenly, electricity flowed into both prongs of the dildo and the teenager’s hips arched up and began frantically jerking, almost vibrating as she pumped at the air.  Her eyes were open and she looked up but he could sense she no longer saw anything.  She gave out muffled squealing screams through her gag, “Mmmmfff”, Mmmmfffhh”, “Mmmmmfffhh” as her beautifully firm, well-fucked ass thrashed at least twelve inches off of the bed. 

 

Finally, after about ten seconds, she gave out a soft, muffled groan as she exhaled through her nose and lay back down.  Her body relaxed then—the shock was gone, switched off, but it was clear she could have no longer maintained the arch in any case. 

 

The electricity had fiercely traveled through the thin wall separating her vagina from her rectum, and each probe must have felt like it was both sending and receiving current at the same time.  The pain had to have been intense, her heart beating so hard she had had to have been afraid it would explode.

 

Dog Nose continued watching Vicki and for over half a minute, there was little movement except for a slow writhing movement from side to side and her heavy breathing, when suddenly she began screaming and frantically throwing her chest from side to side.

 

Gotta be getting it in both tits this time, he thought to himself.  She finally stopped screaming when the juice stopped and just cried. 

 

Since he didn’t want to kill her during the night, he made a couple of changes on the control panel.  Now, she would get random shocks every 3-10 minutes.  Next, he turned down the level of voltage to be passed on from the transformer.  The idea was to keep her guessing where the next set of shocks would occur and to wear her down physically by keeping her awake all night. 

 

Again she abruptly started screaming and throwing her head from side to side, must be the ears he reasoned.  The next set of shocks hit Victoria seven minutes later in her left toe and right nipple. 

 

Finally, she rode the electric train in her left nipple and anus; he noted the results were satisfactory—they didn’t seem strong enough to burn her, but they were more than enough to help her better understand her new role in life.  More importantly, they got her attention and would keep her awake all night long.

 

After watching for another ten minutes, Elvis and Dog Nose were satisfied she would survive the night.  The cabin had become hot and humid though, what with the sweaty cunt throwing herself around like a circus performer, so they opened a couple portholes to let in some night breeze.  Finally, they went upstairs to sleep on the deck under the stars and fully catch the nice evening breeze that their captive would only taste.  In fact, she was hit with the juice just as they began to climb to the outside deck and they heard her give out a long low “Unnnhnnnnnn” as they locked the cabin door behind them.  And as they did, her groan faded into silence.

 

 

A scream rang out in the cabin, silent except in my mind.  I lay on the bed below decks and writhed every time I was hit by a shock.  Sometimes, I would get shocked in my left nipple and anus.  Then five minutes later it bit my right nipple and vagina.  My nipples seemed to be on fire and I couldn’t predict what would be shocked or when.  Sometimes, I wouldn’t be shocked for over fifteen minutes and then it would hit my vagina or my poor torn and violated rectum just as I was falling asleep. 

 

Sometimes the shock would last only two or three seconds in my toe or ear.  Other times, it seemed to go on forever, lasting fifteen or twenty seconds.  Occasionally, the current was so strong it felt like my skin was burning; other times it was little stronger than an annoying tingle.  Always though, I remained awake and alert.  There was no way to prepare for this and no matter how exhausted I might be, I was awake all night with my body either convulsing at being shocked or twitching as I waited to be shocked.  There was no clock in the cabin and no way to tell how long this went on. 

 

The night seemed to last an eternity.

 

 

Day Three: The Prize Breaks

 

Think about the Holocaust.  Was the Holocaust a good thing?  No way. Does anybody think it was good that it happened?  No, of course not. But did you read Viktor Frankl? Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning?  It’s a great, great book, but it comes out of his experience.  It’s about his experience in the human dark side.  Now think about it, if there was no Holocaust, there’d be no Man’s Search for Meaning…  Think about it.  Think about being degraded and brought within an inch of your life, for example.  No one’s gonna say the sick bastards who did it shouldn’t be put in jail, but let’s put two things into perspective here.  One is, afterwards she knows something about herself that she never knew before.  What she knows is that the most totally terrible terrifying thing that she could ever have imagined happening to her has now happened, and she survived.  She’s still here, and now she knows something.  I mean she really, really knows.

-David Foster Wallace, in Brief Interviews with Hideous Men

 

Bossman came down and checked her out early next morning.  His prize was a mess, sweating and twitching all over her body, her eyes were glazed and red, and her hair greasy and matted with perspiration as it lay upon the mattress.  Thankfully there were no burn marks on her firm, young skin.  She had been serially abused for almost two days and had now gone for about forty-eight hours without sleep; she was physically exhausted as well as in significant pain. 

 

She must be softening up very nicely, he thought to himself. 

 

He turned the transformer off and even though her nipples had to still be in agony, she groaned softly in relief.  He first gently removed the nipple clamps and dildo, and her body seemed to melt into the sweaty, nasty smelly bedding as she could now finally relax.  Finally, he took of all of the remaining clamps and pulled out the electric double prong.

 

His nose twitched.  There was a sour smell about Victoria--her pussy smelled like her ass, and it all smelled like it belonged to the whore from hell.  Although providing sex to his crew for almost two days, she hadn’t really been allowed to bathe enough during that time and she did not now look nearly attractive as she had when first brought onboard the boat. 

 

He knew from experience it would become more difficult to motivate two of his crew as Vicki’s looks deteriorated and they got used to having her body.  Of course, the other two guys became more turned on the more they were allowed to abuse her.  They sometimes went overboard--these were the guys he had to watch since he didn’t want them maiming her.  He called up top and told everyone to come on down and help him clean the place up.

 

Elvis and Dog Nose were the first down and they wrinkled their noses as the smell hit them.  They were ordered to take her into the shower to clean her up, so they released her ankles, took off her sandals and cuffed her wrists behind her back.  The blonde bitch couldn’t walk by herself now and her head hung down as they carried/dragged her into the bathroom along with the dildo, which now needed cleaning.  The remaining two men came down next and opened the remaining portholes to let in fresh air before changing the bedding on the girl’s prison bed. 

 

 

By the time I had been brought back out of the shower, I could walk slowly without assistance and everything seemed a little better to me.  My nakedness in front of these men no longer embarrassed me.  Even so, I now knew I was beaten by Bossman and didn’t want to fight him anymore even had I been capable of resistance.  Yesterday I had thought that there was nothing worse they could do to me….and I had been soooo wrong. 

 

I was exhausted and I couldn’t put two consecutive thoughts together.  They still kept me gagged, and though I had tried to swallow some of the shower water, little had made it past the black rubber that filled my mouth so I was still terribly thirsty. 

 

The rectal dildo had been cleaned in the shower, but from the aching emptiness I felt, I knew I still gaped wide open there.  I hadn’t eaten in a while and there was nothing left in me anymore.  My pride had been killed halfway through yesterday and my rage had died last night in the bed with me. 

 

Right now, my hair was wet from the shower and I smelled of soap.  I was ravenous with hunger and a thirst that had been minimally slaked.  But while my mind was still fuzzy from lack of sleep, it seemed that every part of my body hurt and was clamoring for attention. 

 

Despite these things, shaky determination filled me in sodden waves of uncertainty.  I would somehow do whatever they wanted, as long as they stopped hurting me.  I just had to tell them that they had won, without making Bossman feel like he had to punish me anymore.

 

 

Bossman ordered his captive to sit on the edge of the bed.  He looked at the girl’s red eyes and puffy face, then asked, “Feels good not having that thing stuck up your rear.  Do you think you can sit there and not say a word this time if I take your gag off? 

 

She quickly nodded her head yes. 

 

His face became real serious.  “If you fuck up this time, so help me God,” he said, “I will let these guys have you any way they want and then beat you half to death myself—is that clear?”  She nodded her head yes again. 

 

He looked into her eyes. “You’re property now.  I don’t want to hurt you, but you belong to me and you WILL obey me.  Am I clear?” 

 

Vic gulped, swallowing saliva as she nodded yes.

 

Up until now, everything done to her had gone according to a fairly detailed plan.  She had no way then of knowing that the plan for today consisted of no plan; she was to be their toy and they could pretty do to her whatever they pleased.  They had used the money Bossman had given them and in addition to clothing, had also picked up a lot of new stuff in Cancun to try out on the girl they would eventually take.  This was the day they had been looking forward to for over two weeks.

 

Bossman slowly took off her gag, and after she loosened her jaw muscles, he offered her chilled Gatorade through a straw.  At the same time, he hand dried her hair with a towel and then began to gently brush out some of the tangles in it.  Although his hands were tender as he did this, the kidnapped nineteen-year old girl couldn’t help herself.  She found herself shrinking away from him despite her efforts to control herself.  Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears occasionally and she would sometimes startle or flinch at his treatment, reacting like a wild deer when frightened.  At the end, he put antiseptic cream on each breast and gently rubbed it around each hole piercing her nipples.  Finally, he told one of the men to put her sandals back on her feet. 

 

These acts of random kindness seemed to puzzle her; she didn’t realize he still needed her to be physically desirable to all of his crew and every bit helped, he thought.  Elvis and Dog Nose each grabbed a shoe and kneeling down, began to put her sandals on with slow loving caresses of her legs and thighs.  Her head rose on a stiff neck as she pulled away from the two men.  It was clear their touch disgusted her. 

 

After a moment, Bossman had Elvis offer her a large raw potato to eat.  Elvis thought it was crazy because he had to hold it for her, but she wolfed it down even though her jaws ached fiercely and she seemed to act like it one of the best breakfasts she’d ever eaten.  Finally, she washed down the vitamins and the supplements that he gave her.  This continued to be her food for many meals on the boat. 

 

Bossman taken enough females that he could tell she’d probably already cracked.  But after she’d finished eating and taken her vitamins, he put the blonde girl’s gag back in her mouth without allowing her to say one word to him of the metamorphosis she had undergone the previous night. 

 

He knew she’d wanted to say something, but he just didn’t want to hear it. 

 

She must be broken totally and completely---she must know in her soul that she had been broken---but that really didn’t matter right now.  The next phase in completely breaking her down was too important for her to be allowed to give up now. 

 

Before going back upstairs, he handed her off to Elvis without saying a word although his gaze spoke volumes—enjoy yourselves, but don’t fuck up the merchandize. 

 

He walked back up on deck and strolled over to a cushioned seat that let him see the view out from the back of the boat.  It was a beautiful morning.  Seagulls were flying above the boat, crying out and circling, waiting for any trash to be thrown overboard.  The sun was shining, there were few clouds in the sky and the breeze from offshore was steady but gentle, the temperature was just right and there was little humidity at the moment.  Bossman picked up his cooling coffee and sipped…what a wonderful day to be alive, he assured himself. 

 

Down below, all of the men were looking forward to the “anything goes” time today.  They all had watched her closely, all were the sort of men who made an art form of studying flaws and weaknesses.  They also knew they could pretty much do anything they wanted to the teenager, as long as she wasn’t permanently injured or marked.   They all took pride in trying to outdo each other and graded each other on how much reaction each could get from their victims. 

 

The girl had a few hard days coming up.

 

 

Your perspective on life comes from the cage you were held captive in.

-Shannon L. Alder

 

After I’d finished my meager breakfast, Bossman made me stand up and gagged me again without allowing me to speak.  This scared me because I now knew both that he had won, and that I would have told him this if he had only just let me say something.  I knew I had completely misread the situation at first.  Now I only wanted to survive and be allowed go back to my mom and dad after these men were done with me. 

 

But I was afraid to make him angry by speaking without having permission to do so.  I’d been able to withstand the rape and somehow survived even being sodomized for a day.  I knew I was screwed up; I twitched at nothing and jumped at every unexpected sound.  I was hyper-alert—I always knew where the men were and it seemed like my hearing had improved a thousand percent, at least I was always listening to these people. 

 

But my anger and rage had not been able to help me fight the electricity and the clamps and the machine.  It seemed like the harder I fought them, the more they enjoyed it.  They had made it a point to let me know that there were so many things left that they could still take away.  For the first time, it seemed now that they were prepared to kill me to break me, and only Bossman could control them.

 

My wrists were still tied behind my back and I was wearing only my high heeled sandals and the ball gag.  My neck and my ears hurt.  My jaw ached from having the large gag stretch my jaw muscles for so long, and my saliva was still building up--what I couldn’t swallow, drooled embarrassingly out of the side of my mouth. 

 

My nipples were sore and inflamed from being pierced and clamped, and I had lost much of the feeling in my arms because of the way my wrists had been bound over my head for the last two days. 

 

Dog Nose suddenly grabbed my arm and began dragging me back to the bed.  I hadn’t noticed Elvis sitting on the edge of the bed, now naked and stroking his cock.  I saw his tool was ready for me and I began to shake my head nnnooo, didn’t they know, couldn’t they tell that they’d already won?

 

 

Dog Nose and Elvis had decided to start off today by team banging Victoria.  To get her full attention, he added additional leather cuffs around her arms above the elbows and tightly locked them together, thus putting even more strain on her shoulders.  Her huge eyes got even larger and filled with tears.  Dog Nose then roughly turned her around so that she was facing him when the remaining two guys came in on opposite sides and grabbed her; each man grabbed one of her arms and put his other hand on the back of her thigh. 

 

When Elvis pushed Vicki back toward the bed, Number Three and Number Four caught her behind her thighs with their hands and raised her legs up, so that they could hold her in a seated position in the air.  The girl closed her eyes and remained still, she seemed resigned to it all and never struggled.  As a further indignity, they pulled her knees apart so that she was exposed and totally helpless.  Her back to him, the guys slowly lowered her down upon Elvis’s lap as he parted her ass cheeks with his hands. 

 

 

Adrenaline hit with burst of energy.  It did not last her long.  She tried to struggle a little, but there was no way to get traction with my feet in the air.  Fighting them just didn’t do any good—it was hopeless.  His long thin erection perfectly pinpointed her poor, stretched out rectum and as they lowered Vicki onto him, the weight of her own body ensured that she was smoothly, slickly, completely impaled.  It was not quite as painful as it had been yesterday, but the feeling of total, completely uncomfortable fullness made me want to defecate. 

 

Elvis ignored her muffled protests, grabbing her hair and leaning back on pillows stacked on the bed, he pulled the kidnapped blonde with him.  He had achieved complete possession of her, for during this whole movement she never once felt him leave my body. 

 

By this time, the two men holding her had changed their grips on her legs, now forcing Vicki’s knees into a locked position against her chest with her legs spread wide and feet pointing at the ceiling.  Totally defenseless in this position, it was now that Dog Nose climbed up on her and with one move of his hips, plunged his hot cock into her wide open and available pussy.  At the same time, Elvis let go of Vic’s hair and reached down to take a double handful of the girl’s ass, both to make sure that she couldn’t hurt him with any movement she might make as well as to assert his dominance over her. 

 

 

Only nineteen and still inexperienced at sex, yet here I was.  I had been taken against my will, beaten and tortured, raped and sodomized.  Now I was sandwiched between two men and both began deep stroking into my body.  I couldn’t help myself, I cried out involuntarily with almost every thrust because of the awful intensity of the sensations. 

 

After a couple of minutes I stopped trying to fight and just lay there passively, letting them take want they wanted, groaning only when I couldn’t help myself.  While these two men were buried deeply in me, the other two took delight in letting me know that I was learning how to ride the “double pommel” and laughing at the looks of pained shock on my face.

 

Young and naïve, I didn’t know how to process the feelings and sensations that ripped through me, which threatened to overwhelm me.  The thin flesh wall separating my vagina from my colon had not been burned by the dildo last night, but was now exquisitely sensitive due to the electrical stimulation.  The men assaulting me filled me with disgust, yet when these creatures filled me at the same time like this, somehow far away in my mind a part of me, only the tiniest part, admitted that these same sensations might also be wonderful if only it was I who had chosen to experience them, if I would allow myself to give in to them. 

 

The thought of surrendering to these animals shamed me all over again; I gritted my teeth and forced myself to not fight them.  I ignored the hot flush of embarrassment on my face, and my dangerous thoughts were gone in another instant.

 

Now they changed their rhythm of penetration, alternating their strokes, with one slamming in as the other was withdrawing.  They did this for a minute and then got back into sync again, causing that awful friction once more between the wall separating my vagina and anus.  I was totally passive, having quickly given up and truly yielded my body to them as both my energy and will power ran out together.  I was ruined at this point, lying between them like a broken doll, but they didn’t even know it.

 

Finally, it was time.  I knew this from the increasingly frantic grunts from both men.  Dog Nose signified his immanent release by increasing the violence of his lunges into my pussy.  He groaned and was the first to cum, filling me with the now familiar deep-but-quick blossom of lava heat which signified I had again been forced to accept his seed.  Even though breathing hard, he quickly dismounted, leaving only Elvis beneath me, yet still inside me.

 

The man beneath me had a better range of penetration now that Dog Nose was gone.  He grabbed my tender breasts and pulled me hard back onto him.  I cried out from the sudden blossom of deep discomfort in my colon, but lacking the energy to resist; I had no will to fight or to respond. 

 

My eyes were closed and my face was covered by my hair; when the back of my head wasn’t resting on his chest, it flopped back and forth like a rag doll with each thrust into my rear end.  My bound arms had been numb for a while, but were far worse now locked behind my back at the elbows, while and my legs were sprawled wide in what my mother would say was definitely an unladylike pose and draped outside his thighs, allowing him full access.  There was pain everywhere in my body, but I was separated from it by a thin wall of cotton in my mind, so it didn’t hurt quite so much.  I didn’t particularly feel anything at that moment because I was so awfully tired, so completely exhausted.  I certainly didn’t notice that Dog Nose had now gone upstairs. 

 

My body was clearly his to use.  When Elvis finally came deep within me, it didn’t seem to give him the release he’d sought because he continued holding me tightly to him.  With every remaining spurt of scalding hot semen into me, he used my breasts as handles to pull me ever further onto him and tighter onto his lap, as if to gain some additional small but necessary penetration into my body. 

 

Even satiated, he continued to pull on my breasts and, watching as if from a distance, I knew I would have screamed from the pain if I could.  Finally, his need satisfied at least temporarily, he froze for just a moment before pushing me off of his lap with a snarl of disgust as his still-hard erection unseated from my rectum with a sucking, popping nose. 

 

I tried to catch myself as I fell off the edge of the bed, but with my wrists still bound, I stumbled and almost lost my balance.  I was caught by one of the two remaining men.  The relief I felt as he unplugged from my body was immense.  I stood between these two, my knees unsteady, my engorged vagina and suddenly aching anus leaking strings of pearly-white cum that quickly cooled on the insides of my thighs and between my legs. 

 

It was not the high-point of my day, nor, in hind-sight, was it meant to be.  I was nothing but a toy being handed around.  And emotionally, I wasn’t doing too well either…….

 

Through a barely functioning mind, I somehow realized there was a definite pecking order here.  These men who held me now had always taken me last; their faces were a blur yesterday and the day before that, as they were now.  I couldn’t think straight anymore and my head felt like my mind still felt as if were packed in fuzzy cotton.  Except for short periods of something that resembled a trance, I’d been awake for almost fifty-two hours straight at this point.  I was hallucinating at times and my body was finding new and unique ways of telling me that it was shutting down.  I would find my mind wandering, not remembering what had happened even five minutes before, no matter how awful.  Sometimes I thought this might be a blessing and sometimes I thought I was losing my mind.

 

 

It was Number Three’s turn now and he thought he’d give it to the not-quite-new bitch while she was standing up this time.  He grabbed a thick piece of rope he’d brought down with him and passed it through an unobtrusive set of pulleys located at the center of the cabin ceiling.  He then walked back to the blonde teenager they most definitely going to turn into a whore, grabbed her hair and marched her to the center of the cabin. 

 

Her eyes had been closed after being fucked by the other two men and then being discarded like the trash she was, but they now looked at him without understanding.  The bitch is out of it, he thought to himself with coarse amusement.  She’s gonna wake up soon with this! 

 

 

I blinked my eyes and came back.  I had no idea what was going through his mind, but I could see the amusement on his face he felt at my expense.  He took a free end of the rope and tied it to the lock which connected my wrist cuffs together.  Going to the remaining free end of the rope, he took it to the wall where a hand crank had been unprofessionally mounted.  After threading it into the crank, Number Three began turning the crank’s handle, forcing my arms up behind my back until they were almost parallel to the cabin floor. 

 

I would have screamed, but I was screamed out.  Still being bound at the elbow and wrist, I was forced to push my upper body forward and down to reduce the stress on my shoulders and lower back.  It was painful hanging from the rope like this.  Looking down at the floor, I saw him kneel in front of me and lay a thick iron bar near my feet in order to attach it to my ankle cuffs.  First however, he rotated my ankle cuffs so that the ring on each was facing to the front towards my toes.  The bar he’d brought in had loops welded to each end, and when hooked to the cuffs, it forced my legs over three feet apart.  Looking up at me with a smile, he attached the bar to the front of the ankle cuffs. 

 

Finally, he lowered the iron bar onto the upper part of each of my feet right over my arches.  The bar remained there, held in place by the way it was locked to my ankles.  The bar weighed probably weighed somewhere between fifteen and twenty pounds.  With it hanging from my ankle cuffs like this, each of my arches now had at least eight or ten pounds of iron resting on them. 

 

Within seconds the blunt weight of the bar began to feel like it was crushing my bones, cutting my feet in half.  Helplessly bound, bent over and facing the floor, my tears silently splashed onto the cold metal that was doing its best to pulverize the bones of each of my feet.  I was so tired, so frustrated with being tired.  All I could do anymore it seemed was cry, and I was so tired of crying. 

 

 

Number Three walked around behind her and was gone from her sight, returning in seconds with a set of metal clamps with flat, quite wide lips.  He knelt and attached one clamp to each of her vaginal lips, well-exposed from the back between of her widespread thighs. 

 

While the pinching pressure had to be intensely painful, it didn’t seem to be able to compete with the other areas of her body currently under stress, and consequently he couldn’t seem to get a reaction when he clamped her.  She just sniffed.  It was only when he hung one pound weights on each clamp that she began to buck and struggle, giving out muffled shrieks in what he felt was a satisfactory manner. 

 

Next he brought out two large wooden clamps with one inch wide flat jaws normally used for gluing wood projects.  There were two handles on each clamp used to tighten the clamp, one on each jaw.  Number Three put the first clamp on Vicki’s left breast as it hung down from her chest wall and clamped it down, smashing and squeezing her breast until it looked like she was having a ‘super’ mammogram.  The clamp weighed over three pounds and dragged down hard on her breast as she stood in her bent over position.  After applying the second clamp, he thought she might almost be ready.

 

He stood back and watched her for a couple of minutes and felt himself getting hard just watching her helplessness.  Lower back had to be killing her at this point.  When the girl finally stopped her weak struggles, she just stood there with her knees shaking.  At this point, he couldn’t stand it anymore and he walked up behind, spread her ass cheeks and plunged his unlubricated cock up to the hilt into her ass in one long and smooth, yet continuously brutal thrust. 

 

The beautiful blonde teenager’s head snapped up in reaction to his move and she cried out then groaned softly, but it was a measure of how much she had already gone through and of how tired she must have been that there was little other reaction to his brutal anal penetration.  Her head fell forward again, but now it sort of rose and fell in time with his thrusts into her rear.  Stupid girl was nothing more than a marionette at the moment, and about as satisfying too. 

 

After a moment, he grabbed the bitch’s hips and began to pump his meat in and out of her asshole.  He finally got his reaction as tears of pain, but mostly humiliation ran down her cheeks and she made small moaning noises deep in her throat.  After only a few minutes of his making love to her ass, a shudder went through her body when he finally shot his load into her. 

 

Other than a few sounds and some minor full-body shakes, he thought the bitch was almost catatonic.  Disappointed at not getting more reaction, he pulled out and left her alone.  As he moved away, the man felt no sympathy as he took one last look at their new fuck-piece: upper body hunched over like a cripple shaking as she silently wept, legs spread wide, another man’s cum mixed with his, both still draining out of her angry red asshole. 

 

After fifteen minutes, he’d had a chance to catch his breath and have a cigarette on deck, so he finally went back into her cabin, knelt down and removed the breast and vaginal clamps and the iron bar from her ankles.  Putting his left hand under her belly to hold her, he released the rope that pulled Victoria’s arms towards the ceiling. 

 

As he did so, he could feel her body collapse onto his arm as the rope began to go slack.  Number Three let her fall to the floor where she lay as he cleaned and put away his toys.  Finally, he picked up the still virtually senseless girl and carried her to the bed where he laid her down, removed the bindings from around her elbows and went out into the galley.

 

 

Like a ball flung through a curtain made of black cobwebs, I felt myself come back to reality.  My body felt cocooned in sheer discomfort, smothered in waves of pain.  I blinked my eyes and tried to remember how I had gone from hanging from ropes to lying on the bed.  But it was just too difficult to remember any details. 

 

The day had barely begun and already my joints and muscles ached, and I felt exhausted.  Despite the pain however, my thoughts were still clear enough to recognize that what I was feeling was as much emotional as it was physical.  In addition to everything else I was psychologically depressed, not just physically tired. 

 

Too young to really know much about the subject, a part of me wondered if a person could suffer from PTSD during the traumatic event, or was it normally only afterwards?

 

Regardless of my emotional state, I had laid motionless on the bed for less than five minutes when Number Four slowly walked into the cabin.  With a sense of rising yet still exhausted fear, I saw he carried a piece of leather equipment in one hand and a coil of thin manila rope in the other.  I turned my face away.  I was too exhausted to fight them.  Besides, it just didn’t matter anymore what they had in their hands, it all was meant to humiliate me and cause me pain.

 

And in this effort, they had succeeded beyond their wildest expectations.  Everything here was choreographed, nothing was here by chance, and it had been done so quickly and with a presence towards casualness that would have infuriated me if they’d left me any strength or the will to fight.  They had taken me and maneuvered me emotionally and psychologically towards whatever goal they desired.  There were going to do what they wanted to do, and then, if there was a God, he would let me die. 

 

Number Four grabbed my left ankle and dragged me towards him—I didn’t resist in any way.  When I was near the side of the bed, he untied my ball gag and took it out.  I had barely licked my dry lips when he proceeded to pull what he said was a leather, full-discipline helmet over my head.  A critical part of the helmet consisted of a built-in detachable penis gag that was two inches in diameter and long enough to go to the back of my throat. 

 

The helmet was then snuggly pulled down over my head, covering my whole face except for my nostrils and the gag then forced into my mouth.  The piece of cold, black rubber was so large that it was difficult for me to get my mouth open wide enough to accept it.  But he continued grudgingly push it into my mouth, and when it was finally in, it filled my mouth completely.

 

I felt his hands go to the straps in back where he tightened the helmet; I could neither see nor hear, and could not easily breathe through the new gag.  Where before I had felt physically exhausted, now I was suddenly filled with dread and felt the first trickles of claustrophobia.  I began breathing faster and faster through my nose, and when it seemed that I could not get enough air to fill my lungs, claustrophobia grabbed my mind and shook it like a cat might play with a helpless mouse. 

 

I was completely helpless at that moment and my imagination began to run wild.  I struggled then, but it was no use. 

 

He apparently grabbed the ring on the top of the helmet since I felt myself being dragged me off of the bed and onto the floor, then lying on my stomach, he dragged me a little more before finally stopping.  I gained more bruises than I should have because my wrists were still bound behind my back, but he didn’t care.

 

 

When my senses returned I discovered I had been blindfolded and trussed into the “pretzel” position.  Thick leg irons shackled my ankles, my wrists were tied behind me, and a rope bound my elbows just above the joints.  The guards tightened the bindings by putting their feet against my arms and pulling the ropes until they couldn’t pull any harder.  Then they tied my wrists to my ankles and jammed a 10-foot pole between my back and elbows.  After a few hours the leg irons began to press heavily on my shins and feet like a vise.  The ropes strangled my flesh, causing searing pain and making my arms go numb and slowly turn black.

-Tom Moe, in Pure Torture

 

He liked to fuck the new girls, but he enjoyed torturing them more.  It was the best of all worlds when he got to do both.  Grabbing a short piece of loose rope, Number Four wrapped it high around their new fuck-cunt’s left thigh three times before tying it off.  He then bent her knee and using his full weight against her weak struggles, finally pushed her left ankle tightly against the back of her thigh.  Running the free end of the rope through the stupid bitch’s ankle cuff, he pulled down on the rope, thus pinning the back of her heel to the back of her thigh.  Finally tying off the loose end back around her thigh, he quickly did the same to her right foot and voila, the young, dumbass cunt found herself unable to move her feet in any way.

 

Number Four looked down at the stupid bitch lying helplessly on the floor at his feet and it pleased him.  He had some plans for her today and they didn’t involve playing patty cake.  She obviously wasn’t going anywhere so he walked over to a locker built into the wall and pulled out a thick piece of manila rope.  After a moment, he glanced at the pulley that was still connected to the cabin ceiling.  With small smile on his face, he congratulated himself for recognizing that the two went together like peanut butter and jelly, one of his all-time favorite combinations. 

 

Out of the same locker, he next pulled out a foldable saw horse that had a polished piece of ½ inch wide blonde Norwegian pine connecting the two sets of legs.  Setting this up under the pulley and locking the legs in place, Number Four dragged his bitch over to the “horse” using her helmet and pulled her to her knees. 

 

While standing at her back, he ran the rope under her right armpit and around her chest above her sweaty breasts before running it back under her left armpit from the front.  He tied the loose end to the rope at Vicki’s back, resulting in a fairly loose loop around her body with the free end in back.  Taking this free end, he threaded it through the pulley in the ceiling and then to the crank.  After attaching the rope to the drum of the crank, he started turning the crank.

 

 

It was like I was watching an old black and white movie.  I was aware, sort of, but I wasn’t, if that makes any sense.  There was no swaying.  I could tell the boat was riding on a flat sea as I felt my body immediately lifted off of the floor, supported only by the rope around my upper chest.  Because of the way the rope was tied in back, my body naturally tilted to the front.  I thought to myself, I’d better move now.  But nothing did, nothing worked. 

 

I felt a stop in my upward movement, and unknown scraping sound, and then I felt myself being lowered again.  Very quickly I felt a thin piece of wood rising between the insides of my thighs as I continued to be lowered.  For a short moment I didn’t think much about it, but with a stomach-turning sensation, I quickly realized the whole weight of my body would soon be resting on this tiny sliver of wood. 

 

This horrendous realization caused a quick panic attack.

 

Even though my legs were bound and helpless, I tried to stop my body’s descent by gripping the board with the insides of my thighs.  I knew it was hopeless from the beginning but I had to try.  I began to sweat with my exertion and with a sickening sensation, it seemed like only seconds before the wood began to once more slide between my sweat-greased thighs. 

 

As I slid, millimeter by millimeter, I still fought to prevent this awful fate.   I sensed an increasingly solid presence on the front of my pelvis, centered between my legs.  I struggled more and more frantically.  Suddenly this hint of pressure became crushing and unbearable.  The full weight of my body was centered on my pubic bone, pinning my clitoris between the wood and my hips.  All I remember at that point is throwing my head back and incoherently screaming with pain, but the black rubber pear filling my mouth kept the sounds in. 

 

I am sure this is what they had planned from the beginning. 

 

My body was shaking uncontrollably now and sweat was now pouring off of me in waves as I tried to throw myself backwards to relieve the horrific pressure on my clit.  However, because of the way they had purposefully tied me, the front of my groin remained fully pinned on the board by my weight. 

 

I momentarily rocked my body then, desperately struggling to find a less horrendous position.  However, nothing seemed to work.  It seemed that within minutes, the pain had reached a crescendo, and then…and then…a red curtain seemed to fall over my mind.  The pain was awful and getting worse.  Each new pressure, each new sensation ripped through me, carrying my pain to almost exquisite new levels as the slightest move of my body now brought delicate new revelations from each nerve in my body. 

 

My mind wasn’t working at this point, I guess from lack of sleep.  All I know is that as I sat hunched over in the darkness, I felt this almost incredible compulsion to rock on the thin board I rode, knowing full well that the more I moved, the more it would injure me, bruise me.  I cannot even begin to describe the urge.  It wasn’t logical and didn’t make sense, and I even knew, AT THAT TIME, that it was counter-productive, that it wouldn’t help anything.  But it was the sort of thing you’d do anyway because somehow, in some awful black-is white and white-is–black sort of way, it actually felt good.  All I knew was that there was this tiny, ruby red pin-point area of intense pain between my legs and suddenly I wanted to explore it.  God help me, I was in the worst pain of my life and I had an overpowering urge to investigate its limits. 

 

I knew then I was going absolutely insane.

 

 

Number Four watched the blonde cunt closely as he lowered her upon the wooden horse.  The stupid bitch probably thought they were on a date or something.  Funny.  The Bossman had told him that there were to be no permanent marks or serious injuries left on this blonde teenaged beauty.  He’d helped other ladies become familiar with his favorite ride before and none of them had ever been much the worse for wear—perhaps a little sore for a while.  That was all. 

 

So why was this one any different?  Anyway, just like the others, this bitch had started bucking as soon as there’d been a little pressure from the wood on her pussy and he wondered how she’d handle the next half an hour or so of riding time.

 

 

I’d settled down after a couple of minutes and while I wasn’t moving around like before, I was still covered in sweat and quivering all over like a newborn foal.  Through the red fog which curtained my mind, I occasionally felt the need to move.  Sometimes I tightened my abdominal muscles, held them taut for as long as I could and then loosened them again.  Other times, I rocked back and forth a little.  A few times I squeezed my thighs together and held the embrace for a few seconds before relenting.  Everything helped take my mind off of my situation a little, but nothing really helped. 

 

I guess it was then he finally decided it was time for the next couple of steps. 

 

 

Number Four took out a couple of special nipple clamps and clicked them to make sure each was ready.  He knew the sounds wouldn’t frighten the bitch much yet because she couldn’t really hear anything with the hood on.  Plus, from what he understood, she wasn’t the type who’d know what they were anyway.  The clamps were spring loaded and had smooth jaws; but there was also a finger screw to tighten the clamp down when necessary. 

 

The new whore jerked when her first nipple was clamped.  Her faceless head began to make a quick back and forth motion almost like a chicken might.  After a moment of thrashing like this, she froze on the “horse” again.  It was an overpoweringly erotic sight to him, her nipple clamped and magnificent, sweaty breasts heaving, hands cuffed and head covered by the hood, her knees spread to accept the horse while her feet were hogtied to the backs of her thighs. 

 

Her head lolled down again, chin almost on her chest, and the only visible movement was the heaving of her gorgeous breasts.  While the pain from having her nipple crushed may have been awful, he knew it was nothing compared to the pain that moving on the horse brought to her genitals.  When he put on the second clamp, her body swayed only a small amount before assuming the original upright position again.  Good, he thought, the bitch was learning a little control.

 

 

When I felt the first clamp attached to my right nipple and then tightened, I screamed, making an involuntary movement away from the intense pain.  Pain shot up from between my legs and my whole body shuddered as waves emanated from my groin and spread throughout my body.  

 

When the clamp was applied to my left nipple, somehow I controlled myself even though the massive currents of pain began anew in both my nipples and my vagina.  At this point, I could feel the sweat running off of me in rivulets. 

 

 

Finally, Number Four was ready to apply the coup de grace to his helpless date.  He grabbed one of the thin ropes he’d walked in with and tied it to the rope that went around the girl’s chest.  He then began wrapping the rope tightly around the base of her left breast, making it swell to a fullness that far exceeded what she normally exhibited.  After four tight wraps around her breast, he kept the tension up and tied the free end back to the rope around her chest. 

 

The American teenager’s breast immediately began to turn a dark red from the blood trapped in it.  A tracery of veins quickly stood out beneath her fair skin and the texture of the skin on her breast took on an odd, almost rubbery feeling.  Her nipple became even more engorged and erect and the overall effect was exactly what he wanted.  He quickly wrapped her right breast and tied it off as he had with the left.  Bitch was crying now, actually had been crying for a while, but he’d been too busy fucking with her to really pay attention. 

 

He looked at the young fuck-sow as she now rode the “horse” with her breasts bound and nipples clamped hard, her wrists bound behind her back and a hood depriving her of any sensory input. 

 

Okay.  That was just about that, he thought with satisfaction and walked away to get a cold diet coke.  He figured a naive, inexperienced piece of ass like her would be medium rare and ready after maybe thirty minutes or so, so he went up on deck to pass the time catching some rays.

 

 

My body was nothing but pain, waves and waves of pain.  It consumed my mind and every nerve in my body and never seemed to end.  Eventually I couldn’t help myself and just began a slow, short rocking movement in an attempt to find some release from the pain.  God!!  Nothing worked.  Somehow, I actually hurt even more if that was possible.  I knew now that yesterday I’d been lying to myself when I thought I was ready to tell them that they had won--because now I admitted that deep inside my soul there still had been a small, quiet spot where I’d vowed to continue to fight. 

 

But the sex and pain they were inflicting on me today, now, when combined with all I had already gone through, told me that they were just too strong for me.  For the first time, I knew they’d just keep on going until they had won or I was dead.  Finally, I couldn’t help it---it became too much to even hold my head up and my head sagged all the way down on my chest---in my mind, I had already totally surrendered to my captors.

 

 

Number Four went back into the cabin after forty-five minutes and found the new bitch sitting motionlessly on her wooden ride.  Her upper body had collapsed over her hips as much as the suspending rope allowed.  Every ten or fifteen seconds, there was a deep convulsive snort as she took deep, yet unsatisfactory breaths through her nose and then she became still again.  He winced with unplanned sympathy as he looked at her bound chest.  Her breasts seemed to throb, actually swelling as he looked at them and sweat was running off of her thighs in small rivers. 

 

Nodding with satisfaction at her state, he untied the end of the rope which kept the cunt suspended, and began to hoist her up.  As usual, women like this one didn’t get it, and she began to struggle weakly for a moment.  He pulled her up and over the horse and then lowered her once more motionless body to the ground.  Like a cadaver, while her knees may have hit first, she just crumpled bonelessly over on her side as more rope was let out. 

 

After first removing the loop of rope from under her arms, he dragged the teenager over to the bed, picked her up and laid her down upon it.  Making small rocking movements at first like someone afflicted with autism, she soon lay still. 

 

She lay quietly on her side then as he released her ankles from their bonds to her thighs and roughly straightened out each of her legs.  The girl screamed loudly into her gag as each movement of her legs caused cramps and obvious pain.  Next he took the hood off, but detached the gag and left it unsecured in her mouth. 

 

 

The muscles in my legs felt like they had exploded as he untied my ankles and slowly straightened them.  I couldn’t move either of my legs on my own at first and the pain seemed to take forever to die down.  I had neither the strength nor will power to even try to dislodge the gag with my tongue.  While my eyes were tightly closed shut, tears welled from under my eyelids and streamed down my face at what had been done to my legs and my vagina.  I somehow felt emotionless and numb, yet in another way filled to the brim with agony at what they’d done to me. 

 

I didn’t want to look.  I was afraid to see what he had done to me. 

 

My breasts were still bound and throbbed with each beat of my heart.  My legs were somehow both numb and cramped from having been tied for so long.  Both knees refused to work; they ached with an increasing urgency that would soon threaten to overwhelm my shockingly reduced world as the blood flow was re-established.  And worst of all, my terrible world was filled with horrific pain from having ridden the contraption I could still see off to one side. 

 

Pain.  Hurt.  Ache.  Agony.  All just words.  These are nothing but words.

 

There were no words to describe what I had felt, what I was feeling.  In the end, I pulled my misery in around me like a comforting blanket and I just endured.  That is all I can say, I endured. 

 

Finally, after long minutes, the waves of pain peaked and then ebbed slightly, and I was able to open my eyes for the first time.  Looking at him over my swollen, blackening breasts, I saw to my horror that he was sexually aroused, hat his penis was both erect and huge. 

 

How much more could one person endure? 

 

I was only nineteen years old and came from a good family.  I was not a person who was mean to others nor was I someone who mistreated animals.  I volunteered for charities and like most others my age, wanted nothing but good for everyone. 

 

I had done nothing to deserve this except maybe doubt climate change.  Just a little. 

 

I began to weep again.  I DID NOT DESERVE THIS!!

 

But it was my fate.

 

He saw me looking at him through my teary eyes…and he looked back at me for a second like I was nothing more than a furnishing, a mindless animal to be used and discarded when finished.  After a long moment during which neither us moved or even breathed, with a smile on his face he slowly began stroking himself. 

 

It seemed to go on forever, but probably lasted no more than a minute or two.  His reddened organ finally began leaking pre-ejaculate fluid.  I couldn’t move and I couldn’t fight: I closed my eyes once more in despair as I turned my face away from him. 

 

Finally, he couldn’t hold himself in anymore and he leaned over my body and, using my hair to make me face him, ejaculated onto my face and still-bound breasts.  After what he had already done to me, this was less than a minor humiliation.  Somehow mentally prepared for this indignity, except for closing my eyes I never reacted when his hot seed splattered on me.  While it was truly demeaning in fact, it was far better than being raped by one of them again. 

 

Finished with depositing his fluids on my helpless body, he looked at me for a second like I was a bug.  From his expression I knew they thought they now had a slave that was ready to undergo their “serious” training. 

 

I turned my face away from him and found I was unconsciously rocking my body again.  I forced myself to stop. 

 

I think maybe they were right. 

 

 

He looked at the new girl for a moment.  Lines and strings of thick, still-warm cum covered her face and breasts.  Her long blonde hair was sweaty and matted; it looked greasy, stringy, as if it hadn’t been washed in days.  Bags under her eyes, her skin sallow after only two days and stinking of sweat and stale lovers.  Damn woman, he thought to himself.  Despite her incredible natural beauty, she looked ten times worse than normal at the moment. 

 

The young bitch kept her eyes closed most of the time now; her face was deep red in color and covered with fine beads of sweat.  What was most amazing to him was that despite everything she still looked pretty good.  Of course, no one really expected her to look her best what with all they’d done to her.  Once she’d been fully broken and had had some time to recover, maybe get some sleep, use a little makeup, she’d be back to her normal level of natural beauty. 

 

After a moment, he went to work freeing her bound and pierced breasts.  She did not resist as he rolled her onto her back on top of her bound wrists.  Her shoulders were definitely gonna be fucked up when they untied her wrists.  Both breasts bulged straight into the air and were now completely engorged with trapped blood, being almost black in color.  Her nipples were standing hugely erect, and looked both inflamed and tender.  The rings were almost invisible in the swollen flesh of each breast, leaving only dimples on each side to show where her skin had been pierced. 

 

First he removed the right nipple clamp and unwrapped her breast.  Immediately she started making a muffled wailing sound and her upper body began thrashing around, shaking her head back and forth with the intensity of the pain as the blood was again allowed to circulate. 

 

Now open, her green eyes seemed to see nothing as she moved to the sound of an internal music, a collage of pain which totally consumed her at the moment.  Number Four watched as the pain seemed to reach a crescendo and then decline as within minutes she writhed less, although she still moaned softly into her gag. 

 

When he removed her left nipple clamp and unwrapped that breast, her body again rocked back and forth slowly in defiance of her will, repeating her pain-dance again for Number Four’s pleasure.  All fight was gone, the new bitch was well and truly fried.  He knew he had most definitely won and that best of all, she had lost. 

 

This had been all any of them had wanted from the very beginning.  He walked away a happy and contented man.  .

 

 

I was lying on the bed with my eyes closed, his fluids sticky and still drying on my face and chest.  My breast didn’t hurt like they once had, but there was still pain and it was different from before.  He had really hurt me.  I was exhausted and once more didn’t care what happened to me.  This was a state in which I seemed to exist more and more often now. 

 

Bossman came down so quietly I was not aware at first he was even in the cabin looking at me.  He saw they had left me without anything in my rear end and I still had the unsecured penis gag in my mouth, although accumulated saliva drooled out the corner of my mouth.  As he walked back up on deck, I heard him tell Number Four to “….gag and bag her.” 

 

My heart sank and my eyes teared once again as I continued to listen in.  Other than that, he told them, they were free to continue.  For the next five hours, I was left to the tender care of the four men in his crew—they were happy, but not particularly merciful…..

 

I’d learned to hate the gags.  It didn’t matter what shape or color or length or texture.  For some reason, once I’d become used to it, the awful rubber piece in my rear didn’t seem to hammer my mind as much as did the gags.  The former caused me discomfort and humiliation, but for some reason it didn’t fully represent as complete a domination of me as did the mouth gag.  I finally understood my screams of pain were never going to be heard by anyone.  There was no practical need for the gag, they used it as a tool against my mind rather than for any useful reason. 

 

Later, upon reflection, I realized that keeping the rubber in my mouth seemed to also in some weird psychological way to keep in all the pain they visited upon me---forced me to marinate in my anguish---like I was a piece of meat in some giant, evil pressure cooker.  Being able to speak, to communicate, was one of the key aspects of being a person, so the psychological impact of being continually gagged was a huge part of their battle against me. 

 

Worst of all, whether or not I understood exactly what they were doing to me didn’t matter.  For understanding did not, in any way, reduce the effectiveness of what they did to me.  And as long as they kept the lid on--kept these particular pieces of my pain inside me using a piece of rubber in my mouth--that gag would somehow in the end give them confirmation of how successful they’d been with breaking me. 

 

I knew I was psychologically fixated on the gag, but it was beyond me at that moment to do otherwise.  I think that if I had perhaps been allowed to let out this anguish as I was being violated, even while remaining just as helpless, I would have somehow been left “cleaner” and would have ultimately felt less corrupted inside. 

 

I know it was stupid and that my mind wasn’t working very well, but the whole situation would have been unimaginable to me less than a week ago.

 

 

At the end of a long day, around 4 PM, when everybody but the girl had been up on deck just long enough to get a beer, Bossman told them to break out the new machine and to get their “guest” set up for an hours’ ride. 

 

Untried as of yet, the men had talked about how to best tie up a woman in order to take advantage of the machine’s full range of motion.  They finally decided to use a light steel bar that was about four feet long and which had rings welded on each end and in the center.  They’d hook it under the heels of the woman’s shoes and then bind her feet to the rings on the bar using her ankle cuffs. 

 

Any elbow cuffs were to be taken off and then the cunt’s wrists (still bound behind her back) were to be tied to the center of the bar.  The tighter the rope, the more it would force her to arch her hips and back in an attempt to relieve the pressure on her lower back and shoulder joints. 

 

All the men grimaced in sympathy.  If not for testing the new machine, they would have freed her wrist tonight.  The girl was already going to have issue with her shoulders because she’d been bound with her wrists in back for too long.  All the girls did during this breaking-in period.  Well, they’d just have to take that into account later. 

 

Given how tightly her arms had to be stretched in order to attach them to the bar, they knew their victim would also be forced to spread her knees wide apart and keep them that way.  Finally, they would pull her to the foot of the bed and tie the iron bar to the bed frame.  No matter what they did to the female then, her body would remain open and exposed where it was and not be pushed up towards the head of the bed.

 

 

The pear was a torture device used on females.  This device was inserted into the vagina, or mouth of the victim and then expanded by force of the screw to the maximum aperture setting of the victim’s cavity.  The antrum would then irremediably become lacerated, nearly always fatally, ripping the tissue, flesh and membranes.

-Graham, on Soldat Forums

 

The men went down into the cabin and tied their victim as they had agreed, taking about ten minutes to complete everything.  With the unresisting teenager now lying helpless and immobilized, her hips arched up in a totally vulnerable position, Dog Nose went out into the galley and pushed a low table back into the cabin.  The table was mounted on wheels that locked and which had a small machine with a wheel on the side mounted in its center.  There was a long bar horizontally attached to the wheel and it protruded parallel to the deck a couple feet from the front of the machine. 

 

With his back blocking the girl’s view, he proceeded to screw a thick, twelve inch long gel-rubber dildo on the end of the shaft and then he lubricated the outside.  Turning back to the bound girl and carefully guiding the end of the rod to the red and bruised entrance to her vagina, he pushed the table almost to the foot of the bed, locked the wheels and turned the machine’s wheel once by hand.  This rotation resulted in a back and forth motion of the dildo-capped bar with about a twelve-inch range.  Depending upon how and where the rod was attached to the wheel, this range could be significantly extended or reduced.

 

 

I knew I looked awful, like death warmed over; my hair was matted and tangled, and the bags under my eyes had to look like blue bruises.  But I didn’t care about my looks, with the way I felt, they were the least of my worries.  I had never been one of those people who obsessed about their looks. 

 

They had really messed me up physically.  It was more difficult to breathe with my hips forced into the air.  I couldn’t get my eyes to focus, I ached everywhere and my lower back and rear were killing me.  I had now been awake and serially abused for over 60 hours.  Because I was hallucinating on an almost regular basis at this point, I really didn’t understand what was going on and I felt as if I was slowly being driven insane. 

 

I certainly didn’t understand what they had planned next for me, at least not until Dog Nose carefully guided the extended rod into me as he finally pushed the table up against the foot of my bed.  This resulted in the lubricated dildo coming to rest with about nine inches inside me.  I had been raped and abused for what seemed days now.  While the physical aspect of this was not particularly uncomfortable, the psychological shock of the machine’s entrance inside the raw, aching entrance to my body was horrific.  I raised my head and shook it no, NO!  I tried to struggle, but the way they had me tied ensured I stayed exactly where they wanted me. 

 

Watching my face with anticipation, Elvis turned the machine on at what appeared to be one of the lowest settings and the wheel began slowly turning.  With each complete rotation of the wheel, the rod plunged twelve inches forward and then a foot backwards in a smooth driving motion. 

 

The forced vulnerability of my position at the foot of the bed ensured I received the full travel of the dildo inside my pussy; on the withdrawal stroke, it always stopped just one inch short of exiting my body.  There was nothing that I could do to avoid this.  I tried to struggle at first, but my hips were pinned.  Exhausted and unsuccessful no matter what I tried, I finally wound up just lying there, accepting it’s monotonous and endless, robot-like thrusts.  It was #TooTiredToFightAnymore. 

 

It maintained a slow yet smooth, in and out motion, but the size of the dildo he used ensured my vagina was always filled.  Every time it went into me, I felt pressure in both my ass and my vagina due to the now normal butt plug I had been forced to accept for so long.  Once, Elvis leaned over my hips and drizzled more lubricant on the long black shaft as it withdrew from my body. 

 

 

The boat crew watched her take it from the “fuckbot” for about ten minutes.  At first frantic in her attempts to avoid being machine-fucked, her later cadaver-like reaction disappointed them.  Annoyed and frustrated with the bitch, Elvis reached down and turned the speed up almost to maximum.  This got a much more satisfying response from their captive.  Each time the rod reached its maximum penetration of her vagina, her body was slammed toward the head of the bed and her breasts would jiggle seductively. 

 

 

When it first began going faster, I once more tried to throw myself around the bed to get off of the rod, but with the way I was tied I couldn’t avoid being impaled by the dildo.  After a few minutes of higher speed robot-love, my pussy was so sore it felt like I was being penetrated by a fire hydrant wrapped in sand paper.  Frantic now, I lifted my head as best I could to see over my raised hips.  Nothing. Despair settled over me as I confirmed there was nothing I could do to stop it.  Finally, I just lay there….and it just kept fucking me and fucking me. 

 

After testing the machine at the higher speed, I knew the crew had watched me be tortured for a few minutes, searching for feedback from a woman being horribly abused.  But kept myself still as best I could, and once I “allowed” myself be machine-fucked this way without any obvious reactions, the men had finally become bored and departed the cabin after turning it down only a little.  It was a tiny victory, but at what cost?  For now, it was just myself and the horrific machine that was pounding into me.

 

I was raw inside.  My whole world was centered on my aching pussy and the rubber penis that was violating me.  I had challenged them by not reacting as they wished, and this was their response, a permanent torture.  I was filled with anguish, and I regretted my pride.  There was no reason for this to go on like this, they weren’t even around to watch.  This was nothing but sexual torture and degradation, pure and simple.  I knew they must be doing this to punish me, to hurt me, but I truly didn’t know what I could have done to deserve this continued punishment. 

 

Finally, I just lay there crying softly as the awful machine just kept on and on and on.  My stupid pride was gone.  I just wanted it all to stop.  Please, I begged silently, just let it stop.

 

 

After what seemed hours but must have been less than half of that, Dog Nose and Elvis walked back in and looked down on me.  After watching my anguished face in silence for a couple of minutes, a smirking Dog Nose walked to the machine and turned it off.  Coincidentally, it stopped while the dildo was fully penetrating me. 

 

Silence filled the air as I lay there taking deep breaths through my nose, trying to recover what little shattered self-esteem I might have left.  Pride is sinful and can do that to you.   Although closed, my eyes were dry since I was long cried out.  Through slightly parted eyelids, I saw his gaze travel over my body, finally ending between my legs where the awful machine probe lay buried to the hilt inside me. 

 

He smirked again as he said, “Don’t like that, do ya babe?  Okay, behave yourself and you won’t have to ride it again.  Won’t have to ride any of our toys again after the first time.” 

 

His comments remained unanswered as I turned my tear-stained face away from him and stared at a porthole through which clean sunlight shown. 

 

Although my non-response had annoyed him, Elvis now unlocked the cart wheels and moved the cart away from the bed, removing from my insides the blunt spear which had been methodically and mechanically raping me.  I cried out then, at the pain of its departure, and the gaping, unfilled hole it left behind.  I never would have believed it, but in some ways the dildo actually felt good filling me, it was the back and forth rubbing along my vaginal walls which had been so painful and disconcerting. 

 

The two men untied the bar from the foot of the bed and then, rolling me on my side like a piece of meat, untied my wrists from the bar.  I froze for a moment at this unaccustomed freedom.  I cried out when the two men finished untying my feet from the metal bar and straightened out my legs.  Then I moved, slowly and painfully, in my first attempt in days to straighten out my body by myself. 

 

I felt like I was a thousand years old.  I ached and hurt all over, but most of the recent pain centered in my groin and my shoulders.  The lips of my vagina had been bruised and were now chafed raw from the unending, uncaring caress of my machine lover.  My shoulder joints hurt too, the ache of my shoulders fighting that from my vagina…  But even once I got a little range of motion back, my shoulders still did not feel right from having my arms tied behind my back for so long. 

 

I hurt everywhere, and lay there on the bed with no thoughts in my head.  My mind was a blank and nothing could have made me move, not even the threat of death.  But I didn’t have to move on my own, since I was carried by the members of my ‘Recruiting Team’.

 

 

I was tortured fifteen times, that's total submission.  They did that with shutting off your blood circulation with ropes, giving you claustrophobia and pain at the same time, bending you double.

-James Stockdale

 

The crew had decided that the final treatment of the day for Vic was for her to be the main participant in an obscure Japanese rope torture.  It was a complicated position they chose, one in which multiple wraps of rope were passed by Number Four around a stoic Victoria’s upper body immediately above her breasts, the last two wraps going over her biceps rather than under.  Another set of ropes were passed around her chest immediately below her breasts, and a third set around her abdomen.  These all met in a large knot on her left side under her arm and towards her back. 

 

The girl was like a zombie.  After laying her on her right side, a long wooden bar was passed by Elvis through the knot on these ropes and then under her left arm and on top of her right leg, at which point the inside of her left elbow was tied to the bar.  Unresisting, her left leg was then lifted up over the bar and her ankles tied together so that the bar was now between her legs. 

 

Finally, more ropes were tied around her left leg just above the knee and they were tied to the bar.  Victoria’s wrists and ankles were now bound together and her body was attached to the bar at only two points, inside left elbow and inside left knee. 

 

 

I looked around rather stupidly because of the lack of sleep and thought that these guys had screwed up because all this did was immobilize me on the bed where I could finally get some sleep.  For some reason, I almost pointed this out to them, but I stopped myself somehow.  It was at that point that the two men lifted the bar, and me, and carried us over to a corner where special slots waited to receive each end of the long wooden shaft.

 

I understood now that none of this had been a mistake.  All of my weight was now hanging from my elbow and knee joints, with only minor support coming from the wraps around my chest.  My body was arched uncontrollably away from the bar as gravity tugged on me, while the back of my head was thrown against the wood in an involuntary muscle spasm.  Immediately, it felt like the joints in my elbow and knee were being dislocated or torn apart even as the pain in my already aching shoulders increased exponentially.  Although physically exhausted, I was almost immediately making mewling noises and puffing air in and out of my nose as if I were a distance runner.

 

Number Four leaned forward and watched me with wide eyes.  One of the other men, I’m not sure but I think it was Number Three said, “Keep on screamin’, hun buns.  It turn me on.”  They laughed, but all continued to watch me expectantly, knowing the pain I was in and wondering how I would accommodate it.

 

Even though my legs were helplessly spread wide apart, exposing my vagina to anything the men might desire, there was nothing sexual in this.  It was their last act for the night.  It was like the “fuckbot,” nothing really required of the recipient except accepting pure torture, an agony designed to break completely any remaining fire of resistance. 

 

And it worked.  Within minutes, I had nothing left to give, nothing left with which to fight.  Whatever they wanted, I would willingly give if only they would stop hurting me.  I would be whatever it was they wanted, I would say whatever they asked and I would act as they desired no matter what that might mean.

 

I spent over an hour on the bar before they came back and removed me from its terrible caress.  Silent in my misery, I had mutely cried the whole time, even though I had earlier been certain that I had cried my final tears two nights ago, and then felt that way again last night. 

 

They lifted the bar and carried me roughly to the bed, not worrying about whether they jarred me or not.  As I was lowered onto the bed and it finally began supporting my weight, my shoulder and elbow and hip and knee somehow began to hurt even more than before.  Without thinking, I began a rocking motion reminiscent of an autistic child in an attempt to reduce the pain.  I couldn’t find a position of comfort in which to lie, but my actions angered Dog Nose and Elvis as they got in the way of their attempts to remove the ropes.  Dog Nose slapped my face and breasts hard and told me to lie still.

 

I collapsed on the bed and was laid on my side on the bed.  My wrist cuffs were unlocked so that my arms were allowed free movement.  Although both shoulders felt dislocated and my arms numb from the position they had been kept in for days, there were also now additional fiercely burning points of pain centered on my left shoulder and elbow.  My knee throbbed and I thought I might have some cartilage damage.  My groin and crotch ached, but there was a curious numbness there too as if my mind knew what had been done to me over the last few days…but by blocking memories, it was trying to salvage my sanity. 

 

Finally, Elvis left me alone after locking my left wrist to the head of the bed.  I should have been hungry, but wasn’t.  I hated my gag and could have removed it and the butt plug at any time too, but I was too tired and I hurt too much.  I knew there was now no reason to do so---they had won.  And so, I fell into a deep sleep with this single thought on my mind.

 

 

Why not simply surrender to one’s doom, since one was so clearly, so spectacularly, doomed?

-Paul Russell, in The Coming Storm

 

It was dusk when I awoke.  Bossman was sitting on the edge of my bed, slowly rubbing my shoulders and upper arms.  He’d unlocked my left wrist from the bed, and while his light touch was still painful, it did help relax me a little.  I suddenly felt overwhelmed and unexpectedly, almost childishly grateful to him for even the smallest kindness.  I suppose this last emotion was his real reason for the minor kindness, but I did not care at this point.  Even knowing his motivations were far less than pure, they worked, for I really did feel appreciative of what he did. 

 

Seeing that I was awake, he reached around and released the straps of my gag, taking the large rubber pear out of my mouth.  I closed my eyes and swallowed to get rid of the accumulation of stale tasting saliva, and then I licked my dry lips.

 

 

“M, would you like some water”, he asked? 

 

When the kidnapped girl nodded yes, he helped her over to the side of the bed and she sat up unsteadily.  Bossman reached over and picked up a sweating glass of chilled water and put the straw in her mouth.  Her face showed immense pleasure as the delightfully cold liquid quenched her thirst and he could tell she immediately felt better.  He looked at her intensely. 

 

“Do you want this to go on?” He asked in a soft, sincere tone. 

 

 

“God, please, no more,” I replied, my itchy red eyes pleading with him to understand the depths of my emotions, to save me from any more pain.  I was still groggy, but knew the answer to this question immediately.  I wanted to cooperate in order to stop the pain---I needed to cooperate to please them.

 

He continued rubbing me, now gently working on my aching left knee and elbow.  “Slave, do you finally begin to understand what I’ve been saying to you?  We can do anything we want to you, and, you must know this by now, it will not stop until you tell me what I want to hear.” 

 

“It.  Will.  Not.  Stop.”

 

His tone was surprisingly gentle again as he asked, “Now tell me; what are you?”

 

I blushed as I turned my head away.  I had to lick my lips again before I could answer.  I felt like I was somewhere near the ceiling looking down on my body as everything around me occurred without my control.  Suddenly, I knew there was only one thing of which I must be sure before I would be willing to even consider beginning a new life with this man. 

 

My eyes teared up as I weakly asked him, “What about my family?  If you promise to leave them alone…….I’ll do whatever you ask.”

 

 

Never one particularly good at waiting when the prize was this close at hand, Bossman exhaled deeply as he sat back on the edge of the bed.  He looked at the recalcitrant bitch for over a minute without saying a word.  His mind was racing, thinking of her impudence and insolence.  At the same time, he was also going over the possibilities this opened, the physical and psychological leverage this request might give him with her.

 

With his face impassive, he finally nodded his head and said, “You have my promise.”  While he had no plans, at this time, of doing anything to her family, his promise meant nothing to him other than opening another avenue for her manipulation.  He’d say anything to get more power over her.  Soon, very soon, she’d learn what her new life was about and that trying to make bargains with him for her body was like making a very bad deal with the devil.

 

“Now,” he demanded again, “tell me, what are you?”

 

Finally, in an inaudible voice, she whispered, “I’m a girl.”

 

He leaned forward, “No, you’re not.  You are something very special to me.  What are you?” 

 

She whispered again, her voice cracking this time, “I am your slave.” 

 

He grabbed a roll of muscle on the inside of her thigh and squeezed hard.  “Louder, I couldn’t hear you!”

 

“I’m a slave,” she responded a little louder.

 

“LOUDER, I STILL CAN’T HEAR YOU,” he shouted!  He now had stopped rubbing and was instead glaring at her.

 

 

Finally, in a loud, ringing voice I almost shouted, “I’m a slave!”  And then again almost in a whisper, “I’m a slave, God help me.  I’m a slave.  Your slave.” 

 

My face had unaccountably flushed red with shame at this admission and I could not look him in the eyes.  This time, however, I had replied loudly enough that the men on top could hear me acknowledging my new status.  I could hear them snickering---they knew they had won and that the hard part was now over.

 

Looking at me without expression, he asked, “Who do you belong to?”

 

Somehow shocked that my initial admission was not enough for him, I finally stammered, “You, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, you guess right”, he replied dryly. 

 

“So what does that make you,” he asked softly?

 

He would never stop!  God please save me, I wanted to beg, I am only nineteen years old.  I have so much of my life ahead of me.  Instead, as I looked at him and tried to blink away my tears, I replied softly, “I’m your slave.  I am your slave.” 

 

He nodded his head and after a moment, Bossman stood up and grabbed my left wrist and cuffed it to the head of the bed. 

 

We were finished for now. 

 

He looked at me for a second and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a one inch wide strap of soft leather with a buckle on one end.  Taking this in both hands, he put it around my neck and fastened it in back saying, “All of my chattel wear collars.  Keep this collar on except when bathing or when you have permission to take it off.  Understand?” 

 

I wearily nodded my understanding.

 

He looked at me for a long minute without saying a word.  Then, “I know you’re hungry and thirsty.   But right now, I want you to get some sleep.  Tomorrow we begin your training—you’ll get a little more food and water then, depending upon how you behave.”

 

“We’ll also see what your attitude is tomorrow when you’ve been able to sleep a little.  I’m letting you know now slave; if you change your mind and begin to fight us again tomorrow after you’ve had some sleep, I’ll do things to you that I wouldn’t do to a dog.  I don’t want to do these things to you, but I will.  I don’t want your independence; I want your obedience, your complete submission.  I get no pleasure from hurting you, but I’ll have your complete obedience no matter how long it takes.  You are a piece of property and you belong to me now.”

 

There was silence then as he took a couple of minutes and rubbed more antibacterial ointment into my piercings in silence, but as he was about to leave, he asked one final question.  “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” 

 

I hadn’t had very much to drink or eat over the last three days and so nodded no.  But I also remembered what had happened last time I had to go to the bathroom. 

 

Bossman countered my nod with, “You will address me as Master.  Always.  Now say it!”

 

“No Master,’ I answered him, my voice low, yet filled with sincerity, “I don’t have to go to the bathroom.”

 

He nodded to me and then had me lay back down on the bed.  After locking my left wrist to the head of the bed again, he then left without another word.  After staring at the ceiling for less than ninety seconds, I fell into a deep and exhausted sleep.

 

 

Day Four: The Prize Capitulates

 

Soon madness has worn you down.  It’s easier to do what it says than argue.  In this way, it takes over your mind.  You no longer know where it ends and you begin.  You believe anything it says. You do what it tells you, no matter how extreme or absurd.  If it says you’re worthless, you agree.  You plead for it to stop.  You promise to behave.  You are on your knees before it, and it laughs.

-Marya Hornbacher, in Madness: A Bipolar Life

 

There was brilliant sunshine coming through the portholes when I awoke with a gasp early the next morning.  I was awake immediately and felt rested and relaxed and at peace, as if I had slept for twenty-four hours.  At the same time I was desperately hungry and thirsty.  The mattress felt soft beneath me and the dirty, awful bedding like silk on my skin. 

 

I was just beginning to stretch the kinks out of my arms and legs when I found my left wrist immobilized. 

 

I suddenly remembered where I was and why I was on this boat.  I think he drugged me last night to help me sleep.  My eyes swam with sudden tears and I pulled the sheet up around my chest with my right hand as if to hide from reality.  In horror, I covered my mouth with free hand and stared at the four walls of the small cabin.  The warm sunlight working its way through the portholes went away as I remembered what had been done to me over the last three days. 

 

I lay there trying not to make any noise as I silently cried at the horrific memory.  My family must be going crazy wondering what had happened to me.  If he was right, I would never see them again, my family and my friends.  I had given up any right to ever see them again, sacrificed myself, my sanity and my freedom to keep them safe.  And my friends were now back at school, beginning a new phase of their lives while I was being forced to endure humiliating sex along with the most painful and sadistic tortures. 

 

The worst part, the absolute part I regretted the most was how I had finally given in to him!  I’m exposed, raw.  Slit open from neck to groin, and then flayed.  My heart was a jagged slash and somewhere, deep inside, I hated myself.  I was so angry for having surrendered and allowing him to feel he owned me now.  I felt a rage begin to build in me.  I wanted to die of embarrassment at my weaknesses, but first I wanted to take them all with me into that long spiral into oblivion. 

 

Finally, my new reality began to set in and I recovered somewhat from my previous anger and bout of self-pity.  I took a couple of deep breaths and calmed myself by blanking my mind.  Then, it was time.  First, I began to inventory my aches and pains as I lay in the bed.  My shoulders were stiff and a little sore, but felt surprisingly better than I would have thought just twelve hours ago.  My hips ached in the same way, but were causing me more discomfort than my shoulders. 

 

The piercings around both nipples were a little red and warm to touch, and they throbbed with each beat of my heart.  They must be a little infected, I thought.  My breasts still showed red marks where they’d been bound and they were a little tender.  But the engorging blood was gone now.  My vagina was quite sore, but that was to be expected given how much sex and machine rape I had been forced to endure.  I was “saddle sore” they had all laughed at me yesterday.  But I would soon “….get used to being ridden by them.” 

 

My rear end only ached a little until I tried to move, and then God, it hurt a lot more.  I couldn’t believe I’d actually fallen asleep with that terrible thing stuck inside me.  The bruises and welts on my rear, stomach, back and thighs really didn’t bother me at all.  My left elbow and knee joints were very tender, but seemed to be working okay. 

 

All in all, knowing what had been done to me, I felt lucky to be alive, let alone feel as good as I did—it could have been so much, worse.  God!  What a little Annie Sunshine, glass half-full kind of girl I had turned to be. 

 

I instinctively did not want them to know I was awake.  I must have laid in bed for an hour, trying not to move or make a sound.  Any anger I might have felt upon awakening was gone.  I was caught up in my own thoughts, filled with a profound sense of self-pity accompanied by overwhelming sadness and fear.  It was true, I might have been naïve and even a romantic, but I also had a strong streak of pragmatism.  I would do whatever I had to do to survive even if it was horrible---and as long as my family was safe. 

 

My hand went up to my collar by itself; for the first time I noticed there was a small pendent hanging there.  I couldn’t actually believe I was beginning to dwell on what it would be like to be someone’s chattel.  Never to see my parents again.  Never to see my friends again.  I couldn’t conceive of this happening in today’s world, but here I was, actually living it. 

 

Suddenly, I noticed Bossman had come in from the galley and reflexively, I pulled the sheet up around my neck.  He moved so silently that only the smell from the cup of coffee he held gave him away.

 

Once he knew I was aware of him, he moved a chair next to my bed and sat down.  The coffee smelled delicious!  Silently, he offered the coffee to me and I hesitantly, awkwardly, accepted it with my free right hand.  I drank nothing for a moment, rather I watched and waited.  Finally impatient, he motioned for me drink and I silently sipped from the cup. 

 

Then, in a low voice he asked, “So.  How do you feel today, my new one?” 

 

I hesitated at what he had called me.  So far, I hadn’t had any control over what had happened to me, but this, whatever this was, this seemed up to me.  For the first time, in the light of day, I would be forced to truly acknowledge my relationships with him, my future with him, all by agreeing he had a right to control my every move and thought from this point on.  Finally, I realized I couldn’t delay any longer. 

 

“OK, I guess,” was my terse reply.  I felt a sinking feeling in my chest.  I knew my words were almost if I were begging him to beat me. 

 

He looked at me sharply for a second, his dark eyes gleaming and then he continued, “We need to talk.  Last night you told me you wouldn’t fight us anymore.  You said that we had ‘won’.  Well, now that you’ve had a chance to get some rest, I need to know if you feel the same way now.  Do you?  Are you a woman who keeps her word?”

 

I licked my lips for a second, but I couldn’t look at him.  My hope of avoiding this floods away and I’m suddenly empty.  Hollowed out.  My hope was futile, I am a fool, an idiot.  I knew this moment would decide my fate forever.  Finally, I briefly nodded my head yes.

 

“I need to hear you say it,” he replied.  “Say that you belong to me.”

 

I looked at him for a minute and then I looked out of the closest porthole.  The ocean seemed to hold a perfect crystal stillness.  No birdsongs, no chirp of insects.  Even the wind had subsided as if waiting for my answer.  It was the calm before the storm. 

 

Finally, I said almost in a whisper, “I belong to you.”

 

“I didn’t hear you, say it again---louder”

 

I blushed fiery red then and after a second I said in a more normal tone, “I belong to you.”

 

“That’s better,” he responded.  “Now, what are you?”

 

“Please,” I begged, “don’t make me say it.”

 

“Girl, the last three days have been hell for you.”  He stopped for a second and continued, “I take that back.  After what we’ve done to you, you’re not a girl anymore, you’re a woman.”

 

“If you want to change your mind now, fair enough, go ahead.  But do it now.  If you tell me what you think I want to hear and then try to do something stupid later, like escape, you’ll wish you’d died.  Either you broke last night or you didn’t.  If you didn’t, you got an extra night’s sleep for free.  But you’d better know you’ll go back on the horse for at least six hours next time, and you’ll wear the electric jewelry and inserts for a lot longer, along with all the other extra added benefits that we’ve thrown your way.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you unnecessarily, I really don’t.  But you will obey me.  Bottom line, either you tell me what you are—the truth, or we get busy again.  Your choice and you make it now…and live with it forever.  What are you?”

 

Finally, I looked down at the sheet that covered my nude body, “I’m a slave and I belong to you.”  The words had come out in a croak and were barely audible.  I felt like each one had ripped at my heart, my soul.  And now, there was nothing left of the old me. 

 

“Say it again,” he commanded, “louder!”

 

“I’m a slave and I belong to you.”

 

“Again!!”

 

I shouted at him this time, “I’m a slave and I belong to you.”

 

“Good, he replied, calmer again now that I had submitted.  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

I suddenly realized that this moment in which I had just renounced all I had ever been taught, that I had, incredibly, also just undergone a strange spiritual division of self.  At the same time, I suddenly realized that I felt odd right now, like my mind was on the verge of some great discovery.  God, my mind felt so….loose.  My emotions, my feelings, they all were just so hard to describe.  It was like my mind was an unmoored raft, just drifting from one thought or feeling to another, with no ultimate goal in mind.

 

I suddenly realized that for many of the girls who must have gone helplessly before me like this, doing this would have been a throwing away of their ideals, a hopeless surrender to the brutalizing spirit of these men.  But it could not be so for me, for I would do my best to embrace it in a way which still allowed me some room to fight.  I instinctively knew that was the only way I could survive.  I’d do what he wanted and say what he wanted; I would deliver to him everything he wanted---everything except the true me inside that one like him could never touch.

 

 

Confronted with the impossibility of remaining faithful to one's beliefs, and the equal impossibility of becoming free of them, one can be driven to the most inhuman excesses.

-James Baldwin

 

Most of us are about as eager to be changed as we were to be born, and go through our changes in a similar state of shock

-James Baldwin

 

This was a young woman not yet used to dissembling.  Bossman looked at her for minute and knew from her face, knew from looking into her eyes that she still didn’t get it.  She may now know what she has in her mind, but obviously not what’s in her heart.  But she still didn’t get it in her gut. 

 

She’d heard him talking about a new life, but still didn’t understand what it really meant to her, for her.  This was one that would give him everything he wanted and still try to play her games.  Well, he’d seen it all before.  He was ready for that. 

 

He reached over and unlocked her left wrist, then forced her over to the side of the bed.  She sat up slowly, still holding the sheet close to her chest in some sort of imagined modesty. 

 

“Look at me”, he demanded.  She looked but didn’t say anything.  Suddenly, he reached down and though the light sheet still covering her breasts, he was able to grab her right nipple between his left thumb and forefinger.  He pinched down hard and twisted at the same moment, using the ring that had been driven through her nipple to make her feel unprecedented pain with this simple move.  Then he pulled her off of the bed with his two fingers and onto floor where she stood with her eyes bulging in pain and her mouth open in shock. 

 

His eyes blazing, “You…..Are….A…..Fucking…..Slave,” he said slowly and quietly, emphasizing each word with a painful twist of his hand.  “So what do you call me and how do you hold yourself in my presence?”

 

The enslaved girl stuttered for a second because of her tortured nipple and then found herself, “You are my Master.” 

 

She then forced herself to lower her eyes and spread her legs, and even though it had to be a torture to do so with his hand so rough on chest, she clasped her hands behind her back and stood silently waiting. 

 

Bossman continued to pinch and twist her nipple for another thirty seconds as a lesson and then let go, allowing the sheet to fall to the floor.  Bitch had a high thresh-hold of pain.

 

He studied her dismissively, derisively.  “Your position is awful,” he said contemptuously.  “In a submissive stance, you clasp your hands behind you in the small of your back and push your chest forward and shoulders back.  You will spread your legs shoulder width apart---FURTHER!  You will not look at the man; instead you’ll look down at your feet.  You’ll only look at him when he is addressing you or if he’s given you permission to speak.  Assume this posture now.”

 

 

I looked down at my feet as I blinked back tears of pain and shame, of abject humiliation.  Somehow, I said, “Yes Master”. 

 

I did not understand how he could change so quickly; being so kind one minute and so brutal the next.  I stood in front of him and assumed as close to a submissive position as I could.  I hated myself for being so weak even as I did everything he demanded of me to the best of my ability.  Finally, Bossman reached out and pulled my shoulders back and lowered my head a little more and then grunted in satisfaction.

 

 

Bossman waited in silence for a couple of minutes before continuing.  “As you finally begin to realize, you are a slave and you belong to me.  This life is new to you, but you will act accordingly.  You will learn to do as you’re told.  Right now, you’re like a willful child, but you will soon learn discipline.  If you always do what you’re told, once your training is complete your punishments will become minimal.  You will find that there is a difference between discipline and punishment.  Both are still available to be used with you.  ” 

 

This was a soothing lie meant to make it easier to control her as he took from the untrained girl the feral freedom that she had previously enjoyed and which seemed so precious to her.  He would replace it with a new set of goals and rights, a new life of being controlled in every movement she might make. 

 

He’d laid out her training and he knew that her punishments would have nothing to do with the penalties for being a less than perfect slave.  The emotional and physical and psychological pain that his crew would bring her would never stop as long as she was in their possession.  It would only escalate with time, no matter how obedient she might be.  She would be continually broken down further and further to ever lower levels of existence. 

 

And even when fully trained, he knew that as long as her body and looks held out, she would always be served up pain and anguish by her Masters in dishes both hot and cold.  This was her fate, to bring pleasure to others by learning to accept their pain.

 

He continued, “As I told you two days ago, there are some important rules that you must follow exactly, at all times.  Do you understand me?  Save yourself some pain now and tell me if you don’t understand.”

 

“Master, what do you mean my punishments will be minimal?”

 

 

It is one thing to be subject to the whip, and to know that that subjection is quite real, that the master can, and will, whip you, and well, if you are not pleasing, and something else to be actually whipped.

-John Norman, in Mercenaries of Gor

 

Bossman thought for a minute before speaking, “You are now property that belongs to a man.  And that’s me, right now.  In the new life you have begun, your main purpose will be to serve your master, to give pleasure with your body.  Always before, you’ve been allowed to act as if you were equal to all others, but that has now changed even if you truly don’t yet understand this yet.”

 

“While you have been tamed, you are as yet untrained, not fit to be allowed among those better than you.  You will become familiar with pain now used as discipline, it will be a major tool in your training.  Ultimately, once fully trained, you will be delivered to your new Master.  He in turn may decide to give you for a time as a toy to other Masters and Mistresses.  The men and women you will be taught to please vary in temperament like everyone else in this world.  Some will derive pleasure from giving you pleasure.  Savor these moments.  These are the experiences that will comfort you as you look back upon them while crying in the beds of the darker Masters.”

 

“Other Masters will have a more, shall we say, severe way of enjoying your considerable charms.  They will take you to their private islands and share you with others.  They will make you familiar with their pain in order to take your blood and gain pleasure from your body.  To help you better please them, you will be taught to appreciate the finer arts of bondage and sadomasochism.  And your body will be trained through practice and discipline to not only endure, but eventually enjoy everything you may experience.  I know it sounds horrific and that you don’t believe me now.  But it really doesn’t matter what you think, for this will happen.  In these things, you have no choice.  You will, however, eventually understand this with both your heart and your soul.  ””

 

“These Masters will bring you pleasure and they will bring you pain to fulfill their needs.  It’s only by embracing the pain we bring you, learning to not only endure, but to look forward to it, that you will be able to survive it.  And if nothing else, these last few days have shown me you are a survivor.  So, in answer to your question, we’re going to teach you how to bring pleasure to whomever you have been given and to appreciate the beauty of the pain they may give you in return.  Do you understand now?”

 

 

“Master, I understand,” I replied to him.  For the first time, fear trumped the pain of my body.  I really didn’t understand, but for some reason, I believed that he believed what he was saying.  I knew that I needed to eventually understand my new environment, even if just to survive. 

 

I think he’d just said something like they would beat me in order to make me like being beaten---this didn’t make sense at all.  But I also somehow knew he would explain everything to me in a way that I could understand---and God help me, I knew that I would do my best to please him.  At the same time, I also knew that there would always be something inside me that would never give up all control to these men.

 

 

“Excellent.  Your new Master honored you by picking you out of a large group to serve him and you’ll be the perfect companion and slave for him when we’re done. 

 

Bossman slowly shook his head from side to side, “Rest assured, your attitude is one of the first things we address, and it will be corrected.  So.  First thing, like I said, we’ll be working on your attitude.  You haven’t fooled anyone here.  You demeanor may be submissive, but you have not yet been convinced of the rightness to your life that giving total control to another will bring.”

 

He looked at her sharply to see how she took this next part.  “When we’re finished with you, when you have the correct attitude, it will allow you….  No, it will drive you, it will compel you to develop the expertise that your new life demands.  You see, that’s the best part of this, the human mind that is.  Once you have the right attitude, you’ll want to do the rest and at that point, all you’ll need from us is guidance in the physical and the psychological aspects.”

 

“With our assistance, you’ll develop a consummate expertise in numerous sexual positions and a range of abilities in both sadomasochism and bondage.  You’ll be taught how to use every part of your body and mind to give pleasure.”

 

“More importantly, I now give you your only warning.  Your indoctrination period has ended and you now enter your training phase.  Be aware that you will also be punished for all infractions, beginning now.  Punishments will vary according to the offense, but will range from light whipping of your back, ass, back of your thighs and genitals to rope torture.  You have already been introduced to some of these techniques.  Don’t make it necessary for us to use them again.” 

 

In this he lied, for he knew she would be routinely kept familiar with all of these things and be introduced to even more exotic objects d’amour and painful positions, regardless of how well she behaved.  These were all part of her continued training and would be for the rest of her life.  Even if she responded perfectly to his crew in all ways, she would still meet and become continually more familiar with rope and whip, with rubber and iron, as her training progressed.  It was only by these techniques that they could teach her to contain the pain and even include it as a daily and accepted---no, a desirable and necessary part of her life.  In the end, her punishment must even be perceived as life threatening; for it was only by this that they would find the true depths of her submission to them.  

 

He held up his index finger, “The main rules; from now on, you will learn to serve those “better than you.  We here are not politically correct; there are layers and complexities to your new life of which you have not yet even dreamed.  Be warned.  We do not subscribe to feminism or the #MeToo movement.  Forget about your constitutional rights.  You are not equal to others as your previous teachers and family may have taught you.  Instead you now inhabit a lower level in which you will assume that all men are better than you.”

 

He smiled wickedly, “It may be a full-blown patriarchy you’re going to, but it isn’t run by white males.” 

 

He held up a second finger. “Above all other men, you’ll serve your Master.  Only speak to a man when asked a direct question or allowed to speak freely, but never lie.  In your new life, you’ll be kept isolated, out of the sight of most men.  Your beauty is such that men would remember you.  But even more important, you will be offered only to those special few that your new Master deems worthy.  You are stubborn and I see you having problems accepting this---at keeping your silence.  This is because somewhere inside, you still see yourself as equal to men.  This lesson alone will be difficult for you to learn because of your attitude.  But we’ll break you of it; there is no doubt in this.”

 

“When asked a question, even if you know the answer is not what your Master wants to hear, never lie to him.  When a man, any man walks into your presence, you will immediately stop what you are doing, get up and stand in a submissive posture.  You will be taught other positions, but this will suffice for now.  This position is how you’ll acknowledge a man’s dominance over you in a way that invites him to take you for his pleasure---and to give you pleasure in return.”

 

He looked at her coldly.  “I know women---I’ve broken and trained females like you for decades.  A woman like you may perfectly do with your body as I command, but inside you’ll still be measuring, deceiving, thinking to always keep something to yourself.  Women like you always try to deceive, but in the end it is only yourself to which you will be lying.  But soon, sooner than you think, you’ll make a mistake and then you’ll pay a greater price than you can even imagine for not learning this from the beginning.  But that’s the way that women you are.”

 

He waited a moment before he continued.  “There will be times when you may be given to a woman for pleasure.  You will address these women as Mistress, and they are to be accorded the same privileges with your body as that of any Master.  There may be times when a woman is given to you for your Master’s pleasure---he may have you do with her as he does with you.  In all of these situations, you will do as commanded.”

 

The previous part had been more concerned with her body, controlling the physical aspects and giving her a few lessons in slave manners.  Now he began the psychological indoctrination.  “Finally, as a slave, you don’t get to keep your name.  From now on, you’ll answer only to the name ‘M’.  Your slave collar has your new name on it; keep it on at all times.  Do you understand what I’ve said so far?” 

 

He watched the girl reluctantly nod her head yes.  He knew the nod began for her a journey of which she had no concept.  She had no idea as of yet down what twisted paths and trails he would lead her in his bid to tame her, to train her, to forever make her his own.  Taking away her name was only the beginning of taking away her membership in her old family and making her a new member of his.  In this single act, her nod, she’d validated not only his control over her, but his authority to do so too.

 

“Do you have any problem understanding anything I’ve said so far?” 

 

He could tell that inside she still burned, but the young girl previously named Victoria shook her head, “No Master.”

 

“Go over these rules until you know them by heart.  Think about them---believe in them.  There will be others, but you will get them later.  Failure to follow any these rules will result in significant punishment.”

 

 

Discipline is important simply because we live in an organized society where, if you have not learned life's requirements at early age, you will be taught later, not by those whose love tempers the lesson but by strangers who could not care less about the harm they do to your personality.

-William Homan, in Readers Digest, 1969

 

Now on to the more mundane things; he held up his third finger, “Discipline is important and you’ll perfectly maintain a schedule while on this boat.  There will be no excuses for failure in this.  Today you have off so that you can recover sufficiently to follow your schedule and prepare for tomorrow.” 

 

“Starting tomorrow, you’ll get up at 6 in the morning and have tea or coffee, your choice.  You’ll dress for exercise and be ready by 6:15; we’ll provide your exercise outfit.  From 6:15 to 7:15, you’ll do a mix of aerobic exercises and light weights in your cabin.  From 7:15 to 9, you’ll shower, make your bed and clean up your cabin, eat a light breakfast, and put on your make-up and dress.  We will provide everything for you, and expect you to look your best at all times.” 

 

A serious look came on his face, “This is really important and I will not say it again after this, you will look your best at all times.  Your make-up will be minimal since you don’t need a lot, but I want you to emphasize your eyes.  Use lipstick and nail polish.  Keep in mind you’ll need to put on new nail polish the night before, since you won’t have time during the day.  Chipped nails will always require discipline.”

 

He knew the next was useless to her right now, but he tried anyway.  She would play her games….right up until she lost everything.  “You know you are only here because of your looks---no one cares about your winning personality, your interests or accomplishments, or anything else for that matter.  Given what you’ve already gone through, you also already know you will be expected to please your owner in any way he wants.”

 

The next part was meant to soothe her, make her a little more manageable.  She’d learn the truth soon enough.  “Unless required as punishment, you will not be undergoing any of our more persuasive techniques.  However, as I said, your “indoctrination” will give you the skills and knowledge that allow you to take ownership of your pain; these classes will continue for at least the next seven to fourteen days depending upon how quickly you learn.”

 

“Here’s the important part, at least for the crew that is,” he said with a small smile while holding up a fourth finger.  “You’ll be with each of the men for at least one training period a day, beginning at 9.  Keep in mind that the concepts of ‘fair’ or ‘not fair’ doesn’t exist for you anymore.  You belong to me now, your body belongs to me.  You don’t have any say about how your body’s used---get used to it, that’s the way it is for you now.  Just be glad I make sure the men are clean.  They will provide you with whatever they want you to wear, since they began purchasing clothing for you on the island beginning more than ten days ago.” 

 

 

I looked at the deck of the boat as the buzzing, rushing sound returned to my mind.  I concentrated on what he’d said, but I wanted to argue with him too.  But I remained silent instead.  Given what they’d already done to me, I wasn’t surprised I would be treated as a sex slave.  But I still nonetheless felt an electric pulse of shock go up my spine as he spoke.  I was emotionally numb and knew the fear and the self-pity his announcement should have given me would come later.  I was almost a virgin….I had almost been a virgin….and then, this.  I knew this was not a dream…….yet I just knew this couldn’t be happening to me; not to the me who had always been so protected by my father. 

 

I was even more horrified to hear the planning for my abduction had been that detailed starting that long ago.  How could I have been so stupid, so blind to everything around me for so long?  My emotions were rushing around so much inside of me that I didn’t know what I felt at the moment, but I vowed to myself to do the best that I could and still be true to myself.

 

I looked up again as the monster who now felt he owned me continued, “Each of my men will have at least ninety minutes with you each day beginning at 9 AM.  After the first man finishes, you will clean yourself and prepare for the next man.  By the time you have finished refreshing your makeup, your next outfit will be waiting for you on the bed.  Whatever he’s brought for you, you will put it on and spend the next hour or more with him; you’ll willingly and enthusiastically learn what he has to teach.  This will continue until you have spent at least ninety minutes each with all four men---every day until you are told differently.  If any of the men feels you have been less than completely involved in learning what they have to offer or that you are giving less than a 100% effort in pleasing any one of them, you will be severely punished.  The men all have permission to punish you at their whim.  Do not test them!  Do you understand what this means?” 

 

I looked at him and quickly nodded my head while saying, “Yes, Master.”

 

 

He knew his men were here to train M as well as continuing to break her.  He didn’t necessarily like giving the woman to each man like this, but it was unavoidable in his estimation.  These guys weren’t Boy Scouts, and if she was prancing about on the boat all dressed up and these guys couldn’t fuck her at least once a day, there’d soon be a riot.  Allowing them access to her like this was win/win for him; they got their nuts off daily and wouldn’t be as aggressive and she’d be ridden like a horse for at least half the day, every day, getting good training in sexual techniques with multiple partners as well as fatiguing her physically. 

 

In his experience, a sexually exhausted woman was a much more manageable woman. 

 

The stress of her unwilling participation in daily gangbangs would keep her emotionally damaged as well as physically exhausted.  Plus, he knew that psychologically it would be extremely traumatizing for this inexperienced bitch to be passed around like an Indian peace pipe day after day and it would keep her more easily controlled and malleable.  Like he said, win/win.

 

But at the same time, he always kept in mind he was working with human beings.  The men he used were cut from coarse cloth and were only human, the woman being broken and trained was beautiful and desirable, and he wouldn’t always be around---that was a combination just made for trouble.

 

“The men will begin your training tomorrow.  As with all of the others that have gone before you, they will take their time to make sure that you learned your lessons perfectly.  You’d better cooperate with each man and work on learning what they have to offer to you.  As I said, your “peace of mind,” depends upon it.”

 

He ticked off his fifth finger. “If history is any guide,” and he gave her a small, quick flash of a smile filled with hidden knowledge, “you should be free somewhere around 2:30 or 3 in the afternoon.  When the men are finished with you for the day, you will shower, refresh your makeup, put on the swim wear we provide and you will be brought up on the sun deck for fresh air and some sun bathing.

 

Sixth finger.  “You will go down to your cabin at 5:30 and prepare for a slightly more formal dinner.  This preparation includes putting on makeup and a gown we will provide.  In addition to serving the men during the day, you’ll serve the crew their meal beginning at 6:30 PM.  When they are finished eating, you may eat anything that remains, but you’ll return to your cabin immediately after finishing your meal.  Regardless of whether or not you’ve eaten, you will always be in your cabin by 7:30 PM.  You’ll change into your nightwear and have free time from 7:30 until 9, when you will then go to bed.  You will not leave the cabin during the time after eating and before you sleep.  This schedule will hold only for your time on the boat, since I can guarantee that your new master will provide his own schedule for you.  Finally, you’ll be eating with us starting tonight.”

 

“Do you have any questions?”

 

I shook my head no.  This was too much to for me to take in at one time, but I was sure the crew would be more than willing to correct me whenever necessary.

 

Bossman cleared his throat, “I noticed that you’ve never shaved your pubic hair.  When you take your shower this morning, you will remove all of it, leaving only a thin vertical strip of hair ½ inch wide.  Also make sure you get rid of all your leg and armpit hair.  There’s hair removal cream in the shower for you to use, since we’ve decided you don’t need a razor blade of any type right now.” 

 

He said this with a slight smile.

 

“Take the plug out of your ass now, take fifteen minutes to shower and get cleaned up and then I’ll bring your breakfast.  Your clothes will be laid out by the time you’re out of the shower.  You’re going to spend today getting ready for tomorrow and you’ll be eating with us tonight at 6:30.  Plan on getting dressed for dinner starting around 5:30.”

 

 

We need to understand the difference between discipline and punishment.  Punishment is what you do to someone; discipline is what you do for someone.

-Zig Ziglar

 

When Bossman walked out of the cabin, I slowly, painfully walked over to the bathroom.  There, as I looked at my grim reflection in the metal mirror, I gingerly worked the plug out of my rear and did what I had to do.  Then I leaned in and turned the water on in the shower.  After washing my hair, I soaped my body down, washed it off and applied the hair remover.  Finally washing the stinking crap off, I stepped out of the shower and picked up the top towel off of a stack and dried my long hair.  I then grabbed another towel and dried myself off. 

 

I’d removed the hair under my armpits and legs as ordered, and had done the best I could with my pubic region.  Using a blow drier to dry my hair, its natural curls came to my rescue again.  I really didn’t need a lot of stuff to get myself ready.

 

Stepping out of the bathroom, I suddenly stopped as I saw Bossman waiting for me in the chair again.  I knew that even though I’d taken more than the fifteen minutes he had allotted me, my first reaction was to immediately cover myself, even if it meant just holding my hands over my crotch.  But I also knew I already failed one test and the move to cover myself would further enrage him, perhaps being enough to trigger punishment. 

 

His face still and frozen, he motioned to me with his forefinger. 

 

I crossed the cabin and when I stood in front of him in a submissive position, he pointed to the floor by the side of the couch.  I looked down and saw a large dog dish filled with what looked like oatmeal.  I looked back at Bossman as he said, “My women very quickly learn that all of the rules are for a reason and all enforced.  You took too long---you get to get down on your hands and knees and lick the food up using only your mouth.  You make a mess and you’ll be punished again.  DO IT NOW!!”

 

He had to be kidding!  I looked at him for just a second to make sure he really wanted me to do this—his serious face told me he did.  I…I… couldn’t believe this was happening.  I painfully dropped to my knees on the floor, then I rolled forward onto my hands.  I took a deep breath, then put my face over the dog bowl and as a fiery red blush covered my face, I lowered my mouth into the cold, disgusting goop and began lapping at it like a dog.  I know this is what he wanted, but that knowledge didn’t stop me from feeling shame at what he demanded I do, mostly because of my willing complicity in going along with them.  At the same time, a contrarian part of me suddenly firmed up and refused to accept his attempt at humiliation, because it was just so blatantly in-your-face.  After five minutes, I had pretty much licked the bowl clean and he finally gave me permission to stand again.  I stared at the deck and refused to look at him.  After giving me an intensely suspicious look for almost a minute, he finally gave me permission to wipe my face off and to put my makeup on.

 

He’d told me where they’d put the makeup he wanted me to use, and when I got up enough courage to walk over to the dresser to check it out, I was surprised at both the range of items waiting for me as well as the high quality.  I first picked up a skin lotion and looked at Bossman.  Seeing him nod his head, I put a liberal amount in my left hand and rubbed it onto my breasts and arms, then my legs.

 

Next, I quickly put on a light base and then added eye makeup and liner.  Finally, with some distaste, I put on lipstick.  Still facing the mirror over the dresser, I realized I’d been steeling myself for this moment all morning.  Finally getting up enough courage, my stomach tied in an acidy knot, I turned to Bossman and after assuming the slave position, I said, “Master, I’m ready.”

 

 

Your wedding completely changes the direction of your life, you know, no matter how greatly you desire it.  I think that moment of doubt and faintness comes from all those imagined and now impossible futures all pressing in on you at once.  It is your last chance to experience them, you see, and they all want to be lived at that moment.

-Sharon Shinn, in Jenna Starborn

 

If I ever offer to plan your wedding or sweet sixteen or something, do yourself a favor and run away screaming.

-Gwen Hayes, in Totally Tubular

 

Bossman had supplied her outfit for the rest of the day until dinner and it was meant to be very symbolic.  Except for her leather slave collar, everything was white, a color set off nicely by the girl’s dark tan.  The top was a sheer white lace bra with satin wedding bell designs that did not in any way conceal her breasts or nipples.  The bra cups had vertical slits that were laced shut.  Like the bra, the open crotch G-string with two garter straps for each leg was made out of a sheer material through which her thin strip of darker blonde pubic hair was visible.  To complete the outfit, he’d included a pair of white strappy five-inch stiletto heeled sandals.  The heels had two thin straps around the toes and three straps around the ankles.  Even she seemed to think they were very sexy. 

 

Bossman motioned his new slave to her bed where everything lay.  Looking at what he had put on the bed, she turned and gave him a questioning look.  He told her, “M, if you have a question, go ahead and ask.  You’re young, have your ever worn lingerie like this before?”

 

 

I replied, the terrified apprehension in my voice barely under control, “It’s all white, like from a wedding or something.” 

 

After stating the blaringly obvious, I immediately felt totally stupid as I continued with a stammer, “I’ve never worn anything like this before.  I’m not even sure how to put some of it on.” 

 

With this, I picked up the panties and looked at them as I spread out the side straps.  After a moment’s hesitation, I slid them over my hips.  I knew I had made a mistake as soon as I did it, for he had not given me permission to begin dressing.  His face was impassive when I quickly looked up at him.  After a moment, he nodded, and I could breathe again. 

 

Then I picked up the bra and finally got it on—getting the cups comfortable gave me some trouble especially with the way I still ached, but eventually they were okay.  Finally, I put on the high heels.  I looked up and said to him, “Everything seems to fit except for the heels.”

 

Replying that they had been purchased a half-size too small on purpose, he then stood up and motioned me over to him.  When I got there and assumed the slave’s respect position, he unlaced the front of the bra cups, opening them both with his finger tips to fully expose my still tender nipples.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thin gold chain which had a small complicated lock on each end and proceeded to attach one end of the chain to my left nipple ring and the other end to ring through the ring on my right. 

 

Stepping back to look at his handiwork, he said, “You’ll learn to work your clothing around your new jewelry. “

 

He then looked at me for a second, gazing at my now exposed brown aureoles and pink, semi-erect nipples peeking through the front of the bra cups, and at the finely made chain which connected my nipples outside the bra.  From there his dark gaze traveled down to my belly and groin, concentrating for a moment on the thin strip of dark blonde hair clearly visible there through the narrow triangle of my sheer G-string, and finally down my gleaming, smoothly oiled legs to my high-heel clad feet. 

 

Shaking his head in apparent disappointment, he turned and walked out of the cabin, saying over his shoulder, “Don’t forget, dinner at 6:30, start getting ready at 5:30.”

 

I looked at his back as he walked out and when he was no longer in sight I walked over to the chair and sat down.  My legs were unsteady and my knees were quivering.  Suddenly, I felt nauseous and wanted to cry.  Looking down at my breasts, with shaking fingers I finally began trying to tie the front of each bra cup back up again, but fumbled again and again.  I soon ran into problems because of the chain that now hung off of each of my nipples.  Finally, I stopped trying to cover the tips of my breasts and just concentrated on loosely tying the front of each bra cup back together. 

 

I didn’t know what to do now.  I had never worn anything like this before and was quite embarrassed about the way it not only revealed my body, but actually seemed to accentuate my nakedness.  The open front bra cups were pornographic in the extreme, as was the G-string.  I was particularly uncomfortable with how the crotch panel of the almost non-existent panties cut into the lips of my aching pussy, and I kept trying to adjust myself in an effort to find a more comfortable way to sit while wearing them.  Nothing helped. 

 

 

Bossman had had to walk out when he did because if he hadn’t, he’d have jumped the gorgeous bitch right on the spot and that wasn’t in the game plan right now.  He wanted M to trust him and even though he’d already raped her twice while she was being indoctrinated, fucking her brains out right at the beginning of this step of her training wasn’t the way to get that.  He wasn’t even sure if she yet realized the difference between being broken physically and the indoctrination and training that followed. 

 

He also knew it was extremely important for him to cultivate the image of being both strong and firm to her, yet fair too within the realms of her new world.  This was going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

 

 

When he walked back in a little later, I had made my bed and was now lying on it.  Although I recognized the irony, any humor in it escaped me at the moment.  Regardless, at his entrance, I jumped up and pretty much assumed the position of submission.  However, he still barked at me, “M, pull your shoulders back further and push your chest out.”

 

I did as I was told and replied guiltily, “Yes Master.”

 

Walking to the dressing table, Bossman told me to go sit on the edge of the bed and to open up the front of each of my bra cups.  Doing as he ordered, both of my nipples were once more now exposed to view as he walked over and sat down beside me to apply the antiseptic ointment.  He took his time rubbing in the salve, but his motions were not overtly sexual. 

 

Finishing, he walked back to the couch and sat down again, telling me to cover myself up again.  This I did in a hurry for I had seen he was obviously aroused seeing me in this clothing.  It had looked like he’d had a small boulder in his pants as he turned away from me this time.  I had seen this reaction from some men before, but never in a situation of total dependency like this.

 

 

Bossman had found it difficult to walk away from Victoria.  He’d had a raging erection as soon as she’d exposed herself to him and it took all his self-control to not force himself upon her right there.  Once he was able to calm down, he then spent the next hour talking to M about her situation and what she had to do to survive.  He told her why she was wearing bridal lingerie—she would never marry another man, and that she had been symbolically “wedded” to all of these men now. 

 

 

Just a reminder of MARRIAGE: It's an agreement in which a man loses his bachelor degree and a woman gains her master. .

-Ritu Ghatourey

 

His comments about “wedding his men” brought tears of horrified disbelief to my eyes.  Whatever he did or made me do, it wouldn’t be a wedding or marriage.  I would say or do whatever was necessary to survive, but it wouldn’t be real in my eyes. 

 

Sudden tears filled my eyes.  You have your life all planned out.  And then, in one stupid, careless moment, all these plans, your entire life, everything is changed.  Not the least as a result of that stupidity, I would be wearing tacky bridal lingerie just to titillate a crew of white slavers who spent the days raping and sodomizing me.  So be it, a silly charade that wasn’t real.  Unshed tears suddenly filled my eyes again, for I knew my life could go no lower.

 

 

Bossman promised the kidnapped blonde teenager that as long as she cooperated and kept her word, he would not allow any of the other men on the boat to hurt her or go too far in their training.  She was however, his property now and she would obey him in every way.  He emphasized that she really hadn’t had any choice and that she should not feel bad about any decisions she might have made in submitting to him.  She was, he said, an obvious survivor-type and would be able to live with what she had to do. 

 

He had modified his approach, making what he felt was a fair and rational case for her treatment, always presenting her position in a way that allowed her to keep at least a tiny piece of pride---he only got upset when she refused to accept certain principles he seemed to feel were key.  Even when he raised his voice though, he had stopped brutal or physical with her in any way.  Victoria found that she appreciated this, and the fact that she felt this way profoundly disturbed her.

 

Finally, Bossman said, “You need to get some sun today.” 

 

Standing up, he reached over and grabbed the chain protruding from the front of her bra and lightly pulled on it, forcing her to her feet.  Although not brutal, he continued using the chain like a halter as he dragged the teenager from the cabin, through the galley and up the steps to the open area in the back. 

 

 

I felt shame at being dragged through the boat like a horse on a lead, even though I had done nothing wrong.  My shoulders ached and it was hard to keep my balance.  Part of it was just the remnants of my pride--I tried to keep close to Bossman to reduce the visual of me being led along like a farm animal.  Since I also tried to keep close because this reduced the pull on my nipples, but it was difficult with the high heeled sandals I was wearing.  I had no other choice but to walk closely behind him, but my legs still dragged, aching from torture, leaden with despair. 

 

The looks in the eyes of every member of the crew seemed to pull at me like a full-fledged blow to the belly, dragged at me like I was walking through molasses.  I knew my clothing was far more revealing than anything I had ever before worn in public, and this was emphasized as I was dragged through the galley where the rest of the men were sitting. 

 

Elvis was working on a laptop, while the other three were finishing breakfast.  All four men went silent at my appearance and their eyes burned me with their intensity as they took off of me what little I already wore.  I blushed beet red then.  Intuitively, I knew tomorrow with them would be awful.

 

Walking unsteadily as I was forced up the stairs, Bossman dragged me over to an air mattress lying on the back deck and told me I could lie down on it.  However, before he let go of my chain, he brought out a heavier chain and padlocked it to the one that connected my nipples. 

 

Chained to the deck on the rear of the boat, I could move no more than three feet in any direction.

 

I was allowed outside for almost six hours that day, alternating my time in the sun and under the shade of the canvas.  The sun was a tonic and I felt better for having it on me.  At these times I sometimes could briefly think myself free of their captivity.  When I looked at the waves I sometimes briefly forgot my fate…. 

 

When I watched the birds….

 

I could have watched the birds forever, their freedom….. 

 

But the moments never lasted.  For Bossman was with me all the time, talking earnestly and without crudity to me about my future.  Except for the previous, horrendous sexual acts, during this time he acted in all ways, I thought ironically, like a gentleman.

 

 

Bossman knew that Vicki had not yet developed the psychological dependency upon him he needed her to feel, but he would continue working with her for the rest of his time on the boat.  Then, he thought, we’ll see.

 

Finally it was time, and Bossman led his teenage victim back into her cabin to allow her to prepare for dinner.  He showed her how to take off her breast chain, but told her she was still expected to wear it at all times.  After laying out her gown, he then departed. 

 

 

Teenagers.  Everything is so apocalyptic.

-Kami Garcia, in Beautiful Creatures

 

It hurt to raise my arms, but I finally figured how to take off my chain and did so.  At this point, I was then finally able to take off the damnable slit-cup bra which so chafed my nipples.  After removing my heels, I slid the now suntan lotion-stained G-string over my hips and onto the floor.  Stepping out of my panties, I wrapped a towel around my hair and stepped into the shower to get clean.

 

Drying myself off as I walked back to the dresser, I tried not to think of my situation.  So my mind was on autopilot as I fixed my hair and applied my makeup for the second time today.  Not even remembering details of putting on my makeup, I put the chain back on my piercings and when I was finished, I walked over to my bed and picked up what Bossman had laid there for me to wear. 

 

The stretch halter top gown was ankle length and navy blue in color.  The material was sheer and virtually transparent, with darker floral patterns woven in.  Tied in the back, the gown would tightly contour my beasts and stomach, hug my hips and flow to just above my feet when I wore high heels.  There was also a dark blue stretch lace garter belt almost wide enough to be a waist cinch which used faux pearls as the garters.  The stockings he had picked were a fine, sheer navy blue in color.  Rather than decorated, the stocking welt was a plain, darker blue at the top.  The outfit was finished with navy blue pumps with 4 ½ inch stiletto heels. 

 

Bossman came into the cabin just as I had finally put the garter on and was looking helplessly at the stockings.  I was finally beginning to get used to his coming in unannounced and went automatically into the slave position.  He told me to sit down and put the stockings on. 

 

With only a little instruction from him, I finally put on the left stocking and stood up to fix the garters to it.  I then sat down and put on the other stocking.  When I stood up the second time, he told me to put my heels on and to make sure I had the stockings held up tightly on my legs by the garters, since the men hated to see female slaves wearing stockings with wrinkles at the ankles or with baggy knees; that these infringements would earn me severe punishments.

 

Wearing only my slave collar, garter belt, stockings and heels, Bossman had me walk over to my dresser mirror and check out my reflection.  For the first time, I realized a part of me no longer felt any need for privacy in my nudity.  In a moment of odd detail that didn’t seem to fit the current situation, he told me that much of the time I would be wearing stockings with seams and that I must be careful to make sure these seams went perfectly up and down the center of the back of my legs.  To ensure this, I was to stand with my back to the mirror, straighten my legs and then spread them about two feet apart.  I was to then bend over, wrapping my hands around one of my ankles in the process and then slide my hands slowly but firmly up each of my legs, pushing up any excess in the nylon in order to get the wrinkles out of the stockings.  All the while I should also be checking myself out in the mirror to see how straight my seams were and how my stockings might look to the men as they watched me from the rear.  Inside, I was shaking my head in confusion—I had no idea at that time what he was talking about. 

 

It was my duty, he said, to provide them with perfection in feminine beauty.  And failure would be punished.  

 

After tightening my stockings as directed, I walked back to the bed and slowly struggled into my gown because of my shoulders.  After wriggling it down over my hips, I was embarrassed that I had to ask Bossman’s assistance in tying the back of the gown—it just hurt too much trying to reach around my back. 

 

It certainly was a tight fit, I thought to myself.  When I finished dressing, I walked over to the mirror again and looked at myself.  What I saw left me filled with shock.

 

There was nothing left to the imagination.  The black slave collar contrasted with my dark blue gown and so drew attention immediately to my status.  I wore no bra so my nipples were visible and semi-erect as the sheer cloth of my gown chafed them, and the chain connecting each nipple was visible as it hung down slightly between my breasts under the dress.  My belly was flat and the gown was tight there before it flared out while hugging my hips. 

 

My vagina was completely exposed to view since I wore no panties and the thin vertical strip of remaining pubic hair only emphasized my femininity.  My long legs were emphasized by the high heels I was wearing and the stockings that came up so high on my thighs only increased the total sexuality of my ensemble. 

 

 

He looked at her with sudden desire, but kept that to himself.  At only nineteen, the new girl seemed humiliated by the outfit and looked instead like she wanted to die—she definitely wasn’t an exhibitionist.  But he knew that she just wasn’t used to seeing things like this on women in public, let alone wearing them herself.  Bossman thought he had rarely seen such a beautiful and sexy woman as this one.  He well knew there were beautiful women and there were sexy women, but very few times was the same woman both.  Another plus was that this girl really didn’t know how beautiful she was.

 

She was young, but didn’t see such a magnificent specimen as this female very often--he would make his plans accordingly.

 

 

My feet felt like lead, like each one weighed a thousand pounds each.  Taking my hand at 6:30 PM sharp, he led me to the door and into the galley where he announced, “Gentlemen, I would like to present M.” 

 

I tried to stop, to not enter, but he pulled me in by my hand.  I moved slowly, awkwardly, wanting to be anywhere but here, with them.  The men seated around the table looked at me with emotionless faces, while I was led to the counter which contained their food.  My mind swirled chaotically and my face flamed at the intensity of all of the men’s eyes as they devoured me. 

 

The dinner began and I somehow served all five men without difficulty, without tripping or falling, without being grabbed, without further humiliating myself.  The men took their time eating and talked of various things that needed to be done, some of which included my training schedule.  Nothing was just suggestive here, it was openly stated.  I tried to not to listen, but the coarseness of some of what I heard both shocked and terrified me. 

 

The men were either afraid of him or respected him too much to insult me.  They were rather formal as they addressed Bossman, almost as if they were uncomfortable with the arrangement.  Yet they talked of me as if I did not exist.  I was still moving in a fog and unfortunately, or fortunately, I remembered little of what was said about me or to me.  The men’s meal went by in a blur and finally they were done.  There was even a few minutes left for me to eat. 

 

There was plenty of food on the table and I was extremely hungry.  Thankfully, I was allowed to use a fork, so I was able to eat quickly.  At 7:30 PM sharp, Bossman stood up and gave me the hand signal that my dinner was over even though I was still hungry.  He led me back into my cabin and closed the door, ensuring our privacy.  After a moment’s silence, he told me to change out of the gown while he laid out something else for me to wear.  I slowly began to undress, my hands still shaking and fumbling. 

 

Suddenly, I stopped as I felt a touch of frustration.  It was stupid, making me dress for an hour, then making me change again.  I didn’t understand at the time that it was just part of the plan, part of his indoctrination and a way to get me used to following his orders….

 

Once he had unlaced the back of my gown, it took me only a couple of minutes to remove the rest of my clothing.  It seemed like in only seconds I was naked again.  Bossman then ordered me to fold everything neatly and carefully put it in the dresser drawers; I was to do this with all of the clothing I might wear every day, until it needed to be cleaned again.  However, I was to hand wash my stockings each night and when dry, put them in the drawers ready to be used the next time.

 

With his permission, I reluctantly walked over to the bed and looked at what he had laid out for me.  Comfortable, I thought to myself; huh, yeah.  Part of what he’d laid out was a sheer black cupless front lace-up bustier with garter straps.  I swallowed the lump in my throat, held this up and looked at it for about thirty seconds before I even recognized it went around my waist.  He had also added a sheer black chiffon short robe that barely came down over my butt, and the inevitable stockings.  This time they were sheer black hose with an embroidered stocking welt.  Another set of black five-inch, stiletto heeled strappy sandals finished off the outfit. 

 

Off to the side, there was a set of long dangling earrings and a thin black velvet choker.  I laid it down, looked at what was on the bed and then looked at him thinking, this is not real--these outfits were picked out by a thirteen year old boy--they look like they are out of some adolescent’s wet dream.  Please!!  I’m sore and I’m afraid. I am tired and I don’t want to wear this stuff tonight.  And I really don’t need voyeurs.  I don’t want him watching me dress like this again---and most of all, I don’t want anyone touching me tonight.  Please, just not tonight, not again.

 

As if he could read her mind, Bossman said, “You’re here because of your body and your looks.  Your face shows your reluctance, I get it, I really do. But here’s the reality, you’ll wear whatever I tell you to wear, whatever you’re given to wear for as long as you’re supposed to wear it—now that’s a good slave.” 

 

He didn’t have to say that last, I thought to myself--I actually flinched when he used the word slave.  I meant nothing to him. Truly, I didn’t.  I needed to understand that, believe it and understand the ramifications.  What I had lost, what I had gone through meant nothing either.  But it drove the point home that he had won and I had lost.

 

Bossman continued as he waved his hand at the dresser, “You’ll get used to wearing lingerie: garter belts, bustiers, babydolls, stockings, heels and all of the rest of it.  You’ll also get used to wearing leather and rubber and nylon too.” 

 

He smiled his smile of anticipation, “Now, enough talk, enough delay.  Put it on.  And one more thing M, you look someone just killed your puppy.  Learn to smile.  You may not feel like it, but I want to see you smiling from now on.  All of the time!  Do you understand me?”

 

I nodded my understanding at him, but inside there was nothing but cold emptiness.  Smiling was the last thing I wanted to do, just above dressing in this awful lingerie.  My buzzing mind was on autopilot, as I began with the bustier.  I stepped into it and laced it up tightly over my belly and then repeatedly adjusted the bar shelf under my breasts until they both rested comfortably on it.  I tried to ignore how the chain connecting my nipples draped seductively below my cleavage.  The marks from where my breasts had been bound previously were almost gone by now, although a little of the soreness still remained.  Because of all the adjusting that I’d had to do to get my breasts comfortable, my nipples were a little erect at this point and this embarrassed me as soon as I saw Bossman looking at them.

 

I really didn’t want to do this but had been left no choice.  I forced my hands to pull the garter straps down my thighs, sat on the edge of the bed and put on the stockings and the high heels as I had been shown.  My stomach roiling, I stood up and walked over to the dresser mirror to run my hands up both of my legs.  I made sure I was smiling as I did all of this, but it was a cold, emotionless thing. 

 

Taking off the slave collar without too much difficulty as I walked back, I put on the short robe, the choker and finally the earrings while standing in front of the mirror.  I looked at my reflection and then rearranged the bustier once more since my breasts really were uncomfortable with the way they’d been pushed up and out. 

 

I checked my reflection one last time and had a sudden urge to vomit at what I saw—but I think I looked perfect for him.  Finished, I swallowed hard as I turned and stood in front of Bossman.  I hated what I saw as much as I was frightened by it, for as I looked at him his eyes had a raging intensity I had never before seen and he had a huge erection.  I glanced up and away quickly, for this intimidated me more than anything. 

 

I really messed up then.  For some reason unknown to me, without any thought as to consequences, rather than assuming the submissive pose I knew was expected, I instinctively dared him as I suddenly spread my legs a little and stood with one knee in front of the other, gazing directly into his eyes.  It was idiotic of me.  It was provocative and childish.  It was a stupidly contrarian and unnecessarily challenging move to make. 

 

Although only nineteen and not well experienced in the ways of sex, as a woman I instinctively knew how to excite and challenge an alpha male like this.  Yet without thought, I had stupidly decided to challenge his domination of me at the same time, on his own boat even!!  He immediately knew what I had done.  I saw the flash of anger on his face and understood at that moment that he had to punish me for my actions. 

 

Without warning, he quickly slapped my face hard with his right hand while his left shot out and grabbed my right nipple.  Twisting it savagely, he asked, “Do you have something to say, you stupid, young slut?”

 

My provocative stance shattered, I shuddered at the savage pain in my breast and took an involuntary step backwards.  My courage gone now, I quickly re-assumed the slave position while saying at the same time, “No, Master.”

 

Bossman stood there for a second before letting go and putting his hands on my shoulders.  He shook his head in disbelief.  His deep voice gravelly with anger, he said, “You stupid, stupid girl.” 

 

In a softer voice, he continued after a moment, “M, don’t play games with me---you really don’t want to do that.  You’ll do nothing but get hurt, and I will still win.  Do you finally begin to understand what you are?”

 

I nodded quickly, without looking at him, even though I understood later that I really didn’t.  I was looking down at my feet and saw his tumescence had decreased slightly from before, but he wanted to touch me and I knew I was doomed to pay for my brief moment of courage.

 

His left hand then went to my left breast and he began to softly fondle it, paying special attention to my nipple and the ring that pierced it.  He massaged my nipple with a lingering movement, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.  Ensuring he could not see my face, I grimaced at the pain emanating from the slightly infected area. 

 

Finally swollen to its maximum, he continued playing with my suddenly goose-pimpled flesh for another minute before he slowly walked around behind me without letting go of my nipple.  When behind me, he then trailed his right hand trailed up over my hip from the back and then slowly down my belly and over my remaining pubic hair to my clit, where he began to roll it between his right thumb and forefinger.  I shuddered once, then froze again in the required pose. 

 

I’d known the second I’d done it that it was mistake trying to play with him.  He’d punished me, but then he’d done something remarkable.  I felt paralyzed when he moved around to my rear and suddenly it seemed like my mind had split in half.  I was an innocent nineteen year old.  I knew I shouldn’t be here on this hellboat.  I knew I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been kidnapped.  What I had facing me, this was not something I wanted, this was something no sane woman wanted.  I ached in every bone and joint in my body.  I’d been kidnapped and raped, sodomized and tortured.  I was barely keeping it all together.  This was any normal woman’s worst nightmare. 

 

And then…..and then…..there was that other part of me.

 

Suddenly, I understood part of why I had done what I did.  Although I hated myself for even having a glimmering of these thoughts, a part of me honestly found him both exotic and immensely erotic.  Even now, as I froze in the slave’s position of submission, I wanted to challenge him.  I could feel his erection lightly touching my buttocks and while still sore, both my nipples and clitoris were erect and amazingly sensitive.  Despite the soreness from being abused, parts of my body were still demanding attention from a man.  The worst part was that it didn’t even have to be this man.  I think--it could have been any man…  At.  That.  Moment. 

 

It was like sanity returned for a moment.  And I was harsh as I judged myself.  God!  I was horrible, I hated myself.  I didn’t recognize myself.  I was the worst kind of slut!  I was the kind of girl I’d always hated in school!  There was a distant voice in my head screaming that this was not normal; this was not me, this couldn’t be me.  At the same time, there was an even more distant voice screaming in my mind that there was nothing like this for me back in Mississippi or Florida.  I couldn’t believe how confused and whipsawed I felt at this moment, the faintest touch of desire fighting against the profound hatefulness of it all.  I just knew that I had to be going insane to be thinking these thoughts, to even consider these things. 

 

This man had raped me.

 

And yet, a part of me responded.  Submission.  Capitulation.  Surrender.  It was like an irresistible compulsion had seized me.  It wasn’t that I wanted to do this, part of me HAD to do this!!  It was like it was a test.  Like I’d know for sure who---or what the real me was when it was over….only then would I know for sure.  And mostly, I was scared of what I might discover……

 

His voice broke into my thoughts, sounding husky as he whispered in my ear, “I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you again while on this boat.  Now, I am going to break that promise.  You belong to me and I’m not denying myself—we’re doing this now.”

 

I swallowed hard as I looked at him. 

 

 

Bossman’s thoughts were random and flitting, yet to the point, it’s stupid doing this.  It’s too soon.  I may have broken her, but she’s still got too much spirit left.  But I’m hard as a rock.  I’m gonna give this hot little bitch everything she wants and a little more, enough to put her down in the gutter where she needs to be.  Even if she stays in the gutter, it’s still too soon.  One thing though--now we’ll see how everything’s been working; the drugs, the lack of sleep, the stress of the rapes and of being forced to change.  

 

With that, he forced his teenaged captive over to the bed and told her to sit on the edge of it.  The girl looked both expectant and frightened at the same time, like she’d known for a long time that it would finally come to this yet somehow looked forward to it.  

 

Bossman couldn’t believe that he was going to do this with this girl, at least not now.  M wasn’t supposed to be on his menu anymore.  He’d planned on having his crew work her over, while he got her to trust him and then he’d use her to make a boatload of money. 

 

Annoyed with himself, he ground his teeth in frustration at his physical weakness, at his libido.  It was wrong.  This was just his physical desires driving him now and he hadn’t made decisions based on these kinds of needs for a long time.  He hoped there was something more going on here than just that, but he knew there wasn’t.  There was no emotional connection here, just a man’s lust and a primordial desire to impregnate this woman. 

 

His woman!

 

He had her sit on the edge of the bed and spread her knees wide, then lean over slightly and put her hands on her knees and just look at him for a few moments.  M had a befuddled look on her face as she exposed her most secret parts to him.  He looked at her and her body was as beautiful, all over again, as was her face.  And it all was on display just for him.  Beauty like this faded, it always did.  Suddenly, he realized that the exclusivity he had forced upon her, taking her off the beach, out of all public view, was a huge part of the excitement he felt when he looked at her. 

 

She was slightly bent over and her breasts were pushed together by her upper arms as her hands rested upon her knees; both nipples stood out in wonderful, magnificent relief. 

 

He could clearly also see that her labia were swollen, most likely from the abuse she had suffered earlier.  But was it his imagination that both heat and moistness just seemed to rush out towards him from between her legs as she obeyed his every move? 

 

He was an adult and an experienced slaver!  It could not all be just in his mind…..??

 

Finally, he had M lie back on the bed.  She quickly obeyed his order.  He noted the way her face went from emotionless to showing confusion.  Yet even as she executed his command, without having to, the girl pulled up on her lingerie and completely exposed her vagina to his gaze, along with her long shapely legs.  M’s long blonde hair lay splayed out on the bed around her head and her bare breasts rose more quickly as her breathing rate began to increase. 

 

Speaking softly, he said, “Raise your legs and point them at the ceiling.”  Her face still showing confusion, the kidnapped girl slowly did as ordered.  After taking a moment to enjoy the view, he said, “Now slowly spread your legs as far apart as you can.”  M hesitated for only a second and then complied.

 

 

It was horrible, degrading.  I don’t know why I obeyed him like this but the sexual vulnerability this position put me cannot be underestimated nor overstated.  I obeyed each of his commands though, and it was as if another person was doing this while I was off to the side watching this….other girl….perform for this man.  Another part of me was hoping he felt what I offered him with this move was a good sign I had truly accepted my bondage under him. 

 

I saw he was standing between my legs, looking down at my vulva.  I raised my head briefly and looked down at him from under my eyelids.  That my genitals were looking reddish and a little swollen actually seemed to please him.  Oh God, I suddenly realized I had become wet and had even swelled slightly there while actually under his gaze and his touch, and I now felt slightly puffy too, as if overflowing with unsought need.  What was wrong with me? 

 

I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to look at him and kept my arms spread to keep my hips in balance.  I couldn’t believe that this was happening to me; that I was not only really cooperating with him, but had realized for the first time that part of me wanted to be with him.  I also understood for the first time that…I think….I wanted him to want me.  It was a dizzying thing.  Being wanted and being taken were two very different things.  This crazy teenage thing had to be from shock, it wasn’t the real me, couldn’t be the real me.  I…I….I don’t know what this meant. 

 

My heart was beating harder and harder, and I closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see my confusion.  As his hands first touched my ankle, I clenched my fists around handfuls of bedding in both dread and an awful anticipation.

 

 

Putting both of his hands around M’s slender left ankle, Bossman slowly ran his hands down her nylon-clad leg.  The slippery feeling of her stocking under his hands aroused him immensely, while the visual hues of the sheer black hose she wore accentuated the magnificently erotic topography of her ankles, calves, knees and thighs. 

 

All of this was terribly sexy and totally alluring to him.  Especially the fact that he had this young girl here, on his boat, under his control.  And she would be doing anything for him that he wanted. 

 

He was gigantic and ready to burst if he didn’t soon get relief inside her soon.  But he wanted more; her silence wasn’t enough—he desired her cooperation in this.

 

From M’s slim and shapely ankle, his hands slowly slid to her softly rounded yet muscular calf, hesitating and stroking around and just above her knee and finally down her firm thigh to the top of her hose.  There, he played with the top of the stocking for a second, running his hand underneath it before finally continuing to her pussy.  Here, he gently pushed the tip of his thumb into her moist vagina before using it to rub her clitoris.  He looked up as M inhaled sharply.  Her eyes were closed, but there was a small, serene smile of pleasure on her face.

 

The whole while, he talked with her gently, easily.  When he responded to something she had sighed, it was always a simple comment.  The trick with females like this was to give just enough response so that they thought he was actually participating in a conversation.  Until the end, when he could no longer delay the inevitable. 

 

Bossman looked at her face for a second and then said, “Total surrender can be very liberating, intoxicating even, can’t it?”

 

 

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

-Sebastian Faulks, in Engleby

 

Without opening my eyes, I nodded both my understanding of what the question really implied and where my compliance with it would ultimately take me.  The foreplay, at least that’s what I think it was, would have been pleasant in any other circumstances.  Even if longer than anticipated.  Mostly though, I was screaming no, no in my mind, don’t do this; yet a contrarian part of me couldn’t believe the thrilling, tingling sensations between my legs as he slowly tortured me with his gently caressing hands.  Deep down, but unmistakably there, there’s a weak throb of excitement.  A distant signal from the remotest star.

 

A tiny part of my brain still argued that I didn’t want this; but the rest of me had already given in, finally admitted how good it felt having him touch me like this and how ready I was for a man like him. 

 

The thought shocked me.  For the first time in my life, I understood I had never been around a man, a real man.  Right or wrong, at least he was a man.  All the boys I knew had been feminized, taught that masculinity was a toxic thing. 

 

My God!  What was I thinking?  What was I doing?  I was only nineteen–years old…what did I know about life other than in my unfounded arrogance of being young?  I was smart, very smart, but how could I even be considering this?  This man was old enough to be my father.  Had he hypnotized me?  Was this some kind of Stockholm syndrome thing----or was this something deeper?  Was this my mind’s unconscious attempt to ensure I survived being captured by this man, or were my reactions something that had always been inside me but had only brought out by the situation this man had put me in?  God help me, please!

 

Letting him take full responsibility for what I knew would happen tonight allowed me to at least maintain the small fiction that I was not cooperating with his every move and demand.  But admitting to this deception had seemed so difficult, yet suddenly it seemed so freeing.  God!  How could I even be considering this?  God help me fight this; help me fight giving in to him. 

 

He escalated then.  When he began softly massaging my pussy, all of these conflicting thoughts went away and I lived for the moment.  All my teenage angst and naïve opinions about love, every bit of my upbringing and all of my beliefs about morals and the goodness within me, all of these things vanished as if a feather on the wind.  My moan of pleasure was the answer to all of the doubts and fears that had plagued me.  I forced myself to remain still yet immediately began to get even wetter and my breathing increased helplessly as Bossman continued to stimulate forbidden between my legs.  I couldn’t help myself--it just felt so good!

 

Bossman brought his hands back up to M’s ankle and now put both hands on the inside of each of her legs.  Again beginning with her ankles, he slid his hands slowly down the inside of her calves, working his way towards her knees and finally her thighs, always pushing her legs further and further apart.  Stopping and stroking the inside of his teenage slave’s thighs for a minute, he then went back down beyond the tops of her stockings and again began working on her wet vagina and clitoris with both of his hands this time. 

 

His fingertips and thumbs worked, massaging her, sharing his pleasure.  M tossed her blonde head from side to side in small movements which became larger, and then gave out a low soft moan of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.  He worked on her clitoris for a couple of minutes, stroking it, rubbing it between his fingers and finally just lightly touching it. 

 

He then reached over and brought out a vibrator and gave it to her with the unexpected order, “Massage yourself where it feels best.” 

 

M opened her eyes to see what he was giving her and for the first time, Bossman could see her eyes were now a darker green than before, her pupils were enormous and they were filled with confusion.

 

 

Feeling sensations and emotions I’d never experienced before, I took the vibrator and slowly put it between my legs.  I gently laid it directly on my clit.  I let it rest there lightly as it vibrated my hot spot, sending surges of electricity up and down my spine.  I felt a pin-point flicker of flame between my legs that began to grow and grow with every moment I concentrated on obeying him.  I had finally given up fighting whatever it was that I had been struggling against……I had known exactly what would happen when I dressed like this tonight. 

 

I now knew that even though I had no choice tonight, I would offer this man, my master, whatever he wanted, whatever I had that he desired.  I might be a prisoner and even a reluctant slave, but tonight I couldn’t help myself.  At nineteen, I thought, I am finally ready for this.  Yet doubt was always there in the back of my mind, I felt so confused; this couldn’t me lying flat on the bed ready to accept a man between my willing thighs, yet I couldn’t believe how intensely I felt that I was finally ready.

 

 

Slowly pulling her hands away from her groin, Bossman knelt and slid his face between the blonde teenager’s firm, gorgeous thighs, finally dipping his tongue into the pot of love she hid there.  Her vagina had a wonderful musky smell and her pussy was wet with love juices.  M moaned a soft drawn out “YYYyyeeeesssssss,” and slowly moved her hips in circles as his tongue penetrated deeper and deeper.  With her legs spread wide and in the air, she was totally open and willingly vulnerable to him. 

 

 

After a moment, I dropped my feet until they were draped over his shoulders and my heels then rested on his back.  He softly tugged at the lips of my vagina with his lips and after searching for a minute, he captured my clitoris and then sucked until it swelled up like a small penis.  It was extremely sensitive, because each time he took it in his mouth and sucked, I knew groaned helplessly and arched my stomach into the air.  God, how I hated being a puppet and him the puppet master; yet I reacted to his every desire as he pulled first this string and then that. 

 

At the same time, all sounds receded and I felt there was a gap, an insurmountable distance between the real me and the insides of my thighs as they pressed uncontrollably against his face; my mind seemed to keep its distance as my body reacted to his tongue.  As his mouth worked the deep V between my legs, his arms on the outside of my legs, Bossman kept his hands on top of both of my thighs slowly sliding them up and down, all the while seeming to enjoy the slick feeling of my legs beneath his fingertips.  He then changed the position of his mouth and sucked softly while covering my whole vagina.  I responded with a deeper groan and began to slowly grind my hips into his face, while at the same time my feet began to beat a soft tattoo on his back.  In only moments, I was shocked as I heard my voice softly repeating, “Yes.  Oh yes.  Oh yes!”  As he sucked, my love juices began flowing even more strongly as he alternately swallowed and spit out my heated wetness.

 

 

Later, he pulled his head from the luscious wetness between her teenage thighs, shrugged her legs from over his shoulders and pulled M up into a sitting position so he could see how far she was gone.  Her eyes were huge at this point and the girl was breathing heavily.  Everything was working perfectly; she wasn’t aware that it wasn’t really her responding---or perhaps it was a secret part of her that he’d uncovered. 

 

She couldn’t know that it was the drugs and the full court coercion, the pain and the fear of punishment.  That she hadn’t really made a conscious choice in this, had not been allowed to make a choice even in this.  But then again, like he’d found in so many other women before her, perhaps the need to be punished and controlled and tamed was truly a part of her nature.

 

Certainly, she seemed to want nothing more than to have him inside her—damn, is she ready and willing now, he thought to himself.  Standing up, he guided her hands to his pants.  The whirr of a zipper followed as she enthusiastically freed his erection.  Putting his hands on the back of her head, he pushed her mouth towards his groin.  Without any hesitation, M opened her mouth and with difficulty was finally able to put the first part of his cock inside. 

 

 

I couldn’t believe I was willingly doing this to him, doing this for him.  I’d never had a man in my mouth before, had never wanted to have a man there.  Now I was getting ready to suck on a giant black cock like it was Christmas time and he was a big lollipop.  His hand was on the back of my head pulling me toward him and I saw his giant erection coming closer and closer to my face like a scene on television zooming in towards the viewer.  He was so large that it was difficult to get my jaws wide enough to accept him. 

 

I shook my head.  Something had tensed and clamped around my insides.  I blinked as if in expectation of tears….I felt surprise at the regret I felt….regret for not having fought harder, and at not having been willing to do this earlier.  I first closed my eyes and then finally after a short struggle, I closed my lips around his giant erection. 

 

I could only get the first couple inches of him inside my mouth, but finally I started sucking and moving my head back and forth like I had seen in porn films.  I knew I wasn’t very good at this.  I’d never done this before, but I knew that it seemed to feel good to men and for some reason I wanted to please this man.  I knew that I wasn’t the best at this tonight, but I somehow also knew that I would get a lot better in the near future. 

 

But I have to admit I was glad when he finally pulled out of my mouth and made me move.  I just was not ready yet for the oral sex.  He was too big and it was too….foreign to me to feel comfortable with this.  I had yet to learn to like the feel of him there, and the overwhelming taste. 

 

I was so confused with the speed at with which everything that was happening to me tonight. 

 

And my reactions. 

 

 

Now that she was finally ready, Bossman moved his loins away from her mouth and took her hand, moving her onto the center of the bed where he could better take her.  The blonde teenager he had kidnapped willingly lay on her back with her legs spread apart and one knee slightly raised.  He marveled at her firm, youthful breasts, full and jutting into the air as they responded to the design of the constrictive lingerie, the nipples standing proudly erect. 

 

She looked at him with eyes of dark, dark green as finally, with a small smile, she held her arms out to him.

 

Lowering himself upon his captive’s flat hips and stomach, he settled down on her body making sure to support his weight with his elbows.  Time to be gentle.  Even though she was drugged and was responding quite nicely, he didn’t want to scare the girl tonight too much for there would be plenty of time later to be a hell of a lot rougher with her. 

 

M’s legs came up and locked around his waist of their own accord for a moment, then smoothly slid down his flanks and then intertwined with his legs---he loved the feel of her nylon-clad legs slickly moving across his skin.  At the same time, her hands slid around his shoulders and her fingernails began to dig into his back.

 

M startled him then by grabbing his ears and making him look deep into her eyes.  Her beautiful eyes suddenly filled with unshed tears.  “Please be gentle tonight,” she entreated in a tone that was almost begging.  Her voice was filled with emotion…..with urgency……and with poorly hidden anticipation. 

 

After a moment of profound silence, M pleaded with him one more time.  “I belong to you.  I’ll do whatever you want tonight, but please don’t hurt me anymore.  Not tonight.” 

 

Keeping her belly and hips pinned by his weight, Bossman took his time as he maneuvered his groin and when the tip of his cock felt her moist, hot lips, he gently moved forward.  As the head of his cock first parted her lips and then entered M’s vagina, he felt her try to throw her pelvis into him, but the way he had her hips pinned, she couldn’t get traction, couldn’t get any deeper penetration with her moves.  A sudden sensation distracted him for a second as her fingernails dug painfully into his upper back.  Surprisingly, he then felt her hands slide down his back to the cheeks of his ass where they dug in again as she tried to pull him further into her.

 

Unwilling to hurry, Bossman played with his new slut for a couple of minutes, giving her slow ins and outs, with only an inch or two ever penetrating the wet lips of her pussy.  Inexperienced in the ways of consensual sex, M was becoming increasingly restless with her need for satisfaction as she lay beneath him, but he knew this was a core part of being a slave---she’d wait on his needs. 

 

He then stopped moving and lay on her with only two inches of himself inside her.  When he began the short drives again, he made sure that the angle of his drive into her body ensured maximum friction between the massive head of his cock and her clitoris. 

 

She stirred anxiously beneath him, the anticipation obvious. 

 

 

I felt his weight upon me and knew that I was finally ready, finally wanted him inside me unlike the previous times when he’d raped me.  And that thought immediately flashed to….how could I desire the man who had already raped me twice?  This was insane!  But deep inside me, I knew that all rational thought had left me, departing with the arrival of his fingers and his mouth, and finally his enormous manhood.

 

I wanted him, but he wouldn’t cooperate, he wouldn’t complete any of the strokes that would start me towards my release.  I grabbed his head again and looked deeply into his eyes, then searched the ruined side of his face.  I instinctively knew he was doing this to torture me, but at this point I didn’t care—all I wanted was that giant cock buried inside me. 

 

Besides, some torture is GOOD torture!!!

 

At first, I just lay there, but within moments I began moving helplessly in an increasingly erratic way.  My legs began writhing, slickly moving up and down his legs.  Something thumped inside my head then and my connection with reality began to fade.  It must be a hallucination I was experiencing, part visual and part tactile.  I was groping about in my own head, lost and panicking.  I felt his hands…I felt my hands…I felt my hands pulling harder on his ass, and then I began moaning and finally begging him for relief, “Please, give it to me.  Plllleeaassseee give it to me.”  And I knew everything was real. 

 

But he was implacable.

 

 

Finally, knowing that he just had to feel his cock buried up to the hilt in the extraordinarily beautiful teenager that lay under him, Bossman grabbed M around the neck with both hands and began lightly choking her while he gave a giant thrust of his hips and buried every inch of his erection inside her pussy. 

 

The kidnapped girl was ready for him, ready for this.  God!  How she was ready!  Her pussy was wet and tight and felt hot to him.  Her ass felt firm as his balls slapped against her crack and her belly arched deliciously into his. 

 

She reacted instantaneously with a long drawn out scream, “Aaahhheeeeeyyyyeeesssss!”  This was a shriek of pure pleasure and to all of the men on the boat that heard her, the difference now and what they normally heard on this boat was immediately obvious.

 

 

He was choking me as he made his first full thrust inside me and I couldn’t breathe---but it felt so fantastically erotic, so good and so right.  God, he filled me and it felt so gooooood!

 

Suddenly, I reached up with my teeth and buried them in the flesh of his shoulder as I squeezed my legs as hard as hard as I could around his waist. 

 

 

Bossman reared his head back, not in anger but rather because he was surprised by the reaction he felt inside himself.  Inevitably, as he moved, the huge pulsing muscle that totally filled the teenager’s belly flexed.  Her eyes suddenly somehow became even larger and shinier, and her pupils expanded until they seemed to fill her eyes.  Suddenly, M moved her legs still wrapped around his waist.  She tightened and the pressure from her strong thighs was immense.  He knew she truly was as ready for this as much as was he. 

 

 

He jerked and then thrust into me again.  God!  How good it felt to be filled by a man this large.  To fuck him and be fucked by him! 

 

 

Bossman again tried to remain motionless while insider her, but the way she’d just bit him, the way she was thrashing and throwing her hips and belly into the air ensured he could not.  Letting go of her neck, he waited until her hips bucked into the air again before he grabbed her ass with both hands and held on for the ride---he’d let her wear herself out this time carrying his weight as well as hers. 

 

Her ass was so firm, so muscular beneath his hands.  Someday, he promised himself, he would have her there too—THAT would be the final domination.  But for now, he centered himself on her body.  Every time she bucked or arched her belly into him and raised her ass off of the bed, her hips now supported all of his weight too.  He knew from vast experience that even a young, athletic girl like M couldn’t keep this ride up for too long before she either came or was too tired to continue. 

 

But while she did, it was like taking a ride straight to heaven. 

 

 

And so it was, in less than six minutes I arched myself into my Master and held my body bowed into his for as long as I could, my jaw locked, teeth gritted as groans of pleasure worked their way free, while at the same time I shook to a mind numbing orgasm that went on and on and on.  My hips made an endless series of short humps into him, trying to get another half inch of his cock inside my body.  God!  It felt so wonderful! 

 

Finally sweaty and exhausted, I collapsed beneath his weight and lay pinned, trying to catch my breath.  I stared sightlessly at the ceiling while my fingernails fluttered on his shoulders and back; his engorged cock still buried in me.  Bossman rested between my widespread knees and my feet were inter-tangled with his.  I knew I had to be careful not to hurt him with one of my heels. 

 

The ground, the deck opened beneath me, and I begin to sink.  My heart is still beating too hard, and I can’t breathe.  I want to stop my mind from spinning, but I can’t.  I’d gotten what I needed from him, but I knew Bossman hadn’t fucked me yet like when he’d first raped me; that while his cock inside me still felt enormous—I may have gotten what I wanted—but he was still not yet satisfied himself.  There had been no white hot explosion of heat inside my vagina which told me he had given me the most precious of gifts….that he too had cum inside me.  I must continue, and I have the strangest feeling.  A plunging, a descent.  A door has been nudged open, and something is coming my way…..

 

 

Finally raising himself onto his elbows and off of his sated teenage slave, he glanced down and noticed the deep flush on her gorgeous chest.  There was no possible way this woman could fake that rush of blood to her breasts when she came, and it was an absolutely foolproof method of determining whether she had achieved orgasm or was just pretending. 

 

Neither of them were finished, no matter how times she’d gotten off.  Looking deep into her beautiful eyes, Bossman lowered himself onto her body and then reached under her shoulders and slid his hands along her arms towards the head of the bed where he grabbed her wrists and immobilized her.

 

Keeping his nineteen-year old slave’s wrists pinned, Bossman began moving his hips once more, slowly sliding his cock in and out, in and out of her tight, slick, fresh pussy.  Although she had just experienced the best orgasm of her life---given how badly her first sexual experience had gone, it may even have been her first orgasm--M was still a young healthy female and he could tell her body was again beginning to react to his moves. 

 

He felt her legs start to move again, encircling and pinning him and not allowing him to move.  She was still staring into his eyes when he leaned down and bit her neck, pinning her tender skin between his upper teeth and lower lip.  Turnabout was fair play, and as he took his first hard nibble, he heard her breath hiss as she quickly inhaled with pleasure.

 

Bossman continued his slow, methodical assault on her young, new pussy for a minute and then changed positions, opening his legs wider than M’s and making her drop her legs from around his back and close her thighs around his penis.  The sensations against his cock and ball sack felt great as he slid in and out of the nylon-canyon her muscular thighs formed when pressed together. 

 

He liked the feeling of control when he had a woman this way, because he was so big that even with her legs closed, once he was in this position he was so big there was still nothing she could do to prevent him from taking complete control. 

 

The sensations were overwhelming for a moment and then he regained control.  He slapped her face back and forth, not hard enough to cause damage but certainly hard enough to assert his ownership over her.  M’s face and neck were flushed red from his blows and her desire, but not bruised.

 

She looked shocked at first, and then suddenly seemed to realize that it was all part of the sex play taking place between them on the bed. 

 

Stupid little girl.  Soon, she would intimately know all these things….

 

M smiled then in pleasure and made her first attempt to grab his cock with her vaginal muscles.  Not yet experienced enough to have that kind of muscle control, a tiny, far away part of Bossman’s mind made a mental note to have his men work on it for a while. 

 

After stroking into her for a few minutes, he next had her roll over onto her left side and put her right leg into the air while he rested on his knees on the inside of her left leg.  His groin and M’s now fit together in a way that allowed him maximum penetration of her body.  There wasn’t a woman alive that he couldn’t make beg for mercy from this position, and that night, he made the young, teenaged M beg again and again and again. 

 

It was a punishment position, and he punished the blonde girl for a long time. 

 

After he grabbed her right leg and locked her knee and pulled it tightly against his chest, he leaned forward pushing her leg back into her side and giving him the potential for even deeper penetration into her. 

 

From a distance, he heard M plead once again for him to let her leg down and that he was too deep inside of her, but he gave his young victim no surrender and as his slave, she suffered because of that.  He penetrated her right to the top of her vagina, to the tip of her cervix, but carefully pushed no further. 

 

Regardless of how much wonderful pain he gave his teenaged lover, it was not enough, yet he was always careful to just fill her, but not truly harm her.  Only nineteen and naïve in the ways of the world…he would teach the girl her new role in life without first maiming her. 

 

He had one other move he did with his females that ensured their total submission to him, but she had not yet reached that point in her journey of indenturehood---he wasn’t sure, perhaps she never would.  Only time would tell.

 

 

How can this be?  How can this be me lying here under him?  The more he hurts me, the more he excites me and the more I respond to it---I was such a masochistic slut that I couldn’t help myself.  This was a side of me that no one had known existed, not even me. 

 

As the small part of me that was still rational looked on from a distance, it saw me take his soft blows and thrusting hips with magnificent erotic submission. 

 

I know he could hurt me more than he did.  My many bruises and my sexual pain were, I knew, to him and truth be known, if I could ever admit the damning truth to myself, they were proof to me also of his virility.  How insane was this?  I loved this!  But how could I love this?  Being taken by a man like this--being wanted by a man like this—being desired by a man like him. 

 

 

He kept working M’s inexperienced teenaged body, controlling her, pushing her, making her do things and go places in her mind until she finally reached an impossible barrier and she’d hesitate.  He’d work her body over that obstacle and make her carry him until she reached the next point of no return. 

 

In this way, he continually pushed her, forced the inexperienced nineteen-year old girl to venture into deeper and ever more corrupt sexual licentiousness, sometimes against her will, often times joined him enthusiastically.  They did this until there little unexplored territory left within her body.  This was no act of forced promiscuousness this time at least, for the beautiful young kidnap victim willingly consented to his every request at experimentation, willing acceded to each of his demands. 

 

Together, they further than any of his women had ever been taken before, at least this early in the process.  And it went on and on and on, the two of them, together, for almost ninety minutes.  His sweat-covered, magnificently masculine body was exhausted now, but the assault on her body had finally built into a perfect storm.  It was then that she gripped him again around his back with her thighs, impeding his thrusts.  If it had been any other woman, he would not have known if he was too larger for her, if his weight frightened her and she was trying to protect herself, or if she squeezed him with passion  But none of that fit with this girl, and in any case, it was too late to stop himself now. 

 

He struggled but finally accepted a partially defeated compromise against her crushing thighs.  She had become an angry, demanding lover towards the end, and it was only now that she came alive once more, rolling on top of him and grinding herself against his body, seeking hungrily for her own moment again. 

 

And now, unaccompanied by any cry of pleasure, came the deluge!

 

 

Finally, she had what she realized now was what she had wanted all along.  She hung on for dear life, her chest heaving against his, her heart beating like a hammer.  Bossman’s seed jetted into Victoria’s body with the force of a thousand hurricanes.  It came in pulses and each white hot wave seemed to penetrate deeper into his now willing slave, until her eyes began to roll up in her head.  And then, finally it was over. 

 

Teenage girls are little different from teenage boys in many ways and thus also have their own dreams and sexual fantasies of various types; of making it in cars with football heroes and young college men and of being stranded on desert islands with the perfect romantic man. 

 

But I could honestly say I had never dreamed of this.  There was no romance here, no soft and tender love or lover.  It was sheer, brutal, magnificent sex and while it had been everything to me, it probably meant little or nothing to him.  I hate that thought but it is probably true….and I need to prepare myself for that revelation. 

 

Every minute it seemed he had come up with new ways to be inside of me, new positions that made me start at the beginning and experience my youthful and innocent sexuality over and over again.  And just when I thought it was over, when he could take me no further, he would make me shift or move just a little and it would start all over again.  He was a machine made of flesh, and I must have orgasmed a thousand times, perhaps more.  And when he had finally achieved release, the feelings inside me had been so intense I feared I might pass out.

 

We lay tangled together for several minutes.  When I could next move, I hugged him around his neck and wept softly.  I could not have stopped the tears if my life depended upon it, but I was smiling all the time behind those tears.  It had been perhaps the most wondrous experience of my life. 

 

I had given everything I was and now it was up to him to decide what it meant to him and what he did with me.

 

 

How incredibly, and yet rationally and justifiably, I felt at his mercy.  He was my master.  He owned me.  He could do whatever he wanted with me.  He could trade me or sell me, or even slay me upon a whim, should he wish.  I was absolutely his, his girl.

-John Norman, in Slave Girl of Gor

 

Bossman lay on his side with his arm draped over the slave he now knew he could successfully train; he would own her body and soul.  As a last act before going to sleep Bossman had allowed M to remove her heels, but that was all.  However, he made up for that kindness by making M re-deploy her butt plug. 

 

He smiled to himself, take with one hand and give with the other.  Take a girl of her age and class and life experience.  Torture her some, make her realize she was alone, that no one was coming to save her.  Have his crew abuse her for an extended period of time, and then come in like some kind of savior and treat her well.  Talk with them, dazzle them with his sincerity, make them feel important within the constraint of their new life, promise them things that he either had no intention of giving or could not give. 

 

The women were all untrained in ways to defeat this.  Despite his brutality early in the training, the females always needed someone to whom they felt they could turn.  He provided that and they turned to him unerringly, like an arrow from a master bowman hits the target bullseye. 

 

Half of them just fell apart, turned into such bags of quivering flesh that their only value was at a meat-market somewhere.  The other half though.  The other half literally fell all over a man’s dick in gratitude, literally threw themselves on his cock as a way to ensure he would want to save them….save them from the crew….and their uncertain future. 

 

This blonde beauty was one of the latter.

 

Fully satiated, she was now breathing evenly and appeared asleep.  Finally beginning to get his breath back, he was admiring the youthful perfection shown off by her cupless lingerie, when he noticed the bright red flush now beginning to slowly fade from her chest and breasts. 

 

Her youth and innocence.  Her long, exquisite legs and surprisingly full breasts, her tiny waist and firm, hard ass.  Her exceptionally beautiful face and that thick, long blonde hair that hung almost to her waist.  All in all, she was fucking perfect! 

 

With a smile of release and contentment, he rolled over and immediately went to sleep.

 

He woke once in the night with a raging erection and brutally took her to obtain release.  M was still softly snoring when he rolled over between her spread legs and before she was awake he had forced his erection into her with one huge thrust of his hips. 

 

She awoke with a convulsive movement upon his first thrust, then bucked and tried to throw him off of her as she screamed, “Aaaahhhooowwww, OOOwwww, OOOOOWWWWW,” the last being at the top of her lungs.  Bossman immediately choked M to shut her up and began taking short brutal strokes into her pussy. He could hear his crew laughing on deck where they slept to catch the evening breeze.

 

 

I came out of a deep fulfilling slumber and screamed my way into awareness as someone began driving a telephone pole between my legs.  While it hurt terribly, it was not the act of sex itself that caused me to scream, rather it the absolute unexpectedness of it. 

 

Still more than half asleep, I fought hard as my fists pounded his back, but felt myself losing consciousness as my assailant choked me into submission.

 

 

Bossman knew he was inside M all the way now.  By the fourth or fifth stroke, the teenager’s vagina was beginning to lubricate and he was into his machine-like mode of deep, pile hammer slams into her body.  At this point Bossman had finally let her breathe again.  She had regained consciousness, she was fully awake and looking at him with fear.  This he saw, soon faded into desire as she finally began to get into the mood for some hard core sex.  Perhaps, he thought to himself later, he shouldn’t choke her quite like that. 

 

 

With all sleep now gone, I finally knew it was my Master above and inside me, and my fear went away.  Within seconds of my recognition of him, he stopped choking me and began to concentrate on subjugating me with his cock again. 

 

After about ninety seconds, I was finally able to join in but that didn’t seem to satisfy him as much as it had just a few hours ago.  I moved every way I knew to please him, and even though it took a little longer than before, soon we were making love like we had earlier in the evening. 

 

Only a week ago, I had been free.  Only a week ago, I could never have dreamed I would willingly be making love to a man such as this. 

 

 

Bossman looked down at the kidnapped blonde girl he was half fucking to death and thought to himself, young and inexperienced as she was, the stupid bitch was finally getting into the act.  And it was about time.  As he smiled down at her, he knew he would have to make sure his men addressed that failing too. 

 

He pounded her for ten minutes before he felt the familiar stirring in his groin and knew he would soon be able to get his nuts off into his captive teenager’s cunt once again.  When he finally shot all of his angry love into her, spurt after jetting spurt, he gave a long drawn out groan of pleasure and rested on top of her with his cock still inside her pussy. 

 

Her fingers were still clawed into his back even though he hadn’t moved for over a minute and that suddenly pissed him off, so without a word he rolled off of the newly enslave teenager and went to sleep again beside her.

 

 

In the end, he put what felt like a hot quart of semen deep into my belly and then relaxed on top of me.  My body tingled all over and for a few brief minutes I felt an amazing endorphin rush, the buzz that turned people into heroin addicts.  No wonder people could become addicted to sex. 

 

He felt heavy still lying heavy on me and, liking that feeling, I tried to hold onto him.  But this small act of tenderness seemed to annoy him.  It was clear he had an explosive temper and I had inexplicably annoyed him.  After handcuffing my left wrist to the head of the bed, he rolled off of me and went back to sleep again. 

 

Saddened by his lack of warmth after our unexpected moment of intimacy, I laid there wondering what in hell had just happened. 

 

I may be young, but I knew I was beautiful and desirable—too many boys and young men had told me this for it not to be true.  If I entered this relationship willingly, even enthusiastically, why was this not enough for him?  True, I had been kidnapped and enslaved.  But why did my cooperation not count for something?  What had I done wrong? 

 

I had learned one thing about him—I had to be careful.  I had been enslaved and there was nothing I could do to change that.  From now on, if I wanted anything from him, I had to think before I acted. 

 

Without thought, I ran my hands down my belly and stroked the insides of my thighs.  My groin and the insides of my thighs were sticky with his semen, and they buzzed with unanswered excitement.  I’d come close, but definitely hadn’t climaxed this time and would probably be awake for the next hour until my loins stopped doing the jitterbug. 

 

Was this how my mother felt after making love to my father?  Were all men like this? 

 

I touch my clitoris and began to manipulate myself in small, careful strokes since I did not want to disturb Master.  It took me about ten minutes, but I was finally able to satisfy myself.  I lay awake for another thirty minutes listening to my Master breathe and wondering what my life held for me—finally, I fall asleep with my arm draped lightly over my owner.

 

 

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.

 

 

BOOK THREE—LOVING THE GIRL

 

Day Twenty-Seven: Jorge Makes A Discovery

 

Bossman had left over sixteen days ago and it was morning of my twenty-seventh day on the boat.  I was ready and waiting for the first of the men to show, but he was late.  I’d been through everything now and it was clear they thought I was fast approaching the point of being suitably trained for my new owner.  While still inexperienced, I’d been told that my physical qualities, my ability to perform, ensured that I would be enthusiastically welcomed.

 

I did not know this at the time, but only Jorge had been perceptive enough to have any real questions about what I had been trying to hide over the last month.  But that really didn’t matter anymore for the last movie had finally been able to accomplish what their long grinding days of sexual brutality and physical torture had not. 

 

They’d won!!  In a moment of blinding truth and self-realization, I was finally able to admit to myself that they’d clearly and finally beaten me---I had nothing left within me with which to fight, nothing left to fight for, and nothing left to go home to even if I’d somehow been able to hold out against them.  I had no desire to fight them now, the need having slowly bled from me over the last couple of weeks. 

 

There had been five men during my first five days on this boat of the damned, but only four had actually been involved in constantly physically hurting me.  After The Demon had been kicked off the boat, only Jorge, The Animal, The Evil One and Bossman were left onboard.  But even he’d left after the tenth day and that had left only the three of them to finish ‘putting the polish on’ after that. 

 

In my early arrogance, I would have sworn in the beginning that more would have been needed to destroy me.  But in the end, it seemed that three had been more than enough and they had succeeded.  Oddly, that the Bossman had clearly been the architect of my destruction didn’t seem to bother me as much as what the other men continued to do to me on a daily basis.  I still did not know what to think of him, but my animus towards his crew for some reason did not seem to extend to him. 

 

It was morning.  My cabin was clean, the bed was made and I had already worked out and showered.  I had my hair up now and was wearing a lacy white open-faced bra and G-string.  There was the briefest shelf upon which my breasts could rest and the bra “cups” had horizontal strips of lace both above and below my nipples, and my nipple chain was now connected to them outside the cups.  I actually had been provided panties for this outfit and I’d put them on over a strappy white garter belt whose lacy fabric rode low over my hips.  I’d put the G-string on over the garters since I knew I would shortly be losing the underwear, but the men would still want me wearing everything else.  I was also wearing “cappuccino” flesh-toned stockings and strappy white sandals with a five-inch stiletto heel. 

 

I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the first of my Masters to enter.  Any remaining spirit I might have had had been crushed yesterday with the videos, but my mind had begun to sizzle with what I had been shown, trying to figure out what it meant, if anything.  Broken in as roughly as I had been, I knew I was now able to handle the never-ending sex these men demanded of females in my position, and I had even figured out how to shut my mind down and just endure the punishments and pain they inflicted upon my body.  But the three videos of me shown yesterday had destroyed any equilibrium I might have developed---and worst of all, I felt they had attempted to permanently take away my family.  The videos were so untrue, so….so…..unfair!!! 

 

Yet I accepted them for concepts like fairness no longer had meaning in my life.  Bossman had told me this earlier, and while I had not believed him at the time, he had been right.  Somehow, last night I finally understood that I had truly accepted what I was to become.  And the more I pondered this realization, the more it brought almost a sense of relief, a feeling of calmness which gently settled upon me as I ended in my mind the struggle I’d been fighting for four weeks now.

 

The mirror never lied—yet sometimes it was all lies.  Physically, even though I was worn out, I knew I still looked great.  For some reason, I had lost only a couple of pounds and even though I still ached now and then, the daily workouts had me in the best shape of my life. 

 

I had finally become more comfortable wearing the giant two-inch wide butt plug and realized I could even sit a little more easily than I had before.  And now, I often found I didn’t even feel it inside me as I sat deep in thought. 

 

Finally, Jorge walked through the door into my cabin and interrupted my thoughts.  Ominously, he carried a large curved vibrator and set it down on the side of the bed. 

 

“Do you still have that thing inside you?” he asked. 

 

When I gave a short nod, he said, “Go in and remove it.”  After I looked at his face and confirmed he really wanted this, I moved quickly to the bathroom and returned in a minute.  I had leapt to my feet upon his entrance; his telling me to remove the plug was a wonderful gift. 

 

 

I moved easier upon my return even though I felt as if I had been emptied inside.  He looked at me speculatively and motioned me to sit on the edge of the bed again.  “Tomorrow evening,” he said, “you leave to meet your new Master.” 

 

Suddenly, I felt a series of conflicting emotions inside me.  The news that I would finally be getting off this floating hell of a bordello was good, very, very good---I almost looked forward to being owned by someone new, someone who didn’t know the details of what had been done to prepare me for my new life. 

 

This craft represented a truly horrendous experience, all of which had culminated in the films shown yesterday.  At the same time, there was routine here on the boat, a predictability that somehow had its grotesquely perverse attractiveness to me.  Unbelievably, as awful as it was, I knew what would happen here.  I also knew that things could always get worse.  I couldn’t believe it, but this was a known horror, and there was a part of me that feared the unknown.

 

I’d thought a lot about the videos last night.  I knew I could’ve handled the physical punishment for at least awhile longer.  But the films had taken away any reasons for me to continue my struggles.  I’d always been strongest when there was something to struggle for rather than something to fight against. 

 

But I’d sensed over the last week that with each passing day there was less and less willingness inside me to oppose these men.  That as I cooperated more and more with each act of rape, even if only minimally, and suffered each separate pain and humiliation, the fire inside me had burned lower and lower. 

 

I hated to be so manipulable, so predictable.  But as they were meant to do, these films had put out any remaining fight in me, there was nothing left to struggle for---now that I knew I could never go home again because those films would destroy my family.

 

The pain of that final realization wouldn’t soon go away, but I’d found some relief in that I had finally faced my demons…….even if they’d won.

 

 

Jorge knew his relationship with the blonde teenager had gone through perhaps three distinct phases.  The first was that of outright brutal and sadistic kidnapper to victim and it had lasted for at least three or four days.  From there they had entered a relationship in which she had almost begun to trust him.  Certainly, she had trusted him more than any of her other captors.  It had almost been one of pupil and mentor, if one could get by the sexual satisfaction he took from her unwilling body.  This had lasted almost two weeks and had continued to get stronger over time; he regretted that they’d been forced to move on from this stage because of that madman Manuel. 

 

This last shift in their relative positions had been precipitated by Manuel beating her until she’d soiled herself.  From a position of almost trust, their dealings had then degenerated back into one of Master and pawn/slave, of taker and giver, as he’d been forced to support that maniac.  During this last time, he knew that because of psychological rebound, she had actually trusted him perhaps least of all because she’d previously felt so much closer to him than to the others---because she had actually let him inside her emotional defenses, her feeling of betrayal by him had struck her so more deeply than had that from the others. 

 

But as the time had passed from that event, he had sensed that her defenses had become weaker and weaker, crumbling over the last few days as if the cumulative weight of all that had been done to her had finally worn the girl down.  But here, now, he was back again at the remnants of the walls she had erected in her mind, searching for that which she had kept concealed. 

 

“You’re still upset with the films?” he asked.

 

 

I refused to look at him nor would I call him my Master, but as I spoke there was no mistaking the tone of absolute defeat in my voice.  “What do you care?  You’ve won---you have what you always wanted now.  You always win in the end, don’t you?  But if you really want to know, I think they were awful.  I think that they perfectly show the horrible things you’ve done to me and God only knows to how many other women.  I think…….someday, they’ll be used to send you and the others to prison for the rest of your lives.”

 

 

Jorge decided to ignore her familiarity bordering on insolence, her moment of insubordination and pique, instead concentrating on putting his thoughts about her into words….he found this surprisingly difficult. 

 

“You act like a child when you talk like that.”

 

She looked at him with beautiful flashing green eyes as she retorted, “I AM still a child.  I may look like a woman to you, but I’m not.  Not really.  You, of all people, should know that!”

 

He stopped then, but continued after a moment, unwilling to acknowledge her point, “When a woman like you is brought upon this boat, she is rightfully full of fear.  Even worse, the uncertainty of her fate tends to further exaggerate her anxiety.  But this same situation also grants the brave woman a margin of doubt which often allows her to dismiss all of the alarms that might be inconvenient to her.  These are the women who think that they will be saved and, in the end, nothing will actually happen to them.”

 

“You are young and you have been brave, but you are not foolish.  Your set of films is the seventh of these videos we’ve made,” Jorge continued as his voice grew harsher, “and no one of the law has ever even begun to be interested in tracking them.  For all anyone knows or cares, they’re just the pornographic fantasy of some lunatic mind.  For God’s sake, you’re just one person.  Do you really expect everyone to drop everything and rush out to save you?  Life doesn’t work like that---at least not here.”

 

“You’re a brave and beautiful woman, but you don’t belong to yourself anymore.  You’re ours now.  You know now in your heart that nothing’s gonna save you from that.  But think about what you’ve gone through, what you’ve learned about yourself.”

 

 

“What I’ve learned,” I flashed back at him, “is that a little over a month ago I was getting ready to enter college.  Four weeks later, I’ve been kidnapped, lost count of the number of times I’ve been raped and sodomized, tortured and beaten.” 

 

“I’ve been branded and sexually enslaved and told I would be sold to a man I’ve never met and that I will never see my family or friends again.  And finally, to top it all off,” and now I raised my eyes so that I looked directly into Jorge’s eyes, “I find that I’m pregnant by one of you monsters.”

 

 

There was silence from him for a minute, and then; “So you figured it out.  M, you react to this news like a naïve child.  How on earth do you think that we can ever truly control a woman like you?  Drugs, money, position, power; none of these would matter to you in your attempt to get back to your family.  But if you have a child that’s in our care, ahhh, now that’s a different proposition.  Once your Master has put his child inside you, and then has your infant in his possession, a woman like you would never again try to escape.  We, all of us here, know that about you.” 

 

“Besides,” and now Jorge looked directly back into her eyes, “it’s what we do to tame the women like you for good, to make you docile and controllable.”

 

He smile grimly, “You are not at all special in that way---many others before you have also left us with child.  That’s your role in life.  We’ve never lied to you M, and you’ve always known from the beginning what we had planned for you.  Others before you have been in total denial right up until we sold them.  But you, you’ve tried to please us even when you pretended the submissiveness we demanded.” 

 

He shook his head, “But it was all an act; this I know to be true of you.  And that is why a young woman like you needs to leave us her child as a guarantor of her good behavior.  Before being with us, you were like a nun sequestered in the most remote nunnery; men didn’t enter your life and if you ever really considered them, it was only as young, crass boys mostly to be ignored.”

 

Jorge smiled knowingly, “But after your time here, you’ve learned at an almost instinctive level how men look at you and how they react to you; you’ve finally tapped into a deep understanding of Eros which has always been with you, but which you never bothered to acknowledge let alone try to understand.  Now, I think you feel that you understand perfectly what the men think of you, how they think about you.  But does it scare you?  Somehow, I don’t think so.  Finally, because of what you’ve gone through here, I also think that you feel you now know how to manipulate men.  This, you feel is your strength.”

 

He nodded his head, “But you are right too, for you are still a child in so many ways……and soon you will learn who manipulates who.  But even deeper than this, there’s been something about you, some place deep inside you that we still haven’t reached.  There’s a fire somewhere that we haven’t put out and which we don’t understand.  You’ve always kept something back from me, from all of us…...”

 

She looked at him oddly, which in turn prompted him to exclaim, “Don’t make a face at me, woman!   You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

 

 

I didn’t know how to respond to him.  Even though I’d felt continually more lethargic and without the will to fight, up until the point where they’d showed me their films, with only a few minor miscalculations---like becoming pregnant---I felt that I’d successfully fooled them.  I’d fooled them into believing that I was giving them everything that they wanted; that I was giving them what they’d apparently gotten from every other female captive they’d ever had.  I knew what he was talking about when he’d brought up my deceits, but prayed he didn’t have proof of any kind---prayed he was working by intuition alone and not by something he might have learned about me. 

 

Besides, I knew I was a different person from yesterday.  The overpowering sense of resignation I now felt had been their goal all along. 

 

“I’m not sure---I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied as I stalled, desperately casting about in my mind for a better strategy.  I knew I’d quit playing games with them, and yet here I was, not twelve hours later still sparring with them.  God, I’d already gone through so much---I didn’t want to be tortured for what I’d done in the past.

 

 

Jorge looked at her for a moment with that questioning look he often had and then replied, “Well, no matter.  We shall see.” 

 

And with that, he motioned her onto the bed.  The blonde teenager slowly went from the edge of the bed to its center and lay on her back.  He stood at the edge looking down upon her and slowly shook his head, “Such beauty.” 

 

As with so many females whom had gone before on the boat, he knew that while M’s mind had been the ultimate goal, her body had been the game board upon which all of the battles had been fought.  Whether or not he liked her as a person, that thought had honestly never crossed his mind.  However, he certainly liked the docility she now displayed, how easily she was led to bed and effortlessly directed in every act while upon it. 

 

While M had somehow managed to keep that aura of innocence about her that had been so appealing initially, the beautiful woman who lay on the bed with her nylon clad legs automatically spread wide for him was such a vastly more erotic being than had been the unconscious teenager they’d carried onto the boat a month ago. 

 

With her long, gorgeous legs, tiny waist and the amazing bones of her face, the girl could easily have been an elite model…except for the fact that she was not emaciated looking enough to appeal to the high-end clothes designers and photographers.  With the way she walked and held herself, with her beautiful face and the innocence that was drenched in sexuality, all of this could have opened any door for her in Hollywood, except that she’d never had that drive to succeed at all cost that most ingénues brought to the table.  

 

He’d seen her changing in the last week though, becoming so much more easily managed, almost ready and willing to be taught by a man now, to be led by any man given the opportunity to assume control over her.  She’d almost reached the point where she no longer had the will power to maintain her individuality---or even saw the necessity to do so anymore, but rather now automatically granted control to others, taking for granted their right to do so.  He wasn’t sure she even recognized this quality in herself yet, but what he found most exciting, the increasing tempo of her willing cooperation seemed itself to be accelerating. 

 

What had always been hidden beneath was coming to the front…..

 

It was as if nothing they did to her body now surprised her, no act of brutality was too depraved to be unacceptable or unthinkable.  She had such a high level of “teachability” now that it was erotically exciting, challenging every man who rode her—take me to the next level, PLEASE—it seemed to beg. 

 

And yet, while there were still occasional flashes of the old fire, they knew she’d been tamed now, was almost meek in her obedience to their every command.  And what was even better, not only was she was finally beginning to accept her subservient role in this new world, M was now reacting as a real woman might as they led her further and further into her personal wilderness with their demands and their training.  This willingness bode well for the man who took final possession of the teenage girl.  This was what they had always wanted from her.  Her willingness to accept each and every thing they did to her now, to accept it all as it was meant, showed how far she had come in these last few days and weeks.

 

“You dream at night”, he continued as he looked down at her.  “Sometimes I come in and watch you.  Your dreams are full of anguish and this I can understand.  But you’re very intelligent too and what I can’t understand is why you are blind to so much of what you see around you here.  You’ve seen the design we have woven for you---you’ve lived through most of it.  But do you see the plan behind it?  You may not like it, but do you see the plan?  Once you’ve seen, can you then accept?” 

 

“This design is what every man dreams of whether he’ll admit it or not—to take a single woman, that special woman of whom he dreams to an isolated place and then to teach her what it is to give to him everything that makes her unique.  It may take patience, or much love, or even a lot of pain for the woman, but in the end the man always knows the woman will finally understand her role and submit to him.” 

 

“The most truly successful men aren’t looking for a woman to walk by their side, rather they want her tamed and walking behind him.  Our intentions are to fill a niche that has always existed---and as long as there are beautiful, totally desirable women like you who think they are somehow superior to men, the demand to make you obedient will always exist.”

 

His voice took on the sing-song tones of a teacher, “Most women are like you in many ways; while complex, they are always far more similar than they are different.  But your misfortune was to be both beautiful and naïve, as well as having an imperfect understanding of your true character---you have always been different from the other girls around you and this difference is why you are here.  Your beauty and the way you wear it means you will always draw the eye of every man around you and after they’ve seen you once, it’s you that they’ll dream of at night for many weeks after.  You are the woman they’d most like to have their way with on a deserted desert island.” 

 

“You should be aware; even as young as you are and as protected as you have been, you have no idea how many men have made you their invisible lover night after night.  When these men make love to their wives, they close their eyes and it is a subservient you or some other beautiful creature like you they see.  In their fantasies, it is your often bloodied but willing body they are penetrating.  And even though you may protest that you have never done anything to deserve that kind of attention, you have no idea how many times you have undergone what is nothing less than the equivalent of psychic rape.”

 

“It is your beauty that brought you here, but it is your character that we work on here.  It was your sense of survival, your submissiveness to reality which needed to be brought forward to battle your overly developed ego.  These battles are almost over for soon, my dear, if you are not already there, you too will be tamed---forever.  But until tomorrow evening,” he continued, “nothing here changes.  You will spend your time with us as usual.”

 

 

I had been holding my breath, now I let it out.  I still lay on The Bed, splayed provocatively for the next man.  I didn’t know what to say and his remarks didn’t seem to call for a response, so I said nothing.  My knees were slightly spread, one arm was by my side, while my other hand lay between my breasts, slightly covering them.  My hair was spread over the pillow and I knew I looked at him coldly, with no expression on my face. 

 

“Such beauty,” the old man repeated almost to himself.

 

 

Jorge looked down upon her as he slowly undressed.  She looked at him with those expressionless green eyes she sometimes used on him and he had no idea what was going through her mind.  He couldn’t help himself; he’d already taken this sweet teenager so many times in so many different ways, but again he stood looking down upon her, admiring her body—her body never failed to arouse him, even at his age.  Finally, he was naked in front of her and both of them knew that he was ready. 

 

But instead of need, it was his experience which took over at this point and he lay down next to her and stroked her for a couple of minutes.  First he touched her breasts lightly, before his hand stroked further down her body where her flat belly continued to lead him down to where her legs met.  His hands stroked her upper thighs and then the secret spots behind both of her knees—the spots even she had not known she’d had.  Lastly, his fingertips circled her aureoles, always avoiding the pins that kept the tips of her breasts chained. 

 

Finally, he told her he wanted her on top of him.  Jorge directed her to straddle his chest on her hands and knees while facing away from him.  The blonde girl they had kidnapped only a month ago did this willingly and without any further prompting by him. 

 

When finally positioned in the way he wanted, she leaned over without further direction or encouragement and took him in her mouth, thus baring her naked hips to him.  He closed his eyes as his hands slowly stroked the outsides of her nylon-covered thighs.  He’d never lost the feeling of utter delight at being able to touch a beautiful, docile young woman dressed in this way just for him. 

 

The fact that she’d been brought here by force and then unceasingly trained to do this…..her spectacular performance in this way…..like the best escort money could buy only made her vulnerability that much sweeter. 

 

The young girl once called Victoria was quite accomplished at giving blowjobs by now and the sensations to Jorge were quite pleasant; it was all he could do to just close his eyes and let her have her way with him.  In fact, she was good enough that he had to make her stop a couple of times in order to prevent his too cumming early. 

 

When he finally had himself under control, he reached up and slowly moved aside the thin strip of material which made up the crotch of her G-string and began to manipulate the insides of her thighs and lips of the blonde teenager’s vagina, strictly avoiding her clitoris. 

 

 

The everpresent anger which had once filled me was gone.  I didn’t think about much during sex and really did not mind the oral sex that much now.  I still hated being throat fucked by The Evil One, but was so used now to having a man in my mouth in the other ways; the taste and feel of a man’s meat and the fluids he injected didn’t seem nearly as bad as they had a month ago—it seemed a woman could get used to anything if she had to.  The tactile sensations of a man’s penis on my tongue, the texture of the natural ribs caused by his bulging veins, the ridges of his circumcised head, the motion of his hips, his hands in my hair and on my head pulling me toward him, they all combined in a mix of taste and feel that I had clearly somehow learned to accept.  Also, I’d finally realized how much pleasure it seemed to give the men.  And while the old me knew it was wrong to feel this way, in an oddly contrarian way, somehow it gave me tiny thrills of forbidden pleasure to make them happy this way. 

 

And yet, there was still a pragmatic part of me which realized that they loved what I did to them, and the woman in me noticed that if things were going well while I was sucking on them, their brains actually seemed to stop functioning and they often demanded less. 

 

At this moment, the only problem was when Jorge pulled the crotch of my panties aside and began to touch me softly between my legs.  I…I fought the feelings which suddenly rushed to every part of my body.  He’d spent too much time there and it began to feel good to me, too good, very good, waaay too good.  Suddenly, I realized that my hips were moving to a beat that only his fingers could hear and I could feel myself becoming moister between my legs by the moment. 

 

It was at that moment that he insisted I lie down and spread my legs for him.

 

On the video, Jorge had finally seen what he thought the teenager was hiding.  He’d watched her, time after time, do anything to avoid having her clitoris manipulated.  Whether consciously or not, she guarded this part of her body like it was a treasure made of pearls and gold.  She used both discrete misdirection of her partners as well as an almost theatrical ability to exploit her sexuality, but always to disguise her real sexual weakness.  He knew he’d hit her G-spot on the first day immediately after he’d performed a lot of oral sex on her.  And she’d fucked him with everything she had after that, but in the end she’d still tried to manipulate him.  She’d done it numerous times after that, and on video, he’d seen her do it to both Manuel and Enrique too. 

 

His only conclusion?  Except for the first day, sex with her had been great, but dishonest. 

 

God knows, he thought to himself, she’d been an unwilling partner in a lot of sex over the last month.  And if it were him in her position, he might even try to do the same thing.  But he wasn’t her and now that he thought he understood her, Jorge planned on using her sexuality against her, forcing her away from her deceitful behavior.  Who knew?  She might even have a totally honest sexual experience in bed for once even if it were against her will. 

 

Jorge planned on a lot foreplay this time, planned on manipulating her genitals for a while, but he would strictly leave her clitoris alone.  He would then go after her G-spot for real and make her cum until she was exhausted; only after that would he then go back and exploit her clit.  He’d work on that for a while and when he finally had her where he wanted her, then he’d fuck her brains out.  He had high hopes today of finally being able crack this girl’s wall of secrecy, the one which she used to hide her true self from them.  He didn’t like her or dislike her, he just wanted to see what she was hiding before she was taken from him.  He realized it was his ego which drove him to do this, but he just didn’t care. 

 

It might take a cosmic level of foreplay, but he was a professional and she was an amateur.  The way she had so far denied him this last victory over her meant she had become a true challenge to him---he had to see her chest flushed just like the Wolf had described to him.  Jorge figured only by this would he know he had finally succeeded in conquering the real girl hidden behind the false wall she’d thrown up inside her mind.

 

And so, while she sucked on his cock, he settled in, continued to work on her vagina with his mouth and fingers for at least ten minutes, always touching, kissing and sucking on her labia and around her vagina, but generally avoiding her clit.  The blonde’s breathing rate increased and she continued to get more and more hot, whether she wanted to or not.  He smiled to himself even as he felt himself growing more aroused, more sexually impatient.  But still he held on.  And when he finally did touch her engorged clit every so often, he would smile with anticipation as she inevitably jumped from the intense sensation between her legs.  After a few more minutes of this, he switched positions and had her laying on her back with her knees raised and legs spread for him.

 

Now he was going after her G-spot.  First he lowered himself between her thighs as he stroked her body, gently touching the inside of her thighs, stomach, breasts and her rear end.  Finally, after another moment had passed, he again pushed the crotch of her G-string aside and inserted his finger inside her vagina, keeping his fingertip facing her clitoris and moving his wrist in a way which allowed him to probe past the muscles at the entry to her vagina, following the curve of her body so his finger ended up on the other side of her pubic bone facing him.

 

Jorge felt the thin pads of extremely sensitive vaginal tissue there and he began to work them.  As he did, he felt her jump for the first time and then he felt them begin to swell beneath his circling fingertip as his touch became more pleasurable to her.  She moaned again and again, once clenching her thighs together hard to capture his hand.  He stopped with his fingertips resting on the tissues he was manipulating.  After a moment, however, she reluctantly opened herself again and allowed him to continue. 

 

Once she began swelling there under his fingers, he experimented with different moves, moves other captive women had found pleasurable too....rubbing his finger from side to side (gently at first and then increasing the pressure and pace as her arousal gained momentum)...tapping gently on the sensitive area....stroking down and up...using two fingers instead of one. 

 

Unwillingly, her body talked to him, guided him, welcomed him and his attentions.  Hard as a rock now, Jorge wanted nothing more than to fuck this woman, but he stayed focused, watched her responses, always responded to her body’s reactions.  More and more now, she stopped sucking on him, giving herself over to him, just enjoying the sensations he was giving her between her long, beautiful legs. 

 

Once again she jumped again as if in pain and he didn’t know if this was good or bad.  He knew an inexperienced woman like this had probably never undergone this kind of extended stimulation and a man just never knew what kind of response he might get from her.  For all he knew, she might jump straight into sexual ecstasy or she might feel nothing; on the other hand, it could be uncomfortable or even painful to her.

 

Jorge felt the girl’s erotic tissue swell even more beneath his fingers and he stayed with the three basic strokes he had used from the beginning as he worked her young body.  The one she seemed to respond to the most was a deep stroking action as he pulled his curved fingers almost out of her vagina.  She moaned appreciatively again and again as he followed this with a tapping motion and finally a side to side motion.  The teenager appeared deeply appreciative for all three efforts and after a few minutes, achieved orgasm, a truly awe-inspiring orgasm.  This was accompanied by the first release of a thickish, clear liquid he found on his fingers---it was almost like she was ejaculating! 

 

The smell now coming from between her legs was a strong, musky aroma that filled the cabin.  He’d done this to a lot of captives.  While all women have a scent in this situation, he’d only noticed the accompanying secretions from a few women who had been truly turned on.  The combination of strong smell and feminine ejaculate was designed by nature to drive men insane with its pheromonic demands on their bodies.

 

 

I neither knew what Jorge was doing to me nor why he was giving me this kind of long, detailed foreplay.  All I knew was that it felt incredibly good, right up until…...  Suddenly, I knew it had gone too far….that I had to reach up and grab his hand to stop him…..but I was too late. 

 

My head was whipping back and forth on the bed’s pillow.  My body was under his control and I really didn’t want that.  But he wouldn’t stop and finally, I knew he must be aware of what I had been doing.  He must have known because everything he seemed to be doing was directed towards defeating me---the me which no longer existed.  I shook my head at the unfairness of it all; to be able to protect myself all this time and then to lose everything at the very end.

 

As he pulled my hand away from his and he continued to stimulate me, it suddenly led to some of the most intense sensations and contractions that I’d ever allowed myself to feel.  Abruptly, I was embarrassed because his continued stimulation had made me feel like I had to urinate.  I whimpered that I had to pee, but he wouldn’t stop or let me go.  Instead, he whispered for me to relax and breathe, to just “let go” of the sensation.  And suddenly, as he continued, Jorge’s touch there gave me the most intense, most profound and most pleasurable orgasm I’d ever experienced in my life.  I came and I came and I came; it seemed never to end.  How could something which felt this good be bad? 

 

My head flew from side to side as I cried out in low moaning tones.  At the same time, my thighs locked his fingers inside my body and my hips humped it.  It was heaven, it was hell, it was unending….  I relaxed my legs, then pinned his hand inside me again and tried to arch my hips against his hand again.  I was not successfully in that, but oh my God!  How good it felt to let him do whatever he wanted to me.  For the first time, I knew I was his to do with as he pleased and for however long it pleased him!!

 

He later said that he could see my belly ripple as my abdominal muscles moved with each succeeding wave of pleasure and his hand was actually wet now with my vaginal secretions.

 

As he slowly allowed me to come down, I felt a tingling and then sudden warmth all over as my blood flowed rushing to all parts of my body.  I felt a deep and overwhelming sense of well-being; a pervasive flowing sensation which just seemed to speed throughout my body.  And all of this was accompanied by wider, broader waves of feeling almost as if I were weightless or floating.

 

Jorge finally relented and allowed me to breathe for a moment.  I luxuriated in the almost ecstatically religious feelings which washed throughout my body; I felt flushed by an almost spiritual release in which a totally new feeling had been awakened in me, all of which left me wondering just which areas of my being he had been able to touch with only his fingers.

 

I was still gasping for air when suddenly, too soon, far too soon he picked up the curved wand that he’d brought in and pushed my shaking knees apart again.  His fingers slid down the sheer nylon covering my thighs and I could feel how wet I now was.  I could see how easy it was for him to pull the crotch of my panties aside and insert this thing inside me.  There was no resistance within me, it just felt wonderful to be finally filled, even if by a mechanical object. 

 

I had no say in what he did next---nor did I want any---for when he had it inside me as far as he wanted it, he turned it on.  I’d raised my head to watch what he was doing to me between my legs and immediately, I felt my head slam back against the mattress as this thing in his hand exactly hit my G-spot again.  I gave me the same or even more intense sensations than those from which I just recovered. 

 

He started working on me with this and I lay totally vulnerable and opened before him, literally physically helpless now, wanting to be helpless for him, with my knees spread wide to receive his attention as overwhelming feelings and emotions of an almost religious intensity ricocheted throughout my body. 

 

Jorge’s style was excellent; he soon found that a stabbing motion didn’t do as much for me as when he ended the penetrations with a slickly forceful withdrawing motion.  He continued this for a couple of minutes, varying his routine only slightly when suddenly I came again.  This time, when I grabbed his wrist to stop him, I squirted what seemed like buckets as I lay writhing beneath his hands a second time.  I hadn’t grabbed his wrist to stop him, I was at his mercy and just couldn’t seem to catch my breath.  I knew that I was babbling to him but I didn’t care.  My God!!  I just wanted to catch my breath before he continued. 

 

 

Jorge was now crouched over Victoria facing her spread knees---it was time to work her clit a little more before the main event.  He inhaled her wonderful perfume and if possible, felt himself become every harder.  His head and hands hovered above her loins as he continued to manipulate her labia and that small elusive button of sensitive flesh even as her hips rotated madly around his fingers. 

 

He’d leaned his hips down towards Victoria’s face and she’d greedily grabbed his cock again and put it in her mouth.  By now, she’d taken him all the way into her mouth and she was sucking hard on him and manipulating his nuts at the same time---this was dangerous territory.  It was a battle now to see came first this time and who was rendered helpless.  He let go of the thin strip of material that ran between her legs and paused; his head was raised and his eyes were closed as he enjoyed what she was doing to him.

 

Finally regaining a semblance of control, he reached down to pull the thin strip of lace aside again and was astounded to feel it was burning hot and almost sopping wet from her now juicy pussy.  With his target now once more bared, he was able to apply the vibrator directly upon her red and engorged clitoris again. 

 

The second he did this, he felt Victoria stiffen and stop sucking at his loins, after which she gave out a low moan of pure animal pleasure.  After a moment, she leaned back into him and resumed her sucking. 

 

Her hips however, seemed to respond even more enthusiastically to his actions.  After several minutes, he was delighted to see the crotch of her panties were now just sodden with her moisture.  While she leaned into him with her left hand on the mattress beside his hip, he put the vibrator in her right hand.  Jorge told Victoria to take the vibrator. 

 

“Don’t stop what you’re doing to me,” he said, “but I also want you to use the vibrator on yourself.” 

 

She was nothing if not cooperative.

 

Now they reversed positions with her on top and facing his huge erection.  With his hands now freed, Jorge finally began to remove Victoria’s wetted and stretched G-string.  He took his time, ensuring that he kept his hips so she could always maintain her suction on his cock, 

 

He removed the tiny panties first from her right leg and then off of her left leg.  By taking his time, there was no interruption in the rhythm of pleasure between them.  But now finished with that chore, Jorge raised his head slightly and pushing the vibrator in her hands to the side, he pulled down on her hips, forcing her vagina into his face and onto his waiting mouth. 

 

As he began sucking on her juicy, destroyed pussy, he heard the beautiful teenaged blonde inhale quickly and then give out single deep, long, drawn out groan of pleasure again---this sound pleased him.  At the same time, as his mouth rested on her vagina, his left hand was now down by his belly and cupping her breasts one at a time as they rested on his chest.  Each breast was a handful and he was able to play with her nipples, all the while he was massaging and pulling on her breasts.

 

 

I couldn’t help myself, what he was doing just felt too good for me not to respond.  I’d already had two huge orgasms and too many small ones to count.  All I wanted to do was cooperate with anything that Jorge might ask of me. I didn’t want it stop, I never wanted it stop.  I had his cock in my mouth and whenever his face didn’t prevent it, I also masturbated myself at exactly the right place between my legs with the vibrator.  The combination of his mouth alternately sucking and pulling and tugging on my labia and then my clitoris, his pulling and manipulating my breasts and the vibrator massaging my clit was literally overpowering.  Suddenly, I had forgotten about not wanting to cooperate and about not liking to perform oral sex; I’d forgotten about everything except what was going on with my body and how much I wanted a man, any man, deep, deep inside of me.

 

 

Finally he was ready.  Jorge moved the girl onto her left side and after placing his knees on either side of her left thigh, he lowered himself until he sat on the inside of her thigh, pinning it to the mattress with his weight.  He then reached over and raised her right leg until it pointed into the air and he could grasp it and pull her extended leg into his chest with her knee in a locked position.  Telling her to guide him he moved his hips until she could grasp his erection, and then she opened herself with her left hand as she guided (actually pulled) him into her wet vagina with her right hand. 

 

As he gave the first move of his hips, she was so moist and ready for him that he was immediately buried in her as deep as it was physically possible for him to penetrate.  The moist heat from her vagina as it encased him was amazing---she was so hot it almost felt like it would burn him. 

 

At that first penetration, she threw her head back and gave a long scream of pure animal lust.  It went on long enough that everyone on the boat knew she’d finally been forced to release the pent up sexual energy that she’d been hiding from them for so long.

 

Something else Jorge knew she wasn’t thinking about at that moment was how she was also directly facing a camera that was still faithfully recording every movement she made as she fucked him, every expression on her face as she continued to have multiple orgasms.  This film too would eventually make it into the video.

 

They fucked like maniacs.  It was impossible to tell who was doing what to whom.  First he was on top driving into her and then she was on top, grasping with her vaginal muscles, demanding every inch of his erection she could possibly get.  When he finally came inside her, she refused to let go of his cock until she’d wrung every remaining drop from him.  Watching the film later, everyone was impressed with how far their ‘virgin’ had come in less than a month under their patient tutelage.

 

 

We lay in bed, exhausted.  I couldn’t help myself as I marveled at the tingling which I felt in every part of my body---it had never been like this before.  Without asking permission, I kicked off first one high heel and then the other.  I luxuriously stretched and ran my stockinged foot up the inside of my other leg and marveled at how sensitive every part of my body felt now.  God, if I’d only known how good it could be, I’d never have fought them like I had.  If they’d only promised me one or two good lays a week like this one, I’d have followed them anywhere and done anything for them.  I was not really quite that far gone, but it wasn’t too far off either.

 

I now knew that long-term sex like this resulted in something that was much like drug addiction, and like drug addiction I knew it could be broken with willpower, with enough inner strength. 

 

The truth? 

 

While the situation I was in was probably unacceptable to most, it was also incredible how it felt to me.  A part of me wanted to fight this….addiction.  But fighting a dependence like this required swearing off the poison.  But these men, and all of the ones to come, would never let me do that.  And with a sinking feeling, I also understood that I did not have the inner strength of character required to free myself of the emotional and mental bondage which now chained me….certainly not as long as the payoff was as filled with the sheer unmeasurable pleasure it promised to be. 

 

 

They lay in bed, exhausted.  He looked at her chest and it was a rosy red from her abdomen to her chin.  Victoria’s face was flushed too and the sweat on her body had just now begun to dry.  Looking at her face as his fingers traced soft circles around her still sensitive nipples, he said, “I know what you’ve been doing, what you’ve tried to keep from us.”

 

 

I opened my eyes as I came crashing down from my flights of pure imagination.  Suddenly wary, I tried to answer and failed.  I swallowed loudly.  I had been told explicitly what they would do to anyone that tried to game them.  But in the end, I’d finally learned what they had demanded---surely this counted for something?  I didn’t want to go back to being physically tortured on a daily basis as punishment for something I’d already learned. 

 

Swallowing again, I tried again to speak and was finally successful after a couple of failures.  “Please,” I begged him.  “Please don’t tell anyone, I can’t take any more pain.  I’ve changed---you’ve won and I promise I won’t try to do that anymore.  Please, I beg of you, I’ll do anything you want.  Please.”

 

He just looked at her without expression.  Inside however, he was amazed.  She’d apparently either forgotten about the cameras in the cabin or assumed they were turned off now that her films were completed.  Everything was being recorded and would be sent to her new owner.  That she’d admitted to trying to fool them, the way she’d responded to his manipulations, the way she’d fucked like a bitch in heat after the extended foreplay, even her feeble attempts at begging for mercy---all would be sent on.

 

Keeping his face expressionless for a second, Jorge finally smiled and nodded, “Okay, it’s between us.  Now we try it again.” 

 

And he pulled her unresisting body onto her stomach as he prepared to take her from the rear.  He could tell she was in a remarkably cooperative mode now.  This time, he made sure she responded enthusiastically to each and every move he made; this time he made sure that she writhed on his pole until he was satisfied; this time he made sure that she fucked him as his cock was buried in her ass. 

 

He spread her stocking-covered legs wide apart, spread her lovely cheeks, then slid between them into the wonderful home his cock sought.  The girl was a screamer this time too, even though he left her crying when he was finished.  But whether from what he’d done to her or from what he’d discovered about her, he neither knew nor cared.

 

Or perhaps she cried because for the first time because she had actually cum while being fucked in the ass?

 

 

Day Twenty-Eight: Victoria Finally Departs To Meet Her New Master

 

I had spent the morning getting ready to depart.  I was scared, but felt a sense of excitement too, an emotion which surprised me.  I was young and I was facing an awful unknown, yet at the same time I knew exactly what my new life held for me---this had been made VERY clear to me---and somehow, in some way, I found I was ready to face it with as much poise and confidence as I could.

Except for the anal sex, yesterday’s time with Jorge had left me feeling as good as I had felt in a long time.  I ached a little from what the crew had put me through after him, but it seemed like a huge weight had been taken off of my chest.  The new reality the movies had brought, the physical release which Jorge had given me, the relief I’d felt after I’d decided to no longer fight my fate, that I was moving on to my new master; it all seemed to come together at once.

The boat was still about three hours from docking when Jorge allowed me to go into my cabin and begin getting ready for tonight’s meeting.  He seemed solicitous as he served me several cups of coffee to help me relax as I packed to leave.  Somehow, a part of me hated to leave Jorge, I would miss him.  

I was able to pack everything I’d been wearing into two large suitcases.  Depending upon how he wanted to use me, while my new Master may soon need to buy me some new dresses, he wouldn’t need to buy me lingerie for years.  

I thought with regret back to Bossman, and how we’d finally been able to get along at the end just before he’d left the boat.  I surprised to discover that a part of me missed him.  The more I thought about it, the more certain I was……..if I had to have a Master, I wished it would be him.  I knew him, I respected him…..I understood for the first time that a part of me liked him.  

But that was not to be.

Still a stupid, immature girl, I felt this a golden opportunity so I took a lot of care that afternoon, trying to make myself look as good as possible for my new Master.  I was glad Jorge had decided to let me leave without having to wear that damnable plug inside me.  There had been little or no leakage for days now because of my diet.  I may be someone’s newly purchased pleasure slave, but arriving without that monstrosity in me would simplify a lot of things and perhaps allow what others saw as my beauty and grace to impress onlookers.  If he kept other women for pleasure besides me, I would do my best to become his favorite toy since I felt this would simplify my life with him.  Of course, the last thing I needed was get into some kind of a competition with the other kept women of the house.  

After carefully putting on my makeup and brushing out my hair, I walked over to the clothes hangers in the corner and took down a simple navy blue pleated skirt that came to within two inches above my knees and an almost transparent white silk blouse with a deep V neck.  I matched these with sheer navy hose, a silk navy garter belt and dark blue pumps with five-inch stiletto heels.  Looking at myself in the mirror, even if only a naïve nineteen year old, I knew I would be able to make a simple yet classy, perhaps even sexy entrance.

Oddly, The Evil One had handed me a second navy garter belt and informed I would be wearing this one too.  This garter belt was much wider than normal as it encircled my waist, it rested higher on my hips than I had become familiar with and had only one slightly longer garter strap hanging down in front between my legs.  I noticed that this garter strap was also much stronger than the other garters I normally wore.  After inspecting it closely, I could see that if this single garter were stretched tightly, it could be fastened firmly to the back of the wide garter belt I was to wear.  While it didn’t make sense to wear two garter belts, especially one that had a strap hanging down in front, I had learned to not question my betters.  

I did as I was commanded.  

The Evil One came in and I submitted to him, assuming my customary position for him one last time.  Without ceremony, he walked in back of me, lifted my skirt and pushed my thighs apart.  I blushed at this, but he didn’t seem to notice as he then reached between my legs and grabbed the end of the single unattached garter that hung down in front between my legs, pulled it up between my thighs and hooked it to the wide belt in back.  It was tightly stretched now from front to back and split the lips of my pussy as well, snuggling deeply in the crack of my buttocks.  He then left without a word.  It was as if this strap was the crotch of a weirdly designed thong.  This second garter was rather uncomfortable and it took me a while to get used to wearing it.  

I was dressed in less than an hour and now waited almost impatiently for this part of my journey to end.  I felt like I’d lived a full lifetime in the last three or four weeks.  Coincidentally, at this point the small bathroom in my cabin had backed up and I was forced to wait until I got onshore before I could go to the bathroom.  It was at times like this that I sometimes wished I were a man.  Of course, if I were a man, I wouldn’t have been here in the first place.

Eventually the boat approached a large marina dock at dusk and I was escorted by the men off of the boat in disguise.  Just before we had arrived, Jorge had handcuffed my wrists behind my back to ensure I didn’t try to runaway---as if I’d try to escape by running on a dock made of wooden planks while wearing five-inch stilettos.  And there was my family.  I wasn’t running anywhere.

Although the weather was mild, he’d thrown a long, yet light cotton cape over my shoulders to hide the wrist cuffs.  In addition, he’d also forced a two inch diameter rubber ball into my mouth and then covered my lips with a wide piece of flesh colored tape to gag me.  

Finally, he’d somehow come up with a floppy brimmed hat which covered my face most of the time.  From fifty feet away in the gathering dark, no one would ever notice that I was a woman, bound and gagged.  

I don’t know why, but I tried to cooperate, to act as normal as possible as I walked along that dock.  Acting not as a young kidnapped girl who was handcuffed and gagged, one who had been raped and tortured and who had been sold into sexual slavery.  But instead, as an innocent young girl being escorted somewhere by her older brothers.

As I was escorted to my transportation, I thought about my last four or five years at school and of what I had dreamed my future to be.  The places I would visit, the men I would eventually meet and with whom I would go on exotic vacations.  We’d have chilled drinks on beautiful patios overlooking the Mediterranean; spend time in the fantastic cities of Eastern Europe and the Middle East.  It would all be wonderful!  Eventually, I’d meet the man of my dreams and he would fall in love with me, and ask me to marry him…..  

Funny, the things you think about when you’re a newly trained sex slave and you’re being unexpectedly transferred from one location to another.  When you’re being taken some place you’ve never been because you belong to a man you’ve never met, and he’ll use you for things you’ve never dreamed you’d be forced to do.  

Oddly, I was actually somehow at peace with the fact that I now belonged to a man and that he would force me to have sex with him at his pleasure until he tired of me.  

It would have been impossible for me to have dreamed of this happening to another woman a month ago, let alone me actually living through it.

Along with my small amount of luggage, I was escorted down the dock and into a parking lot where a large SUV was waiting for me.  My floppy hat was removed and I was silently given over to the three new men waiting there.  Jorge, Manuel and Enrique turned and walked away from me without another word.  I watched them for a minute and none of them ever looked back at me.  My eyes teared slightly; the hellboat was a known evil and as bad as it had been, for some reason I felt like a small child who had just lost her parents.  Somehow, that awful place had become my home….and suddenly, I missed it. 

Still gagged and cuffed, the men helped me into the front seat and then we pulled out along the coast road.  Conversation was stiff; all of the men had clearly been ordered to say little as possible around me and seemed thoroughly incapable of small talk.  Or maybe, as the new Master’s whore I was below their station in life.  

I watched the road signs carefully.  I’d like to know where I was, not so much because I thought I could escape, for I had already been told I would be put on the leash by my new Master for at least a month, but rather out of sheer curiosity.  And still not a word from the front or back seats.

We drove for ten minutes along the well-lit road and I was surprised to see a lot of heavy truck traffic going in both directions.  We soon slowed down and pulled around to the back of a closed gas station---even if this was not the Hilton, I hoped I would be allowed to go to the bathroom here.  While the driver walked around to the back of their vehicle, the other two men helped me down from my seat and then held me with a firm grip on each arm.  I looked at the men in a little fear for this did not make sense.

The driver walked around and stood next to me where he took a stiff rubber rod out of a paper bag that he was now carrying.  The rod had a set of beads on it arranged by size and he proceeded to lubricate them lightly with what turned out to be Bengay.  These turned out to be plastic anal beads, and grew progressively larger as one went from the tip towards the base of the rod.  The big end of the rod had a wide, flat flange on it to prevent its penetrating too deeply into its female victim and it had a leather loop on the end with which to pull it out when the man was done humiliating his woman.  

Looking at me with an evil smile, he said, “Consider this a parting gift from Roberto.”

While I had never seen one of these things before and didn’t know what they planned to do with it, I also knew without a doubt it didn’t mean anything good for me.  I tried to turn and run.  However, the two men standing next to me casually grabbed me before I could even really make a move, lifted me up and threw me face down over the fender of the SUV.  

I was still handcuffed, and although I struggled, kicking my legs and throwing myself from side to side, the two men each grabbed an elbow and an ankle and easily pinned me down on the fender while they pulled my legs wide apart.  The driver unhooked the single garter which ran between my legs, spread my butt cheeks and in a totally disinterested, business-like manner, inserted the rod end and the two smallest beads into my enlarged anus.  

Because of the rubber butt plugs that I’d been wearing for the last month, my body easily accepted the smaller beads.  While I gave a muffled scream of indignation and fought this last as hard as I could, I was again helpless in the face of the experienced slavers.  

The driver then grabbed the front garter strap, ran it through the rod’s looped handle and positioned it carefully over the end of the rubber rod before re-connecting it to the rear of the wide garter belt around my waist.  The strong, tightly stretched garter strap now split the lips of my pussy again; while I was still lying on the fender and before I could even think about trying to clamp my sphincter shut the third bead had been driven inside my rectum under the pressure from the tightly stretched garter.

The men watched without interest as the girl begged them in a muffled voice as soon as the Bengay started to take effect.  She had to know that this was, without a doubt, the beginning of her punishment for trying to resist the men on the boat.  Taking her arms, her two escorts dragged her back down off the fender and began walking her back to the open door of the SUV.  

She now walked with rolling gate from side to side, in extreme difficulty due to unfamiliar presence in her ass.  The Bengay was already stoking a furnace and as they walked, the strong garter strap kept up its pressure on the rod that now pushed more deeply into her asshole with almost every step.  

Three more times on the short trip to the vehicle door, almost with each step, each move of her hips resulted in a new and larger bead forcing its way past her sphincter and injecting a whole new load of Bengay in her already burning asshole.  

Before she’d even made the vehicle, the new slut began to involuntarily accept the final and largest anal bead inside her body.  Her sphincter fought uselessly against this invasion.  The smaller beads at the tip of the rod continued to lead the way into her body, ensuring that their message of pain was received profoundly deeper into her rectum.  Little did the young woman know that the last and largest bead also carried Tabasco sauce mixed with the Bengay.  

Just as they reached the car door, the last bead popped in.

I somehow climbed into the SUV with their help and seated myself gingerly on one cheek.  I was belted into the front passenger seat by one of the men, an act which maliciously forced the beads even more deeply inside me.  The rod was now firmly seated inside my lower body up to the flange.  Well designed, that wide piece was the only thing preventing an even deeper penetration of my colon by the beads.  I was invaded so deeply by this thing that my stomach actually cramped as the tip pushed against the walls of my lower colon.  

Still gaged, I bit down on the hard rubber to hold in a desperate scream.  Roberto had planned well, the bastard. 

Within a few moments, the seat had been reclined by the driver, forcing me to lie back on my bound hands.  I was now in continuous pain from the ripping pain in my abdomen and the burning fire inside my rectum.  My hips were in constant motion, trying to achieve some kind of relief in an impossible quest for sanctuary.  Even worse, I still had to go to the bathroom.  While this pain was not as great as that from my rectum, the feeling of urgency continued to grow.

I had lost all interest in fighting these new men.  They now easily tied my ankles together using a strip of Velcro while a rope was run from my hands, between the seat back and seat bottom and then back to my ankles.  The driver pulled the rope tight, which pulled my ankles snugly against the lower front of the seat.  This in turn forced me to arch my back in an attempt to relieve the pressure on my knees and ankles.  

In my reclined position, this forced me to keep my knees above my hips.  Because of the brutal physical intrusion of the rod and anal balls, the only way I could achieve any kind of relief from that terrible invasion was to spread my knees as wide apart as was humanly possible.  

At the same time, I found myself continually grinding my hips into the seat in an unsuccessful attempt to obtain some kind of relief from the burning fire in my rear end.  After pulling my skirt back up around my thighs without saying a word, the driver now started the car, pulled back out on the coastal road and the trip to my new Master’s home began again.  

A result of gravity is that things always naturally want to go from higher areas to lower—nature rules and everything inexorably else obeys, sometimes sooner, sometimes later.  It was this function which caused my pleated skirt to now want to slide down my slick, nylon-clad thighs to my hips.  Between the normal vibrations of the road and my squirming from the unbelievable pain in my rectal canal, the pleated blue skirt started its inevitable slide towards my waist.  

The driver was an awful man.  He turned to me and smiled without sympathy, so I guess he really was a friend of Roberto’s.  “I understand your Master has some interesting plans for you upon arrival---a nice steaming enema, a good, long ass fucking and God only knows what else.”  I ignored him as I had much more serious concerns with which to contend.  

First to become visible as part of my skirt’s journey were the darker tops of my stockings.  If the outside observer could ignore my obvious pain, with my knees spread wide on the reclined passenger seat, I assume I presented a provocative and erotic view of a beautiful woman.  Although I really was not particularly aware of this at the time, for I was crying at this point.  Through my haze of pain though, I wondered faintly if the truckers driving by could see into the interior of the vehicle well enough to notice me.  I hoped not, but from the sound of the joyous air horns when they passed the trucks, I assumed they could.  

Because of my spread knees and the writhing of my hips on the reclined seat, my skirt had next slid to the point that my garters could be seen and, in a humiliating finale, my exposed and mostly naked pussy was fully revealed to each passing truck driver.  I wasn’t sure, but we might have caused a wreck or two as they passed various trucks.  Obviously, the word had gone out as every truck we passed had its driver hanging out the window to see me--the beautiful blonde exhibitionist.  The fact that I was constantly grinding my pelvis into the seat for them just made it an even hotter scene.  This was something they would be talking about for a long time.  

All they had seen were the knees spread wide, the stocking clad thighs and the moving hips.  Not one of them had really seen me, nor had they noticed the bound wrists or the shocked look in the pleading eyes, the tears running down the now haggard face or the gagged mouth that kept in the cries of pain.

I had lost all interest in reading the traffic signs for I no longer cared where we were.  This trip to meet my new Master was awful; it was hell---so much for my grand entrance.  Through the continuous acid-like burning in my anus, around which my whole world now centered, I knew this trip had started badly and that when they got me to my new Master’s home, things would only get worse.

Eventually we pulled up in front of a large stucco’d building built in the manner of the colonial past.  The SUV was parked in a large circular drive in front of a grand and well-manicured entrance.  The mansion was designed with two wings and looked to be quite large, as though it might contain up to 7,000 or even 8,000 square feet housed under one roof.  But I guess I could be excused for this estimate, since I later learned that in total, it encompassed over 16,000 square feet, much of it being underground.

 

This was the day that I had dreaded for over three weeks---meeting my new Master.  But frankly, I could care less at the moment what my new owner or the home of my new owner looked like or even how he acted towards me.  I was in agony, with the mix of Bengay and Tabasco exceeding anything The Demon might have done to me in person.  

When we arrived I was dragged from the SUV by two men and forced around to a side entrance where deliveries were made.  I could barely walk, but was mostly dragged into a sizable, well-appointed kitchen where I was met by a large Hispanic man.  He looked with disapproval at my disheveled appearance and constantly moving hips, my tear-filled eyes and rather mussed hair, but finally introduced himself as ‘Georges’.  

He sniffed with dissatisfaction, turned without another word and led the small parade through the kitchen to a heavy, locked door set into a whitewashed stone wall.  Opening the door with a key he carried on a ring with a bunch of other keys, we descended a series of steps which led to a subterranean level.

Still handcuffed, filled with fear and dread, suffering and in real pain, I was finally, reluctantly ushered by Georges into a large, rather dark room with what seemed a low ceiling.  Not really concerned whether my first impression was that of a lady or a slave, I walked stiffly to the center where I did my best to assume a submissive position.  I furtively looked around me as I subtly shifted my weight from one foot to the other and back again, anything to shift or subdue the discomfort.  My eyes had still not adjusted from being outside at night and it took several moments for me to be able to see everything clearly.  

God!  There were at least seven or eight men apparently waiting for my arrival.  

A truly submissive woman is to be treasured, cherished and protected for it is only she who can give a man the gift of dominance.

-Dominique Aury

Georges looked at me impassively and without pity, then turned without saying another word, and along with the two escorts, left me alone with the men.  In great pain, I numbly waited for instructions.  Intellectually, I knew the fate which more than likely awaited me; I now knew I could handle whatever came.  I may not have liked it, but I would handle it.  But emotionally, in my heart, I was still trying to make the leap from being a college student one day to being prostituted a month later to any man my new Master might allow to use me, let alone a whole roomful of men.  

All of the men had apparently been sitting at a long table playing cards, killing time.  Most had been drinking, but none appeared drunk.  A beautiful pool table took up the center of the room.  There were also a series of couches up against the walls around the room and what looked like nice Persian rugs in front of each couch.  A door in front of me led off to what appeared to be a bathroom.

Still standing in the center of the room, it was obvious to all that my face was drawn and white with pain.  I was still writhing, continually moving my hips and clenching my butt cheeks together in an attempt to avoid crying out.  Whatever it was, the mixture the driver had painted on the implement now buried so deeply inside me burned like acid, incinerating the vulnerable flesh of my rectum, working its way into the small rips and tears it was obvious I now sported due to the previous weeks of intense anal training.  

My world was incredibly focused.  This pain was all I cared about right now—it consumed my world and me with it.

At the same time, I slowly swayed back and forth as I tried to keep from urinating in front of these men.  If only I hadn’t drank so much coffee this afternoon.  If only the toilet hadn’t stopped working.  If only I hadn’t been kidnapped…….

I’d been a nice girl before these men, or men just like them, had gotten their hands on me---they’d degraded and humiliated me the whole time I’d been in their possession.  I remembered all the care I’d taken this afternoon in putting on my makeup and in choosing what to wear to meet my new Master tonight.  I thought about my stupid vow to unseat any other female slaves from their positions.  Fat chance of that now!  I knew I looked like hell right now; and I certainly didn’t feel very special right, but rather betrayed, abused and brutalized.

One man stepped forward and snapped his fingers.  Two men grabbed me and dragged me in front of the leader.  He looked at me for minute without saying a word, almost like he knew me but couldn’t remember my name, and then he grabbed my chin.  I still had the large rubber ball in mouth and the tape over my lips.  Holding my jaw painfully hard, he first turned my head to the left and then to the right as he looked at my face.  

Then he stepped back as he said, “So this is the one.  This is the one who has caused so much trouble over the last couple of weeks.”

He hesitated for a moment before he continued, “Pretty little thing.  Although she’s not so little, is she?  Big girl.  I like big girls.”  At this comment, there were a couple of appreciative chuckles.

“You’re due some pain, since we’ve been told that we’re allowed to discipline you.  I’m not sure exactly what you’ve done, but you’ve seriously pissed some people off.“ 

He looked me up and down, “You seem to be in a little, shall we say ‘discomfort’ from Roberto’s gift.  I like him and I don’t know you---that alone should trouble you a little.”

He tilted his head to the side as he looked at me, “I’ve been given some suggestions about how to treat you and what to do with you, but we’ll see.”

I felt a trickle of fear as he said, “You need to be ‘pumped and flushed’, but I’m not sure that we’re gonna’ give you what you need tonight.  We’d planned on giving you an enema and then corking your ass and letting you stew in your own juices for a while.  But I know you’ve got to piss too---you think the coffee and other stuff was an accident?  We were also going to catheterize you and let your bladder work a little while longer too.  By the way, you piss on the floor and I’ll beat you bloody fucking senseless---do you understand me?”

As he was saying this, he grabbed hair at the back of my head and forced me to nod my understanding of his order.  I was confused.  Someone had bought me.  Someone had spent a lot of money for me.  Why would they allow this?

He continued in a low voice, “What I do know is that we’re going to give you everything that we want you to have and that you’ll take everything that we want you take, but you may not get what you need tonight.  We’ll see; it all depends upon how appreciative you are and on how well you behave.”

The new whore’s Master had gathered these men from his plantation and given them permission to use the bitch hard on her first night in.  She needed to be broken in, needed to disciplined for some infraction which had occurred during her training.  Her new owner wanted to see how submissive she actually was.  

Some of these men were second-generation employees.  While extremely loyal, except for their leader these men were also all very low level employees like gardeners, drivers and all-around handy men---they were the lowest of the low.  These men had no real education, no real prospects and no certain hope.  They were all unwashed, ignorant and at dead ends in their lives.  Perhaps the worst part was that they knew this about themselves.  All the men knew for sure was that, even no one else did, at least the boss cared for them.  

That was what, in their minds, explained the health exams all had been subjected to less than two days ago.  None of them thought to ask about the three missing men; men who might not have passed the exam….

All the men knew was that this was the lying bitch they’d been told about, and they planned on giving her one hell of a lot more than an enema tonight.  But first, they’d make sure she knew that she was no better than them.  

If they had to live a life of ultimate hopelessness, they’d make sure this cunt was going to be right down there with them in the gutter.  They were looking at tonight as an opportunity to humiliate a beautiful young American and as a way to have great fun at the expense of this stupid bitch.  

I heard him say, “Put her up against the pool table.”

I was still handcuffed and could only move with difficulty.  Laughing, the men grabbed my arms and dragged me unresisting to the pool table where they forced me to bend over.  Fear thrilled down my spine again as they pushed my face onto the hard, flat surface.  I now laid there draped over the edge of the pool table with the right side of my face forced firmly into the felt surface.

The leader then told them to free my wrists and after a moment of fumbling, another man off to the side stepped up and took the handcuffs off of me.  My wrists now freed, one of the men put my left arm in a wrist lock and as he lifted up on my hand and wrist, all I could do was go further up on my toes as I tried to push my face into the table even harder in an attempt to reduce the pain he was causing my shoulder.  

I was barely aware they had lifted my skirt up around my waist and now looked at my nylon-clad legs and my naked butt as it was aimed into air—at this point the room went silent and one of the men gave out a soft whistle.  

The leader laughed and said in a soft voice, “Little one, you may only be nineteen, but you are definitely one hell of a woman.”

Although in agony from both the balls and rod so deeply entombed inside me and from the burning crème they carried, I was suddenly more aware of my situation.  I was both embarrassed that they could see me naked from the waist down and threatened.  I tried to resist them a little once again but they held me firm.  

My other hand had now also been put in a wrist lock and with both arms twisted into the air, I was helpless.  But I still had to urinate, and the more they pushed my abdomen against the table, and the more that the men used their joint locks on me, the more I was afraid that my distended bladder would fail and I would undergo the ultimate humiliation in front of these men.

The men were clustered around the table looking at the beautiful American teenager.  One of the men moved aside the wide garter that kept everything pushed inside her.  From the side, all that could be seen between the crack of her ass was the loop on the handle at the very base of the shaft.  The rubber stick was now buried completely inside her so deeply that when viewed directly from her rear, the wide flange at the base was only visible as it made a nice wide dimple between her buttocks, and which completely covered her asshole.  

The men first winced, then looked at each other with surprise.  Some shook their heads.  They’d been told what the driver had planned for her and they knew that most women couldn’t eat the whole stick like this without serious discomfort or even injury…….and she hadn’t seemed in that much discomfort.  Although a little young, this was a woman they knew in which a man could lose himself--a woman capable of taking inside and holding in everything a man had to offer.

I felt one of them fumble between my legs and finally unhook the pressure garter from the end of the rubber stick.  Then slowly, oh-so-slowly, one of them began to pull on the loop I knew must still be sticking out of me.  He leisurely began to withdraw the rod from inside my rectum. 

Already embarrassed, I was further humiliated as I heard my anus making either a hungry slurping noise or a farting sound as the rod was slowly removed and each ball popped out of me and back into sight again.  Soon, these humiliating and disconcerting sounds were drowned out by the laughter of the men.  

Finally, it was done and I felt like a huge, but somehow necessary presence in my colon had been removed and the void left behind felt like it still needed to be—it somehow ached to be filled again just to return me to normalcy.  But despite this, my rectum still burned with what the rod had deposited inside me and I had no way to stop that.

The leader said something to another one of the men and soon someone was standing behind me, forcibly spreading my cheeks.  I flashed with anger and tried to stand up, but I was pushed down again and pinned once more.  Suddenly, there was the blessed relief of a cold, wet washcloth, first cleaning me around my anus and then deeper as the man roughly probed and rubbed and swabbed.  He kept pushing deeper and deeper, and although he did not go as deeply as I desired it still helped me immensely.  

I was immensely thankful.  But I don’t think they were particularly concerned with my gratitude.  

I sensed the leader presence behind me and then he told the men to take off the tape that still covered my mouth.  When this had been done, without waiting for his permission, I opened my jaw as best I could and let the wet rubber ball slowly fall out of my mouth and onto the felt of the pool table.  As it rolled away from my face, a thin wet line was left on the felt from the saliva-wetted ball.  

After I did this, I guess to emphasize my training about doing nothing without first gaining permission from my new Master, one of the men put even more pressure on my wrist and lifted my arm, almost tearing it out of my shoulder socket.  All I could do was groan and cry out in pain.

The leader stood behind the kidnapped teenager and just looked at her lower body.  May still be a teen, but she was all woman too.  She was wearing sheer navy stockings and shoes with nice, high stiletto heels.  Her buttocks were bare and the tops of her hose ended only a few inches below her firm ass.  The tops of her stockings were of a heavier dark blue lace and about three inches wide; the wide lace band at the front of her thighs was pressed firmly against the side of the pool table as she was forced to lean into it.  

Damn, he thought to himself.  The bitch really did have great legs, but her high heels emphasized her calves and turned her legs from merely great to fucking magnificent.  

To his men he said, “Spread her legs apart.”  The two men looked at him, then still holding her wrists they immediately stepped towards each other and hooked their ankles inside of the girl’s  Once they’d done this, they dragged their feet back and forced her legs further apart until finally the new slave-cunt’s feet were between three and four feet apart.

The girl remained silent, her face distorted by the slate of the pool table.  Slowly, he stepped next to her as he said, “I hope you appreciate my sensitivity in trying to help you in your moment of need---in taking away some of the burning that those baaaaad men put inside you.”  

In reality, he was getting ready to fuck her in the ass and since he planned on taking her bareback, he didn’t want this burning crap on him too.

“You’ve definitely got a great pair of legs and all of us here appreciate how fucking beautiful they are.  You have to agree, one always needs to appreciate the finer things in life.  But you see, the thing is---word has come down,” he continued as he ran his hands up and down the outsides of her thighs before he cupped her buttocks in his hands, “of your inability to appreciate the pleasure that a man can bring you in a certain way.  So, it seems you have learned to just endure when you should be enjoying---you’re groaning and grunting when you should be singing your Master’s praises to heaven.”

“It’s not right,” he said, “that a beautiful young bitch like you should refuse to participate fully in what can be so gratifying an experience.  You need to learn to enjoy this with no reservations; to take part with joy and thanksgiving in your heart.  We’ll help you.”  

Along with chuckles of agreement from the men, the young woman had to hear the zzzzzippp as their leader undid his pants and dropped them down around his ankles.  She tried to raise her head but it was pushed back against the pool table again.  

Picture the slow majestic movement of a massive ship as it berths at a pier or the irresistible force represented by a locomotive gaining speed as it pulls a long line of fully laden cars.

He spread the new girl’s cheeks and opened her up with his hands to better expose the wrinkled brown target.  The girl bucked for a moment and then stopped, her efforts to get free useless.  He grimaced as he saw how she’d been pre-stretched, prepared for the current homecoming.  Then, without another word, he guided himself into her ass and stood for a second with only the first inch of his cock inside her.  

His path was perfect, the trajectory dead on as he aimed for the blonde teenager’s perfect chocolate starfish.  Her sphincter relaxed before him just the slightest, and this was what had allowed him to get the tip of his erection inside her.  All of this was accompanied by a soft groan of groan of tortured acquiescence from the helpless young woman.  He stopped then for just a moment and then leisurely leaned in against her flanks a little more.  

With this single move, he forced a small gasp of absolute discomfort from the bitch as she exhaled into the felt of the table top.  Then he put his hands lightly on her hips to maintain his balance and slowly leaned forward even further onto his toes.  

And this was how it took place.  The men watched as his long, lubricated cock gradually overpowered her body’s weakened defenses, inch by slick inch, slowly and majestically disappearing from sight inside her body from the rear end.

This is how he took the new slave the first time.  

Not quickly as a knife might pierce her vitals, but slowly, irresistibly and implacably, as if with a blunt, dull massive club.  Although to her it must have seemed as if it took forever for him to finish, in reality his entrance was soon completed and she was totally his.  

Besides the incredible feeling of his cock tightly enveloped by her young, heated flesh, his reward was her softly drawn out groaning cry of loss, a sound which let him know he had successfully filled her to the very brim.  As his groin nestled up against her firm ass flesh, he felt the lace at the top of her stockings rubbing against the front of his thighs.  He was now nestled up tightly against her rear and he leaned forward onto her back to first lick her left ear before he whispered into it, “Give me what I want or tonight we’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”  

“Give me your brown sugar, now, you bitch.  I want it now!”  Then he leaned back and looked at the left side of her face as her head was pushed into the table top.  Her left eye sparkled with unshed tears.  He couldn’t see the other side of her face but he just knew there too she would be fighting tears.  He knew he’d take this picture and this incredible set of physical sensations with him to his grave.  

He’d forced himself into me and then wanted me to make him feel good too.  Everything about me hurt.  My arms and shoulders, my hips and my rectum.  But mostly, the pain was centered on the new sensations radiating out from my rear.  But my face hurt, my bladder hurt and even my feet hurt, everything hurt.  But I tried, God help me I tried to please him.  

I pushed my hips back into him and rotated them a little.  But it wasn’t enough I guess.  Because he raised himself up on his tiptoes to change the angle of his penetration and suddenly his presence inside me felt like a knife tearing at my flesh, ripping like a wild animal at my colon.  

With this one move, he tried to rend me in half as he tore the muscle of my rectum.  I tried to raise myself to relieve the pressure on my anus, but the way his men held me, the way his weight on my hips and back kept me pinned made that impossible.  I cried out again and again as he did this to me, but all he did was laugh.  

He was buried inside the bitch to the hilt and she was tight around his erection.  This was a beautiful woman and everything about her was exquisite.  Her hole was warm, the flesh inside taut and constricting; everything was perfectly lubricated as he took his time slowly attaining full penetration time and time again.  Every time he went up on his toes, the muscles of her asshole would grab at him, trying to immobilize his cock.  Then she began to push back against him, probably in some pathetic effort to regain control of the situation.  

God, it felt wonderful as he drilled her.  Most women hated this shit.  Certainly, his wife never let him do this to her and he resented it; he enjoyed taking out his frustrations with his wife on hot little whores like this teenage American bitch.  They may not like it but they never dared complain either.

Finally, he noticed that his cock had begun to feel a little warm and he realized his man hadn’t gotten all of the crème out of her rectum, so he sped up a little and soon came like a mother-fucker inside the whore.  He stood there for a at least another minute after he’d cum and despite the increasing heat, he just concentrated on memorizing how good it felt to have a beautiful woman like this take it in the ass from him.  Finally, he grew so small he slid out of her no matter what he tried to do--it was time to pass her on to the others.

At his nod, the two men holding me now pulled me upright, escorted me over to a man sitting on one of the couches and then forced me to my knees on a rug in front of him.  He unzipped his pants and pulled his flaccid penis out, telling me in accented English to start sucking, “and if I bit him, he'd knock my teeth out and then face-fuck me anyway!”  

The two men pushed me forward and the man in front of me ground his soft, flabby cock against my face and lips.  

Still hidden in that small distant place in my mind and not yet having fully recovered mentally from being anally raped, I didn’t understand at first what he was saying.  

When I tentatively opened my mouth to him, he began to get harder without me touching him.  I shook my head a little, but eventually was able to get my hands up and grasp his penis.  Assuming a position I had by now learned by heart, I leaned into him and fully took him into my mouth.  

He immediately began to get even more hard as I began working him, but suddenly someone grabbed my hair from in back and forced my face forward completely into the man’s groin.  This other person wouldn’t let my head come back and I found I couldn’t breathe with his cock filling my mouth and my nose smashed into his belly.

Pushing back with my hands on the man’s knees, I was finally able to get enough room between my face and his groin to let me to breathe again.  But with the seated man using two full handfuls of my hair to pull my head back down on him and another man pushing my head from the back, I found myself being shoved onto and pulled off of his erection until my lipstick had left a thin glaze of color on him from tip to root.  

I was still too stunned to be doing much sucking.  But that seemed to okay, because I guess all he really wanted was somewhere to put himself inside me and then he’d do the rest.

I knew the rules seemed to have changed, that these men could do anything they wanted to me and I wouldn’t be able to stop them.  I’d really wanted to cooperate, but like the driver and the two men with him, that didn’t seem matter to these men.  I have thought a lot about this, and have concluded that it was my karma that these things happen to me only after I’d realized I couldn’t win and had finally, fully bought into my pending slavery and accepted all it entailed.  

I just wanted to survive.  My only hope now, my only defense was to do exactly what they demanded and hope they didn’t hurt me too badly.  Even though I had previously shut it down, that small part of my conscious mind which had acted like a third eye when I had been subtly resisting the men on the boat was critical to my safety now as I tried to go along with these men tonight and give them everything they wanted.  I felt as if I stood on the edge of a mental crevasse and these men were trying to push me over the edge.  And all I could do was try to prepare myself for whatever they decided to do.  

Finally, the head of his penis had lodged at the entrance to her throat and he felt her gag on him---with her face impaled on his cock like it was--her gagging motion actually felt kind of good to him.  Even as she retched and involuntarily tried to pull her head back, he still saw her lips inadvertently close over his erection.  

The moves the cunt made as she hunched her shoulders and gagged on his erection felt great and when they next pulled her head back, he could see a nice heavy ring of red from her lipstick right at the base of his cock.  Eventually, they pushed her head hard enough onto him that his cock slammed quickly past her gag reflex and down her throat in a way that didn’t allow her to breathe.  

They then held her head immobile with his cock totally buried in her mouth while they had a short conversation.  He’d known from the beginning the bitch couldn’t breathe and she became increasingly agitated as struggled to suck in air around the hard penis that filled her mouth and the upper part of her throat.  

“I love the way she stretches her lips stretch around my cock,” he purred in contentment as the teenager’s vision began to grow grey around the edges.  

“But I think you’re right though, she needs a lot of practice.”  

Then grabbing a handful of heavy blonde hair by each of her ears, he began to fiercely fuck her in the face.  It went on and on, and everyone could hear it---the sound of her forehead slapping against his belly was mirrored by her grunts as he forced himself into her; his balls making a soft slapping sound on her chin matched by the deep gagging sounds from her throat as she tried to breathe at odd moments.  

I needed to breathe desperately, but I refused to fight these men anymore.  My nose was pressed against his belly when he finally achieved release deep in the back of my throat—he wouldn’t let me come back up for air, so I was forced to swallow it.  But he came so deep in my throat that there was no taste—he had actually bypassed the taste buds on my tongue.  

A month ago I would have died if someone done this to me, but now it didn’t seem to bother me nearly as much anymore.  I hated to think I was getting so used to giving blowjobs to any man that wanted me and then swallowing his cum without retching…….but I was.  

He then pulled out a little and continued cumming in my mouth; a brutally rude move planned only to embarrass me, it still seemed like he’d never stop.  I had cum undiluted by my saliva dribbling out of the side of my mouth in long, thick white strings; it hung from my chin and spilled onto my chest and blouse.  When he finally pulled out of my mouth, I began coughing and even brought up a little cum which had been spent deep in my throat, cum which I had not yet swallowed.  For some unknown reason, this angered the fussy little man who had just throat-fucked me.  

They were all pigs, but it didn’t matter to me.  I was safe from them here deep inside my mind even as I fully cooperated.  As long as I could watch from a distance, they might take my body, but they’d never have the real me.  During my time on that floating hell, I had finally found you could do this if you just tried hard enough.  

You just tucked the unwanted thoughts and deeds of others deep into some backwater recess of your mind until the normal clutter of your life obscured it, and then you pretended it wasn’t there.  

I was good at this now.  I needed to be good because even if I was cooperating now, I still needed to somehow keep my sanity and this was the best way I’d found.

For the last month, I’d been more and more using my own special places for hiding things; dark little crevasses in my soul where one might tuck an experience or even a whole relationship, so that it never saw the light of day again.  

But this was my life now; I now knew there would be no savior for me, no white knight, no one to deliver me from the life of becoming the whore my new Master had planned for me.  

At nineteen, I also had finally faced myself and found I wasn’t really a strong person; certainly not tough enough to last for long in a life like this.  I wanted to die rather than provide sexual release for an untold number of men as I was sold from one owner to another.  

I hoped, I prayed I still had too much decency in me to survive.  I felt that a life like this would soon kill any remaining spark of goodness within me; and I knew I would be dead within a year.  But somehow that was okay too, because in the end it was only family that mattered, and because I was willing to sacrifice myself, my family was safe.  I’d kept them safe.  In the end, that truly was all that mattered.

 

 

Victoria was still on her knees coughing when two men grabbed her arms, pulled her to her feet and dragged her towards the pool table in the center of the room.  Oddly, as if she might be a danger to them, one of the men kept her in a wrist lock as they marched her back to the rest of the men, where willing hands picked her up and laid her on her back on the table.  There was a man holding each wrist and another man holding each shapely ankle. 

 

 

For some reason, this position snapped me out of my funk and back to my current reality.  I was surrounded by men who were more like wolves than humans.  My rectum ached and throbbed. I was scared, helpless, vulnerable and totally exposed.  For the first time, I begged them to let me go, but they just looked at me and laughed. 

 

While my arms were held tightly by my sides, my legs were pulled widely apart and my skirt then lifted up around my waist.  At the same time, other hands ripped my blouse open, sending white buttons flying everywhere and exposing my breasts for all to view.  Suddenly, and surprising even me, after all the men had done to me this awful night, fear metamorphosed into a blazing rage.  I began screaming my anger at them and struggling in earnest, throwing myself back and forth in a final attempt to free myself. 

 

The leader of the men grabbed my hair and pinned my head, forcing me to look at him.  He’d already taken what he wanted so no longer felt the need to pretend to any goodness. 

 

He looked directly into my eyes for a few moments before he said, “Bitch, this is what you are.  We’re not stopping for anything.  You’re a piece of ass now and you’re going to get passed around like a cheap stock tip.  These men have been waiting for you for weeks, so why would we stop now?” 

 

He then slapped me once, hard enough to stun me and I sensed him walk away as I lay motionless on the table.

 

The men were now lined up to have their turns with me.  I’d already been sodomized by the leader and I guess he’d fully indulged in his appetite for helpless women enough for now, so he pointed to who got to get up on the table with me. 

 

“Snakedriver,” he said, “go ahead.  I want to see what this bitch’s got.”

 

I had finally regained my wits after being slapped so hard.  Even though it shamed me, I pleaded with them; “Please,” I begged, “please for the sake of God, let me go to the bathroom.  Please.”

 

Laughing, the men all looked at each other and agreed they didn’t want me pissing all over the top of the pool table, so two of them helped me down and into the bathroom.  I quickly sat down on the toilet and with my blouse hanging open, I let loose with a gushing torrent.  I had been well-taught in the last month to ignore any false modesty where bodily functions were concerned.  Finished, the men allowed me wipe quickly and then dragged me back out and onto the table top.

 

 

In a supreme act of betrayal, all of the men had been informed of Jorge’s discovery of Victoria’s sexual weakness.  Telling the others to hold her tight, the first man quickly flipped her skirt up around her waist and reached between her legs and began to single-mindedly manipulate her genitals, focusing mainly on her clitoris. 

 

She’d recovered from the blow to the head but instead of fighting these men, she laid there unresisting with her legs spread wide for them as they masturbated her.  Another man soon brought out a small vibrator and between the two, after a couple of minutes of being manipulated, Victoria felt herself begin to respond in spite of herself.

 

 

She tried to ignore what they did, but the man worked hard at her tiny, hidden button of flesh, manipulating it with his fingers and the vibrator.  Finally, her clit was engorged, filled with blood and standing erect as if it was her own small penis.  Unwanted shivers ran down her spine as she still tried to ignore the men around her.  At this point, another man reached over and pulled a small silver alligator clip on a thin silver chain out of his pocket.  Without a word, he isolated her clit with his forefinger and thumb, and then attached the strong jaws of the clip to her engorged clit and ran the chain between her knees to the foot of the table. 

 

Not expecting this, Victoria couldn’t stop the surprised scream as he clamped the jaws onto her.  Ignoring her now thrashing body, he instead looked at the man who was ready to mount her and nodded his head.  Snakedriver was definitely ready for the woman, any woman, his erection pointing to the room’s ceiling.  He climbed up on the table and ignored her now weaker struggles as he got on his knees between her widely stretched thighs.

 

 

I knew what was coming, but couldn’t do anything about it.  I was finally beginning to come out of the trance I’d been in ever since I’d arrived here.  The anal burn was finally going away and the only thing really hurting right now were my hips and the insides of my thighs due to my legs being stretched apart almost to the breaking point.  I felt a gaping need between my legs which had to be filled, but I refused to allow myself the pleasure of responding to their attempts or of willingly giving the pleasure of my body.  These oafs would never entice me out of my self-imposed shell of safety.

 

First one man and then a second worked on my clitoris and it responded like I knew it would, like it always did.  Suddenly, in a flash of inspiration, I knew too that Jorge had betrayed me and informed these men of his discovery.  If possible, the men holding my ankles pulled my legs even further apart and a man leaned over my belly and hips for a second, but I couldn’t see what he was doing.

 

I tried to raise my head to watch him when suddenly there was a crushing, mashing pain in my clit and I shrieked my surprise and my pain.  It felt like my body had fragmented and the two main parts were connected only by this white hot, steel-hard point of pain between my legs.  Yet, at the same time a part of me was perversely awakened at the same time, for as sharp as sensation was, it was also somehow almost refreshing too.  When the man stood up again, I saw him lead a small chain back from between my thighs to the foot of the table. 

 

I moaned then.  God, it hurt! 

 

But, god help me too, that awkwardly headstrong part of me wanted to smile.  And the chills of anticipation which ran up my spine told a part of me that evaluating pain was a subjective matter at the best of times. 

 

Despite this, I struggled as best I could, still begging them to let me go.  Finally, I watched the one they called Snakedriver get on his knees between my legs, grab his cock and guide it into my pussy.  Whimpering with a pain that I somehow welcomed too, I closed my eyes and turned my head away from him.  I didn’t want to see the look of satisfaction on his face as he took me. 

 

Nor did I want him to see my face either.

 

I felt him split my labia with the blunt, shiny, dark purple head of his erection and he began his move to possess me.  My head slapped back onto the pool table and I gritted my teeth as it began.  Finally filled after a couple of tentative thrusts, I could soon tell I had become wet and slick to him as he now began filling me, sliding wetly and smoothly into me up to his nutsack.  The men continued to hold me immobilized as I lay beneath the one they called Snakedriver.  Refusing to move, I still did my best to reject my rapist. 

 

This was a man and therefore my master, but he was not my new Master.  I couldn’t conceive of my Master wanting me defiled like this before he’d been with me first himself.  However, according the pigs on me now, this was what he wanted. 

 

But in the end, it didn’t matter to me because it wasn’t a contest anymore.  Everyone obviously knew my body would eventually react to these pigs as they desired, but for me it would be just another in a long line of sexual assaults, rapes I did my best to forget almost as soon as they were over. 

 

I would never willingly cooperate with them.  Nothing they did to me here would change the ‘me’ that these base, vile men could never begin to appreciate.  The ‘me’ that living a life like this would soon kill. 

 

At the same time, the white hot pain that had centered between my legs seemed to change as I was kept continually filled by the man they called Snakedriver.  The sensations, the colors and smells, everything seemed to morph into something new, seemed to expand to a point where I felt it enveloping my whole body.  But I was still contained within the bubble it caused, and so I retained a modicum of control. 

 

My body wanted to respond, begged to respond to this man sexually and to the pain he so willingly shared with me.  Even though both of these things now seemed permanently coupled in my mind, still I fought, for I wouldn’t freely allow anyone to use me like this. 

 

No one, that is except my one true Master.

 

 

The leader watched Snakedriver fuck the beautiful young teenager once named Victoria and get no response.  From this, he knew the men on the boat had probably been correct---time to find out.  Nodding to the man with the silver chain, he started the teenager on her way to hell. 

 

The man with the chain began to give soft tugs on the chain connected to M’s genitals.  He would lightly shake the chain and swing it in small circles.  And after each move, he would keep a gentle pressure on the chain for a second, before he released it, ensuring she would always be feeling some sort of pulling pressure on her genitals. 

 

And then he would start the whole process all over again.  Worst of all, he seemed to be timing his tugs to the thrusts of the man fucking M.  Almost immediately, they saw a change in their new whore.

 

 

I felt the gentle tugs that were perfectly synchronized with the pig’s thrusts into me and knew for sure I’d been betrayed by the one man I thought I might trust on the boat.  I cried out in dread of what would happen to me if these men were successful and, in desperation, tried to move in a way that would stop the pulls on my womanhood, but it was all to no avail. 

 

As the tugs continued and I felt my vagina being filled by a man plunging into me in continuous, never-ending pile-driver slams, I felt too the carnal bitch-wanting-hot meat side of my nature tentatively come to the edge of the light.  It was as if the purely sensual part of mind had been lured into a fight to the death with the tiny part of rationality left me, the objective and civilized part of my mind that still remained to defend what was left of the real ‘me’. 

 

The animal side of me wanted to surrender forever to the pleasure of the moment and give every man here what he obviously wanted, to never again worry about what I had been taught as a child.  This was the side which hissed to me like a snake in the Garden of Eden that if it felt good and no one was hurt, then it was what I should do.  

 

Desperately fighting this desire to give in to my sensual nature was the other side of my being, the side my mother and father had spent years nurturing in me.  Delay your gratification, remember who you are, don’t embarrass yourself or your family, save yourself for your husband, eat your peas.

 

I fought them, I really did.  I struggled to free my arms and legs, and I threw my head from side to side, crying out for them to stop.  I begged them, “Oh God.  Please not this; please don’t do this to me.”

 

But I couldn’t say whether I meant the man on top or the man tugging at the foot of the table.  Maybe I spoke to both….maybe I lied….or maybe….

 

…I spoke to neither. 

 

In any case, they were in control, not me, and neither man stopped---both continued what they were doing.  Within minutes of being thrown on the table, I knew I was beginning to react as the men wanted.  I tried to bargain---I promised to be good and not fight them if they’d just let go of me---but no one believed me. 

 

Suddenly, it seemed like the ‘me’ I had known for nineteen years was gone and she’d been replaced by the slutty new woman now lying on the table.  The tiny part of me still capable of thought felt so relieved to give out a loud scream on purpose. 

 

I realized instead I was suddenly fearful, fearful of what might happen and fearful of what I might do. 

 

The race between my animal passion and my conscious ego took an eternity to be run and a second to complete.  I felt that tiny spark which controlled my civilized behavior move closer to the light….and closer again….and finally, tentatively, one step even closer.  Soon that tiny ember was illuminated and I looked at myself in detail---and then---like that, it was gone—I was gone---snuffed out by the pure animal needs which now so greedily controlled my every move.

 

I felt the man on me slowly withdrew his rigid cock until only the engorged purple head was still inside me, then he slammed forward again in one massive thrust, sending his engorged dick back in and filling me to my depths. 

 

I screamed again, but this time with pure pleasure.  God, I wanted more.  I didn’t want more, I had to have more of him.

 

I couldn’t help myself.  I tried, but just couldn’t.  I gasped when his groin slammed into my mound and, as my last rational act before all was lost, I tried to bite his ear.  The man softly tugging on my clit was driving me crazy!  He had to stop, he must stop.  He’d better never stop! 

 

In and out the man on top of me moved, keeping a slow, careful rhythm, obviously enjoying the feel of my tight flesh grabbing his erection; enjoying my hips arching to meet his thrusts and straining against the men holding my ankles, trying to keep his meat buried inside me.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back for one last push.  I didn’t want to respond then and my mind ordered me stop, but on its own, my body did its best to thrust my hips up to meet him.  Almost pulling out of me, the man grunted and rammed forward one more time with all his strength.  

Just at that moment, the man at my feet gave a long hard steady pull on my clit.  

My thinking went dark as all rationality departed like a light turned off in a secluded room.  Reacting now like a mindless zombie, I felt my head snap back hard against the table and I heard myself give a long muffled wail of pure pleasure.  With the insides of my upper thighs, I felt the man inside me tighten his ass and shove into to me several more times.  

But my focus had shifted to a tiny pin-point light made of the hardest diamond and all I knew then was the continuous gentle tugging on my clit.  And finally, I felt a wonderful firebomb of burning hot semen light up every part of my vagina as it was injected deep inside my belly.  The man on top of me shuddered and grunted, and the feeling of his scalding sperm continued to shoot into me, into my pussy.  He’d drilled me with his meat and now he filled me with his wondrous creamy pleasure as the men on the boat had always done.

Now fully satisfied with what he had done to me, after a moment he withdrew his dick still wetted with both of our fluids.  I knew everyone was watching me, watching how I would react, how I had reacted, watching the lips of my dark red, blood-engorged pussy cling to his cock as he pulled out.  They saw the alligator clamp cruelly fixed to my erect button of flesh.  And they knew how much I had enjoyed being fucked.  

But sight of that metal clip didn’t matter to them, for another man quickly jumped on the table when the first man pulled himself out and then got off of me.  With one move of his hips, he entered my soaking wet, now openly inviting vagina.  As this man took his turn, I swore I could feel my vagina being slowly stretched and filled with his enormously thick cock.  He was really big around and I knew my facial expression must be one of agony for I felt like he was tearing me apart with his erection.  

At the same time, my clit was still being abused by the man below: tug, tug, tug.  The sensations there never dimmed, remaining wondrously inviting---a brilliant crystalline point of anguish/pleasure in the distance which seemed to burn brighter and brighter the more the man pulled.  I wanted this uninvited act to be awful---but the worst part was how it truly wasn’t pain anymore, but rather had gone from something which had caused me intense suffering….to something that profoundly stimulated and excited me.  

It was a beautiful, wondrous pain now.  One I had first only accepted and then desired.  Now, I found I actually needed that wonderfully erotic touch of the cold metal lover between my legs.

 

As from a distance, I heard the man on top of me ask, “You like it darling, don’t you?” 

 

I ignored his question, but not his driving cock.  I fucked him then as much, or more, than he fucked me on the hard surface of that pool table.  Nineteen-years old, captured only a month ago and here against my will, once a good girl, and now….and now…..I gritted my teeth and pumped my hips into him again and again, trying to push this unknown man deeper inside me.  They finally released my ankles and I was able to do even more. 

 

How far can a girl fall and still look herself in a mirror?  My mother and father would have been horrified to see me now.  I was an awful person, a terrible woman, was there even a point beyond which even the new me would not go?  I could not answer that question anymore because I still did not know how far I was willing to go, how far I would fall before it had been enough, what depths I was willing to investigate before finally reaching the very bottom, before reaching a threshold even I would not pass…..

 

Soon, panting with his exertions, he asked me again, “You really like it, don’t you, you bitch?” 

 

Without thinking, to my horror I heard myself agree with him softly, “Yesssss.” 

 

This shocked me enough that I knew I had to make one last feeble try to not give in to the animal pleasure.  “Please,” I begged softly in faux denial, the voice of a broken woman with one last false request, “don’t do this to me.” 

 

Doing what I had always been taught was the right thing at that moment…..ignoring my body’s desires like that and going against the demand singing through every part of my body….that was perhaps the most difficult things I have ever done. 

 

 

He looked at the kidnapped blonde teenager lying beneath him---first she agreed she liked being fucked by him---and in the next breathe she was begging him to stop.  Already contemptuous of her, now he despised the little cock teaser and he let her know this.  Her master would not allow him to hurt her physically, but he could show his contempt in other ways.  His belly and hips and ass shook with renewed vigor as he slammed his cock into her again and again as hard as he could. 

 

How easy it was that fucking could go from pleasure to grudge.

 

At the same time, he shouted, “The only fucking thing you get to beg for is more cock buried inside you, you bitch.  You come in here dressed like a fucking whore, a cheap looking cock-sucking cunt and you want us to stop?  Fuck you, you slut!  Who do you think you’re kidding?  You’ll fuck and suck every man here until none of us get it up anymore.  You’re a slut and you’ll prove it to every one of us tonight."

 

Victoria started to say something in protest.  He grabbed her throat as he interrupted, “Shut up, you whore, you cock-sucking, ass-fucked bitch.  There’re a lot of men that are going to fuck you tonight, hundreds---maybe thousands, so just shut the fuck up.”  

 

With that, he released her throat and started pumping her for real.  The man below kept tugging on her clit without mercy and finally Victoria exploded.

 

 

I groaned in sheer pleasure and with my eyes closed and head moving from side to side, I begged, “Don’t….please.  Don’t….deeper.”  Tug.  “Please.”  Tug.  “Deeper.”  Tug.  The man on me looked down in amazement and almost stopped driving into me.  Tug.

 

I didn’t want this.  Tug.

 

I didn’t want that.  Tug.

 

I didn’t want him to stop.  Tug.

 

Tug.

 

Tug.

 

Suddenly, my eyes flew open and I moaned, “Yes.  Yesssss!!  Fuck me.  You ugly bastard, you piece of shit, you wanted to fuck me----so fuck me now.  You may be ugly, but I need your cock bad.” 

 

Tug.

 

“Oh yes, right there---deeper---right therrrre---deeper, now fuck me hard, please.  Hard, HARDER!!!” 

 

Tug.

 

He smiled down at me and said, “You are such a slut, you bitch.  Rich American whores like you.  You know you’re a cunt, don’t you?  Admit it!!  Right?”  He nodded at the men holding my arms and ankles and they let go of me.

 

Tug. 

 

I was free now. 

 

Tug. 

 

I could struggle, I could stop him, I could stop this.

 

Tug. 

 

I couldn’t help myself.  “Stick that beautiful cock in my pussy.  Fuck me.  Oh God, oh God.  FUCK MEEE HEREEEEE!”  Tug.

 

They stood around the table and watched my first truly uncontrolled climax with a man that night as my ass clenched, my stomach muscles tightened and my legs stiffened.  I slammed my hands on the table repeatedly and scratched his ass pulling him further into me.  I whipped my head back and forth like a woman possessed, while my body spasmed and jerked about and my nylon-clad legs intertwined uncontrollably with his. 

 

Finally, I drew long gouges of flesh out of his back with my nails as my vagina clenched around his cock and seemed to draw ever more of him inside me.  He howled in both delight and pain, but never stopped what he was doing.  My ankles were crossed over his lower back now as we struggled in our age-old embrace, and then…and then he was done. 

 

I felt him cum inside me in a wave of wonderfully intense heat and I milked him dry of every drop he held then while he groaned above me in sheer pleasure.  But I could not do it as thoroughly as I would have liked---for there were more men waiting.

 

Men came in me and got themselves off and other men got on me.  They’d long ago released me because there was no longer any need for restraint---I was cooperating fully with them now.  They knew I was now willing to take care of ALL their needs.  

 

I had one man inside me, my face was turned to the side as I sucked off a second and I was jerking off a third with my hands.  I heard them asking me questions as if from a distance.  I didn’t care what I did or said right now, it was almost like I had been drugged and was floating on the highest high ever felt by a woman before. 

 

They demanded, and I would hear them.  I’d take the unknown man’s cock out of my mouth just long enough to mumble an answer and then I would put it back in and greedily begin sucking on it again.

 

The next man to take me had a giant cock and I didn’t even remember if he’d fucked me yet or not. 

 

Tug, tug. 

 

I grabbed his erection and said, “Oh, god, don’t stop.  Don’t ever stop.  Please fill me with that glorious piece of meat.” 

 

I looked at the man who now had his penis buried in my mouth.  I took him out of my mouth long enough to smile lazily at him, the satisfied little girl who murmured, “I’m a little cocksucker,” and then almost drowsily resumed working on him.

 

I pulled him out of my mouth again.  “GIVE ME MORE!!!” I bellowed, demanding this of the man between my legs.  Tug.  Lying between my thighs, he hunched his hips and then drove his hugeness into me.  My head snapped back and I knew my mouth gaped wide open then with his first move.  The man standing to the side took advantage of me at that moment and filled my mouth once more as it opened, but I didn’t care.  The pleasure was so intense that my eyes gave a quick flicker as they attempted to roll back in my sockets.

 

“Squeeze me with your pussy, it’ll feel even better for you; it’ll feel real good for you,” the big man demanded of me.

 

Tug.  I babbled in ecstasy, “You’re HUGE!  I can do it.  I can squeeze my pussy.  My cunt, it squeezes….good.  It squeezes, oh….so….good.”

“That’s right.  Oh, you fucking American slut.  Squeeze me you bitch,” he demanded.  “That’s right, squeeze.  Now you fucking whore, if you want more, call yourself a whore.  NOW!” 

Tug.  “I’m a whore.”  

Tug, tug.  “Fuck me, I’m a whore.”  

Tug.  “Don’t stop.  I’m a whore.  I need to be fucked…..”  

Tug.  “…..by you.”

The men standing around me laughed, but I didn’t care.  I was beyond being shamed because of my need.  

Someone else said, “You’re a cock-sucking slut bitch and you’ll fuck any man here just to empty him, won’t you.  You’ll fuck anything as long as it’s got a piece of meat to stick inside you.   Right?”

I didn’t care what I said, words had no meaning to me at this point. 

 

Tug.  “I’m a fucking slut and a whore.  Yes, I’m a slut.  Fuck me you bastards.” 

 

Tug.  “You’re too slow.  Fuck me and cum in me, cum in my pussy.  Just fuck me!  I’m a cock-sucking slut that loves to be fucked.  Find me a MAN!!  Somebody DO ME!!!”

 

Somebody else grabbed my face and made me look at them as they asked me, “Deep down inside, you’ve always known you’re a slut—haven’t you?  Being a slut---this excites you---you don’t get to make any choices here, so you’re not responsible either---you get all of the pleasure and none of the guilt.  You always thought yourself a good girl, but now you know you are not at all like you thought you were.  That you actually like having unknown men, lines of guys fucking you in the pussy and dumping their hot sticky cum in your ass and smearing it all over your face, don’t you?” 

 

He shook my face and said, “Answer, you whore.”

 

Everything about me had been a lie before this.  My actions had betrayed me here, and I had nothing left to hide.  I am not sure that the truth can ever set a person free, but it did seem like a weight lifted from my soul then. 

 

“Yes,” I replied.  “I’m a whore and a slut.  I’m everything you said.  I love having cocks inside me.  I can’t help it, I love it.”  Tug. 

 

“Fuck me.”  Tug. 

 

“Fuck my cunt.  Fuck me in the ass.  Fuck my mouth.  Just fuck me.”  Tug.  Tug.

 

When the man now riding me was finally ready to blow his first load, he pulled out of me, spread his knees on either side of my chest and jerked off, eventually shooting his sperm all over my face and my tits; then he used my long blonde hair to wipe off his slippery wet cock. 

 

I did not care even as he pulled on my hair, for I had his essence to rub on my chest, all over my tits and belly.  My vagina buzzed with excitation, my legs writhed as I impatiently waited for whoever was next. 

 

His wild eyes filled with lust, the next man mounted me like a bull.  He viciously rammed himself inside me hard enough to leave bruises.  The thing was, I found myself reacting as violently as he….the whole thing was so ferocious that it was almost like a fight. 

 

At the end, he pushed his cock deep inside me and just began flexing himself—there was no in and out motion at this point.  I was in no mood for games, I had to have him doing me!!

 

I tightened down on him with my pussy and then began clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, all without moving any other muscles in my body.  He moaned and moaned again, muttering that it was like being squeezed by a warm, moist hand.  He began pumping then and gave me exactly what I needed.  His orgasm at the finish was so powerful he almost passed out with pleasure. 

 

But he didn’t. 

 

After he had shot his load into me, he knelt between my widespread thighs and rubbed the head of his cock up and down my slit while the previous man pulled on my hair, forcing my head to the side.  He then pushed his flaccid cock into my mouth and made me suck him clean.  The man next in line pulled both men away after allowing only a minute of this. 

 

I was to be allowed no rest.  The man that had pulled my previous lover away now lay down on the pool table on his back.  He pulled me on top of him with my back on his chest, my captured tits pointing at the ceiling.  His cock was long, but thankfully not too wide.  Lubricated, it easily slid into my ass and he began fucking me anally, reverse cowgirl style.  It felt….it felt…..there was no use denying the truth—it excited me and it felt good being taken this way—especially by a man without the massive girth I had become so used to. 

 

Then, helpless to avoid it, I watched as another man climbed between my widespread thighs.  A big man, he jammed his cock into my pussy, filling me there.  I had been double penetrated!  Not exactly new to this, I was achingly familiar with the multiple sensations that were to come. 

 

Always before though, it had been done to a different person--I had been a different girl then, a young inexperienced girl who had denied not only her true nature but her willingness to enjoy that which could not be denied—or prevented. 

 

It hurt for just an instant, having two large cocks pushing into me, separated only by the thinnest wall of flesh.  But the feeling of both holes being so fucking filled on the inside overcame any initial discomfort and literally within seconds, it put me over the edge.  I was gasping and panting in supreme pleasure when the man under me pulled my hair away and whispered in my ear, "Tell us what you want, bitch.  Now tell us exactly what you want.”

 

I tried not respond.  Truly, I knew these men already despised me.  But I didn’t care what they thought---and I had no reason to give them what they wanted that way.  So I didn’t say anything.  But just then, the two men fucking me hit a rhythm that I couldn’t deny.  Sheer physical pleasure frantically bubbled to the surface within my bound chest.  I had to say something to this, I had to respond….

 

"OH GOD!  JUST FUCK ME!" I screamed.  "FUCK ME EVERYWHERE!  PLEASE! FUUUUUUCCCCCCKKK MEEEEEEE!  I WANT ALL OF YOUR BIG BEAUTIFUL COCKS!"

 

The coarse laughter my howl brought on died out after moment.  But to the amusement of all the men watching, I wailed in need once more as another orgasm came to a head just from the feeling of the hard fat meat thrusting into my rectum from below….and to my later shame, I think I remember begging this unknown man to fuck my ass even harder.

 

Another man now filled my mouth to quiet me.  I immediately knew he had already taken me once for I tasted myself on him, but I sucked on him nonetheless like he had the world’s largest lollipop hanging between his legs. 

 

Ironically….and irrationally…having every hole in my body filled at one time somehow gave me an amazing feeling of power over these men.  I felt all three responding to me as the two that sandwiched me fucked me harder and I sucked the third harder and deeper down my throat. 

 

That feeling of control however, departed as the cock in my mouth shot a weak initial string of cum down my throat, only to pull out and cream his remaining jizm all over my face.  As he did this, the two other men came almost simultaneously in my ass and pussy.  

 

As I felt them erupt inside me, I too came one last time.  It felt like a bolt of full-body lightning struck when orgasms rolled out of my vagina and anus at the same time.  The skin on my belly and on the insides of my thighs tightened as all of the muscles in my body flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed over and over again as waves of pure pleasure ripped through my body. 

 

I almost blacked out with the clean and untainted sexual pleasure they had given me.  But as I lay there in a sexual daze, my mind barely working, I heard the man under me whisper in my ear, "You have such a perfect ass.  You truly are an ass-whore.” 

 

I could nothing but shudder again in pleasure as I nodded in agreement with his coarse analysis. 

 

I was conflicted--there were too many men---or perhaps not enough? 

 

Despite everything and as one might expect, the men not yet satisfied were impatient: there was no waiting, no delay. 

 

The remaining men all took their turns and did much the same as had their predecessors.  Some came in me and others on me.  One man rolled me over and took me in the ass again.  Already way too far gone to pretend to any dignity, I pleaded for more and cursed them for not having enough to satisfy me. 

 

At the end, when the alligator clamp was accidentally pulled off once, I begged them to put it back on me.  The sense of anticipation was wonderful and the familiar sharp crushing pain between my legs as it was re-applied had finally turned into a keenly intense, achingly beautiful feeling which drove my sexual need more than anything I had ever experienced before. 

 

I’d tried to fight my nature in the beginning, but that pretension to being a normal person, a good girl had not lasted long once temptation had reared.  I now finally was experiencing what my initial recruiters had been telling me all along---that my road to true freedom lay in willingly giving control to someone else; in not only accepting the pain that others brought me, but in taking it into me; in understanding the ‘rightness’ of them doing this to me, in somehow making it a necessary part of me.  Degradation can be beautiful, under the right circumstances. 

 

When every man there had taken me at least once, it started over and became more inventive.  I loved it and finally, for the first time in my life, never felt the least inhibited.  Most of the evening was a blur, a blur of pain savored and animal sex relished; I still have no real idea about much of what I did with these men.

 

At the end, I felt like the monsoon itself; as hot and wet and sticky as the Central American jungle around me.  Anything that could come out of a man was on me.  When the last man was finally drained of all fluids, my hair, my face and my chest were completely covered in semen.  It ran off of my swollen breasts in rivers and sticky strings onto my ribs and then the table.  It ran in globs down the sides of my face, into my ears and onto my neck. 

 

My hair was a darker blonde now because it was so matted, sticky and wet from cum wiped on it.  My lipstick was smeared all over my mouth and my eyelashes had globs of drying sperm on them.  My eyes were almost glued shut from sticky and drying cum.  There were pools and rivers of sperm on my lower stomach, pussy and on the insides of my thighs. 

 

My ass was sore and draining semen onto the table top as I laid there.  I was sore all over.  My clitoris and labia were especially sore, as were the walls of my vagina.  I’d never gone through anything like this before. 

 

On the other hand, as I listened to them talk, neither had the men.

 

Now that it was over, I laid on my back on the table with my eyes closed.  My forearm was draped over my eyes and I was breathing slowly, trying to collect my thoughts, trying to understand what had just happened. 

 

Out of nowhere, thoughts of my past entered my mind—what would my parents think of me now?  How would my Aunt Samantha, the black-sheep of the family react?  What would all of my friends at school say about me if they could see like this?  Where had the good-girl, the slightly naïve and socially awkward Victoria gone?  Who was this sex-crazed slut and how had she replaced the high school girl who never broke any rules? 

 

I suddenly wanted to cry, but refused to do so in front of these men. 

 

The men were all laughing and talking about what a good time they’d had with me and what they’d like to do me again tomorrow evening.  They were laughing about what a whore I was and how lucky I was that they’d been there.  Every now and then one of the men would reach over and grope me again.  I didn’t react to this, but just let it go.  Especially since I was so nasty that none of them really wanted to touch me for long anyway. 

 

Besides suddenly feeling sorry for myself, in another, much coarser way I felt pity for them too.  This was a necessary emotional defense, I think.  They had perhaps enjoyed themselves once or twice with me.  I, on the other hand, had enjoyed each and every one of them multiple times.  The newly discovered bad girl inside whispered in a mocking, laughing tone---it just didn’t seem fair now, how limited their experiences were compared to what I had just enjoyed.

 

I laid on the table for almost twenty minutes.  My body blazed with the embers of the reduced levels of hormones still awash in my blood.  I felt warm and good and tingly all over, but I knew I soon must be coming down from my endorphin high. 

 

And so, reality finally hit.  After about half an hour I had finally started to feel a little regret at my actions and within minutes after that I was feeling even more guilt.  From good girl to bad girl, and now, predictably, a small part of me wanted to go back again for more while the remainder whispered I was not bad, I was awful. 

 

I wanted to cry, but got angry instead.  I almost stamped my foot in frustration.  It wasn’t happening! 

 

I was not willing to waste any more time or effort on pretending. 

 

There was no doubt in my mind now.  I knew for certain that I belonged here---that I was property—sexual property--owned by a man.  At nineteen, I knew I was another man’s whore, to be given to other men as my Master pleased.  I had known I was going to be gang raped as soon as I’d walked into this room. 

 

Hell!  I being brutally honest with myself.  More than honesty, I filled with disgust at myself, for I wasn’t even sure it had been rape.  I knew in my heart that after they’d started, I had cooperated in every way I could with them.  God, Victoria, I suddenly thought to myself, the only thing was, if you were going to be a whore, at least you could have been a whore with a little more class.

 

I thought back to what I’d said to the men once I’d been clamped; how I’d babbled and incited them, prompting them, always promising them more.  I’d always been taught that a person’s true character comes through in times of stress and emergency and need.  But this had always been taught to me as a way to understand how people like me rose to the occasion. 

 

But this?  With this, I now knew my true character had been hidden all these years---that in fact, I had failed.  I had fallen, failed to rise to the challenge, was nothing more than a base slut who had had a little luck in being born to the right family, in being raised by good people, people better and stronger than I. 

 

Suddenly I was completely humiliated and disgusted with myself.  No, actually filled with self-hatred might be a better description for how I felt right now.  I accepted that I was my Master’s whore now.  And as his whore I knew I had to service any man he commanded me, but I had not been ordered to lose control in the way I had.  But at the same time, with what they’d been doing to me I knew there had been no way I could have avoided it either.  But that still didn’t stop the guilt.  I felt horrible guilt--that I could never again claim to be my father’s daughter because of what I’d done with these men.  I just wanted to die of shame.

 

I’d dressed like a slut and acted like a whore, a woman without quality, and I had therefore deserved to be treated like one.  I felt sickened with disgust at what I had just participated in.  It wasn’t the men’s fault, not really, it was all mine.  I had not had any choice in what I wore, but that really didn’t matter.  All they’d done was take advantage of what they’d somehow known I’d been subconsciously hiding.  I knew that if there was any responsibility here for what had happened this evening, it was all mine. 

 

Bossman had always been right, there were consequences for actions.  I knew at that moment that Jorge, Enrique and even The Evil One had been right—they’d known things about me that I hadn’t even known about myself, had not allowed myself to know.

All of these thoughts went through my mind in seconds.  Both nylons had runs in them.  I still lay on the table with one laddered knee raised and suddenly, I thought I would vomit.  I was the lowest of the low; these men were uneducated trash and yet somehow, I’d humiliated myself by raising them above me, by reveling in lying in the gutter with them. 

 

Given how I had just performed, I had no right to expect anything from my new Master other than to be used as the main attraction at an endless string of low-class gangbangs.  Serial gang-bangs until he got rid of me. 

 

I closed my eyes at the thought of how low I had fallen, of what I had become.  I put my arm over my eyes and began quietly sobbing like I was a child again.  I hated it—I hated myself---my head was so fucked up!

 

The leader of the men was smoking a cigar when he walked up to me as I lay on the table, “Get off the table and get cleaned up.  We’ve got a little while before we have to go back to our wives, the women we respect.  So get off the table while we finish playing cards.  Get up whore, NOW.”

 

I felt like a cur, a dog beaten within an inch of its life.  A dog that had always before fought to survive, but was now just too tired to continue, too tired to continue living.

 

Finally, I stopped crying and with a few sniffles, I slowly and painfully crawled off of the table.  No one offered to help me and since I was still wearing my stiletto ‘fuck-me’ heels, I wobbled precariously for a moment on shaky legs before being able to head towards the bathroom.  It hurt my vagina to walk, it hurt my rectum to walk, my clit ached and stung from where sweat ran into the small cuts from the jaws of the clamp.  My lower back hurt from lying for hours on the flat table with the men’s weight on me and I found it difficult to move my hips. 

 

I went in and stopped just inside the door, resting for a second against the doorjamb with my eyes closed.  Then I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and my tears began flowing again for I both hated and despised what I saw there. 

 

I didn’t see a beautiful teenage girl with her life ahead of her.  Instead I saw a slutty whore who had just participated in a full-on gangbang and who had gloried in being dragged down to wallow in the most base levels a decent woman could ever pray to avoid.

 

I leaned over the sink and vomited a thin, whitish fluid from my stomach, and then ran some water into my mouth and rinsed it out.  I washed my face and ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to bring back a little order.  I didn’t have any makeup with me or a hairbrush, so I did the best that I could under the circumstances. 

 

My blouse was a shambles with all of the buttons gone and my stockings had multiple runs in them front and back.  My short navy skirt was still in one piece, but was stained a semi-transparent white all over the front from where men had cum on me.  With what little dignity I had remaining, I looked at myself in the mirror again; when I saw what I looked like even after my best attempts at grooming, I burst into tears again.  I looked like a crack whore who had been beaten and ridden hard by wild animals.  I looked like a whore who had just voluntarily pleasured eight or ten or fifteen men multiple times with every opening in her body. 

 

I leaned over the sink again until the nausea faded a little—I felt like I was going to vomit again.

 

I heard the men start calling on me to come out, but I ran some cold water onto a small washcloth and washed my chest and the insides of my thighs, and then I tenderly cleaned my rear end of the semen that was still draining out of it. 

 

Finally, I began trying to clean the semen stains from my skirt and my wreck of a blouse.  Even though I had runs in my hose, after tightening my stockings and tucking my blouse into the top of my skirt to keep it closed over my breasts, I looked a little more respectable. 

 

Finally presentable, if that word could ever again be used again to describe me, I slowly walked back out into the game room. 

 

There was a soft Latin beat playing on a radio and the lighting was subdued except for over the table.  Without even looking at me, the leader said, “Dance, chica.  Go ahead.  Start dancing for us, you cheap bitch.”

 

I looked at him in silence for a moment and then started to ask him what he wanted me to do, when he interrupted me with, “Shut up and dance, bitch.” 

 

I recognized a peremptory command from my temporary Master, so even though I could barely walk, without another word I slowly began to sway around the room.  Every now and then I would raise my arms over my and close my eyes.  Within a few minutes, I felt I was almost safe again, cocooned in a world of my own imagination. 

 

They didn’t bother me anymore and I ignored them as I moved, refusing to meet their knowing eyes or listen to their mocking comments.  Instead I imagined I was safely back in my bedroom in my parent’s house.  Three of my best girlfriends were with me and we were planning on where we were going to college, what we were going to be doing with the rest of our lives. 

 

My eyes flooded at these comforting images, but I somehow stopped myself from crying. 

 

After a moment, I opened my eyes to my reality.  My back and feet hurt, and my legs were exhausted from fucking these men, but I danced for over thirty minutes before the men finally finished their game and started leaving---at this point, I was now dancing mostly for myself and not for the pigs.  Although tired and sore, I was still swaying my way around the room as the last man left. 

 

Finally, it registered there was no one left in the room except for myself and I stopped dancing.  I looked around and then slowly walked over to an old couch and sat down.  I didn’t know what to do next.  I didn’t where I was or where I was supposed to go.  I was so lost.  I pulled my knees up under me as I looked at the table in the center of the room and slowly, tears began to leak from my eyes.  

After a moment, I raised my chin and made myself stop crying.  A second later, I wiped my tears away, laid my head down and closed my eyes in an attempt to sleep.  God, I was so tired, so awfully tired of being abused and hurt and used by men.  I just wanted it all to end.  

I thought of Bossman then once more.  Like a stupid teenage girl infatuated with an older man, my thoughts went back to how much I had enjoyed talking with him even though he was responsible in many ways---but not all---for me being here.  I thought about what I had learned from him, and how in the end had even admired some aspects of him as a person.  

We had talked and he had protected me.  God knows it was stupid, probably suicidal, but I missed him!!

These insane thoughts rocketed around my head, but I was too weak to continue.  Psychologically bruised, sexually battered, physically and emotionally exhausted, once more just a nineteen-year old girl, I finally fell into a deep sleep.  

I awoke in the morning gasping in pain.  My whole body was sore but it was the soreness of sexual licentiousness.  The insides of my thighs and my vagina and my rear end that were the worst.  My clitoris felt like it had been caught in a door and the door slammed shut.  Several times. 

 

I had vague memories of lying on a couch, of wrapping my wet, cum-soaked clothing around me and falling into an exhausted sleep; of someone picking me up and carrying me; of hands cleaning me.  Somehow I had ended in a bed with clean sheets and wearing clean cotton panties and a T-shirt.

 

I opened my eyes and then blinked.  I found myself lying on my side in the bed with my knees drawn up to my chest.  My cheek felt mashed drool-stained.  A sheet and thin blanket were pulled over my head as if they could protect me from the monsters I now knew existed in every shadow of my new world.  Even I knew the darkness this sheltering bedding gave shielded me psychologically from the danger I sensed everywhere around me. 

 

I’m not afraid to admit I was afraid---afraid of what my future held, afraid of who held me and afraid of how I might respond to the demands he might make. 

 

Within thirty minutes of my awaking, a soft knock on the door startled me.  I didn’t move and after a minute, the knock came again.  Finally, I got out of bed and walked stiffly over thick carpeting to the door.  It was locked from my side; I unlocked it and opened it enough to peek through the crack. 

 

Georges stood there waiting patiently.  I opened the door a little wider, but still hid behind it. 

 

Seeing my face peeking around the door Georges said, “Breakfast is ready when you are.  The dining room is straight down this hall and to your left.” 

 

Pointing with his chin to inside my room, he said, “There is a bathroom there and clean clothing can be found in the closet.” 

 

With that, he nodded his head and departed. 

 

There had been nothing in his voice to tell me he thought less of me because of last night, no overt acknowledgement of my whorish acts.  Perhaps he didn’t know?  Perhaps he wouldn’t find out?  I later understood that very little escaped Georges.  Even later, I finally realized that he also was one of the very rare people who never judged a person if he himself hadn’t gone through the same experiences.  He was always a gentleman in this and never let me down.

 

Now awake and up, I began to explore the bedroom in a halting fashion as my muscles worked out the soreness from last night.  The bed was massive and must have been custom-made.  It was larger than a normal king-sized bed and the mattress was incredibly comfortable.  The sheets were of silky feeling Egyptian cotton with at least a 600 thread count.  There was a well-lit make-up table in the corner and two comfortable looking over-stuffed chairs. 

 

Located at the foot of the bed, a small upholstered bench sat next to a massive metal-strapped trunk made out of shining dark teak wood.  I later discovered the trunk had been used aboard sailing ships two hundred and fifty years ago in the silk trade between Oman and India.

 

While the bedroom was furnished in more of a comfortable old-world fashion, the bathroom was modern with shining burgundy and dark gray tile and gleaming chrome fixtures.  Drawers on the side of two sink vanity held everything I would ever need; toothbrushes still in the wrappers, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, and razors.  The lowermost drawer on the left contained a series of increasingly larger butt plugs, each set in an individual holder.  There were also feminine products, although I knew that, unless forced to undergo an abortion, I wouldn’t be needing tampons for at least another eight months. 

 

The sudden thought of being forced to have an abortion stopped me in my tracks as sadness filled me momentarily. 

 

From here I slowly walked over to two doors built into the wall.  Opening them revealed a large walk-in closet filled with various types of clothing, all my size.  Sexy skirts and blouses and dresses were hung side by side with more normal jackets and pant suits and various types of tops, all hanging from racks by the wall. 

 

One side had numerous built-in drawers; and when opened these revealed folded jeans, athletic wear, underwear, socks and even some pantyhose.  The largest drawers at the bottom held all of my lingerie from the boat, including the stockings I’d brought with me.

 

Opposite the drawers, rows and rows of shoes in my size stood in straight lines.  They included various flats and comfortable walking shoes, as well as multiple pairs of tennis and running shoes. 

 

All of the high heels that I’d been wearing for the last thirty days (plus many others I had never before seen) took up at least two rows.  An involuntary shudder ran through my body as I saw them.

 

Getting ready to eat took me over an hour and a half as I knew I had to shower and shampoo my hair before I did anything else.  I was finally able let my hair dry naturally, because I hated the way blow driers dried my hair out.  Eventually my makeup was on and I was ready. 

 

Finally, I put on a pair of athletic shorts, a sports halter under a thin cotton top and a pair of ankle socks with workout shoes.  There was no way I was going to dress up for this---it just seemed right to dress down my first day.  I debated for a moment about whether or not I should put in the anal device, finally deciding to leave it out.  I tucked my nipple chain under the sports bra and put my slave collar on last.  The shining black leather clashed a little with my outfit, but I thought to myself, “What the hell!”

 

I’d been left with no personal possessions after my kidnapping other than the sexy black dress I’d been wearing when taken by the men, so leaving the room unlocked as I went to eat presented no problems. 

 

Following his directions, I had no difficulty locating the small nook which had apparently been set for me several hours ago.  As soon as I sat down, a young Hispanic girl came up and offered me coffee and asked what I wanted for breakfast.  Ordering a small two-egg cheese omelet and dry toast, I ate about half and was full. 

 

Almost as if on command, as I lowered my fork for the last time Georges appeared and offered to show me ‘The Master’s’ house.  Thanking him, I stood up and followed him out into the main area.  It took over half an hour for him to show me everything, and even then, we only covered about half of the dwelling---one half was pretty much open to my explorations, but the other half was totally closed off to me.  It was made abundantly clear by Georges it would forever be off-limits to my investigations. 

 

My new Master’s house was huge.  It had a small, well-lit workout room lying immediately off of my bedroom.  The room had walls lined with mirrors and contained numerous workout machines along with a complete set of weights. 

 

There was a young man already in the room, but he wasn’t working out.  As soon as we walked in, he jumped up and gave me a slight bow.  Georges explained that this was the workout attendant and he was at my service any time I wished to use the room.  I knew I would spend as much time here as was allowed; it would be my escape from a new world over which I had little or no control. 

 

There was another light, airy room off of mine which contained a low, wide padded couch or bed along with a couple of mats.  This Georges referred to as my ‘play’ room.  Next to this was a room in which videos and movies could be shown.

 

There was a large library/den combination done in dark wood which must have had a thousand or more books in it.  This room contained a large stone fireplace that looked like it would be the center of the household in the winter when it had a fire in it---it was definitely a room that had been decorated for or by a man.  The maid cleaning and dusting the books ignored our presence.

 

There was another small room in which there were chairs similar to what would be found in a beauty shop and a professional-looking massage table.  There was another young smiling Hispanic girl here and Georges informed me I was expected here in another hour to get my hair done and to be given a full-body waxing. 

 

There was a large dining room with the center taken up by a large table that could seat at least twelve comfortably.  The walls were covered by expensive looking wallpaper, drapes and two large antique rugs.  The kitchen was a large room, painted and tiled in white and light yellow.  It contained a lot of professional looking equipment used in the preparation of food for large numbers of people at one time. 

 

Going downstairs to the first of the subterranean levels, I shuddered as Georges showed me how to get to the game room; this was where I had wound up entertaining so many men last night, and it would always hold these memories for me.  The room was now clean of anything that might have reminded me of last night’s activities.  Nonetheless, I knew that I would never again enter this room voluntarily.

 

Finally, he took me to another short, but solid wooden door set into the stone wall of the building’s foundations.  The thick wooden door was locked and when Georges opened it with another large key, an unpleasant odor carried on cool moist air immediately hit my nostrils. 

 

Georges looked at me and shook his head, saying, “I hope you never have to visit this room.” 

 

Leading me in, even before he’d found the light switch and turned on the lights, I knew there was or at least had been a lot of pain in this room.  My skin was prickling with goose bumps and the hackles on the back of my neck were trying to rise. 

 

When the lights were finally on, I could see that it was an extremely large, almost dungeon-like affair.  The vast space was poorly lit and its walls were made of well-fitted stone, as was the floor.  The ceiling looked like it was at least ten feet high and there were several sets of pulleys set in the ceiling above what looked like pits of various types.  There were also several drains in the floor and nearby faucets from which to run hoses.

 

There were numerous kinds of large equipment here, all of it designed for one thing---to bring pain to the human body.  Full-sized, wooden H and T and X frames designed to immobilize the body in various positions were located in the center, while there were multiple types of shackles on the walls.  There were wooden and stainless steel racks of equipment; objects designed specifically to cause injury to the body including pincers, pliers, whips, canes, steel needles of various sizes and branding irons.  Presses and nailed boxes for the foot, the hand and the penis; clamps for the breast and for the nipple, and finally, for the face---all were neatly arranged side by side.  There were leather discipline helmets and hoods of various designs and uses, all neatly hanging on the wall and each was accompanied by matching sets of wide leather ankle and wrist restraints.  There were leather restraining straps which wrapped around the body, specifically made for binding arms and legs.  On the far end, part of the wall contained a small rack of metal handcuffs and sets of chains that were used to bind a prisoner in various positions.  And finally, sitting among large electrical leads, there were numerous items that brought machine pain or electro-love.

 

On another wall there were objects d’amour, designed to show affection to the appointed one in both pleasant and not-so-pleasant ways.  Here there were various types and sizes of gags, dildos and vibrators; there were chains and rods of anal balls of various size and length; there were feather dusters and single long peacock feathers arranged among masks that would not look out of place during the Mardi gras. 

 

I looked at Georges and shuddered.  He nodded his head in agreement and said, “The Master doesn’t like to use this room, but he has men trained in these arts if needed.”  Turning on his heel, he led me out of the chamber and locked it behind them.

 

Pointing to another door, Georges said, “That leads to the next level down and to storage rooms and the docks.  You do not need to see the boats at this at this time.” 

 

With this, he led me back upstairs to the room in which I had my beauty appointment.  There, he left me with a nod of his head. 

 

Hesitantly, I walked in and looked at the same young woman still patiently waiting there.  This girl smiled and pointed at the massage table.  Apparently, I was to get my waxing first.  Never having had one before, but having talked with friends that had, I basically knew what to expect.  My legs and armpits were painful, but the worst was my crotch and rear-end.  The smiling girl left a thin strip of pubic hair just above my still tender clitoris and everything else was removed.

 

From here I was led naked and tingling to a beauty salon chair.  After giving me a towel for a wrap, the same girl trimmed my ends and then did magic with my hair.  When she was finished, I knew I hadn’t looked this good in…….oh, at least a month or so! 

 

Getting dressed again, I wandered out and finally arrived at the kitchen where I saw Georges drinking a cup of tea.  Gathering my courage to sit down next to him, I gazed into his eyes and began to question him. 

 

“So,” I asked, “who are you?” 

 

“I,” after looking at me for a moment, he replied with simple dignity, “am Georges.  I run this household for the Master.”  He glanced quickly out of the corner of his eyes at I like I was a particularly dull girl that had just asked a rather stupid question.

 

“So,” I followed up, “who are the rest of the people here?”

 

Georges looked at me for a second and sighed, “You aren’t going to leave until you get some answers, are you?”

 

I didn’t say anything but just shook my head as I looked at him.

 

“You are such a young girl in so many ways.  Okay,” he said with a tone of resignation tinged with exasperation, “I’ll try to explain a few things about what goes on here.”

 

“Your Master has owned this house for many years now.  He owns much land around here and the people respect him; things are much better than before and they love him for what he does for them.  Many people from nearby work here—they’re…servants….for want of a better word.  They’ve all worked here since they were quite young, or their parents did.  He sends these young people out into the world and pays for their training.  He then brings them back here so that they can be with their families.  Because of this, their loyalty to him is beyond question.”

 

“You on the other hand,” he looked at me impassively, “belong to the Master as does this chair or that table, or the easily replaced vehicle we have in the garage.  We do not judge him in this, he just….is.”

 

“There have been many before you,” he continued, then stopped as he looked at me with no expression on his face, “And I assume there will be many after you.  I….try not to get to know the ones like you too well, as it makes my life more difficult.  However, make no mistake.  Even if I am not the Master’s property as you are, I am still the Master’s creature.  Do not mistake me for one who can be corrupted.”

 

I listened to Georges and felt remarkably calm for it was much as I had suspected.  From my last day on the boat to my trip here last night and my time in the game room, I’d been surrounded by men who always had a higher loyalty to my new Master. 

 

Oddly, I felt an inner peace now as I talked with Georges because I’d finally resigned myself to being a man’s chattel, his property.  Georges had confirmed my status and let me know that while there would be people around all the time, they would be of no help to me should I ever try to escape.

 

He looked at me, “Would you like to see the grounds?”

 

“Aren’t you afraid,” I asked, “that I might try to escape if I’m let outside?”

 

He shrugged his shoulders, “You won’t be able to get one of the boats to run, so you can’t escape by water.  You are literally tens of miles from anyplace that might give you help.  Everyone for miles in every direction works for the Master or owes him, and they already know he’s brought in a new young blonde girl from America.  And it’s not like you do not stand out in the crowd here---what with your looks and your hair and all.  If they find you trying to run away, whoever catches you gets to keep you…..forever.”

 

“Trust me,” he said, “after seeing you, all of the young men here would be on the lookout for you.  You would do better to cut your wrists than to chance that.  And there are still many full-blooded Indians here.  Trust me on this…you do not want to fall into their hands.  And the Master would allow it if you ran.”

 

With this, they both walked out through the kitchen door onto the manicured and landscaped lawn.  The lawn was huge, and completely surrounded the massive house.  The closest trees were over a hundred meters distant, and even there, the touch of my Master’s servants was obvious.  From there, they walked for over half an hour looking at various fountains and other pieces of garden art.

 

Georges finally now turned and looked at me full in the face.  “You will be meeting your Master for dinner tonight.  You will want to take a nap and then do your best to prepare for him.  This will definitely please him.  Now go, and ask no more questions.”

 

Leaving him, I finally found my way back to my bedroom where I was able to sleep after lying in my bed for half an hour.  I woke from my nap and saw I had two hours before I was expected at dinner to meet my new Master for the first time. 

 

Time passed slowly, but finally, I was ready.  I thought about yesterday and how much time I’d spent on my makeup to prepare to meet him.  This time I’d chosen a different tack; this time I’d dressed simply for my first evening with my new Master.  A sheer white blouse with a plunging neckline, no bra underneath, a short chiffon cocktail length skirt in a light print, wide belt, skin-tone stockings that exhibited my long, shapely legs to the best advantage and which were held up by a white lace garter belt and strappy white sandals with four inch stiletto heels.  My only decorations were my leather collar, a pair of silver hoop earrings I’d found on the dresser and the loop of my nipple chain exposed between my cleavage.

I had not bothered to gather up my hair, but allowed the silky blonde strands to fall loosely.  I had applied the lightest possible makeup around my eyes, so nothing would detract from their feline greenness.  Only my lips were more heavily touched up than usual with soft crimson rouge gloss, making them appear moister and fuller.  

Considering what I had gone through last night, I was pleased to see how I looked in the mirror.  Oddly, I especially noted how high and firm my braless breasts looked—this was not something I normally worried about.  Too, my complexion looked flawless; I guess there was one thing to be said about a teenager’s raging hormones being tamed by a diet of continuous sex.  Although I didn’t feel this way on the inside, I knew that to everyone else I looked cool, flawless and devastatingly attractive on the outside.

 

Escorted by Georges, I entered the study.  The lights were on very low and a large man stood by the fireplace mantle.  It was not a cold night, but good sized pieces of wood were burning in the fireplace; the light from the fire and the lighting was such that the man stood in dark shadow. 

 

He wore a light open shirt and slacks, and was holding what looked like a snifter of some liquor and appeared to be staring into the fire.  Upon my entrance, he turned slightly to look at me.  This move brought his face slightly more into the light and I was able to see something that seemed familiar. 

 

As I was escorted closer by Georges, my new Master moved into even more into the light and I felt my knees go weak as I recognized the ruined side of Bossman’s face.  Bossman, my new Master?

 

I didn’t know what to say.  I was so tired of being used as a pawn by men, so tired of being treated like a mindless animal, so tired of thinking I knew what was going on when really I was being set up for some additional humiliation which was supposed to teach me something about myself or a new life lesson. 

 

Finally, I was able to unlock my mouth. 

 

“Oh God,” I stammered like a small child.  “I didn’t expect you.  If it had to be someone, I wanted it to be you.  But I didn’t expect it to be you.” 

 

He looked at me impassively, wordlessly for a moment, and then he rumbled, “Thank you Georges, you may go.” 

 

He continued looking at me for a moment further and then replied, “I wasn’t sure whether or not you were worth keeping.  You played games right up to the very end.  That’s why you were……‘tested’ last night.  I had to know for sure if you’ve finally given in to what you know is your new life; if you’ve finally accepted that which you have been fated from the time you were born.”

 

I started to reply and he said sharply, “Silence!”

 

I immediately shut up and assumed my position of obedience.  It was then I realized I had not assumed this position when I had first seen him. 

 

Master looked at me for a moment longer, and then he asked, “Are you willing to be here now or will I need to worry about you running away all the time?  You know why you’re here and you know what I expect from you---so do you accept what you are now?  Do you truly submit to your new life?  Think it through and answer carefully.  This is your last chance.”

 

I was looking down as I had been trained, but when I looked up at his question, my eyes sparkled with unshed tears and all I could do was nod my head yes and say in a child-like voice, “I’ll stay…I’m yours……I’ll do whatever you wish.”

 

Nodding his head, he said, “Come with me.”  Bossman led me from the study to the dining room where two places were set on the table.  Georges had supervised setting the meal on a side table and was waiting for us.  Master sat down at the head of the table and looked at me.  As I began a move towards the other place setting, he stopped me. 

 

“You,” he explained, “are not the same as the rest of the staff here.  You are in an odd position.  You are less than them……and more.  Don’t make this mistake again---assuming what your place is always here.  Here---while dining---you will serve me and after I am happy, you will serve yourself.  You may make requests of the maid, but never make the mistake of believing you are on a higher level than her.”

 

“A piece of advice….treat these people well, for they can make your life hell if they wish.  However,” and here he looked meaningfully at Georges, “if any of them go out of their way to make you miserable, they too will answer to me.  I assume Georges showed you our little below-ground ‘amusement’ room?”

 

Upon my nod, he continued, “You belong to me now, and all that that implies.  There actually was a client whom had purchased you.  However, I have informed him today that I will be replacing you with another equally serviceable young girl within the week---she will be American of course.  Assuming you are now honest with us and yourself, I could not find it in myself to pass you along---at least not yet.  The timing of your departure from our little family here depends entirely upon you.  It is in your best interest to do your best to please me.”

 

“Is there anything you don’t understand?” he asked me.

 

“No, Master.” 

 

“And one final thing, M.  Dress appropriately from now on when you are with me.  Georges will help you in that category.  Should you need additional clothing, just let him know.”

 

And with that, I began my new life with him.  I served him his meal, waiting upon his every desire.  At the end, he allowed me to eat a little as he sat and watched. 

 

Finally we were finished and I went back to my room to dress for him.  I met him two hours later and we walked, he leading by a step and me carefully following behind, one step to his right, back into the study.  He approached the fire which had by now burned down slightly and again gazed into the flames.  I stood next to him, not knowing what to do.

Moving to stand in back of me as I looked into the fire, he gently laid his hands on my shoulders.  I felt my stomach flutter as if a small hummingbird were trapped there.  He leaned in and I could feel his face as he first sniffed my neck and then kissed me lightly below the ear.  I knew he didn’t kiss me for me, but rather to confirm to himself he had taken possession of a new toy.  With his hands, he slowly turned me around until I faced him.

He reached down to stroke the inside of my forearm and I shivered.  Nervous anticipation twirled in my stomach.  His fingertips tickled the inside of my elbow.  I looked back as my gaze swept over his face, taking in the line of jaw, the tendons on his neck, the dark shadow on his chin.  He swiveled to face me, his pupils were dilated and I could smell his excitement.  

Unbidden, despite still being sore from what had happened just last night, heat ignited in the pit of my stomach and radiated down.

He smiled softly, got up and led me to his bedroom.  When we got there, he tossed me on the bed and then headed to the bar to mix himself a drink.  He didn’t ask what I wanted and made me no offer.  Instead, he made a show of unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off, making sure I had a good view of his amazingly muscled back.  

Slowly, he approached the bed and joined me on it.  As his lips moved down my neck, I couldn’t help myself---I twisted my face, nuzzling his neck and inhaling the musky smell of him.  I moved to the hollow in his collarbone and felt his heartbeat leap.

He kissed me and I could feel the heat from his body, so familiar from my dreams that I could almost drown in it.  The rich scent of him wafted through my brain, as intoxicating as peyote smoke.  I moved back a little and he pushed me against the headboard, his hands sliding to my hips and gripping hard.  His lips went back to mine, our kisses deepening.

Suddenly, I felt him pull my hands in back of me and then they levered up towards the back of my head.  The move forced me off the bed and onto my feet.  My stilettos were unstable and as he kept pulling on the line, he forced me off of my feet and onto my knees.  I still hated not being able to move and tried to pull my wrists down, but he held them tight.  

I felt him moving and suddenly I was tied to the ceiling by thin soft ropes.  I jerked my arms, but they only moved a couple of inches before the bonds on my wrist snapped tight.  I felt a brief flare of resistance to my situation, but knew suddenly it was from the old me and I fought it down.

Once I was secured, he walked around and knelt over me, obviously pleased with what he was seeing.  Still smiling, he took hold of the top of my already mostly unbuttoned blouse and ripped it down the middle.  I started to say something, but stopped, inhaling sharply.  He’d suddenly taken my breast in my mouth and was teasing the pierced nipple with his teeth.  He flicked his tongue and it sprang up hard.  

His hand moved from my breast and began to stroke my stomach, moving lower with a planned, frustrating slowness.  I had an unbidden image of his naked body over me, and the lust flared.  He shifted and I could feel his erection slide up my thigh.  I spread my legs a little and felt the roughness of his pants brush against the glossy smooth stocking on my leg.  Then he pulled back.  

“Can you feel it?” he asked.  “Where do you feel it?”  

He touched the inside of my thigh, just long enough to make my heart skip.  

“Do you feel it here?”  

I still was not sure what he referred to.  He slid his hands further down my nylons to the inside of my knee, tracing the path of the chills coursing through me.  

“Can you feel it?” he asked, his face coming closer to mine.  

I started to close my eyes.  Life can be so strange at times.  I had gone through something awful last night, I could have even died.  That kind of event makes a person thirst for life and all its basics: a comfortable meal, the breeze of our own breath in our lungs…….the warm press of human flesh.  

“Don’t,” he said.  “Watch me.”

I opened my eyes and watched him, unable to avert my gaze as I licked my suddenly dry lips.  I wanted to kiss him, with heat.  Despite the aches in my body.  

Under my skirt, his fingers slowly traced back up my nylon-clad thigh.  He reached the very top of my thigh and toyed with me for a moment.  He gently massaged my clitoris and as I felt myself begin to wet, he then plunged his fingers into me.  I let out several gasps, the first one of surprise since I was still a little sore there.  The later ones were of pure pleasure.  

His fingers moved inside of me, finding the center of my excitement.  He too knew that spot inside my vagina and he began massaging it at the same time he manipulated my clit.  It was such an intense basket of feelings, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.  Just as I could feel the waves of climax building to appoint where it would consume me, my brain kicked in and I realized what I was doing.  I closed my eyes tight and once more jerked my arms hard against their bindings.  

The metallic whir of a zipper cut through the night air.  My eyes flew open to see him pulling his pants down over his hips.  As I saw the hunger in his eyes and his body, my hips moved up unbidden to meet him.  He was just as I had remembered from a month ago.  Massive, inhumanly large and ready for me again.  

I shook my head sharply, trying to clear it.  I twisted away.  He bent down, his face coming to mine.  

“I won’t force you this time.  All you have to do is tell me no.”  

He waited a moment.  “Tell me to stop.  Tell me to untie you.  I will.”  

His hand slipped between my thighs, parting them before I could clench them shut.  Heat and wetness rushed out to meet him, my body betraying me.  I felt the tip of him against me, but he didn’t go any further.  

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.  “Just tell me.”  

I looked at him, but the words wouldn’t come to my lips.  It wasn’t because I knew he would sell me again if did tell him this.  It was because I didn’t want to say them.  

Then he grabbed me under the arms and lifted my helpless body up for a second---before pushing into me.  My body convulsed and while I couldn’t do anything with my arms, I could, and did, wrap my legs around his waist.  For one long second, he didn’t move.  I could feel him inside me; oh God, could I feel him as his hips pressed against me. 

 He pulled back slowly then and my body protested, moving involuntarily against him as best it could, trying to keep him inside.  I felt his arms go over my head.  My bindings jerked once, then parted in his hands.  Now he thrust fully into me and my resistance snapped.  I grabbed him, my hands entwining in his hair, my legs locked and crushing his waist. 

Standing slowly with me impaled upon him, my Master walked to the bed and lowered me upon it.  Gently pushing me away from him, he stood again.  I held my arms out to him as my hips ached to be pressed against him when he filled me.  But, after a moment, the heat began to cool and I closed my eyes in frustration.

 

“Lie back…….this might take a while.”  Master lay down beside me and urged me to my knees; now he drew me down on his groin.  He watched intensely as I pulled up my tiny skirt just a little and settled down on top of him.  I began to move, trying to react to him as I thought he might want, but he slowed me down.  “Not yet,” he scolded me, pressing his hand between my legs just above my knee.  “Take your time.”

 

 

For him, this wasn’t about release.  This woman was already his, there was no mystery left in that matter.  It was about suspense---the sweet anticipation inherent in fine lingerie, the scent of chocolate with raspberries, an ice cube melting.  He well understood the poetry of foreplay, how to bait a woman into willingly giving him that which she had not planned to do.  How to make a woman desire senseless indenture over temporary freedom.

 

Besides, with this one, this young girl barely out of high school, as long as he did it carefully, it really would be easy to continue leading her, to further train her into offering him her loyalty even as he steadfastly gave her to other rooms filled with strange men.  She would voluntarily do these terrible things for him, she needed to this for him, for this was a young woman who now suffered with a full-blown attachment disorder. 

 

Shortly after being broken and trained, it had first manifested itself in the inability on her part to form any real lasting relationships with any the people around her, even with other women in a similar situation as she.  Of course, it was frowned on a woman in her position doing this anyway, but for her it would have brought no additional difficulties, would have caused her no additional more distress or pain. 

 

Women like her, in fact almost all females in this position, to one extent or another, typically pushed everyone away around them emotionally.  They did this because the extreme emotional and psychological stress they had undergone almost ensured they would eventually fixate on one person as their savior. 

 

In the case of this young girl, as he had hoped and planned from the very beginning, from her first moment on the boat, she had fixated on him.  She had become obsessed with him because, despite the differences in power in their relationship, in some ways she saw him as mirroring parts of her personality.  To keep her sanity, she had created a mental filter which only allowed through what she saw as the better parts of him.  How this could happen despite all things that had been done to her either by him, or by his men at his direction, seemed almost to smack of black magic—the hoodoo of the islands. 

 

Even more important though, the only way to truly control a woman like this was to give her the connections she craved—but with what she saw as honesty and sincerity.  Only in this way could she believe in her love for him.  Lie in an obvious way to one as smart as this—she’d know it in a heartbeat. 

 

 

Still impaled, I leaned forward on him and slowly began removing the wreckage of my blouse.  Suddenly, even though his slave, I felt like I needed to take risks—possibly terrible risks.  I leaned further forward and pressed my naked skin against his chest. “What do you think about when you’re all alone in your big house?  Master?”

 

“I think you know.”

 

“Tell me,” I demanded, grabbing his hands and using them to cup my breasts.

 

“You are starting to play games with me again……” he rumbled back at me.

 

“Tell me that you think about this.”  As I continued down this dangerous path, I knew that I was teasing him, taunting him, but I couldn’t help myself.  I lifted myself onto my knees and pulled my skirt high enough for him to see how my thighs looked where my stockings ended. 

 

“Tell me what you’d have me do?”  I pulled his hand up between my thighs, capturing it between the firm flesh there, just to show him that finally, I too was ready. 

 

He pulled his hand from between my legs and pushed me onto my back.  I pouted as his erection pulled free.  It happened so quickly that I was almost frightened by the speed with which he’d moved.  I lay there on the bed in front of him with my blouse off, my skirt up around my mid-thighs and my legs spread, missing the meat I’d had just a second ago.  He moved until he was between my legs and he slowly put his hands on the insides of my knees and pushed them further apart, then he slid my skirt up around my waist. 

 

 

Lowering his head, he slowly began to suck on M’s clit.  She was moist and hot, and the smell her vagina was amazingly erotic.  He’d thought about this moment since the last time that he’d taken her.  After a moment in which he struggled to find it, he captured her clitoris with his teeth and tortured the captive slave girl for a moment, before he grabbed it between his lips and just tugged on it. 

 

He looked up in time to hear M’s breath hiss in and watch her close her eyes, and then throw her head back and to the right.  He whispered to himself, “Salty candy.  Nothing but salty candy.” 

 

Wolf continued his assault on her vagina with his mouth and M responded willingly, enthusiastically, to every move he made.  When he finally brought a vibrator into play, she actually whined in anticipation as she waited for him.

 

Moving up, he gentled his mouth, sucking at her breast, feeling her relax and then nipping her again, pinching her nipple between his teeth and hearing her moan in anguished pleasure.  His hand moved back into the warm wetness between her legs, to explore her there as his mouth applied the exquisite torture to her breast.  His fingertips parted, probed, hunted, and found---invaded and stroked---and her hips arched, desperately begging for more.

 

 

And so he gave her more.  Her vagina was becoming extremely moist and productive.  She was so wet now it almost seemed as if she was letting down buckets of melted love.  Victoria felt him eventually spread her lips with his fingers in order to enter her---he didn’t need a lubricant since her vaginal flow was now so heavy she was constantly excreting a thick pearly, almost clear fluid.  An overpoweringly strong musky smell emanated from between her legs like waves of heat off of a hot country road; nature had specifically designed a woman like her to ensure men found her irresistible.

 

His first move was to slowly go to almost his maximum depth inside her; she shuddered once, not realizing he had not yet completely sheathed himself in her.  After he’d held himself motionless for half a minute, he started to work her body.  He took his time and it went on and on, until she was uncontrollable beneath him.  Finally he felt her whole body hold on to him; her arms grabbed him around his back, her legs wrapped around his waist and her vagina clamped onto his cock.

 

 

I couldn’t help myself; I was still sore enough that I felt myself make an involuntary face as he slowly spread me apart for his first entrance.  I focused on his face as I felt him position himself high on my belly and hips so that his every move, in or out, rubbed the top of his erection against my clitoris.  The rigid veins on his great Nubian cock stood out in stark relief against his black skin and felt like huge knobs which had been put on this earth for just my pleasure.

 

As wet as I was for him, I was afraid I was still too sore from last night to be able to be able to adequately respond.  It felt like he was putting a spike through my heart.  His first move to slowly impale me showed his instinctive mastery of my body; I felt helpless and totally vulnerable to him. 

 

My pussy literally physically ached as his massive cock over-filled the walls of my vagina; my clit was still intensely sensitive, almost super-sensitive to his every movement and my labia and the walls of my vagina screamed their tenderness with every move he made. 

 

It all felt wonderful!! 

 

He knew the time had come.  He could fill her as she lay on her back; make her cry out for mercy, the mercy he didn’t feel for her or any other woman.  But now he had a goal….he needed to be able to go deeper inside her….much, much deeper. 

 

He needed to position her to receive his gift of total domination; pose her in exactly right way to ensure that he took away the last vestiges of her freedom, of her ability to think for herself. 

 

His next move was to raise himself off of her chest and hook his hands behind her knees.  As he raised himself up, he brought her legs up around and against him and pulled the backs of her knees into his chest so that her legs were now locked straight and immovable. 

 

This nineteen-year old girl was young enough to be his grand-daughter.  Yet here she was, as physically beautiful as she would ever be, approaching her sexual maturity, and his cock was buried in her belly up to his nutsack.  He had spread her legs and gently opened her like one would the most fragile flower; her lush womanly fragrance had immediately spread throughout the room and made him even harder if that were possible.  His fingertips slowly ran along her long, stockinged legs, mesmerizing him with the silky feel of nylon covered flesh---the backs of her thighs soft, yet firm, like velvet covered steel.  The hard, knotted muscles of her calves, kept in that state by the high-heels she still had on feet, with the soles pointing towards the ceiling. 

 

Her heels were now up by his shoulders, but at the same time he leaned forward onto her and kept his weight on her hips as he pushed her straightened legs back towards her chest.  She was pinned beneath him like a helpless young doe.  The act of locking her legs and raising her hips into the air even as she was impaled by him, now allowed him to physically penetrate her to the very tip of her femininity and even deeper if he so desired---the great blunt purple/black head of his steel hard erection now rested at the very uppermost tip of her vagina and pushed hard against her cervix. 

 

It was a position he’d perfected with numerous other women he’d enslaved in the past. 

 

 

Victoria knew she was powerless before him.  He grimly continued to drive into her, relentlessly working her body until she was finally reacting helplessly to his unending and unforgiving patience.  Then he lifted her legs against his chest and bore down even more on her hips, penetrating her deeper than any man before him.  He was so deep inside her now that his presence hurt.  And even though the pain felt good in an odd way, she was still thankful he knew exactly how deep to penetrate before he caused her too much pain.  In this, he gave her great satisfaction, but not the full-blown anguish that she feared from his moves for she was totally dependent upon his humanity in this single kindness. 

 

Finally, she began to cum.  The walls of her vagina were clamped around his great penis in a way that let him know exactly how wonderful was the pleasure he’d given her.  And at that exact moment of orgasm, as has occurred to all women throughout time even though she was already pregnant, her cervix spasmed in preparation of receiving his sperm. 

 

He kept his cock fully buried in her, pushing at the end until there was that final physical resistance to him in her body over which even she had no control---he could literally go no deeper into her.  But with her in this position, he still had shaft yet to spare for his victim; there was iron-fleshed tool still dry and as yet unused, poised and eagerly waiting to assert its mastery over her. 

 

He continued pushing though and pinned her body, piercing this naïve girl at an unimaginable depth, as he had so many women before her.  Inexperienced, taken unaware and powerless to resist, her muscles now unresponsive, M’s face showed what looked like surprise or horror as she lay immobilized beneath his hips.  He now shrugged his shoulders almost contemptuously and allowed her legs to fall slowly, nervelessly away from his chest.  They made a whispery sound as her nylons moved along his flesh of his shoulders and her legs dropped away from him and flopped to the bed. 

 

Lying on the mattress now, each of her legs landed spread far apart, the insides of her ankles and her knees and her thighs were open to the ceiling---the pregnant teenage girl could be no more exposed or defenseless if she’d tried.  But she had no thoughts as to the vulnerability of her lower body at this moment---there were almost no thoughts in her mind at all right now. 

 

To ensure that he retained his mastery of her femininity, as their relative positions had changed with him allowing her legs to fall to the mattress, he’d leaned even further into her hips to ensure he had maintained the full depth of his massive presence inside her body. 

 

She was fully pierced and she was his; he moved to ensure he kept her that way.  This one had been important to him, and despite her youth and relative inexperience, he was pleased to know she wasn’t any different than the rest of them.  He watched her body react without conscious thought, just as he had watched so many women react to this move before her. 

 

First, the teenage girl lay frozen.  As if anesthetized, left immobile and helpless, she lay beneath him; her eyes were wide open and almost bugged out as she faced the ceiling, but she didn’t blink—she saw nothing right now. 

 

The blonde girl’s mouth opened and went into a perfect ‘oh’ shape as she sharply inhaled until her lungs could hold no more.  It opened and closed several more times like that of a fish laying in the bottom of a boat. 

 

Beads of sweat appeared magically appeared on her upper lip and her forehead as her head slowly, mindlessly, began to turn from side to side.  Even as her face continued its reasonless turning from left to right and then back again, she never once blinked her bulging eyes.  

 

At the same time, she lay beneath him with her limbs splayed out in ugly helplessness, her arms and legs extended and frozen into crooked immobility.  Nothing of her moved, not her legs nor her arms, not her fingers nor her toes. 

 

 

As I lay totally frozen, paralyzed beneath him, all animation in my body became suspended as my Master prepared me for my own personal version of nirvana---and of hell.  It seemed my blood had turned into an icy solid, like my veins and arteries were filled with slow moving or even stationary glacial ice of the most profound blue color. 

 

Very little thought was going on in my head, but in the deepest corners of my mind I knew he could go no deeper into me.  It was profound and unfathomable.  He’d inflicted so much pain in me with this last act that I was paralyzed.  He’d hurt me terribly with his move, but I couldn’t even scream my pain.  All I could do was lay motionless beneath him and try to survive.  I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe.  All that remained of me was a blinding, freezing, immobilizing, all-consuming pain that began in my loins and which spread crashing throughout my body like a tidal wave.  My mind had stopped working.  My body had stopped working.  The only sound I heard was that of rushing blood in my ears.

 

 

While he hadn’t pushed all the way in like he did with the other women because this one was pregnant, Wolf called this ‘sticking’ them.  To the woman, the pain at first was excruciating.  He had no idea of what it must feel like, of what any of the bitches must be experiencing at this exact moment; but it had happened like this every time he’d done this to one of his women. 

 

He thought of his Australian beauty: about how he had taken another man’s bride on her wedding day and turned her into his willing personal sex slave; of how after he’d healed her mind, like the young girl who lay beneath him now, she’d assumed a position of frozen rigor upon his monumental penetration of her body.  And as her body had eventually thawed from his brutal thrust and when the waves of pain had finally receded inside, how she’d screamed her desire for him and her undying love.  He thought about how at the end, he’d become her one true Master and she his true slave, and how she had willingly allowed him to do anything to her, including selling her to another, because she knew that this was what he wanted, that this was what would please him.

 

He thought back to the gorgeous German girl that he’d taken directly from her father in the Dominican Republic---how his massive piercing of her body like this had first penetrated the young woman to her heart and transfixed her, how it had turned her Teutonic blood to sleet in her veins as she froze solid beneath his hips and belly.  He thought of how her hips had slowly begun moving under him again as her blood had eventually melted from its icy state and how in the end she had become one of the hottest, most submissive and truly sexually dependent pleasure slaves it had ever been his fortune to possess.  And, as with the others, it seemed her personality had been totally changed after he’d stuck her like this. 

 

He knew too what it did to all of them subsequently, how they all had always reacted after being stuck.  How, in conjunction with the drugs and, coming at the end of everything else he’d put them through, it changed them, seemingly forever.  Every one of them had wound up being totally enslaved mentally, emotionally and physically after he’d manipulated them this way. 

 

He slowly relaxed on M’s body as a feeling of satisfaction came over him.  His giant erection withdrew slightly from the enemy territory it had conquered, but there was no doubt who was king here. 

 

 

I lay as if stunned beneath him and felt myself controlled by a precisely measured move which, even if I understood it, still kept all of its…..wonderful effectiveness.  I couldn’t move---I didn’t dare move because if I did, I knew I would surely die and spin into heaven in two separate pieces, my body wonderfully/horribly broken in two at the waist.  I didn’t know what I felt, all I could do was endure.  I later found out that he routinely did this to all of the female slaves he eventually kept.  But it did not matter to me, for I already knew where my future lay. 

 

After about forty-five seconds---or forty-five years, the pain had washed throughout my body.  It had reached my toes and fingers at its ultimate extent, as if it had reached barriers somewhere that wouldn’t allow it to depart my body.  It now crashed back to the exact spot where it began, and as the waves of pain coming back met at their source, it seemed they began to cancel each other out.  I sensed that my agony was finally beginning to decrease a little---or perhaps I was getting used to the pain.  It was the exquisite agony, something wondrous and awful, all at the same time. 

 

As the beautiful pain began to recede, I felt some small bit of life begin to return to my body again as I lay under his hips.  Now, as with all of the others before me, it started slowly with my eyelids and fingers and arms, eventually spreading to my toes and feet, and eventually my trunk.  First I felt my eyelids flutter once.  And then my eyelids fluttered again, and finally I was able to blink.  I’d always been aware of the full weight of his body on mine, but my vision had actually failed momentarily. 

 

I now could begin to move a little beneath him; and then I could move even more as my body came back to life.  Finally I was able to exhale a little to make a small sound, but all I could do was say, “Oooooooooooh myyyy Gggoddddddd!” as I breathed out the used air built up in my lungs. 

 

The overall blindingly wonderful pain between my legs and inside my abdomen continued to slowly recede and I was able to move even a little more.  It was then that I felt the heat begin in my loins as a small gentle blaze, which within seconds had exploded into an out-of-control wildfire. 

 

The pain was suddenly gone and all I could say a second time was “Oooooooooooh Goddddddd!”  I couldn’t control myself.  It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced---my arms and legs felt as if they’d been thawed for the first time in my life and were free to move now, and they moved almost with a mind of their own around and over and on him. 

 

But my hips were still frozen in place by the steel-like bar of his flesh which was buried so impossibly and still incredibly deep inside my belly.  My skirt was rumpled up around my waist; and as that had been ground between us as he moved on me, it kept me in touch with the more normal sensations of my skin and my body. 

 

Finally, the burgeoning fire in my loins began to thaw the black ice in my frozen belly, melting me to the point where I could begin to move again despite the ache his firmly buried cock was still causing.  Once I started to move in response to his massive presence, I knew there was no way that I could stop myself; there was no way I wanted to stop myself.  I knew I’d finally become for him exactly that which I’d swore I would never be for any man. 

 

I heard my voice and I lusted, I heard an enthralled teenage girl begging this adult man for more of his cock, for yet deeper and harder penetrations by him.  Even though I knew he would hurt me even more if he responded, I found myself grabbing him and pulling on him to get him closer to me, to get him deeper inside me.  I was mesmerized.  At that moment, there were no limits to the slut/whore/cuntdom that I wouldn’t go to get what I needed from him now.

 

 

After about a minute or so, again like the others before her, M was finally able to claim everything he had to give her.  Sweat was pouring off of her now just like all of his previous conquests; and like the others too, she was making frenzied, whimpering claims on every part of his body.  His face impassive in total victory, he gave her what she demanded, and more than which she even knew to ask.  But still, he always watched from afar as she approached, achieved and went past a second, impossibly higher and even more intense orgasm.  He lay upon her sweaty belly and watched almost impassively as her arms and legs were thrust akimbo, moving in an almost mindless fashion, just reacting to his dreadfully deep presence inside her. 

 

The kidnapped blonde teenager screamed and cried; she clawed at his Nubian shoulders, back and buttocks.  Her legs intertwined with his and then untwined to wrap around his waist again.  But this time, in the throes of a truly mindless passion, she squeezed him with her thighs locked around his waist until even a man as strong as he found it hard to breathe. 

 

He was making long, smooth, slamming thrusts into M’s belly now, not trying to protect her, not trying to keep anything from her or himself.  His cock now was wet to the hilt with her juices as he ensured time after time that she enjoyed; no, that she was punished with every inch he had to give her.  M was throwing her head back and forth in a manic frenzy of physical desire, babbling her love and her lust for him. 

 

He kept pushing into her and she kept pushing him higher and higher, begging for more and more, when suddenly he began to cum.  As he ejaculated, it seemed she had been filled to the top with his scalding hot semen as he came and came and came.  And as he was cumming, her desire seemed to somehow reach an impossible crescendo which lasted about thirty seconds, after which she literally collapsed beneath him.  She was drenched in her own sweat, sucking great heaving lungful’s of air, even as he remained calm and controlled above her.

 

 

And finally, I had gotten what I needed from him.  After a moment he rolled off of me.  I lay there beside him breathing heavily and then I shivered slightly as the sweat on my pierced chest began to dry.  My shattered mind was flying a million miles a minute---every trace of my previous pain was gone--I felt so good right now.  I tingled all over my body and I felt a general, wonderful sense of well-being.  A gentle feeling of warmth seemed to be suffusing into every aching muscle and joint and I was experiencing an almost religiously profound feeling of pleasure.  I stretched luxuriously and turned to look at Bossman with adulation.

 

I now know instinctively that my capitulation to him a month ago had only been the beginning and that all of my vows and tricks and games since then had been as the act of a small child to its parent.  He was truly my Master and he owned me totally---he owned me body and soul.  I knew it now, and I knew he knew it too. 

 

I was nothing but a creature of his will; his pleasure slut and his whore.  I worshipped him.  He owned every inch of my flesh and every hole in my body, and I was willing to do anything he desired in order to bring the smallest pleasure to his day.  I wanted nothing more than to belong to him---forever.

 

We lay there on his bed, drenched in sweat, chests heaving to replenish oxygen used just moments ago.  Neither of us spoke for several minutes, but finally he turned on his side and just looked at me. 

 

I looked back at him and smiled as I said, “What?”

 

I reached out to touch the fanciful part of his face and he pulled back as he said, “Don’t.” 

 

I froze for a second, then pulled my hand back and just stared at the ceiling.  This impasse continued for several minutes until it began to get uncomfortable for me.  I had to know.  Finally, I again turned to look at him and asked, “Master, what happens to me now?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, he replied, “You belong here….to me.  You are the prize, you’ve always been the prize.  More than that, I can’t say right now.”

 

For me, even though I wasn’t sure what that meant, it had to be good enough.  I knew what my fate was now, and in some ways I was not only glad, but happy that it had happened to me.  I had traded in a freedom I had never understood or appreciated, for happiness I felt now and the chance to discover the true me. 

 

What more can a teenage girl ask than that?

 

My skirt was still bunched up around my waist and uncomfortable, so after looking at Master for permission, I eased it off but left everything else on.  We lay in bed for thirty minutes when suddenly Master got up on his elbow to look at me.  He then reached over to the side of his bed and picked up a tube of lubricant, telling me to put it on him.  After I had lavishly applied the lubricant on him, without any hesitation or subtlety, he said, “Roll over, I’m going to take you again.”

 

 

Slowly he fucks my ass, pushing himself in and out of me.  The sensation is so intense.  I feel like my inner slut has finally been freed; and I revel in her carnal abandonment, throwing my head back while Mike rides me like an animal.

-Felicity Bandon, from The Abduction

 

Don't despair: despair suggests you are in total control and know what is coming.  You don't - surrender to events with hope.

-Alain de Botton

 

My emotional high fled.  Not sure that I had heard him correctly, I looked at him in disbelief and after a moment said, “Master, please.” 

 

I knew that everything on the boat had been leading up to something…..to this.  But he was sooo big.  “This is something that frightens me---please, I’m not yet used to it like that.  You want to take me from the rear?  Even though you know that I’m afraid that you’re so big that you’ll hurt me---forever?  It was so good for us the other way, can’t we do that again?  Please Master, don’t do this to me yet, give me time to get ready, please!”

 

My Master looked at me in the eyes and said, “We’ll do it slowly, M.  Slowly.  It is not your body I desire so much, but rather your purity and your virtuousness.  The answer to your question is……..roll over, NOW”

 

I looked at him for a moment and swallowed with difficulty.  I guess, somewhere deep inside me, I had always known it would come to this—the men taking turns with me on the boat, always wearing the increasingly bigger plugs…..  With sudden tears in my eyes and without another word rolled over onto my stomach.  I kept my chest up on my elbows and spread my legs for him. 

 

 

Bossman told her, “No.  Get up on your hands and knees.”  Having undergone all of her obedience training in the last month, he was pleased that she immediately scrambled to all fours just as he’d instructed.  On his knees too, he now moved between her spread legs and up against the back of her thighs and her ass.  He knew this would give him a little better angle on his initial penetration of her body. 

 

The bitch had been bored out to fit him and he really had no plans to go slow with her from this point on.  And what she was worried about was of no consequence, no real concern of his.  Once he had her where he wanted her—on her hands and knees, obedient in every way--his options with her would be unlimited and her choices would be exactly zero. 

 

He slowly slid his hands up the back of her thighs, finally sliding over the top of her nylons and on up to what was his ultimate goal.  When they reached her ass he slowly spread her cheeks apart and bared the puckered brown hole which had been so stretched out in preparation for this very moment.  He enjoyed running his hands over her muscular buttocks and finally he spread them wide to see his brown, puckered target; it looked good, still able to close yet abnormally enlarged and ready for him to penetrate. 

 

He was glad he’d had his men working on her from the beginning, because he’d known it would come to this from the very first minute that he’d first seen photos of this teenager.  ALL of his pleasure slaves eventually took it in the ass from him---if they couldn’t handle it there, they were quickly moved on and sold. 

 

After he played with the girl for a minute to relax her, his hands dropped between her legs again and he slowly massaged her wet pussy for a minute. 

 

 

I took another deep breath.  Oh God, I was glad that he was going slowly with this.  He was so massive that if he wasn’t patient, he would kill me, he would literally kill me.  The tip of his manhood was the size of an average apple and his shaft the size of my wrist---he was just too big for me—too big for any woman.  I was frightened that I wasn’t physically prepared for him---frightened that he would seriously hurt me as he did this; yet at the same time part of me wanted this.  At least wanted to see if I could please him this way. 

 

I tried to mentally prepare myself to do this for him.  Despite my fear, I wanted this to be successful more than anything in the world.  I…I just wanted to please him.  If at all possible, I was determined to give him the satisfaction he craved from me this way, even though I knew it would hurt me so terribly much.  I was prepared for the pain, prepared to be hurt.  And….even if it went against my upbringing and my nature, the part of me which had recently been freed, which had been released because of his training, knew it was his right now to do whatever he wanted with my body. 

 

He gently moved against the back of my thighs and I felt his hands lie softly on my hips.  Then his hands went away and I felt him pull my cheeks apart with one hand as he guided himself towards me with his other. 

 

“Just relax yourself,” he said.  “I’ll take my time with this and you will just feel pressure.  It won’t really hurt.” 

 

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.  Even as his reassurances helped calm my fear, I took another deep prepatory breath and tried to relax my anal sphincter.  Almost immediately I could feel the tip of his penis begin to press into me, then with almost a pop just the tip slightly penetrated me.  God, he was big.  He was huge!  Having affected his first entry, all I wanted to say was waitwaitwait, but somehow I remained silent.  I was shuddering slightly as he now placed his hands on my waist, then rolled my hips around and rocked himself back and forth.  He was slowly sinking into me a little deeper with each move.  Ugghhh, ugghhh, inarticulate, garbled sounds were all I was capable of making at this point. 

 

I heard myself moan softly; God he was huge!

 

I was so glad that we were going to be deliberate and take our time.  I heard him say softly, “You mustn’t struggle.  It will help you to accept, and it will make you feel better afterwards.”

 

He continued and somehow, the bulbous tip of his penis slid without too much difficulty past my first defenses and into me, and I could feel my sphincter muscles stretch to accept him and then lock onto the groove behind his great circumcised head.  My head was bobbing up and down in small movements which helped massage the discomfort in a way which allowed me to handle it. 

 

He leaned over, grabbed my head with one hand, and as he stopped the motion he whispered in my ear, “It’s alright.  It’s alright.”

 

Although painful and exceedingly uncomfortable, the month-long efforts of his men at making me large enough to accept him were apparently successful—at least I didn’t feel like he was killing me.  At first he only moved a little, giving me only a taste of what I knew must be coming.  But even this little made my cry out loud in extreme discomfort.  God, slowly!  Please, slowly!  The pain at this point was suddenly a sharp, yet dull ache, all accompanied by a tremendous feeling of fullness and my flesh being stretched to the point that it must tear. 

 

Oh God, he was so big! 

 

He whispered to me again, “See.  It’s just pressure, it’s not pain. Not really.  Take a deep breath, breathe deeply.  It doesn’t hurt at all.  Say that, it really doesn’t hurt.  Your pain is going away, isn’t it?  Do you feel it leaving?  Can you?”

 

He touched me, my clit, and I shuddered as he continued, “See how warm my hand is, doesn’t that feel good?  Doesn’t that make it all better?  It’s just pressure, and I’m not hurting you….that’s it…..that’s it……

 

He was still upright on his knees and his knees were inside of mine, continually forcing my thighs even further apart.  He was behind me…his body touching the backs of my thighs and leaning slightly over me….his hands were both on my hips now and they clenched my flesh painfully.  Then he began to move his hips and enter me even more fully---thankfully he still took his time. 

 

 

He looked down at her, feeling an eager anticipation.  He could see her long blonde hair hanging down and covering much her face and suddenly felt the beast inside roar to life.  He felt a series of thrills run through him as the young woman’s body beneath him finally gave up any last resistance.  He wanted to howl with the lust of it; the control, the complete mastery of her body as his lubricated erection suddenly began to enter her.  

 

Instead of continuing though, he stopped and just studied her.  Her body may have given him permission, but the girl herself was still struggling to accept him.  Through the fall of her hair, he could see she had her eyes closed and that her mouth hung open in pain.  She was panting slightly, as if from exertion, and tiny gasping sounds were coming out of her with each breath.  Every time he moved against her, her hair would gently sway and M’s head would rise up as if pain and she would give out another soft moan. 

 

It was amazing how something which gave him such pleasure could be so opposite to the sluts he took this way.  It truly was a pity he did not give a shit whether he hurt most of them or not.  In fact, the only reason he went so slowly with this one was to ensure that he didn’t have to tie her down every time he wanted to fuck her in the ass in the future. 

 

He was saving himself.  He looked down at M’s tiny waist and beautiful ass cheeks as they approached, yet never touched his groin as he moved.  He still had many inches to go before he was fully sheathed in this one’s ass and it took every bit of his willpower to avoid destroying her with one major thrust.

 

Her beautifully full, teenage breasts hung down and swayed with every move of his body against hers.  Her gorgeous nipples were erect, both were encased by the rings piercing them.  This look greatly turned him on.  Probably, he thought to himself, due to fear of what he was doing to her, because there wasn’t much passion here yet. 

 

But at the same time, he knew it was right that she should fear him in this, for moment, this place, was where she would determine their relationship.  He’d either damage her permanently as he had the Venezuelan police woman of long ago or turn her into his next ‘permanent’ lover.  This moment--on this night--he knew would determine her future for the next few years, determine whether or not she was worthy of keeping or was to be passed on to another, lesser owner. 

 

He was a hot blooded man of the Caribbean and the time for thinking was past.  He no longer had the patience to go slow or the desire to wait for her body to prepare to receive him with minimal pain or damage on her part.  Rather, he now reached forward and grabbed both of her elbows with his hands and then pulled back hard, forcing her upper body to collapse to the bed beneath them.  At the same time, even as she was falling to the mattress he began his first major thrust into her still tight ass with a single move of his hips. 

 

His weight was fully supported now by her hips still stuck in the air, and he rode her down like he would a cheap mule as she crumpled and her face and shoulders hit the mattress.  And as her body came to rest beneath his with a single bounce, he continued his drive into her colon by pushing hard with his hips and his thighs.  In one smooth magical move, his huge black glistening cock slickly slid between her beautiful white cheeks and completely disappeared inside her.  Luckily, the bulbous head of his erection negotiated the turn in her colon without rupturing the girl. 

 

The effect upon the teenaged bitch was immediate and electric.

 

 

I felt him hit my elbows and myself falling to the bed underneath him.  Then I couldn’t help it, I was screaming as the full length of his huge erection was rudely and unexpectedly rammed into me to the hilt.  He hit something inside me and it felt like he was about to rupture me, and then suddenly, that particular excruciating, blossom of piercing pain subsided. 

 

A part of my mind noticed his scrotum slapping me between my legs---and then, suddenly, everything else hit me---I felt like a telephone had been driven into me and I was being torn in half.  It felt like nothing I’d ever felt before.  I knew he must have torn my flesh with this initial drive into me as I lay beneath him screaming for him to stop.  Within seconds, he had muffled my screams and shrieks for mercy by pushing my face into the bedding. 

 

I don’t think he cared about what I said as much as the fact that my voice was annoying him. 

 

It was awful!  His weight was heavy upon me and he used it to keep me pinned.  He didn’t move again for almost a minute.  He just lay between my legs and upon me and kept my hips pinned beneath his while my face was pushed into the mattress. 

 

My legs were splayed wide apart and I had my hands up by my shoulders as if to do a pushup but I was helpless.  I could feel his hard thighs pushing against the back of my legs and his weighty, hard muscled body lay upon me, piercing me and keeping me from breathing. 

 

At first, I was blinded by tears running down my cheeks, but slowly, finally, it seemed that I had started to become, if not at least used to his giant presence inside me, numb to him. 

 

 

Bossman lay upon M and kept her speared with his erection as he looked at her sweaty blonde hair beneath his face.  He gloried in the feel of her beautiful tight, white ass as it clenched upon him and then let go, only to grab him again and again.  He loved the way his thighs brushed against the insides of hers and how her nylons felt against his legs as they ended at the tops of her thighs. 

 

Like a thief in the night, he gloried in the multitude of sensations he was able to take from her body; her tight asshole around his cock and her muscular buttocks erotically pushed into his groin, the backs of her nylon covered legs rubbing against the front of his thighs, her narrow waist and firm, sweaty back and soft skin beneath his belly and chest, the clean smell of her long blonde hair in his face, the strangled sobs and soft cries of pain---it all overloaded his senses. 

 

Finally, he knew that it was time to begin the dance that would decide M’s ultimate fate.  Wolf began to move his hips in a slow, yet irresistible movement that wouldn’t be denied, which could never be stopped.  M again began screaming and after a moment, he stopped again.  

 

He was pleased with her so far, because regardless of all of her screaming and obvious pain, she had never once tried to buck or throw him off of her.  Even though she was still too vocal in accepting the discomfort due her as a pleasure slut, he was glad she had finally appeared to learn to accept her new role in life.

 

 

God, he’d started pounding into me again and he wouldn’t stop.  I cried and screamed as he pulled out of me and then did the same again as he drove back into my rectum again.  Finally, after about a dozen long, deep thrusts into me, he stopped for about a minute and kept his erection buried inside me all the way again. 

 

I had my eyes closed and couldn’t see anyway because of my tears---and the worst part was that I couldn’t seem to catch my breath either.  It was as if his existence so deeply inside my body somehow prevented me from breathing---it wasn’t the pain his presence there caused---that was overpowering, but that still wasn’t it. 

 

Rather, it was as if his physical presence somehow took up all of the space I needed for breathing.  It was as if his existence so profoundly deep inside me somehow stopped my diaphragm and lungs from working, making it harder for me to inhale, infinitely more difficult to breathe. 

 

At the same time, the bottomless depth in which his iron-hard flesh was buried in mine was still causing me great pain---but in a way that made me feel like maybe I would soon be anesthetized there if he didn’t move too much--perhaps there was a possibility I could finally learn to please him this way if only he’d allow me the chance, and the time necessary.

 

 

After giving her a moment to recover, Bossman told her to get on her knees again, but to leave her forehead on the mattress.  He had to mostly pull out of M and take his weight off of the teenager’s hips in order for her to be able get her ass back in the air for him again.  She struggled up though eventually, and when she had finally succeeded in getting her hips back where he wanted them, he again entered her. 

 

This time he was able to quickly penetrate her but chose to give her only about two inches.  Even this minimal entrance brought another heartfelt scream from her though, and again he temporarily pushed her face into the mattress to muffle her.

 

 

Listen through your screams to the wind still whispering: Don't give up -- Surrender!

-Eric Ganther

 

When Victoria had finally gotten back on her knees, even as he pushed her face into the mattress, he ordered her to begin masturbating herself with her left hand.  At the same time, he was now able to grab both of her breasts and use them, like giant reins, to pull her body towards his hips. 

 

His hands were cruelly gripping and fondling her breasts and when she cried out in pain, he told her to move with the pain.  Eventually Victoria understood what he meant and she began to push on the mattress with her free right hand and back away from the head of the bed towards him in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his hands on her breasts.  He was pleased again with her level of obedience as she never stopped playing with herself with her left hand as she pushed on the bed and against him with her right.

 

Moving back against him also meant that her only chance of reducing the pain he was causing her breasts was to impale herself upon his huge cock again.  Refusing to think about anything, broken and perfectly tamed now, time after time she cried out or groaned as she determinedly forced herself upon him, never once wavering in her resolve to follow his every command and exchange the pain in her breasts for the pain of his full penetration in her ass. 

 

After a minute or so, she was grinding her ass against his groin, firmly fixed upon his cock again; she could go no further back against him.  She was continually groaning and grunting now, but whether due to his grasp on her breasts or his cock buried in her ass, he couldn’t tell. 

 

This was a great moment in their relationship, for he now had evidence that she’d been perfectly broken; that the feeling of independence which she’d professed to love so was gone and that she was his mentally as well as physically. 

 

 

I had backed onto him as far as I could and it hurt me a lot to do so, but he didn’t seem to care---he just pulled on my breasts and kept me pinned against his hips.  It was at this point that I began to realize the pain of him inside me was receding and that it was finally beginning to feel---if not good, then at least acceptable.  I later realized that the way he filled me at this point seemed beyond what my physical body could hold and that he had extended the walls of my body beyond their material limits---and that it was this feeling of total lack of control over both myself and everything around me that had begun to drive me towards my first anal orgasm.  I smiled at him then, even the smile offered was tentative, had the feel of a forged document.

 

I was finding that for me, while accepting him like this caused me a lot of pain at first and not much pleasure yet, the erotic part---the part that would later really turned me on---was the act of submitting to his will and doing something that I would never have considered on my own.  I’d reached a crossroads and had to turn left or right.  I made my turn and this single act of my willingly offering to him every aspect of my freedom automatically exempted him from the laws which ruled average men and women, this freedom allowing him to do wonderful things to me.  I felt his paintings upon my body featured freely brushed strokes of love, if not tenderness. 

 

This time, when he started moving inside me again, it still hurt, oh God, did it still hurt, but somehow a perverse part of me wanted more.  I cried out as he pulled out and then I screamed again in some pleasure as plunged back inside me again.  Eventually, I began to feel a need and a passion I knew I would never have experienced if I had given up, if it wasn’t for him. 

 

 

He had her back up on her hands and knees again.  He’d released her breasts and had two large handfuls of her long hair.  Like her breasts, he was using these like reins too.  When he pulled hard on her hair, it forced her head up a little but mainly it forced her to do a grinding motion with her ass as she backed into him to take the full length of his erection inside her.  When he let go of the pressure on his ‘reins’, it allowed her to lower her head a little and she would then slide a couple of inches off of him. 

 

Panting as if she’d run a mile, she crouched like an animal beneath him, taking it up the ass just like all of the others had---having a gorgeous bitch hanging off of his cock like this felt great.  He knew now that she was a keeper and it made him feel good.  With him holding handfuls of her hair, it gave him pleasure to be able to pull her head to the side every now and then so that he could see her face better.  He liked looking at his slutty pleasure slave’s faces when he took them like this.  This one’s eyes were still closed, but her mouth wasn’t open to show her pain.  Instead, it was now open to enable her to give voice to the pleasure he was brought her. 

 

Every now and then, she’d turn her head so that she could look at him over her right shoulder.  M’s face was beautiful, and she kept her beauty even as he knew that he was hurting her.  She’d smile even as he forced another groan out of her, and then she’d face ahead and continuing taking it in the ass like the whore that he’d always known had been hidden inside her for the last nineteen years.  The last time she looked at him for his approval, he pulled on the handful of her hair on that side of her face and held it so that she had to continue looking at him.  At the same time, his other hand grabbed her hip and then he thrust and lifted with his hips at the same time in order to change the angle of his penetration into her ass; he knew full well that he would hurt her with this move. 

 

He watched with satisfaction as her eyes fluttered shut and he could see the wattage go out of the tentative smile on her face as she was temporarily overcome by the pain he offered her.  But she willingly accepted even this anguish as the price for her being allowed to remain where she was, on her hands and knees being fucked in the ass by a giant black cock.

 

Looking down at her hips, he could see her stretched asshole grasping at nothing as he pulled all the way out of her.  He looked at the massive head of his cock and noticed with perverse satisfaction how it was almost that thick at the base.  Then her asshole was blotted out as he drove into her again and he felt her weight back on him.  She made a long ululating sound as he penetrated her this time and her cry was definitely one of pleasure and not pain. 

 

She hung off of his cock like an ornament on a Christmas tree, pinned and squirming, and like every other women before her, it felt wonderful.  Unlike the others though, M seemed to be able to put pressure on him the whole length of his erection and not just at the base with her sphincter.  It felt like her rectum was vacuum packed around the length of him, not just tight on one tiny part.  The feeling was unlike anything he’d previously experienced and he concentrated on cataloguing all of the sensations associated with it.  This one, he thought to himself, might even be around longer than most of the others as long as she kept her looks up. 

 

 

Nothing takes a sexual experience from 0-100 faster than anal.  With anal, I can go balls-deep without having to worry about hurting her.  Plus, she literally goes into a trance-like state when I’m plowing her anally.  A state vaginal doesn’t readily get her to.  You know what’s better than one hole?  Two!  And if she’s into it, I’m having it!

-Anonymous

 

At the end, when he entered me from the rear, it gave me such a keen feeling of beautiful fullness that any remaining pain was literally outside my body; a delicate yet intense feeling of cramping and distension which came as if it occurred in someone else’s bowels.  I knew my knees were spread obscenely wide as I crouched helplessly underneath him and he continued to give me the exquisite love/pain thrusts from which I no longer desired to escape.  

 

He kept taking longer and deeper strokes into my rear, always controlling my hips and legs with his body; he pulled on my hair and with his massive cock, he drove my body ahead of him as a great tsunami pushes the smallest boat.  The way he held me now, I could not avoid anything, but rather had to willfully accept everything he did to me.  While his hips controlled the entrance to my body which he now filled with incredible ease, he controlled the rest of my body and mind with his hands and voice alone.  This was what I found so erotic; he was my Master.

 

I looked at him unabashed adoration as he gave me what I hadn’t even known that I needed.  I wanted to stay like this forever.  I worshiped at his feet; I idolized the way that he kept me frozen on my hands and knees, taking whatever he wanted and giving me what I needed.  I tried to look at him to let him know how I felt, but he would pull my hair and force my face back to the front.  After he did this twice, I knew I had erred.  He then punished my insolence even more by lifting up with his hips as he drove into me once more, forcing me to arch my back and pelvis to reduce the ripping agony of accepted him,  My whole body unconsciously responded to the additional pain he offered with this single move.  God, how I loved it once the initial crushing wave of pain had passed!

 

He took me high and then made me come down again, rode me up and then forced me down again, never allowing me any release.  The constantly changing sensations finally began to help me understand what it was all about.  His giantness inside me caused more than fullness, he had given me this pain on purpose.  But it was my anguish, my helpless reaction to him ripping and tearing inside me which gave him pleasure; and giving him pleasure was now what my whole life was dedicated to. 

 

I began to take the pain he brought me and used it to take myself high into the sky when suddenly, finally, I came down in shock as I heard myself screaming to him, “Deeper, give me all the cock you’ve got!  If you want more you black bastard, then take it.  Deeper!  Rip me in half!  Fuck me, hurt me, take me!  I want it all!”  He was my Master and he deserved to be able to do this to me.

 

 

He now began a furious fucking motion and it was at that moment that they both began their first true ride up together and then they exploded simultaneously in both sound and feeling.  They rode that rocket to the skies again and again, and finally one more time.  Her screams of passion rose and rose again until her voice cracked like a cheap mirror, leaving her with only groans and moans to convey the emotions which filled her.  Always aching and in wonderful pain, her rectum still gripped and sucked him in, demanding more of him and he always responded.

 

Then it was over, with quarts and gallons of semen flooding into Victoria as her orgasm exploded and consumed both of them in its fires.  Her body shook beneath him, the breath driven from her lungs and the sight from her eyes.  Lacy, delicate waves of release washed over her as the need never before identified was finally satisfied.  He collapsed on top of her back and the two of them lay there while her uncontrollable muscle contractions slowly subsided and left her uncaring and unknowing.  She never felt it when he finally pulled out and released a flood of their mixed fluids to run down her crotch and puddle on the mattress.  She felt only the wonderful feeling of nothingness and contentment which followed the explosion of her long denied first true anal climax.

 

 

I knew now that I had been waiting my whole life for an aggressive man, one who made me feel helpless and needy, one who dominated me completely.  Thinking of the man who desired me, I knew that I wanted him to take me by force rather than by insincere gamesmanship.  I’d have opened my heart to let enter any male who wanted me more than anything else in the world, who would risk anything he possessed to have me.  An Alpha, not a Beta.  No soy drinkers need apply.  Most men don’t understand what happens to women and especially to a woman like myself.  But perhaps a few do, and to That One I had said, I’m ready, I am ready and waiting.  And the Master had responded.

 

I knew now what I was.  I was his; his to play with and his to hurt and his to love.  Whatever he wanted to do with me was alright, because I would be giving him pleasure in it, and that was what now all counted in my life.  Letting him decide what he wanted to do to me and with me would give me all the pleasure, and discipline, that I deserved.  Right now, it was my time to suffer.  I knew my cervix was bruised, my vagina ached and throbbed; my rectum hurt and I think that, despite my month long preparation, he’d torn my flesh when he first entered me there.  But I will recover and I was willing to accept this, and so much more, in order to remain with him.

 

 

Wolf lay in bed and looked at Victoria.  He was exhausted and filled with a general feeling of pleasure and well-being.  He’d gorged himself upon M’s body tonight.  Over the weeks he’d had her, she’d proved to be all he’d hoped she would be.  She’d taken everything he had in every way that he’d desired, with no complaint and in the end had somehow been able to beg for more.  She was still naïve and relatively untrained for a pleasure slave.  But what she lacked in training, she now more than made up for it in beauty, enthusiasm and sheer physical ability.  Mentally, she already accepted the fact that she belonged to another, had given up all pretenses to innate freedom and rights and privileges. 

 

He was fatigued and his loins tingled with a pleasant sensation of exhaustion.  Their sex that night had been an endurance contest and they both were exhausted.  She was now sleeping next to him, lying on her left side and holding on to his arm with her right hand.  He had allowed her to remove her high heels, but had her leave her garters and stockings on. 

 

Every now and then she would give out a soft snore.  He looked at the teenage beauty again, at the lingerie she still wore.  Like many men, he would wake up in the middle of the night with a raging erection.  Unlike them, he ensured he always had the option of rolling over onto a slave like this and taking her without warning or preparation.  In addition to the sheer physical release this unnecessarily brutal, but incredibly pleasing act gave him, the initial shock and the screams provoked from his bedmate always helped to reinforce both the helplessness of her situation and the position that she filled in his life.

 

He thought of the two young women he’d recently sold to the pimp in Mexico City; Megan, the Irish redhead and Bridgette, the brunette from France.  He always liked to keep a couple of pleasure sluts around and he had been annoyed with himself.  He’d screwed up because he’d sold these two before he’d had their replacements trained.  He’d wound up having to use one of the local girls and he didn’t like doing that.  He had to be a lot more careful with them than he did with the women that he kidnapped, and in the end he’d just sent her home again with a lot of money. 

 

M was going to be a great piece of ass, but he’d been a little pissed that he’d had to go over five days between getting laid.  He’d built up a nice little load waiting for her to finish her training and he knew that he’d probably be tempted to take out his frustrations on her over the next few days.  He’d have to watch for that.  But she was a big girl and he knew that she could take it.  Hell, she may have been a tight-assed little virgin when she was home with her parents, but from what he’d seen of her tonight, she’d probably love being disciplined and mistreated!  Well, she’d love it as long as it wasn’t too over the top. 

 

He’d ordered the pair of girls sold because he’d just suddenly had enough of the French girl.  Frustrated, he’d sold them as a pair and had been paid over $50,000 for them—they were still that exquisite.  They were now working on the second floor of a small hotel in the worst part of one of the worst cities on the continent.  He’d kept them for about a year and a half until he got tired of Bridgette’s whining.  She’d become exceedingly disrespectful, trying tell him what she thought he needed to do to/with her and with Megan, as if she knew Megan’s body and her body better than he did. 

 

In all honesty though, he had to admit that he felt a sense of pleasure at the current situation.  He’d finally realized that most of his desire to be rid of Bridgette was pretty simple---she’d put on more weight than he liked while he was gone.  Leave it to the French to eat too much bread, he thought to himself.  He’d had her disciplined, but she’d retained enough remnants of her naturally brash and impetuous personality that it had turned out to be a continuous battle despite her situation. 

 

So, instead of putting her still shapely ass on a starvation diet and continue keeping them around, he’d just decided to sell off both girls and bring in some new blood.  It was a pity about Megan; the beautiful redhead from Ireland hadn’t really deserved being sold as a whore along with Bridgette, but life can be a bitch when you’re at the wrong place at the wrong time.  In truth though, he really did have to admit that he was rather pleased with the results of his decision at this point.  He leaned over and whispered softly into M’s ear, but she didn’t awaken.  He gave a sigh and leaned back again. 

 

Wolf had watched television in the study this evening just before M had been delivered and he’d seen the woman on TV that had haunted his dreams for so long and who had forced his life into the twisted turns that he had taken over the last thirty years.  This was the woman that had told him, “You’re not the one.”  This was the one upon which he’d always vowed vengeance.  But he’d also thought that the reality was that his talk of revenge had been nothing more than that—an attempt to pacify his male ego.

 

She’d been on television a lot over the last month and she had aged tremendously during that time.  He quite appreciated that the television camera was not kind to her; that the lens of the camera always showed her as she was now and not as she used to be.

 

Wolf looked over at M and stroked her perfect breast lightly.  She awoke for moment and smiled at him and then nestled back to sleep still hugging his arm.  He wondered to himself, had she heard him just a second ago when he’d whispered in her ear, “Don’t put on any extra weight.” 

 

He looked at her breasts and saw the remnants of the telltale blush that so betrayed her emotions regarding him and he smile to himself.  He thought again about the woman whom he had hated for so long and he thanked that stupid woman for her carelessness. 

 

She looked awful, and he tried to imagine the anguish that could make someone age so greatly over the space of only a few weeks. 

 

He thought to himself with a smile, having your only daughter kidnapped and disappear without a trace can do that to a person.

 

 

Epilogue

 

It's an illusion, control, Naomi said.  You ought to understand that by now, young Claire.  We are never in control of our destinies, even the strongest of us.  All we can hope to do is not be too badly damaged by events.

-Rachel Caine, in Black Dawn

 

The efforts never stop, the operations always continue. 

 

Somewhere late at night a whispered plea for help is received on an old-fashioned cassette tape.  The agonized appeal is accompanied by a request for silence until all is resolved.  Voice verified, a decision is reached.  Quickly dressing, a rendezvous is made with the source of the tape.  A short, vicious struggle ensues and all is quiet again.  Still later, a boat departs in the middle of the night and all is still once more.

 

 

She awakened in the morning and blearily looked around her.  Over thirty-six hours had passed since she’d been kidnapped, but she was unaware of this as they’d kept her unconscious the whole time.  All she knew was that her tongue tasted awful and her jaw ached.  While her mouth was filled with her saliva, her lips were parched and dry. 

 

What the hell was going on?  She was groggy and felt nauseated every time she tried to move.  Her head felt like a balloon as it wobbled on her shoulders.  She tried to say something and only then noticed that she’d been gagged!  She struggled for a moment, but ran out of breath quickly and soon realized it was useless.  She became aware then of the sweat beading her body, running in small trickles off of her bare chest, stomach and thighs.

 

Her long blonde hair covered much of her face.  Weakly shaking it out of the way, she raised her head and glanced down at herself.  The woman wished then she had not, for she realized for the first time that she was naked and lying spread eagled on a bed---that wide leather straps had been put around her ankles and wrists and that her hands and feet were bound to the bed posts. 

 

For some reason her hips ached something awful, it hurt to move her butt and all she wore was a pair of red high-heels.  She tried to rise off of the bed, but failed.  Panic blossomed in her mind then and threatened to overwhelm.  But she was a person well-known for her self-control; she took deep breaths and the walls stopped closing in.  With this, the panic began to die too.  After another moment, she was able to conquer all of her fear through sheer will power and now began to look around the cabin. 

 

 

The man sat in the corner, silently watching her.  He knew everything about this woman—he should for he had been studying her for months.  This was a beautiful woman and he knew things about her which bode well for his needs, he just had to uncover them.  But there were things he’d discovered about her that made him think that she too had needs that as yet remained unfulfilled; deep and profound itches which as yet remained unscratched. 

 

Furthermore, she was arrogant and a control freak, and it would be interesting to see how she reacted when she first realized that she’d forever lost control over every aspect of her life. 

 

He had a feeling his life had just gotten a little more interesting.

 

 

She lay unmoving for several minutes, her mind floated, half deadened by the aftereffects of the drugs she’d been given.  What had happened?  The last thing she remembered was……… 

 

Oh God!  She’d run out of the house wearing only an old pair of sweats, and then……..

 

The kidnapped woman struggled for a second time, but finally gave up when she realized she was bound to the bed in a way which ensured she would never free herself without assistance.  Still deeper inside her, panic began to coil its unbidden way around her heart. 

 

The air was muggy and her body was now finished all over with a thin sheen of perspiration which gleamed in the morning sunlight.  Her nipples stood erect from her exertions and she had difficulty in getting enough air to breathe through her nose because of the gag in her mouth.

 

The bound woman knew this had to be nothing more than a bad dream and soon something would happen to wake her up; she’d be able to laugh about it in the morning and perhaps even jokingly tell others about it. 

 

 

He’d been sitting in the chair for over an hour, waiting for her to come out of her drugged sleep.  She’d been porpoising in and out of consciousness for the last fifteen or twenty minutes and he figured she had about as clear a head as she was going to get, considering all the drugs they’d kept her on for the last day and a half. 

 

He’d always made it a rule he would be the first to sample any new bitch’s wares and in situations like this, he liked to be there when they woke up.  It tended to take a lot of the fight out of his new women when they were first confronted with their new reality by a man built like him. 

 

He liked to take them before they’d had a chance to gain control of their fear, to figure out what was going on---before they’d had a chance to gather their willpower and the determination to fight their captors. 

 

He knew it was disorienting as hell to the women he took, waking up this way; it was done purposefully for just that reason.  There they were, coming out of a long drugged sleep, still confused as to what the fuck had happened.  And then he immediately mounted them like the sluts they were and literally gave them the fuck of their lives. 

 

The whole crew then came after him and by the time the first day had ended the women were physically exhausted, emotionally traumatized, sexually degraded and generally in great pain from their first gangbang. 

 

Psychologically, most females were totally helpless against this continuous male onslaught, and while at the end of a long day of getting their brains fucked out, a few may have had the faintest desire to continue to struggle against him, most had no idea of how to fight what seemed to be a continuously overpowering physical force.  For most, that was the secret—never give them any more time than was absolutely necessary. 

 

But this one could be interesting.  Surprisingly resilient, for one of her age and life experience, she had to be one of the mentally toughest females with whom he had worked with in a while.  But he knew the secret to dominating a woman like this was to never give her the time to gather her wits or to marshal her will power, never allow her time to rest, time to think, time to plan.  Never, ever. 

 

Fuck ‘em up at the beginning and never let up on the pedal—no time to recover, no time to sleep once it began.  It was just another set of tools he used to keep his life full of broken women.  It had worked with all of the others and he had no doubt that it would work with her.  Soon, sooner than she would ever have believed possible, she’d be willingly fucking them all, taking it in the ass and sucking on all of their dicks, just like the natural-born whore he was sure she kept hidden away, locked deep inside her mind.

 

 

There are two types of pain in this world.  Pain that hurts you.  And pain that changes you.

-Anonymous

 

Controlling her fear and forcing herself to be calm a second time, the kidnapped woman began to look around the place in which she was confined.  She noticed some cheap nautical looking furniture and when combined with the round windows and gentle rocking motion, it finally clicked---she was on a boat. 

 

Finally, the nude, bound woman noticed a black man sitting motionless in a chair across the cabin.  Her breathing instinctively became shallower.  The muscles of her throat tightened, closing it down, just as the muscles on the insides of her thighs strained to pull her legs together.  She had never felt so vulnerable before in her life. 

 

She wanted to cry then, but wouldn’t allow herself that luxury--nor him that victory.  If she started down that road filled with weakness, she knew she would never stop. 

 

Motionless, he was like a huge statue, medium brown in color and with muscles jutting out all over his body.  Part of his face was wreck, but it was difficult to tell because one side was covered in a fantastic, fanciful tattoo. 

 

A chill ran down her spine, the first she could remember feeling in over twenty years.  He was a monster, the Devil personified. 

 

She writhed then in another futile attempt to attain a position which left her vulnerable nakedness less exposed to his view, but she was once more unsuccessful in this.

 

He sat in the chair for a long time without saying a word, just watching, just looking.  The man in the chair finally gave her a slight smile and then he stood up and said, “Good morning.” 

 

He was a big man, even bigger than he had appeared while sitting in the chair.  Turning so that his back was to her, he started undressing, taking off only the swim trunks that he wore.  Face now filled with horror, she began to struggle frantically then, making the incoherent mewling noises that were her only method of crying for help.  He had a massive build, and his buttocks and the backs of his legs writhed with muscle as he folded the trunks and laid them on the chair.  Then he stood upright and said, “Listen to me and listen carefully.  How your next few weeks go depend solely upon you.” 

 

 

This was a beautiful woman.  He’d seen her before, dressed up for television and despite her age, had thought her ravishing then.  He now knew she was even more gorgeous in person than it had seemed might be possible.  He was looking forward to seeing how his man dressed her after she’d been broken and had entered the training phase. 

 

His crew had some very high quality raw material with which to work this time.

 

Finally, he turned and slowly began walking towards her.  There was nothing here he had done to himself, it was purely genetics for him.  But nonetheless, he loved this part for it was always the same.  The captive women would look at him the first time, then they’d…

 

LOOK.  AT.  HIM.

 

And their eyes would open wide and their pupils would dilate and their heads would begin thrashing from side to side as they tried to free themselves from their bonds.  But they never could. 

 

He loved watching their faces when they saw him naked for the first time, especially their eyes.  The eyes never lied; he looked into their eyes and saw the light from their soul.  Sometimes, if they pleased him, he let them keep that light.  Other times, he’d snuff it out like he would an ant under his feet.

 

 

The world is so unpredictable.  Things happen suddenly, unexpectedly.  We want to feel we are in control of our own existence.  In some ways we are, in some ways we're not.  We are ruled by the forces of chance and coincidence.

-Paul Auster

 

The nude, bound woman looked at him and she felt a deep, awful, animal-like fear.  This couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t be real.  There were laws against this….rules that had been put in place to protect women…….women like her….she’d always worked so hard to be in total control of everyone and everything around her….. 

 

But it was and he was, and as he slowly approached her bed like the Prince of Darkness incarnate, it was then that her intellect fled and pure emotions took over.  She had always made her living with her mind and she despised those who lost their heads and panicked under pressure. 

 

Eventually though, a situation had arisen where her mind was of no use and, as a woman, a pathetically weak woman, even she too now felt only panic and fear.  She was truly feeling for the first time a woman’s deepest fear--that of being forced to accept the profoundly overpowering sexual will of a stranger like him.  Only because of his greater physicalness. 

 

And although her conscious mind had not yet registered this emotion, deep inside her there also was a part which gibbered its dread of the physical damage an abnormally developed monster like him might cause her. 

 

A beautiful woman from a supportive and caring family; an intelligent, educated and progressive woman with an extremely successful career in law---none of this mattered anymore.  She had spent so many years of her life learning how to manipulate the system to her advantage and how to use it to reward or punish others.  It was always the system from which she’d derived both her strength and her power.  Many of her “victims” thought her a bitch of the first order as she used the system to beat them into the ground and grind them under her feet.  Despite the unfairness, she suddenly understood how, to their illogical minds, this might even seem to be payback for all of the pain she’d willfully caused to others. 

 

To them, it would now be her turn to experience hell, to experience that which she thought everyone had long left behind; the helplessness of the weak, the absence of the network of civilized laws and the beliefs developed over the last several thousand years which protected the vulnerable. 

 

But this time it was to be so much worse than she, than anyone could ever have imagined.  For, like a cork on the ocean, she’d been forcibly carried into a new world in which she had absolutely no control.  And yet, and yet, the act which she knew she was soon to be forced to experience was as old as time itself. 

 

This was a scene which had played itself out for millennium in culture after culture, but always under a set of laws different from that of civilization.  These were the “jungle rules”---and in the jungle, a single female alone was always dominated and eventually owned by an overpowering male presence.

 

She swallowed as best she could the saliva which had built up in her mouth.  Like a terrified rabbit in a trap, she watched him come closer and closer.  There was no softness in him anywhere and no mercy in his eyes.  But no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t do anything to stop him or to free herself.  She’d always been able to control everything before, especially where men were concerned.  Men were so easy to control, so easy to manipulate….if only she could talk to him……reason with him.  But she’d been gagged and this took away her persuasiveness and her logic, what might possibly be her most useful tools here.

 

The nude, bound woman heard him say something else, but it didn’t click at the moment because she was still in the throes of rage and disbelief.  Trembling inside before his power despite her belief in feminist values, she refused to show that fear--even as that fear of his overpowering toxic maleness radiated from her like waves of heat.

 

 

Civilization: a thin veneer over barbarianism.

-John M. Shanahan, in The Most Brilliant Thoughts of All Time (In Two Lines or Less)

 

The soft, muffled screaming soon began; it carried out over the water for quite a distance, but no one was there to hear except the sea birds.  The dulled sounds first forced from the bound woman’s throat began as harsh and inarticulate shrieks and screams of fear and pain and rage.  Within less than a day these cries of rebellion were turned by the remainder of her captors into the more typical muted grunts and soft groans of a freshly recruited slut that, while beginning to see the value of acting as if tamed by her trainers, was yet to be actually broken to accepting the harness of total sexual bondage. 

 

In the end, she was a magnificent female, and she fought them for over two days before finally, truly giving them what they desired.  And what they desired was nothing less than total capitulation, total truth, and full liberation of the once-hidden inner woman. 

 

The men loved to sit on deck and listen to the shifting sounds coming from below, the new music that followed the old, all coming from the woman’s throat as she finally began to accept the requirements of her new life. 

 

And so, over the course of the following days and weeks, the emanations from this beautiful woman were forcibly changed, from the initial gasps of an intelligent, overly proud and dignified woman being sexually humiliated and tortured, to the softer mewling and begging and crying noises of a woman who had been physically and sexually broken.  A woman who knew her only purpose in life now was to please her Master and the men around her. 

 

These were the sounds of a mature woman who knew all too well what she had been forced to give up and what she now faced for the foreseeable future.  These were the sounds of a conceited and arrogant bitch who had finally been taught that each and every one of us has a master, and we all should only pray we never meet him. 

 

But all of these sounds too were dampened by the humid Gulf waters surrounding the hellboat.  Within only a few weeks after her unconscious body had first been brought aboard, the woman’s training had finished and she was taken to her new home.

 

 

Sexuality is a glory in a slave girl which sets her apart from free women...The sexuality of the aroused slave girl is incomprehensible to the free woman. It is nothing she will ever understand. It is a color she cannot see, a sound she cannot hear...

-John Norman, in Tribesmen of Gor

 

My name is M, it used to be Victoria.  It has been fifteen months since he took me.  I am being driven in a jeep over a rough trail to another small village.  My Master owned over 40,000 acres stretching from Caribbean beaches in the east into the western part of the San Jose Province of Costa Rica.  There are at least six small villages on his property and this was the third I’d visited in the last four months for a “shopping” expedition. 

 

I was familiar with the term “middens” now and these places definitely qualified.  I am scheduled to visit one village every two months and apparently my Master has one other female slave who alternates “shopping trips” with me.  The Master trusts us both now and this means every village is graced with a visit from one or the other of his pleasure slaves at least twice a year. 

 

It seemed Master will do anything to keep his “serfs” happy.

 

I know my life isn’t a fairy tale romance in which the heroine realizes her undying love for the hero after he’s finished with her.  There are no heroes or heroines in my story and there will be no happy endings here, forever after or otherwise.  I accept this.  I can’t imagine living with him, but I couldn’t imagine my world without him either.  I need him.  It is unspeakably selfish, but it is also honest.  As honest as he is with me.  

I need him.

 

I am known only as M now, or “Slave”.  I find I have embraced my new life with a passion I never felt for anything before.  I’ve adopted and accepted my new name as part of that new life.  I know I’ve been manipulated by him into being everything I am, but that really doesn’t matter.  For in the end, I came out of my shell and entered a different world, a new world entirely of his making.  And it was only fitting I embrace his name for me too.  All he’d done was move forward the point in my life at which I would have had to choose between my true nature and what I had mistakenly believed as a child.

 

I rarely feel any emotional stress regarding the decisions I have made about this man and how I now fit into his life.  Sometimes though, in a completely disconnected sort of way, I understand that I am being used, but it is by a man larger than life, a man who deserves to be in charge of my life, in charge of the lives of many weak women.  But I am the lucky one, for he looks at me and everything I do now, and he grins wickedly as he makes me a better woman. 

 

I am his, but even more important, he is mine. 

 

There were times I watch the earlier movies made of me on the boat and I can only shake my head at the naiveté shown by that young girl.  How obvious it was in hindsight I had fought my true nature with every breath I took.  But I’d come home now and that was all that mattered. 

 

I loved making love to him.  It was like making love to a wolf with a human heart, the beast holding its strength and instinct in check, aware what it could do with those powerful jaws, the vicious teeth, the instrument of death caressing me as gently as it would pick up a pup in that mouth.  It was frightening, and it was exhilarating, and it was this I had come to want most of all over the preceding months. 

 

Somehow, somewhere, I stopped being a victim and had instead become a survivor---just not the kind of one-dimensional survivor feminists love to promote, but a real survivor.  And if I have become a survivor in a way they cannot understand or agree with, then this is okay with me too.  Everything that happened to me in the past is just that, in the past.  I just don’t think about it anymore. 

 

I, nor any other woman, will ever tame this man.  Even thinking of that seems blasphemous.  The metaphor which best described the two of us was not the lion and the tamer, for only he would ever tame himself.  I had become used to my life.  And so, my metaphor would be that of the woman “married” to a werewolf, a creature considered by many to be normal in most times, but prone at times to a monstrous affliction. 

 

In the legend of the werewolf, the affliction came from an ancient curse.  In my man’s case, it came from a twisted and tortured childhood.  But the metaphor could be stretched no further, for he did fall upon strangers and terrorize the innocent.  His victims, like me, were the only witnesses to his transformations, the only ones who saw him, however briefly, in his monster form.  Despite my initial misgivings, I have come to accept this. 

 

My life became so much better when I stopped fighting him.  Instead, I have come to love the lingerie I was initially forced to wear.  He no longer needed to make me wear lingerie or sexy clothes or high heels, since I often did so anyway, but now just out of my desire to please him.  I have come to love the way the silky material feels on me and the way it makes me look—I can tell by the look in other men’s eyes that I am still attractive this way.  I love the tight, supportive feeling of the stockings on my legs and the glossy look of nylons supported by the garters I wear.  I like the way the high heels I wear all the time now make my legs look, and the way they allow me to look a tall man like him directly in the eyes. 

 

Even though still not necessary, I take more care with my makeup now.  And when he is with me during the day, I do my best to look enticing for him, dressing like the most beautiful models I see on TV.  At night, I always try to dress like the slut he wants me to be, wearing the sexiest and flimsiest items I can find. 

 

To me, sex is finally something special—a privilege---and while not always necessarily as intimate as I had dreamed it might be when I was a younger, I am comfortable with it and with what I am. 

 

I am with someone now who knows to treat me the way I need to be treated and I’ve found I respond to his coarse maleness with great desire.  I want to have sex with him all the time, the thought is rarely out of my mind.  Because of him, I’ve finally been forced to open up and discover what was always waiting inside me---and now I am ready to have sex with any man---but only if Master commanded me.  I’ve discovered that I like the male body….I just like everything about a man.  I like men’s firm, muscular arms and their legs that are so unlike mine.  I like to grab men’s asses, to feel their great muscles there.  I like men’s hard bellies—and if he has that beautiful treasure which hangs below---that is all I care about.

 

 

We do not choose our Masters nor is it up to us, whether or not we will please them, or to what degree.  We must strive be perfection all ways, for anyone.  That is part of what is to be a slave.  In reconciling myself to bondage I had, also, to reconcile myself to this condition, it is a part of bondage.  It is something which the slave must accept.  Without it there can be no true slavery.  I had accepted this condition, at least theoretically, verbally acknowledging its incumbency on me, in my training.  Somehow, interestingly, this acceptance too, seemed liberating to me, it made my bondage much more real to me.  Too, interestingly, in its way, it also made it seem much more precious to me.

-John Norman, in Dancer of Gor

 

Wolf slowly let himself into the woman’s bedroom.  The air was warm and aromatic.  He sniffed then, smelling the wet odor of an aroused woman, and another even more distinctive smell, that of fresh sex.  She lay on the bed and as was often her custom now, she wore only the red high heels similar to those he had first given her upon her arrival. 

 

Upon his entry, she stretched and gave him a soft smile of welcome and respect.  One hand rose towards him, beckoning him to come back to her bed. 

 

This one was not M, who had matured nicely into her new life.  At first, he’d been forced to beat this one unmercifully for not being more respectful, but she only seemed thrive on his blows.  This was a woman who had a huge desire for and an incredible capacity to accept pain.  Of course, as her master, he had willingly accepted her challenge. 

 

It had been a long fought competition between two strong-willed individuals.  But, in the end, the struggle had been completed in the way he had always known it would be from the very beginning.  People teach you who they are under pressure.  That’s when you see all their failings, all their weaknesses.  And under his tutelage on the boat, this beautiful woman had looked deeply inside herself and had found a bottomless capacity for accepting pain which could only be filled by blows from the man she acknowledged as her master.  But before accepting him as that one man, she had fought him, oh, had she fought to make him prove his worthiness to own one such as her. 

 

Wolf mused to himself, our body feels pain to warn of us danger, but it also reminds us we are alive—that we can still feel.  That’s why some seek it out, and others choose to give it.  As for the two of us, the sharing of pain connects us, she and I, and it reminds her that we are not alone as long as we can feel it, not as alone as she had thought she was. 

 

He walked over and looked down on her.  The insides of her thighs, her belly and her breasts were all bruised from where he’d hit her, but where before she had demanded physical brutality from him in raging defiance, now she required it as proof of the rightness of his control….and of his love. 

 

This once proud and arrogant woman had been completely tamed and humbled by him and his crew.  And if she fought, it was all a pretense now, for everyone knew what she was. 

 

Her overweening pride and conceit had disappeared, along with her dignity, with the first realization that the whore she’d hidden for so long inside had finally demanded to be let out.  Her false vanity about being above the vagaries of life and her arrogance over her place in the hierarchy of male/female relationships, both of these aberrations were gone now.  In turn, they had been replaced by the acceptance of her new life, as being the lowest of the low, available to any man or woman, as long as they could master her. 

 

Wolf had never understood men who let a woman control them, no matter how accomplished she might be.  Because he kept her hidden away for himself now, no one would ever know this was an extremely intelligent, exceptionally well-educated woman.  For despite her native intelligence and education, the men on the boat had been amazed when after only two and a half days she’d finally realized her true nature, releasing it, embracing it, for all to see and appreciate.  For, once broken, there was almost nothing she would not willingly do for them—all they’d had to do was suggest, not demand, and she enthusiastically complied—as long as they continued to demonstrate they were worthy of her sacrifice. 

 

She’d looked fabulous as they dressed her up, appearing on the outside like the most sophisticated of wealthy women.  But in the cabin of the boat and lying upon the bed upon which so many women had been raped until senseless, she truly became the most wanton of whores, greedily consuming every awful thing they did to her and often demanding more even as she recklessly continued to insult them just to earn the desired additional punishment. 

 

The other thing about her was her incredible ability to take being fucked by massive cocks in both her pussy and in her ass.  To not only take it, but to love and demand it from him.  It truly was amazing---this woman was all pussy and ass, and he had never seen another quite like her.  She’d fought the anal love-making at first, perhaps because there was no love involved or maybe because she had been taught as a child that it was something forbidden, shameful. 

 

But, over time, the needs of a stronger mind won out over the reluctance and hesitation of a weaker body.  Masochistic to an extreme, in the end, the more they could hurt her this way, the more she wanted it that way.  And finally, she’d been stretched until she could easily accept any man including him, and still get pleasure from the encounter.  And she was that one-in-a-million woman who never seemed to suffer any physical ill-effects from it. 

 

She might still fight him at times but it was pretty much all role-playing now, for this was a woman who had been well-taught her new role in life.  This was a slave female who had learned to like being sexually humiliated in every new way he could come up with as well as being physically beaten on a regular basis.

 

 

The woman held her hands out to him again, once more imploring him to re-enter the world of her bed.  He slowly dropped between the woman’s welcoming, wide-spread knees and as he began to take her for the third time in the last two hours, he thought to himself how profoundly pleased he was with both of his current pleasure sluts. 

 

They both were definitely his slaves, but they both were also natural-born sluts too.  So many women came through his hands that he could always afford to be incredibly picky about his personal sluts, but these two were quite spectacular. 

 

So different, but yet so similar.  The genetics of this one’s family must be amazing. 

 

And with that last thought, he thrust smoothly and massively into Victoria’s aunt Samantha.

 

 

How incredibly, and yet rationally and justifiably, I felt at his mercy.  He was my master.  He owned me.  He could do whatever he wanted with me.  He could trade me or sell me, or even slay me upon a whim, should he wish.  I was absolutely his, his girl.

-John Norman, in Slave Girl of Gor

 

Georges hit an especially rough piece of trail and the open top jeep began bouncing all over the place.  My long blonde hair flew loose behind me in wind-blown disarray.  I reached up and grabbed the roll bar with both hands to stabilize myself, but this allowed my unconfined breasts to be thrown all over the jeep.  If possible, my nipple chain seemed to be pulling the piercings out of both of my tits at the same time. 

 

Grimacing in frustration and no little pain, I put my arms back down over my chest and raised my feet up on the dash, where I was able to push in and keep myself braced in the seat.

 

It had been six months since I’d had my baby, but Master had not yet granted me the privilege of naming him.  For the first month, “baby boy” had slept in my arms, but no more.  Master did, however, allow me to spend one hour a day during the week with the infant and three hours on the weekend; that was enough to keep me happy. 

 

He’d not allowed me to breast feed because he didn’t want me to have stretch marks on my breasts.  In the same way, he’d ensured his staff kept my abdomen well-oiled while I was pregnant to avoid marking what he jokingly referred to as his property.  Master knew he now had a permanent hold on me, that I could no more abandon my baby and leave his estate than I could stop the sun from rising. 

 

I’d gained thirty pounds during my pregnancy, but with hard work and good genes I’d been able to throw off all of the effects of giving birth within a month.  I had my trim waist back now and Master had me on birth control.  While he didn’t particularly want any more children from his women, instead of getting me fixed, he told my next owner might want to impregnate me himself if I were purchased as a breeder. 

 

 

Punishments include such things as flashbacks, flooding of unbearable emotions, painful body memories, flooding of memories in which the survivor perpetrated against others, self-harm, and suicide attempts.

-Alison Miller, Healing the Unimaginable: Treating Ritual Abuse and Mind Control

 

My baby was beautiful.  Medium brown skin, fairly straight black hair and soft, chocolate brown eyes.  Six weeks after I’d given birth, another baby had been delivered at his mansion, but this one a girl.  This baby looked much like my son in that she had the same color skin and hair, and oddly enough, the same color eyes.  The staff passed rumors to me this baby’s mother was my Master’s other pleasure slave, although the mansion was so large I had never seen her myself. 

 

That’s not true, I corrected myself.  Actually, I’ve been with her numerous times, but we’ve just never been introduced nor had I seen her face.  Master had given me an exquisite black discipline hood made of the softest Spanish leather soon after my arrival.  When wearing this hood, one breathed through a small cutout area around the nostrils, but still remained totally blind.  If the three-inch penis gag which came with the hood was inserted into one’s mouth, one could not speak.  If the ear pieces were inserted, one could not hear.  When wearing the hood, my remaining senses were magnified and I soon came to love the uniquely intimate smell of sweat and saliva mixed with the aroma of its fine leather. 

 

One day, when I was only two months pregnant and had only the smallest of bellies, Master had brought this other pleasure slave into the play room off of my bedroom.  He informed me this was “B.”  It was clear Master had had two hoods made, for this woman wore one identical to mine except hers was a rich red color, the deep dark red of wet blood from a woman’s veins, not her arteries. 

 

Feeling tinges of jealousy, I took that opportunity to review my competition with a practiced, if slightly jaundiced eye.  B’s arms were bound high behind her back with her forearms and hands encased in a single red leather sleeve.  This sleeve was tightly connected by a small, yet ornate chain to the discipline hood after her arms had been pulled up high on her back.  She was my competition for his affection and the bitch truly was helpless.  I wanted to hurt her, but another part of me hesitated—doing something like that just wasn’t like me. 

 

B was naked except for her hood, arm sleeve and red pumps with four-inch stiletto heels.  She had a gorgeous body, with long and slender, yet shapely legs.  Obviously, B had danced sometime in the past.  Her calves were shapely by nature, but were made even more so by the heels she wore.  Her thighs were well-muscled and her ass firm and high. 

 

But the perfection of her skin was marred by a series of bruises on the insides of her thighs which centered on her genitals.  I felt a momentary sense of shame at first quick flush of pleasure I felt at her misfortune.  He had obviously beaten her severely with his fists sometime recently.  When he turned her, I could also see she had been marked by the whip on the back of her thighs, her ass and the small of her back.  As with me, her waist at that time was still small.  But both of us would soon balloon with our Master’s seed having taken root inside. 

 

Like me, B too had a bikini wax which left her vagina nude except for a thin strip of curly hair.  But unlike me, she had multiple rings piercing both of her labia.  Her hair was pulled up inside her hood, but judging from the dark blonde color of her remaining pubic hair, she was a natural blonde.  Her breasts were large for her frame and had small aureoles, while each dark pink nipple was pierced by a large golden ring and each ring was connected by a chain similar to my own. 

 

But even though an experienced pleasure slave who had been pierced and remained bound, this woman still seemed to hold herself with pride and even dignity.  Between her natural bearing and her arms pinned in back by the sleeves, she held her shoulders back as best she could while her breasts jutted out fearlessly from her chest without support. 

 

I watched her for a while, and then realized I was smiling.  I turned my back on her and gazed at the wall for a second, shocked and deep in thought….did I find her predicament amusing?  Why was I smiling?

 

 

After a victim is made to participate in an act of evil, the people in charge put a lot of energy into convincing the child or adult that he or she is evil and a perpetrator rather than a victim.

-Alison Miller, in Becoming Yourself: Overcoming Mind Control and Ritual Abuse

 

This other woman, my competition, was unaware of my presence.  Master led this unfamiliar female into my play room and tied her without struggle on her back with her legs in a spread-eagled position onto the low, padded bed there---B was still very submissive at this point.  Next, he’d ordered me to slowly caress the woman’s body all the while I was to talk to her, whispering into her ear, attempting to calm her with the reassurances I did not feel for her. 

 

But in this, no matter how often we have been brought together since that first time, I have never been successful.  B could obviously hear me because that first time, she made a startled movement when I began speaking.  After tilting her head away from the female who was her rival, she began to struggle mightily against her bonds.  But the stupid woman never could free herself. 

 

Our interactions together never changed early on.  She must have known I too was our Master’s other pleasure slave.  She resented me for it and hated it when I tormented her.  She would always go berserk in her attempts to free herself as I slowly licked her breasts and the sweaty naked skin between her legs.  Eventually, Master always had to hold B’s shoulders down.  When I finally began tonguing and eating this woman’s pussy, no matter how hard I tried to calm her fears, B would cry in her rage and frustration with me.

 

She was continuously being disciplined because of her inability to accept me.  For example, Master had given me a strap-on dildo to use on this slave.  It was an enormous black rubber affair, so large it made me fear hurting her.  Far larger than anything I could have comfortably taken, especially without significant foreplay to make me wet and my flesh more pliable, but Master assured me B loved it inside her, and so, at first I reluctantly obeyed. 

 

This was my first time to use one of these and I was always looking at Master for guidance, to ensure I was doing everything right.  Since the other woman was already tied to the bed, I laid down on top of her and after taking a moment to tell her what I was going to do to her so she wasn’t surprised, I plunged the giant lubricated piece of hard rubber into her already moist pussy with one move of my hips. 

 

B went berserk again, arching her body and bucking like a wild mare, attempting to throw me off of her hips and belly.  But as others had done to me so many times in the recent past, I just centered my weight on the other woman’s hips and held on to her asscheeks for the ride.  Quickly B became exhausted, less and less physical in her struggles, quieting down as her need for air increased. 

 

Soon we both were covered with sweat and finally, I was able to completely take this woman as my Master demanded.  I found this to be more like work than a pleasure I enjoyed. 

 

Yet, he seemed to immensely enjoy this sight, of me urgently fucking B with a giant strap-on dildo.  I lay each time between her widespread legs with the dildo buried from sight inside her vagina and my weight heavy upon her belly as I kept my head buried in the left side of her neck and my left ear near her nose.  I could easily hear her tortured breathing as its tempo increased with the movements of my hips. 

 

She proved to be a reluctant lover. 

 

It took a long time, much longer than I had expected, but I was nothing if not relentless in my pursuit of the woman who lay hidden behind the red mask.  Finally, she broke under me and I was able to make this unknown woman cum and then cum a second time. 

 

When I had finished with her, I rolled off of her sweaty body and lay next to her for a moment.  Again, strangely, she began crying again.  Softly though this time, as if her heart were breaking.  This was an odd woman.  I found B distressing and myself wondering, if she always acted like this with my Master, why would he keep her around?  I knew many women passed through his hands.  Seriously, he should sell her and take another, more appropriate slave from one of the islands.  Or maybe another North American, but one more suitable for this life.  Later, I realized just how much he had changed me if I was able to even entertain for a moment this kind of thinking. 

 

Master allowed us to rest for a short while, then he had me help him take B off of the couch and force her face down on a foam rubber cushion lying on the floor.  For just a moment, she did not struggle.  Once her ankles had been freed from the bed though, she again struggled against us and I found myself treating her harshly, perhaps more harshly than was actually necessary.  I cannot lie, I enjoyed beating her.  Clearly, this was a woman who needed refresher training in obedience and I was beginning to get frustrated with her constant defiance. 

 

It took both of us to finally subdue her and this was difficult for me because I was still wearing the strap-on dildo.  Even with her being bound and sightless and there being two of us, she put up a mighty struggle.  But in the end we prevailed---for as I have learned, he always wins in the end. 

 

With me sitting on her lower back, he was able to grab B’s ankles and finally spread her long legs, binding them to the ends of a metal bar which was about four feet long. 

 

With her again immobilized, he told me to fuck her in the ass with the dildo.  I really didn’t want to do this because I knew it could actually maim her, but Master was insistent.  Clearly, B could hear him and knew exactly what he was saying to me, for once more, even hooded and with her arms bound high on her back and laying on her stomach with her legs tied far apart, she still tried to struggle against her fate. 

 

I had been surprised at the amount of vaginal fluids secreted by B when I first took her with the dildo and was able to use these to now lubricate the rubber cock again.  She was my rival, and even though I was feeling more and more confident in our competition for his affection, a part of me took pity on her.  I only wanted to hurt her, not maim her.  Crawling once more between her thighs bound so far apart, but now from the other side, I reached down to spread B’s cheeks and then I looked at her anus. 

 

It looked just like I knew mine must look, so I knew that Master had re-sized this woman for himself too, just as he had me. 

 

Soon both B and I were slick with sweat from our struggles, yet B was still proving a distraction, shaking her head back and forth, and moving her hips and rear end in an attempt to make my target more difficult to hit.  All the while she maintained a continuous stream of mewling and pleading noises, the incomprehensible sounds emanating from behind her gag. 

 

I remember every detail of the small smile he had on his face as he heard me repeating in her ears over and over again, “Don’t make me hurt you.  Please relax and don’t make me hurt you.” 

 

Keeping B’s firm asscheeks spread wide open with my left hand, I finally hunched my hips and guided the rigid piece of rubber with my right, tentatively beginning the first moves that would result in implanting the huge artificial cock totally inside this other woman. 

 

Finally, it was done and I was a couple of inches inside my new lover. 

 

Even held down by Master and with my weight on her back, B had at that point still gave out muffled shrieks and fought me every step of the way.  It was obvious that B was a proud woman who had already been anally trained, but who was being forced now, against her wishes, to accept a new anal lover---or was she being punished for some infraction? 

 

Once I had slowly forced my way past B’s sphincter, things began to go much more smoothly for both of us.  As more and more of the giant, soft gel-rubber rod entered her ass, B struggled less and less.  For her, it was a hopeless act of defiance to fight this anymore, for it would happen.  And it would happen in exactly the way our Master dictated.  When I finally, carefully, pushed eight or nine inches into her ass, the woman was lying totally quiescent beneath me.  It was like she’d gone into a trance or something. 

 

Her anus had blossomed to perfectly accept the punishing rubber cylinder I now offered and her rectum appeared to receive the full thickness and each inch of length without difficulty.  Except for an occasional series of minute shudders which ran through her body, B now lay spread-legged and frozen beneath me. 

 

There were no more struggles nor did she make the slightest sound.  I knew I too would have laid still at this point, since this great, brutish thing would have ripped my intestines to shreds or nearly broken me in half.  She either had given up and was accepting everything I did, or she was in so much pain that she was afraid to move; I wasn’t sure which.

 

On Master’s order, I now hooked my toes against the bar that forced B’s ankles so far apart and I pushed against it, thus allowing me to use my thigh muscles as I began taking long, slow, even, deep strokes into my reluctant lover’s body.  Eventually, and despite what appeared to be her best efforts at not responding, the other female slave finally began to warm to me, moving and wiggling her buttocks against my groin in reaction to my slow measured thrusts in and out of her body. 

 

At the same time, I noticed that Master was now fucking her in the pussy with a giant jelly dildo.  The only sounds she was making at this point were exquisite moans of pleasure.  Amazed, I suddenly realized she was also pushing back on both tools, voluntarily taking them as deeply as her bound body could. 

 

I was astonished this woman could not only accept something this large inside herself, but had even somehow been taught to enjoy it too.  What had she been like in her other life?  What had been her story before being taken?  What must she have gone through to reach this point?  What had the crew on the boat been forced to do to turn her into this kind of a slut? 

 

Regardless of her history and despite my initial feelings of ambivalence, after everything I had already done to her, I found it exhausting to be fucking this woman in the ass this way. 

 

Not so on her part though, for by the end of our first time together the woman on the bottom had been giving out muffled screams of what could only have been enormous pleasure and enthusiastic encouragement, always pushing her pelvis up and grinding her buttocks into my groin in absolute anticipation of the next thrust. 

 

Filled with pleasure, Master laughed and laughed at us as we fucked, encouraging me to always dominate B and ensure she gave us whatever he demanded.  It was soon over again as her helpless body once more shook with one powerful orgasm after another, all brought on by her vagina and rectum being simultaneously filled with massive sex toys, tools actually meant for little more than feminine humiliation and destruction. 

 

To this one though, these characteristics, so brutal to other women and if I were to tell the truth, even to me, these seemed to make them even more desirable to her.  Perhaps this was only because she could not see who I was or what I was doing to her.  But still, she could feel.  She could tell these were not the normal toys used on a willing woman. 

 

What kind of woman wanted this?  What kind of hell had made her this way? 

 

B had cum again under me and I was finished now, or so I thought.  However, Master had me stand up and after removing the strap-on, he had me straddle B’s unmoving body and squat before urinating on her back.  I was mortified to be doing this to another person, but Master insisted and so I reluctantly complied.  The woman lying between my legs just laid there in her slowly increasing pool of warm urine and accepted the humiliating shower. 

 

After this, Master freed B by releasing her ankles from the bar.  But B still laid there for a minute without moving in the urine puddle.  It was as if she was recovering from a marathon or some extended endurance challenge, with her poor reddened rectum gaping open like a fish’s mouth. 

 

Then her shoulders starting shaking.  At first it was a small movement, but soon I could hear great heaving muffled sobs coming from within the hood.  Suddenly, I felt really bad about what I had done to this woman, but I knew in truth I’d had no choice. 

 

I also knew that roles here changed overnight and it might be she doing this to me tomorrow.  None of us here, except my Master, had any choices at all except to honor his will, whatever that may be. 

 

Pulling on the top of her hood, he made her climb to her feet unassisted out of the urine and this was difficult for her since she was still wearing the red pumps with the four inch heels.  But now her legs were weak and her knees trembled either from all of her efforts at fighting me or perhaps because of enjoyment at what I had done to her. 

 

In any case, she could barely walk, her shoulders were slumped as if in defeat and they shook as she still cried beneath her hood of blood red.  It was then that I slowly, gently wiped my urine off of her body even as I murmured gentle sounds of reassurance into her ears.  This tiny act of kindness, grudgingly allowed by my Master, brought on paroxysms of crying once more, and this time I knew her arrogance had been defeated for she cried like a mute baby under her hood. 

 

Though I know this is only my imagination, even her breasts seemed to sag in defeat now, hanging lower on her chest as if dejected, almost deflated in part.  Master finally led the poor hooded slave away and, a little troubled, I continued with my daily routine as a blank-faced maid quickly entered and cleaned up the tile floor.

 

I knew I had raped and sodomized my Master’s new pleasure slave upon his command, but I had not changed so much on the inside that I liked the way this made me feel.  When an inexperienced teenage girl on the hell boat, before I had come to know myself, I too had been repeatedly raped and sodomized---I knew exactly what this did to a person. 

 

The only thing which helped me through my initial time with B was my prayer that she realized I had no more choice in this than did she, and the forlorn hope that perhaps, at the end, she had somehow enjoyed, at least a little, our sex together.

 

 

Before we both gave birth to his infants, we were brought together numerous times after that first hooded introduction, and I was still never able to see my mystery lover’s face.  Sometimes she fought Master when he led her into my play room, on other occasions she seemed resigned to her fate as she was tied to my bed. 

 

Always though, after that initial tryst, however much she might initially have fought me, she responded enthusiastically to our sex in the end.  However reluctant my mysterious lover might have been initially, I somehow knew too in my heart that in the end she wanted me to do this to her.  Somehow, this feeling made it a little easier for me to continue. 

 

I have been with other women at my Master’s command since then, and I have learned to enjoy these times too.  Despite my instincts that she had accepted me doing these things with her, I must admit, for some as yet undiscovered reason and unlike all of these others, I still remain both troubled by my times with B and have never myself yet achieved any kind of real sexual release with her.

 

But Master assures me this will change—that all things change over time.  I am a mother now.  My giving birth to baby boy changed me as a woman.  It opened my eyes to many things about which I had previously been unaware.  It seems this event too has also changed B.  Master led B into my playroom for the first time a month after she had given birth and she appeared a new woman.  Wearing her now familiar leather hood and arm sleeves, she now almost pranced in a red bustier which left her full, pierced breasts pushed up and bare, and for the first time she wore a garter and sheer stockings that matched her red heels. 

 

Although I sense she is a little older than me, I somehow know the mystery woman in red is also a truly beautiful woman. 

 

I too was dressed differently at the insistence of my Master.  With my long blonde hair done up in a tight bun, wide severe black leather straps now crossed my body, emphasizing my buttocks and my breasts, and barely covering my pierced nipples.  On my legs I wore tacky black widow spider web hose held up by thin leather garters and custom-fitted, black leather boots that went up to mid-thigh and which had five inch stiletto heels---all of these things I wear now when with B just to please Master. 

 

And when I strap on the huge dildo, I know I must look very severe, very frightening to any who might see me dressed this way.

 

The female infant to whom she gave birth has changed the other woman too, for there is no defiance left in the unknown woman anymore.  There were no more bruises now, for she was much more behaved.  At least, I assume it is the child that has changed her.  Having given birth to a child, she just seems to accept her role in my Master’s life now. 

 

B now willingly enters into our lovemaking, exhibiting a wantonness which surprises even me in its depths and range.  She has a built-in location finder and demonstrates her desire for both myself and my rubber dildo, beginning as soon as he leads her into my playroom.  Her walk changes--she almost prances, walking with the exaggerated movements of a runway model, rolling her hips and pelvis, and thrusting her breasts at me.  The Master loves our new relationship and often belly laughs with mirth at what we three do. 

 

I no longer have to tie her down or her legs apart.  Without coercion of any type, she voluntarily consents to all the things I do to her now at his command---no, this is not totally right, this is not exactly what I sense about her now. 

 

She has now actually discovered a profound need that demands these things I do---and I sense in some way it is me she desires doing these things to her and not just anyone else.  I somehow feel she has abandoned any attempts to control her most intimate needs and there is now an inner compulsion which drives her to seek out domination by me, and me alone. 

 

And I sense this desire of hers for me requires being quenched, requires periodic relief just as much as she must crave his mastery and control.  I know what I now feel about B may not be logical, but it is what my intuition tells me.

 

The sight of us together always seems to bring Master great enjoyment.  I am ever pleased to see him smile and laugh, but find it strange it is always we two who bring him such great pleasure.  He never gags me but always gags my mysterious lover when we are together.  This I find somewhat odd and even a little frustrating, for I would like to hear her voice….unless it is her duty to always please him while muffled and mine to do so while free. 

 

I still hate the gag.  But Master knows this quirk of mine and no longer uses it on me very much now, preferring instead to hear me give full throat to the pain he renders when either in my playroom or on my bed.  Only when he has had a bad day or is in a foul mood does he bring out the gag and then I know that, with my body belonging to him, it is my duty is to give him the pleasure and the release he both needs and seeks. 

 

In this, I try to do my best, but for some reason I find it psychologically more difficult to accept and accommodate the pain he offers me when I’m wearing his gag.  Sometimes though, even this difficulty of mine seems to give him joy and delight.  However, I have learned to not question or second-guess my Master--the lessons gained along the route of this knowledge were painful and long lasting.

 

Master has recently assured me that soon, very soon, B’s hood will be off and we will each then assume new positions in our relationship.  He assures me I will be to B what he is to me.  That I will be taught to use the whip and the cane, the rope and the clamp and the pliers---and that she will learn to serve me as we both serve him. 

 

While I admit I do at times get pleasure in making this unknown woman cum for me, this pleasure is not always sexual but rather is more due to being able to so easily dominate her now.  However, I do not feel I will enjoy becoming this familiar with her and with making these kinds of demands upon her mind and body after that.  For this is a woman with a dark side to her that in some mysterious way makes me uncomfortable.  And as such, I would prefer that our contacts remain intermittent and impersonal--if they could ever be called that--and that she continued to be anonymous.  I actually feared further real intimacy with this unknown woman.  I did not want to know her, I did not want to see her face. 

 

While I was inexperienced when my Master acquired me, I had not been a complete novice.  I knew then what a Dominatrix was and I sense that he was preparing me for that role with B now.  This was not something with which I am necessarily comfortable.  Obviously, I cannot tell him this, but I think he somehow knows anyway.  This situation must have troubled me more than I had realized because that first night after I had dressed for my new role, I had a nightmare. 

 

I was in a room and I felt as if all of my surroundings, my whole life in fact, were illusions recorded on a series of slides.  And now someone had changed the slides.  There was no dizziness or disorientation.  Suddenly I was there, standing in a meadow, ankle deep in grass that was soft and blue-green under a cloudless sky.  A stream flowed by to my left and its sound was magnified in the still air, peaceful, as it rolled over the stones in its bed.  The meadow stretched on forever as if the world were flat and there were no horizon.  I could feel no sensation in my body or in my feet.  It was as if I floated or lived only in my mind.  I heard no sound---in fact, there was no sound in this meadow.  I was suddenly aware of clouds in the sky, or in my mind; I could not tell which.  But they were there, dark and foreboding, cooling the air.  There was a feeling of evil in the air, of impending violence.  Oddly enough, I found this exciting in a new and different way. 

 

Nevertheless, I knew that someone was there, just behind me.  I turned and she was there.  There was now a woman standing by the stream, staring at me.  I could not understand where she had come from, for the meadow was open and stretched empty for what seemed an eternity.  Nevertheless she was there and she was interested in me.  She took a few steps forward and I sucked in my breath. 

 

The woman by the stream was me, but she was the exact opposite of me.  This woman’s face was etched in cruelty and while she was astoundingly beautiful, it was the beauty of the hooded cobra or the well-tied hangman’s noose.  Her jet black hair was pulled back severely, framing her face in a mask of pure evil.  She was dressed all in black, in garments that might have been wet rubber. 

 

Her breasts surged beneath her top, diamond-hard tips pointing straight out so that one could imagine their nipples cutting and tearing any who would touch them.  Her legs were encased in sheer black nylons and her black pumps glistened.  In her hand she held the butt of a whip which snaked out over the grassland in front of her, lighting and smoking the blades of grass where it touched.

 

Suddenly, the woman opened her mouth and let out a soundless scream I could only hear in my mind.  I started as she broke into a run, coming directly at me, her whip uncoiling behind her, ready to lash out at my skin.  I held up my arm as if to ward off a blow, but then I realized the woman was moving in slow motion, jumping and gliding at a gradually increasing pace as she crossed the meadow.  I was immensely relieved for, though I was tremendously excited at the way her breasts bounced as she ran, I did not want to be injured.

 

Suddenly, the woman in black was intercepted in the center of the meadow by a woman dressed all in white.  All motion now returned to normal speed.  But somehow, even as they began to fight, I knew this other was me too.  But this was the me which had existed before I had been taken by my Master, an innocent child compared to what I was now. 

 

The woman in black was kicking out with her needle pointed shoes, but the other leaped and dodged like a gazelle, always out of reach.  The tip of the whip lashed out and touched the woman in white on the breast, leaving an ugly purple welt.  Then they were locked together, wrestling to the ground.  They ripped and they tore at each other.  The woman in white seemed untouched, but the other’s garments were torn and shredded.  Black garters and the ribbed tops of her stockings stood out against the stark white flesh of her thighs.  Her breasts seemed to leap and dart across her chest as she struggled with the woman in white.

 

They tumbled back and forth on the grass, beating at each other, kneeing at every sensitive area of the other’s body.  They rose to their feet and while still locked in each other’s embrace, finally toppled over into the stream.  The water from the stream splashed into the air, hovered for an eternity and then fell slowly back in a sheet of individual drops. 

 

They were out of sight, but then rose from the water a moment later two leviathans.  They were still locked in each other’s arms, but this time their embrace had a different quality; it was an embrace of passion.  The water had not only cleansed them, but it had miraculously healed them too.  Both bodies were now devoid of clothing, and shown white and clean from across the meadow. 

 

The legs of the two women were now intertwined and their hips moved back and forth furiously.  Suddenly, the women sank to the ground out of sight.  I tensed, then hurried to the stream.  They were nowhere to be seen.  I started to cry, not for what I had seen, but for what I had lost. 

 

And then I awoke.

 

This dream has many potent meanings and my unconscious mind was certainly trying to tell me something.  Perhaps it told me I had reached a critical point in my life; a point where I have the choice of either staying as I am or of becoming a darker version of myself.  And all of this depends upon whether I allow myself to delve too deeply into the seductive embrace of the Dominatrix.

 

Maybe my subconscious was telling me that darkness and light already exist inside me and I need to open myself to my mysterious lover in red.  And only by willingly giving her what I know she so desperately craves from me, will I be able to marry together the two separate sides within me and save myself.

 

Possibly, my mysterious crimson lover was represented in my dream by the woman in black.  But why then would she have my face?  And why was I excited in my dream by the thought of impending violence between myself….and myself? 

 

Perhaps this dream is telling me my crimson lover is more like me than I could ever know?  And that we share the same likes and dislikes, the desires and needs?  That the violence which she needs and which I do to her, in reality stimulates us both?  Although I do not believe this interpretation, if this is the case then I have done her a terrible disservice. 

 

 

Sometimes, when I long for baby boy but cannot hold him, I feel lonely.  For a while, for just a moment, I thought I’d felt a glimmer of the human kinship the Greeks called agape, without which, they said, one could not live a balanced life.  Despite my misgivings, I had wanted to know more about B.  But that glimmer had gone out when I asked the servants who this mystery woman was and what she looked like.  All of them would just look at each other in contrived confusion and scurry off or pretend they hadn’t understood my question.  Eventually, I stopped asking any questions.

 

For me, the oddest time had been when Master had brought us together when we were both seven or eight months pregnant.  Master had enjoyed seeing us spoon on a bed with each other, with pregnant belly extended and ground into the small of the back of another pregnant belly.  Even then, at eight months pregnant, I had thoroughly enjoyed touching this woman from the rear as we both lay on our sides. 

 

Again, she fought me when things went beyond that, and Master’s help was required to subdue her.  And as before, after her initial reluctance had faded, B had enthusiastically taken part in the sex between us and seemed to thoroughly enjoy being filled by the giant rubber phallus I wore. 

 

We both enjoyed anal sex now, although I felt relief when I coaxed Master into downsizing the phallus size—did B appreciate my efforts too.  .  

 

 

It is a beautiful moment when the woman realizes that the man who owns her is her love master, and the man realizes that the girl he bought, looking up at him, tears in her eyes, is his love slave.  Then the only danger is that he will weaken.  One must be strong with a love slave.  If one truly loves her, he will be that strong.  The slavery in which a love slave is kept is an unusually deep slavery.

-John Norman, in Beasts of Gor

 

There was other gossip about this mysterious slave woman although few of Master’s servants would talk to me of her.  It was rumored that life between my Master and this pleasure slave was lived in her bedroom; and at first, it was like re-living the great battles of World War II.  Much screaming and fighting, and both the giving and receiving of great pain would always precede the main event in which they fucked like animals, never leaving the bed for half a day.  I am not particularly jealous of this other slave now because Master always made sure I too am kept satisfied. 

 

There was also hearsay that B is also greatly in love with being hurt and that Master takes great pleasure in the pain he gives her.  These are things I can believe about her.  Even though I had never earned the dungeon, the other slave had moments of awesome rebellion in which she screamed terrible insults at my Master.  She was heard through the thick wooden door screaming “was that all he had?” and “why had he taken her for he was too old to satisfy a real woman.” 

 

I would never dream of doing this to Master and know he is correct to beat B mercilessly for behaving so badly. 

 

The consequences of her previous misbehavior were severe and I know this was a woman with a deep capacity to enjoy her discipline; that she has been taught well by our Master to deeply appreciate and love both the pain and anguish which he offered her, even more so than I. 

 

I have gone through much myself in these last few months and even though I try not to judge others, I feel she was almost demented in this aspect.  She pursues this outcome, over and over again, at great cost to herself and I freely admit I do not understand this.  He disciplines me and I accept the pain because of my love for Master.  But this one?  I feel she greedily consumes this pain, actually gorging herself upon it as if at a buffet because it fills a need with which she was born.  According to the staff, she seems to have an unending desire for the pain inflicted by him and an almost infinite capacity to accept it. 

 

I wonder: did she come from a place where she was never shown love or respect?  Did she never learn to respect herself?  Or do her aberrations represent the real woman, were they something always there but hidden from the world because of circumstances?  Had she always been this way or was she this way because of how she had been raised, or was there a genetic aspect and she has no choice about what she is?

 

While curious about her, I also know there must be emotional issues too; something critical inside must have been inherently flawed with this woman from the very outset, for her to have had from the beginning this bottomless need to be hurt by a man before she accepted his rule. 

 

Again, I try not to be judgmental, but anyone who pursues torment and suffering like this to the exclusion of all else; anyone that has this one-dimensional and almost inexhaustible capacity of being groomed to willingly accept more and more pain and who was yet able to keep so focused on this single aspect of her existence; this person was not right in the head. 

 

What would it have been like to have been around this woman in a previous incarnation?  It was impossible to tell anything about this woman’s history; no tattoos, no scars, nothing that gave her away as being either a genteel lady of the house or professional woman, or pole dancer and biker slut from the gutter. 

 

Yet, I know one cannot hide this sort of maladjusted psyche from those around you---something would have always have given her away.  Back in my old world, in my previous life, a woman like this would have been considered…..jarring….distasteful….trashy, and we would have avoided her like the plague. 

 

But she merits his attentions now, and I’m glad he found her and that he gives her what she so obviously needs.  Clearly, she desires him….and she deserves him.  But she is so different from me---perhaps the fact that Master has two totally different types of pleasure slaves is what keeps him so happy all the time?

 

The discipline my Master specializes in giving this slave seems also to be what has kept her a sexual dynamo, the servants eventually confided in me.  When he conquered her and she finally gave in to him, and according to the staff she was always defeated in the end, their sex was something about which epic poems might someday be written. 

 

And when he had been with her for hours and hours and was finally ready to leave her, bloody and bruised, exhausted and worn out in her bed, they would always hear her begging him to stay, to give her still more……to lay next to her and just sleep with her for one night. 

 

But late at night when he was not sharing her bed, they also heard her softly crying as if for what she had been forced to leave behind.  Somehow, I sensed if this other slave hadn’t meant something very special to my Master, he would have sold her by now.

 

I do not look forward to a new, even more intimate relationship with this strange woman.

 

 

Master continues to test me, confirming to himself my commitment to him and bringing out ever more of the submissive in me.  He sometimes makes me prove my devotion to him by wearing nothing beneath a too-short dress as he takes me to public places.  At odd times then, he tells me to lift it and show him my most private and cherished prizes in front of others.  At other times, we go to cantinas in the closest villages and he takes great delight in forcing me to display myself in public places, where the anticipation of discovery by tourists always makes my heart race and my face turn red.  Even as I do this, it somehow soon brings out a frozen side of me which was intimidating to all who saw it.  It is odd how even here, he has no fear that a visitor might see my face and recognize me, for he has that much control over the local authorities. 

 

There is a small, almost deserted chapel about half an hour walk from the mansion.  The priest tending this chapel is an old man from Poland who has been here for over twenty years; from his eyes it is obvious he both knows Master and exactly what the Master does.  But in the priest’s extended time here, he’s also developed a taste for the younger female members of his native flock.  This, and the five gallons of dark rum which Master sends over to the chapel once a month ensures that the priest continues ministering to the group without saying anything to the authorities or higher ups of the church. 

 

However, the hypocritical priest never misses a chance to obliquely condemn him to the few who attended his Mass.  I have no doubt this priest will roast in hell, beside Master, when their time comes.  I hesitate then, for there is no doubt in my mind that I will be there next to them too for my sins. 

 

Once, late on a Wednesday afternoon, Master took it a step further.  He made me wear a loose native blouse and long skirt while I accompanied him to the empty chapel.  There he made me bend over one of rough hewn pews.  Without needing to be ordered to do so, I pulled my skirt up and showed him my naked bottom. 

 

Stepping in against me, he took me vaginally from the rear on the spot.  Of course, I came multiple times, and the unmistakable odor of wetly aroused woman filled the musty, hot air of the chapel as it fought against the smell of old incense and lit candles.  Afterwards, I found myself filled with such exhilaration and adoration that I was wet for him for the rest of the day.

 

The location didn’t bother him, for the Master didn’t much believe in revealed religions.  I think he made me part of his statement. 

 

 

Freedom permits a woman to live without a man.  Slavery makes a woman need a man’s touch.  Slavery, of course, is the surest path by means of which a woman can discover her femininity.  The paradox of the collar is the freedom which a woman experiences in at last finding herself, and becoming herself.

-John Norman, in Magicians of Gor

 

Running my fingers inside my fine Italian leather collar, I looked down at my bare, tanned legs and grimace.  I am not particularly looking forward to this trip---it is another of his dramatic, overly large gestures in which I am again forced to participate.  This time by “proving” my ultimate submissiveness.  I personally feel it is crazy.  It terribly insulting too, but if this was what he desired I do it willingly if not enthusiastically. 

 

Master has me wearing what I call my ‘Dukes of Hazard’ outfit.  Tight faded denim cut-off’s which barely cover the cheeks of my rear end, a white tied off “fuck-me” blouse that leaves my mid-rift and arms bare.  No panties or bra and of course a pair of impractical red strappy stiletto-heeled sandals to complete the costume. 

 

The village is small, without any kind of security or police present.  I’d found out the first time I’d been sent shopping that there was more on the agenda than buying fruit and vegetables---I had to earn the coin with which to make his purchases.  Clearly, he does this to test me. 

 

Although I am only twenty, I have experienced much in my short life, especially over the last year and a half.  Sex is a natural act.  And having sex with many men at one time no longer bothers me, for sex is just sex unless it is with Master.  If with one or twenty-one, in my mind it truly is still just sex.  It just takes me a little longer to recover.  Like Master, I have learned to ignore accepted cultural teachings regarding freedom and monogamy and “correct” behavior.  Sometimes though, when I see a certain look in the eyes of a man who is fifth in line or perhaps twenty-fifth, I know what they are thinking, and I try not to let that bother me. 

 

Mostly, I am successful. 

 

 

Master had set it up so that Georges delivered me to a small room in the village which contained only a bed and a wash stand upon which sat a warm pitcher of water.  Every male in the village, from twelve to seventy had been told they could “spend time with me” and men had been coming in from far and wide to participate.  Master had ensured that rumors were spread and the male population of the village had apparently doubled overnight in anticipation of arrival of the beautiful Norte Americana who would be freely giving away of her charms. 

 

There had only been two rules for the villagers: I was not to be harmed or marked in anyway, and this included biting, slapping or hitting, and all of the men were to be clean of any diseases.  One reason the villagers adored him was that he would always have a local doctor visit each village one day a week.  It was the first time that these people had ever had consistent medical care and it immediately bonded them to him.  It also allowed him to maintain a vigilant eye on the health of village inhabitants as well maintain an eye out for strangers.  Thus, he knew for sure the men were all healthy. 

 

But in all honesty, I’m not sure he cared whether or not the men were clean.  If I came down with an STD, while I think he might have missed me, I knew in my heart I would quickly be gone from his sight forever. 

 

Unfortunately, during this last trip one man hit me twice in the throes of sexual passion.  I truly had not minded.  In fact, slut that I turned out to be, I had responded even more enthusiastically to his aggressive attentions.  But Georges hadn’t even let us finish, immediately dragging him off of me and out into the low jungle where he shot him.  Everyone from that point on had obeyed my Master’s rules explicitly, even as it had temporarily left me frustrated beyond belief.

 

While initially unaware of my role to play, I had assumed it willingly—for this was what Master desired of me.  Still, it was a long and wearying day, even for someone with my….tastes.  I lost count, but a conservatively estimate is that I must have had sex with somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five men that day.  It took hours and hours, and at the end, it was nothing but determination and sheer physical labor to finish the last few.  I’d sucked and fucked all day and when finished, I’d drained of seed every male villager willing to bed me. 

 

I was exhausted.

 

Originally, Georges would only let one man be alone with me at a time and I’d become impatient---it was taking too long to achieve the Master’s goal…or to satisfy mine.  To speed things up, I’d told Georges to let in more at one time.  By the end, all three of my body’s openings were filled at the same time and I had two more in my hands.  I’d been in slut-heaven pretty much all the rest of that day.

 

Unfortunately, I’d not realized what was to happen on my first visit to one of these villages, so I’d wasted what little water was in the pitcher and had not known to bring along a small towel like I had today.  This way, when I had finally worn out the last man in the village, I could clean myself a little before I went into the market and purchased what was on Master’s list. 

 

I thought back to that first visit to a village and even now still felt a little embarrassed.  The men and boys of the village had cum in my hair and all over my face.  Their semen had been rubbed into my belly and pussy and rear, and was draining out of me on the insides of my thighs. 

 

I’d probably swallowed a quart of their honey-thick, syrupy juice that day.  I was sore front and rear from all of the sex I’d both given and taken, and when finished, I’d done the best I could to clean myself up afterwards without water. 

 

But afterwards, it’d been necessary for me to walk, stiffly, a little sore and unwashed, into the village square, covered from head to foot with the sticky, drying semen of their men.  It had seemed an unending line as I walked past woman after woman, mother after daughter, wife after sister. 

 

They’d silently glared at me and they’d turned their backs to me.  Some hissed at me like a snake and two had spit at me.  Somehow I managed to maintain my poise at that moment, but it was all a façade, for despite what I was, their actions did hurt—perhaps the reason they wounded me so deeply was that the person they really hurt was the girl that had once been---not the hardened young woman who they saw now.  Yet, as much as they despised me, they were all too aware of the Master’s anger should they openly cross him, and so I knew none would dare report me in revenge for what I had done. 

 

Unfortunately, what I had needed to buy had to be purchased from the men I’d just fucked---somehow that had been the worst part of all. 

 

While there were no overt actions---the men of the village were too smart for that---they’d still puckered their lips at me, made soft kissing sounds and other, worse motions with their hands and their hips.  It was clear what they thought of me now.  I wasn’t virgin and exotic anymore, but rather completely explored territory which had been fully plowed and was now to be cast off as barren and less than worthless. 

 

Unless it was to be offered to them once more. 

 

 

Do you know, ultimately, I asked, who will prove to be your one best trainer?  No, Master, she said.  You, yourself, I said, the girl, herself, eager to please, imaginative and intelligent, monitoring her own performances and feelings, striving lovingly to improve and refine them.  You yourself will be largely responsible for making yourself the superb slave you will become.

-John Norman, in Savages of Gor

 

But it really didn’t matter to me anymore---they were men and I knew they’d want me again---or the other woman---when one of us came back to them the next time we were here to “shop.” 

 

I knew what I was—for I’d had to choose and in the end, I chose as I must, as my nature dictated.  He had known long before I finally had realized the basic truth about myself; that I need to belong to someone, to have them run my life for me.  I am my Master’s whore---and his slut. 

 

Forcing me to this realization is his gift to me. 

 

I am twenty-one years old now.  I am an intelligent young woman, a loving mother and willing slave to my Master’s needs and desires---this is my truth and my reality.  Other than the brand and the nipple piercings I received that first day on the boat, he would not allow my body to be permanently marred or marked in any way from that point on. 

 

Of course, this didn’t include the various bruises and temporary marks of ownership left by him when he shared with me his beautiful need to bring pain to our relationship.  I have grown accustomed; no, I had actually grown to need his pain. 

 

This is my gift to him.

 

It had taken me months, but I have finally been able to admit to myself what I really am.  God, I am his slut!  I love fucking him.  I glory in fucking him.  I look down at my lap.  Even now, the lips of my vagina and the muscles on the insides of my upper thighs ache; they actually physically ache to have him inside me, to fill me and extend me and to render me helpless before him when he was done with my body. 

 

His victory and my defeat.  But oh, how much pleasure a person can derive from being defeated!

 

I am always waiting for more from him, I just can’t get enough now.  I need his essence, his maleness---I’d shoot it into my veins if I could.  I find myself dressing up in sexy clothes and waiting for him everywhere now, hoping to waylay him just in order to lead him to my bed. 

 

I had been foolish as a teenager, expecting love to be like what I had read in books.  Instead, what I have found is that love is not like a bus or a train, it doesn’t run on a schedule.  It is unexpected and inconvenient and sometimes messy, not all what you expect…or maybe even want at that moment.  And some people have to wait their whole life for it to show up.  But when it does…when it does……if you are smart enough and lucky enough, you grab tight and hold on, because the bumps and twists and the stomach lurches—these are things which make you feel alive. 

 

I hadn’t worn the last butt plug in months.  With that rubber monstrosity fitted inside me, he’d soon ensured I was sized just right for him and now he routinely takes me that way a couple of times a week.  He is so big that it still hurts me when he enters my body, but now I love the tender pain as he slowly dilates me.  I love it all, I need it all.  I need the way he makes me feel his discomfort, I exult in the way he fills my insides and I demand he control my total physical being when he rides me. 

 

He laughs now when he “drills and fills” me, and I have come to anticipate with pleasure the way I feel my abdomen cramp up when he first bores into me and distends my colon; when he first enters me and my anal sphincter screams in protest, but then eventually, grudgingly and then joyously accepts his meat. 

 

If this was what it takes to please him, then it is a small price to pay.

 

I know now he doesn’t love me, at least not in the way I’d been brought up to think about love.  I’m not even sure he is capable of love in that sense.  At the same time, I also know I have some kind of a hold upon him, but what it is I have never known.  I have never tried to take advantage of this either. 

 

Eventually my body will age; I know my days here as one of his pleasure sluts will be over for me soon enough and then I will be gone.  I just don’t want to hasten the ending in any way.

 

I, who have always been so quiet before?  Now I use vulgar language and habitually curse when we fuck.  And as I submissively beg him for ever more of his meat, there is nothing I won’t say or do to please him.  I never insult him; that is the game the other woman plays. 

 

There are other things I now routinely do for him that I never dreamed I would do to or for a man.  I’ve learned to suck his cock after it’d been in my ass, just to taste myself on him, because this pleased him.  There were other, worse things that I’ve done too, especially with the other woman. 

 

I am his slave and his whore; I am his submissive pain/pleasure slut now and forever.  I crave the way he owns me.  I would do anything he asks, as long it means he will continue treating me like the slave I deserve to be.

 

When growing up, a friend and I came up with the theory that we each get just one Best Day Ever.  Yeah, there are lots of days that might come close, that are fun or meaningful or interesting.  But there was only one best day ever according to all measures by which these things are calculated; you are not too young or too old to try something, you are not wise enough to know you can fail and not naïve enough to still think that things came easy….. 

 

And the thing that surprises me the most?  Every day with him is better than the last—each day with him is the best day ever until the next day. 

 

He’d known me far, far better than I had ever known myself that day on the boat when he first took me.  He told me he was going to show me it was all about me actually giving, while I pretended he was taking.  That in the end, it was about intimacy and naked honesty, about fears and needs and losing myself in my desire to give him the gift of my suffering.  That in the darkness, there was no accountability for my cravings, and that he would be there to save me from myself and give my life meaning.”

 

For many long weeks in the beginning of my stay with him after I’d been broken and trained but before I truly understood, I’d felt that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling one might get when they know they’ve gone over to the Dark Side forever. 

 

But you see, I knew now that I’d be just fine.  That’s the good thing about the Dark Side.   Eventually, your eyes adjust.  I thought back to what Jorge had told me on the first day of my training: “You need to be mistreated in love.  You are the type of woman that will always from now on seek out angry and aggressive lovers.” 

 

He had been right and now I have found that lover. 

 

Forever. 

 

Or at least until he tires of me.