SEX SLAVE AT SEA
(BOOK FOUR OF THE INITIATION 2 SERIES)
By Aphrodite Hunt
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2012 by Aphrodite Hunt
Cover art by Aphrodite Hunt
Published by Aphrodite Hunt at Smashwords
WORKS BY APHRODITE HUNT
The ‘Initiation’ series
Open Your Legs for Me
Blindfolded and Spread-eagled
Thighs Wide Apart
Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy
The Final Initiation
The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories
The ‘Initiation 2’ series
Open Your Legs for my Family
Bend Over for my Family
Publicly Display Yourself for Me
Sex Slave at Sea
‘The Royal Captive’ series
Prince Miro’s Capture
Prince Miro’s Submission
Prince Miro’s Enslavement
Prince Miro’s Punishment
Prince Miro’s Escape
Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation
The Royal Captive: Vol 1 to 3
The Royal Captive: Vol 4 to 6
The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series
I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac
Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me
Gang Banged by the Chain Gang
The ‘Undercover’ series
Undercover: Exposing the Bad Doctor
Hot, Wet and Steamy (individual stories)
When He’s Inside You
My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper
The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense)
Her First Clit Ring
Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens
Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ for more stories and updates
SEX SLAVE AT SEA
1
I’m terrified.
Or maybe that’s too mild a word.
I’m in-over-my-head, ‘the zombies are coming to eat me up’ petrified. My limbs are frozen and I swear I can feel my bones rattling within their casings of flesh. My throat is parched and my palms feel drier than a potato chip in the midst of a scorching desert.
Oh yes, my knuckles are white and I can’t stop chewing on them.
Alice is coming.
Yes, that Alice – the one who is so not from Wonderland.
It’s like waiting on a hospital gurney to be wheeled into surgery – one that will be performed on you without anesthesia.
The trouble with Alice is that she is such an unknown and unknowable factor. Yes, I know she can be cruel. There’s that malicious streak in her eyes, and I know she’s contemplating Guillotine murder whenever she casts her gleaming gaze upon me. But she has not been physically cruel to me so far. She has tormented and berated me and made me feel like a squished worm under her soles.
In many ways, I’d rather she just punch me in the mouth and get it over with.
This waiting – of not knowing what she can be like – is much, much worse.
We are in Heather’s room, and I’m hyperventilating. The luxury yacht is cruising along at a moderate speed, going to goodness knows where. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t hazard to tell me. After all, I have no rights. I am merely a contracted sex slave to the Devlin family and whomever they want me to open my legs and mouth for.
Heather is preparing me for Alice.
I am kneeling on the floor, and Heather has left the black leather collar around my neck. Because the collar is a tight choker that straddles the entire length of my neck – with a metal ring in the middle – I have to keep my head and neck up, like a debutante learning manners in a Victorian house. The only movement it allows me is to tilt my head slightly – in all angles – but I am certainly unable to bend my neck.
She has finished fucking me no less than twenty minutes ago, and so Heather has left my nipple clamps intact. A thin metal chain is threaded through the ring in the collar. Both its free ends are connected to my nipple clamps – so that my poor teats are pulled upward mercilessly and my areolas are very, very taut.
My entire nipple and areola areas are majorly numb by now.
“I like you trussed up,” Heather confesses. She’s very pretty in an athletic, boyish way. When she smiles, her mouth curls up in two dimples.
She is behind me, tying up my elbows and wrists very securely with black leather straps. In this position, my chest and ribcage are pulled back and I find it difficult to take deep breaths. I have to breathe in what I call staccato bursts – filling my lungs with shallow gulps of air when I am able to. And this, to me, is more restrictive and indicativeof my slave status than any of my bonds and chains can ever be.
Footsteps sound outside the door. My heart begins to pound.
Alice is here.
Oh shit, shit, shit.
Suddenly, I’m more terrified than I had thought possible. My breath catches in my throat and wedges itself in there and simply refuses to budge. My vision begins to swim, and I feel a cluster of panic attacks coming along in succession.
It is all I can do to stop peeing on the floor.
The door swings open. Alice does not knock.
I find myself staring up at her beautiful face at the doorway. She wears a voluminous silk kaftan that billows around her with the breeze sweeping down the yacht’s central corridor. With her gleaming eyes – every bit as predatory and malicious as I imagined them to be – she resembles a sorceress from the ninth pit of hell.
I have to suppress a scream. If Alice knows how frightened I am, she will torture the terror out of me all the more. She’s a magnificent cougar, and she senses fear in her prey.
Greg is behind her, his body blocked partially by her caftan. He wears a loose-fitting shirt over his tight green swimming trunks. I can see the very obvious bulge of his genitals within the latter. He is not erect . . . at least not yet. He favors me with a sympathetic glance.
“Do you like the way I’ve done her up?” Heather asks, smiling.
I try to focus on the tattoo of the girl’s face on her arm. Yes, anything to distract me.
Alice scrutinizes me as if I’m an effigy that will be thrown into the bonfire.
“I don’t know. I have other ideas on how she must be bound and paraded. Greg, do the honors.”
No please, no thank you.
Greg steps in the room even as Heather pouts prettily. For the first time, I notice he carries a very strange contraption. The main body of it consists of a steel rod, but one end of it curls into a blunt hook. The other end is attached to a steel collar with three rings upon it.
Dread turns my stomach.
“Oh, don’t sulk, darling,” Alice says to Heather with a lofty wave of her manicured hand. “We’ll do a combination of yours and mine.”
Greg moves behind me. He smells of a nice cinnamon aftershave.
“You OK?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
“Don’t speak to her, Greg. She is beneath even you. Just tell her what she has to do.”
Greg glowers. “OK, stand up, Gina.”
I obey with difficulty. He catches my bound arms to make sure that I don’t stagger.
“Stand straight, please.”
It’s difficult, but I attempt to. He unclasps the black choker collar from my neck and summarily replaces it with the heavier steel one. This one offers my neck more mobility, but its kiss is i
cy upon my hot skin. My nipples are thankfully freed, and I can feel the blood beginning to flow into them again.
The attached steel rod is now behind my back, and I have a sudden idea what the hook is for. The cold rod presses upon my bound arms.
“I’m going to have to untie her,” Greg says.
“Do what you must,” Heather replies.
Greg releases my bonds, which relieves me to no end. My elbows and shoulders were beginning to ache with the extreme pull. I take in deep breaths, and green spots start to swim briefly in my vision.
As soon as my arms are free, he inserts the blunt end of the hook into my anus – as I expected him to. The chilly steel slides into me like a very hard finger.
“Uhhh,” I gasp.
The hook is embedded quite deeply in, and its presence is firm and unmistakable. My asshole muscles pucker around it involuntarily.
“Very nice,” Alice says as she appraises the way the hook penetrates my ass. “Don’t you agree, Heather?”
Heather pouts her lip again. “I still think she should be tied up in some way.”
“Oh, all right then. We’ll cuff her wrists to the collar. Greg?”
Greg lets out a half-sigh as he threads two metal chains through the left and right collar rings at my throat. The medium-length chains are attached to two metal cuffs, which he circles around my wrists.
“Keep your wrists apart always,” Alice instructs me. “At no time must you attempt to hide your tits. I want everyone to see them.”
To do this, I have to maintain a diagonal stretch of my wrist cuffs at all time. I have to hold my hands up as well, where they are at the level of my nipples but to the sides of my considerable mounds. It takes a fair bit of muscular effort to keep them that way.
“Good. Now I want her on a leash,” Alice says.
Greg resignedly fastens a longer chain onto the central ring at my collar. I’m now uncomfortably upright and tethered and hooked.
I feel like a carcass at a meat factory.
“Walk,” Alice commands. “Heather, you lead her.”
Smiling, Heather yanks my leash. I stumble after into the bright corridor, wondering what Alice has in store for me.
Where the hell are Max and the twins when I need them?
2
They lead me out to the major deck of the Claforis, the one just below the smaller sun deck. Here, there are lounge chairs in the sun and plusher circular seats in the shade, where the rich folks (not me) and their guests can look out into the sea and whatever sun is going to set on them.
A Hispanic youth in a white shirt and shorts is on his hands and knees, polishing the handsome wooden slats of the deck floor. A bucket of soapy water sloshes beside him. He does a double take as I step out onto the deck.
“Hey, you,” Alice says.
The youth swivels towards her, clearly frightened.
“Yes, I’m talking to you. Go get me a brush, the kind you hold with your hand. Make it one with a medium-long handle, you know – the one that looks like a joystick.”
“A j-joystick?”
“What part of joystick don’t you understand? It’s long, like this – kapish?”
The youth scuttles away.
“He’s not Italian, darling,” Heather drawls. “He doesn’t understand ‘kapish’.”
“Whatever.”
I wonder if Alice treats all her servants this way. She must have been raised in a spoilt, bratty part of the Victorian climes.
“You OK?” Greg asks in a very low voice behind me. Since we are out on deck, the sound of the wind and waves helps to mask his concerned tones.
“I can’t bend my back.”
Indeed, the collar and rod keeps my back ramrod straight at all times. I feel like I’m training for a BDSM version of ballet class.
“Don’t worry. I’ll try to make it easy on you.”
Warmth trickles through me as I smile at Greg. I don’t know why, but he just makes me feel secure and adored.
Alice is inexplicably picking up the bucket and sloshing a portion of the soapy water onto the deck. I wonder if this is her way of torturing the staff. I also wonder why her father lets her get away with it. Surely heiresses need to be groomed at finishing school so that they can be hostesses to rich people’s parties?
Or maybe her father takes her across his knees and spanks her when she gets out of hand – I don’t know. The way this family carries out their relationships, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least.
“Where are Max and the twins?” I ask between my teeth.
“They took the speedboat out to go diving.”
That’s convenient.
The youth is back with a joystick brush or whatever they call it. The handle is made out of some synthetic material. Green bristles sprout out of its flared rounded end.
Alice puts out her hand. “Give it to me.”
The youth, wearing an expression of abject terror, obeys. Alice does that to people, so I can totally sympathize.
“You can stand here and watch if it’s done properly,” she says to him. Then she turns her gimlet gaze to me. “Come here, Gina.”
I freeze.
Heather slyly pushes me forward. “Go on.”
I can only teeter in my bare feet towards Alice, who holds the brush up like a cudgel. She gestures to the wet patch of soapy water on the deck.
“Go stand in that.”
What?
“Y-you mean . . . stand in the puddle?” I squeak.
“What part of it didn’t you understand? Are you dense?”
“N-no.”
“Then do it.”
My mind runs havoc with permutations of Alice as Wicked Stepsister as I step onto the puddle. My bare feet squelch in the water and I can see my reflection in the rainbow-colored soap bubbles on the surface. I have to tread very carefully in my bound and sodomized state to keep myself from slipping.
“Now squat,” Alice commands.
It is a very difficult maneuver for me because of the hook in my asshole. I have to spread my legs first and then bend my knees very slowly, all the time keeping my back straight. I don’t even have the use of my hands to help me balance.
The youth gapes at the way my pussy is exposed to everyone’s gaze.
Oh my God, it is humiliating.
Alice kneels in front of me. With several fingers, she peels open the layers of my outer labia so that my vulva can be clearly seen. Then she shoves the blunt handle of the joystick brush – which also resembles a crude penis (or any other rod) – into my pussy hole. She’s rather rough, and I twitch in pain as the plastic handle enters me.
“Don’t be a sissy,” she scolds, her breath hot against my cheek. Her hair falls in front of her face and she impatiently brushes it off.
She pushes it in further, as deep as it can go. The stick’s diameter is not that huge, and so my vaginal walls close around it in a comfortable fit. The brush’s bristles flower from my pussy like a crown of weeds.
I flush with embarrassment. Never before have I been subjected to thus.
Alice stands up.
“Now I want you to clean the wet part of the floor with that brush, Gina. Do it with your pussy.”
With my pussy? I am aghast. But I can’t! I have a hook sticking in my ass that is restricting my butt movements.
“Do it,” Alice says cruelly, “or I’ll fetch a whip.”
Greg looks away uncomfortably as Heather puts her hands on her hips. She wears an amused expression.
I have to gather every ounce of my mental strength to do this. The gawking deckhand staring at my compromised love holes doesn’t help.
“Do it, Gina.” The threat – of reporting a compromised contract to her father – is unmistakable in Alice’s tone.
I begin to swipe the floor with the brush in my pussy. As I lower my hips to the floor, the bristles poke into the tender flesh of my labia and clit. The sensation is both prickly and alarming, and I daren’t press too hard down against the
floor. The brush makes a scratching sound against the wooden boards.
“Do it back and forth. And rotate your hips,” Alice says. “I want to see variations.”
It’s very difficult to do so with the hook in my anus, but in my restricted state, I attempt to do what she bids. The back and forth motions are a lot easier. But the oscillatory ones are damned torture, as the hook makes its presence extremely felt when I try to swing my buttocks in an arc.
“Creep to another spot and do it again.” Alice has her arms folded and she’s standing in front of me, her eyes raking my tortured pussy.
It’s equally difficult to move in my position, and so I settle for a graceless wide-based waddle to another part and begin brushing the floor again. It’s awkward and humiliating. Tears spring into my eyes even as my spectators observe my every movement.
“Faster,” Heather says.
Oh, so she’s chiming in as well. Super.
“Yeah,” Alice says. “Faster. And I want you to press down harder.”
She walks behind me. Her body casts a long shadow over me. She places her hands on my shoulders and pushes down hard.
“I said harder.”
I gasp as the plastic bristles dig into my pussy lips and clit. My clit is especially sensitive. I cry out as a spiky outshoot pokes into my hood, spearing the wrinkled skin in without penetrating it.
Alice maintains her cruel grasp on my shoulders.
“Now rotate your hips. I want to see you make circles.”
“Alice,” Greg cautions. “No injuries, remember?”
“I’m not injuring her in the slightest least. It would be good for her to experience a little pain now and then with all the coddling the boys have been giving her. Now move those buttocks, Gina. I want to see you scrub that floor.”
With hot tears blurring my vision, I move my hips to make a circle. The brush’s rod whittles inside my vagina even as my anal hook makes a clean sweep of my rectum. I do it again, and the two tormenting objects inside my erotic holes roll against my tender walls again.
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