Sex Slave at Sea (2 page)

“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.

“Scrub it.”

I’m trying my hardest, I want to scream.
Even the youth is looking at me in pity.

“Again. Then pack your tight butt over that
spot. I want to see this whole patch get cleaner than Heather’s
douched cunt.”

“Hey. I do so not douche.”

“Of course you douche. I’ve seen you.”

Heather makes a face.

Alice turns her attention back to me. “Did I
say you can stop? Do it again.”

She bears down upon me so hard that my groin
is almost compressing the brush against the floor. I cry out.

“Now do a triangle.”

I try my best to comply.

“Alice,” Greg cautions again.

“Shut up. This is none of your business.
Scrub it, Gina. Scrub it hard.”

A tear spools out of the corner of my eye
and runs down my cheek as I work my hips.

“It is my concern,” Greg declares. “You made
me part of this.”

“Just seal that pretty mouth of yours and do
as you’re told. You’re my slave as much as she is. If you want that
Baker and Buchanan job that badly, then you’d better not forget
it.”

Greg’s face twitches, and then he masks it.
A whirlwind of
almost
understanding tumbles through my head.
Since morning, I’d suspected there was something off about Greg and
Alice’s relationship. I wonder if he signed a contract with her in
the same way I did, or if he’s a higher-level slave. The
circumstances seem to suggest he is.

In the next twenty minutes, I make
concentric circles, triangles, squares, hexagons, figure eights or
whatever Alice wants me to do on the entire wet patch of floor. My
clit and pussy are sore with all that poking and rough handling. My
feet are wet, and my arms and elbows are fatigued from having to
keep them from my tits for so long.

I don’t even have to mention my vagina and
rectum. I feel as if I’ve been fucked in both passages by yaks.

“Get up, Gina,” Alice says.

I can’t. My thighs are knees are too tired
to capitulate.

Greg moves to help me. A flicker of
annoyance crosses Alice’s face, but he doesn’t care. He kneels
before me.

“You OK, Gina?” he says in a low voice.

I nod weakly.

He holds me up by my armpits to support me.
When my buttocks are slightly raised, he removes the joystick brush
from my pussy. Its handle is covered with my cud. His body is very
warm against my skin.

“Very touching,” Alice sneers. “Do you want
to wipe her cunt with a hanky while you’re at it?”

Greg ignores her as he helps me up. I totter
on my feet, more than a little dazed.

Alice turns and walks off.

“Follow me,” she says. “We’re going to need
to work you a lot more around here lest lover boy here thinks
you’re a coddled princess.”

3

We go into the saloon, which leads into
handsome oak-paneled corridors lined with expensive-looking oil
paintings. I’m recovering slightly, but my feet are still wobbly,
and Greg has to shepherd me now and then by putting his hand on my
back. Honestly, he is the most caring and solicitous guy I’ve ever
met. If I weren’t dating Max, I think I could fall in love.

But as it is, I’m in love with Alice’s
younger brother – who happens to be conveniently missing. But would
Max have done anything to oppose his older sister? I belong to the
family. They are free to do to me as they please.

Alice strides into the modern, steel
implement-filled kitchen, where a chef is broiling something in a
saucepan. The aroma of something meaty rises in the humid air. The
chef looks up and almost upturns his saucepan when he sees me.

“Yeah, yeah, this gets old. She’s a sex
slave, get over it,” Alice says. “Where are your plates?”

“Pl-plates?” the young chef stammers.

“Yeah, you know, circular enamel pieces we
eat out of, mostly with forks and knives.”

“Uh . . . our plates are not enamel, Ms.
Devlin.”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Like, duh. Get them
anyway, OK? Or are you too dense to do even that?”

The chef darts his frightened eyes at me,
and then scuttles to get the plates from an overhead cabinet. From
all that clattering, I think his hands are shaking.

“OK, Greg, I’m going to give you your most
favorite task of the day. You get to take the chains off Ms. Dainty
here.”

Greg fumes, but he swiftly moves to unclasp
the cuffs from my wrists. It’s such a relief to finally be able to
put down my aching arms. He unbuckles my collar as well along with
its merciless rod and anal hook. My asshole tightens like a
drawstring as soon as the offending item is removed. I’m so
thankful I feel like throwing my arms around him and giving him a
big hug, but I’m sure Alice will find a way to punish me for
that.

The chef holds a stack of plates. He’s still
trembling, and so there is a discernable clatter within those
plates – as if we’re in the middle of a minor tsunami.

“Put those down,” Alice commands. “Now go
get us a dishcloth.”

“A . . . a dishcloth?”

“So you’re deaf as well as dense. Perfect
combination. Who hired you?”

The chef places the stack carefully down on
the central table before he can drop them.

“Uh, the captain did, Ms.”

“Well, you can go running to the captain and
tell him to shove your hiring papers up your ass. Do it after you
fetch us that dishcloth.”

The chef is so rattled that he almost drops
the dishcloth as he hands it to Alice. He scuttles away as Alice
turns on the tap in one of the sinks and wets the cloth
thoroughly.

She turns to Greg. “Well, don’t just stand
there. Get her to squat on that table.”

My spirits descend into abysmal depths. I’m
not up for this, to be honest. I’ve had a really long day, starting
since morning. I’ve been exhibited, photographed lewdly, fucked
roughly and now made to be a sexual workhorse with household
cleaning implements. I need a good long nap. Like, for a week.

But slaves don’t get to protest, and so Greg
resignedly helps me up to the table, where he arranges me in a
squat once again. My pussy lips are still red and raw from the
bristle abuse, but at least I don’t have that punishing hook in my
asshole anymore, and I can bend my back, which is a relief to no
end.

Heather says, “What are you going to ask her
to do?”

“Watch.”

Alice moves close to me again. I want to
close my eyes because I’m so terrified of her beautiful, flawless
face – she’s like this evil Valkyrie, perfect on the outside but
all rotten and corrupted inside.

She peers at my obviously pale face.

“You’re pretty enough,” she says
dismissively, “but I still don’t get what my brother sees in
you.”

Actually, I’m not sure either. I still wake
up every day wondering why Max is actually dating me –even if I’m a
submissive. But my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and I
can’t speak. Not that I could have uttered a word.

“Keep still,” Alice says.

She peels my outer labia apart. Then she
lines the undulating and very tender flesh that is revealed with
the wet cloth. The cold wet cloth sinks into and covers the hooded
folds of my clit. It snuggles into my valleys and very sensitive
inner pussy lips. A thrill of erotic tension spirals deep within
me.

Not content to leave it thus, she pokes her
sharp finger into my vulva, pushing in the cloth. Its damp softness
worms into my hole, sending a refreshing coolness into my chafed
tunnel. She tucks my outer labia neatly back in again, around the
cloth. The whole ensemble, though humiliating, feels quite
pleasant, really. My juices are beginning to form again and flow –
the hot staining the cold blanket inside me.

But I’m sure she doesn’t intend to leave me
in a comfortable state.

I am right, of course.

Alice picks the top plate off the stack and
hands it to me. “You’re fortunate I’ve allowed you the use of your
hands this time. Now wipe this plate with your cunt. Do it
thoroughly.”

Heather lets out a chortle of delight. She
claps her hands in glee. “Well, I never would have thought of that.
How clever of you, darling!”

Greg’s face blackens.

My trembling hands take the plate from
Alice. I place it face upwards beneath my hips and press its smooth
surface against my cloth-covered pussy. The hard material palms
onto my soft flesh, squishing the nub of my clit so that a shudder
passes through me.

“Rub it,” Alice says. “Rub your cunt hard
against it.”

I comply, turning the plate upside down.

“Bury its edge between your cunt lips and
clean it that way.”

I slide the edge of the plate in between my
right pussy lip and my clit. The hard edge digs into my tender
groove, and I gasp as erotic spasms shoot throughout my entire
groin. It’s like a wheel that grinds into my intimate rail track,
and a big area of clit and labia along with it.