Argonaut in an Age of Discovery

Chapter 1: Gathering Clouds

The Argo, there it was in its berth in the marina in Baltimore Harbor, a sailing yacht, pale blue-grey, a humble vessel with a presumptuous name.  Compared to the nearby gleaming white yachts, it looked old, dingy, and perhaps small for accommodating six people.

Carrying my heavy bag down the dock, I saw April on the deck, at the same time as she saw me.  She called out, and I waved.  April was the friend who had invited me on this trip.  She’s a tall, buxom, hazel blond, with an earthy manner that disguises her intelligence.  She’s been in many of my high school classes, and like me, just graduated.

Actually, I had been invited on this yacht trip only as a last-minute replacement for my good friend Diana, who had canceled just two days before departure.  She had just been offered a job as a summer intern with a local law firm, an opportunity she had no wish to decline.

I, on the other hand, was spending my summer writing for a twelve-page, free, alternative-viewpoint, “independent media” newspaper called the New Columbia Free Press, where “Columbia” refers to the U.S. capitol district.  Published twice monthly using a grant from a foundation, it accepted no advertisements and thus could not pay its staff, all spare-time volunteers.  While the work experience was exceptional, with a steep learning curve, I was happy to take time off for a trip on a sailing yacht, something totally new to me.  I imagined it being very romantic.

A man standing on the dock beside the boat addressed me, “So you’re Jenny.  I’m Roscoe, the skipper of this boat.”

Eeyew...  I could smell the alcohol on his breath.  And the way he looked me over.  It felt like he was taking my clothes off with his eyes.  Was this loathsome creature going to accompany us on this voyage?

Unfortunately, the answer was yes.  It was his boat.  A distant relative of April, he was a sun-wrinkled man with grey hair.  Although he was lean, his posture was often somewhat hunched, as if decadent living and too much booze had taken a toll.

On board, I met the third girl, Ivy.  She’s a second-cousin of April and three years older than us.  Goes to George Washington University.  Extremely pretty and poised, she’s of medium height, a little taller than me.  Slender, but nicely rounded in the right places.  Light brown hair, with blond accents.  During the voyage, she spent a lot of time in front of the mirror grooming herself.  I guess it pays off; she is striking.

A half hour later, with a large baggage cart overloaded with food supplies April and Roscoe had ordered, came James, a big, tall, hairy macho-man in his mid-twenties.  He is the kind of guy who has a five-o’clock shadow even after he shaves.  After our initial greeting, he rarely spoke to me.  But then, I guess I had little to say to him either.  I don’t follow sports, which is about all he talked about.  James took an immediate interest in trying to make it with April.

Last came Rafiq.  Age 24, half Lebanese Sunni, half French, spent his early childhood in both Paris and Beirut, and his adolescence mostly in London, went to college in New York City, and was now working as an economist at the World Bank headquarters in Washington.  He struck me as a true world citizen, his perspective not constrained by any one region.

Rafiq was well read and knowledgeable, yet appreciative of different points of view.  His quiet seriousness was punctuated with an irreverent humor.  I liked being around him.

And he seemed to enjoy talking to me.  But I had no romantic designs on him; he was Ivy’s boy friend.  I simply thought of Rafiq and Ivy as a couple, and I as a younger friend.   Yet in those first two days of the voyage, I felt such a rapport with him that I almost felt like we could be cousins.

The peculiar thing about him working for the World Bank was that together with an older mentor I had just written an article in the New Columbia Free Press about the heavy-handed tactics that the DC police chief had employed that year against World Bank protestors.

I was excited to meet someone who actually worked for the World Bank.  And Rafiq was interested in my summer work at the New Columbia Free Press.  He knew of the newspaper, even though it is only distributed though certain bookstores and coffeehouses.  But he had not seen the most recent issue with my article in it.  I remedied that by bringing out a copy that I “just happened to have” in my luggage.  Obviously I was delighted that he was interested in what I had written.

I was surprised how sympathetic Rafiq was with the demonstrators against the World Bank.  He was not the least bit defensive about criticism of his organization.  And yet, as I think back on it, although he sometimes poked fun at the World Bank, not once did he acknowledge the validity of the demonstrators’ criticisms.  In his quiet manner, he walked me through the complexities of some of the issues with Third World economies, as well as the entrenched inequities between rich and poor nations.

Yet he was in no way condescending about my comparative ignorance.  Rather he seemed appreciative of my interest.  Our general social-political orientations matched.

*********

In the beginning the girls and guys slept in separate compartments.  Ours was a little bedroom.  The guys’ was the common room, basically a small living room for everyone.  Everything was very compact.

On the first night at sea, April, Ivy, and I arranged the narrow mattresses on the floor so that we could all cuddle together.  I had recently enjoyed sexual relations with my close friend Diana (who I’ve mentioned in previous stories), and was pleased to find that neither April nor Ivy had reservations about bisexuality.  During that first night it seemed that we were going to have a great time together during the voyage.

On the following night, Ivy suggested that we shave each other’s pubic hair.  At first a bit reluctant, I ended up agreeing to it.  Ivy shaved both April and me.  April, after some coaxing, shaved Ivy.

It feels a little strange at first to be completely smooth in places where you have become used to having hair.  On the other hand, it was nice to kiss and caress each other’s smoothness.  That second night we again enjoyed each others bodies.  We slept cuddled together, April in the middle, Ivy and I on either side.

That idyllic atmosphere was not to last.  Late in the morning the next day I was again chatting with Rafiq.  We talked about a book we had both read, Dark Continent, an interpretative history of Europe’s twentieth-century.

From Europe’s cataclysmic difficulties in accommodating its minorities in the first half of the twentieth century, our conversation turned to the close-to-home intolerance of nonconformity in what seemed at that time (a few years ago) to be an incipient devolution into a Christian theocracy.  Later Rafiq turned the conversation to Islam, and finally to Hinduism, about which I didn’t know much.  But I mentioned that I had been taking yoga classes.  Rafiq was interested and I started showing him how to do some of the postures.

I felt a bit self conscious at times the way he was watching me.  When I was showing him the “Salute to the Sun”, I thought he had seen down my top, but at the time I attributed that to my not managing my clothes appropriately rather than any intentionality on his part.

It seemed to be making Ivy uptight for me to click so well with her boyfriend.  She often hovered nearby, but not directly engaged with us.  Then she would disappear below for a while, only to reappear some time later acting restless.  At such times Rafiq’s face would cloud just a bit, but mostly he did not acknowledge her concern.

I thought she was acting awfully possessive - hardly the poised and confident demeanor I had previously associated with her.  Yet I thought she ought to be able to deal with me talking to her boyfriend.  After all, I had no romantic designs on him.  I recognized that he was a catch, but he was Ivy’s catch, not mine.  It had not even occurred to me to think of him as a potential boyfriend.  In retrospect I think that is why I was so natural and spontaneous with him.

Unlike the previous day, which was cloudy and cool, today was sunny, and as the sun hit its zenith, distinctly hot.  Everyone shared a light lunch.

April and Ivy were wearing bikinis.  At this point I preferred keeping my shorts on, albeit short ones.  Outside the context of the pool or beach, a bikini bottom feels like less clothes than I prefer to have on.  And I had on a halter top.  It’s comfortable in the heat, leaving my back bare except for the tie, and covering my bust with airy cotton.

Not surprisingly, in the heat the guys had dispensed with shirts.  But I was a little surprised when April and Ivy pealed off their bikini tops.  April has a classic womanly figure with an ample bust.  Going topless drew James to her like a magnet.  He never took his eyes off her.

At this point, the Skipper, drink in hand, hailed me, “Hey, Jenny.  When are you going to take your top off?  It’s time to get comfortable.”  He passed his hand down my back, giving the tie of my halter top a little tug as he did so.

I dodged quickly away, murmuring, “I’m feeling comfortable enough now with what I have on.  But thank you anyway.”

At this point I withdrew to the bow with a tube of sun screen and a spiritual philosophy book by Krishnamurti, There is No Thinker, Only Thought, loaned to me by my mentor at the New Columbia Free Press.  With my back toward the rest of the group in the stern, I tried to read, but was actually turning over in my mind my feelings about needing to be clothed.

I don’t think I’m a prude.  And there is nothing that bad about my body; I weigh the least of the three girls.  ...Well, of course Ivy is genuinely striking fully clothed or not.  But I’m not envious of her.  I’m more or less okay with how I look.  This clothes issue is that I just don’t want people’s eyes all over my body.  Maybe I like a little privacy, which clothes provide.

“Heyyy... Jenny.”  It was Rafiq behind me.  He has this special way of murmuring ‘hey’:  quietly, almost conspiratorially, as if you’re a really special person and he has something really special to share with you.  Smiling, I glanced back at him.

“You doing okay?” he asked, sitting down next to me.  “I hope the Skipper didn’t make you uptight about taking your top off.  He’s just an odd character.  You’re fine, top on or off.”

“Thanks.  ...I guess I was feeling a little funny about the situation.  But it’s nothing.  Just my silly hang-ups.”

“Whatever.  But I can relate to how you feel.  Whether you’re a guy or a girl, we’re all accustomed to clothes.   ...By the way, your back is looking a little red.  You need more sun screen.”

“Uh-oh.  I really don’t want to get burned.  It’s hard for me to get it on all my back; might I ask you to put it on me.”

He took the tube and proceeded to apply it on my back.  I liked his hands on my skin.  It took me a little while to realize that he was not applying the lotion in a cooly pragmatic way.  He was not minimizing the expressiveness of the contact; he was maximizing it.  He was caressing me.

Taking hold of the tie of my halter top, he said, “Shall I undo this thing?”

To Rafiq, every part of my being was crying yes, yes, yes!  “Okay,” I murmured, smiling at him.

He untied the back, and slipped it off my head.  Then he gazed at me, alternately looking into my eyes and then at my breasts.  “You are extraordinary in so many ways,” he said.

I smiled at him.  Then lowered my eyes.  I felt self conscious to be bare breasted in front of him.

“By the way, now you’re going to need some sun screen on your front.”

“Oh, maybe you’re right.  ...But I could do that myself, you know.”

“Yeah, but we’d both rather that I did it.”

I smiled and said, “What are people going to think?”  But still I arched to present my front to him.  He proceeded to apply sun screen to my breasts.  He paid special attention to my nipples.  I was literally squirming with arousal.  I could scarcely believe this turn of events.

Although I was basking in Rafiq’s warmth, still I was not unaware that we must be putting on a bit of a spectacle for the rest of the crew.  I glanced back at them.  It was Ivy’s stare that caught my attention.  There were daggers in her eyes, directed at me.

*******

Dinner that evening was brief and tense.  I had found it convenient to spend most of the time in the galley working while the others were eating.  Skipper, and James and April quickly went their separate ways, leaving Ivy and Rafiq alone.  Although they seemed to be trying to talk quietly, privacy being a scarce commodity on the boat, I knew there was a drama going on between them.

Having finished cleaning up the galley, I had gone to our compartment.  I was lying on my mattress, the top berth, feeling bad about all the trouble I had caused.  It was impossible not to hear Ivy’s rising voice through the partition.  I knew their conversation was coming to an end.

Then Ivy burst in and began venting her rage at me. “Bitch!  Get out of my room, you rotten little slut!”

“I’m really sorry, Ivy.”  I didn’t know what to say to try to mollify her.

“Just get out!  Get out of my sight.”  She glared at me.

I had no wish to remain in the room with her in her current state.  But at the same time I didn’t want her to think she had the authority to order me out.  As calmly as a could, I said, “I’m sorry you’re angry at me.  I didn’t do anything with the intention of hurting you.  But I don’t mind leaving now.”

I began to slide off the top bunk.  Apparently Ivy didn’t think it was fast enough, for she grabbed my arm, digging her nails into me, and pulled.

Jumping down, I said, “Just keep your hands off me!  I’m leaving, okay?”  I faced her momentarily, not wanting to seem like I was running away from her.

She slapped my face.  “Ow!  Leave me alone,” I said, pushing her away.

She grabbed at my breast and pinched.  “Flat-chested slut-girl.  You and Rafiq deserve each other.”

“Ouch!  You bitch.”  I broke her grip and made my exit, thoroughly freaked by her outburst of nastiness.  It seemed that her aura of poise and polish is a bit of a facade.  If things don’t go her way, negativity boils out.

However outrageous her behavior was, still I couldn’t help wondering whether I was in the wrong for having precipitated her breakup with Rafiq.  My mind was in turmoil.  Who was right?  Who was wrong?  Was there a right and wrong?

Should I forsake further involvement with Rafiq?  Or should I just press forward?  Was there really a choice here?  Oh... Why does my happiness have to result in someone else’s distress?  Why do things have to be so complicated?

...Well, in the thick of these imponderables, maybe this is not the best time to divert the reader’s attention to trivialities.  Nevertheless, before I get on with my story, there is one misrepresentation I need to correct.  I don’t think “flat-chested” is an accurate descriptor for me.  ...Not that I want to imply that I care how Ivy describes me.  ...But I guess I do care, or I wouldn’t mention it now.

*******

That night I slept on some blankets out on deck.  I was a little chilly there, and the deck was hard.  I ended up having the strangest dream.  I was at a formal prom-like affair, at some place like a fancy waterfront hotel.  Except that it seemed to turn into a place that was floating on the water in the middle of the ocean.

I was wearing the most extraordinary silk skirt, with such vividly patterned colors, mostly gold and black and red.  It was as beautiful as only something in a dream could be.  Its low-riding waist band had this silver chain with dangling jewels: rubies and onyx, not costume jewelry, but the real thing.  The skirt was wrap-around, but as nice as it was, it didn’t have quite enough material to assure that the side stayed closed when I sat down.  I couldn’t be sure that my white cotton undies wouldn’t be visible, and that would hardly be appropriate for so fancy a skirt.

But that problem pales in comparison to the problem with the top.  In the dream I knew I was supposed to have a matching top, a sexy affair that would leave my midriff bare.  But somehow or other I ended up without the top – attending this elegant formal soiree half naked, breasts bared.

A friend of mine, Diana, was praising how good I looked, and at times hugging me and kissing me.  Nevertheless, I was really uptight.  But nobody else, guys included, were making a big deal out of my attire, or lack thereof.  In the dream I felt that this was because they hadn’t yet noticed my nakedness.  I tried to stay close to Diana, hoping that this would somehow protect me.

Then some really handsome guy came up to me, and bending on one knee, took and kissed my hand.  In the dream such behavior was not absurd, but seemed natural enough for this unusual guy in this unusual situation.  Although he was not Rafiq, I think he represented Rafiq.

He took my hand and led me through the crowd.  Still nobody seemed to acknowledge that I was topless, although I remained thoroughly anxious about it.

We went up a couple flights of stairs, through another room crowded with people, then out onto a balcony and down a spiral staircase.  He had let go of my hand and gone ahead.  But then it felt like it was taking a great effort to move my legs, and I could not keep up with him.  The stairs became steeper and I felt that I couldn’t continue downward without falling. 

I was now all by myself.  The staircase had morphed into a rope ladder, and I was now on the bottom rung with nothing below me.  The rungs holding my feet separated from each other.  It was like standing spreadeagled between two playground swings, one foot on each swing, one hand on each chain - in other words, not much in control.

There were people on the floor far below, looking up at me.  At this point in the dream I no longer had any panties on under my skirt, although I remember having had them on earlier.  And since the rungs supporting each foot had swung wide apart, I was giving everybody below a good view.

I was being lowered to the floor below.  When my feet were less than a meter above the heads of the crowd, my descent stopped.  Some people started poking between my legs with poles or broomstick handles.

They were sticking one into my pussy and another one up my butt.  It really hurt.  I was desperate.  There was nothing I could do...

I awoke feeling genuine pain.  But that melted away as I realized it was only a dream.  I sat up and looked at Rafiq, at the helm.  He smiled at me.  I got up and cuddled up next to him.

“I had this strange dream.  Kind of a bad dream.  I was at this big formal party, and people were hurting me.”  I chose not to divulge the outre particulars.

“Oh.  You’re probably anxious about the little conflict today.  But don’t worry.  Ivy just needed to vent.  Things will settle down soon.”  Rafiq gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Do you ever have anxiety dreams where you’re out in public without clothes?  ...Or maybe that’s just my hangup.”

“At your big formal party, naked?”

“Topless.  I had a skirt on, short but elegant.”

“Cute,” said Rafiq, gazing at me with admiration.  “I would have liked being in that dream with you.  You must have been ravishing...  But anyway, yes, I understand that kind of dream.  I once dreamt I was giving a presentation to an audience, and my fly was broken and kept being wide open.   ...Maybe the prim and righteous don’t have a monopoly on those kind of anxieties.”

“Prim and righteous?  Why do you say that?  I don’t think that applies to me.  Except...”

“Except you’d rather not show too much skin.  Otherwise, no, it doesn’t apply.  ...Except there is a certain ...like, aura of virtuousness about you.  The kind of things you think are important in the world.  Your concern about other people ...and not imposing on other people.”

“Well... but...”

“But yeah, that’s a different thing,” Rafiq conceded.  He pondered for a moment, then said, “Also there’s your concern about what other people think.  That’s what it is.”  He smiled at me.

“Well...”  After pausing to ponder, I said, “I know this guy and he once insisted that he never worried about what other people think.  And he’s this totally conventional guy - a conformist, right down to the brand labels on his clothes.  So go figure.  ...Don’t you think we’re all concerned about what other people think?  We’re social creatures.  Other people are important.”

“That’s true.  But you do bring it up - what other people think.  But it’s no big deal.  Don’t worry about it.  I only mentioned it as a reason why I can picture you having anxiety dreams about not having your clothes on in front of a bunch of people.”

“Oh...  Well, maybe I do get too hung up on what other people think.  I’ve got bad habits.”

Rafiq smiled.  He gave me a little kiss and said, “I like your bad habits.”  He squeezed me close.  I rested my head on his shoulder.

*******

The difficulties I had that day with Ivy paled in comparison to what happened late the next day.  I was in the galley cooking dinner.  In one frying pan there were hamburgers for the omnivores; in the other frying pan there were veggie burgers for the herbivores.  Rafiq was in the guys’ compartment, napping, in anticipation of watching the helm that night.

April appeared, telling me to come up quickly to see the dolphins swimming alongside us.  I dashed up, forgetting about the stove.  In the excitement of watching the dolphins so close, I left the pan on too long and burned the burgers.

The Skipper was angry.  “For dereliction of duty, through my authority to discipline the crew under my command, I will administer one dozen strokes with the cat.”

I was appalled.  Could he really do that?  I had seen “Mutiny on the Bounty”, so I knew that Captain Bligh routinely whipped his crew members.  But could this man do that in this day and age?

“Prepare her for the whip.  Strip her to the waist,” ordered the Skipper, motioning to April and Ivy.  I was wearing an V-front athletic-style swimsuit top.  Ivy approached me, intending to strip me of it.  I didn’t want to be forcibly stripped.

Backing away from Ivy, I said, “You have no right.  None of you have any right to touch me.”

“Strip off her to top,” repeated the Skipper.

As Ivy closed in, I entreated the Skipper, “Please no.  I don’t want to be handled like that.  I’ll take it off myself.”

The Skipper grunted assent.  Ivy frowned at me.  Slowly I crossed my arms to take hold of my top from either side.  Glancing at the assembled eyes following my every move, I was tempted to turn away from them before lifting off my top.  But such modesty felt like it would convey girlish timidity, especially since Ivy and April had already gone topless.

Facing them I pulled my top off overhead.  Then I dropped it to the deck and stood facing them with my arms at my sides.  I tried to convince myself that it was no big deal if they could look at my bare breasts.

After eyeing my body for several moments, the Skipper made me raise my arms so that he could tie them to the boom.  Having done that, he stood before me eyeing my breasts.  I was thankful at least that he didn’t feel them.

He disappeared below to get a whip.  April stood off to the side watching me gravely.  James, at the helm, seemed more interested in April’s reaction to the unfolding events than in me.  Meanwhile, Ivy circumambulated me, eyeing my front, smirking.  She made me feel thoroughly humiliated.

The Skipper returned with a multi-tailed leather lash.  Each thong had several knots in it.  Was this the dreaded cat-o’-nine-tails?

There I was, half naked, arms bound over head, waiting to be whipped.  The Skipper stood off to my left side.  Ivy was somewhat in front of me, still smirking.

“Are you ready for your whipping,” the Skipper asked, feeling my back and sides.

“Please no,” I begged.

The Skipper ignored my plea.  He drew back the whip swung it into me.  Shlackk!  Across the back.  I gasped.  It really hurt.  Again, shlackk!  “Ow!  Oh my god!”  ...Shlackk!  “Ohh!  Please not so hard.”

“You’re not counting the strokes, Jenny.  We’ll have to start over.”

“No, please.  You hadn’t told me to count.  But that was three.  I’ve had three.”

Shlackk!  “OW!  ...Four.  God that hurts.”

“No, that was one.  I said we were starting over again.  Shall we start over yet again?”

“Oh god no, please!  You’ve hit me four times already.  It hurts so much.”

Shlackk!  “AHHH!  Five.”

“That’s not five.  That’s not anything.  I’m just going to keep whipping you until you start counting correctly.”

“One then!  Is that what it’s supposed to be?  Please don’t keep whipping me.”

“That’s better.  One it is.  I knew you would catch on.  Now after this, add ‘sir’ to your count.”

Shlackk!  “Ow! Ow!  ...Two, sir.  Is that what you want?  I’m trying to do it right.”

“Yes.  You’re doing it just right now.  Two down, ten to go.”

SShlackk!  “AHHHH!  Three, sir.  Oh-my-god, don’t hit me that hard.”

He laid on three more strokes, progressively harder, with me crying out after each one.  Then he paused, and examined my back, passing his hand over the welts.  “Hmm.  Better move it around more or I might break the skin.  We won’t want that now would we?”

“No sir.  Please sir, you’re hurting me so much.”

Now, instead of being on my left, he stood directly behind me.  SShlackk!   “AHHH!  Oh-my-god, no.”  He laid that one onto my right side; it wrapped around the ribs to the front, just below the breasts.

“What was that?”

“Seven, sir.  Please not on the front.”

But as I turned away to keep him on my left side so as to prevent the whip from wrapping around to my front, he switched to a backhand stroke that caught me directly across the stomach.  “OW, OW, OW!  ...Eight, sir.  Oh, please...”

As I twisted in the other direction to avoid another backhand stroke on the front, he laid on a forehand stroke that caught the base of my right breast.  “OOOOH!  No, please no!”  The sting was vicious.  Couldn’t he stay away from my breasts?

“Mmm.  Those pretty little titties.”  He paused to fondle my breasts.  “How did that one feel?  Pretty good, eh?  You gotta like that high intensity.”

“Please not there.  Anywhere else.”  If he hit me on the nipples with that awful thing, I thought I would just die.

“What number are we on now, Jenny?  Do you know?”

I wasn’t sure.  Somehow it had to be near the end.  “Is it ten or eleven, sir?  I think it’s eleven, sir.”  Actually I thought it was probably ten.

“No.  That was nine.  Three more to go.  You’re a good girl, Jenny.  Are you ready?”

This time I kept my back to him, not knowing whether he would use a backhand or forehand stroke.

SShlackk!  “AHHH!”  It was a backhand stroke that wrapped around enough to catch the side of my left breast.  I writhed, gasping.  Finally I said, “Ten, sir.”

SShlackk!  The hard forehand stroke wrapped around straight onto my right breast, the knotted thongs hitting my nipple like bullets.  “EEEEEE!” I let out a shrill scream.  My knees gave out from under me, and I hung from my bound wrists.  As the pain crested, I thought I was going to faint. 

He paused to feel my breast.  After a time I murmured, “Eleven, sir.”  The end was finally near.

“Where should we lay the last one?  We want to finish strongly, don’t we?  You’re such a good girl under the whip, we want to make this memorable.”

“Oh, please no.  You’ve already whipped me so hard.”

“Now what if I were to quit now, without giving you your last stroke.  That would be disappointing, wouldn’t it.  You would be left with a real sense of incompleteness.”

I shook my head.  I would not be left with any sense of incompleteness if he stopped now.  I don’t need whippings to feel complete.

Continuing to feel up my breasts, he said, “But take a look at your tits.  No harm done.  Just some nice pretty welts.  And those ones leading across your nipple are so cute.  So you want me to finish with an extra-hard one right on the tits.  Your nipples are sticking out just begging for it, aren’t they?”

“Please no.  Not there.  You don’t know how that feels.”

He started prodding and pinching my nipples.  They were stiff and hard... but my right nipple hurt so bad.

“You’re hurting me.  Please leave my breasts alone.”

“Tits!  Your perky tits need a hard whipping.”  He was kneading them vigorously.

“Ow.  Ow.  Please don’t torment me like this.  Just finish your whipping and let me be.”

“Then stand like so.  That’s good.  Arch your back, thrust those titties out.  You know you deserve this and you really want it.”

He took a step back to my right.  I turned my head away from him and squinched my eyes shut, waiting ...waiting ...waiting.

SShlackk!  “EEEEEEEEE...  Ow, ow, ow...”  Again my knees gave out and I hung from my wrists.  Gasping, panting.  My nipples were on fire.  He had hit me so hard.  I was in agony, just writhing with pain.

But my punishment was finally done.  As I began to regain my equilibrium, I looked down at my breasts.  My nipples appeared to be intact, although I wouldn’t have known that from how they felt.  “Twelve, sir,” I gasped.

“Now you want to thank me for whipping you so well, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.”  I’d say anything not be whipped again.

“And what are you thanking me for?”

Insubordination was out of the question.  “Thank you for whipping me so well, sir.”

“You are a very good girl, Jenny.  A very good girl.”  He untied my wrists from the boom.  I dropped to my knees, cradling my stinging breasts.

********

That evening in the twilight, I was alone with Rafiq as he took his turn watching the helm.  He was applying a soothing balm to my whip marks, as I sat on the deck half naked before him.  Although he was sympathetic, he was not incensed that the Skipper had punished me so severely.

“How can you condone what that bastard did to me?” I demanded.

“I’m not condoning it.  But what’s the point of condemning it?  What’s done is done.  You got a whipping.  I appreciate that it was hard for you.  It would be hard for anybody.  But what good does it do for either of us to moan about it now?  And you’re still as beautiful and spirited as you ever were.  Even more beautiful.”

“Covered with whip marks?  Do you call that pretty?”

“Well.  Isn’t the answer obvious?”

“Oh, you!  What next?  That my whipping is erotically stimulating?”

“Well, isn’t it.  Aren’t you aroused now?  Look how hard your nipples are,” he said, fondling them.

“But that’s because they’re sore and you keep twiddling them as you put that liniment on me.”

“No, they were already really stiff.”

“Well, because I can still feel residual sting.  And besides, I’m chilly.  You’ve got a shirt on.  I don’t.”

“Yes.  I’m aware of your nakedness.”  He gave me a sly grin.  “There’s something very special when a girl has to be naked, while guys wear clothes.”

“Has to be naked?  What do you mean by that?  ...Oh, that’s your fantasy, is that right?  Like I’m your little slave girl, bare breasted before you, and just got a whipping.”

“Yeah.  It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe to you.”

“And also to you.  Right?”

“You’re a really annoying person.  Do you know that?”  But as I spoke, I was beaming at him.

He cuddled me close to keep me warm.  We sat in silence.  After a time I said, “I don’t want to keep bringing up a painful subject, but it bothers me that you think I would get erotic pleasure from being whipped so hard.  There was nothing erotic there.  It really, really hurt.”

“Well, maybe it just needs an adjustment of perspectives about pleasure and pain.”

“I’m sorry, Rafiq, but you’re wrong.  It’s not a matter of changing perspectives.  I know what kinky discipline is, and that wasn’t it.”

“You know about such things?  That’s interesting.  What sort of experiences have you had?”

Oh-my-god.  I was mortified by the awful thing I had just revealed.  As I’ve described in some previous stories, I have received certain untoward punishments that culminated in sexual release.  But it wasn’t something I ever wanted to happen.  I’m not a ‘pain slut’.  I hate that ugly term.

“Oh, Rafiq,” I stammered.  “I don’t know why I said that. ...This is so embarrassing.  You’re getting a completely wrong idea about me.  I never sought out that kind of thing.  That’s not what I’m about.”

Rafiq squeezed me close.  “I didn’t mean to sound like I was probing off-limits.  I don’t want to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Now I realized that I was behaving as if I wasn’t worthy of his intimacy.  After a time I said, “I’m sorry.  I guess I’m overreacting.  Of course we’ll talk all about it.  I wouldn’t want to have secrets from you.  But let’s not go into it tonight.  I feel so drained by what happened today.”

“I understand that.  By the way, it’s not that easy for me to reveal how much pleasure I get from your...  your being a damsel in distress.  It’s a strange thing.  Not consistent with the rest of me.”

“Oh...  Yeah.  Funny how guys and girls are made.”

After a pause Rafiq whispered, “Everything is just as it should be tonight.  And tomorrow I do intend to have some words with the Skipper on your behalf.”

I smiled at him gratefully.  He gave me a long kiss.  As the splendor of the cosmos was revealed in the blackening sky, I fell asleep in his arms.

*********

The next morning, on meeting the Skipper as I emerged on deck I said, “Good morning, sir.”  The ease with which I greeted him surprised me.  Strangely, I didn’t bear as much resentment as I thought I should.

“Good morning, Jenny.  You’re looking well.  Life at sea seems to agree with you,” he replied, smiling.

“Yes, sir.”  I was a bit shocked to hear myself addressing him as sir.  Nobody else affords the Skipper that respect.  I was glad that nobody else overheard me.  I’m not sure what they would have thought.

Still, I noted that where I had previously seen only loathsome decadence, I could now see some other dimensions.  There was a bit of a commanding aspect to him.  Even so, I kept my distance.  I didn’t trust him.

Other facets of the my social situation aboard the yacht were also problematic.  Because she considered me to have stolen Rafiq from her, Ivy would not speak to me.  I could feel her animosity, and was a little frightened of it.

April also was decidedly cool toward me, perhaps because she was Ivy’s cousin.  Twice during conversations with her, she had blamed me for the breakup.  She said she had never imagined me the kind of person who would do that.  This hurt, because she was a friend.  After all, she had invited me here and was the only person I had known previously.

The absence of a female friend on board was a privation.  I rely so much on females for sympathy, understanding, and advice.  But now I was dependent on Rafiq for all my social needs.

That did not seem to bother Rafiq, however.  He maintained a polite distance from everyone but me ...and more than a polite distance from Ivy.  In fact, Ivy was no longer speaking to him.

I felt that I was guilty of causing their falling out.  Rafiq, on the other hand, although he felt sorry that Ivy was taking it so badly, seemed to think it was fated, saying “to resist falling for you would have been like trying to stop breathing.”

That was wondrously captivating to hear that from a guy you admire so much.  Nevertheless, having always been a little shy, and feeling my allure to be understated compared to Ivy’s, it didn’t quite fit my self-image for Rafiq to dump the beautiful, poised, and vivacious Ivy in favor of me.  But I certainly couldn’t complain about it.

Anyway, a little later I noticed Rafiq conversing quietly with the Skipper.  I suspected he was talking about me, and kept out of earshot.  After five or ten minutes, Rafiq approached me.  “Heyyyy, Jenny.  I spoke to him about yesterday’s whipping being excessive.  To some degree he was sympathetic.  And he even agreed not to use the cat on you again.  Um...  That’s the good news.”

Yes?  And...”  I waited for Rafiq to continue.

“Well, now for the other news.”  Rafiq had this furtive smile.  “He’s probably going to whip you with something else instead.”

My mouth fell open.  “Why?  Now what have I done wrong?”

“Oh...  Probably nothing.  I think he just feels that you’re good for another whipping.  But not right now.  So relax.”

Chapter 2: Storm and Clearing

In the afternoon I took a long nap below with Rafiq.  I was trying to get myself more on his schedule. He seemed naturally to be a night person.

The schedule for watching the helm was 0500 to 1200, morning shift, Skipper sometimes spelled by Ivy, who knew at lot; 1200-2100, afternoon and evening, James, again sometimes spelled by Ivy, and with April increasing being entrusted for some periods of time; and 2100-0500, the night shift, Rafiq.  Nobody thought I was qualified to be responsible for the boat by myself.  ...By the way, it was the Skipper who insisted we tell time on the 24-hour rather than the 12-hour scale.

When I awoke, I had the feeling that something was afoot on deck.  I left Rafiq asleep, and as I emerged above, I was shocked to see April, stripped completely naked, bound hands over head, a cloth gag across her mouth, and James, wielding a whip on her.

It was not the cat-o’-nine-tails used on me.  It was a short single thong whip, very flexible, probably of some synthetic material.  From the speed with which he flicked it on her, I sensed that it was lightweight.

James was going after April’s butt.  The whip left only faint pink marks, and from April reactions I didn’t get the sense that it was unbearably painful. 

Nevertheless, she was really upset, yelling muffled through her gag.  I know April, and I knew that she had no previous experience with corporal punishment.  I felt torn.  I didn’t know whether I should try to intercede on her behalf.

Ivy was watching, agitated.  Her wrists were bound before her with leather handcuffs.  The Skipper standing next to her, seeming to monitor Ivy’s reaction as much as he was watching April’s whipping.

I felt certain that the Skipper and James were not going to tolerate any interference from me.  Trying to do anything would probably just land me another whipping, and I really didn’t want that.  Especially not now, since yesterday’s whip marks were still visible, even though the welts had receded.  My nipples were still sensitive.

So I just watched, feeling helpless.  James had switched to the front of her thighs, lashing her over and over again.  April was twisting and turning, trying to avoid the strokes.  I knew he was trying to get her between the legs, but she kept them together to protect herself.

“Now I want to see you dance,” said James, standing before her.  “Come on, shake it.”

April shook her head.  James lashed her twice across the stomach, then across the ribs.  I wondered if he would whip her breasts.  Her big jugs looked like a tempting target.

April protested as loudly as she could through her gag, but James was insistent, “Dance.  Dance.   Shake it!”

After the another whip stroke landed just below her breasts, she acquiesced and began rocking her hips rhythmically.  James let up with the whip for a moment, then started giving her light strokes on her hips in rhythm with her dance.

April continued to dance.  She wasn’t putting a whole lot into it; she kept her legs together, and her jugs swayed only a little.   But for now James seemed reasonably satisfied.  He started to feel up her ass while she rocked her hips.

April didn’t seem too distressed at this point, but she certainly didn’t look happy about it either.  Although I certainly didn’t want to trade places with her, I did sort of wonder how I would do in her situation.  Coerced with a whip into performing naked.  All eyes on your body.

Giving her a couple hard slaps on the butt, James said, “Come on, put your body into it.  Shake that booty!”

Moving her legs apart, April started putting more into it.  Her jugs started swaying back and forth.

Taking hold of her nipples and jiggling her breasts, James said, “Come on.  Shake those big boobs.  I want to see them flop.”

April waggled her big jugs back and forth in wide flopping sweeps.  I wondered how she felt about being made to do that.  I wondered how I would do in that situation.  And I wondered if how much I can shake my breasts would have much allure.

Dangling the whip before her, James never took his eyes of her.  Then he flicked it lightly at her breasts a few times.  Voicing muffled complaints through her gag, April recoiled away from the strokes while continuing her gyrations.

As she rocked her hips, James then slid his hand along the inside of her thigh and into her crotch.  April tightened her legs together, trimming her undulations and finally stopping altogether.  Through her gag I thought she said, “Let me go.”

Left hand at her pussy, James scored the whip onto her hip, wrapping around onto her rear.  April continued her muffled complaints.

As he continued to harass her, she lifted her leg, set a foot to his stomach and gave him a kick that sent him stumbling backward.  He fell against the bulkhead.

Although he got up slowly, rubbing the back of his head where he hit it, he seemed to take it in good humor.  He was smiling, and muttering something about how much he liked strong women.  But he stopped going after her pussy.

Instead, he started whipping her breasts.  April was twisting and lurching trying to dodge the strokes, all the while crying out incoherently through her gag.  Now her big jugs were really bouncing.  She tried to kick at him, but James stayed out of range of her feet as he laid on stroke after stroke.  Her breasts were getting flushed.

Finally, April ceased her struggles and muffled yells, and just stood there sobbing as James continued lashing her breasts.  This was just unbearable; I was going to have to try to intercede.

Just as I was about to step forward, James laid off.  He dropped the whip and gave her a hug, with consoling words.  Perhaps April’s sobbing acquiescence was not the kind of response that aroused him to further whip her.

When he ungagged her and released her wrists, she turned away from him, and with Ivy immediately retreated below to our compartment.  I followed them down to console her.  But they had locked the door and wouldn’t let me in.

I was afraid to return to the deck and be alone the Skipper and James.  I thought they might whip me next.  I stayed below in the galley and made dinner.  All the while I felt bad for April.  And I felt bad for myself that she wouldn’t even allow me in to offer comfort.

I must have been really on edge, because when the Skipper suddenly appeared in the galley doorway, I let out a startled yelp.

I quickly apologized.  “Sorry.  I was just startled.”

“No problem.  Just came down for some rum.  You doing all right?  Need any help?”

“No, sir.  Things will be ready in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Good.  You’re the best damned cook.  Yeah.  Best damn cook I ever had aboard.”

That was blatant nonsense.  My cooking was elementary, especially compared to Ivy’s, which had been surprisingly elegant.  At that time I hadn’t had much experience at it.  But it seemed that the Skipper was using praise to reassure me of his benign intentions.

After rummaging around the galley for a couple minutes, then pouring himself some rum and taking several gulps, he spoke, in a manner sort of to himself, but with the obvious intention that I should hear, “That James...  I don’t know about that boy.  Doesn’t seem to have good judgment.  Tried to warn him about whipping April.  I guess I didn’t make myself clear.”

Then turning and looking straight at me, he said, “Jenny, you know, there’s a certain kind of girl you can whip.  And a certain kind of girl you can’t.  You gotta be able to recognize the difference.  The right kind of girl, when you whip her, she’ll be the best damn girl ever.  Yeah, the best damn girl ever.  But you gotta know the right time to whip her.  And you gotta do it the right way.”

With that he turned and scuffed out of the galley.  I just stood there, dazed.  The right kind of girl to whip?  Was he referring to me?

********

The next morning April treated James with an icy reserve, despite his repeated advances.   Meanwhile, I was feeling that I needed to talk with another woman about what the Skipper had said to me.  I wanted to talk to April.  But not with Ivy there.  Ivy hated me.  And today Ivy never left April’s side.

This question, about whether there was some right kind of girl to whip, is not something I wanted to bring up with Rafiq.  I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.  I had a feeling that he wouldn’t be that sympathetic.

Indeed, it seemed more likely that he would just encourage me to enjoy getting whipped.  Last night I had told him of my past experiences with corporal punishment (as related in other stories on this website).  Although he had tried to convey sympathy, he was plainly aroused by the erotic overtones.

In any case, I was feeling isolated.  And vulnerable.  Otherwise the day was relatively uneventful... until early evening just before dinner.

I was down in the girls compartment.  I kept my clothes in there but I didn’t sleep there any more with April and Ivy.  Instead I liked sharing Rafiq’s berth, although it was a tight squeeze and in his sleep he sometimes mashed me against the wall.

At this time I was sorting through my clothes.  Ivy came in.  I had grown accustomed to maintaining silence with her. 

But after couple minutes, she confronted me, saying, “Hey, slut bitch.  See this safety pin?  I think I’m gonna stick it through your clit.”

I wasn’t much afraid that Ivy could actually do that.  But I was concerned that she might try to scratch me with the open safety pin.  I tried to mollify her.

“Oh, Ivy.  I’ve told you how sorry I am about what happened between you and Rafiq.  I would never have been so friendly with him in the first place if I had known that it would cause you two to break up.”  Actually, I don’t know whether that last statement was true.  At this point, I really wanted and needed Rafiq as my own.  How could I have foregone him?

I continued, “And I’m not a slut either.  I’ve barely even gone to bed with Rafiq  ...I mean, like technically.” 

And that was sort of true, a result of the lack of privacy.  When we were about to do it once on deck in the middle of the night, the Skipper came out and partook of his strange night-time habit of pissing over the bulkhead.  We did it once under the covers in Rafiq’s berth, but since the guys’ bedroom also serves as everyone’s living room, the distraction of wondering if somebody was about to walk in on us made it less than ideal, at least for me.  Finally, the girls’ compartment doesn’t work for me because it’s imbued with Ivy’s vibes.

“You are a slut, you rotten bitch.  You fuck for every guy you see.  That’s why I’m going to try to slow you down by safety pinning your clit.”  She waved the pin toward my crotch.

“Get away from me with that thing.  ...And I don’t fuck for every guy I see.  I’ll bet you’ve gone to bed with a lot more guys than I have.  A whole lot more.”

I was sure she had to be more experienced than me.  I had sexual relations with only one guy before this, Mick (who I’ve mentioned in three previous stories).   ...Well, there was a sort of encounter with one guy before Mick, but that was a mistake, and a bummer, so I don’t count that.  ...In any case, I’m pretty cautious compared to a lot of girls I know.

Ivy continued closing in on me, threatening with that safety pin.  I retreated and fell back onto April’s berth, raising my legs to defend myself.  Ivy thrust her pin at me.  I let out a shriek when she scratched my calf.  I gave her a hard kick in the stomach.  Ivy cried out, but pressed forward again.  Spontaneously screeching the whole time, I continued kicking at her.

At that moment the Skipper burst through the door, followed by Rafiq and James.  Instantly they separated us.

“Brawling!” the Skipper bellowed.  His face was red with anger.  “I won’t tolerate brawling among my crew.  Up on deck immediately.  A whipping for both of you.”

Whatever punishment I received would be worth it if Ivy got the same.  Yet I wondered how she would take it compared to me.  Would she retain her composure?  Would I end up begging and weeping?

When we got out on deck, the Skipper ordered, “Strip off your tops, both of you.”  After a few moments of hesitation I took off my tank top; Ivy took off her bikini top.  We stood side by side, bare breasted, facing the guys.

The Skipper took out a nasty looking slender tawse-like black strap, and a long, thin cane.  After eyeing us for several moments, the Skipper continued,  “Now the rest.  Take it down.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Ivy to see if she was going to strip completely, which is what I thought the Skipper had told us to do, although I wasn’t quite sure.  She didn’t move.  I wasn’t going to strip if she didn’t.

“Do you understand?” asked the Skipper.  “Ivy, off with your bikini bottom.  Jenny, off with your shorts and whatever you have underneath.  Any more delay and I’ll whip your breasts.”

That was unequivocal.  Without hesitation, I took down my shorts and undies.  Then both of us stood naked while the guys looked us over.  Now I wished that we hadn’t shaved ourselves that second night on the boat.  It just made me feel that much more exposed.

James had his eyes on Ivy.  The Skipper mostly studied my body.  Rafiq’s gaze shifted back and forth between Ivy and me.  I felt he was comparing my body with hers, and I didn’t like that one bit.

The Skipper said, “Well, Jenny, I see that the other day’s whip marks from the cat on your tits have disappeared.”

“Please sir, don’t whip me there now.”

“Where don’t you want me to whip you?”

“Not on the breasts, sir, please.”  I knew he just wanted to hear me say ‘tits’ or ‘breasts’.  I didn’t care what he made me say.  I just didn’t want that wicked looking cane slicing onto my girl flesh.

“We’ll see what happens this afternoon, Jenny.  But for now you are to turn around and get down on all fours.  ...You too, Ivy.”

We turned around and got down on our hand and knees.

“Elbows down on the deck.  Bottom up,” continued the Skipper.  “Arch your back, Ivy.  Get that butt up there like you really want to receive the punishment you deserve.  That’s better.  ...Knees further apart, Jenny.  This is no time for modesty.  ...That’s good.  A nice stable position.”

So there we were, weight resting on forearms and knees, butts elevated, waiting for a whipping.  With knees well apart I knew we must be putting on an interesting show.  I wondered if my labia were staying closed, minimizing what they could see.  But I knew that was the least of my worries now.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the Skipper preparing to swat Ivy with the strap.  After eyeing her for several moments, he swung it into her.  Whap!  Ivy gasped.  Her hand went back, rubbing her rear.

After a moment, the Skipper said, “Enough of that.  Get that hand back where it belongs.  There’s more to come.”

Ivy resumed her position.  ...Whap!  She winced, but maintained her position.  ...Whap!  “Ah!”   ...Whap!  “Ow!”   ...Whap!  “Ow!  Shit.  Be careful where you’re hitting.”   ...Whap!  “Ow!  Fuck.  Not there.  Oooh...”  Ivy brought her hand back and crumpled low, gasping.  He must have hit her on the pussy.  We were so vulnerable in this position.  There were tears in her eyes, but she was trying not to cry.

“Now Jenny, it’s your turn,” said the Skipper.

I grimaced, waiting.  ...Whap!  I inhaled sharply, but suppressed vocalization.  I didn’t want to come across as being weaker than Ivy.  ...Whap!  I was gasping and panting, suppressing the impulse to bring my hand back to protect my butt.   ...Whap!  My butt was burning. ...Whap!  “Ooh!”  That one was on the backs of the thighs.   ...Whap!  “Ahhh!  Owww...”  The end of the strap had caught my pussy.  I brought my hand back momentarily.

“Back into position,”ordered the Skipper.  “There’s one more to come.”

Whap!  “Ahhhhh!  Ow-ow-ow...”  Right smack on the pussy, really hard.  The intensity was electric.  Like Ivy, I folded low to the deck gasping, but trying to suppress the sobs that wanted to issue forth.

“Bravely taken, both of you.  Good girls.  I’ll give you a few minutes respite before your caning.”

Whipping on the genitals seemed so unjust.  And I couldn’t believe there was more to come now.  I remained curled up, prostrate, gently rubbing my burning labia, just trying not to give way to tears.

My head was turned away from Ivy, and I had no thought of her.  But I later learned that her feeling of despair matched my own at this point.

After a while the Skipper said, “Now we’ll have you stand up.  Since you two wanted to have at each other, perhaps it’s appropriate to have each of you administer the cane to the other.”

I glanced over at Ivy.  She was getting up.  She glanced over at me with a look of revulsion.  I got up quickly.

Skipper said, “All right Ivy, bend over and hold the bulkhead.  Jenny will give you a caning.”

Ivy hesitated, looking at me angrily.  “I won’t have her cane me.  Absolutely not.”

“Yes, Jenny’s going to cane you.  Absolutely.”

I spoke up, “I don’t want to cane her.”

Skipper gave me a withering look as he handed me the cane.  “You will obey orders.”  Then turning to the James and Rafiq, he said, “Bind Ivy’s wrists to the boom.  ...Arms apart, crux style.  I don’t want her twisting and turning, trying to avoid Jenny’s strokes.”

They tied a rope around each wrist, then secured the opposite ends far apart on the boom.  Ivy’s arms were drawn apart, raised about thirty degrees from horizontal.  Looking at her in that position, her body was awesome.

I glanced at Rafiq.  His eyes were glued to Ivy.  I felt a wave of jealousy.  But I tried to convince myself that I was still the one he loved.  ...That even though Ivy and I were both equally naked, it was only the magnetic quality of a bound woman that drew his eyes.

“Twelve strokes with the cane, vigorous applied.  Proceed, Jenny,” ordered the Skipper.

I positioned myself to apply cane strokes to Ivy’s rear.  I wasn’t sure I could go through with this.  I hesitated.   ...Finally I said, “I can’t do this.  It isn’t right.”

The Skipper grabbed his strap and came at me.  He cocked his arm; looking right at my breasts.  I dropped the cane drew my arms across my chest.  Whap!  Whap!  Whap!  Protecting my breasts, my arms took the force of the strokes.

He had backed me against the bulkhead.  Whap!  “Ow!”  He had landed that on the front of my thighs.  I raised and turned in one knee to try to protect my privates.  Whap!  Whap!

“You self-righteous little goody-goody!  Don’t tell me what’s right.  You steal Ivy’s guy, cause her all kinds of grief, and then you have the nerve to tell me that you can’t obey my rightful order to discipline her for brawling.  Now I’m going to teach you something.”  His words stung as much as the strap.

Turning to James and Rafiq, he said, “Hold her arms out against the bulkhead, I’m going whip her tits and pussy till she learns to obey.”

As James stepped forward to seize my left arm, Rafiq intervened, staying the Skipper’s hand, “Now wait just a god-damn minute.  This is getting out of hand.  I’m not letting you harm Jenny.”

“Harm Jenny?  Who said anything about harming Jenny?  I’m disciplining her.  Understand?  I’m fed up with the hostility between these two girls.  Now they’re going whip each other until they decide they can live together aboard my ship.  Now take hold of her arm.  I know what I’m doing.”

Rafiq glared at the Skipper.  The Skipper, drawn to his full height, his jaw set with determination, stared him down.  Annunciating each word slowly, the Skipper said, “Jenny needs this.  I know how to take care of her.”

Rafiq eyed him for a moment, then looked at me, searching.  I don’t know what Rafiq read from my expression, but whatever it was, he acquiesced and gently took my right arm, which I surrendered to him.  They held my arms back against the bulkhead.  I was on my knees, facing the Skipper.

Whap!  “AHHHH!”  He smacked the strap straight onto my left nipple.

Whap!  “OHHHHH!  Oh god!”  Laid into my right nipple, so hard.  My breasts were on fire.

“Open your legs wider.”

I obeyed, whimpering, “Please no, please.”

Whap! Right into my pussy.  “OOOOH!”   ...Then again.  Whap!   “AHHHHH!  ...Please stop!  I’ll do what you say.  I’ll whip Ivy.  Just don’t hit me there any more.”  I realized that Ivy was going to get caned one way or another.  I was only undergoing this agonizing strapping to prove, to myself as much as anyone else, that I was being forced to administer it.

“That’s a good girl, Jenny,” said the Skipper.  “Now one more to make sure.”

Whap!  So hard on the pussy.  “OW-OW-OW!  ...Oh-my-god.”  I felt faint.

As they released my arms, I dropped to the deck, softly crying, nursing my pussy.  I didn’t care what kind of a show I was putting on.

After several minutes I glanced up.  The Skipper was watching me patiently, Rafiq sympathetically.  April looked distressed.  Ivy, bound to the boom, looking over her shoulder at me, revealed nothing in her expression.

Finally I got up.  The Skipper handed me the cane.  He said to Ivy, “Arch your back.  Get your bottom out there nicely.  That’s good.  You know you need this caning.”

The cane was thin and surprisingly light.  But it was the longest cane I’d ever seen.  I positioned myself and placed the cane on Ivy’s rear.  I hoped I could handle it accurately.

I drew it back.  Then swung it into her.  It hit her, mid- rear.  Ivy didn’t flinch.

“That’s not nearly hard enough.  Start over.  Don’t you hold back unless you want me to belabor your tits and pussy again.”

“Please no.  I’m trying to do it right, sir.”  I gave him the most plaintive expression I could.

The Skipper smiled and muttered something that sounded like “What a gem.”

Again I placed the cane to Ivy’s rear.  Then drew it back.  This time I swung hard.  Whoosh-thack!  Ivy gasped loudly and writhed.  I had hit her lower than I intended, across the top of her thighs.  She glanced back at me, but the only thing I could read in her expression was pain.

I paused.  Then took aim more carefully.  Whoosh-thack!  Right across the middle of her butt.  She gasped again, and panted.

Whoosh-thack!   “Ooh!” ...Then again.  And again.  One hard stroke after another, with the Skipper quietly counting them out.  Ivy recoiled with each one.  By the ninth stroke Ivy’s rear was fully marked with horizontal stripes.  Her cries were increasingly desperate.  I paused and looked at the Skipper.

“Three more to go.”  He passed his hand over her rear, feeling the welts.  I noticed that his other hand was on her breasts.  “You’re doing very well Ivy.”

He stepped back and nodded to me.  I took aim and swung the cane.  Whoosh-thack!  “OW!  Oh god!  It hurts.”

There seemed to be no more room on her rear for more strokes.  The next I aimed to the back of her thighs.  Whoosh-thack!    “OOOOH!”   ...And the last.  Whoosh-thack!  “AHHHHH!”  She hung there quietly crying. 

I felt bad for her.  I considered apologizing.  But I knew I was next, and I thought that anything I could say might be taken as insincere.  I expected no mercy from her.

As James and Rafiq released her, the Skipper put a supporting arm around her.  “Bravely taken, Ivy.”  He held her for several minutes, as Ivy rubbed her rear and regained her composure.

Still holding her, the Skipper turned to Rafiq and James and said, “Bind Jenny to the boom.  When Ivy feels ready, she will administer the caning.”

They bound my wrists with ropes and drew my arms apart, binding me in a crux position to the boom.  The ropes were pulled hard, my arms about thirty degrees above horizontal.

I hung that way for some time, waiting.  The fear of what was to come was mixed with the contentment of having Rafiq’s eyes on me, not on Ivy.  Something in my core was stirred by being bound naked and vulnerable before him.  After all, my desire for him, and his for me, lay at the root for why I was now to be whipped.  This was powerfully arousing to me.

Ivy finally took up the cane.  She slowly circumambulated me, eyeing me cooly all the while.  Then she positioned herself, placing the cane to my rear and rubbing it back and forth.  She was letting the moments linger.

She drew back the cane.  Whoosh-thack!  I choked back a cry, gasping with the pain.   ...Whoosh-thackk!  Searing pain.  I was panting loudly.    ...Whoosh-thackkk!  “Ow!”  That one was across the back of the thighs.  I writhed. 

Still I arched my back, presenting my rear to the cane.  I was determined to show that I could accept whatever punishment Ivy could inflict.  Yet it was pointless to try to hide how much she was hurting me.

Whoosh-thackkk!  “OOOH!”     ...Whoosh-thackkkk!  “AHHHH!”   

Through the red haze of pain that enveloped me, I heard Rafiq’s voice, “Ivy’s hitting way harder than Jenny did.  That’s not right.”

The Skipper replied, “Ivy’s got a lot more issues with Jenny than visa versa.  You know that.  ...Five down, seven to go.”

Ivy swatted me hard four more times, twice on the butt, twice on the back of the thighs.  I cried out with each stroke.  Then she paused.  I hung there gasping and panting, trying to endure the searing pain.

Then she walked slowly around me.  I tried to compose myself as best I could.  Standing before me, off to my right side, resting the cane on her shoulder, she eyed me.  Blinking away the tears, I returned her gaze.  The way she was looking at my breasts made me uneasy.

“It’s so satisfying to inflict pain on you after how you’ve made me feel during this voyage.  What I’m going to do now...  It’s what I have to do to really satisfy myself.”  Then she started to swing the cane into my breasts. 

“Hey!” with a shout, Rafiq leaped forward, catching the main force of the cane with his hand.  “What the hell are you doing?”  he said, disarming her.

Ivy was pissed, but the Skipper mollified her by saying, “Calm down, Ivy.  If you want to put the sting to Jenny’s titties, I’ll give you something that will sting ’m good.  But not the cane.”

The Skipper went below, and after a minute returned with a thin switch.  “This ought to work pretty good.  Light enough not to bruise her.  See how it works,” he said, offering it to Ivy.

“Let me see that thing,” said Rafiq, intercepting it.  He swished it through the air a couple of times, swatted it on to his own calf a couple times, though not very hard, then handed it to Ivy, apparently satisfied that it wouldn’t harm me.

Ivy frowned, apparently unimpressed with the switch.  Like Rafiq she tested it on her calf, but she snapped it hard on herself, flinched, then seemed to brighten at the prospect of using it on me.  “How many strokes am I allowed,” she asked.

“Whatever,” the Skipper replied.  “I’ll let you know.  There’ll be parity.”

Ivy held the switch before me, then played it back and forth over my breasts, repeatedly bumping it over my stiff nipples.  She said, “What I’m going to do to your little tits now is what you deserve.  So don’t complain.”

Ssswitt!  She snapped it hard onto my breasts, just above the nipples.  “Ooooh!”  ...Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!   In rapid succession, below the nipples.  ...Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Right across the nipples.  “Ow-Ow-Ow.  Oh fuck, not there, Ivy!”

She paused for a moment to pinch my nipples.  “Ouch!  Don’t,” I whimpered.

Then again...  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  She was raining the switch down all over my breasts.  The sting was beyond description.  “AHHHHHH!  You’re going to kill me.”   ...Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!   “OW-OW-OW!  Please no...”  My nipples were on fire.  I was feeling faint.

I heard Rafiq say “That’s enough now.”

“Just a few more,” the Skipper said.  I was dimly aware that he was holding Rafiq back.

Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ssswitt!  Ivy was raining the switch down, hard and fast as she could, straight onto the nipples.  “EEEEEEEE!”  Things around me darkened.  I felt as if I was falling into a different realm of reality.

I next thing I was aware of I was lying on the deck with the Skipper, Rafiq, and April crouching over me.  Standing further back was James.  Ivy was not to be seen.  My breasts hurt like hell.  I guess my butt hurt too, but I barely noticed it compared to my breasts.

“Bravely done, Jenny.  You are one strong young woman,” said the Skipper.

I was afraid to look at my breasts.  Cautiously I brought my hands to them, unsure quite what I would find.  Although I could feel the horizontal welts, maybe I was little surprised that everything still seemed to be intact.  But my nipples seemed puffier.  I glanced down at them.  “Am I okay?”

“Oh yes,” replied the Skipper.  “You still have a fine-looking pair of titties.  Very cute with your whip marks.”

Rafiq scowled at him, “I don’t agree one bit with what you let Ivy do to her.”

“Well, Ivy wields a mean switch, I must say,” replied the Skipper.  “But I said there would be parity.  Time for Ivy to see how it feels.”

A moment later, Ivy appeared from below, still naked.  “Would a little ice be helpful?” she asked.

Rafiq took the melting ice cube from her and passed it gently over the welts on my breasts.  The sensation of cold on my nipples was almost too strong.  Yet it did make them feel better.  I really liked how all these people, including Ivy, were hovering over me.  I just lay there absorbing their solicitude.

After a time, having indicated that I wanted to get up, they assisted me to my feet.  The Skipper now said, “Jenny, I want you to administer the switch to Ivy’s breasts.”

Ivy looked alarmed.  I said, “Please, haven’t both of us been punished enough?”

The Skipper gave me this look that seemed to ask like, hadn’t I learned anything yet?

I quickly changed my tune, “Yes sir.”  I wasn’t going to take another thrashing right where it would hurt the most just to spare Ivy’s breasts.  Not after what she did to mine.

The Skipper said, “Ivy, on your knees, back against the bulkhead.  James, hold one of her arms.  I’ll hold the other.”  They held her against the bulkhead.

“Jenny, take the switch and lay it on good and hard across her nipples.  I’ll tell you when to stop.”

I took up the switch.  It was lightweight, a couple feet long long, stiff but springy.  Placing it against Ivy’s breasts, I said, “I’m doing this because I’ve been ordered to.  Not for revenge.  But I don’t mind if you find out what it felt like, what you just did to me.”

Ivy just closed her eyes and turned her head away.  I brought back the switch.  Then swatted her with it.  I don’t think I hit her hard, but I landed it right across the nipples.  “Aaaaghhh!”  Ivy choked back further cries, and just panted.

“More, and harder,” ordered the Skipper.  “She hit you way harder than that.”

With a flick of the wrist, I swatted her again.  Then again and again and again, above the nipples, below the nipples, and right on the nipples.  “OW!  OW!  Fuck!”  Her breasts jiggled as she gasped and panted and swore.

I realized that I enjoyed the power of making her struggle with the same kind of anguish she had inflicted on me.  I gave her four more rapid strokes across her nipples. 

She let out a prolonged shriek and then her body sagged.  From between her legs a stream of pee ran onto the deck.  I was alarmed.

They gently set her on the deck, leaning her against the bulkhead.  April had disappeared below, probably for some ice.  I just stood there paralyzed, as Ivy sat clasping her breasts, crying.

As they tended to Ivy, she regained her composure.  The Skipper then said, “Good girl, Ivy.   Bravely taken.  Now, would you like to whip Jenny some more?”

Ivy turned to him with an expression of shock.  She shook her head vigorously negative.

“Lovely.”  With an expression of vindication the Skipper turned to Rafiq and said, “You see.  We’ve come to a resolution.”

Rafiq looked at me with a questioning expression, then at Ivy.  Seeming to know not what to say, he made a gesture of exasperated acquiescence, and turned away.

The Skipper then pulled out this tubular, long black wooden thing, rounded at both ends, but with intricately carved texture along its length.  “I think we’ll join you two with this.  We want to bring you some satisfaction after taking your whippings so well.”

My mouth fell open when I realized that thing was a double-ended dildo and that he intended to make Ivy and me fuck on it together.

Rafiq turned to him, incensed, “Now this has gone far enough.  Give me that thing.”  He grabbed it from the Skipper.  He was about to pitch it overboard, but taking a quick second look at it, he changed his mind and flung it across the deck.  It clattered down the steps into the cabin.

Furious, the Skipper turned to him and started shouting.  As I stood there stupefied, I felt Ivy pull on my wrist.  April was gesturing us to come below.  We scrambled down the steps as Rafiq and the Skipper stood bellowing at each other.  Ahead of me, just before turning into our compartment, Ivy bent and grabbed something off the floor.  It was the double-ended dildo.

We got into our compartment and locked the door.  Safe!  We turned to each other.  Ivy and I spontaneously embraced.  Overcome with emotion, I started crying.  So did Ivy.  April joined in the hug, consoling us.

Several times over I apologized to Ivy for the distress I caused her for breaking up her relationship with Rafiq.  Ivy apologized for her hatred of me, and for whipping me so harshly.  It was intensely cathartic.  And such a euphoria to return to the sisterhood of women.

As we sat on the floor talking, I said to Ivy, “With you and Rafiq I felt like I had a little-sister relationship.  I never thought of myself as a contender for Rafiq’s love.  I never suspected he had that kind of interest in me.  I thought of you two as a stable couple... even though...”

“Our relationship had problems before you came along.  He had started saying that he wanted a more open relationship, where he could see other women.  I was really upset about that.  I felt I was losing him.”

“But still, if I’d just thought a little about how it was going to affect you, I could have resisted his advances.  But I’d never been in this situation before.  I just wasn’t thinking.”   ...Yet I wondered, even if I had known the pain it would cause, would I have resisted Rafiq’s advance?

April interrupted, “Men aren’t worth all this shit.  Why don’t we just kick ’m in the balls?”  She laughed in her earthy manner.

“Yeah,” agreed Ivy, giggling.  “Let’s mutiny.  Tomorrow morning.  We’ll take over the ship and throw them all overboard.  ...Er, no.  We’ll be the officers, and they’ll be the deck hands.  I’m going to wield the whip.”

April said, “Tomorrow morning it is.  Mutiny on the Argo.  We’ll go out and kick ’m in the balls and take over the ship.  I’ll take on James.  Ivy, you take Rafiq.  He deserves it from you.  And Jenny, you take the Skipper.  You’re going to kick ’m in the balls, right?”

Giggling, we all agreed.  The absurdity of the fantasy was bewitching.  Kicking the Skipper in the balls was so far beyond anything I could ever actually do.

Then there was a knock at the door.  We listened without saying anything.

“It’s me,” called Rafiq.  The doorknob clicked as he tried to turn it, but it was locked.  “Just checking to see if everything is okay.  Do you need anything?”

“Get the hell away from here,” April called back at him.  She grinned, listening for how he would respond to that.

“No, wait,” I called to him.  “Could you bring us that ointment you put on me that other time I got whipped?”

“Oh...  And while you’re at it, bring us something to eat,” April called to him.  “We’re not coming out tonight.”

Rafiq agreed.  About ten minutes later he knocked at the door again.  April opened it just enough to allow him to pass a bag of stuff in.  But I made real sure that he caught a glimpse of me giving him a big smile as he looked through the opening.

After locking the door, April checked out what he had brought us for food.  A small container of rice and bean casserole left over from yesterday, not enough for all of us; a bag of baby-cut carrots, a liter carton of soy milk, and a box of low-fat crackers.  It would do.

I wondered what the guys would be eating tonight.  None of them had cooked anything since the voyage began.  I imagined Rafiq would have cereal and soy milk for dinner, same as he had for breakfast.  And that Skipper would eat beer nuts, washed down with rum, and James would eat something directly out of a can.  But that’s just my imagination.  Who knows what they were actually doing.

As we munched, Ivy said, “I’m through with Rafiq forever.  He has a few engaging qualities, but basically I’ve lost interest.  And he’s too short besides.”

“He’s not that short.  He’s taller than you,” I replied.

“Well, so?  He’s still a dweeb.”  Ivy then went on to recite a couple of episodes indicating what she considered to be his defects.  I found her complaints utterly unconvincing, mostly revealing her own self-centeredness.  But I forced myself to keep quiet and act sympathetic.  For me it was best if Ivy lose all interest in Rafiq.

After a bite to eat, we proceeded to put salve on our welts.  Ivy insisted that we apply it to each other.  As she lay on her stomach, propped on her elbows to keep the weight off her sore breasts, I smoothed it over her rear.  She opened her legs.  April put her fingers on her privates.  Ivy wriggled in contentment.

As we continued, Ivy was clearly becoming aroused.  She was grinding her loins on the floor.  But suddenly she stopped and rolled over, perhaps not yet wishing to release her sexual tension.

“Now you have to put that stuff on my breasts, where you whacked me so hard.  ...You nasty girl.”  She grinned at me.

I had reservations about such intimate contact with Ivy.  Despite the feel-good spirit of the moment, I was uncertain that everything was fully resolved between us.  My sense was that the issue of Rafiq could still loom large.  But I applied the ointment to her breasts.  Her nipples were hard.  My fingers bumped over them as I applied the ointment.

Laying there, Ivy squirmed as she arched her back and extended her arms above her head, stretching her front out to the maximum.  She had an awesome body.  Perfect-sized breasts, flat stomach, tight thighs.  And she always carried herself like she knew what she had.

April brought her face toward Ivy’s crotch and extended her tongue to her clit.  Ivy squirmed in appreciation.  Warming up to the spirit of the moment I put my mouth to her nipple and sucked.  The ointment tasted bitter.  After a few moments, Ivy began moaning with satisfaction, quivering and gasping.  Then she lay quiet.

After a while, sitting up, she said, “Now we have to put it on Jenny’s welts.  Lie down on your stomach.”  There was an aggressiveness in her tone.

I lay down on my stomach, propped on my elbows, so as not to press my sore breasts on the floor.  I grunted as Ivy set herself astraddle on the small of my back, facing my bottom.  It was not all that comfortable.  She applied the ointment to my rear vigorously, not gently.  She kneaded my buns, occasionally giving them a slap.

The way I was tightening my butt against her, she must have known that I was not comfortable with what she was doing.  But I didn’t complain.  If this was the price of peace, so be it.

Having finished applying the ointment to my rear, she gave me a couple hard slaps, one on each side of my bottom.  Then getting off me, she told me to roll over.

I hesitated.  I wasn’t sure I trusted her enough to present my front to her.  Everything on the front is more sensitive.  And she was not in a gentle mood. 

“Come on, roll over,” she repeated. “Let me attend to Rafiq’s new girlfriend.”

Slowly, I turned over on my back, saying, “Be gentle.  My nipples are really sensitive now.” 

On my back, I took a deep breath and exhaled fully.  I raised my arms over my head.  I decided I was going to acquiesce to this dominatrix.  I would to do whatever she said.  I had stolen her boyfriend.  Rafiq chose my innocence over this poised and beautiful woman.  So now she could do whatever she wished to me.  But she could never have Rafiq back.  He was mine now.

Although I was convincing myself to acquiesce, in the back of my mind I knew there were limits to what I would accept from Ivy.  But perhaps she was not going to push those limits.

Lying on my back, I closed my eyes and relaxed.  Ivy straddled my hips.  Arms overhead, I crossed my wrists, imagining that I was bound.

My mind drifting freely into a medieval fantasy, I imagined that the Lady Ivy was going to punish me for stealing her man.  Yes, despite the peasant girl circumstances in my fantasy, Sir Rafiq had recognized in my true worth and had taken me for his lady.  Now he wore my kerchief in his helmet.  But somehow I had happened into the clutches of Lady Ivy.  She had already had me whipped.  But I had taken it bravely.  So now she was going to debase me sexually.

Ivy applied the salve to my breasts.  She was gentle.  But in my fantasy I had her molesting my body.  In fact I arched my back, receptively encouraging her caress.  But in my fantasy I was writhing under her torment.  I pressed my loins upward into Ivy’s weight as she straddled my hips.

“Stick it in her,” I heard Ivy murmur to April.  This jolted me from my reverie.  I did not want Ivy sticking that gross dildo thing into me.

But then I considered that April, not Ivy, was going to do it.   ...Well, in the spirit of peace maybe I should go along with that.  I tried to relax and slip back into my fantasy:  It seemed that Lady Ivy was going to have my good friend rape me with a horrid wooden penis.

I felt it touch my labia.  It was really wet.  April must have put lubricant on it.  I am not naturally that moist.

April was pushing it into me.  So big and hard.  I grimaced as it slid in further and further.  Finally, all the way in.

Ivy, still straddling me, shifted her weight so that I could press my clit onto her.  I pressed upwards.  Circular motions.  I murmured with pleasure.  Ivy continued playing gently with my nipples.  I could feel a slight tremor in the dildo at the hands of April as she moved it in rhythm with me.  The pressure to release my sexual tension was rising inexorably.

In my fantasy these women were holding me down and sexually stimulating me against my will, exploiting my erogenous zones in order to gain control of my volition.  In my fantasy I didn’t want my body to betray me but was helpless against the onslaught of their perversions; they knew how to take advantage of my body’s weaknesses.

I didn’t know why the image of them taking me against my will was so tantalizing.  On the other hand, what could be more obvious than the allure of the thought that Rafiq’s love for me had set in motion the events leading both to today’s whipping and to my current sexual debasement.  My entire being was trembling with sexual energy.

Over the top.  The heat of orgasm radiated through me.  Sublime pleasure.   ...Unearthly bliss.   ...Preternatural ecstasy.  I continued pressing my loins against Ivy’s weight as April worked me with the dildo.

I bathed in the warmth of orgasmic release.  This body, after taking in so much punishment, so much pain, was now immersed in so much pleasure.

As the rapture of orgasm ebbed, I lay still.  Utterly satisfied.  This is what I had earned after the unremitting torment of the strap, cane, and switch.

After a time Ivy got off me and turned her attention to April.  As the two girls got on together, I curled up and drifted into a little cat nap with that wooden penis still stuck into me.  I realize that leaving it in might sound gross.  I can’t really explain why I didn’t remove it; I don’t think there was further pleasure in it.  Perhaps I felt I didn’t have the authority to remove it.

When I awoke a short while later, Ivy and April were lying quietly together, and the dildo had come out of me.  After a time we roused ourselves, got dressed, and passed the evening quietly chatting.

Chapter 3: Bound for Adventure

The next morning April roused me, “Come on, we’re going to mutiny.  You’re supposed to take on the Skipper.  Let’s go.”

“Oh, sorry.  Why didn’t you guys wake me earlier?  Can you give me a few minutes?”

Ivy, who had already groomed herself to her usual immaculate state, said, “You look fine.  Let’s go.”  April opened the door, and both of them headed out.

Quickly putting on my shoes, I followed them out, combing my hair out as best I could as

I went. 

After taking a detour to use the bathroom, I arrived on deck.  James had his arm around April, and they were conversing quietly, looking out to sea.  This was the first time I had seen April allow James to touch her since he had whipped her.

Ivy and Rafiq were conversing.  I felt a wave of anxiety and jealousy, but I let it pass as quickly as it arose.  Rafiq gave me an acknowledging glance and a faint smile while continuing to listen politely to Ivy.  I had nothing to fear.

The Skipper hailed me.  “Ho, Jenny.  You’re looking bright and lively today.”

“Good morning, sir,” I replied.  I glanced again at April and Ivy.  It was obvious that this mutiny thing was merely a passing fantasy that none of us really expected to pull off. 

Nevertheless, I did take note that were it not just a fantasy, the Skipper was standing obliquely to me such that it would be rather difficult to kick him in the balls.  But it struck me as a unique way to gage my physical relation to another person – whether I was in a position to kick them in the crotch.  My new-found perspective tickled me.

Then my mind turned to wondering what kind of whipping the Skipper would give me if I tried successfully or unsuccessfully to kick him such.  Would he hang me upside down, legs spread wide, and flog my pussy?  I certainly did not want to find out.

“You always look so pert after a good whipping,” he continued.  “You do seem to take naturally to them.”

There he was on this thing about me being good to whip.  How was I going to counter this notion?  “Please sir, they are not natural to me.  I don’t want to be whipped.”

“Hey, whatever.  But how about getting yourself down to the galley and making us some toast and eggs.  We didn’t get much dinner last night, you know.”

Up to now everyone had been on their own for breakfast.  But considering the dinner situation last night (or lack thereof), I thought it best to heed the request.  I headed down to the galley and began preparing breakfast.

After a couple minutes, the Skipper joined me.  He said, “I’m a little concerned about that caning Ivy gave you yesterday.  And the way she lit into your titties with the switch.  I think we should have a look.  Make sure they are all right.”

I was appalled.  Surely he didn’t think he had the authority to make me show myself whenever he wanted to look at my breasts.  Instinctively I brought my hands together on my chest, my forearms over my breasts.  “Really they’re okay.  And there’s not much you could do even if they weren’t.  ...And it’s not right for you to try to look at my body on such a pretext.”

“Oh my.  Little Miss Modesty.  What’s the big deal?  I’ve already seen your tits, haven’t I?  ...Anyway, in addition to being the captain of this vessel, I’m also the chief medical officer.  It’s my responsibility to assure the health of the crew.  So bring your hands down to your sides.”

I wasn’t going to buy his chief medical officer blather.  Defiant, I crossed my arms over my chest.  Even so, he began lifting the bottom of  my tee-shirt.  Having exposed my midriff, he paused and said, “You know, you’ve got a cute belly button.”

I frowned.  “Is this the way a chief medical officer talks?”

“Well, perhaps I’m forgetting myself.   ...It’s just that when a girl has such an exceptional body, I can’t help wondering whether she appreciates what she has.”

I pondered that.  Certainly I don’t think of myself as having an exceptional body.  I like it that I’m trim.  But I’m understated relative to classic female attributes.

He tugged my shirt up my ribs.  I kept my arms folded tightly across my chest to impede further upward movement.

“Stop being childishly modest, and put your hands behind your head,” he ordered.

I pouted at him defiantly. 

“I’m ordering you to put your hands behind your head.”  He picked up the plastic spatula.  “Do you hear me?”  When I did not respond, he swatted me a couple times on the side of the thigh with it.  I winced but held my ground.

With vigor he swatted me several more times on the thigh and then said, “I can see that a spatula on the legs or bottom is not going to phase the likes of you.  Then I’ll spank your breasts with it till you learn to obey my rightful orders.”

As he raised the spatula before my breasts, I kept my arms crossed to protect myself.  But when he grabbed hold of my wrist, I knew this was getting out of hand.  “All right.  All right.  I’ll do what you say.  But could I ask you to put down the spatula first?   ...Please.”

As he eyed me, I gave him my most supplicating expression...   It worked.  He put down the spatula. 

I raised my arms, placing my hands behind my head, and he proceeded to lift my shirt, exposing my breasts.  I felt humiliated and vulnerable.  I kept my eyes down. 

He stood gazing at my breasts.  Then he touched me, passing his fingers over the marks left by the switch.  I looked down.  My nipples were stiff.  He bumped his fingers over them repeatedly.  Then he took them between his fingers and slowly squeezed, gradually increasing pressure.

“Ow.  Please.  They’re still really sensitive.  You know where Ivy was hitting me.”

He eased up.  “Yes.  Such good nipples.  Such good tits...  But that switch isn’t really the right implement for whipping a pretty girl’s titties on a regular basis.  We may have to wait a little before we whip you some more.  It’s a pity, isn’t it?”

“Oh please no.  I haven’t done anything.  Why do you have to whip me?”

“Oh.  It has nothing much to do with anything you’ve done.  So don’t fret about it.  It has to do with you yourself.”

“Why do you keep saying that?  I don’t want to be whipped any more than anyone else.  And why do you have to do it on the breasts?  I’m the least busty female on the boat.”

“You’d rather that April or Ivy got whipped instead?”

“No.  I didn’t mean it that way.  It’s just...”

“It’s just that you don’t appreciate how good your tits are.  The apogee of impeccable nipples... that’s you.  Those puffy nipples sticking out there just begging for the whip.”  Now he was massaging my breasts.

“They’re not begging for the whip.  And there’s nothing that unusual about my body.  ...And there’s nothing I can do about how it is anyway.”

When he started kneading my breasts with even more vigor, I brought my arms down tightly across my chest, arresting his action.  He took his hands away and stepped back.

“My examination indicates no injury,” he said, reverting to his chief medical officer pretense.  “Your breasts should feel better by evening.”  With that he turned and left the galley.

**********

It was late afternoon before I finally had an opportunity to talk to April alone in the cabin – about my issue with the Skipper, of course.

“April, I have to tell you some stuff the Skipper’s been saying to me.  The first time was after James whipped you.”  I went on to tell her the whole story about the Skipper approaching me in galley, concerned about what James had done.  “He said to me ‘Jenny, there’s a certain kind of girl you can whip.  And a certain kind of girl you can’t.  You gotta be able to recognize the difference.  The right kind of girl, when you whip her, she’ll be the best damn girl ever.’”

In the middle of my story Ivy came in.  Initially that made me uptight, but she listened attentively and her expression was sympathetic, so I realized that there was no reason why she should not hear about my concerns.

I continued by telling of the morning’s encounter in the galley, when the Skipper made me let him examine my breasts and feel me up.

“You let him feel you up?” asked April.

“Well... yeah.  I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“I’d give him a slap.”

“I don’t think I can do that.  He’d give me another whipping.  He’s already said he’s looking forward to the next opportunity to whip me.  The problem is, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to avoid it.”

“Oh,” said April.  She was silent for moment, thinking.  Then she said, “Don’t take this the wrong way when I say this, but I guess I’m wondering why you’re so concerned about being whipped.  You’ve been punished that way before this voyage and I thought you sort of got off on it.”

“Hey.  That’s not really fair,” I replied.  I glanced at Ivy, wondering if she would think I was really weird.  But her expression of sympathy and concern was unchanged.  I continued, “I had never been flayed so bad on the breasts before this, and I hope never again.”

“Yeah, but I did that to you.  It wasn’t the Skipper,” said Ivy.  “And I’m sorry about that, but you know how I felt about you at the time.  But do you think he’s going to give you another switching on your breasts?”

“No, he implied that wasn’t the right thing to use.”

“Well, you know,” said Ivy.  “He told me that the cat-o-nine-tails he used on you was new and he had never used it before.  He didn’t realize how bad it was.  It’s those knots in it that hurt so much.”

“So what are you trying to say?  That I should accept that I’m going to be whipped again, and hope he doesn’t use something too nasty?”

“Well if the pain was bearable, would you mind being whipped?” asked April.

“What do you mean ‘bearable’?  It still hurts.   ...And what about the humiliation of being stripped and physically chastised in front of a bunch of people.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” asked April.

“What kind of question is that?  Of course I have a problem with it.”  I frowned at April.  “You know, I was feeling okay about myself until I started talking to you guys about this.  Now you’re making me out to be some kind of weird... something.”

“Oh Jenny.  Don’t take it that way.”  April gave me a hug.  “I’m not making any judgments.  I admire your strength.”

Ivy said, “Jenny, have you noticed what a cheery mood you’re in after you get a whipping.”

“I am?”  That took me by surprise.  But the Skipper had said something like that to me too.  Could it be true?

“Well, I don’t know, but it seems like you started getting along better with the Skipper after he started giving you whippings.”

“Oh.  ...But still, it’s just not true that I like being whipped.  That’s crazy.  Why would I have even brought this up if I were happy being punished?”

“Well,” said April.  “Is your issue that you don’t want to be singled out as being ‘the right kind of girl to whip,’ as you put it?  Or is it that you really don’t want to be whipped?”

“Both.”

“Well, how did you feel when both of us were to be whipped together?” asked Ivy.

“Well, that was different.  I was just happy you were going to get whipped – of course I don’t feel that way about you now.  But I was worried that I might not stand up to it as well as you.”

“Pffff!  Fat chance of that,” interjected April.

“Listen, I don’t know where you’re going with this.  But I don’t like being made to take my clothes off in front of everybody.  And I don’t like getting corporal punishment in front of everybody.  And nothing either of you can say is going to change that.”

“Well,” said April, “what if you’re strung up naked  in front of your Rafiq, and whipped, and all the while you’re so beautiful he can’t take his eyes off you.  And after they let you down he comforts you and nurses your welts.  How would you feel about that?”

“Well...  That’s sort of different.”

“Hey, let’s check on what Rafiq is up to,” said Ivy.  She stepped out of our compartment, then returned.  “He’s in their compartment, reading.  You want to go to him ...helpless and vulnerable, right?  Here, we’ll tie your hands behind you.”  She was laughing.

“No, don’t....   Let me go,” I said, giggling as she took hold of my wrist.  Getting up, I put up token resistance, all in good fun, while they bound my wrists behind me with a pair of Ivy’s pantyhose. 

“There.  Now how about if we gag you?” asked Ivy.

“Please no.  I’m at your mercy.”  Still I was giggling as she wrapped a neckerchief across my mouth.  I was tantalized by the prospect of being sent out to Rafiq this way.

Ivy then untied the back of my halter top, saying, “You won’t be needing this, I don’t think.”

Trying to resist as she pulled it off me, I said, “No, don’t.  Somebody might see me,” muffled and lisping through the gag.  Of course, by ‘somebody’ I meant the Skipper or James.

“There’s nobody on board who hasn’t seen you before, and more compromised than this,” replied Ivy, smiling as she eyed my naked top.  “Nice perky tits.”  She stroked my nipples.  “But you need something more.  A little something I borrowed from the Skipper.”  She turned and began probing through her luggage.  Meanwhile, standing behind me, April was caressing my shoulders.

Finding what she wanted, Ivy then turned to me again.  She was holding a couple of little metal clips, like toy clothes pins, connected together by a slender chain.  I thought uh-oh; I knew I was going to get pinched but I wasn’t sure where.

She eyed me for several moments, grinning slyly.  “We know how modest you are.  You can wear these to cover yourself just a little.”  She was looking at my breasts.

“Nooo...”  I shook by head vigorously.  As I squirmed unsuccessfully to avoid her advance, she took hold of my left breast and put the clip to the nipple.  She was going to get me where I was most sensitive.  As she released her grip, it clamped hard onto the nub of my nipple.  I gasped.  The sensation was electric.  As I stood paralyzed by the nipple pinch, she applied the other one to my right nipple.  I gasped anew.  Despite the overwhelming sensation, I was still aware that April from behind was kissing my ear.

“Okay,” said Ivy.  “Let’s send you on your way.”  With April hugging me affectionately from behind, I stood before Ivy, half naked, bound, gagged, and nipple clipped.

“You look pretty good,” she said.  But those shorts have got to go.  She started to yank them down, together with my undies.

“No!” I cried, muffled through the gag.  I resisted strongly, pressing April backward against the wall.  But Ivy took hold of the clips on my nipples and shook vigorously.  The agony forced me to yield immediately.  I let her strip me completely.

“One last thing,” said Ivy.  She turned to her berth.  From under her pillow she pulled out that horrid wooden dildo.  “Now spread your legs.”

“No, no, no!” I shook my head vigorously, pressing April backward again.

Ivy eyed my clipped nipples.  “Do I need to apply persuasion again?” she asked.

I knew I had to acquiesce.  I closed my eyes and tried to relax.  As April, behind me, continued hugging and caressing me, Ivy probed the dildo to my pussy, pressing it in.  It hurt.  “Too dry,” I gasped through the gag.  But she continued forcing it, like a rasp, all the way in.

Ivy then opened the door and April pushed me out, whispering, “You’ll knock ’m dead.”  On the way out Ivy gave me a couple hard slaps on the rear.

No doubt Rafiq had heard the sound of those slaps, for he was looking up expectantly when I appeared in the men’s compartment.  Awkwardly I made my way to his berth as he rose to my aid.  It was so humiliating to have that long dildo sticking out of me.

What was really bad is that the Skipper was taking a snooze in there.  I had to walk right past him, praying that he would not awaken.  At his side I noticed there was a paperback book titled “The Cheerleader’s Initiation”.  The cover had an illustration of a busty girl, spreadeagle suspended between goal posts, the football team lined up to fuck her, and coach behind, paddling her.  How gross.

“Help,” I tried to whisper through my gag.

“A damsel in distress.  How fetching,” Rafiq whispered, smiling.  “Problems among the girls again?  From the sound of all that giggling a few minutes ago, I thought you were having a good time.”

He stood staring at my nipples.  The clips were sticking straight out.  Amused, he bobbed them up and down.  “Don’t.  Don’t.  Don’t,” I whispered, desperately shaking my head.  “Hurts!”

“Would you like me to ungag you?  It’s hard to understand you.”

I nodded vigorously.  Rafiq then slowly drew his attention away from my tormented breasts and slipped his fingers under the gag.  For some time he just caressed my cheeks.  Finally he slipped the gag out of my mouth and let it drop to my neck.

“Untie my hands.  Or get these clamps off me.  They’re killing me.  I got to get them off.”

But he only responded by kissing my lips.  I realized that if Rafiq was going to rescue me, as I knew he ultimately would, it would be a slow and sensual process.  I also realized that much as I wanted those clips off, I could bear them on my nipples – and would have to bear them – until such time that he freed me.

Our lips pressed together, he pulled me into an embrace.  The clips jabbed into my breasts as we pressed together.  I gasped with pain. 

It was a collision of opposing sensations.  The tender warmth of his embrace coupled with biting torment of those metal clips simultaneously pinching and jabbing into my nipples.

Holding me close with his left arm wrapped around my back, he caressed the side of my breast with his right hand.  Then he squeezed his thumb in between our bodies and pressed it into my nipple, aggravating the bite of the clip.  I gasped momentarily but returned my lips to his.

As he continued tormenting my nipple, I became aware of the pressure of his erect penis through his shorts, against my hip.  Why do guys get so much pleasure from my pain?

Finally he released his embrace.  Still, however, I continued pressing against him, my nether region to his thigh.

Rafiq placed his hands on my shoulders, and pressed down.  “On your knees.”

I dropped to my knees.  He pulled out his penis, a big boner.  He expected me to give him a blow job.  But I felt so compromised doing so in this situation.

Nevertheless, I acquiesced.  From my kneeling position, I brought myself lower, resting my weight on my left calf and heel, my right knee off the floor, trying to maintain clearance for the external end of the double-ended, half-meter long dildo.  Still it pressed onto the floor, forcing itself deep into me.  I took his penis in my mouth, licking and sucking.

What I was doing seemed to be satisfactory to him.  At least he didn’t try to ram it down my throat.  But he did take hold of the chain holding my nipple clips and give a tug.  I sucked more vigorously.  If only I could release his sexual energy, I was sure he would release me from this torment.

I could hear the Skipper stirring quietly behind me.  I hoped he had not awakened.  No such luck.  The next thing I knew, his fingers were stroking over my clit.  I squirmed.

“Stay down.” murmured Rafiq, wrenching my clipped nipples.  I let out a gasp of pain, but immediately resumed sucking as vigorously as I could.

Skipper, sitting in a position similar to my own, pressed his body against mine, his arms around the front of me in a tight embrace.  With one hand he fingered my clit, with the other he kneaded the softness of my breasts.  I could feel his stiff penis pressing against me, locked between our bodies.  He was rubbing against me rhythmically.

As this continued interminably, my feelings alternated between being aroused and being freaked out that two guys were doing this to me.  The next thing I knew, Rafiq’s penis was palpitating, squirting cum into my mouth.  A few moments later, Skipper came off, his warm cum launched onto my back as he pressed orgasmically against me.

This whole experience was beyond freaky.  The sliminess of Rafiq’s cum in my mouth, my lips still rapped around his penis.  A dirty old man rubbing himself against my rear.  And me, bound helpless, completely under their power.  Those beastly metal clips biting into my nipples, the torment exacerbated by Rafiq’s continual jerking on the chain.  That long loathsome dildo rammed into my cunt, its far end pressed onto the floor, such that it transposed all of my movements into its own motion inside me.  And the Skipper’s fingers incessantly stimulating my clit, making me quiver, further heightening the motions of the dildo.

I hadn’t even recognized that it was nearing when I was overtaken by orgasm, staggering in intensity.  I pressed myself against Rafiq’s leg, hard, hard, hard.  Holding my breath, I closed my eyes, deliriously plunging into the depths of rhapsodic ecstasy.

Lost in rapture, I was swept away by the tide of euphoria.  Sensual gratification, supreme.  Immersed in a sea of pleasure, time and space vanished; the boundaries between our bodies dissolved.

How long this went on, who knows, but as this blissful state gradually subsided, the biting pain in my nipples began to return.  “Please release my nipples.  Please, Rafiq.  It’s hurting me.”

“Ah, yes.  Your nipples.”  Dropping to his knees he ran his fingers around them.  “Such fine nipples.  Why do we get such pleasure out of tormenting them?”

“Please, Rafiq.”  A teardrop ran down my cheek and fell on his hand.  He licked the tear off his hand like it was some precious elixir, then took hold of the clips and slowly released the pressure.  I panted as the biting intensity was replaced by a throbbing pain, slow to subside.

The Skipper unbound my wrists, repeatedly muttering, “One hell of a girl.  You’re one hell of a girl.”

Thus released I crawled onto Rafiq’s berth and slowly removed that dildo.  I felt embarrassed to have Rafiq and especially the Skipper standing there watching me do it.

“I’ll take that thing now,” said the Skipper when the end finally slipped out.  “And what about those nipple clips.  They look like ones that belong to me.  How did they end up on you?”

“Ivy put them on me.  She said she borrowed them from you.”

“Borrowed them from me?  Is that so.  How would she even  know I had them?   ...I think I’m going have some words with her ...when I’m in the mood.”

I turned away from them and covered myself with the sheet.  Rafiq then lay down beside me, and hugged me.  And the Skipper continued sitting there beside the bed, lightly stroking my calf.

*********

Later in the day, as I reflected on what had happened, I was troubled.  Alone on deck with Rafiq late that night, I confronted him about it.

“I don’t feel that good about what happened this afternoon.  That was... gross.  The two of you teaming up on me that way.  It made me feel like... so trashy.  That big dildo stuck in me.  And the two of you coming off on me.”

“Well, we didn’t stick the dildo in you.  You women did that yourselves.  And you were the one that sought me out, all naked and tied up.”

“Well... Rafiq.  I’m trying to talk to you about how I feel.  So instead of talking about how I feel, you’re all fucking defensive about it.  And trying to make me feel even shittier.”

“I’m trying to make you feel shitty?  And you’re trying to make me feel good?  The first thing you said was that Skipper and I had ‘teamed up’ on you.  You made sound like we gang raped you.”

“Well...”  I pondered that for several moments.  “I’m sorry.  It’s not about what you did.  It’s about what I did... what I let happen.”

Rafiq was silent for a moment.  Then he said, “Sorry I got defensive.  ...Don’t blame yourself about this thing.  You were wonderful.  It was my fault for letting things get out of hand.  I should have untied you right away. ...But I just couldn’t.  You looked so good.  So irresistible.  And I thought that you were into it too.  You did end up coming off, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah.  And that’s a lot of what I feel so uncomfortable about.  I just feel so... uh... like I’m a...  oh, I don’t know.”  I was unwilling to use the term pain slut.  “What I did seemed so... inappropriate...  I know that’s a really dumb word.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.  It was me.  I have this, like, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing.  I get this charge out of you being a damsel in distress.  But it doesn’t fit any other facet of my nature.  I don’t ordinarily go around trying to cause pain.  It’s just this sexual thing.  Once the sexual energy is blown out, I revert to being a normal person again.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s okay because I’m the opposite number.  I like offering myself up to you,” I said.  But of course I didn’t tell him that I like having the power to transform him from the well-mannered Dr. Jekyll into the animalistic Mr. Hyde. 

Instead I said, “But I’m having trouble reconciling that I submit to all the other stuff that’s been going on around here.  It seems so demeaning.”

“Are you crazy?  Your receptiveness to adversity puts you at the pinnacle.  Everybody thinks you’re awesome.”

“Oh god, do I have to hear more of this,” I murmured.  But I gave Rafiq a little smile.  “Next thing I know, you’re going to be the one plying the whip on me.”

“Yeah.  Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Chapter 4.  The Unsolicited Offer

It was late in the afternoon of the next day when the Skipper confronted Ivy about the nipple clips she “borrowed” from him.  I did not hear the initial interaction.  When Rafiq and I emerged from below, there was Ivy, bare breasted, hands behind her head, facing the Skipper.  James was at the helm; the breeze was stiff.

The Skipper was saying, “You need to learn to respect other people’s property – and their personal space.”

Although he was referring to his cabin space, I couldn’t help thinking that I wished he would start respecting my personal space – that is, stop taking liberties with my body.

Unwavering, Ivy looked into his eyes.  The Skipper continued, “You wanted these clips.  So now you can wear them.”

Ivy’s mouth hardened just a little, but she didn’t say a word. She just continued resolutely eyeing him.

The Skipper passed his fingers over her breasts.  Then he started kneading them.  Ivy squirmed just a little, but continued looking up into his face.  I admired her mettle.

Then he took hold of her nipples and pulled upwards.  Ivy grimaced and bit her lip.  She was on her toes stretching her body upwards, but she kept her hands behind her head.  I didn’t think I could have maintained such composure.

Finally the Skipper released her.  Ivy retreated a step, breathing heavily, and bringing her hands from behind her head, partially covered her breasts with her wrists.

“Hands behind head please, while I clip your nipples,” said the Skipper.

Ivy returned her hands behind her head.  With an expression of scorn, she thrust out her chest.  Grasping each breast in turn, the Skipper applied a clip to each nipple.  Ivy winced initially but otherwise maintained her poise.  In no way did she acknowledge the presence of us onlookers. 

I glanced at James.  He was watching intently, with an expression of amusement.  But I felt uncomfortable gaping at this spectacle.  I wondered if we were invading their privacy.  Maybe Rafiq and I should turn around and go back below.

I tugged lightly at Rafiq’s hand, but he ignored me.  So I continued watching.  I have to admit that even though I was getting along with Ivy much better than before, I could still feel a morbid fascination in watching her get punished.  I wondered if she would lose her poise.

“How do your tits feel now?” asked the Skipper.  “Pretty good, eh?”

Ivy made no reply.

“Now bend over and hold onto the bulkhead, arms straight out,” he said.  Ivy bent over, and grasped the bulkhead, body horizontal, legs vertical.  Her bikini bottom was skimpy enough that  her buns were plenty exposed.

The Skipper turned to his punishment implements.  There was the long cane he had made Ivy and I use on each other, and there was a whip.  He took up the whip.  It had a meter-long single thong at the end of a slender, stiff meter-long crop.  I had not seen this one before.  He seemed to have an endless supply of implements for punishing us.

He flicked it through the air a couple times.  Then he flicked it across Ivy’s butt, not very hard.  Ivy shifted her weight subtly but otherwise gave no acknowledgment of the stroke. 

He flicked it across her again, then again, and again, progressively harder.  Then he paused and said, “Let’s take down your bikini bottom.  ...Just hold your position.”

He then stroked his hand over her bottom several times.  He might have touched her pussy through the covering fabric; I’m not sure.  Then with his hands on the sides of the bikini bottom, he slid it off her and down her legs.  She stepped out of it and pushed it away with her toe.

He then stepped back and eyed her.  She held her position, motionless.  Then he drew back the whip and laid it hard across her butt.  Then again and again, getting up a steady rhythm.  Ivy was breathing hard but otherwise made no sound and not much movement.  She kept her back arched, boldly presenting her bottom to whip.

I think I felt a little threatened that she could take the whip with so little fear and so much poise.  I didn’t think I maintained that kind of composure.  But I wondered if maybe that particular whip just didn’t hurt much.  A provocative notion entered my mind that it might be okay to be whipped if it didn’t hurt so much.  But I quickly dispelled the thought.  I hate being whipped.

It was with vigor that the Skipper was now bringing the whip down on her legs.  Ivy was squirming and gasping audibly.  Finally the Skipper paused his exertions.  Ivy let out a sigh and brought one hand back to feel her bottom and thighs.

“Just hold your position.  We’re not done yet.”

Ivy return her hand to the bulkhead.  The Skipper began feeling her.  The marks left by the whip were not all that conspicuous.  I wondered why she got off easy after stealing his stuff, while for a simple cooking mistake I had been whipped so hard with that beastly cat-o-nine-tails with the knotted thongs.  I felt a bit resentful.

As she maintained her bent over position, the Skipper began feeling her breasts, diddling with those nipple clips, bobbing them back and forth.  Now Ivy was squirming, trying to avoid his prodding hands.  I think I felt a bit of satisfaction seeing her tormented to her limits – not necessarily out of malice toward Ivy, but more that she should share some of what I had been experiencing.

Then he took hold of one of the nipple clips and gave Ivy’s breast a jiggly shaking.  Too much.  Ivy yelped and brought one hand across to fend him off.  He withdrew.

“Just had to see what kind of reaction I could get out of you this afternoon,” said the Skipper. “You take the whip really well, Ivy.”

Hearing that was disconcerting.  I recognized that it stemmed from a sort of jealousy.  But jealousy of Ivy while she was naked and whipped?  How sick.  I rebuked myself.

As I turned my thoughts to Rafiq, I realized that he was absorbed in watching the spectacle of Ivy’s punishment.  That triggered even more disturbing feelings in me.

“Now spread your legs, and I’ll whip you some more,” said the Skipper.  “Further apart.  ...Keep going.   ...That’s good.  Now arch your back more.”  With thong arrested against the whip handle, the Skipper tapped it on the small of Ivy’s back.  “Get your bottom up there.  You know you deserve this.”

Ivy’s vulva was prominently displayed.  I looked at Rafiq.  He was entranced, damn it.

The Skipper lashed the whip across her butt again several times.  Then he started lashing Ivy’s left leg, the whip wrapping around the inside of her thigh.  Ivy gasped loudly with each stroke.  As the Skipper continued, Ivy was writhing with each stroke, but still she maintained her position, legs apart.

Then the Skipper lashed her hard right on the pussy.  Ivy gave a screech and brought her hand back to protect herself.

“Ah, yeah,” said the Skipper.  “That was a good one.  Let’s do some more like that.”

“No, please no more.”

Ivy was finally reduced to begging.  In one sense I was pleased that she got her comeuppance.  But I was rankled that this old man would take advantage of a young woman by whipping her like that.

“Get that hand back on the bulkhead,” he ordered.  Ivy nursed her pussy for a few more moments before she complied.  Then he gave her another hard whip stroke, again snapping it right on the pussy.

“Ooooh...  god...  Don’t.”  Again she brought her hand back.

“Well, how about if we have Rafiq whip you?  Yeah, let’s have Rafiq whip you now.”

Ivy immediately straightened and turned.  “Absolutely not.  I won’t let Rafiq touch me with that whip.”  She was really upset.

Rafiq interjected, “I’m not going to whip Ivy.  That would be totally inappropriate now.  You ought to know that.”

I was relieved that Rafiq realized how hurtful that would be for him to discipline Ivy.  I knew she was carrying a lot of bitterness from their breakup.

But the Skipper persisted, “I order you to whip Ivy.  And if you give me any backtalk, I’ll have you keelhauled.”

Rafiq looked at him like he was crazy.  Then he shook his head and laughed.  “You are suffering delusions of grandeur.”

“You mutinous punk.  I’m going to lock you in the brig for the rest of the voyage.”

“You moron.  This boat doesn’t have a brig.”

“I’ll lock you in the aft storage compartment.”

“Now how are you going to do that?  Like ‘Oh please crawl into the storage compartment so I can lock you in.’  ...Now you listen to me, you cretin.  If you don’t shut up, I may decide to stuff you in there.  And don’t think I can’t do it.”

“I ought to give you a whipping.”  The Skipper flicked the whip menacingly.  His behavior was so erratic, so inexplicable, I was sure he must have heavily fortified himself with alcohol before confronting Ivy.  I was frightened.

Rafiq eyed him calmly.  “Put that thing away before you hurt yourself with it.”

The Skipper flicked the whip at Rafiq.  It seemed tentative, not a hard stroke, and Rafiq blocked it with his arm.  But it really pissed off Rafiq.  “You son of a bitch.  Now I’ve had enough of you.  You know what?  I’m going to throw you overboard.  Right now.  Maybe come back in a few hours and pick you up, if you’re still afloat.”

As the Skipper threatened with his whip, Rafiq started closing in on him.  Although shorter than the Skipper, Rafiq is strong and agile.  If he wanted to throw the Skipper overboard, I was sure he could do it.

I looked at James, at the helm.  He was looking forward into the distance, assiduously avoiding apparent regard for what was happening.

But I was frightened.  “Please stop, both of you.”

“Stay out of this, Jenny,” said Rafiq.  “The Skipper needs to soak his head.”

This was too much.  Throwing a drunken old man overboard seemed really dangerous – in this wind it would take time to bring the boat around for him.  I had to distract them somehow.  I had to think of something.

“Rafiq!  Stop!  I agree you shouldn’t whip Ivy.  So I’ll take her punishment.  Whip me instead.  But please just stop!”

It worked!  Both guys turned toward me, relaxing their aggressive postures.  Their scowling faces brightened.

“Whip you instead?  Why?”  Asked Rafiq.  But I could tell that he was receptive.

“Uh...   Well, it isn’t right that you should whip Ivy.”  I was having trouble articulating a sound reason why I should be whipped in her place.

“Well, what do you think, Skipper?” asked Rafiq.  “Should we let Jenny take Ivy’s place, and I’ll give her a whipping?”

“Sure, why not?  Kinda in the tradition of a whipping boy.  Here you go,” said the Skipper, smiling as he handed Rafiq the whip.  It was bizarre how quickly their animosity dissolved.  Did the prospect of me getting a whipping have that kind of power?

I stood facing Rafiq.  I was wearing short shorts and a grey cotton V-front athletic outerwear bra top.  Although I waited for some instructions, he gave none.  He just eyed me with the trace of a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes ...and that menacing whip in his hand.

I had butterflies in my stomach.  I was afraid of the whip, and yet in some perverse way excited by the prospect of being disciplined by Rafiq.  And aroused at the prospect of sacrificing myself to spare someone else.

Finally he flicked the whip on my legs.  It was not a hard stroke.  But I bit my lip, perhaps instinctively trying to look coy.  He laid the whip across my legs again, harder.  Then again, and again.  The whip made a whining hiss as it sliced air, then terminated in a resounding thack as it hit my flesh.

With each stroke he increased the intensity of the sting.  I stood squirming, biting my lip.  He continued lashing me vigorously on the legs.  I was gasped audibly with each hard stroke.  I knew my demeanor under the whip did not match Ivy’s brassy manner.  But in general Ivy’s overconfident bearing is not something I can naturally aspire to, and certainly not under the duress of a whipping.

“Hey!  Who said you could take those off?”  It was the Skipper, addressing Ivy.  She had taken the clips off her nipples.

“Oh.  I thought Jenny had agreed to take my punishment.  Shouldn’t she be wearing these?  Do you want me to put them on her tits?”

Now that really annoyed me.  Stopping an ugly fight by volunteering to take her whipping had nothing to do with volunteering to let her torment my nipples.  “No.  You may not put those on me.”

“All right.  Then here.”  Ivy handed the clips to the Skipper as if she expected him to put them on me.

“I don’t want those things on me, period.  I only agreed to accept the punishment the Skipper wanted Rafiq to give you.  You are not to volunteer me for anything else.”

Feeling up her breasts, the Skipper said, “Well Ivy, I guess I’ll have to put them back on you for the duration of Jenny’s whipping.”

Frowning at him, Ivy pushed his hand aside and crossed her arms over her breasts.  “I don’t want those things on me the whole time.  Rafiq is intentionally drawing it out for as long as he can.  He hasn’t even made her take her clothes off yet.”

“So he hasn’t.  But we’re patient, aren’t we?  After all, she’s taking the punishment you deserve.  In the meantime your nipples will just have to feel the pinch.  Hands behind your head and let’s watch Jenny take a whipping.”

Frowning at him, Ivy acquiesced, slowly bringing her hands behind her head.  The Skipper slipped behind her, placing his hands on her ribs just below the breasts.  He did not immediately place the clips.

In the meantime April came up from below, looking a bit surprised at seeing both Ivy and me in trouble and being punished.  She went over to James, and he spoke to her quietly, apparently about what was happening.

Rafiq gave me a hard stinging stroke wrapping around my thighs.  Then another.  And two more again.

“Well Jenny,” he said.  “Are you ready to bare yourself?”

I hesitated.  Since I was volunteering for this, couldn’t I ask for some latitude on the conditions?  “I think I’m wearing little enough now.  You’re not having any trouble finding bare skin to sting.”

“Whip you with your clothes on?  Get real.”  Then he lashed the whip onto the deck.  It hit with a loud smack.

“Doesn’t sound as good as when it hits your flesh,” he said.  “Listen.”  He drew back the whip and snapped it hard across my ribs.

“Ow!  Shit!”  Instinctively I brought my arms to protect my body.  The sting overwhelmed any notice of the sound.

“Off with the clothes, Jenny.  If you give me a hard time, I’ll whip you extra.”

I eyed him for a moment.  Was he making his transition from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde?  Yet I didn’t think he would really harm me with the whip, sting though it may.

While trying to maintain a demure demeanor, I began to lift off my bra top, exposing the base of my breasts.  But I stopped short of my nipples, and having decided to give Rafiq a hard time I said, “Somebody might see me.”

“Don’t worry, nobody’s watching,” Rafiq replied, smiling.

I glanced around.  All eyes were on me.  I said, “I can’t take my clothes off in front of everybody.  If you want me naked, you’ll have to strip me.”

Partly I wanted the physical contact with Rafiq.  Partly I just wanted to act bratty enough to feel that I deserved to be whipped.

I could see that Rafiq was enticed.  He came around behind me.  Not sure what I should do with my hands, I raised them to fluff out my hair.

“Oh...” I murmured as he pulled the stiff crop portion of the whip against the base of my breasts.  I leaned my head back against his shoulder, offering no resistance.  It’s hard to describe my emotion:  a bit of fear mixed with this perverse yearning to have him punish me.  A feeling that my sacrifice gave me an irresistible sexual allure.

Exposing my breasts, he pressed the stiff part of the whip onto my now stiff nipples.  Pressing back against him, I looked up at him over my shoulder, still keeping my hands in my hair, letting him do as he wished with my body.

He left off harrying my breasts and pulled my top off over head.  I turned around to him, putting my arms around his neck, perhaps partly to keep my bare front from being displayed to the all and sundry, but mostly just to hug him.

“I know I have to be whipped, but still...” I murmured to him before his lips met mine.

As we kissed, he loosened my shorts and drew them and my undies part way down.  But they were much too snug for gravity alone to bring them the rest of way down.  Feeling it more humiliating to have my butt out and shorts part way down than to be completely naked, I broke our embrace and took them the rest of the way down.

“There, are you satisfied now?” I sighed.

“Do you feel that your body was just made to be punished?”

“Well, it seems that you do, so I guess my fate is to suffer.”

“So it seems...” he said softly.  Then he pulled the thong of the whip between my legs.  As I again embraced him, he yanked it up into my slit.  I winced.

“Hey, you need some good rope for that,” said the Skipper.  Opening a storage compartment, he pulled out a coil of rope.  Inwardly I groaned when I saw that he hadn’t picked out smooth-braided synthetic manila rope.  No, he had to pick out that rough crappy sisal rope.

Keeping my knees together in no way impeded the Skipper from slipping the rope between my thighs. With Rafiq holding one end and the Skipper holding the other end, they pulled it up into my slit.  Still embracing Rafiq, I bit my lip as they tugged up hard.

“Ease up, Rock,” said the Skipper.  Rafiq relaxed his pull, allowing the Skipper to drag the rope through my crotch.

“Ooh...  Please...” I moaned.  Like a rasp, the rope scraped through my slit.

Back and forth, back and forth.  Like they were sawing into my slit.  My arms still around Rafiq’s neck, I held out for as long I could.  But finally the grating was intolerable; I thought they would scrape me raw.

“No more.  No more,” I cried clenching the rope to arrest their action.

“That doesn’t turn you on?” asked Rafiq.

“Oh-my-god, no.  You’re hurting me.”

“How about if we try it more gently?  See how it feels.”

As they eased their upward pull, I allowed them to draw the rope back and forth through my crotch, while I guided it with my hands.

“I don’t like it at all.  Not after how rough you already were with it.”

“Here, then lick your juices off this thing,” said the Skipper, taking the rope and holding it to my mouth.

I glanced at Ivy, April, and James.  All were watching me.  “No,” I said.  “I only volunteered to be whipped.  Not to be sexually humiliated.”

“No problem.  I’m ready to give you the whipping that you want,” said Rafiq.

“Plus a hundred or so extra strokes for being sassy,” added the Skipper.

“Oh no.”  It sounded like I was in for a lengthy whipping.  Well, at least it was not too nasty a whip.  Yes, it definitely stung, but I felt I could handle it – on the butt, on the legs, or on the back.  But I didn’t much want to get it on the front ...or between the legs.

Rafiq took up the whip and stepped back.   The Skipper returned to Ivy.

“Hands back on your head,” the Skipper said to her.  Ivy obeyed.  Standing again behind her, he started playing with her breasts with one hand.  Although she kept her knees together, his other hand went to her crotch She grimaced and squirmed a bit, but did not resist.

Then I looked at Rafiq.  He was holding the whip, eyeing my breasts.  I felt vulnerable.  But I kept my hands at my sides.

Rafiq said to me,“Turn around and bend over.  Hold onto the bulkhead, arms straight forward.”  I was relieved that he wasn’t going to whip me on the front.

Swish...thack!  The whip snapped across my butt.  Swish...thack!  Again.  And then again.  And again.  Breathing hard, I held my position.

He got up a good rhythm on me.  Hard strokes, one after another across my butt and thighs.  I voiced a loud gasp with every stroke; it’s more satisfying to both of us that way.  Still, I wasn’t exaggerating; the whip stung.

How long this went on, I’m not really sure.  The rhythm was hypnotic.  But it must have been many dozens of strokes.

Finally he paused.  He passed his hand over my butt and then down my thighs.  Then he said, “Spread your legs more.”

I looked back at him, trying to gage his intent.  I had no wish to be whipped on the pussy.  But I obeyed, moving my feet somewhat apart, but only to the width of my shoulders.

Then he lashed the whip across my rear end again several times.  I felt more vulnerable with legs apart.

“Arch your back down more.  Get your butt up there. ...That’s better.”

He cracked the whip on my butt a few more times.  Then lashed me further down, wrapping it to the inside of the thigh.  “Ow.”  Too close for comfort.  Then again.  “Ooh!”  And again, and again, and again, high on the inside of the thigh.  “Ah!  Please be careful.  Do you know where you’re almost hitting me?”  I was squirming.

Rafiq paused and passed his fingers over my pussy.  Then he slid his finger into my cleft, probing into my vagina.  “Rafiq!”  I brought my hand back fend him off.  I didn’t want him sticking his fingers inside me out here in front of everybody.

Saying, “Just the whip, that’s all you want,” he left off with his fingers, and took a step back.  I resumed my position, hands forward on the bulkhead.

From the sound of the swish, it didn’t sound like a hard stroke coming, but... “Ooh!”  He stung me right on the pussy.  Then another, harder.  I yelped.  And another, hard.  “Ow-ow-ow!  Please no.”  Writhing, I brought my legs together.

“Legs wide apart.  Take your whipping.”

“Oh please, not too hard.”  I crept my legs apart, nursing my pussy with one hand.  Resuming my position with both hands on the bulkhead, I held my breath, waiting.

Swish...thack!   “OOOH!”  He stung me on the pussy again.  Swish...thack!  “AHHH!”  Swish...thack!  “AHHH!  No...  Please no.”

Skipper rejoined, “Yeah, whip that pussy.  Sting her clit.”

Rafiq continued snapping it on my pussy again and again.  I cried out with each stroke.  Finally, after a particularly wickedly aimed cut, I let out a screech and broke my position.  Turning half way toward him I dropped to the deck and sat on my heels, nursing my pussy.

“Oh, please.  That hurts so much.”  Then glancing at the Skipper and Ivy, I saw that Ivy’s face was contorted with pain.  Then I saw that the clips were fastened to her pussy.  It looked like both of them were biting into the clit.  Still, however, she maintained her hands behind her head.

I wondered which one of us was hurting worse.  I though it must be me because she could maintain her position in silence, and I could not.  But there was no way to know.  Maybe she is just stronger than me.

Not wanting to seem pitifully weak, I said, “Can’t you just whip me in a normal way?  Anywhere else, but not down there.”

“Okay, how about on the tits now?”

“Oh please.  Not there either.  Not with that whip.”  I quickly got up and resumed my position, bent over arms straight forward, holding the bulkhead, but keeping my legs closer together.  I arched my back to present him with as much encouragement as possible to lash me on the butt.

He took up the invitation and cracked the whip really hard across my butt.  Then again.  And again.  He snapped another dozen strokes across my butt and thighs, so hard I cried out with every one.

He finally paused, and clasping the thong against the crop handle, began stroking the crop back and forth on my breasts.  “Those tits of yours need a really good whipping, don’t they?”

I squirmed, realizing that bent over with arched back, arms straight forward, my breasts were offering encouragement for harassment.

“It’s the softness that makes them so good to whip.”  He tapped at my breast, jiggling it.  “Now straighten up and face me.”

I stood and turned to face him, crossing my arms over my breasts.

“Pretending to be modest?” chided Rafiq.  “Hands behind your head.”  

“Oh please don’t whip me on the front.”

After eyeing me for a moment, Rafiq set down the whip and took up the cane.  A wave of anxiety swept over me.  I didn’t want anybody to even touch my breasts with that.

Slowing he drew it back.  Whoosh-thackkkk!   Hard across the front of my thighs. “Ooooh!”  That really stung.  ...Whoosh-thackkkk!     ...Whoosh-thackkkk!    ...Whoosh-thackkkk!  Like fire across my thighs, then across my hips, then across my stomach.  “Ow, ow, ow!  Shit, that’s too hard!  You’re really hurting me.”

He snapped it twice more across my stomach so hard, then twice across my arms held protectively across my breasts.  What had I done to deserve being beaten like this?

“Are you going to put your hands behind your head?”

“Oh-my-god no.  If you hit me like that on the breasts, I’ll just die.”

He lowered the cane and passed his hand over the welts he had raised across my stomach.  I took this opportunity also to rub the stinging welts, while keeping my breasts covered with one arm.

“So you don’t want me to put the cane to your tits.  You’d rather get it with the whip.”

“I’d rather not get it at all on the... tits.  Besides, haven’t I been punished enough?  And Ivy too?”

“Think so?  Well, maybe we should see how other people feel.  Everyone who thinks Jenny’s had enough say ‘aye’.”

“Aye!” Ivy, April, and I called out in unison.  Rafiq, James, and the Skipper were silent.

“Sorry, Jenny.  Tie vote.  Not a majority.  I guess we stick with the status quo.  You’ve got more strokes coming.   ...Now, on your knees.”

I frowned at him for several moments, then reluctantly knelt before him.

“Stable posture, knees apart.”

I looked up at his face to try to read his intentions.  It wasn’t clear what he was up to.  But since he was standing to my right, there seemed no immediately threat of him swatting me on the pussy.  I crept my knees apart, my eyes never leaving his.

“Hands behind head.”  He tapped the cane on my arms, still protectively crossed over my chest.  “Now,” he added forcefully, as I hesitated.

“Rafiq...” I whined.  “That isn’t right.”

“Heyyy...  What’s the problem?  Lack of trust?”  He gave me a sly smile as he slid the cane up and down my stomach.

I searched his face.  I remembered that he had intervened to stop Ivy from caning my breasts.  I decided to acquiesce.  I slowly raised my arms and placed my hands behind my head.  Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, straightened and thrust out my chest, elbows back, head turned away, offering myself up completely.

He slid the cane up and down my breasts.  I tried not to react to it as he bumped it over my nipples.  Of course they were really stiff.  I wondered if people thought I was erotically stimulated at the prospect of being caned on the breasts.

He continued harrying my nipples with the cane.  And hands beyond head, I continued kneeling, offering my breasts to be beaten, but trusting that they would not be.

Finally he took hold of my nipple, tugged sharply upward, and gave the base of my breast a smart rap with the cane.  I let out a gasp, perhaps more startled at having my nipple so ill-used than being rapped on the softness of the breast.

He continued yanking on my nipple, and again rapped on my breast with the cane.  Then again.  And again.  And several more times.  I was breathing rapidly, but I held my position.

Relenting, he finally released my nipple.  I exhaled in relief.  For the briefest moment I brought my hand down to touch my breast, but quickly returned it behind my head.

Rafiq then pinched hold of the other nipple, yanked upward, and rapped sharply on the lower part of my breast.  He continued with what seemed like a dozen raps, as I grimaced and panted and squirmed.

Finally he released my nipple.  I sat back on my heels, cradling my breasts.  “You just beat me on the tits.”  ...That was a bit of an exaggeration.

“Did that really hurt?” asked Rafiq.  He seemed skeptical.

Ignoring the question, I pouted, “You were yanking on my nipples like they’re some kind of knobs for holding onto me.”

The Skipper chimed in, “Yeah.  Grip those knobs and shake her titties.”

I held my arms tightly across my breasts.  I didn’t want anybody shaking me by the nipples.  I glanced around.  Skipper had taken the clips off Ivy’s clit and was reapplying them to her nipples.  She had this look of resignation.

Meanwhile, James, standing behind April, had lifted her bikini top above her breasts.  He had taken hold of her nipples and was lightly swaying her jugs back and forth.  April was biting her lip.  She held her hands close beside her breasts, ready to arrest his action, but she allowed him to continue.

Was I disturbed that all the guys were now besetting all the girls?  No, at least now I wasn’t the only one on the receiving end.   ...And yet, it almost felt like something was missing for my ordeal not to be the center of everyone’s attention.

“Arch yourself backwards, like in the camel posture.”  Rafiq was referring to the yoga posture ushtra-asana, one of the postures I had taught him over the last couple days.  You begin while sitting on your heels, shins on the floor, just as I was then sitting.  Clasping your ankles, you lift your butt off your heels, and thrust your hips upward and forward, arching your back as far as possible and tilting the head back. In that kind of backward arching posture, chest thrust upwards, crotch thrust forward, you’d be extremely vulnerable confronting a whip or cane.

Not acceding to his command, I whined, “Rafiq.  Not with the cane.  I don’t want you to keep threatening to cane me on the front.”

“Not the cane?  You’d rather have the whip.  All right, I’ll give you the whip.  Just lean back and I’ll give it to you good.”

Skipper chimed in, “Yeah, put the the whip to her girl flesh.  Sting those nipples good.”

“Rafiq, oh please...”

“Come on, Jenny.  You need a challenge.”

I glanced around.  Skipper was drumming the clips on Ivy’s nipples up and down.  The jiggling of her breasts really arrested my gaze.  Ivy’s eyes were squinched such, her mouth open, but she held her posture in silence, hands behind head.

I looked at April.  From behind, James was squeezing his fingers into her fat jugs as though kneading dough.  April was still biting her lip, but her expression was receptive.

Could I be less brave than Ivy and April?  I glanced up at Rafiq.  Without another word, I took hold of my ankles, thrust my hips up and forward, and arched back to the ushtra-asana.

Rafiq fondled my upthrust breasts, pressing his thumbs into my nipples, making circular motions.  It was more forceful than I like having my breasts handled, but I held my position, breathing shallowly.  Better to have him playing with my breasts than whipping them.

Finally his hand left my breasts and passed up and down my ribs for a time, then onto my stomach.  His finger poked hard into my belly button.  It pressed this way and that, as if searching for a passage inward.  Finally, as if giving up that my belly button lead anywhere, his fingers moved lower.  I was starting to tire; this posture is not one that anybody holds indefinitely.

His fingers passed over my clit, going around and around in a circular motion.  But this position was getting too uncomfortable for me to be able to get turned on.  His finger then slid down my cleft.  The next thing I knew he was sticking it up my tunnel.  Whoa!  That was entirely enough.

I dropped out of that posture, returning to sitting on my heels.  His stupid hand, with its inserted finger, followed me down.  I grabbed his arm and pushed it away.  “Rafiq!  Quit it!”

I glanced around, distressed at being humiliated like this before an audience.  But April and James were taking no notice of me.  James, still standing behind April, had wrapped the sisal rope around her body several times, right across her breasts.  April is so stacked, it was digging deeply into the flesh of her breasts.  It was like she was wearing a special punishment bra.  I could hardly take my eyes off her.  I had never imagined April submitting to such treatment.

I looked over at Ivy.  Her eyes were closed.  She had her own problems with the Skipper pulling on the chain to the clips on her tormented nipples.  Only the Skipper, still behind Ivy, had his eyes on me.  Seeing that he had my attention, he pointed at me, made a gesture of slapping his cheek, and then pointed at Rafiq, indicating that I should slap Rafiq for publicly finger-fucking me.

I considered that for only a split second before realizing that the Skipper just wanted to give Rafiq a reason to whip me even more and even harder.  Unsure that I could handle what was already coming, I was not going to invite more.

“Back into position,” ordered Rafiq.

“That’s too tiring.  Nobody holds that position very long.”  Instead, remaining seated on my heals, I leaned back, my hands on the deck behind me.  Although my knees were still apart, my pussy seemed less vulnerable in this position, but it still felt like I was acquiescing to getting my breasts whipped.

I looked up at him.  His eyes were on my body.  Was he seeing me, or just some sex object?

Biting my lip, I squinched my eyes shut and leaned my head back.  I didn’t want to see it coming.  Then I heard the hiss of the whip slicing air.  With a loud ‘thack’ it stung me across the ribs.

Then again, this time across the stomach.  Then another.  Again and again, gradually moving up my ribs.  Each with that hissing swish, that loud thack, that biting sting.  I punctuated each with a gasp.

Holding my position, I kept my eyes closed, head tilted back and away.  Sound and sting, that was my world now.  Sound and sting, but mostly sting.

The whip strokes were moving closer and closer to my chest.  I knew what was coming.  I knew he would never be satisfied until he had whipped me on the breasts.  All right.  I would see how much I could take.  I held my position, arms back leaning on the deck, chest thrust out, inviting the whip.

Swish...thack.  He stung me on the base of the breast.  Then again, and again.  I held on, each time hoping it wouldn’t get me across the nipples.

Swish...thack!.  “OOOH!”  That one caught me on the left nipple.  It really hurt.  Swish...thack!  “AHHH!”  Hard on the right nipple.

Then two more lightning strikes to the nipples.  My cries had turned to shrieks.  My nipples were on fire.  How much more could I take?

Swish...thack, again stinging my nipples.  “Ow-ow-ow!”    ...And still again, Swish...thack.  “EEEEE...”  I broke my position, taking my breasts in my hands, trying to rub out the sting.  “My tits.  My tits...”

“Yeah, your tits.  Your tits are so good.  Rub them up.”

He made it sound like I was trying to turn people on by playing with my breasts.  I glanced around.  All eyes were on me.   ...But what did it matter what they thought.  Right now my nipples were on fire.

Swish...thack.  He laid a stroke across the front of the thighs.  “Back into position.  I’ll spare your breasts for now,” he said.

Slowly I brought my hands back onto the deck behind me, and leaned back, thighs apart, offering everything in front to the whip, trusting that he would give my breasts a respite.    

Swish...thack!  “Ooh.”  It was to the inside of the thigh, but so close to the pussy.  At least in this position my labia would not be so open.

Swish...thack!  “Ooooh!”  That time he stung my pussy lips.  Swish...thack!  “Ow!  Please...”  Another one right in the pussy.  My legs lurched but I resisted the urge to bring them together.  Could I take the whipping he wanted to give me?

Again on the pussy.  Thack!  “AHHH!”   And then again.  “OOOOH!”  Despite my efforts to accept my whipping, my legs were inching closer together.  Thack!  “EEEEEE!”  That one stung my clit so bad.

I broke my position, bringing my thighs together and hands forward to my crotch.  My fingers told me that my clit was still intact, something I would not have guessed from the stinging pain emanating from it.

Swish...thack.   “Ahhhhh!”  Denied access to my pussy, he now laid a hard stroke across the breasts.  I brought one arm up to protect myself.  He aimed several more strokes across my chest, while I protected my breasts with one hand and forearm, while nursing my pussy with the other hand.

But now he tugged my hand away and forced his hand between my thighs, first pressing on my sore clit and then further below.  “You’re moist.  That’s good.  Glad you’re enjoying this.  Now let’s lay you on the table here and finish you off.  Whip you till you cum.”

“Oh please don’t whip me anymore,” I replied.  But I was so taken aback by the idea that I would be enjoying such punishment that my words came out sounding feeble and unconvincing,

“Come on.  On the table with you,” insisted Rafiq.  “This is the whipping you need and want.”

Acquiescing, I got up off the deck and approached the table extending out of the bulkhead.  I laid my body on it, chest down, feet remaining on the deck.  I kept my legs together – I didn’t want any more lashes on the pussy.

He set aside the whip and took up the cane again.  Then he swatted me on the butt.  “OW!”  Then a really hard, stinging stroke to the back of the thighs.  “OOOH!”

He laid about a dozen more strokes across my butt and the backs of my thighs.  I cried out with each one.  How I hate the cane.  He was hitting so hard.  But such a confusion of sensations.  Why was I sexually aroused?  Would I be able to come off like this?

Pausing the cane strokes and feeling my bottom with his hand, Rafiq said, “Actually, I intended that you lay on your back.  Putting the cane to your butt is good, but I really love laying the whip on your front.”

I knew it was no use arguing.  The sensuality of a girl’s front makes it a prime target.  But for me at least it would mean trading that villainous cane for the not quite so dreadful whip.  Still, I knew he would aim for the breasts.  But I wanted to be brave enough to accept whipping he wanted to give me.

Slowly I turned myself over, watching him as he set aside the cane and took up the whip.  The small of my back on the edge of the table, my feet remained on the floor.  Arched back like this, it seemed like the ultimate surrender of my body to him.  Now casting my arms beyond my head, I completed a total surrender to his whims, trusting that he would not bring me to harm.

Laying his hand on my ribs, he began feeling up my body.  His hand passed slowly and sensuously over my stomach, again over my ribs, and onto my breasts.  Eyes closed, I arched to meet his caress.

“Here, take this in your mouth.”  His hard penis bumped my cheek.

Turned my head to him, I took it into my mouth, sucking and working it with my tongue.  If I could get him to come off, my punishment would finally end.  ...But still, I wanted to be able to come off too.

I continued sucking as his fingers swirled circles around my nipples.  Yet this was strange – an ordinary caress seemed almost anticlimactic.  Was my body now harmonized only to hard treatment?

The Skipper’s voice now intruded.  “Ivy, your task is to service Jenny with your mouth.  I want you to lick her off good.”

I stopped sucking, letting Rafiq’s penis come away from my mouth.  I had to see what was going to happen.  Ivy said nothing, but kneeling between my legs, she brought her mouth to my crotch and lightly licked the labia.  I knew immediately that despite the travail of our situation – she was still suffering those nipple-pinching clips – she would approach her task with finesse.

“Ivy,” said the Skipper.  “While you’re pleasuring Jenny, I think you need your own stimulation.  Let me strap this butterfly vibrator on you.”

Don’t ask me why the Skipper had a butterfly vibrator.  I have no idea.

As Ivy continued tonguing me, I tried to watch as the Skipper put the butterfly vibrator on her.  But Rafiq imposed upon me.  Flicking the whip across my ribs, he pressed his penis back into my face.  I again took it into my mouth and worked it with my tongue.  He continued flicking the whip lightly on the far side of my ribs.

I thought he was being gentle because I was giving him such a good blow job.  ...But then I realized that to give him a blow job, he had to stay too close to hit me hard.

This went on for a little while until the Skipper, now apparently done with Ivy, interjected, “Gimme that whip.  You can’t get her from that position.”

Uh-oh.  Now I was in for it. .  The only kind of whipping I could expect from the Skipper was a hard one.  As he yielded the whip to the Skipper, I started sucking feverishly on Rafiq’s penis.  I had to get him to come off if this ordeal was ever going to end.

Swish...thack!  The Skipper laid a hard stroke across my ribs.  Swish...thackk!  On the base of the breast.  I gave a jolt but continued sucking.

Swish...thackk!  “Umph!”  He stung me hard on the nipple.  Wincing with the pain, I continued my task.

Swish...thackk!  Right on the other nipple, hard.  I couldn’t help letting out a gasp.

“Yeah.  Did you feel that?” asked the Skipper.  “A good one, huh?  Put the sting to those nipples of yours.”  He stroked my breast with his hand, but then took hold of the nipple and gave it a sharp pinch.

Then he stepped back and raised the whip.  Swish...thackk!  Back on the first nipple again.  “Ahhhhh!”  I let out a cry, turned away from Rafiq’s penis, and brought my arm down to protect myself.

“April.  You need to hold Jenny’s arms,” said Skipper.  “Hold her down good.”

April stepped over and I surrendered my arms to her.  James had released her breasts from the tightly bound rope but the indentation lines were apparent, leading right across her nipples.  Her big jugs hung over my face as she bent over me.  James was right behind her, now squeezing her breasts, now slapping her breasts, jiggling them crazily.  It occurred to me that he might have entered her from behind, but I couldn’t tell.

Rafiq then thrust his penis in my face and I took it into my mouth, working it with my tongue.  Skipper then gave me a couple of whip strokes across the ribs.  But then it was back on the breasts, one hard stroke after another.

I continued sucking on Rafiq’s penis while the Skipper rained whip stroke after whip stroke onto my breasts.  Above the nipples, below the nipples, but especially right on the nipples, so hard.  With each stroke I wrenched.  Yet I continued sucking.  I had to finish this job.

And through all this torment, Ivy was tonguing my clit, forcing me toward sexual arousal.  I wanted that pleasure.  But the Skipper kept stinging my nipples so bad.  My tits were on fire.

I wanted it to stop.  I wanted it to go on.  I didn’t know what I wanted.

Yet I saw that it didn’t matter what I wanted.  Here was a reality to be experienced, not evaluated.   April holding my arms, her big jugs flopping above my face as James slapped them back and forth.  Rafiq’s big hard penis in my mouth; me doing my utmost to pleasure him.  Skipper’s hard whip strokes scorching my breasts, my nipples now burning like red-hot coals.  And Ivy’s wet tongue on my clit, impelling me onward toward orgasm.

And at the center of the whole thing was me, feeling like a Siren, irresistibly drawing these people into delirious sexual mayhem.  For that, it seemed right that I should be the one to suffer the most.  Hard though they used me, it now felt that I was controlling them, not them controlling me.

“You’re so good.  So good,” moaned Rafiq.  And with that his penis began pulsing gooey oil-of-life into my mouth.  Grunting bullishly he pressed into my face.

Encircled by all this sexual madness, I knew I could not contain my own.  My sucking mouth, my stinging breasts, my tingling pussy.

Swish...thackk!  The Skipper laid the whip hard, again right across both nipples.  Waves of orgasmic energy reverberated through my body, like an sonic aura borealis undulating through my consciousness.

Opposites converged, splintered, converged again, and splintered again.   ...Pain. Pleasure.    ...Bitter. Sweet.   ...Male. Female.   ...Yin. Yang.   ...Death. Birth.    ...Dissolution. Unity.   ...Matter. Antimatter, colliding within my body, mind.

Intolerable pleasure.  Exquisite pain.  Music beyond the bounds of rhythm or melody played though my body.  Colors beyond the limits of the spectrum glimmered though my mind.

My body underwent the entire universe of sensation suffered or savored since the dawn of time.  I was a black hole sucking in the galaxy of sexual passion of all who surrounded me.  Their desire to act upon me fed my craving to be acted upon.  Their action.  My satisfaction.

Chapter 5.  The Not So Dangerous Game

Another day had passed.  It was late afternoon.  James and April were at watch on deck.  Ivy, Skipper, Rafiq, and I were below playing cards ...and drinking.  Rafiq had made me a daiquiri.  It tasted pretty good.  The alcohol didn’t taste too strong, but I could definitely feel it.

The card game was Hearts.  Every heart you get stuck with counts one point against you.  And getting stuck with the Queen of Spades counts thirteen points against you.  At one stage in the game, Ivy was winning.  I had the opportunity to drop the Queen of Spades on Rafiq but I held off.  A moment later I dropped the Queen of Spades on Ivy.

“You dumped that on me on purpose,” she said.  “You made sure I got it instead of Rafiq.”

“Oh well.  It’s nothing to get mad about,” I replied.

“I don’t get mad; I get even.”  Ivy was getting over-loud.  She was on her third daiquiri.

After the next hand, the game ended, with Rafiq winning.  At this point Ivy said, “Skipper, did you notice that Jenny is drinking alcohol.  She’s underage.  I think its your duty to discipline her for that.”

“Underage?  Jenny’s eighteen.”  Looking at me, he asked, “Aren’t you?”

But Ivy said, “Twenty-one is the age for drinking, not eighteen.  You need to discipline her for that.”

“Oh...  Well, yeah.  I guess twenty-one is the age in the U.S.  But so what?  Jenny drinks so little.  She hasn’t even finished that one glass.  Why are you making a scene about this?”

“Even so, you’re the captain.  You need to discipline her for that.”

“For having a few sips of alcohol?  That’s really lame.  I’d rather punish her for no reason than for a stupid reason like that.  ...Yeah, just punish her for being a good-looking girl.  What do you think, Rock?”

“Well...” said Rafiq.

“But that isn’t fair, punishing me for no reason.”

“Technicalities,” answered the Skipper.  “Open your top.  Let’s have a look at those titties.  What kind of punishment should we visit on your soft mounds today?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I said, “No, I’m not going to be punished.  Ivy started this whole thing.  Punish her instead.”

“Well, we could punish both of you.  What do you think we should do, Rock?”

“Rafiq!”  I looked at him with consternation.  Why wasn’t he supporting me on this?

“Oh...  Well, maybe not,” said Rafiq.  “At the moment, it doesn’t seem that Jenny’s into it.  And certainly this underage thing is totally silly.  Jenny is much more temperate than Ivy.  I can tell you a story about Ivy’s drinking.”

“What do you mean?  What story?” asked Ivy.  She set down her drink.

“Last December.  When we visited Tortola.”

“Oh-my-god.  Not that,” said Ivy.

“Yeah.  When we went to that place with the steel band, and you got so drunk that you threw up on somebody’s foot.”

“It was a nice vacation on a nice island, and you would pick out the one negative thing to recall,” replied Ivy.

“Oh come on, Ivy, it’s not that negative.  It’s just funny.  And I agree it was a nice vacation.”

Ivy then started talking about Tortola, one of the British Virgin Islands.  At some point Skipper moved the topic to a place called Cayo Peligro, saying it was a small Venezuelan island where he had worked as a young man.  He wanted to tell us about his experience there.

“General factotum.  That was my job,” he said.  “My boss owned the island.”

“Factotum?  Is that like a valet or something?” I asked.

Skipper scowled at me.  “Aide.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”  I kept quiet after that.

“Anyway, considering that he owned the whole thing, this was a nice-sized little island.  My boss, his name was Zarkov, said it was 1000 meters long and maybe 150 meters wide.  His chateau was of stone ...suggestive of a castle, but not really.

“Yeah, this guy Zarkov, he loved his island.  Called it his fiefdom.  Only problem is that I’m not sure the tropical climate agreed with him.  By his own admission, he had the worst case of jock rot ever known to man or beast.  All told, he must have spent two or three hours a day scratching his balls.

“Anyway, Zarkov was a sportsman of sorts.  He liked to hunt ...people.  Girls specifically.  Once he brought couple local mainland girls over to his island.  They were sisters, about you girls’ ages.  Nice looking.  Dark hair, dark eyes, like most of the locals.  Slender too.

“So anyway, he paid these girls to serve as quarry.  If he can’t catch them in one hour, then they go home with something close to a couple hundred bucks each ...can’t remember how many bolivars it was.  Anyway, at that time it was good pay.  If he catches them, then they get paid just the same, but only after they undergo some stiff punishment.

“Zarkov told them they needed to change clothes first.  He didn’t want them going back home with their clothes all messed up.  People might ask questions.  So he had bought these short skirts for them to wear during the hunt, but first he had me rip them up to make them real ragged.  Wearing their tatters, it was to make them look like castaways turned to nature girls or something.  Anyway, the girls agreed, and so turning away from us, they changed into these ripped-up skirts.

“Then he starts telling them that they have to take off their blouses so that none of their clothes get messed up during the chase.  So the younger sister unbuttons her blouse.  The older one starts upbraiding her.  The younger one doesn’t take well to her sister’s reprimand, and so she just strips off her blouse and stands bare breasted before us.

“Well, there are some more words exchanged, but faced with the prospect of her younger sister getting paid nicely to participate in this hunt, and she not, the older sister falls into line and takes her blouse off too.  So the two sisters stand before us in just their ragged skirts and their sneakers, the older sister with her arms across her chest, pouting, and the younger sister bare breasted with her arms at her sides, acting like this is the most natural thing in the world for her.

“So my boss, to make sure they performed their best during the hunt, wanted to give them a taste of the consequences for letting him catch them.  So before sending them on their way, he cut a nice switch from a nearby bush, trimmed it, and then he lifted the younger sister’s skirt just a bit, and gave her several hard swats on the back of her thighs.  She was a pretty tough girl; gasped a bit with each stroke, but otherwise kept quiet.

“Then he did the same with the older sister.  But she was not so receptive to the switch – let out a squeal with each stroke.

“So he warns them, ‘just don’t let us catch you, cause if you do, one of you will get a switching between the legs, and the other one on the tits, hard as we can.’  And he takes hold of the younger sister’s tit, and gives it a few light taps with the switch.

“So he sends them on their way, and off they run, tits bouncing free.”

Rafiq interrupted, “You know, Skipper, fact or fiction, your story may have its charm.  But I’m wondering if it’s entirely appropriate for mixed company.”

Ivy scoffed, “Do you think our ears are too delicate for Skipper’s ribald stories.  ...I’m betting Jenny’s really turned on.  She wishes she were one of the sisters.”

“I do not,” I replied.  “Why are you saying that?  It’s really obnoxious.”

“No it isn’t,” said Ivy.  “Well.  It wasn’t meant to be.  ...Sorry if you took offense.  I’m forgetting that you’re in denial.”

“I am not.  Why are you insulting me?  Are you still mad about that stupid card game?”

“What do I care about that stupid card game?” she replied.  “Anything I say now, you’re the one who’s getting all pissed off about nothing.  And why do you think its so bad to admit you’d get turned on by being hunted down, captured, and tormented?”

“What do you know about what I think?  Why am I even the subject of conversation?  I was sitting here quietly, minding my own business, listening to Skipper’s story...”

“Girls!  Girls!  Please!” interrupted the Skipper.  “What is this shit?  I start telling a kinky story, and you both start behaving like you’ve got to have a whipping too.  Well, if that’s the case...”

“Hey, just cool it for now,” said Rafiq.  “I don’t think Jenny’s that eager for a whipping.”  But then he gave me this inquiring look, as though he wasn’t sure whether he had said the right thing.

As affirmation, I said, “Yes...  I mean no.  No whippings, please.  Can’t we just hear the story?”

“Oh yes,” agreed the Skipper.  “Now where was I?  Oh yeah...  So, anyway, we give the girls fifteen minutes head start.  The island isn’t so big that they can actually put fifteen minutes of distance between us, but he wanted to give them time to find good hiding places.

“Then we went after them, Zarkov leading the way.  He’s got the switch; I’m carrying several sections of rope.  The house is on one end of the island, so there is only one direction to go.  We stay together.  He is the hunter.  I’m only the adjutant.

“Zarkov is meticulous about in his approach to the hunt.  He figures the only way he can lose is if he goes beyond their hiding place.  If we reach the far end of the island without finding them, then doubling back probably won’t give us enough time to scour the island again before the hour runs out.

“About three-fourths of the way along the island we glimpse one of the girls in a tree a little ways ahead.  She realizes that we’ve spotted her, jumps down and dashes off into the salt marsh on the lee side of that end of the island.

“Zarkov doesn’t immediately follow.  He says that if we get too hung up on one girl, the other might slip by us, double back, and run out the hour.

“His strategy pays off.  Carefully scanning the forest as he moves forward, he spots the other girl in a tree a little ways away.  It’s the younger sister.  He sends me up after her.  Reaching her, she doesn’t resist as I bind her wrists in front with the rope.  Then I lower her down till her feet almost reach the ground, securing the rope to the tree limb.  Although Zarkov has supervised the whole operation from below, most of his attention was directed toward watching the salt marsh, where the older sister disappeared.

“With the younger sister suspended from a bough of the tree, arms over head, we go after the older one.  Zarkov enters the marsh where he believes she went in.  At first we can track her from the cloudy knee-deep water she left in her wake, but as we go in deeper, it’s not apparent where she went.

“Zarkov insists that he would have spotted her if she had left the marsh.  Slowly we move through the marsh.  Time is running out.  I tell him that she must be long gone, heading back toward his house.  Zarkov silences me with an angry look, and I say no more.

“We come to a stop, and Zarkov is scanning the marsh.  I don’t see anything.  But finally he points to a clump of rushes, and we move silently toward it.

“He spots her hiding underwater among the rushes.  Really clever girl.  She’s lying on her back completely submerged, breathing through a hollow reed as if it were a snorkel.  A really good trick.  Raising her, Zarkov congratulates her for her ingenuity.

“He tells me that what he saw was an unnatural movement of the rushes.  To keep herself from floating, she had to clasp the rushes from beneath the surface and hold herself under.  It was her subtle movement of the rushes that Zarkov detected.  I was duly impressed ...with both Zarkov and the girl.

“So anyway, he has me bind her wrists behind her back, and off we go, back to where we had secured the younger sister.  She seems relieved by our return and chides us for leaving her out there alone and helpless.  But Zarkov reassures her that we were within earshot at all times.

“He offers to ring out the older sister’s wet skirt.  She declines, but he takes it off her anyway.  With her wrists tied behind her, she is in no position to resist.  Then he has me bind ropes to each of her ankles.  Tossing the ropes over different overhanging branches, together we hoist her off the ground, upside down, legs apart.  She’s a bit upset about that, but Zarkov reassures her.”

Rafiq asked, “Her panties are still on, right?  And her legs apart.”

“Oh, yeah...”  The Skipper hesitated.  “Uh... Well, at this point Zarkov cut her panties off with his knife.”  Skipper glanced at us around the table, and then said, “This happened a number of years ago, you know, so I have a little trouble remembering all the details.”

Rafiq said, “Hey, you’re doing great.  I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

Skipper continued, “So anyway, the older sister is hanging upside down, completely naked, legs apart, arms tied behind her back.  And then the Skipper takes this little metal box out of his pocket.  He opens it and I see that it’s got a dozen or so map pins in it.  You know what map pins are?  About the length of a thumb tack, but with a spherical plastic head instead of a flat head.

“And he sticks a few of these little pins in the skin of her breasts.  She gasps and winces but takes it fairly well.  Then he sticks a pin into her nipple ...into the areola, not the nub of the nipple.  But she really lets out a shriek.”

As he was telling this, Skipper’s eyes were on my breasts.  That made me anxious even though I was clothed.  Instinctively, I folded my arms over my chest.  I glanced at Ivy.  She had noticed my reaction.  She smiled subtly.

The Skipper continued, “Well, Zarkov had this thing about symmetry.  So he couldn’t have just one pin near the edge of the areola.  He’s got to stick in three more, symmetrically around her nipple.  She gave a hell of a shriek with each one.  But fortunately for the girl, he doesn’t feel compelled to stick one down the center.

“But of course, he can’t be satisfied with pins in just one nipple.  The other one gets the same treatment.  One pin, two, three, and four.  She lets out a shriek with each one.”

At this point the Skipper took his eyes off my chest and looked at my face.  Obviously I didn’t like him staring at my body while he talked about jabbing pins into women’s nipples.  So I must have been frowning at him. For just a moment, he looked slightly abashed.  But then he said, “You look a little anxious, Jenny.  Are you worried somebody’s going to do something to your tits?”

Clasping my arms even more tightly across by breasts and twisting my torso slightly away from him, I said, “Now why ever would you think I need to worry about that?”

The Skipper laughed.  I smiled just a little.  He said, “Maybe I was looking at your body just to help me visualize... I mean remember... what happened.  It was a long time ago, you know.  And all that liquor I’ve drunk over the years has softened my brain cells.”

Then Ivy said, “Jenny should take her shirt off to help jog your memory, don’t you think?”

I said to her, “I don’t want to take my shirt off.  Why don’t you take your top off instead?”

She replied, “I’ll take mine off and then you take yours off.”

Damn!  I was feeling trapped.  I don’t like being made to acknowledge how modest I am.  It makes me feel like I have immature hangups about my body.

Then Rafiq said, “We can all take our shirts off.  Then everyone will be even.”

What an annoying thing for him to say.  Conventions and attitudes being what they are, surely he cannot actually believe it’s “even” if guys and girls both take their shirts off.

And surely he realized I did not want to take mine off.  At the time I couldn’t understand why he was adding to the pressure on me.  But in retrospect, it is obvious.  Rafiq always had a fixation on my breasts, and never seemed to tire of looking at them (or feeling them).

Rafiq peeled his shirt off.  The Skipper followed.  Then Ivy.

Rafiq’s eyes were glued to Ivy’s breasts.  This would not do.  Slowly I began to undo my shirt.  I was wearing a buttoned blouse, unbuttoned but tied together below my breasts, baring my midriff.  That is sexier than I had ever worn a blouse, but I was feeling that I wanted to keep Rafiq’s eyes on me and not on Ivy.  In the past I might have felt that wearing a blouse that way might emphasize my lack of cleavage.  But with all of Rafiq’s recent attention, I was feeling all right about that.

Anyway, I loosened the knot and began to open my blouse.  Rafiq’s eyes shifted to my body.  That was much better.

I let my shirt linger with my nipples just out of view for several moments.  But I’ll confess that it was less out of modesty than out of a desire to make my action more dramatic.  I hope it doesn’t create a bad impression for me to divulge that here.

I opened my blouse the rest of the way and slipped it off my arms.  Rafiq gazed at my breasts, then looked into my eyes with a satisfied expression.  But then he looked back at Ivy.  For a time his gaze shifted back and forth between Ivy’s body and my body.  It made me uncomfortable to feel that he was comparing me to Ivy.  Not that there is anything particularly the matter with my body.

Skipper’s eyes were doing the same.  It’s strange.  If you bare your body, guys behave like they’ve never seen it before, no matter how recently they’ve seen you naked.

Ivy stretched back and yawned, putting her hands behind her head.  All eyes were on her out-thrust chest.  I did not mirror Ivy’s pose.  I had no wish to attempt to compete in that way.  Instead I just sat there feeling inadequate.  Finally I said, “So were you going to tell us what happened next, Skipper?”

“What happened next?  ...Oh, on Cayo Peligro.  Yes, where was I?  Let’s see, the elder sister was hanging upside down, arms tied behind her back, and Zarkov had just jabbed those pins into her nipples.”  The Skipper was staring at Ivy’s out-thrust breasts.

Ivy brought her hands forward from behind her head, and leaning forward placed her elbows on the table.  As brassy as Ivy is, apparently even she was a little intimidated by having this perverted guy gaping at her bare breasts while carrying on about stabbing pins into women’s nipples.

I, on the other hand, remaining as I was, hands pressing on the seat, trying to look unfazed.  Score one for me.

Rafiq’s eyes shifted to my body ...or specifically to my breasts.  So did the Skipper’s eyes.  I continued to suppress the feelings of self consciousness.  I looked at the Skipper expectantly, waiting for him to continue his story.

“So then Zarkov turned his attention to the younger sister, still hanging by her wrists.  He takes a pin and pokes and probes at the nub of one of her nipples.  She’s wincing and squirming.  But after all that picking and scraping at the outlet of her milk duct, he never does actually sink it into her tit.

“He puts away the pin, and takes up his walking stick.  ...Maybe I didn’t mention before that he had this walking stick.  It was nice and smooth, kinda fat and bulbous at the top.

“He asks her if she wants to fuck on it.  Her answer isn’t just no, it’s hell no.  Well my boss wasn’t the kind of guy who’s used to having people say no to him.  No isn’t an option.  He rams that staff up her pussy, and there’s nothing she can do about it.  He works her with it for a while.  I can’t tell if she’s gasping with satisfaction or pain.

“Anyway, she’s impaled on that staff.  Hanging by her wrists, feet off the ground, she’s trying to pull up as best she can, so that her weight isn’t thrusting her down so hard onto it.

“At this point, Zarkov takes out his box of pins again.  He’s gonna stick them in her crotch.  Her pussy lips are wrapped around that staff.  And he’s going to thrust those pins into them now too.  One, two, and three, on each side.  She lets us know it hurts.

“He tells her he’s going to stick the last pin straight into her clitoris.  As you can imagine, she voices strong objection to that idea.  But he probes her with his fingers to unsheathe her clit, and slowly puts the pin to the pink nub.  More and more pressure until it finally breaks the skin.  She lets out a cry.  Ever so slowly he slides it in to the hilt.  She’s writhing with pain.

“So for now he leaves the younger sister, hanging there by her wrists, impaled on his staff, clit pinned.  He turns back to the older sister and takes up his switch.

“Hanging upside down, legs apart, she’s the one who’s going to get a switching on the pussy.  He starts in on the inside of her thighs.  Stroke after stroke he gives her a good whipping.  Countless red stripes on the inside of her thighs.

“Well this is all pretty fascinating to me.  I had never seen anything like it before.  But I feel for the younger sister, who has to watch all this, anticipating that she’ll soon have her turn.  I try to comfort her a little.  Standing behind her, I give her a hug, helping lift a bit of her weight off the shaft her pussy is impaled on.

“But I’m having lots of fun feeling up her tits.  Squeeze, poke, pinch, mash.  Like jelly under my fingers.

“And I can’t resist probing at her clitoris.  She’s so sensitive.  All I have to do is touch the head of the pin stuck into her clit, and it’s like she’s electric.  Her hyper-responsive reaction – it’s such a turn on, I can’t help doing it to her.

“In the meantime, Zarkov is raining the switch down on the older sister’s pussy lips.  Then he starts whacking it right into the cleft.  She’s getting hysterical, begging him to stop.  But he keeps going at it for quite some time.  Whips her pussy good.

“But he does finally lay off.  She just hangs there gasping while he gives her a lot of praise.  He hands me the switch to use on the younger sister, while he soothes the older sister’s anguished pussy with his fingers, then with his tongue.

“So now I’m supposed to put the switch to the younger sister’s tits.  I start swatting them.  I like the way the fat jiggles...  the impact travels across them like a wave.

“I give her a couple dozen strokes, decorating her breasts with charming horizontal stripes.  She’s gasping with each stroke, even though I’ve spared her nipples so far.  ...I don’t know.  Maybe I hadn’t actually hit her all that hard.  Jenny knows I don’t whip girl’s tits all that hard, right?

“What?” I replied.  That question took me by surprise.  “You whip mine really hard.”

“No I don’t.  Not compared to what you need.”

“What do you mean ‘compared to what I need’?  I don’t need a whipping on the breasts.  ...Not as hard as you do it.”

When Ivy giggled, I realized my error.  Amending it, I said,  “I mean, I don’t need a whipping on the breasts period.”

Skipper replied, “Of course those titties need a whipping.  If not on the tits, then where do you want to be whipped?”  He reached over and touched my breast.

I pushed his hand away.  “I don’t want to be whipped at all, anywhere.”

Rafiq was laughing silently, eyes squinched shut, hand on forehead.  I punched his shoulder.  Then I punched again harder.  He suppressed his laugh and smiled at me as I frowned at him.

Looking away from all of them, and folding my arms across my chest, I said, “I’m not listening to anything any of you say about me.  So if you want to be assholes, go ahead.”

Putting his arm around me, Rafiq said, “Right now Jenny doesn’t want to be the subject of conversations about whippings.  Maybe you should just continue your story, Skipper.”

Skipper said, “Maybe you’re right, Rock.  To me, Jenny being whipped is a great topic for conversation, but if she doesn’t care for it, we can move on.  There’s no accounting for people’s tastes.  ...Anyway, where was I?”

Rafiq replied, “You were whipping the younger sister’s tits.  But so far you had spared her nipples.”

“Oh yeah.  But those nipples really needed the switch.  They were the ultimate puffy nipples.  I mean, like, Jenny’s nipples are fairly puffy, but not like this girl’s.  They were super puffy.”

I frowned at the Skipper, arms still crossed over my breasts.  “Do you mind?  I don’t want my body used as a mark for comparison.”

“Oh...  You think your body is beyond comparison?  Well maybe it is.  But could you stop covering yourself with your hands so we can appreciate your superlatives better.”

“Now wait.  I just don’t want my body to be the subject of conversation.  I didn’t say anything about being beyond comparison.  I’m not the vain one at the table.”

As soon as I said that, I knew it was wrong.  Ivy looked at me quizzically.  “Did you aim that at me?” she asked.

I knew I was out of bounds.  Yes, Ivy is openly vain.  But I have to admit that I am secretly vain.  I don’t make a show of my appearance.  But I like to think I look good anyway.

I said, “No.  That was a dumb thing for me to say.  Sorry.”

Ivy said, “Skipper, when you finish your story, we should reenact it on Jenny.”

I said, “Then reenact it on you too.  There’s two girls in the story.”

“Okay.  I’m not afraid.  Are you?” asked Ivy.

“No, I’m not afraid.  But I don’t happen to be interested in a reenactment.  So you can undergo it by yourself.”

“Girls, please.  You’re bickering again,” said the Skipper.  “But shall I continue my story.  When I get done, then we can decide what’s best for you.”

“You’ll decide what’s best?” I said.  “Why should you decide what’s best for me?”

“Because I’m the captain of this vessel.  I have to look after my crew.”

“Maybe I’d rather you didn’t.  ...But I have a feeling that I’ve said too much already.”

“Your instincts are good, Jenny,” the Skipper replied, eyeing me ominously.

“Yes, sir,” I said quietly.  “Umph...” placing my hands over my mouth, trying to disarm him.

“That’s a good girl.  Now where was I?”

“You were talking about the younger sister’s puffy nipples,” said Rafiq.

“Oh yeah.  ...Those nipples needed the switch.”  He paused, seeming to contemplate Ivy’s breasts.  My own were hidden by my arms, since my hands were covering my mouth.  Then he said, “But I need to see everybody’s tits to continue my story.  Jenny, Ivy, put your hands behind your head.”

With a negative shake of my head, I made a muffled, “Umph, umph,” through my hands, facetiously signifying that it was more important that I keep my mouth shut.

“Here, I’ll help you out,” said Rafiq, pushing my hands away, and forcefully covering my mouth and nose with his own hand.

With a muffled complaint, I wrenched away from him.  I don’t like my face handled roughly and I don’t like my air cut off.  I felt like I was being violated.  ...I realize that such a negative reaction to Rafiq’s playfulness must sound strange, after recounting all the corporal punishment I had accepted in the past days.

No doubt Rafiq was surprised by my negative response.  He released his grip.  Still eyeing him with disapproval, I slowly placed my hands behind my head.  Ivy, grinning, followed suit.

Alternately eyeing our breasts, the Skipper continued his story.  “So anyway, I whacked that switch hard across her nipples.  She let out a hell of a cry.  She’s like wrenching back and forth.

“But that doesn’t deter me.  I whacked those nipples again.  And then again...  and again.  I was raining the switch down on her tits.  If she had puffy nipples to begin with, they were a hell of lot puffier when I got done with her.

“Anyway, while I was whipping the younger sister’s tits, Zarkov wanted the older one to lick him off.  She’s still hanging upside down.

“But like I mentioned before, he’s got the most ghastly case of jock rot ever.  She takes one look as his fungus-ridden dick and balls, and it’s like no way.  No way.

“But like I said, Zarkov isn’t the type to take no as an answer.  He puts his hands to her breasts – they’ve got all those map pins stuck in them – and presses inward, kneading them slowly and firmly.

“With those pins stuck in her, you can imagine what that feels like.  She starts screaming.  It’s way more than she can bear.  No choice but to take his dick in her mouth and give him a blow job.

“Meanwhile I just keep whipping the other girl’s tits.  There was one stretch where I must have laid on fifty straight, really hard, right across those puffy nipples.  God, I must have been crazy.  She was a strong girl, seemed to take natural to whippings.  But not that strong.  She was starting to loose it.  But I won’t let up.  I was seized by this insane lust to flail her tits.

“But Zarkov finally shot his load into his girl’s mouth, and with that done, he called me off.  We released the girls and brought them back to his chateau.

“We cleaned up the girls, and then offered them late afternoon tea, which is in fact a light meal.  Zarkov was very solicitous, even asked them about their family and all.  Then he paid them, triple the agreed upon wage for doing such a great job.  Zarkov bid them goodbye, and I took them by boat back to the mainland.

“Keep in mind that the older sister had pleasured Zarkov, but after the day’s activities, I was desperate to blow my load.  So I ask the younger sister, her name was Maria, if she’d like a little boat ride along the coast after we drop her sister off, and she agrees.

“So Maria and I take a short boat ride, drop anchor and have a good fuck.  ...Yeah, she was a cutie.  I liked licking the welts on her tits.  She looked like a fucking zebra from that whipping I had given her.  But she had no resentment about it.  Like I said, she seemed to have a natural bent toward it.”

The Skipper sat back.  “Yeah, it’s a fond memory.”

“That’s a really good story,” said Rafiq.  “Did you make that up on the fly, or had you worked it out beforehand?”

“What do you mean ‘make it up’?” growled the Skipper.  “Are you questioning whether I’m telling a true story?”

“Of course it’s not a true story,” said Rafiq.  “Even so, you did a great job putting a sexual spin on that Richard Connell short story ‘The Most Dangerous Game’.  I noticed you reading it a few days ago, from that anthology I brought along.  ...Not that it matters whether it’s fact or fiction.”

Glaring at Rafiq, the Skipper said, “Rock, you question my veracity and I’ll...  I’ll...”

“Oh don’t start with your silly threats,” said Rafiq.  “But on second thought, go ahead, amuse me.  Be imaginative.  What are you going to do to me?”

Still glaring at Rafiq, the Skipper said, “If you don’t show me proper respect, I’ll...  I’ll whip your girlfriend.”  He glanced toward me.

At that Rafiq leaned back laughing.  “Yes!  Yes!  Yes!” he said.  “I didn’t expect you to say that, Skipper, but it’s so apt.”

I frowned at Rafiq.  Why was he so amused?  I saw nothing funny about it.  Here I was sitting at a table, half naked, with three people well disposed toward getting sexual pleasure by punishing me.  I punched his shoulder, complaining, “Rafiq!”

But he ignored me, saying “So what do we have here?  Ivy wants Jenny punished for underage drinking, even if she’s so temperate she still hasn’t finished that daiquiri.  Skipper wants Jenny punished because I couldn’t help recognizing that his wondrous story was fiction.  So what do you think, Jenny?  Do you want to reenact parts of Skipper’s story?  Unfortunately, with no island handy, we can’t reenact the chase, but we could reenact the punishment.”

“No, I don’t want anybody sticking pins in me.  I haven’t done anything to deserve punishment.”

“Sure you have,” said the Skipper.  “You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you?”

“What are you, a misogynist?” I replied.

“No.  Not at all.  I consider women the pinnacle of creation.  That’s why they need to be punished, to keep them from getting ideas.”

“Come on Jenny,” said Ivy.  “It would be a new experience to have pins stuck in you.  You must be turned on by the idea.”

I was not drawn to the idea of having pins jabbed into me, especially not in my nipples or pussy.  And I was disturbed by the idea being cast as someone who accepts all manner of punishment.  What is it about the way I say ‘no’ that people don’t understand?

I felt a knot in my stomach.  Not sure what I should do in this awkward situation, I just wanted to get away. “I need some air.  Do you mind if I excuse myself?”

Chapter 6.  The Sea of No and Yes

Making my exit from the cabin, I got my shirt back on before I reached the deck.  Once outside I felt much better.  The late afternoon air was not so hot, the sun a couple hours away from the horizon.  James was at the helm.  April was napping on a blanket.

Up to now I haven’t had much reason to talk about my relationship with James.  Initially I spoke very little to him.  Nevertheless, as the voyage continued I got to know him better.

April of course spent a fair amount of time with him.  But with us girls she sometimes complained about his Neanderthal-grade sensitivity.

I didn’t have that much in common with him.  But I felt that he was the only male here who wanted nothing from me sexually, and that accorded me a certain ease with his company.

Although our conversations were somewhat limited, he actually was occasionally capable of talking about something other than sports or games.  And although I am hardly a fan of spectator sports, I am capable of some conversation about certain sports, for example, women’s soccer.

The time of the voyage, a few years ago, was a couple years after the U.S. women’s professional soccer league had folded, bankrupt.  Surprisingly, James was knowledgeable about the women’s soccer league, and was quite sympathetic about its plight.

“Yeah, it’s too bad they couldn’t keep going,” he said.  “They had some good people.  It could have developed.  Competition is relative...  Anyway, I liked watching it.”

“Me too,” I replied.  “Or sometimes anyway... more than other sports.  But I guess I’m surprised you would watch it.  It’s not exactly macho.”

“Oh.  Well, yeah, but I’ll watch just about any sport.”

“Yeah, I had that impression.”

“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea.  I don’t just lay around.  I pump iron while I’m watching.”  Subtly he flexed his biceps.  Realizing that I had noticed, he smiled.  Now fully flexing his right biceps, he asked “How’s that?”

I decided to flatter him.  “Wow,” I exclaimed, wrapping both hands around his bulging right biceps.  “Maybe you’re even stronger than Rafiq.”

“Maybe? ...Maybe?”  James gave me this look of disdain.  “I mean, like, Rock’s okay for a guy his size.  But when you’re lookin’ at me, you’re lookin’ at real power.”

I didn’t argue with that.  Both James and Rafiq are well built and muscular, but James is taller and heavier.  He’s a big guy.  “Hey.  Whatever...” I replied.

“Anyway, what were we talking about?” continued James, perhaps sensing that I was not too receptive to his boastfulness, particularly not at the expense of Rafiq.  “Oh yeah, women’s soccer.  ...I think that league would have done better if they had wore sexier outfits.  Then the game would’ve had more dimensions.”

“Ugh.  That seems gross.  Can’t a woman athlete just be an athlete?”

“What’s your problem?” he replied.  “Compare it to watching you take the whip.  That’s sort of like an athletic contest.  To see who’s stronger, you or the whip.  But your outfit, or lack of one, adds to the spectacle.”

“Oh boy,” I sighed.  “This conversation’s taking an unsavory turn.”

“Tell me, how does it feel to get whipped on the tits?”

“How does it feel?”  I looked at him for a moment, more than a little put off by his crass bluntness.  “What kind of a dumb question is that?  How about, ‘it hurts.’  What are you expecting me to say?  ‘It’s like a sensuous caress’?”

“Yeah.  That’s good.  How would you like the caress of the whip right now?”

“Get lost.”

“Ah, you’re not my type anyway.  ...But have you ever considered getting a boob job?”

A boob job?  I stared at him in disbelief.  Finally I said, “You are the most insulting asshole I’ve ever met.”  With that, I got up and left.

I went below.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I didn’t want to go into the compartment where Rafiq, Skipper, and Ivy were.  I just didn’t feel up to the demands they would make on me.  I wasn’t going back on deck and endure insults from James.  And I didn’t want to retreat into the women’s compartment by myself, to dwell in feelings of inadequacy.

I decided to go in the galley to make dinner.  Although it was April’s turn to cook, I decided to start something while she was napping on deck.

But still, from the galley I could hear the goings on in the other compartment.  I could hear Ivy’s gasps and occasional yelps.  But it didn’t sound like anybody was swatting her.  I wondered if she had let them stick pins in her.

If I went in to join them, I would probably end up on the receiving end.  But I was really curious.  Also I was concerned about Rafiq and Ivy together.  In the last day or so, I had been wondering if I was sensing a rekindling of their old relationship.  Finally I decided to take just a little peek.

Going to their doorway, I looked in furtively.  There was Ivy on the table, giving a blow job to the Skipper ...and there was Rafiq, fucking her!  I was shocked.  I was crushed.

Forget about dinner.  I retreated to the women’s bedroom.  I felt like my world was caving in.  I started crying.  Why wasn’t I good enough to satisfy Rafiq?

Lying in my berth, my mind went through one state after another.  First was the deep pit of self pity.  I was a worthless person and a fool to think that Rafiq could ever love me.  For Rafiq, I was merely a fling, based only on the temporary confluence of the streams of our lives aboard this vessel.

But then I began thinking, so what?  Could I not enjoy these moments with Rafiq for what they were?  Could I not live each present moment fully without regard for what the next moment might bring?  After all, past and future exist only as ideas.  Doesn’t the present have an underlying suchness that transcends the particulars?

Yet all mind states are transitory, and moments of genuine lucidness are fleeting.  From here I starting fantasizing that as a person who exists fully in each moment, I would be such a pleasure to be with that Rafiq could not help being captivated by me.  I would be his girl, forever.

Yet perhaps he would fail to see my virtue.  In his blindness, he might pass over the one most deserving of his love.  Yes, then I would be sacrificed on the altar of unrequited love, a martyr, celibate, living in quiet sadness.

...What utter nonsense.  If I were actually a person who lived in the present moment, I would not be wallowing in such twaddle-thinking.  I was addicted to images.  Puffing myself up, tearing myself down.  Two sides of the same coin.  An illusion of self.

I doubted that I had the spiritual power to maintain my attention firmly in the here and now.  My mind is always being carried away into self-centered thoughts and fantasies, reechoing the past, imagining the future.  Why does it take years of meditative training just to be wherever you are?

But wasn’t this just more of the same?  Thinking, thinking, thinking.  About me, me, me.  Could this endless cycle be broken?

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and just listened to the sounds of the boat moving through the sea.  But just listened to it as a sound of flowing motion, sans image of either boat or sea.

I felt the tactile sensation of the mattress against my body.  I felt and released the tension in my neck, in my stomach, in my legs.  Tension wrought by thoughts and wants.  Things I could let go of.  They need not impinge.

...After some time like this, feeling more energized, I decided to get up and get back into circulation.  I jumped down from my berth.  Just as I was about to exit, Ivy came in.

She closed the door and turned to me.  “Oh shit, my tits,” she said, grimacing.  “Oh-my-god, why did I ever let them stick acupuncture needles in me.  Right in the nipples.  I thought I was going to faint.  You were smart to get out when you did.”

She lifted her bikini top to reveal her breasts, and indicating her right nipple, she asked, “Does it look bad?”

I felt a little funny about examining her that way, but I looked closely at her nipple.  I imagined the worst, that they had thrust it right down the nub, but there was no blood coming out.  “I don’t really see anything.”

“There,” she said, pointing to a tiny dot on her areola.  “And there...  and there’s a third one somewhere... there it is.”

“Oh... yeah, now I see.  Three little pinpricks.  But they look okay.”

“And there’s one on the other one,” indicating her other nipple.  But I wouldn’t let them do any more.

“At first I thought they had stuck it into the nub, like right down the ducts.”

“Oh shit no.  I wouldn’t let anybody do that.  Are you crazy?”

“Well, it freaks me out even to think about it.  But I didn’t know.  I guess I assumed the worst.   ...But, like how far did they stick them in.”

“Really far.”

I imagined an acupuncture needle as long as my little finger, thrust all the way in.  Ivy’s B-cupper breasts might be big enough to take the whole thing, but I cringed at the idea of somebody sticking such a long needle all the way through my breast and into the chest wall.  I sucked air through my teeth.

Ivy continued, “Oh-my-god, they must have stuck them in like a quarter inch.  Then Rafiq bobbled them back and forth.  I thought I was going to die.”

“Oh...  I thought they stuck them in like all the way or something.”

“You bitch.  Why are you so fucking unsympathetic?  It really hurt.  Why are you acting like they should have done it so much worse?  Here, I’ll stick something all way down into your nipples if you think you’re so tough.  Right down the middle.”

“Oh-my-god, Ivy.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to sound unsympathetic.  I’d be freaked out to have anybody even touching my nipples with a needle, let alone sticking it in.  I could never have endured what you did. ...That’s why I had to leave when you guys started talking about sticking things in my tits.”

“Oh...  All right.  Whatever.  Sorry I snapped at you.”  Still facing me, Ivy continued examining her right nipple, turning it up to better see it.

I wondered about her brazenness about wanting me to examine her breasts so closely.  I would be much more modest.  I wondered whether she was really that unselfconscious about her body, or whether this was some form of one-upmanship, to show off her perfect tits.

But maybe I was being unfair in my judgments.  Wanting to end this encounter with warm feelings, I said, “Would it feel better if I gave them a little kiss.  It’s the only way I can think to help.”

Ivy smiled at that suggestion.  “Yeah,” she said.  “A little kiss, real gentle.  This one still hurts.”

I softly kissed her nipples, first the right, the sore one, then the left.  With that one I tongued the nub, then pressed it between my lips.

Stroking her fingers through my hair, Ivy purred, “Yes.  They feel better already.”

I liked having Ivy respond to me like this.  I liked being able to control her sexual pleasure.  I began sucking on her nipple.  I knew Ivy was enjoying it.  She wanted more.

But I didn’t want to give her more.  I wanted the satisfaction of withholding what she wanted.  Sucking hard, I pulled away from her nipple.  It came away from my lips with a soppy pop.

I said, “Your poor nipples; I hope they feel better now.”  In the back of my mind, I savored having just referred to her beautiful breasts as poor.  My mind very much wanted to find her lacking.  But certainly my feelings toward her were rooted in how bad I felt about myself at that point in time.

I turned to leave the room... but then turned back toward her.  There was one more thing I just had to bring up.  “Ivy, I don’t question that it really hurt to have needles stuck in your tits.   ...But when I peeked in, it looked like you were having a good time ...with Rafiq.”

“Oh, that.”  Ivy looked away with a little smile.  “Well...  the guys were having a good time.  But that didn’t mean I was.  I just faked an orgasm.  ...But maybe the whole thing was worth it.”

I was silent for several moments.  Then I said, “You know, Ivy, it’s really hard for me to get used to the idea of sharing.”

Quickly adjusting her bikini top to cover her breasts, Ivy looked at me soberly  “How do you think I feel?  Do you think it’s easy for me to share Rafiq with you?”

“Oh...” I realized how one-sided my thinking was.  “I’m sorry.  I guess I was just thinking about myself.”  I touched Ivy’s shoulder.  She pulled me toward her and we gave each other a little hug.

“Yeah, it’s hard,” she replied.  “And is that two-timer worth it?  I wish I could convince you he isn’t.”

I smiled and said, “Yeah, he’s a double-dealer.  He’s got us both on a tether.”

Ivy said, “Right now he’s taking a siesta after his strenuous sexual exertions.  I lay down with him for a while, but these berths aren’t big enough for two people, especially if one of them hogs what little space there is.”

“I’m glad he’s asleep,” I said.  “I don’t want to deal with seeing him now.”  I wasn’t sure that was true.  I had anxiety about seeing him, but still I wanted him.

Turning to the door, I left.

********

Later that evening I was cleaning up the galley.  April and James were in the men’s compartment.  Rafiq was taking his turn at the helm.  I think Ivy was out there with him.  I had not yet spoken to him alone.  I had wished he would seek me out.

The Skipper came in.  “Ho, Jenny.  You missed some heavy action this afternoon.  I wasn’t sure you were feeling all right when you left.”

“Oh, it was nothing.  I guess I just felt a little... unsettled.”

“Well, how do you feel now?”

“I’m okay.  Just a little emotionally stressed.  It’s nothing.”

“Emotionally stressed?”  After a pause, he said, “Oh yes, of course.  The tribulations of young romance.  Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, nothing.  Really I’m fine.”  Then like a fool I said, “And don’t come on with your medical officer routine either.”

The Skipper’s eyes brightened.  “Yes.  Yes.  Chief medical officer.  I nearly forgot.  I’ll have to take care of you.  I’ll have to examine you right now.”

“No you don’t.  I’m having no part of that.  Pick somebody else to play doctor with.”

The Skipper eyed my body for a moment.  Then he turned and left.  What a surprise.  It seemed almost anticlimactic.

...But he returned a few minutes later, and now he had a bag of stuff.  “All right.  I think we’re ready here.  My medical bag,” he said brightly, putting the plastic grocery bag on the counter.  Almost certainly it had various devices for tormenting me.

“Now wait a minute.  I’m not going along with this.”

“Of course you are.  Look what happened this afternoon.  We neglected you.  We let you not go along with things.  And look what a bad outcome it had for you.  You’re all stressed out now because of it.”

“But...   But...”  His twisted logic hit annoyingly close to home.  But still so wrong.

“No buts about it.  I need to take care of you now.”

“But even if I were stressed out, you’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“What do you mean I got nothing to do with it.  I was one of the people who let you make a bad decision this afternoon.   ...But I suppose you’re trying to say that I’m not Rock.”

“Yes.  That is what I’m trying to say.”

“Well Rock is occupied right now...  with you-know-who.  I’m the one who can give you the attention you need now.  Besides, as chief medical officer, I’m much more qualified than Rock.  So let’s begin the examination now.  I need you to strip to the waist like a proper patient.  No more arguments.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I said, “No.  You shouldn’t try to get me to take my clothes off that way.”   ...As I said that, I wondered if it sounded as if I were being a tease.

“Oh...”  He glanced back at the doorway, smiled, and said, “What am I doing leaving the door open so that any passing stranger could see you strip for your medical examination.”

He turned and slid the door shut.  And locked it.  Now he really had me where he wanted me.  “That’s better, right?  Now you can take off your top.”

Arms still across my chest, I shook my head, saying nothing.

Going into his bag, the Skipper took out a martinet.  He dangled it in front of my face.  It had maybe a dozen slender strands, less than a half-meter long, attached to a short handle.  Compared with the implements I had been whipped with in the previous days, I didn’t find it all that intimidating.  ...Maybe I can admit being a little curious about what it would feel like.

“I suppose you want a good whipping first.  Is that right?”

I said nothing, just continued facing him.

He drew back the whip and lashed it across the side of my thigh.  Small and light as it was, it packed a pretty good sting.  But I held my ground.

He lashed me again.  Then again.  And again.  He wasn’t holding back.  I winced and squirmed.  He continued whipping me on the side of the thigh.  I couldn’t help gasping with each stroke.

After about twenty hard strokes, he grabbed my arm and forcefully tuned me around, saying, “Put your hands on the counter.  Arch your back.”  Then he lit into the backs of my thighs.

He lashed me over and over.  I kept fairly quiet, and held my vocalizations to gasps and little yelps.  He must have laid on another twenty strokes before he paused and said, “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

“No, I do not.  It’s you that enjoys punishing me.”

“I don’t deny the satisfaction I get from giving you the whipping you need.  I don’t have a problem telling you that.”

I rubbed my stinging thighs for a moment before saying, “Well... with all this stuff with Rafiq and Ivy, I’m  just not feeling real good about myself right now.  So maybe I do feel like this is something I deserve.   ...But you’re taking advantage of how I feel.”

“No.  I’m making you feel better.”  Then he went into his bag and pulled out a wooden paddle.  It was narrow, somewhat wider than a ruler, and thicker and heavier.  “Tell me how this feels.”

He swatted me hard on the butt through my shorts.  It made such a loud whap that everyone on the boat must have heard it.  I winced but kept quiet.

He swatted me again.  ...And then again.   ...Then he swatted me on the back of the thighs ...on the bare flesh.  What a loud crack.  “Ow!  Shit... That hurt.”  Gasping, I rubbed the backs of my thighs.   ...Crack!  “Ooooh!   ...Crack!  “Ahhh!”  ...Crack!  Crack!  Crack!  “Ow, ow ow!”  It was three in quick succession.  The backs of my thighs were on fire.

“Now turn around.”

Panting, I looked at him trying to gage his intent.  Then I slowly turned around, facing outward from the counter.

“Hold on to the edge of the counter behind you.”

I obeyed.

“Have you ever been paddled on the breasts.”

“No, don’t do that,” I replied, bringing one arm up to protect my breasts.  I had once been spanked on the bare breasts with a light wooden ruler (as told in a previous story).  This paddle was bigger and heavier than a ruler.  I was afraid it could bruise me.

“You’re saying you’ve never been spanked on the breasts with a wooden implement?”

I felt the sense of threat from him.  Rafiq may have passed along things I told had him of my past experiences.  I said, “Well, not with anything as big as that.  It could really hurt me.  ...Aren’t you the chief medical officer?”

“Yes.  I’m glad you finally recognize that.  Now my medical advice to you is to cease your obstinate disobedience and remove your shirt.”

“Can you put the paddle down first?”

He responded by swatting me hard on the side of the thigh.

“Ow!  Please no.”

“Now take your shirt off.  You’ll just have to trust that I won’t paddle your girl flesh.”

I slowly unbuttoned my blouse.  I stood for a moment with it unbuttoned, then opened it to reveal myself, and slipped it off.  I just let it drop to the floor and then left my hands at my sides.  All the while I held my eyes on his.  His eyes alternated between my eyes and my body.  He had a smile of satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he said.  He raised the paddle to my right breast.  I continued to trust, although I may have bowed my chest slightly away from it.  He touched the paddle to the base of my breast and pressed it upward.  Then with his other hand he fondled my nipple.

I squirmed but let him continue.  He played with my nipple for some time.  Then he turned his attention to the other breast.

With his paddle he tapped the base of my left breast.  First very gently, just making it jiggle a bit.  Then gradually increasing in intensity.  I endured the escalating sensation for as long as I could.  When it started to hurt, I recoiled away from it.

He laid off and now merely slid the paddle back and forth across my nipple.  The smooth finish offered little friction; the coolness of the wood was the primary sensation.  My nipples were stiff.

Turning back to the other breast and holding its base with the paddle, he said, “Tell me, how do you feel about your breasts?”

“Like I don’t want you to pound on them with a slab of wood.”

He laughed at that.  Then he said, “No, I mean in general how do you feel about them?”

“What do you mean, how do I feel about them?”

“You know... do you like them.  Do you like having breasts?”

“Well... not having them isn’t an option, is it?  ...And what kind of question is that anyway?  It doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“It’s highly appropriate.  As chief medical officer, I have to look into your holistic health  ...like the interaction of your mind and body.  That’s the kind of language you’re into, isn’t it?”  Then he twitched the paddle on my breast. 

Although I didn’t buy his rationale, it felt a bit prissy to try to evade an answer.  After a moment I said, “All right.  Yes.  Maybe I like having breasts.”

The Skipper smiled.  Then prodding my breast with the paddle, he asked, “Are you proud of your breasts?”

Here was another awkward question.  I’m not unhappy with my body.  It seems like my breasts look okay.  I don’t have a major issue with my less than average endowment.  But the question made me uncomfortable.  After a moment I said, “I’m not into pride.  It just seems unwholesome to me.”

“Oh...  Well, do you think your breasts are pretty?”

He was persisting with this awkward line of questions.  I replied, “I guess I’m okay with how I look, overall.”

“I didn’t ask ‘overall’.  I asked specifically about your breasts.  Do you think your breasts are pretty?”

“I’m not comfortable with that kind of question.  If they’re pretty, they’re pretty.  If not, they’re not.  There’s nothing I can do about it either way.  ...So why don’t you answer the question yourself.  ...No, on second thought, I’d rather we just changed the subject.  I don’t want to talk about my appearance.”

“I think the appearance of women is a delightful topic.  And I’ve made my opinion about your breasts clear on various occasions.  I’m asking you about your opinion.”

“All right, if women’s breasts are pretty, then mine are pretty.”

He slapped the side of my breast with the paddle.  “Ouch!  Why did you do that?”  I brought my hands  up to protect myself.

“Because you keep deflecting my question.  This time you gave a conditional answer.  You said ‘if’.  I want an absolute answer.  Do you think your breasts are pretty?  ...And put your hands down, right now.”

I lowered my hands a little, crossing my forearms just below my breasts.  “All right.  Maybe I think they look nice enough.  But that doesn’t mean I think everyone else would think they’re nice.  I guess some people do.  Other people probably don’t.”

The Skipper smiled.  Then he said, “Do you wish your breasts were bigger?”  He jiggled my breast with the paddle.

Frowning, I pushed the paddle away.  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

He set down the paddle and took up the martinet.  “Take hold of edge of the counter behind you.”

He wanted to whip me on the front.  Why would I submit to that?  I crossed my arms over my chest.  Yet  on some level maybe I felt I deserved punishment after letting Ivy screw up my relationship with Rafiq.  I said, “I can’t do it if you’re going to hit me on the breasts.”

“For now I’ll spare your girl flesh.”

I decided to do what he said.  I uncrossed my arms and took hold of the counter behind me.  He eyed me for several moments as I waited.  His expression was buoyant.  Finally he drew back the martinet.  I grimaced in anticipation.

He lashed it across my stomach.  “Mmgh.”  I swallowed my vocalization.  Then he lashed me again and continued at it, over and over.  Wincing and squirming, I gasped loudly but tried to stifle my cries.

He had started in at the level just below my belly button and gradually worked upwards.  They were hard, stingy strokes, applied with increasingly rapid succession.  After about thirty strokes, he was still working on my ribs just below my breasts.  Yelping and gasping with each stoke, I couldn’t take much more.  My entire mid-section was stinging madly.

Finally he laid off.  Panting, tears in my eyes, I let go of the counter edge and rubbed my burning ribs.  I gasped,  “Oh-my-god, what a sting!  You’re whipping me so hard.”

“Pretty good, eh?  And haven’t gotten to the best part,” he said, his breathing quickened with the exertion.  “A little break, and then we’ll give your girl flesh the good whipping it needs.”

“Oh-my-god, please no.  That whip stings too bad.”

“Yeah, we’ll put the sting to your titties.  You want them whipped hard for not being good enough.”

“I do not.  I never said they weren’t good enough.”

“Yeah.  I asked if you thought they were big enough, and you got all bent out of shape.  Obviously you have a problem.”

“I do not.  My breasts are just fine the way they are.  I never said there was anything the matter with my body.  Mostly I just didn’t go along with your stuff about being proud.”

“Your lithe and supple body.  The physical embodiment of the cool understatement  ...shouted to the heavens.”

“You say the weirdest things.”

“No, it’s you that doesn’t talk sense.  How can you have a body like that and tell me you’re not proud of it?”

“Oh,  whatever.  ...But there can’t be absolutes.  Just this afternoon James insulted me.  He said I needed a boob job.”

The Skipper laughed heartily.  Feeling up my breast before I pushed his hand away, he said,  “Jenny needs a boob job.  I don’t know why it tickles me that he would insult you.  ...It’s like a donkey spattering mud on the princess.  But what do you think about a boob job?”

“I have no interest in getting one.”

“What, you don’t want your tits overstuffed with blobs of silicone till they look like water balloons about to burst?   ...Well, how about this?  What if there was some kind of wonder herb, known to be completely safe, and all you had to do is rub it on your tits, and they would grow one size bigger.  Would you do it?”

“What a weird hypothetical,” I said, somewhat amused.  “Well...  If it were reversible, then why not?  I could try it out.  It would be an interesting change.”

“No, let’s say not reversible.  Once you do it, it’s for keeps.”

“Well, I don’t know.   ...Hmm   ...But if it were completely safe, then maybe I would.”

“And that’s why you deserve the whipping I’m going to give you.  You have a perfect body, and you don’t appreciate your good fortune.”

He went into his bag and pulled out some leather handcuffs.  “Here.  Give me your hands.  We’ll put these on.  It will make it easier for you.”

“Please no,” I whimpered, even as I offered my wrists.  ...Yet he had them connected by a chain in front of me, so it seemed that he was not going to bind my wrists behind my back.   And there was no apparent holdfast on the wall or ceiling with which to secure me, hands over head.  I felt like I might be getting off easy.

Wrists bound together, I kept my arms over my breasts.  My stomach and ribs were still stinging, but not so badly now.

“Okay, now kneel on the floor,” said the Skipper.  “Your back against the counter, right here at the sink.”

I obeyed.  Kneeling, I kept my cuffed wrists at my chest.

“Good girl.  Now let’s have your wrists.”  He took hold of the cuff chain and pulled my arms up and sharply back, securing the chain to the facet fixtures.  He had me immobilized, wrists yanked far back behind my head, shoulder blades pressed against the cabinet and counter edge, chest thrust forward, breasts so vulnerable.

“Nice,” he said, as he admired his handiwork.  He passed his hand over my breasts.  Silently beseeching, I looked up into his eyes.  He smiled and said, “Ah, such a cutie.”

Stroking my ribs and stomach, he said, “Kinda red.  How does it feel now?”

“It still stings.  You whipped me so hard.”

“And you took it so bravely.  I admire your spunk.  ...And there’s more to come.  It’ll be a real workout.”

I sighed and closed my eyes.   ...But quickly opened them as his hand glided below my stomach, slipping under the waist band of my shorts, into my panties, and toward my pussy.

“Please, sir,” I pleaded, squirming, as his finger probed my clit and then into my cleft.

As his finger probed the entrance to my vagina, he said, “You’re moist.  Good girl.  Shall we undress you the rest of the way?”  He began pulling my shorts down.

I spread my knees to prevent that.  “No, please sir.   ...I’d feel so vulnerable.  The way you got me tied up in here, you could anything.”  Within the context of a disciplinarian, there is a degree of sexual contact that I had been accepting from the Skipper.  But I did not want him to enter me, to actually have me sexually.

He eyed me for several moments as I looked up at him gravely.  Then he said, “I’m the captain and chief medical officer.  What do you imagine I would do, fornicate with my crew?  I should punish you extra for implying such a thing.”

“I’m sorry sir.  I didn’t mean disrespect.”  At the time I took his stated disinterest at face value.  But afterwards I thought it may have been a way for him to retreat while maintaining complete control of the situation.  ...But whatever.

“This is highly irregular, but since you’re so prim, I’ll try to complete my medical examination while you’re clothed. ”  With that he removed his shoe and wedged it lengthwise between my knees, thus preventing me from closing my legs.  Then he pushed aside the crotch of my shorts, then my panties, exposing my pussy.

I decided to keep silent.  I had already indicated my limit.  He had avowed no interest in exceeding it.  This ordeal would go easier if I let myself flow with it. 

Again he probed at the entrance to my vagina with his fingers, without actually entering.  Certainly I did not want to be finger fucked.  But still, it was not the same as being actually fucked.  I didn’t have the energy to try to redraw the parameters of my limits, even within my own mind.  So I closed my eyes and just focused on the sensations of my body.

His fingers passed onto my clit.  He began softly frigging me.  Slight pressure, subtle motion.  It was not unpleasant.  I was sure he could tell that it was stimulating me, even though I tried to suppress overt responsiveness.

With his chief medical officer manner, he said, “I can detect some reflexive reaction.  But for a  vibrant young woman in her prime, your response to tactile stimulus seems weak.  I think it’s best if I try physical therapeutics.”

Then he took up the martinet, and lashed me on the inside of the thigh.  I gasped.  It really stung.  The inside of the thigh is more sensitive than you might think.

He continued lashing me.  And I continued gasping and yelping with each stroke.  He switched to  the other thigh.  Hard strokes, he was giving it everything he had.

Then he lashed it hard on my pussy.  “AHHHH!  Shit!  Not there.”

But he lashed me again.  Then again.  Many times over.  With his shoe wedged between my knees, shorts and panties pulled aside enough to expose my pussy, there was nothing I could do, kneeling there, back to the counter, wrists secured way back behind my head.

It must have been at least twenty hard strokes right on the pussy.  Each one with lightning bolt intensity.  By the time he stopped, I was crying in desperation.

While I knelt there gasping, tears in my eyes, trying to recover my equilibrium, he went into his bag and pulled out those loathsome nipple clips.  While I squirmed in aversion, he clamped them onto my nipples, first the one, then the other.  And both right onto the nub where it would hurt the most.  The intensity was electric.  I leaned my head back, mouth open, panting, engulfed in sensation.

But now he was feeling at my pussy again.  He probed a finger at my vagina.  This time he was going in.  I could feel him slowly penetrating me, his long finger exploring my tunnel.

He frigged me for several moments.  Subtle movements, his finger twitching on the forward wall of my vagina.  Then slid his finger back out.  Then back in again.  Then back out.

Now he was going back into his bag again.  By this point I had ceased wasting mental energy trying to anticipate what new ordeal I was in for next.  But this time...  surprise... it was the butterfly vibrator.

I had never experienced a vibrator before.  I wasn’t sure whether it would be pleasurable or irritating.  With the residual sting from my pussy whipping subsiding and my nipples beginning to acclimate to the bite of those little metal jaws, maybe I could actually enjoy it.

He went back into his bag again.  Pulling out that double-length black wooden dildo, he asked, “You’re no stranger to this?”

Closing my eyes and turning my head away, I said nothing.

Touching the dildo to my mouth, he said, “Come on, open up.”  Acquiescing, I opened my mouth and began sucking on it.  He slid it in and out, turning round and round.  Only once did he touch it to the back of my throat and elicit a gag reflex from me.

After a couple minutes of me sucking on that dildo, he took it out.  “Good girl.  Now spit on it.”  After I did so, he took it to my pussy, probed it to my vagina, and slowly slid it in.

Murmuring, “Oh...  ooh,” I tried to relax as he penetrated it into me.  ...Finally it was all the way in.  He held it in me, impelling it with a subtle stirring motion.  Not forcefully in and out with a grating friction that would inevitably become uncomfortable, but with a with a gentle rocking motion, the in-and-out too subtle to induce friction. 

In retrospect, I find it curious that he was selective in how he wanted me to experience pain.  The acrid severity with which he applied the whip, paddle, and nipple clips, contrasts with the tempered fluidness with which he penetrated me with the dildo.

While he continued to work me with the dildo, he turned on the butterfly vibrator and applied it to my clit.  What a peculiar sensation.  A buzz so artificially electric, but with a steady tingling intensity that had to mean sexual arousal.

It was like the vibrator had bypassed all natural modes of stimulation, and found a direct conduit to my sexual nerve sensors.  I felt I had lost a degree of experiential autonomy – with the flip of a switch, he could force my body to undergo erotic tingling.

He pulled the front part of the crotch of my panties over the vibrator to hold it in place, let the dildo rest in stiff silence within me, and took up the whip.  “Now you get the thrashing you so richly deserve.”

Raising the martinet, he eyed me for a moment.  Then he laid a hard stinging stroke across the base of my breasts.   “Ooh!” I cried.  The impact reawakened the bite of the nipple clips, to which I had become somewhat numb.

He continued with a hard stroke just above the nipples.  “Ahhhh!”    ...Then another one below the nipples.  “Oooh!  God.”

He continued to rain whip strokes onto my breasts, a steady pattern above and below the nipples.  I cried out with every stroke.

After maybe fifteen stinging strokes, he paused to feel up my breasts.  Then taking them into his hands, he wrung them, but not badly.  “Mmm, soft mounds.  Squeeze the fat,” he murmured.  Then with more force he tugged them back and forth while I gasped and winced.  Then he yanked them upwards.  Now it was getting unbearable.

Letting go of my breasts, he started diddling with the nipple clips, bobbing them back and forth, up and down, renewing their nettlesome bite.  “Would you like me to free your nipples?” he asked.

I nodded yes, looking at him plaintively through the tears in my eyes.

“Ah.  You’re a good girl,” he said, wiping away my tears.  “Hey, I got one more idea.”  Taking a dry dish towel, he wrapped it over my eyes, blindfolding me.

Closing off all visual stimuli seemed to magnify the tactile sensations.  There I was, immobilized, knees on the floor, arms raked back behind my head, shoulder blades pressed against the cabinet, offering up my front to be punished.  My nipples pinched fiercely in clips, the rest of my breasts were stinging from the prior whip strokes, my stomach and ribs now less so.  Last but certainly not least was that steady electro-erotic buzzing in my nether region, and the big hard dildo stuffed into me.

The Skipper again bobbed the nipple clips back and forth for a few moments.  When that stopped, I could hear him combing and shaking out the strands of the martinet.

After a pause, there was the swoosh of the martinet.  A split second later I felt it flay onto my right breast, plucking off the nipple clip.  “EEEEEE”, I let out a scream.

Straightaway the lash came down hard on my other breast, and off came that nipple clip, clacking onto the floor.  “EEEEEE”, I screamed again.  “My nipples!  Oh fuck, that hurt!”

He responded to that by lashing me again across the breasts, right onto my anguished nipples.  Then again.  And again.

He continued to score my breasts with the whip, one hard stroke after another.  Smarting, searing, scorching.

Shlack!  A burning sting to my breasts.  I cry out.  I pant.   ...Just as I begin to recover from its lightning ferocity, along comes another.  Shlack!  Another fiery sting to my breasts.

I don’t really know how long this went on.  The steady rhythm of whip strokes was hypnotic.  My nipples burned like glowing coals.  Yet the electro-mechanical buzzing of my clitoris and the hard-shaft stuffing of my vagina turned the whole thing into an experience of powerful sexual arousal.  I knew that if this kept on I would end up coming off.

My psyche was unhinged.  Now I reveled in the chagrin of being bared, kneeling with breasts thrust out and legs open, flogged to submission.  Reveled in the humiliation of surrendering my womenhood to be exploited with perverse devices.  Reveled in the debasement of being a good girl brought low to become a creature of depraved sexual desire, impelled toward orgasm through ill use by an older man.

The intensity of the physical sensations, pain and pleasure, was overwhelming.  I was swept into an alternate reality where I craved the energy the Skipper was pouring into my body.

My brimming sexual arousal could be contained no more.  Beginning as a rivulet, it swelled into a raging torrent surging through every element of my being, obliterating everything in its path.  Reducing my existence to one element, raw orgasmic energy.

Moaning with ecstacy, my body quivering, pulsating, throbbing with the fury of surging essence of animalistic pleasure, I strained in my bonds, trying to capture all of the trenchant force of the whip, the staunch firmness of the dildo, and the galvanizing amperage of the vibrator.

On and on I rode this torrent of energy, swimming through infinite time, immersed in ecstacy.  It was a never-ending orgasm.  All matter vanished, and time became no time.  My existence was an all-embracing sexual exhilaration.

But no-time does not mean forever.  As the flood of sexual energy gradually slackened and trickled to quiescence, I relaxed in my bonds.  The Skipper had stopped whipping me.  He removed the vibrator, but left the dildo in me.

When he removed my blindfold and released the chain securing my wrists behind my head, I sank to the floor, holding my sting-tingling breasts in my hands and murmuring a breathy “Oh-my-god.  Oh-my-god.”  With half of the double-ended dildo sticking out of me, I found a sideways position to sit.

Leaning against the opposite wall, breathing heavily, the Skipper sank down by me.  “What a girl.  What an extraordinary creature you are.”

I said nothing.  I guess I was just staring off into space, in dreamy euphoria.  I was vaguely aware that there were gooey gobs of cum seeping down the right side of my body.  Sometime during my own orgasmic frenzy, the Skipper had shot his load onto me.  ...Whatever.  ...I got mine: that’s all that really registered.

We sat in silent reverie for a long time.  Whenever I glanced at him, his eyes were soaking up my body.  Not with apparent lust, but with what seemed like satisfied admiration.

Finally, it seemed like time for the dildo to go.  Did I need permission to take it out?  No, I quickly resolved the choice to be mine.  I slowly eased it outwards.  With a keen tingle the end slipped out.

I glanced at the Skipper.  He had an amused expression on his face.  I adjusted the crotch of my panties and shorts to cover myself.  He picked up the dildo, and looking at me with a twinkle in his eye, he brought it to his nose and sniffed its length as if it were a cigar and he a connoisseur.  ...In retrospect, I am amused by his show.  But at the time, I thought it a bit weird.

The handcuffs being connected by a foot-long chain, such that I could undo them myself, I began to release my wrists.  I said, “You dished it out really hard.  I hope you realize that.”

“I gave you what you needed.  You’re satisfied, I hope.”

“It’s you I hope is satisfied.  What you were doing to me, you could have, like, fried my sensory system.  Not to mention flayed off my skin.”

“How do you like that whip?  Does it sting enough?  It doesn’t mark you up too bad.  Subtle welting, but nice and red.”

“Oh-my-god, yes, it stings enough.  You whipped me so hard, right where it would hurt the most,” I said, nestling my whip-scored breasts with one hand and my pussy with the other.

“Well-whipped tits and pussy.  That’s what I like,” he replied. “Now do you realize you have a dream body?”

I watched the thoughts of self consciousness and resistance arise in my mind.  I decided let them pass unheeded.  To have a body... to have a dream body... maybe they’re the same thing.  No problem.

I smiled and just said, “Yes.”

Seeing his expression of surprise and consternation, I quickly asked, “Did I say something wrong? Didn’t I just get punished for not accepting that I had ...like, what you call a dream body?”

“Well...  Do you think you’re better than others?”

“No, of course not.  How could physical appearance do that, no matter what you looked like?  Even so, lots of women are really nice looking, and all in different ways.”

“It would be unbecoming to think of yourself as better than others.  Your anxieties are part of your charm.”

“Well , considering how badly my romantic affairs are going, I have no shortage of anxieties.”

The Skipper laughed and said, “So you’re not sure you’re as charming as Ivy.”

“I don’t know what it is.  But I don’t like being in competition with her.  ...She’s so ...polished ...like, high society.  ...She’s so confident.”

“And you lack confidence  ...except in bookish domains.  Poor Jenny.  You feel inexperienced.  Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not sure if you’re as pretty as Ivy?”

“Well... maybe not.  But maybe it’s not that big an issue.  I don’t know.”

“Should not be an issue.  ...But anyway, you’re not pleased that Rock and Ivy are out there together.  And you’re stuck in here with an older guy.”

I smiled and said, “Why don’t we just leave it that I’m not happy about the situation with Rafiq.”

“Even after all of this... what did I call it... physical therapeutics, you still feel bad?”

“No.  Actually I feel pretty good.  It was you, not me, who brought up the subject of my anxieties.”

“So I did.  ...So the physical therapeutics had a curative effect, is that right?”

“Physical therapeutics?  What a bogus term.  You just whipped the shit out of me.  And frigged and fucked me with weird objects.  ...First you trick me into saying that I might not mind changing how I look, then you punish me for it.  Then you say I have a dream body, and if I agree, you get down on me for sounding haughty.  No matter what I say, I’m always wrong.”

“Oh, well...  So I’m not consistent.  It keeps you on your toes, so you’re always at your best.  ...But still, you just said you were feeling pretty good now.  Doesn’t that mean that you’re feeling better after our therapeutic regimen?”

“Well, I do feel okay now.  It was a nice release,” I admitted.  I did not care to reveal that he had brought about the most unimaginably mind-blowing orgasm.  It didn’t seem right that I should be that sexually responsive to the Skipper.  Rafiq was the one I wanted.

“That’s good.  You certainly appeared to have a good strong orgasm.”

“All right.  That’s true.  But I’m not going to say anything good about your dumb therapeutics, because it’ll just encourage you to keep doing it.”

“So what’s the matter with that?”

“I don’t want any more.  I can still feel the sting.  Do you know how hard you were whipping me?  And right where I don’t want to be whipped.”

“You mean on the tits and pussy.  And you took it so bravely,” he said, with a dreamy expression on his face.  “...But of course we wouldn’t do any more today.  Who’s got that kind of energy?  But why not a daily regimen to keep you feeling at your peak?”

“You mean a daily whipping?  No way!”

“Why not?  You agree it makes you feel really good.”

“It does not.  It really hurts.”

“But it gives you so much pleasure and satisfaction.  Your aura is glowing right now.”

“That’s why it’s so fucked up.  It isn’t right to have... you know... like a sexual experience during corporal punishment.  It’s so degrading.”

“You don’t look degraded.  You look radiant.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do.  Don’t you feel radiant?”

“Well...  I felt fine until you started talking about making me do this every day.  It’s bad enough that everyone could hear what was going on in here now.  They’d really think I was fucked up if I let this happen every day.”

“No, they’d think you were really cool.  ...And besides, what do you care what they think?  A smart girl like you, don’t you think for yourself?”

“Yes...   No...  Maybe I don’t care that much what they think.  It’s just... well... it’s still really screwed up for me to submit to something like this every day.  It seems harmful psychologically ...and physically too.”

“Hmm... physically too?  Like, your silky smooth breasts would get all leathery from whip welts?  That would be gross.”

“I glad we agree on something.”

“Well, maybe we wouldn’t want to lash your breasts every day.  I could whack you straight onto the nipples instead, say with a ruler or belt or something.  That wouldn’t show.  ...And inside your pussy lips.”

“Are you out of your mind?  Don’t you think those parts of my body have a purpose, other than being beaten?  If you’re trying to freak me out, you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”

Laughing, the Skipper said, “Your indignation is cute.  You take everything I say so seriously.”

“I wish you’d start taking a few things I say seriously.  I don’t want to be made to enjoy being tied up, whipped, or ill used anymore.  It’s too perverted.  It’s going to turn me into something I don’t want to be.”

“Is that what you meant when you said ‘psychologically harmful’?”

“Yes, it is.  I’m going to end up addicted to rough treatment, unable to respond normally to loving tenderness.”

As the Skipper eyed me silently, I began to worry that what I just said could have sounded like an romantic invitation.  Although I accepted him as a disciplinarian, I did not want him to approach me as a lover.

I thought I better equivocate.  “Well, I don’t know.  Maybe I’m making too big a deal about it.  But it’s hard for me to accept that I feel so good after getting that kind of punishment.”

“Well, I’m being careful to make it a good experience for you.  I’m really appreciating what a special person you are.  ...But don’t interpret that as a come-on.  Rock is your guy.”

“I wish he were.  But how come he’s with Ivy now?”

“Well, the first I’ve seen Ivy in really long time was a year ago, and she was with Rock then.  ...You know I’m a first cousin to April’s father.  April’s mother and Ivy’s father are cousins.  So I’m not related to Ivy, just some kind of distant in-law.”

“Yeah, April mentioned what your relationship was.  ...She says you wouldn’t dare discipline her.”

The Skipper looked uncomfortable.  Then he said, “Well... April doesn’t do anything wrong.  She doesn’t need to be disciplined.”

“So what have I done wrong?  I don’t know why I keep getting punished.”

“Well...  Let me try and remember why you’ve been disciplined.”

“First you whipped me for burning dinner.  With that awful cat-o-nine-tails with those hard knots.  That hurt so bad.  And left ugly marks.”

“Oh, that’s a bad whip.  Whoever made that thing didn’t know what the hell they were doing.  My philosophy is that you got to be able to snap the whip hard.  If you can’t do that without hurting the girl too bad, then it’s the wrong whip.  ...But still, you took it like a real heroine.  And those marks it left weren’t that ugly; they were kind of pretty.”

“Well anyway, then Ivy and me got strapped and caned and switched when she picked a fight with me.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Well.  I feel okay about that.  I’m glad Ivy got the same as me.”

“It made peace, didn’t it.  I mean, you and Ivy still like to bicker, but before you shared that whipping, the atmosphere on this boat was absolutely poisonous.”

“Well, the poison was coming from her, not me.”

Scowling at me, the Skipper said, “Don’t put on that goody-goody act.  You put the moves on Rock and broke up their relationship.”

“I did not.  ...I mean ...um, well ... Rafiq and I fell for each other.  I realize that what happened created problems  ...caused Ivy a lot of distress.  But I didn’t set out to do that.  It just happened.”

“What do you mean, just happened?  You were putting the moves on Rock from the beginning, and the next thing we know, you’re up on the bow and having him take off your top and play with your tits.”

“Oh-my-god, no...  You’re just trying to make it sound disgusting,” I stammered.  “That’s so unfair.  I wasn’t trying to put the moves on Rafiq.  I swear I had no romantic designs on him in those first days.  I thought of him only as a friend, and he and Ivy as a couple.  ...I’m convinced that if I had been seeking a romantic relationship – what you call putting the moves on Rafiq – none of this ever would have happened.   I would have been so self conscious and uptight about whether Rafiq liked me that I could never have charmed him.”

Smiling, the Skipper said, “Oh.  That does fit you.”

“I was as surprised as anyone when Rafiq ...um ...started caressing me that day on the bow.”

“All right.  I can believe that.  Anyway, that whipping with Ivy had a good effect, didn’t it.”

“Well, the outcome was okay.  But the experience itself was really hard.  ...But I can sort of connect with the intensity of it.”

“That one was rough.  Ivy’s way of putting the switch to your tits was a bit beyond the right way to do it.   But anyway, after those first two, you’ve been turned on by every whipping you’ve got, haven’t you?  When you volunteered to have Rock whip you in place of Ivy.  ...And tonight.   ...And  ...And that’s all there is.  My god, you’re not getting whipped enough.”

“I am so.  That’s a lot.  And there’s also the time you and Rafiq ganged up on me when I had those clips on me.”

“Oh yeah.  Tit torture.  You like that.”

“I do not.  I think I’m more sensitive that way than some other women might be.  For me it’s really hard.”

“Getting your nipples pinched?”

“Yeah.  It hurts.”

“Well, tell me how it felt tonight when I whacked your nipple clips off with the whip?”  As he asked, he reached over and gathered off the floor the two nipple clips he spoke of.

“Couldn’t you tell it really hurt?  How loud do I have to screech for you to understand that?”

“Well, sure I noticed it got a good reaction from you.  But I thought you might be able to articulate now just how it felt.”

“Well what’s an articulate person supposed to say?  Are there big words for saying it felt like my nipples got torn off?”

Laughing, the Skipper said, “That’s good enough.  Small words are strong.”  After eyeing me for a few moments, he took the dish cloth blindfold and wiped the drying cum off my body.

Then he yawned and said, “Well, Jenny, you know, it’s been a really satisfying evening.  You took your punishment like a true heroine.  Brave.  Strong.  Beautiful.  ...But it’s getting late, and I have the morning watch.”  He got up and began putting his implements back in the bag.

Remaining where I was, I said, “Yes, it is getting late.  But tell me.  Do you think Rafiq just views me as somebody to have fling with, and forget about after this voyage is over?”

“Ooh, that’s a tough one.”  The Skipper knitted his brow.  “Being out here on a boat like this is a special time.  Things happen between people that might not otherwise happen.  ...But still, you two share a lot, a good match intellectually.”

After a pause he continued, “But you’re not oriented toward high society like Ivy, and with his father being a diplomat, I understand that Rafiq has some level of comfort in those circles, although you won’t know it seeing him out here.”

“When he’s mentioned that to me, he’s very dismissive of it.”

“Probably so.  ...Anyway, how important is it that this last beyond the voyage?”

“I don’t know.  Part of me says that the relationship needs to be exclusive and forever.  That I can’t share him with Ivy.  Another part of me says that I should enjoy the moment, and that worrying about the future will just screw it up.”

“Well, it seems that you have it figured out.”

“But it bothers me that he’s with Ivy now.  Do you think I should approach him, or wait for him to approach me?”

Unlocking the door, the Skipper said, “This boat is crowded enough that we can’t avoid spending a lot of time together.  I think you’re overanalyzing this thing.  ...One thing I’ll tell you, Jenny.  You’re a damn fool if you don’t realize how attractive you are ...in every way.  ...Now good night.”

“Good night.  And thank you.   ...Sir.”