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Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island)

Chapter Five  - Secret Subbies
 

We climbed half a dozen steps up a sloping staircase to the stern section of the main deck. Here were stored several jet skis, sea kayaks, a couple of flat-bottomed sports fishing boats and a big inflatable towable sea sled.

Mistress Jax introduced us to the two men. The older one was simply called Bradley – I couldn’t work out if this was his first, last, or pretentiously his only name. He barely smiled on shaking hands with me, but allowed himself a tight-lipped grin as he met Monica, Mary, Helen, Leila and Kim. The younger man was Sebastian. He was identified rather than introduced, and while it was not immediately obvious what else he did, he was clearly Jax’s sub. His dark hair was close shaven and he wore only a pair of board shorts. I noticed his muscular physique and the fact that below the neck his body was hairless – presumably at the direction of Jax. The fact that at some stage in the past she had relinquished her hold over Kim and apparently swapped it for domination of Sebastian suggested that Jax apparently had no particular preference, and perhaps preferred an athletic male sub to indulge her in ways that Kim could not.

“Shall I give you a quick tour?” Jax offered. The six of us followed, marvelling at almost everything we looked at.

“This is the main deck,” Jax said, as we passed all the stored sporting accessory vessels anchored down to the deck cleats. We moved along the port side deck, pausing at the first doorway we came to. “This will be one of your rooms.” She opened the ornate polished wooden door and stepped across the raised threshold. Inside the lights were subdued, but there was no mistaking the superb quality of fittings everywhere, and the finishing touches from the deep silk floor rugs to the tasteful curtains and pictures on the wall.

The room was huge, with an enormous bed dominating everything. From my building background I recognised the top quality standard of wooden panelling and finishing to the built-in wardrobe and chest of drawers. We peered through the door of the walk-in wardrobe and then into the bathroom with the marble floor and wall tiles, double basins, full size spa bath and spacious shower. I could hardly believe all this was on a ship. The girls were ‘ooo-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ and poking their noses in everything. Large windows - none of your portholes here – gave off on to the port side and towards the rear of the vessel. I was staring out at the view when Jax came alongside.

“One-way glass. You can have privacy without drawing the curtains. Pretty neat, huh?” I had to admit it was.

“Jax, who actually owns the boat?” Helen asked.

“You mean you don’t know?” She looked amused. Helen shook her head. “Only Australia’s greatest golfer.”

“Don’t tell me he’s a bondage nut as well?” Helen asked. Jax laughed, sitting down on the bed with obvious relish.

“Not to my knowledge. I’m sure we would have found more evidence of it if such was the case. No, he leases the boat out when he’s away on golf tours. I won’t tell you how many millions this baby cost to build and what the daily leasing cost is. Suffice to say it is being paid for by a very wealthy client of mine who is desirous of spending some time indulging in their hedonistic tendencies and also visiting a little hideaway of mine that I’ve recently had built on a island to the north of here. It seemed like a good idea to kill two birds with the proverbial stone, and I thought I might bring along some like-minded company, so I called up young Kim here to see what she might be able to suggest. And here you all are.”

“We’re very grateful,” Monica said. “Both to you and to Helen for including us. It was perhaps unfortunate that Kim had to undergo somewhat of a trial as a consequence of her secrecy,” she added.

“I hear the little slut quite enjoyed it,” Jax said wryly. I looked at Kim who blushed and studied her feet. “Now, on with the tour.”

Her next surprise was a large drawer that slid out from the foot of the huge bed. Inside, neatly coiled up and laid out in separate little divided compartments were a variety of ropes, handcuffs, vibrators and gags.

“There is no obligation to join the party crowd at night – or during the day, for that matter,” she said with a grin. “If you wish a little private pleasure, you will not be disturbed. There are three double rooms for you all. Now, who wants this room?”

“Ooo-oo! Mary! Can we?” This from Leila. It had already been decided that since Monica had selected me to ‘partner’ her, then by default Mary and Leila would be together. Mary gave her a look that stifled but did not totally dissolve the blonde’s enthusiasm.

“This would be fine for us,” Mary said, endeavouring to keep her voice even and to maintain a decorum Leila seemed oblivious to.

“I will have your bags delivered,” Jax said, the perfect hostess.

We exited on to the deck again and turned into a second door beside the first. This led into a wide, deep-carpeted passage that ran across the width of the ship to a door opposite, which presumably led on to the starboard deck. Midway across the ship were internal staircases that led up and down, together with a private elevator, and a further polished door on the forward side. We followed Jax through this and found ourselves in another opulent bedroom, even larger than the first. The windows faced forward and also had windows on each side.

“This is one of the state rooms, which is currently being used by Bradley,” she said, ushering us out again after we had again gawked at the conspicuous excess. “He doesn’t have a sub at the moment, but perhaps you may see fit to let him borrow one of yours, or at least join in the fun.”

“Who is he?” Mary asked. “He looks sort of familiar.”

“A member of the fraternity,” Jax said vaguely. “Very well connected in the energy sector, I understand. I’m not sure why you think he’s familiar, unless you’ve been moving in oil circles in Latin America lately. Between ourselves, I’m courting his business, so if you can keep your little claws to yourself, Helen?”

“I’m corporate legal, remember?” said Helen. Did I detect some sort of hidden animosity between the two? I wondered how far back they went? Clearly there was a ten-year difference in ages. I resolved to question Kim when I got the chance. Even to my ignorant eye, there was something here that was not all it seemed.

Mirroring the first bedroom was a third one, on the starboard side, designed similarly, but less antiquey and with a different colour scheme and bed. The bed again enormous, with big turned posts at each corner, and again had the concealed drawer at the foot.

“Would this do for you, Monica?” I noticed I wasn’t included in the question.

“It’s wonderful. Thank you, Jax.”

We went upstairs to the next level, where there was a similar bedroom layout, and once more we inspected each. A further bedroom was allocated to Helen and Kim, while a similar one belonged to Jax. The second stateroom was similar to the first – a full-width spacious room with even better views forward and to both sides, and its own private balcony facing the bow.

To the rear of the cabins on this level was the dining area – a spacious area shaded from the sun with a conversation pit, a Jacuzzi and a table set for twelve. It was open on three sides, affording views across the sparkling sea, and oozed opulence.

Up a further set of stairs we found ourselves on the bridge deck, to the rear of which was a covered bar area adjacent to a swimming pool that was perhaps ten metres by five. The clear blue water slopped rhythmically with the slight movement of the boat. Four round bar stools sat on stainless steel poles at on end of the pool, shaded by the bar overhang. People could obviously sit in the pool, the water lapping just over the top of the stools, while leaning on the bar and sipping their piña coladas. How civilised was this!

“What does the crew think of all of this?” Monica asked.

“You mean our common interest?” Jax winked. “Very discrete. You never see them except when you call them. There are service passages through the ship that allow them to move around separately from the paying guests. You will also note that certain areas, such as the dining and bar areas overlook the rear of the ship and cannot be overlooked in turn. Thus, whatever you decide to get up to – nude swimming, sunbathing, or something a little more, um, provocative – can be done in total privacy. Aside from that, I’ve briefed them as to our possible activities, and there will be no questions asked. Would you give up a cushy job on a boat like this because of an indiscretion? Trust me, they know the score, and they know who’s paying their salaries”

Monica sighed in a kind of dreamy way. “Boy, you know when you’ve reached the top, don’t you!”

“I suggest we freshen up and maybe have time for a swim before dinner,” Helen said. There was general agreement and we found our way to our allocated cabins, by which time our luggage had mysteriously been delivered.

“How good a Christmas is this going to be!” Monica exclaimed, again taking in the luxury that surrounded us.

“I hope so,” I agreed, though for some reason I was not at all sure that things were as they should be.

* * * *

The sun was getting low by the time we found ourselves sunbathing beside the pool. The girls were out in their bikinis, taking advantage of the soft mattresses that formed a made-to-measure surround to the edge of the pool on the two longer sides. Helen, Kim, Jax and Sebastian had also turned up, and I had to admit the atmosphere was very pleasant by the time Seb had served up some more champagne all round.

“Steven, do me a favour – oil my back, will you?” Monica asked as she settled down on the vinyl squab. Without a shred of self consciousness, she undid the top of her bikini and let it fall free, exposing her breasts to anybody who cared to look. As Jax had explained, we were free from any prying eyes, and Seb – now wearing a wide studded leather collar and a pair of Speedos – had taken on the duties of barman. Speedos were de rigueur for male subs here, it appeared, for Monica had directed that I wear such. She had eyed me slyly as I had obeyed and as I made my way up to the pool ahead of her, she had given my buttocks a squeeze. Hullo, I thought. What’s she up to?

Now I did as I was asked, straddling Monica as she lay face down, before covering my hands with sunscreen oil and setting to work on the smooth skin of her back and shoulders. I thought I’d give her a little bonus with a massage and neck rub – simply because that’s the sort of guy I am – and soon she was making murmurs of approval.

Monica has a sensuous body – a nice hourglass without looking skinny. I loved the little hollow at the base of her spine that was only half-covered by the bottom of her bikini – this is a much overlooked element of a woman’s physique. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that my appreciation of such physical attractions should manifest itself in the form of Mr Willy putting in an appearance, which left him straining against the lycra of my Speedos. By the time I had turned around and was doing her legs there was no doubt that my arousal was very evident to Monica as well.

As though to tease me further, Monica rolled on to her back and indicated that I should now complete my oiling-up of her, and this was clearly an exercise that could not fail to involve significant attention to her breasts. Monica made some little intakes of breath but other than that let my hands slide across the round orbs, allowing my fingers to oil up the nipples, which became erect.

Partly hidden behind her sunglasses, her expression was unreadable, and aside from these small indications, I couldn’t guess what she was thinking. I noticed her glance across to the other side of the pool where I saw that Kim was now doing the same thing to Helen, and Seb was likewise servicing Mary, while Jax remained partly covered in a beach robe, looking on. All us subs were in the action, except for Leila, who was doing breaststroke up and down the pool.

“Thank you, Steven,” said Monica, sitting up and indicating that I could stop, while at the same time running a covert hand across the bulge in my swimmers. Monica stood up and walked over to Jax, bending down to have a brief conversation. Jax gestured to a large wooden trunk that looked as though it could have rescue gear in it, before Monica had further brief words with Mary and Helen.

Working with the Bilboes team, there are times when being the only male can be intimidating at the very least. When Monica demands a subservient role from me, I at least feel I have company, usually through the presence of Emma, Leila and sometimes Jillian. In this instance, I slipped into the pool beside Leila. She popped up beside me and grinned like a child in a toyshop.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” she asked, a playful hand groping at my crotch.

“Oooo! What’ve you been doing?”

“Oh shush, girl,” I told her. “I think Monica’s cooking. She’s up to something.”

Sure enough, Monica and Helen stood up and looked at us.

“All right, you two – out of the pool,” Monica ordered.

We slid over to the side and climbed out. On the other side of the pool Monica and Mary had got their heads together and were talking in undertones. Monica made occasional gestures towards us, before walking up to the big wooden box near the bar. She raised the lid and smiled with satisfaction.

“Steven – you may give Mary a quick rubdown. Seb, you can do the same for your Mistress.”

Despite the fact that Seb had already done a thorough job, Mary lay on her back and allowed me to straddle her, before I gave her an all-over rub with sunscreen. Mr Willy had lost a little of his motivation in the pool, but astride Mary’s willowy frame he gained a second wind, something that Mary was not slow to appreciate. As I caressed her small but firm breasts, she grasped my manhood and did things that soon had him rock hard inside the lycra.

“Is that gooood?” she whispered. “I hope so. You’re going to have a point to make with this, young Steven. I do hope you won’t let us down.” I hated it when she called me ‘young Steven’, and of course she knew it. Mary was the oldest of the Bilboes team – not that she looked it – and thus we were all ‘young’ relative to her. Now, as she gripped Mr Willy and squeezed, I wondered what she and Monica had in store for me.

As I was distracted briefly by Mary, I saw Leila walking somewhat reluctantly towards Monica, standing beside the box. The lid was open, but I couldn’t see what was in it. As Leila reached Monica, the latter bent and pulled out a coil of white sashcord, and at once we all knew that the box was the upper deck equivalent of those drawers that slid out from the beds.

“Come, Leila, dear,” Monica cooed.

There were two round steel columns supporting the awning over the bar and part of the pool, and it was towards one of these that Monica directed Leila.

“On your knees! Back against the column!” Leila did as she was ordered, kneeling on one of the foam squabs that was pushed up against the column. “Up!” Monica instructed. “Not on your haunches – I want your thighs against the pole too!” Monica was into dominant mode now. This was not the Monica who ran Bilboes efficiently and was prepared to fight to protect her staff. This was Mistress Monica – to be talked back to at your peril.

Leila raised herself from her haunches and wriggled a few inches back, so that her body was pressed against the column. Monica grabbed her by the wrists and pulled them behind her, binding them crossed behind the column. Monica untied Leila’s white halter-neck top and pulled it clear, giving Leila’s nipples a brief flick with the strings as her breasts were exposed. Leila squealed and tugged at the ropes securing her wrists.

Monica retrieved another, longer length of rope, and began to bind Leila’s body hard to the column, with coils at her waist and above her breasts. More turns looped under her arms and around her shoulders, until the stage where Leila was unable to move the top part of her body. The ropes binding her knees and ankles were a formality from that point, for Leila was capable of moving only her head. Monica seized Leila’s nipples again and tugged.

“Wriggle for me.”

“Ow! Ow! Please!” Leila squirmed and did her best to move within the tight bonds, with little success. Monica added another cinch to Leila’s arms.

“Comfy now?” Monica asked. Leila avoided eye contact and said nothing. Monica seized her by the jaw and forced her to look up, holding her gaze, then releasing her grip and squatting to slide her hand inside Leila’s bikini bottom.

“You little slut! You’re soaking wet! The moment you get the touch of a rope you lose all control!” Leila hung her head and mumbled something inaudible. Monica stood up and made a disdainful noise, before walking back to stretch out in a well-upholstered deck chair. This seemed to be the cue for Helen to stand up and haul Kim across to the column at the opposite end of the bar and repeat the procedure. Monica and Helen had obviously had a little discussion at some point, and looking at Mary and Jax, I reckoned that all four were in on it, for nobody seemed surprised at what was happening.

Helen repeated the process, removing Kim’s bikini top so that the sub’s nicely proportioned breasts fell free, before lashing her tightly to the column so that she faced Leila some metres distant. Kim, too, was made to struggle and squirm before Helen was satisfied that the ropes were secure and that the blonde’s position was immovable save for her head.

Jax stood rose from her deck chair, where she had been watching the proceedings with the air of a queen being entertained by her courtiers. She addressed me and Sebastian, and the two bound girls. I noticed Bradley had appeared, dressed in sports shirt and trousers, as though making no concession to the location or the time of year. He gazed at the scene expressionlessly, as Jax spoke.

“Boys and girls, we are about to have a little competition. I do like competitions, especially when little wagers are at stake. This will be a competition between Monica’s team – since she can supply two subbies – and the Rest of the World, that is, a team provided by me and Helen.

“The losing team will receive a punishment, which goes without saying, the details of which haven’t been finalised, but which will undoubtedly be painful. Now – Sebastian and Steven, get your cute little arses over here.”

Warily I approached the scene of the evident competition. It seemed I was the first to become a participant. Jax produced a pair of heavy suspension cuffs from the trunk and buckled them around my wrists, then stood on a chair to reach above us. I looked up at that point and saw that spanning between the two columns was a heavy sprinkler pipe, anchored to the roof every metre or so. Hanging from the pipe almost above Leila was a small block and tackle, with the chain tied up out of the way to the pipe. Jax freed the hand chain and pulled the lifting chain down with a smooth motion. There was a heavy duty spring clip at the end of it, which she hooked through the D-rings on the suspension cuffs before beginning to haul my arms upwards. A few seconds later I was standing six inches from where Leila knelt with her back to the post, with my arms tautly above me.

Jax took a wide strap and looped it around my upper arms, so that my head was trapped, with the strap running through my mouth. It was not the most effective gag, and I suppose it wasn’t meant to be, but it was nevertheless tight and restrictive. Leila looked up at me and I’m sure we both wondered what was going on.

I probably shouldn’t have been surprised at the next development – Jax removing my swimming trunks. There is usually some sexual motive behind this sort of play, and clearly I was going to be in the middle of it. Mr Willy popped out, of course, which was pretty predictable. Having watched Kim and Leila being tied so securely, I could not fail to become aroused, and anything lacking at that point was immediately completed as Jax ran her fingernails over my friend, making me gasp as he arose to his full extent.

“Cute,” she said, letting her hand dally further. Her touch was exquisite, making me do a small dance on my tiptoes, since that was the point which the overhead chain had stretched me.

“Tsk, we can’t have that,” she murmured, taking some sash cord and binding my legs at ankles and knees. She looked me in the eye, a dominating, superior gaze that made me feel helpless and just a little apprehensive. She patted Leila on the head then walked across to where Kim was watching the proceedings also with evident apprehension.

It wasn’t long before Sebastian was also bound as I was, from a second block and tackle locked to the sprinkler pipe. I hoped it was sufficiently robust, though somehow I couldn’t see too many corners that had been cut with this ship.

It went without saying that Sebastian was considerably aroused by everything that was happening, and it was at this point that Jax explained to us the rules of the game as she and Monica hauled Sebastian and me off the ground, so that we swung with the barely perceptible motion of the ship. I was only a handspan from Leila, and I realised what this meant moments later.

“Open wide, Leila!” Monica commanded. Uh-oh, I thought. There was a gentle shove on my backside and my dick was abruptly enveloped by Leila’s warm, wet mouth. “I don’t want to see that thing again until Sebastian’s has emerged. Understand?” Leila’s eyes bulged and she made a garbled noise through her nose.

“Shut up and concentrate!” Monica warned, “- unless you want to be on the receiving end of a real thrashing.”

“Now, boys and girls,” said Jax, again taking centre stage. “It’s very simple. The loser will be the first one to disengage – for whatever reason. Bradley here has kindly offered to dish out the prize – for the loser, that is. I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” I couldn’t see Bradley from my position facing the pole, but somehow I suspected that he smiled at that statement.

At that point I decided I, too, had better focus, though there was precious little I could do. I was hanging at a very small angle to Leila, such that there was a slight pressure dragging my dick out of Leila’s engulfing warmness. Already, in her efforts to keep me inside, she was sucking hard, and I knew there would be a number of difficulties for both of us. The unavoidable sensations that were starting to come up through my loins were sparking all sorts of other reactions in my brain – all of them pleasurable, it goes without saying. The gentle rolling of the boat added another dimension to the exercise, easing the pressure momentarily as I swung towards Leila, allowing her to get a better… grip? As I swung away she had to try harder not to let me slip out, but stopping short of a hard bite. Her teeth were there, nevertheless, tantalising and teasing me, along with her tongue.

I began to breath harder, and beads of sweat began to roll down my face. I looked down at Leila as best I could, given the limited movement available to my head. Her eyes were closed, the blonde hair plastered wetly against her forehead and neck.. There must have been a major strain on her neck muscles as well as those of her mouth.

The intense pleasure that was now apparent for me was starting to get serious. I guessed I had been hanging for nearly a quarter of an hour. Either Leila was going to tire soon or I was going to shoot my load. Poor Leila was caught between keeping me engorged but still in her mouth, and over-doing the process such that I came right down her throat and she was left trying to hang on to a limp shadow of my current self.

I closed my eyes as well, trying to concentrate on anything that would stop me climaxing – but which at the same time would keep Mr Willy in his rock hard state. That was real mind-over-matter stuff. My concentration was broken by Jax again.

“We’re going to make things a little more interesting now, boys and girls. I have in my hands a bunch of nipple clips, which will be applied one by one. I’m sure you’ll take them all in your stride as a minor distraction.”

Jax was now in my field of vision and I was conscious of her bending down. There was a nasal whimper from Leila, then I caught sunlight glinting on metal at the level of her breasts. Leila began to grunt with either effort or pain, her breathing now strained. A couple of minutes later it was my turn, as Jax released the jaws on to first my right nipple and then my left.

They were cloverleaf clips, and normally tolerable up to a point, except that this time she had positioned them right on the tender tip in each case. I groaned and shuddered with the pinpoint pain, but tried not to move. I had tried to think if there was anything I could do to help Leila, but without a hold for my feet I was unable to arch my back, and any attempt to raise my knees would surely push me away from her, as would any attempt to swing or swivel my body.

The pain did nothing to lessen my erection. I have overly sensitive nipples, as all the girls at Bilboes well know, and the intensity of the feelings – a mixture of pleasure and pain – now seemed heightened even further.

We were both reaching the end of our strength, both physically and mentally. Leila’s breathing was becoming ragged and she was struggling to swallow while maintaining her grip.

“Time to up the ante, people,” Jax announced cheerfully. “Life will get harder for you, Kim and Sebbie, because Mary will now endeavour to break your hold. She is allowed to squeeze, fondle and caress, or even insert, but she must not pull the couple apart. She may use a flogger or a cane, provided it does not physically separate the contestants. And in the blue corner, Helen may do likewise.”

Bilboes against the Rest of the World, huh. Helen was playing the bad girl, and I felt the sting of a flogger across my buttocks. I grunted in pain, but did not dare move for fear of breaking Leila’s concentration and grip. The blows came harder, then stopped momentarily as Helen went behind Leila and reached around to twist her nipples. Leila moaned but still hung in there.

All of this was getting to me, and I knew I was getting close to a climax. The pleasure and stimulation was just too much for Mr Willy. I had withstood as much as I could take, and finally succumbed. My breath began to quicken and I felt the warm rush start when there was a shout from behind me. It was Monica’s voice.

“We have a winner!”

That was all I needed, as I exploded inside Leila’s mouth and she summoned her own last vestiges of energy to suck and swallow while still somehow containing me inside her.

As Mr Willy shrank and slipped free, Leila gasped and panted, swallowing raggedly and drawing in huge breaths like a marathon runner at the finish line. I felt a bit the same. ‘Drained’ was a pretty appropriate description.

I found out afterwards that while Helen had resorted to the flogger, Mary had resorted to her little finger and inserted it up Sebastian’s backside. It had been enough to push him over the edge, much to the displeasure of the Rest of the World team. That was why Mary’s experience was so valuable, I figured. She had been around, and knew which buttons to push. Sebastian certainly had a weak spot, which in my view made him just a little - um – suspect, shall we say.

Monica lowered me and removed my bonds, and we both helped free Leila before I gave her a long and very enjoyable hug.

“Was it good for you?” she whispered shyly.

“You were magnificent,” I told her.

“You were a pain in the neck.”

“I promise I’ll give you a nice shoulder massage and neck rub,” I said, as Monica and Mary rolled up with fresh glasses of champagne. Perhaps now we could at last relax and enjoy the evening.

Enjoy the evening we did. The sun slipped slowly over the horizon beyond which somewhere there was the Australian land mass. A naked Sebastian was obliged to serve canapés and more drinks while wearing a butt plug and a crotch strap, a nasty-looking weight dangling from a loop around his balls, and two weights swinging from his nipples. He now wore a full training harness gag with a very large black ball jammed in his mouth and looked most put out by it all. The manacles on his wrists and ankles made the picture of demoralisation complete.

On the other hand, perhaps his punishment was light compared to that of Kim. In her case – despite the fact that it had been primarily Sebastian’s failure – something special had been prepared, beginning with a steel screw-prop that was brought out and fitted in front of the bar. It was an idea that I might have dreamed up myself, and in some ways I was rather put out that I hadn’t. A screw-prop is an extendable steel pole with a square plate at each end, that can extend up to five metres and is usually found on construction sites supporting beams and concrete pours. In this instance the device was twisted along a screw thread to provide the expansion, wedging itself immovably between floor and ceiling, providing an instant column.

To this column was added a pair of horizontal bars, the thickness of my wrist and hinged to clamp around it at shoulder height like giant tweezers, pointing back at forty five degrees. Lower down was a further pair of bars, pointing slightly forward . This, then, was what was in store for Kim.

She looked on with increasing trepidation while Monica and Jax lifted her on to the lower bars and Bradley pulled two heavy leather straps tightly about her body, at her waist and above her breasts. Her legs were spread and bent back, ankle to thigh, with the lower bars supporting her thighs, and again wide straps pulled tight around ankles, thighs and bars.

The final touch was when her arms were pulled back and strapped to the upper bars at wrists and upper arms. Kim struggled all she could, which only resulted in Bradley pulling the straps a notch or two tighter so that she could move only fingers, toes and head. She sat there, arms twisted behind her, legs spread wide, knowing she was on show and would have no choice but to take what was coming to her.

Under other circumstances I would not have been particularly perturbed, but in this instance, the fact that Bradley was doing the punishing somehow made me uneasy. Bradley had barely spoken a word in our direction since we had boarded. He had had several private discussions with Jax, but had not entered into the fun we had had around the pool.

He moved up to where Kim hung on the frame, running a hand slowly over her thigh where it lay tautly bent and strapped around the horizontal bar. He ran his hand along to her crotch, slipping it through the blonde fuzz. Kim tried to suppress a moan but it slipped out. The man moved behind her and a harness gag similar to that worn by Sebastian appeared in front of her face. Kim tried to shake her head.

“No, no – I don’t want – urrnngh!”

Bradley thrust the hard rubber ball between her teeth letting her fight it all the way and taking his time in buckling the first strap tightly behind her neck. I knew at once that he liked women to resist, particularly when they had no hope of doing so effectively. It was a one-sided fight that gave him a sense of power and control - a buzz that was at once sexual and psychological.

He pulled the top strap back over Kim’s head, the twin straps joining above her nose, and secured it to the neck strap. Finally there were the two chin straps that crossed at her throat and joined the others behind her neck. Kim rolled her eyes at us and made a pleading whine. She looked down and briefly had time to see her erect nipples and her breasts begin to rise and fall in dreadful anticipation of her fate.

Bradley appeared in front of her with a short flogger that looked more like a fly swat. With a deft wrist action, he set to work on Kim’s flesh, shiny as it was from the effects of sweat, suntan oil and exertion. The regular slapping of the flogger tails beat a tattoo on her skin, down the insides of her thighs, across her firm belly, her exposed breasts, then down to her exposed and vulnerable pussy. The flogging lingered here briefly, prompting little squeals from behind the rubber ball, before moving behind her to flicker across her buttocks with dextrous underhanded cuts. Bradley knew his way around a flogger and a woman’s body – that much was apparent.

Kim’s back got the treatment, then it was more application to the front, bringing a rose red glow to her flesh. Bradley paid particular attention to every exposed piece of skin, but especially Kim’s breasts and crotch, eventually exchanging the flogger for a whip with a single thong about a metre long with a small knot at the end. Standing in front of her, he began with a side-to-side motion, the thong making a sinister zipping through the air. It was this sound that we heard, rather than the strike on the flesh. Instead we saw further red marks start to appear on Kim’s breasts and belly, and saw her flinch and struggle against the straps as the thong caught her nipples several times. The rhythm became faster and harder, and several times Kim let out a stifled howl as the tip found sensitive flesh.  

The appearance of a thin, whippy cane was hardly surprising, particularly when it was applied first to the relatively untouched exposed soles of Kim’s feet, prompting further gagged howls. Bradley ignored these, other than to ask:

“Well, which would you prefer – the cane or the whip?” Bradley’s voice had a peculiar mid-Pacific accent, a sort of Aust-american twang.

Tears were streaming down Kim’s face at the decision facing her. Perhaps it was the immediate pain in her feet that prompted the barely intelligible response.

“Ah iph…”

Obviously happy to oblige, Bradley set to with the whip, landing several painful cuts before the gagged protests compelled him to ask again.

“What? Too much?” The tearful face nodded. “So, what’s it to be? Cane or whip?”

Kim shook her head. Bradley gripped her jaw with a strong hand and repeated the question. “Cane or whip?”

“Ayghn…”

“Of course, my dear.”

The smack of the cane on Kim’s feet and buttocks made me very uncomfortable. I looked at Monica, but she shot me a warning stare, forbidding me to interfere. Just when I figured that Monica or no Monica something had to be done, the man dug his fingers into Kim’s pussy and her scream turned into something different.

Bradley withdrew his fingers and wiped them over the girl’s cheek and gag. Now he brought forth a large dildo attached to the end of a short telescopic pole from the box, which was clearly a treasure trove of erotic toys and bondage devices. I wondered what it had cost, where it had come from, and where all the pieces would go at the end of the trip.

In truth the dildo was enormous, perhaps seven centimetres across and half as long as my forearm. Bradley teased Kim with it, nudging her now swollen labia and half pushing it between them while she hung there helplessly, with no alternative but to have this done to her. Slowly the man worked it inside, the device gradually disappearing with little thrusts and withdrawals, but each thrust eventually making ground. Kim was struggling again, her ribcage heaving up and down between the straps at her waist and above her breasts.

With the dildo largely in place, Bradley jammed the lower end of the pole against the deck, wedging it. Kim’s movements were so limited that there was no way she could dislodge it. Then it was time for the small flogger again, beating a concentrated tattoo against the pubic mound now distended by the intruder. Kim writhed in her bonds, her hands clenching and unclenching, before Bradley stopped and – hard on the heels of the flogger – applied a vibrator to the girl’s engorged clitoris.

Kim heaved against her bonds and uttered a long howl, then her head fell forward in frustration as Bradley removed the vibrator and pinched her hard on the nipples, twisting them viciously. Kim yelped in pain – a yelp that turned into a protracted cry as her tormentor fastened a small steel vice the size of a matchbox on to each rigid nub, screwing the devices until Kim tossed her head in agony.

That was the moment he applied the vibrator again, and poor Kim was clearly overwhelmed by a flood of pleasure contrasted with piercing nipple pain and the overall burning of her whipped flesh.

Bradley pressed the vibrator hard into Kim’s clit and tweaked it with his finger. Her panting became interspersed with gasps and grunts and we knew an orgasm was on the way as with each breath she let out a high-pitched grunt.

“You wanna come?” Kim nodded her head desperately, fearing he was about to remove the stimulus. She was right. The hand holding the vibrator dropped and the other tugged at each nipple vice in turn while Kim let out stifled squeals of resentment.

“You’ll come only when I decide you will, girl,” he told her callously.

It went on for another twenty minutes, the teasing, tormenting, gagged pleas and the promises offered then removed. The sweat dripped off poor Kim, mixed with tears and the juices oozing from her pussy and running down the big dildo that remained embedded in her. Kim’s strength was almost gone. Her thigh muscles were twitching and quivering from the effort she put in to try to overcome the last hurdle of release, but every time she was almost there the pain from the nipple clamps or the whip would distract her and drive the longed-for climax back into the darkness. She had been bound and tormented for almost two hours, if you counted her time sucking off Sebastian, without being allowed to climax herself. The sun had now set and we were sailing across a glittering glassy sea. I wondered how long her punishment was to continue.

“She’s had worse than this from me,” Helen had said casually to Monica at one stage. Monica appeared relaxed with it all. The laissez faire attitude of some of these dommes never ceased to amaze me, but maybe I’m simply a sucker for a helpless girl.

Bradley had blindfolded Kim with a black scarf at one point and Kim was begging and pleading for relief – as much as the rubber ball would allow her – when Bradley had finally walked away. Now, as a contrast to the continuous, albeit painful attention she had been receiving, she was left alone, trussed to the pole. The lights had been switched off and now we sat quietly, enjoying the sea and the stars, while frustrated moans came from the darkness of the bar. Bradley had disappeared somewhere, perhaps having decided he had had enough, and maybe going to jerk himself off in his cabin. I didn’t care. I had not taken to him at the start and I liked him even less now.

I had given Leila a neck massage and a back rub over in the seclusion of a darkened corner, and this had aroused me again - sufficient to sneak a quickie that left us both hot and sweating in each other’s arms. There is only so much that a guy can take when being exposed to excess nubile woman-flesh, and the frustrated cries that had been coming from the bound woman at the bar were hopefully enough to cover Leila’s stifled gasps and my heavy breathing as we sought furtive release. It was risky, I suppose, but sometimes there are things you just have to do.

It was moments later that Jax announced that dinner would be served in an hour. Sebastian had been chained by the neck to one of the columns as we saw when Jax turned on the subdued lights around the pool, as well as the pool lights themselves. Leila had just finished adjusting her bikini as this happened, and I tried to appear casual as Monica looked at me.

“Thank you, Steven,” said Leila, rubbing her neck with perhaps a little more vigour than was necessary. “I feel much better now.” Monica’s eyes caught the light momentarily but I couldn’t read her expression. Hopefully she wouldn’t see the guilty flush on Leila’s cheeks.

Leila and I stood up to follow Mary, Monica, Jax and Helen, filing in single file past the figure strapped to the bars and still moaning pitifully.

“Oh shut up,” Helen said. “I can’t believe what a slut you can be, sometimes - always thinking of yourself. You can stay there for the rest of the night for making that crude boy come in your mouth.”

We left Kim behind, her final desperate pleas heard only by the darkness and the chained and gagged prisoner nearby.

 

“Helen won’t really leave her there all night, will she?” I asked Monica as we got ready for dinner. Monica wore only a thong and white high-heeled slippers apparently held in place by a few nominal straps. They showed off her silver toenails and I guessed would go well with the white silk gown laid out on the bed. She turned towards me, hands on hips.

“Honestly, Steven, how long have you worked with us now? Four years? Sometimes I despair with you.” I felt naïve at that moment, and she was right. I should have known better.  

“But I don’t know Helen and Jax, though,” I finished lamely.

Monica sighed, the exaggerated intake and exhalation of her breath making her breasts rise and fall in a proud manner. Monica’s bearing was always proud, and she was not one to tolerate incompetence. She looked magnificent right at that moment, her lean body in perfect proportion and shown off to best effect by her near nakedness, her height accentuated by the high heels. She flicked her black hair out of her eyes and walked over to me, reaching out to stroke me on the cheek. I caught a momentary hint of a subtle perfume.

“Dear Steven. Sometimes you’re just too nice for your own good. I’m sure we’ll never make a true master out of you. Trust me, Kim will not spend the night there. Helen is too experienced to do such a thing. Kim will be fine. Now help me with this dress.”

The dress was a long gown that fell from one shoulder. It had a black trim and contrasting against Monica’s hair and pale skin the creation looked sensational – smooth and elegant. I told her so, and she rewarded me with a kiss and an admonition to hurry up.

For once bondage was not to be the theme, and we were to be sitting down to Christmas Eve dinner in full regalia, which meant I was obliged to don white shirt and black bow tie. It was all very Orient Express and my discomfort continued.

“You look real spunky,” Monica said. “I envy the girl going back to your place tonight.” I flushed and she laughed – a light, girlish laugh. “I have a special Christmas present for you tonight,” she continued.

“But we agreed we wouldn’t get each other presents!” I protested.

“This is not something you can buy, Steven. Come, we don’t want to be late.”

 

We were the last to arrive for dinner. Sure enough, Kim and Sebastian were both present and both wore heavy steel collars, unlike Leila and myself. Jax sat at one end of the table, holding court, while Bradley sat unsmiling at the other. Sebastian sat on Jax’s right, then Helen and Kim. Monica sat on Jax’s left, then myself, Mary and Leila. It appeared Leila had got the short straw in having to make conversation with Bradley, but she evidently turned on her not inconsiderable girlish charm and appeared to succeed quite well during the course of the evening.

It was a most pleasant dinner. The girls all looked fabulous, while we guys scrubbed up pretty well, too. The posh frocks and black ties went down well in lifting the meal to something special. The air had cooled somewhat and the forward motion of the ship maintained a gentle breeze through the open-sided dining area. The two waiters were expert in their attendance, the food was superb and the wine was excellent, except that we all drank rather too much of it. Tomorrow was Christmas, so why not?

At the end of the meal, when we had no room left, Jax made her announcement, and to be honest I didn’t pay too much attention to it.

“No doubt a number of you have indulged in this before tonight,” she said. “However tomorrow is Christmas day, so we thought Santa should visit us – or at least Secret Santa. Consequently, what will happen is that Monica, Mary, Helen and Bradley will receive a secret gift – a Secret Subbie, in fact. The four subs are to be left in the elevator by ten o’clock – I will advise you further on that. There will be a random selection, and you will have two hours to pretty up the subs as Christmas presents to be delivered at the midday Christmas dinner.”

I looked across the table at Kim. She returned my gaze shyly and shrugged, as if to indicate that it was all fair in love and war, and as a mere submissive she would take what was coming.

The four of us intended victims were dismissed from the table while the others took their final instructions from Jax. I didn’t mind. I was sure I had experienced worse things, though I hoped I didn’t get Bradley pulling my strings. With the presumed choice of Mary or Helen, on the expectation that you could not be done over by your own mistress, I figured it couldn’t be too bad. It almost guaranteed I would wind up with Helen, in all probability. So much for any surprise in Secret Santa, I decided.

I followed Leila up the stairs to the pool deck, noticing that Sebastian and Kim appeared deep in conversation then disappeared in the opposite direction. I suppose having somebody come in your mouth when you were both bound but had been barely introduced left you with something in common.

It was gorgeous up on the top deck. The only light came from the submerged pool lights, supplemented by a swathe of stars and a quarter moon. The sea was like oil as the ship purred onward, leaving a barely discernable phosphorescence in its wake. Leila took leaned on the rail at the stern, overlooking the rear part of the two lower decks. She looked gorgeous in a blood red halter-neck that complemented the pale blonde hair under the muted night lights.

I stood behind her and grasped the rail, snuggling up against her. She half turned and I caught the flash of her teeth. We were both a bit tipsy.

“Thanks for today,” she said.

“I should be thanking you. I just couldn’t help myself that second time. You’re just too much for a white man, sometimes.”

“Thank you. I do my best.” She giggled. “You took a hell of a chance trying it with Monica around.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints,” I shot back.

“Um… well, no. But then you’d already had the pleasure once. I had nothing to show but a sore neck, some rope marks and a frustrated pussy.”

There was silence for a minute while we just took in the warmth of the night.

“Did I tell you that you look stunning tonight?” I said. It wasn’t the wine talking – there was no arguing that Leila looked good enough to eat.

“No, you didn’t, but thank you. You look quite pashable yourself. Haha – I mean passable…well, maybe pashable, too…” Leila was just a tad loaded herself. “What do you think the supreme council is putting together for us?”

“Who knows. I suspect Jax has been doing an awful lot of preparation for this whole thing. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Monica and Helen aren’t as uninvolved as we might suspect.”

“You think so?”

“Since when has Monica not done her homework in anything that might involve a bit of a business venture?”

“True,” Leila agreed.

“And what’s with this Bradley guy? I saw you chatting him up. What did you learn?”

“Factually, that he’s from Sydney originally, spent the last fifteen years in Venezuela, that he’s in oil – the security side - and probably loaded. He specialised in protection for executives and installations – that sort of thing. He might be ex-army or something. Gut feeling: don’t like him; he’s a sleeze; don’t like him; wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole; don’t like him.”

“No, really, what are you trying to say?”

Leila laughed. “ ‘No really,’ yourself. Trust my female instincts. Mary thinks so, too. She asked me to find out what I could, which – now that I think about it – was precious little.”

“You must’ve learned more than that, surely?”

“No family. Currently looking to settle in Brissie; looking at real estate in Clayfield – can’t be doing too badly. Met Jax at the Brimstone Club.”

“He certainly knew what he was doing with Kim this afternoon.”

“Rather her than me,” Leila said. “I much preferred my little reward.” Another flash of teeth as she turned and faced me, her hands laid against my upper arms. “And what has Mistress Monica got in store for you tonight?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m sure Mary will have something planned for me – it’s Christmas Eve, we’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves.”

“It’s funny you should ask. Monica said she had a special present for me.”

“But we agreed –“

“That’s what I told her. Sometimes I have no idea the way her mind works.”

“Only sometimes?” Leila teased.

“Okay. She’s a woman. Almost always I have no idea how her mind works.” Leila poked her tongue out at me in a charmingly girlish way. For a moment I thought she was about to kiss me, when Monica’s voice cut through our little interaction.

“When you’ve finished Steven, I’ll see you in the cabin. Leila, Mary wants you – now.”

Leila looked up at me and smiled. “I guess we’re both summoned – to our respective fates. Merry Christmas, Steven,” she said softly, leaning up to kiss me lightly on the lips. Her fingers slid through my hair, then she slipped out under my arms and hastened away. I turned to where Monica’s voice had come from, but she, too, had disappeared.

I lingered for a minute or so, just watching the water slide past into the night, before heading downstairs to our cabin. I opened the door and found the room lit only by one bedside light. Monica was nowhere to be seen.

“Monica? You in here?”

A narrow crack of light appeared as the bathroom door opened slightly, almost awkwardly, and I glimpsed the shining material of Monica’s gown as she slipped out into the gloom of the main bedroom.

“What…?” I started to ask. Monica’s arms were behind her back.

“Remember I said I was going to give you something special for Christmas?” She moved up close and pressed herself against me. “Which hand would you like?” she asked, like a child demanding you guess which one has the present.

“Uh – the left one.”

“Well you’ll have to take them both, because they’re kind of joined…” She turned and I saw the pair of plastic cable ties linking her wrists. “We said we wouldn’t buy anything, remember? This is just a special little present from me to you. I’m afraid I can’t do anything about it. The scissors are on the top shelf in the cupboard. I’ll have to rely on you to release me…” She looked at me archly. I felt my pulse quicken, a mixture of alcohol, testosterone and the recollection of what she’d done to me and Shawnee only a week or so ago. Of the three, I blame the alcohol for the last one. Whatever the reason, the devil made me do it. I recalled Monica’s frustrated words a few hours earlier, when she despaired of me ever having the hard edge to totally dominate. Right, I thought. No more Mister Nice Guy. Revenge was going to be so sweet.

I undid the three buttons securing her gown at her shoulder, and the slinky garment fell to the floor, albeit with a little persuasion to get past Monica’s breasts and hips. I motioned for her to step away from the fallen dress.

“I hope you’re going to hang it up,” she said. I looked at her, showing my disbelief.

“I’m sorry?” My disbelief must have registered in my voice, and Monica abruptly realised that the tables were turned and that in this instance it was not she who was giving the orders. She was now caught between repeating her suggestion and worrying over what might become of her dress if it was left on the floor. Sometimes Monica’s obsessiveness could be played off against her.

“Uh… nothing.”

“Should we leave it there,” I mused, as though to myself, “or should we hang it up?”

“Hanging it up would be good,” Monica suggested cautiously, her tone a lot more deferential now, aware of her circumstances.

“All right. Supposing you do that.”

Monica realised the trap she had fallen into, but squatted and picked up the dress and carried it behind her to the bed. She dropped it on the covers and opened the walk-in wardrobe. I watched as she bent over, trying to reach the vacant hangers on the rail. It was not easy, for she couldn’t see where her hands were and the rail was high, necessitating that she bend down a long way in order that her hands reached up as high as possible behind her. I sat on a large foot stool and watched her with amusement. I liked the way her stomach muscles tightened and her breasts swung as she bent over, and I liked even more the sense of frustration as it took her several goes to grab hold of a hanger and lift it off the rail.

She trotted out of the wardrobe, blowing hair away from her face where it had lodged during her exertions. She still wore her high-heeled sandals which I thought leant a nice line to her calves. A bound woman with a figure like Monica’s, wearing high heels and very little else, has a certain je ne sais quoi which I personally found most appealing, and as I watched her fiddling about doing up the buttons to the shoulder of the dress I took pleasure the sight.

It occurred to me that I didn’t know exactly how you hung up a dress with only one shoulder to go on a hanger, until I saw the little cotton loop that was attached to the other side at the top of the material. Monica managed to get all of this worked out and the garment on to the hanger, before heading back to the wardrobe to go through further contortions before she succeeded in hanging it up, to emerged red-faced and just a little peeved that I made her go through this indignity.

The process had given me time to work out exactly what I wanted of Monica - now that she had voluntarily put herself in this position - and to do a quick ransack of the drawer under the bed.. No doubt Monica hoped I would simply take her as she was and give her – to put it bluntly – a thorough screwing before freeing her. Obviously the drink had affected us all – her judgement and memory as much as my imagination. She really should have known better, in that there was no way I would go down that simple road without having some fun at her expense along the way. I suspect Monica was primarily thinking about Monica, but maybe I’m being unfair. Whatever her motivation, it was a serious error of judgement to overlook or dismiss from her mind the torment she had put me through at the end of the visit from Helen not long previously. The memory of being bound and frustrated, my dick securely erect and made to stay that way by the painful plastic tie was fresh in my mind. Frustration came in many shapes and forms, I decided, and now Monica was about to experience some of them.

She had a hint of a smirk on her face as she returned – just enough self-satisfaction for me to recognise in the Monica Armstrong I knew so well. I stood up.

“Come here,” I commanded. She came over and stood in front of me with a poor attempt at humility. “On your knees. Bend over the footstool,” I said.

She did as she was told. I pulled out a hank of cord and bound her wrists properly, before cutting the cable ties away. They are an ugly method of restraint, prone to tightening unexpectedly and leaving nasty grazing on the skin. Give me old fashioned sashcord any day. By the time I had several turns cinched around her wrists, Monica’s arms had much less freedom, and even less so when I looped a few more turns around her arms above the elbows. She pouted up at me as I pulled the rope tight, leaving her arms just touching. Her expression almost seemed to taunt me.

I took her bound wrists and lifted her arms up vertically, then sat down straddling her exposed back and facing her legs, with her arms now resting against my own back. Monica had nowhere to go.

“Monica, my dear, do you recall the little torture session you put me through last week?”

Monica mumbled something which was partly indecipherable, I supposed, because of my weight compressing her torso.

“Well I do, and I feel most aggrieved at the severity of it, simply because I forgot to pass on a message in the midst of everything else that was going on. I would now like to let a little of the frustration out of my system.” With that, I brought my hand down hard on her taut backside. Monica yelped, and I saw with satisfaction the red handprint left behind on the lustrous white skin. Yes, sirree, what Mistress Monica needed was a good old fashioned spanking, and from that point I proceeded to give it to her.

Monica soon cottoned on to my plan – it wasn’t hard to suss. She squealed a bit to start with, then subsided into a kind of under-your-breath swearing, which then turned into a bite-your-lip and try not to cry out stage. Only when her ragged breathing started to be interspersed with little gasps of pain and stifled exclamations did I know I was winning. Oh sure, she bucked and squirmed, but with her arms way up behind my back and my weight on her, she was helpless. I pushed her thong down to fully expose the twin moons of her buttocks. She tried kicking and writhing but the rain of open-palmed swats on her buttocks didn’t stop. When I heard the first sob, I was glad, not least because my palms were starting to get just a little sore. Monica’s cheeks were now glowing bright red as she twisted and struggled beneath me. Finally she surrendered, and the sobs and pleading began. I stopped, and stood up. Monica worked her way back on to her haunches, her face wet and flushed, glaring at me.

“You bastard! I give you a nice birthday present and this is what you do to me!”

“Do to you? Monica, trust me, I haven’t even started yet. You have a whole night of what I am about to do to you.” She stopped her tirade and her mouth dropped open. Before she could resume I continued: “As they say, be careful what you wish for – it just might come true. Or putting it another way, be sure you think things through. You may just regret suggesting I couldn’t make the grade. I’ll know that when you finally beg for mercy.”

“Ha!” said Monica disdainfully. “That’ll be the day.”

“It’s happened before…”

“Yeah, right.”

“Hmm, very rebellious for a subbie.”

“I’m not a subbie!”

“You are tonight. Your choice, remember?” Monica made a supercilious noise. “And I would remind you that I’m not a subbie by choice, either. I do it through loyalty to you, since you ask me to. I’ve lost count of the indignities you’ve inflicted on me.”

“For which you get paid.”

“Money can’t buy everything, Miss,” I told her. She continued to glare at me.

“So you’re going to make me beg for you to stop, I suppose. I can take pain as well as give it, you know.” This amused me. The spanking had made Monica lose her cool. She wasn’t thinking things through again. I shrugged. I wasn’t about to disillusion her at this point. This was not about making Monica beg me to stop. This was about begging me to start – and to finish what I’d started.

“Get on the bed,” I ordered her quietly. “Now.” She looked at me sullenly, then obeyed. I didn’t have to tell her I wanted her face down, for her backside was obviously sore enough such that she would opt for no position that brought her further distress in that area. Unfortunately she had reckoned without my supply of Finalgon – a heat-producing muscle ointment that takes up no room in my bag but can have rather unpleasant results under certain circumstances. This was just such a situation, as Monica found out when I began to massage her tender buttocks with the stuff. She couldn’t see what I was using, but the smell gave it away.

I knew she would detect it, which was why I tied her legs outspread to the corners of the bed, before kneeling between her thighs to commence the massage. Unfortunately she just had to turn a simple question into a running commentary.

“What are you doing, you bastard What’s that stuff you’re putting on? Ow! That’s not Finalgon is it? It had better not be! Shit! It is – I can smell it!” At this point she really started squirming and struggling, trying vainly to protect her cheeks with her bound hands. “You bastard! Stop it this instant!!” I carried on rubbing it into her flesh, heedless of her complaints. She rounded off another broadside at me which I thought was very unladylike, but I ignored it anyway.

Seeing that her protests were getting her nowhere, and were in fact having the opposite effect, she changed her approach and began to plead with me, making all sorts of promises, all of which I ignored. I rubbed the ointment on to her skin from the waist down to just above her knees, before taking a roll of strong cling film from the drawer. Yes, whoever had put together the inventory had catered for almost any eventuality, although I had to say that perhaps this wasn’t quite the situation envisaged.

I loosed Monica’s ankle bonds sufficiently that she could stand on the floor now, albeit with her legs still stretched apart, and I wound the plastic around her waist and the upper half of her legs. I am nothing if not respectful of other people’s property, and I had no intention of leaving behind greasy marks on the upholstery of the deep armchair I had earmarked for Monica’s first location of the evening.

I left Monica still ranting at me while went and washed my hands to remove any traces of the ointment. I was getting tired of her whinging and wanted to stop it with an appropriate object stuffed in her mouth, but – nice guy that I was – I did not think it necessary that a gag be covered in the unpleasant ointment. I figured Monica should be grateful for my consideration in this respect, but she was still complaining when I returned to the bedroom.

I selected a rubber ball with a piece of timber dowel passing through it – a kind of cross between a ball and a bit gag, and cajoled Monica into opening wide so that I could strap it behind her head. Even then Monica was still giving vent to her feelings. The gag was not as effective as some I had come across, but then I rather liked a bit of noise – just as long as it wasn’t major screaming.

I untied her ankles and walked her across to the chair. It was low-backed, modern, and had very soft upholstery. I gave her a gentle shove and she plopped down with a grunt. I positioned her still-bound arms over the back and tied the tail of the cinch rope to her ankles. She sat there and glared at me, as I took in the way her backside and thighs had sunk into the cushion. Soon her skin would really begin to heat up, and if she thought her flesh was sore where I had spanked her, it would soon be far, far worse, with all the pain of the worst case of sunburn you could imagine. Oddly enough, it would not harm her, and would probably do her good. It was just unfortunate that the beneficial effect would prove so agonising, especially when I started to dole out little bits of pleasure along the way. Monica’s expression allowed for none of these benefits, and I thought she was very unfair in this regard. All she would do was make pointed grunting noises punctuated by garbled threats, for I was sure they were such.

I went to the built-in bar and poured myself a bacardi and coke then turned the wall-mounted plasma screen television on, flicking through the satellite channels. It wasn’t difficult to find an adult channel, and I settled back in a nearby couch to get myself in the mood.

By the time I’d finished a second drink, both of us were well and truly hot, though perhaps our definitions of that word might have been slightly different. I was horny as hell, while Monica was whimpering behind her ball, and tears were coursing down her face as though she had eaten a raw onion. She kept trying to stand up, or at least get her backside clear of the heat being generated in the snug confines of the deep upholstery. I couldn’t resist a Monty Pythonesque relapse.

“Oh no! Not the comfy chair! Not the soft cushions! I bet you never expected the Spanish inquisition!” I thought this was uproarious, or at least the bacardis and the previous multiple glasses of wine over dinner did. For some reason Monica thought it was all very tragic, writhing in her nakedness as she tried to ease the pain. Fortunately I was sufficiently pissed such that her visual invective was wasted on me.

I untied her ankles from the cinch rope and just when Monica thought relief was in sight, I hoisted each leg and draped them over the chair arms, securing her ankles to the front legs. It was not a dignified position for Monica, seated with her legs high and wide, her shaven pussy on view to anybody who happened to walk in. She grunted at me with what was barely contained fury, and I knew it was time for a bit of pacification.

There were two vibrators in the drawer, one large and the other very large. The chair was of generous proportions such that with Monica’s legs raised I had full access to Monica’s private parts, both front and back. I had seen Monica on the receiving end once, spreadeagled in a standing position and screwed by her friend Warren. Monica hadn’t known we were there, thanks to the miracles of one-way glass, and we had seen the intensity of her orgasm as Warren took her from behind. It was a little secret that I had every intention of exploiting, when I had finally got Mistress Monica properly warmed up.

I lubricated the two vibrators out of Monica’s line of sight and worked the smaller into her back passage as she squirmed and grunted, following this with the larger vibrator jammed securely in her pussy.

“Well, my dear Monica, if you think you’re feeling the hots at the moment, wait till these babies get going. I lubricated them with Finalgon as well. Soon you’ll really be warmed up – on the boil, even.” It was a cruel lie, of course. Monica’s eyes widened in disbelief, and even as I switched on the vibrators she strained against her bonds and uttered garbled, panicky noises around the ball I her mouth. Her muscles clenched and worked against the two devices lodged inside her, trying to eject them, but they were held firm by my hands. It was mean of me, I know, but I was still thinking of my nipples being zapped by the unknowing client as I lay on the floor of the gym. That was really a bit uncalled for as well.

Monica had broken out in a sweat and was calling me all sorts of things, when I finally relented and appeared to understand what she was saying.

“I’m sorry – did I say Finalgon? I meant KY. Darn it – I always get those two confused.” That, of course, was something you wouldn’t do – or rather you would only do it once. The thought of Finalgon liberally coated on my best friend was something I couldn’t even contemplate – it made my eyes water just thinking about it.

Monica’s gagged invective subsided into furious mumbles, but her body visibly relaxed and she stopped trying to repel the two invaders lodged in her arse and pussy.

“That’s the way, Mon,” I said soothingly, playing with a runnel of perspiration sliding down her breast. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy yourself. It’s going to be the longest Christmas present you’ve ever given me. Or am I giving it to you? Life is so confusing, sometimes…”

Monica now seemed to have accepted her fate and that perhaps the most painful part was over, though I reckoned her bum would still be very hot under the cling wrap. I sensed the first concessions to the inner warmth that would now be starting to spread upwards from her loins, as her noises of protest subsided completely then began to turn into small snuffles of pleasure.

I slid the front vibrator out to a small grunt of disappointment – that was until I got on my knees and began to apply my tongue to Monica’s exposed clit. The disappointed sound changed quickly again, merging into a slowly rising series of pleasurable moans as she tried to thrust against my mouth. She was wet as could be and horny with it – that was when I slipped the anal vibrator clear, knelt back and slapped her pussy hard with a small flogger. Monica had her eyes closed and jerked at the sudden reversal of sensations, the pleasure abruptly changing to pain, and uttered a frustrated complaint. Get used to it, Monica, I thought to myself. This is going to be a long night.

Indeed it was. I brought her to the verge of orgasm half a dozen times, on each occasion beating it back with some nipple twisting or flicks of the small flogger to her engorged labia. I began tickling her as well, offering her the choice of tickling or flogging, and enjoying the way she opted for the choice other than what was being applied at the time, before reversing her choice next time.

I tied the pair of vibrators together and on to a loop of rope that I hung around her neck. The tips of the devices reached almost to Monica’s exposed clit, and with some effort I reckoned she could scrunch herself up a bit and get the vibrators to bear against her tender parts.

I secured a blindfold over her eyes. It was rather a nice black leather affair, with big padded eye covers, a strap under the chin and one at the back of the head. Monica made more grunting noises and I tugged on the rope sufficiently to be able to buzz her clit with enough pressure to make her squirm some more, before letting go and watching the vibrators slide away from the sensitive area.

“I’m just going outside,” I said from the doorway, “- and I might be some time…” Captain Oates’s departure was never like this.

The gagged and blindfolded head shook in mute, futile protest.

I took the tube of Finalgon and left the cabin. It was cool outside, on deck, with a gentle breeze from the motion of the ship. I flicked the tube overboard, for while I had had a few drinks, I was still lucid enough to realise two things. Firstly, I was going to have to submit to Monica tomorrow morning – as it almost was already – since a deal was a deal, and secondly that I did not want to be on the receiving end of a worse smearing of the vicious ointment. Monica would no doubt be somewhat miffed by the time she got free, to put it mildly. Regrettably I would be the focus of her miffedness, but there was not much I could do about it. Whatever happened, happened, I thought philosophically. Maybe Monica would be too exhausted, but somehow I doubted it.

I leaned on the railings, just enjoying the sensation of the ship ploughing steadily through the sea. There was a light showing at a window further forward, which I guessed was Bradley’s cabin. He was obviously burning the midnight oil.

* * *

04.01.06

story continues in Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

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