Holiday Highlights

The lady officer led me away, into what were obviously the crew sections of the ship, areas I'd never been in before. At last, deep inside the hull and far from the light and air of the upper decks, we reached a heavy barred door with a strong lock.

At her request, an officer on duty there opened the door and she led me inside, saying, "These are the unaccompanied slaves' quarters, where you'll spend all your spare time now, until your Mistress returns from the island and exchanges you again for the slave she took with her. There are a few special rules that apply here, but I won't bother to explain them: I know the slaves in the neighbouring cells will be only too happy to tell you!"

We entered a long narrow room, with a corridor between two rows of what could only be described as cells, almost cages, three sides of each being entirely bars. One row contained male slaves, the other female: obviously, this was intended to eliminate any opportunity for the slaves to have sex through the bars of adjoining cells. By now I recognized most of them, as we walked between them to an unoccupied cell: I saw Brenda in one, and she smiled at me, but I couldn't smile back, of course.

My escorting officer opened the door of a free cell and motioned me inside with a peremptory gesture, then locked the door again before reaching through the bars to unshackle my wrists and remove my gag. Curtly ordering the slaves in the nearby cells to fill me in on the special rules, she left without a further glance at me.

I looked around at my new environment, and chatted with my neighbours. As expected, they explained the special rules applying here: the most important was a strict prohibition on any kind of sexual activity whatsoever, whether between slaves or by self-arousal. This rule was policed by officers frequently patrolling along passages behind the cells and checking through one-way windows in the back walls: what was more, a slave breaking the rule was not stopped immediately, but the incident was noted and punishment meted out the next day, its severity increasing sharply if the forbidden activity had continued across more than one patrol interval! The same passages, I also learned, were our access to toilet facilities: we simply pulled a lever to raise a flag in the passage, and waited for the next passing officer to open a hatch and escort us.

During this chat, a message was passed along the cells to me from Brenda, asking if I knew where Dan had gone: I sent back the reply that my Mistress had given me permission for. (When we had a chance to chat directly, a day or so later, she told me that she was disappointed at not also visiting the island, but her neighbours had impressed on her that such quirks of fate were the inevitable consequence of unaccompanied slavery.)

Not very long after I'd been brought here, several more slaves were led in and locked into empty cells. None of them were familiar to me, but one female was put into the cell opposite mine: in the course of her conversation with me and her other neighbours, I learned that she and the others had just rejoined the ship after a few days on the island. Fascinated, and a little envious, I listened to her relate a few of her experiences, some of them essentially similar to mine on our previous cruise.

Later, we felt the ship start to move again, as it left to continue the cruise on the open sea. During the following hour or so, a number of Masters and Mistresses -- some of whom I knew -- were escorted between the cells by the officer on duty. Now, another special rule came into force: a cry of "Slaves, front up!", just before the main door opened, was a signal for us all to stand at the front of our cells, our arms and legs spread, and press our naked bodies against the bars. This enabled the Master or Mistress to walk down the corridor, looking closely at any slave that interested them, fondling any part of the slave's anatomy they wished, reading the information summarized on a card hanging outside the cell, sometimes ordering the slave to turn around or pose in various ways, before making their choice to 'claim' for a few hours or the night or whatever. The chosen slave was always handcuffed before the cell door was unlocked, and he or she was led away by a temporary 'owner': only when they had left did the command "Slaves, as you were!" allow us to break our pose.

Suddenly, with no warning at all, the lights were turned down to a dim glow, the signal that it was time for sleep. Equally sudden was the silence that fell over us slaves, because another rule forbade any "talking after lights out": feeling a little like a child at boarding school, I settled down on the hard pallet provided. I heard a few soft whispers between some of my fellow-slaves, but they were effectively drowned by the rhythmic throb of the ship's engines -- which also helped a lot to put me to sleep.

Over the next six days before my Mistress returned from her island visit, I spent more time in these 'unaccompanied slave quarters' than in any other single place -- by no means, however, was I stuck there most of the time, nor were those days a long and boring period of inactivity.

Generally, we 'unaccompanied slaves' were treated as little more than a 'pool' of naked bodies, to be called on whenever one or more were needed, whether for some group activity organized by the Entertainment Officer, or for the private amusement of a passenger who had no slave of his or her own. We 'lived' in the quarters assigned to us, with an Officer and two or three crew slaves assigned full-time to keeping track of us and making sure we didn't misbehave.

Not that we were cooped up in our cells all the time we weren't 'needed': there were periods set aside, when no requests for spare slaves were accepted and those of us who were left were involved in activities as a group. Like the exercise sessions, for instance, that continued the day after my Mistress left with Dan: the session that day was longer and more strenuous than the previous two days, because most of us were getting fitter; and, since my full-time slavery had already got me quite fit and supple, I was singled out and used as an example to the others... which gave me a boost of inordinate pride!

Obviously, we were the first candidates -- after the slaves put forward by their accompanying owners -- for the deck games, and I doubt if any one of us escaped acting as a target for quoits or the unique 'slave target practice' game. On the other hand, there were enough of us that we would have been unlucky to have been chosen often: the Officer and crew slaves in charge of us didn't appear to take much care in distributing our duites evenly, but I suspect they managed it somehow.

I soon discovered that there was a rule associated with the use of us unaccompanied slaves': namely that, during the day, we could only be 'claimed' by a passenger or off-duty Officer for a limited period of about two hours at a time. This was intended to allow the passengers -- and, indirectly, those of us who were here really unaccompanied -- as much variety as possible: most of the passengers made good use of this rule, and we slaves also enjoyed its benefits!

At night, on the other hand, slaves could be 'claimed' until the next morning. This 'overnight' rule came into effect immediately after dinner... with the result that the hour or so after the passengers had dined was very busy indeed for us slaves, 'fronting up' to the bars of our cells repeatedly as Masters and Mistresses made their choices of slaves with whom to spend the night! But there were also other ways in which we could be chosen....

For example, the very next evening I had the 'privilege' of being included in the day's Slave Raffle. Having watched one of these -- but only once when, on our previous cruise, Master Paul had put Helen in it -- I recognized what was happening: I and several other unaccompanied slaves, plus a few more who had been 'donated' by their owners for the event, were each attached to one of a number of long cords, which passed through a box and emerged the other side in jumbled order.

In turn, the Masters and Mistresses who had 'tickets' inspected the row of 'prize slaves' carefully before making their selection from the other ends of the cords. Not that this inspection really helped them choose -- neither they nor we slaves had any idea which cord led to which slave, except that the ends were coloured differently for male and female slaves, for the benefit of those who preferred one or the other. The whole point of the inspection, I realized as I stood waiting, was to heighten the suspense -- especially for us slaves! -- and to allow both owners and slaves to decide which of the other they hoped to spend the night with... a hope more often denied, due to the odds, than fulfilled.

When all the 'ticket-holders' had chosen, the officer conducting the raffle lifted the lid off the box and told them to pull slowly on their cords until they stretched in a straight line between each holder and a 'prize'. I found myself torn between watching 'my' cord unravel from the others, and looking at a very attractive Mistress who'd shown more than a little interest in me before she made her choice of cord. I was to be disappointed, however: the cord attached to the clamps on my nipples finally straightened, and I saw its other end in the hands of a middle-aged couple.

They and I looked at each other, while the 'presiding' officer told us slaves that we did have the right not to go with whomever had 'won' us -- on pain of spending the night in solitary confinement and quite severe bondage. I couldn't recall seeing them before, and I guessed they must have rejoined the cruise from the island the previous evening. Despite having no idea what kind of Master and Mistress they might be, I didn't for a moment consider refusing: I signalled my acquiescence with a nod and a smile, and they smiled in return.

The raffle winners now moved in to claim their 'prizes' and, almost before I realized what was happening, the couple had shackled me with remarkable efficiency -- and with a good deal more effectiveness than necessary! After all, a naked slave like myself had precious little hope of 'escaping' at all on board this ship, so the heavy metal ankle cuffs and hobble-chain, the tight metal belt and cuffs holding my wrists to it, were somewhat redundant. On the other hand, I was only too aware of the symbolic nature of shackles like these, and my submissive nature began to respond as I shuffled awkwardly behind them on the way to their cabin.

They didn't introduce themselves by name, but simply told me to think of them as 'Sir' and 'Lady': nor did they give any sign of interest in my name -- just a curt 'Slave!' was enough for them to have my attention. In fact, they hardly spoke at all, as they fastened a large tray to the belt I wore, supporting its outer corners with chains attached by spring clamps to my nipples. Then they told me they hadn't had dinner yet, and ordered me to the kitchens to fetch the order they had placed.

Their cabin was not very far from the kitchens, and I reached them without any casual fondling from passing owners or officers. But the crew slaves in the kitchens, and their supervising officers, took every opportunity to handle my defenceless -- and, to me, invisible! -- cock and balls, as they loaded my tray with covered plates and dishes. Their weight soon began to pull painfully on my nipples, and I was even more grateful for the shortness of the return journey to Sir's and Lady's cabin!

Sir now helped me to get down on my knees -- not so much out of concern for me, I suspect, than to stop anything spilling! -- and then fixed a short chain between my ankles and my belt, to prevent me even trying to rise, while Lady fastened the outer side of the tray to a low table in front of me. To my relief, she then detached the chains from the tray, but the relief was less than total, because she left the clamps still squeezing my nipples, and re-attached one chain to each of my wrists, which Sir had released from the belt. Finally, they drew up comfortable chairs on each side of me, sat down and said, "Now you may serve us our dinner, slave."

Very neatly, they had placed their chairs in such a way that almost every movement I made to pass food to them caused the chains from my wrists to tug on my clamped nipples -- particularly since they insisted on my actually putting forksful of food in their mouths and holding glasses of wine to their lips! I was kept pretty busy, yet I found the experience enjoyable and even exciting, thanks especially to their casual conversation throughout the meal.

I gathered that they were in fact permanent residents of the island that my Mistress was visiting at that very moment, and that they were on board to pay a short visit to the mainland. In some way, it seemed to me as I listened, they were even enjoying a break from the slaves they'd left behind: that they really meant 'slaves' -- in the plural! -- was quite clear, but I never discovered just how many! Nor did they leave me entirely out of the conversation, occasionally asking me to tell them, in explicit detail, some of the events of my slavery.

When thay'd had enough to eat, they removed the cuffs and chain from my ankles and the belt from my waist. Then, settling back in their chairs, they ordered me to my feet, to provide a little "after-dinner entertainment". With more than a touch of embarrassment -- after all, my naked body, although slim and reasonably fit, is hardly that of a dancer or athlete! -- I obliged, obeying their orders on how to pose, et cetera.

Soon I realized that their "entertainment" was derived less from my appearance , than from what they were telling me to do -- such as caressing myself in all sorts of distinctly humiliating ways, and inflicting a little pain on myself, with pinches and slaps and especially by tugging on the chains, still attached to my nipple clamps! The humiliation reached its peak (aided by a good dose of both pain and sexual stimulation) in their order for me to masturbate for them: my cock, though untouched and out of sight during their dinner, was already semi-erect and responded quickly. As well as telling me to stroke it to full purple hardness, tugging on my nipple-clamps as I did so, they also told me to slap it forcefully back and forth and up and down, and to flick its sensitive tip sharply with my fingernail. But I was strictly forbidden to actually make myself come and, with some will-power and not a little pride, I managed this.

Sir and Lady watched my 'performance' with hardly any sign of emotion, apart from slight smiles of amusement at my antics. Between orders to me, they passed casual, explicit and sometimes even crude comments on my naked body and what I was doing with it. I began to wonder whether this was all there was to their idea of slavery, but by now I was conditioned enough to know that it wasn't a slave's place to question the particular likes of the owners, and I didn't let my speculations affect my obedience.

The final -- and most painful -- part of my performance came when I was told to stand still facing Sir and Lady, arch my head and shoulders back as far as I could, and then slowly reach my arms up and out until the clamps were pulled off my nipples. Literally gritting my teeth, I managed to obey: they were strong clamps, and the pain as they slipped off was really quite intense. My eyes closed, and a loud and involuntary gasp escaped my lips.

"That was great fun, wasn't it?" I heard Sir say to his companion. "Shall we go on the next stage?" Almost before I had time to wonder what this 'next stage' might be, I realized that they'd both stood up, come beside me and, each with one hand holding one of my wrist chains and with the finger and thumb of the other hand gripping one of my tender nipples, were leading me into the bedroom of their suite. My awareness was so centred on the sensations in my nipples that I hardly noticed myself being made to stand on the bed with my back to a padded bar suspended horizontally from the ceiling.

Quickly and expertly, they passed my arms over the bar and brought my wrists down to my sides, fastening them there by stretching the chains across my belly and attaching them to the other cuff. By now I was more aware of what was happening, and I could appreciate how precisely the length of the chains matched this particular form of bondage: but I still had to wonder about its actual purpose. Nor did Sir's next words to me resolve my confusion....

"Lady and I like to have a slave's naked body available when we screw," he said. "It adds a certain spice to our foreplay! But you're not one of 'our' slaves, and so we feel it wouldn't be proper for you to watch us in such an intimate activity." He fitted a thick and heavy blindfold over my eyes, then went on, "Nor do we want to be distracted by any comments or complaints you might want to make, so..." And my mouth was filled by a large ball-gag, stretching my jaws apart until they felt about to crack.

He'd explained about the blindfold and gag, I thought, but not why I was standing on the bed, instead of beside it! Suddenly and dramatically, all became clear: two hands grasped each of my ankles, yanked my legs from under me and drew them back and up, then stretched them very widely apart before fastening them into cuffs that I hadn't even seen when we came in. Now I saw -- or rather, I should say, I was only too aware! -- of the point of this bondage: I was suspended almost horizontally, high enough above the bed for Sir and Lady to lie down underneath me, but also low enough that my naked body was well within reach for their fondles.

And fondles I got, believe me! I was very glad that the bar supporting most of my weight was well padded, because it must have been at least two hours that I hung there, and hardly a minute would have passed without some part of my naked and oh-so-available body being touched in some way or other. It was fondled, prodded, slapped, tickled, once or twice gently kicked, and sometimes even struck with what felt like a small whip. This latter stung a bit, but was hardly painful, especially in comparison with the firm massaging of my nipples, still sore and ultra-sensitive after the clamps' squeezing.

Obviously, I had no idea at all where I would next be touched, or what kind of touch it would be, whether to caress or arouse... or torment! Enough of the touches, however, were of the first two kinds, that my cock stayed hard most of the time, dangling heavily under my suspended body. Nor was it only these touches that excited me: they were very effectively augmented by the very sensation of my utter helplessness, as well as by the constant stimulation that came through my ears and sparked my imagination of what was happening below!

The sounds were easily recognizable: kissing and sucking at first, and the soft hiss of hands moving over smooth skin, and later I could distinctly hear the sound of a cock thrusting in and out of a moist cunt. In addition, there were the murmurs of pleasure, the small moans of enjoyment, and the actual words, explicit and erotic, that lovers say to each other when they are screwing with unashamed enthusiasm. Never once was a single word spoken to me, and it was clear what this meant: I was merely a toy for use in their foreplay -- a sex aid with a difference! -- and even this knowledge appealed to my nature to keep me excited.

Eventually, after Lady's fourth orgasm -- if the soft but intense series of breathless screams were what I thought they were! -- Sir began to grunt in a steady and slowly quickening rhythm. That he was thrusting inside Lady in time with this rhythm, I was certain, because some part of him (perhaps his back) was brushing my dangling cock exactly in time with the grunts. I was also strangely sure that this touch was deliberate: perhaps it added to his pleasure, perhaps it was merely intended to keep me 'in touch' with what was going on, but in any case I found it intensely exciting... so much so that, when he climaxed with an almost deafening howl of pleasure, I very nearly came in sympathy'!

A long period -- maybe ten or fiteen minutes, but it seemed longer -- passed, with hardly any movement or sound, except for deep, steady breathing and some very satisfied-sounding sighs. I had no choice but to wait, in increasing discomfort and longing to be freed: some bondage, such as I was in now, is only tolerable for any length of time if it is balanced by stimulation of some kind or other, to keep one's mind off the aches in joints and muscles. Finally, however, I heard the sounds of Sir and Lady getting off the bed, followed by some more noises that I couldn't identify.

Suddenly, with no warning at all, I heard the swish of a cane in the air, just an instant before I felt it land along the full length of the inside of one of my wide-spread thighs. The sheer shock completely drowned out any pain, but the second blow on the other thigh, landing only a second or so later, seemed to be all pain. My howl of anguish, as I imagined two red-hot pokers laid along each thigh, was very loud in my ears, but I knew that only a muffled squeal would have escaped the gag.

I started to wonder, in real fear now, whether this couple, as well as liking to fondle a slave in their foreplay, might also enjoy giving the same slave a severe whipping -- as afterplay! Yet I was only too aware that I was completely helpless, and utterly at their mercy: no amount of struggling, however desperate, could possibly extricate me from the expertly applied bondage that I'd submitted to. Perhaps they were even sadistic enough to enjoy watching me kick and writhe hopelessly while they whipped my skin raw!

To my enormous relief, my worst fears were unfounded. After just those two blows, my ankles were released and my legs brought down to the bed for me to stand: but they wanted to buckle, and strong hands had to hold me up while the bar was slipped from under my elbows, allowing my numbed arms to drop to my sides. Then I was laid gently on the bed, and two pairs of hands solicitously massaged the stiff muscles of my legs and arms, and even spread soothing cream on the tender weals on my thighs.

My gag and blindfold weren't removed, however: and, before movement was fully restored to my arms, the cuffs and chains were replaced by a rope tying my wrists comfortably but securely behind my back. I was still blind and mute when I was led to the door and handed over to a crew slave sent to take me back to my cell in the unaccompanied slaves' quarters.

The lights were out and everything was quiet, when I was finally locked into my cell. I settled down on my hard pallet, and my last thought before sleep overtook me, was concerned with whether a night 'in solitary' and in bondage might not have been better than what I'd just been through.

Several days later, I had the opportunity to make this comparison. I'd just spent the previous two nights without very much sleep at all -- the precise circumstances will be revealed in later chapters of my tale! -- and I felt a real need to get a good night's sleep. The rules associated with unaccompanied slavery, I'd been told, included a provision for exemption from the normal requirement that slaves should always be available for claiming by owners: but I also knew that a request for such exemption was rarely granted.

I decided, however, that I had nothing to lose by making the request. As we slaves were being led back into the quarters for our evening meal, I asked for permission to speak to the officer in charge. This was granted, and I was shown into the office, where a lady officer was waiting.

Before asking me what I wanted, she turned on a tape-recorder (this was normal, when officers spoke with slaves in their official capacities, to protect both parties against later claims of mistreatment or disobedience) and ordered me to stand rigidly at attention. Then she told me to identify myself and make my request: I did so, stating my request simply and humbly.

"You slaves!" was her first reaction, "you think you can get away with anything!" Her tone was harsh and more than a little sarcastic, but her eyes had a twinkle of enjoyment in them: she knew, as I did, that part of the 'game' of slavery -- for both 'sides' -- lay in slaves making such requests, sometimes even with abject begging or attempts at bargaining. "OK, slave ," she went on, the emphasis intended to remind me of my lowly status, "I'll consider it. Give me your reasons, as simply as you can, but don't leave out any significant detail, no matter how personal or private!"

"One reason, ma'am," I replied formally. "I have had very little sleep for the past two nights. First, on the last island we visited, I had to spend the night with a Mistress..." I gave a brief outline of some events, which I shall relate in another chapter: but the officer drew more details from me, and I realized that these would enable her to check my story, if necessary. As it turned out, it seemed to satisfy her.

"Yes," she grinned, "that lady does keep her slaves pretty busy, doesn't she? My own slave went on a visit to that island once, and came back quite exhausted after her little orgy: what he told me seems to fit with your story. But that was two nights ago... what demands were made on you last night, that stopped you sleeping?"

I told her, and her mood changed abruptly. "You mean to say," she snapped testily, "that you have the cheek to request exemption, on the flimsy grounds that you were too busy cuddling your slave girl-friend, to get even a half-decent night's sleep last night? That sounds like sheer impertinence to me, and you may be sorry for it! It's one thing claiming that a Mistress has made good use of you for a night -- that's what you slaves are for, after all! -- but the second part of your excuse is quite another!"

She paused, looking at me almost expectantly. I guessed she was waiting for me to start begging, or to try to bargain with offers of willingness to be whipped, or even suddenly to confess that I'd been trying to con her: from the stories I'd heard, all these 'ploys' and other like them were used. I was also aware that, nine times out of ten, it was the slave who came off second-best, with the request refused and , quite often, a penalty for impertinence as well! That, too, was part of the 'game', and was accepted by those of us who enjoyed being slaves.) I was serious about my request, whatever its chances of success, and I chose to observe the rule about not speaking until directly told to.

"I should dismiss your request out-of-hand," she said at last, "but I'll at least check out your story. Who is this slave-girl, anyway, that could keep you awake after such a long hard night with the Mistress on the island?"

"She's an old friend, ma'am," I replied, "from a previous cruise. We care a lot for each other, and we haven't had much time together this time, because she's being assessed for crew slavery..."

"Oh, that one?" interrupted the officer. "Helen, isn't it? Now I know why you looked familiar: I'm on her assessment committee, and earlier today I looked at... yes, you know what I mean, don't you?"

My blush gave me away: I knew only too well what she meant, but you, dear reader, will have to wait until a later chapter for the details! Suffice it to say that the officer checked my story, with an owner who knew precisely where I'd been last night, and with the Purser's office for confirmation that I had in fact been on the island as I'd claimed. Finally she turned back to me.

"I still think you've got a lot of cheek," she said sternly, "making your request under these circumstances. However, I must be feeling in a kind mood tonight, because I'm going to grant it... but on two conditions: the first is that you'll spend the night in the 'brig'. You would almost certainly be doing that anyway, even if your reasons were more persuasive, because it's the normal disincentive for slaves wanting to make this request: but tonight, I promise you, your stay there will be less comfortable than 'normal'!

"The second condition is that, when I come off-duty tomorrow morning, I'll have you brought to me from the brig, and we'll spend a little time in a bondage room, experimenting with one of the things I saw you doing last night.

"I'm offering you a choice, you understand? Either accept my conditions, or go back to your cell and take your chances on being claimed for another busy night. It's not much of a choice, I know, because if you take the latter and end up not being claimed, I'll probably clap you in the brig, anyway, for making a frivolous request: as for tomorrow morning, you must be aware that I have every right to take you off to a bondage room and do with you what I please.

"After all," she went on with a broad grin, "you are a slave and, by definition, slaves don't get choices, so you should consider yourself lucky. The only reason I'm giving you this choice is that I'm hoping you might feel you owe me a small favour, which might inspire you to try hard to put up with what may be some pretty strenuous bondage experiments tomorrow morning. Well, what do you say, slave? I want your answer NOW!"

It seemed I didn't have a lot to lose, by accepting her conditions -- even if I was also gaining little! Besides, the prospect of a session of bondage 'experiments' with this particular officer was as attractive as she was herself: a very sexy woman of just under average size, with a figure that was shapely without being voluptuous, and a mass of brunette curls framing a face that had just the right mixture of soft femininity and strong dominance. These thoughts passed through my mind in much less time than it takes to read them, and my answer was suitably prompt.

"Thank you, ma'am, for considering my request," I said humbly. "I'm very willing to accept your conditions."

"Don't mention it," she replied in a tone of mock generosity. She pressed a button, causing a bell to ring outside her office, then went on in almost rueful tones: "Now that you have mentioned it, and made your choice in just those words, I'm beginning to regret the whole thing. Here I am, bargaining with a slave over something that should have been a simple 'Don't waste my time!' I hope no other officers listen to this tape, or they'll think I've gone soft!"

One of her crew slave assistants entered, obviously in answer to her summons. "I'm excusing this slave from normal duty tonight," she told him. "Put him in the brig, with level three restraints." She turned off the tape recorder, as if to end a formal interview: then, as the other slave was leading me out, she added, "Sleep well, slave. See you in the morning!" And there was a look in her eye that suggested she was looking forward to it!

I did sleep, surprising well in fact, despite the less-than-comfortable circumstances of the 'brig' -- a small, sound-proofed, pitch-dark cell -- and the 'level three' restraints -- face down in a hogtie, not severely tight but prevented from rolling onto my sides by the cord between my ankles and wrists being looped over a bar. Sleep came quickly, too, thanks to the potion that the crew slave made me drink first, but not before my imagination had a chance to run free with ideas of what might happen in the morning: experience had taught me that bondage sessions often included the bound slave being forced to give oral pleasure to his tormentor... not that I would need much 'forcing', with that particular officer!

The sound of the heavy bolts of the brig's door being drawn woke me, but it was still pitch dark, and I assumed that my incarceration had been cut short for some reason. As I was released and helped to my feet, however, I realized that the stiffness in my muscles was evidence of a much longer period! The crew slave who released me said nothing, but simply helped me regain the minimum use of my limbs, then led me up on deck, where I saw that it was very early morning, just after dawn.

The officer was waiting, and she made me join in her 'constitutional' -- a series of brisk sprints around the decks, interspersed with stretching and deep breathing exercises. Once this had eased my stiffness, I started to enjoy a wonderful feeling in the fresh morning air, and watched the daylight growing over a glorious sea view. A different kind of 'view', but equally pleasant, was my companion, her lithe shapely body clearly outlined by the snugly fitting leotard she wore!

Our last sprint ended beside the swimming pool, and by now my naked body was filmed with sweat, despite the cool morning air. The officer made use of the showering facilities there, first by fastening my wrists above my head in one of the open 'slave stalls' and directing stinging jets of cold water, then hot, into every crevice of my body. Releasing me, she told me to rub myself dry with a thick rough towel, then to come and help her shower.

By the time I followed her into one of the luxurious booths provided for Masters, Mistresses and officers, she had already stripped and was enjoying the gentle caress of hot water from hundreds of fine nozzles on three sides. With a few curt words, she made me lather her back and arms with a rich creamy soap, then drop to my knees to do the same with her legs. She washed the front of her body herself, and I knew I was expected to keep my eyes humbly downcast, so I hardly caught even a glimpse of the delights that it offered!

After her shower, I did get some idea of them -- by touch only, and through a very thick soft towel at that, as I gently patted her dry with my gaze studiously averted. Telling me to turn my back while she dressed, she then came up behind me, took my wrists and quickly tied them together with cord, before moving to come face-to-face with me again.

She was still wearing what might be called a leotard, but this one was even more figure-hugging than the other, if that was possible. Coloured a deep royal blue, it was certainly more revealing in other ways: cut very high over her hips, and with a neckline that plunged below her breastbone, its lines seemed to accentuate precisely those parts of her that she hadn't let me see. Inevitably, my cock reacted to the sight in its natural way!

With a lovely smile that I took as an acknowledgement of the implied compliment, she reached down to give it a fondle. Or so I thought: I may have been right about the smile, but her hand just barely brushed my cock as she reached right between my legs for what I realized was the cord tied to my wrists. Giving it a sharp tug down and forwards, to ensure it was well lodged between my buttocks, she then surprised me by skillfully making two loops with it and slipping them over my cock, one behind my balls and the other just behind its head -- and she did this without seeming to touch me at all!

"Time for our little bondage experiment, slave!" she announced with another bright smile, matching a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes. Turning, she tugged firmly on the cord -- causing no little discomfort, as the simple loops tended to pinch quite sharply! I followed obediently: and my obedience was less in the fact that I followed (I could do little else, after all!), than in the way I hung back to ensure there was always just a little strain on my leash, as I knew was expected.

Our walk to the bondage room she had selected -- the same one I'd spent some time in, the evening before last, with Helen (as you will read in a chapter to come!) -- was hardly unpleasant. I couldn't tear my gaze from the sexy sway of the officer's hips, from the way her leotard left a great deal of her buttocks exposed -- buttocks as firm and trim as they were generously rounded -- or from the perfectly muscled lines of her thighs and calves. My cock swelled even more within its loops of cord, but I didn't mind the discomfort one bit!

I won't go into details of the 'bondage experiment' she referred to, except to mention that it involved the constant use of spring-loaded clamps on both my nipples and my cock, as well as cords tied around my scrotum behind each of my balls -- now the reader will have no difficulty recognizing it when the evening with Helen is described in a later chapter. It consisted of a number of subtle variations on the one position, some of them relatively comfortable, some very severe and only just tolerable. As my tormentor had hoped, I did feel I owed her something, and I did my very best to co-operate in adopting and holding even the most severe positions: and, no doubt, the stretching exercises she'd made me do, assisted me in this. She also asked me how each position felt, and how long I thought I could hold it: I answered as honestly as I could.

By the end of the two hours or so we spent there, my nipples and cock and balls were starting to feel as if they'd been stretched by inches! Yet the clamps were never actually pulled off, the way they had been with Helen: instead, the officer removed them after each 'experiment', but she always took pleasure in kneading my nipples firmly for a few moments each time. The repeated application of the clamps, followed quite shortly by their removal and rolling in her fingers, left my nipples only a little sore, but very sensitive indeed!

Eventually the officer told me the 'experiments' were over, but there was one last thing she wanted me to do. As I lay face up in a loose spreadeagle, she knelt over my chest with her back to my face and said, "I like having the cheeks of my bottom licked, slave. Do it slowly and gently, all over the parts that aren't covered by my leotard." I obeyed willingly, enjoying the sense of humiliation as well as the taste and feel of her smooth flesh on my tongue.

Later, she also told me to run my tongue under the elastic edges of her leotard, and to push my nose deeply into the cleft between her buttocks until it pressed right on the sensitive nerves around her anus. But she didn't remove her leotard, nor did my tongue get closer to her pussy than when it explored the edges of her leotard just beside its lips. I don't think she had a climax, either, but there was no doubt she was enjoying herself!

Nor were her hands idle all this time: she ran her fingernails up and down the skin of my belly, sides and thighs, not gently but very erotically. My cock, at least partly erect during the whole of her 'experiments', responded in its inevitable way, but at first she ignored it. Later, however, she gave it some attention, but not with the sort of fondling we slaves were so accustomed to: instead, she slapped it vigorously back and forth between her palms, and flicked her fingernails sharply and quite painfully on its sensitive head. She also handled my balls, and none too gently either, pulling them and squeezing them just enough to cause me discomfort but not too much pain.

After fifteen or twenty minutes of this, she released me and led me to one of the pleasant sunny deck areas, where she made me serve her a late breakfast, before finally dismissing me with an order to report back to the unaccompanied slave quarters. Her parting remark, as she patted my bum with a smile, was "I enjoyed that, slave, and I'm glad I decided to allow your request last night. And I trust your good night's sleep has refreshed you for another interesting day -- and perhaps another busy night tonight!" I grinned at her in reply: I was indeed feeling good, and ready for anything the day might bring.

Apart from the events already hinted at, my time as an unaccompanied slave passed without other highlights: the activities and the idle times in our cells, that were briefly described at the start of this chapter, kept it passing in anything but a dull manner... for me, at least!