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Chapter 5. The Not So Dangerous Game
Another day had passed. It was late afternoon. James and April were at watch on deck. Ivy, Skipper, Rafiq, and I were below playing cards ...and drinking. Rafiq had made me a daiquiri. It tasted pretty good. The alcohol didn’t taste too strong, but I could definitely feel it.
The card game was Hearts. Every heart you get stuck with counts one point against you. And getting stuck with the Queen of Spades counts thirteen points against you. At one stage in the game, Ivy was winning. I had the opportunity to drop the Queen of Spades on Rafiq but I held off. A moment later I dropped the Queen of Spades on Ivy.
“You dumped that on me on purpose,” she said. “You made sure I got it instead of Rafiq.”
“Oh well. It’s nothing to get mad about,” I replied.
“I don’t get mad; I get even.” Ivy was getting over-loud. She was on her third daiquiri.
After the next hand, the game ended, with Rafiq winning. At this point Ivy said, “Skipper, did you notice that Jenny is drinking alcohol. She’s underage. I think its your duty to discipline her for that.”
“Underage? Jenny’s eighteen.” Looking at me, he asked, “Aren’t you?”
But Ivy said, “Twenty-one is the age for drinking, not eighteen. You need to discipline her for that.”
“Oh... Well, yeah. I guess twenty-one is the age in the U.S. But so what? Jenny drinks so little. She hasn’t even finished that one glass. Why are you making a scene about this?”
“Even so, you’re the captain. You need to discipline her for that.”
“For having a few sips of alcohol? That’s really lame. I’d rather punish her for no reason than for a stupid reason like that. ...Yeah, just punish her for being a good-looking girl. What do you think, Rock?”
“Well...” said Rafiq.
“But that isn’t fair, punishing me for no reason.”
“Technicalities,” answered the Skipper. “Open your top. Let’s have a look at those titties. What kind of punishment should we visit on your soft mounds today?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I said, “No, I’m not going to be punished. Ivy started this whole thing. Punish her instead.”
“Well, we could punish both of you. What do you think we should do, Rock?”
“Rafiq!” I looked at him with consternation. Why wasn’t he supporting me on this?
“Oh... Well, maybe not,” said Rafiq. “At the moment, it doesn’t seem that Jenny’s into it. And certainly this underage thing is totally silly. Jenny is much more temperate than Ivy. I can tell you a story about Ivy’s drinking.”
“What do you mean? What story?” asked Ivy. She set down her drink.
“Last December. When we visited Tortola.”
“Oh-my-god. Not that,” said Ivy.
“Yeah. When we went to that place with the steel band, and you got so drunk that you threw up on somebody’s foot.”
“It was a nice vacation on a nice island, and you would pick out the one negative thing to recall,” replied Ivy.
“Oh come on, Ivy, it’s not that negative. It’s just funny. And I agree it was a nice vacation.”
Ivy then started talking about Tortola, one of the British Virgin Islands. At some point Skipper moved the topic to a place called Cayo Peligro, saying it was a small Venezuelan island where he had worked as a young man. He wanted to tell us about his experience there.
“General factotum. That was my job,” he said. “My boss owned the island.”
“Factotum? Is that like a valet or something?” I asked.
Skipper scowled at me. “Aide.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I kept quiet after that.
“Anyway, considering that he owned the whole thing, this was a nice-sized little island. My boss, his name was Zarkov, said it was 1000 meters long and maybe 150 meters wide. His chateau was of stone ...suggestive of a castle, but not really.
“Yeah, this guy Zarkov, he loved his island. Called it his fiefdom. Only problem is that I’m not sure the tropical climate agreed with him. By his own admission, he had the worst case of jock rot ever known to man or beast. All told, he must have spent two or three hours a day scratching his balls.
“Anyway, Zarkov was a sportsman of sorts. He liked to hunt ...people. Girls specifically. Once he brought couple local mainland girls over to his island. They were sisters, about you girls’ ages. Nice looking. Dark hair, dark eyes, like most of the locals. Slender too.
“So anyway, he paid these girls to serve as quarry. If he can’t catch them in one hour, then they go home with something close to a couple hundred bucks each ...can’t remember how many bolivars it was. Anyway, at that time it was good pay. If he catches them, then they get paid just the same, but only after they undergo some stiff punishment.
“Zarkov told them they needed to change clothes first. He didn’t want them going back home with their clothes all messed up. People might ask questions. So he had bought these short skirts for them to wear during the hunt, but first he had me rip them up to make them real ragged. Wearing their tatters, it was to make them look like castaways turned to nature girls or something. Anyway, the girls agreed, and so turning away from us, they changed into these ripped-up skirts.
“Then he starts telling them that they have to take off their blouses so that none of their clothes get messed up during the chase. So the younger sister unbuttons her blouse. The older one starts upbraiding her. The younger one doesn’t take well to her sister’s reprimand, and so she just strips off her blouse and stands bare breasted before us.
“Well, there are some more words exchanged, but faced with the prospect of her younger sister getting paid nicely to participate in this hunt, and she not, the older sister falls into line and takes her blouse off too. So the two sisters stand before us in just their ragged skirts and their sneakers, the older sister with her arms across her chest, pouting, and the younger sister bare breasted with her arms at her sides, acting like this is the most natural thing in the world for her.
“So my boss, to make sure they performed their best during the hunt, wanted to give them a taste of the consequences for letting him catch them. So before sending them on their way, he cut a nice switch from a nearby bush, trimmed it, and then he lifted the younger sister’s skirt just a bit, and gave her several hard swats on the back of her thighs. She was a pretty tough girl; gasped a bit with each stroke, but otherwise kept quiet.
“Then he did the same with the older sister. But she was not so receptive to the switch – let out a squeal with each stroke.
“So he warns them, ‘just don’t let us catch you, cause if you do, one of you will get a switching between the legs, and the other one on the tits, hard as we can.’ And he takes hold of the younger sister’s tit, and gives it a few light taps with the switch.
“So he sends them on their way, and off they run, tits bouncing free.”
Rafiq interrupted, “You know, Skipper, fact or fiction, your story may have its charm. But I’m wondering if it’s entirely appropriate for mixed company.”
Ivy scoffed, “Do you think our ears are too delicate for Skipper’s ribald stories. ...I’m betting Jenny’s really turned on. She wishes she were one of the sisters.”
“I do not,” I replied. “Why are you saying that? It’s really obnoxious.”
“No it isn’t,” said Ivy. “Well. It wasn’t meant to be. ...Sorry if you took offense. I’m forgetting that you’re in denial.”
“I am not. Why are you insulting me? Are you still mad about that stupid card game?”
“What do I care about that stupid card game?” she replied. “Anything I say now, you’re the one who’s getting all pissed off about nothing. And why do you think its so bad to admit you’d get turned on by being hunted down, captured, and tormented?”
“What do you know about what I think? Why am I even the subject of conversation? I was sitting here quietly, minding my own business, listening to Skipper’s story...”
“Girls! Girls! Please!” interrupted the Skipper. “What is this shit? I start telling a kinky story, and you both start behaving like you’ve got to have a whipping too. Well, if that’s the case...”
“Hey, just cool it for now,” said Rafiq. “I don’t think Jenny’s that eager for a whipping.” But then he gave me this inquiring look, as though he wasn’t sure whether he had said the right thing.
As affirmation, I said, “Yes... I mean no. No whippings, please. Can’t we just hear the story?”
“Oh yes,” agreed the Skipper. “Now where was I? Oh yeah... So, anyway, we give the girls fifteen minutes head start. The island isn’t so big that they can actually put fifteen minutes of distance between us, but he wanted to give them time to find good hiding places.
“Then we went after them, Zarkov leading the way. He’s got the switch; I’m carrying several sections of rope. The house is on one end of the island, so there is only one direction to go. We stay together. He is the hunter. I’m only the adjutant.
“Zarkov is meticulous about in his approach to the hunt. He figures the only way he can lose is if he goes beyond their hiding place. If we reach the far end of the island without finding them, then doubling back probably won’t give us enough time to scour the island again before the hour runs out.
“About three-fourths of the way along the island we glimpse one of the girls in a tree a little ways ahead. She realizes that we’ve spotted her, jumps down and dashes off into the salt marsh on the lee side of that end of the island.
“Zarkov doesn’t immediately follow. He says that if we get too hung up on one girl, the other might slip by us, double back, and run out the hour.
“His strategy pays off. Carefully scanning the forest as he moves forward, he spots the other girl in a tree a little ways away. It’s the younger sister. He sends me up after her. Reaching her, she doesn’t resist as I bind her wrists in front with the rope. Then I lower her down till her feet almost reach the ground, securing the rope to the tree limb. Although Zarkov has supervised the whole operation from below, most of his attention was directed toward watching the salt marsh, where the older sister disappeared.
“With the younger sister suspended from a bough of the tree, arms over head, we go after the older one. Zarkov enters the marsh where he believes she went in. At first we can track her from the cloudy knee-deep water she left in her wake, but as we go in deeper, it’s not apparent where she went.
“Zarkov insists that he would have spotted her if she had left the marsh. Slowly we move through the marsh. Time is running out. I tell him that she must be long gone, heading back toward his house. Zarkov silences me with an angry look, and I say no more.
“We come to a stop, and Zarkov is scanning the marsh. I don’t see anything. But finally he points to a clump of rushes, and we move silently toward it.
“He spots her hiding underwater among the rushes. Really clever girl. She’s lying on her back completely submerged, breathing through a hollow reed as if it were a snorkel. A really good trick. Raising her, Zarkov congratulates her for her ingenuity.
“He tells me that what he saw was an unnatural movement of the rushes. To keep herself from floating, she had to clasp the rushes from beneath the surface and hold herself under. It was her subtle movement of the rushes that Zarkov detected. I was duly impressed ...with both Zarkov and the girl.
“So anyway, he has me bind her wrists behind her back, and off we go, back to where we had secured the younger sister. She seems relieved by our return and chides us for leaving her out there alone and helpless. But Zarkov reassures her that we were within earshot at all times.
“He offers to ring out the older sister’s wet skirt. She declines, but he takes it off her anyway. With her wrists tied behind her, she is in no position to resist. Then he has me bind ropes to each of her ankles. Tossing the ropes over different overhanging branches, together we hoist her off the ground, upside down, legs apart. She’s a bit upset about that, but Zarkov reassures her.”
Rafiq asked, “Her panties are still on, right? And her legs apart.”
“Oh, yeah...” The Skipper hesitated. “Uh... Well, at this point Zarkov cut her panties off with his knife.” Skipper glanced at us around the table, and then said, “This happened a number of years ago, you know, so I have a little trouble remembering all the details.”
Rafiq said, “Hey, you’re doing great. I shouldn’t have interrupted.”
Skipper continued, “So anyway, the older sister is hanging upside down, completely naked, legs apart, arms tied behind her back. And then the Skipper takes this little metal box out of his pocket. He opens it and I see that it’s got a dozen or so map pins in it. You know what map pins are? About the length of a thumb tack, but with a spherical plastic head instead of a flat head.
“And he sticks a few of these little pins in the skin of her breasts. She gasps and winces but takes it fairly well. Then he sticks a pin into her nipple ...into the areola, not the nub of the nipple. But she really lets out a shriek.”
As he was telling this, Skipper’s eyes were on my breasts. That made me anxious even though I was clothed. Instinctively, I folded my arms over my chest. I glanced at Ivy. She had noticed my reaction. She smiled subtly.
The Skipper continued, “Well, Zarkov had this thing about symmetry. So he couldn’t have just one pin near the edge of the areola. He’s got to stick in three more, symmetrically around her nipple. She gave a hell of a shriek with each one. But fortunately for the girl, he doesn’t feel compelled to stick one down the center.
“But of course, he can’t be satisfied with pins in just one nipple. The other one gets the same treatment. One pin, two, three, and four. She lets out a shriek with each one.”
At this point the Skipper took his eyes off my chest and looked at my face. Obviously I didn’t like him staring at my body while he talked about jabbing pins into women’s nipples. So I must have been frowning at him. For just a moment, he looked slightly abashed. But then he said, “You look a little anxious, Jenny. Are you worried somebody’s going to do something to your tits?”
Clasping my arms even more tightly across by breasts and twisting my torso slightly away from him, I said, “Now why ever would you think I need to worry about that?”
The Skipper laughed. I smiled just a little. He said, “Maybe I was looking at your body just to help me visualize... I mean remember... what happened. It was a long time ago, you know. And all that liquor I’ve drunk over the years has softened my brain cells.”
Then Ivy said, “Jenny should take her shirt off to help jog your memory, don’t you think?”
I said to her, “I don’t want to take my shirt off. Why don’t you take your top off instead?”
She replied, “I’ll take mine off and then you take yours off.”
Damn! I was feeling trapped. I don’t like being made to acknowledge how modest I am. It makes me feel like I have immature hangups about my body.
Then Rafiq said, “We can all take our shirts off. Then everyone will be even.”
What an annoying thing for him to say. Conventions and attitudes being what they are, surely he cannot actually believe it’s “even” if guys and girls both take their shirts off.
And surely he realized I did not want to take mine off. At the time I couldn’t understand why he was adding to the pressure on me. But in retrospect, it is obvious. Rafiq always had a fixation on my breasts, and never seemed to tire of looking at them (or feeling them).
Rafiq peeled his shirt off. The Skipper followed. Then Ivy.
Rafiq’s eyes were glued to Ivy’s breasts. This would not do. Slowly I began to undo my shirt. I was wearing a buttoned blouse, unbuttoned but tied together below my breasts, baring my midriff. That is sexier than I had ever worn a blouse, but I was feeling that I wanted to keep Rafiq’s eyes on me and not on Ivy. In the past I might have felt that wearing a blouse that way might emphasize my lack of cleavage. But with all of Rafiq’s recent attention, I was feeling all right about that.
Anyway, I loosened the knot and began to open my blouse. Rafiq’s eyes shifted to my body. That was much better.
I let my shirt linger with my nipples just out of view for several moments. But I’ll confess that it was less out of modesty than out of a desire to make my action more dramatic. I hope it doesn’t create a bad impression for me to divulge that here.
I opened my blouse the rest of the way and slipped it off my arms. Rafiq gazed at my breasts, then looked into my eyes with a satisfied expression. But then he looked back at Ivy. For a time his gaze shifted back and forth between Ivy’s body and my body. It made me uncomfortable to feel that he was comparing me to Ivy. Not that there is anything particularly the matter with my body.
Skipper’s eyes were doing the same. It’s strange. If you bare your body, guys behave like they’ve never seen it before, no matter how recently they’ve seen you naked.
Ivy stretched back and yawned, putting her hands behind her head. All eyes were on her out-thrust chest. I did not mirror Ivy’s pose. I had no wish to attempt to compete in that way. Instead I just sat there feeling inadequate. Finally I said, “So were you going to tell us what happened next, Skipper?”
“What happened next? ...Oh, on Cayo Peligro. Yes, where was I? Let’s see, the elder sister was hanging upside down, arms tied behind her back, and Zarkov had just jabbed those pins into her nipples.” The Skipper was staring at Ivy’s out-thrust breasts.
Ivy brought her hands forward from behind her head, and leaning forward placed her elbows on the table. As brassy as Ivy is, apparently even she was a little intimidated by having this perverted guy gaping at her bare breasts while carrying on about stabbing pins into women’s nipples.
I, on the other hand, remaining as I was, hands pressing on the seat, trying to look unfazed. Score one for me.
Rafiq’s eyes shifted to my body ...or specifically to my breasts. So did the Skipper’s eyes. I continued to suppress the feelings of self consciousness. I looked at the Skipper expectantly, waiting for him to continue his story.
“So then Zarkov turned his attention to the younger sister, still hanging by her wrists. He takes a pin and pokes and probes at the nub of one of her nipples. She’s wincing and squirming. But after all that picking and scraping at the outlet of her milk duct, he never does actually sink it into her tit.
“He puts away the pin, and takes up his walking stick. ...Maybe I didn’t mention before that he had this walking stick. It was nice and smooth, kinda fat and bulbous at the top.
“He asks her if she wants to fuck on it. Her answer isn’t just no, it’s hell no. Well my boss wasn’t the kind of guy who’s used to having people say no to him. No isn’t an option. He rams that staff up her pussy, and there’s nothing she can do about it. He works her with it for a while. I can’t tell if she’s gasping with satisfaction or pain.
“Anyway, she’s impaled on that staff. Hanging by her wrists, feet off the ground, she’s trying to pull up as best she can, so that her weight isn’t thrusting her down so hard onto it.
“At this point, Zarkov takes out his box of pins again. He’s gonna stick them in her crotch. Her pussy lips are wrapped around that staff. And he’s going to thrust those pins into them now too. One, two, and three, on each side. She lets us know it hurts.
“He tells her he’s going to stick the last pin straight into her clitoris. As you can imagine, she voices strong objection to that idea. But he probes her with his fingers to unsheathe her clit, and slowly puts the pin to the pink nub. More and more pressure until it finally breaks the skin. She lets out a cry. Ever so slowly he slides it in to the hilt. She’s writhing with pain.
“So for now he leaves the younger sister, hanging there by her wrists, impaled on his staff, clit pinned. He turns back to the older sister and takes up his switch.
“Hanging upside down, legs apart, she’s the one who’s going to get a switching on the pussy. He starts in on the inside of her thighs. Stroke after stroke he gives her a good whipping. Countless red stripes on the inside of her thighs.
“Well this is all pretty fascinating to me. I had never seen anything like it before. But I feel for the younger sister, who has to watch all this, anticipating that she’ll soon have her turn. I try to comfort her a little. Standing behind her, I give her a hug, helping lift a bit of her weight off the shaft her pussy is impaled on.
“But I’m having lots of fun feeling up her tits. Squeeze, poke, pinch, mash. Like jelly under my fingers.
“And I can’t resist probing at her clitoris. She’s so sensitive. All I have to do is touch the head of the pin stuck into her clit, and it’s like she’s electric. Her hyper-responsive reaction – it’s such a turn on, I can’t help doing it to her.
“In the meantime, Zarkov is raining the switch down on the older sister’s pussy lips. Then he starts whacking it right into the cleft. She’s getting hysterical, begging him to stop. But he keeps going at it for quite some time. Whips her pussy good.
“But he does finally lay off. She just hangs there gasping while he gives her a lot of praise. He hands me the switch to use on the younger sister, while he soothes the older sister’s anguished pussy with his fingers, then with his tongue.
“So now I’m supposed to put the switch to the younger sister’s tits. I start swatting them. I like the way the fat jiggles... the impact travels across them like a wave.
“I give her a couple dozen strokes, decorating her breasts with charming horizontal stripes. She’s gasping with each stroke, even though I’ve spared her nipples so far. ...I don’t know. Maybe I hadn’t actually hit her all that hard. Jenny knows I don’t whip girl’s tits all that hard, right?
“What?” I replied. That question took me by surprise. “You whip mine really hard.”
“No I don’t. Not compared to what you need.”
“What do you mean ‘compared to what I need’? I don’t need a whipping on the breasts. ...Not as hard as you do it.”
When Ivy giggled, I realized my error. Amending it, I said, “I mean, I don’t need a whipping on the breasts period.”
Skipper replied, “Of course those titties need a whipping. If not on the tits, then where do you want to be whipped?” He reached over and touched my breast.
I pushed his hand away. “I don’t want to be whipped at all, anywhere.”
Rafiq was laughing silently, eyes squinched shut, hand on forehead. I punched his shoulder. Then I punched again harder. He suppressed his laugh and smiled at me as I frowned at him.
Looking away from all of them, and folding my arms across my chest, I said, “I’m not listening to anything any of you say about me. So if you want to be assholes, go ahead.”
Putting his arm around me, Rafiq said, “Right now Jenny doesn’t want to be the subject of conversations about whippings. Maybe you should just continue your story, Skipper.”
Skipper said, “Maybe you’re right, Rock. To me, Jenny being whipped is a great topic for conversation, but if she doesn’t care for it, we can move on. There’s no accounting for people’s tastes. ...Anyway, where was I?”
Rafiq replied, “You were whipping the younger sister’s tits. But so far you had spared her nipples.”
“Oh yeah. But those nipples really needed the switch. They were the ultimate puffy nipples. I mean, like, Jenny’s nipples are fairly puffy, but not like this girl’s. They were super puffy.”
I frowned at the Skipper, arms still crossed over my breasts. “Do you mind? I don’t want my body used as a mark for comparison.”
“Oh... You think your body is beyond comparison? Well maybe it is. But could you stop covering yourself with your hands so we can appreciate your superlatives better.”
“Now wait. I just don’t want my body to be the subject of conversation. I didn’t say anything about being beyond comparison. I’m not the vain one at the table.”
As soon as I said that, I knew it was wrong. Ivy looked at me quizzically. “Did you aim that at me?” she asked.
I knew I was out of bounds. Yes, Ivy is openly vain. But I have to admit that I am secretly vain. I don’t make a show of my appearance. But I like to think I look good anyway.
I said, “No. That was a dumb thing for me to say. Sorry.”
Ivy said, “Skipper, when you finish your story, we should reenact it on Jenny.”
I said, “Then reenact it on you too. There’s two girls in the story.”
“Okay. I’m not afraid. Are you?” asked Ivy.
“No, I’m not afraid. But I don’t happen to be interested in a reenactment. So you can undergo it by yourself.”
“Girls, please. You’re bickering again,” said the Skipper. “But shall I continue my story. When I get done, then we can decide what’s best for you.”
“You’ll decide what’s best?” I said. “Why should you decide what’s best for me?”
“Because I’m the captain of this vessel. I have to look after my crew.”
“Maybe I’d rather you didn’t. ...But I have a feeling that I’ve said too much already.”
“Your instincts are good, Jenny,” the Skipper replied, eyeing me ominously.
“Yes, sir,” I said quietly. “Umph...” placing my hands over my mouth, trying to disarm him.
“That’s a good girl. Now where was I?”
“You were talking about the younger sister’s puffy nipples,” said Rafiq.
“Oh yeah. ...Those nipples needed the switch.” He paused, seeming to contemplate Ivy’s breasts. My own were hidden by my arms, since my hands were covering my mouth. Then he said, “But I need to see everybody’s tits to continue my story. Jenny, Ivy, put your hands behind your head.”
With a negative shake of my head, I made a muffled, “Umph, umph,” through my hands, facetiously signifying that it was more important that I keep my mouth shut.
“Here, I’ll help you out,” said Rafiq, pushing my hands away, and forcefully covering my mouth and nose with his own hand.
With a muffled complaint, I wrenched away from him. I don’t like my face handled roughly and I don’t like my air cut off. I felt like I was being violated. ...I realize that such a negative reaction to Rafiq’s playfulness must sound strange, after recounting all the corporal punishment I had accepted in the past days.
No doubt Rafiq was surprised by my negative response. He released his grip. Still eyeing him with disapproval, I slowly placed my hands behind my head. Ivy, grinning, followed suit.
Alternately eyeing our breasts, the Skipper continued his story. “So anyway, I whacked that switch hard across her nipples. She let out a hell of a cry. She’s like wrenching back and forth.
“But that doesn’t deter me. I whacked those nipples again. And then again... and again. I was raining the switch down on her tits. If she had puffy nipples to begin with, they were a hell of lot puffier when I got done with her.
“Anyway, while I was whipping the younger sister’s tits, Zarkov wanted the older one to lick him off. She’s still hanging upside down.
“But like I mentioned before, he’s got the most ghastly case of jock rot ever. She takes one look as his fungus-ridden dick and balls, and it’s like no way. No way.
“But like I said, Zarkov isn’t the type to take no as an answer. He puts his hands to her breasts – they’ve got all those map pins stuck in them – and presses inward, kneading them slowly and firmly.
“With those pins stuck in her, you can imagine what that feels like. She starts screaming. It’s way more than she can bear. No choice but to take his dick in her mouth and give him a blow job.
“Meanwhile I just keep whipping the other girl’s tits. There was one stretch where I must have laid on fifty straight, really hard, right across those puffy nipples. God, I must have been crazy. She was a strong girl, seemed to take natural to whippings. But not that strong. She was starting to loose it. But I won’t let up. I was seized by this insane lust to flail her tits.
“But Zarkov finally shot his load into his girl’s mouth, and with that done, he called me off. We released the girls and brought them back to his chateau.
“We cleaned up the girls, and then offered them late afternoon tea, which is in fact a light meal. Zarkov was very solicitous, even asked them about their family and all. Then he paid them, triple the agreed upon wage for doing such a great job. Zarkov bid them goodbye, and I took them by boat back to the mainland.
“Keep in mind that the older sister had pleasured Zarkov, but after the day’s activities, I was desperate to blow my load. So I ask the younger sister, her name was Maria, if she’d like a little boat ride along the coast after we drop her sister off, and she agrees.
“So Maria and I take a short boat ride, drop anchor and have a good fuck. ...Yeah, she was a cutie. I liked licking the welts on her tits. She looked like a fucking zebra from that whipping I had given her. But she had no resentment about it. Like I said, she seemed to have a natural bent toward it.”
The Skipper sat back. “Yeah, it’s a fond memory.”
“That’s a really good story,” said Rafiq. “Did you make that up on the fly, or had you worked it out beforehand?”
“What do you mean ‘make it up’?” growled the Skipper. “Are you questioning whether I’m telling a true story?”
“Of course it’s not a true story,” said Rafiq. “Even so, you did a great job putting a sexual spin on that Richard Connell short story ‘The Most Dangerous Game’. I noticed you reading it a few days ago, from that anthology I brought along. ...Not that it matters whether it’s fact or fiction.”
Glaring at Rafiq, the Skipper said, “Rock, you question my veracity and I’ll... I’ll...”
“Oh don’t start with your silly threats,” said Rafiq. “But on second thought, go ahead, amuse me. Be imaginative. What are you going to do to me?”
Still glaring at Rafiq, the Skipper said, “If you don’t show me proper respect, I’ll... I’ll whip your girlfriend.” He glanced toward me.
At that Rafiq leaned back laughing. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” he said. “I didn’t expect you to say that, Skipper, but it’s so apt.”
I frowned at Rafiq. Why was he so amused? I saw nothing funny about it. Here I was sitting at a table, half naked, with three people well disposed toward getting sexual pleasure by punishing me. I punched his shoulder, complaining, “Rafiq!”
But he ignored me, saying “So what do we have here? Ivy wants Jenny punished for underage drinking, even if she’s so temperate she still hasn’t finished that daiquiri. Skipper wants Jenny punished because I couldn’t help recognizing that his wondrous story was fiction. So what do you think, Jenny? Do you want to reenact parts of Skipper’s story? Unfortunately, with no island handy, we can’t reenact the chase, but we could reenact the punishment.”
“No, I don’t want anybody sticking pins in me. I haven’t done anything to deserve punishment.”
“Sure you have,” said the Skipper. “You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you?”
“What are you, a misogynist?” I replied.
“No. Not at all. I consider women the pinnacle of creation. That’s why they need to be punished, to keep them from getting ideas.”
“Come on Jenny,” said Ivy. “It would be a new experience to have pins stuck in you. You must be turned on by the idea.”
I was not drawn to the idea of having pins jabbed into me, especially not in my nipples or pussy. And I was disturbed by the idea being cast as someone who accepts all manner of punishment. What is it about the way I say ‘no’ that people don’t understand?
I felt a knot in my stomach. Not sure what I should do in this awkward situation, I just wanted to get away. “I need some air. Do you mind if I excuse myself?”
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