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Chapter 6. The Sea of No and Yes
Making my exit from the cabin, I got my shirt back on before I reached the deck. Once outside I felt much better. The late afternoon air was not so hot, the sun a couple hours away from the horizon. James was at the helm. April was napping on a blanket.
Up to now I haven’t had much reason to talk about my relationship with James. Initially I spoke very little to him. Nevertheless, as the voyage continued I got to know him better.
April of course spent a fair amount of time with him. But with us girls she sometimes complained about his Neanderthal-grade sensitivity.
I didn’t have that much in common with him. But I felt that he was the only male here who wanted nothing from me sexually, and that accorded me a certain ease with his company.
Although our conversations were somewhat limited, he actually was occasionally capable of talking about something other than sports or games. And although I am hardly a fan of spectator sports, I am capable of some conversation about certain sports, for example, women’s soccer.
The time of the voyage, a few years ago, was a couple years after the U.S. women’s professional soccer league had folded, bankrupt. Surprisingly, James was knowledgeable about the women’s soccer league, and was quite sympathetic about its plight.
“Yeah, it’s too bad they couldn’t keep going,” he said. “They had some good people. It could have developed. Competition is relative... Anyway, I liked watching it.”
“Me too,” I replied. “Or sometimes anyway... more than other sports. But I guess I’m surprised you would watch it. It’s not exactly macho.”
“Oh. Well, yeah, but I’ll watch just about any sport.”
“Yeah, I had that impression.”
“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t just lay around. I pump iron while I’m watching.” Subtly he flexed his biceps. Realizing that I had noticed, he smiled. Now fully flexing his right biceps, he asked “How’s that?”
I decided to flatter him. “Wow,” I exclaimed, wrapping both hands around his bulging right biceps. “Maybe you’re even stronger than Rafiq.”
“Maybe? ...Maybe?” James gave me this look of disdain. “I mean, like, Rock’s okay for a guy his size. But when you’re lookin’ at me, you’re lookin’ at real power.”
I didn’t argue with that. Both James and Rafiq are well built and muscular, but James is taller and heavier. He’s a big guy. “Hey. Whatever...” I replied.
“Anyway, what were we talking about?” continued James, perhaps sensing that I was not too receptive to his boastfulness, particularly not at the expense of Rafiq. “Oh yeah, women’s soccer. ...I think that league would have done better if they had wore sexier outfits. Then the game would’ve had more dimensions.”
“Ugh. That seems gross. Can’t a woman athlete just be an athlete?”
“What’s your problem?” he replied. “Compare it to watching you take the whip. That’s sort of like an athletic contest. To see who’s stronger, you or the whip. But your outfit, or lack of one, adds to the spectacle.”
“Oh boy,” I sighed. “This conversation’s taking an unsavory turn.”
“Tell me, how does it feel to get whipped on the tits?”
“How does it feel?” I looked at him for a moment, more than a little put off by his crass bluntness. “What kind of a dumb question is that? How about, ‘it hurts.’ What are you expecting me to say? ‘It’s like a sensuous caress’?”
“Yeah. That’s good. How would you like the caress of the whip right now?”
“Get lost.”
“Ah, you’re not my type anyway. ...But have you ever considered getting a boob job?”
A boob job? I stared at him in disbelief. Finally I said, “You are the most insulting asshole I’ve ever met.” With that, I got up and left.
I went below. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t want to go into the compartment where Rafiq, Skipper, and Ivy were. I just didn’t feel up to the demands they would make on me. I wasn’t going back on deck and endure insults from James. And I didn’t want to retreat into the women’s compartment by myself, to dwell in feelings of inadequacy.
I decided to go in the galley to make dinner. Although it was April’s turn to cook, I decided to start something while she was napping on deck.
But still, from the galley I could hear the goings on in the other compartment. I could hear Ivy’s gasps and occasional yelps. But it didn’t sound like anybody was swatting her. I wondered if she had let them stick pins in her.
If I went in to join them, I would probably end up on the receiving end. But I was really curious. Also I was concerned about Rafiq and Ivy together. In the last day or so, I had been wondering if I was sensing a rekindling of their old relationship. Finally I decided to take just a little peek.
Going to their doorway, I looked in furtively. There was Ivy on the table, giving a blow job to the Skipper ...and there was Rafiq, fucking her! I was shocked. I was crushed.
Forget about dinner. I retreated to the women’s bedroom. I felt like my world was caving in. I started crying. Why wasn’t I good enough to satisfy Rafiq?
Lying in my berth, my mind went through one state after another. First was the deep pit of self pity. I was a worthless person and a fool to think that Rafiq could ever love me. For Rafiq, I was merely a fling, based only on the temporary confluence of the streams of our lives aboard this vessel.
But then I began thinking, so what? Could I not enjoy these moments with Rafiq for what they were? Could I not live each present moment fully without regard for what the next moment might bring? After all, past and future exist only as ideas. Doesn’t the present have an underlying suchness that transcends the particulars?
Yet all mind states are transitory, and moments of genuine lucidness are fleeting. From here I starting fantasizing that as a person who exists fully in each moment, I would be such a pleasure to be with that Rafiq could not help being captivated by me. I would be his girl, forever.
Yet perhaps he would fail to see my virtue. In his blindness, he might pass over the one most deserving of his love. Yes, then I would be sacrificed on the altar of unrequited love, a martyr, celibate, living in quiet sadness.
...What utter nonsense. If I were actually a person who lived in the present moment, I would not be wallowing in such twaddle-thinking. I was addicted to images. Puffing myself up, tearing myself down. Two sides of the same coin. An illusion of self.
I doubted that I had the spiritual power to maintain my attention firmly in the here and now. My mind is always being carried away into self-centered thoughts and fantasies, reechoing the past, imagining the future. Why does it take years of meditative training just to be wherever you are?
But wasn’t this just more of the same? Thinking, thinking, thinking. About me, me, me. Could this endless cycle be broken?
I took a deep breath, exhaled, and just listened to the sounds of the boat moving through the sea. But just listened to it as a sound of flowing motion, sans image of either boat or sea.
I felt the tactile sensation of the mattress against my body. I felt and released the tension in my neck, in my stomach, in my legs. Tension wrought by thoughts and wants. Things I could let go of. They need not impinge.
...After some time like this, feeling more energized, I decided to get up and get back into circulation. I jumped down from my berth. Just as I was about to exit, Ivy came in.
She closed the door and turned to me. “Oh shit, my tits,” she said, grimacing. “Oh-my-god, why did I ever let them stick acupuncture needles in me. Right in the nipples. I thought I was going to faint. You were smart to get out when you did.”
She lifted her bikini top to reveal her breasts, and indicating her right nipple, she asked, “Does it look bad?”
I felt a little funny about examining her that way, but I looked closely at her nipple. I imagined the worst, that they had thrust it right down the nub, but there was no blood coming out. “I don’t really see anything.”
“There,” she said, pointing to a tiny dot on her areola. “And there... and there’s a third one somewhere... there it is.”
“Oh... yeah, now I see. Three little pinpricks. But they look okay.”
“And there’s one on the other one,” indicating her other nipple. But I wouldn’t let them do any more.
“At first I thought they had stuck it into the nub, like right down the ducts.”
“Oh shit no. I wouldn’t let anybody do that. Are you crazy?”
“Well, it freaks me out even to think about it. But I didn’t know. I guess I assumed the worst. ...But, like how far did they stick them in.”
“Really far.”
I imagined an acupuncture needle as long as my little finger, thrust all the way in. Ivy’s B-cupper breasts might be big enough to take the whole thing, but I cringed at the idea of somebody sticking such a long needle all the way through my breast and into the chest wall. I sucked air through my teeth.
Ivy continued, “Oh-my-god, they must have stuck them in like a quarter inch. Then Rafiq bobbled them back and forth. I thought I was going to die.”
“Oh... I thought they stuck them in like all the way or something.”
“You bitch. Why are you so fucking unsympathetic? It really hurt. Why are you acting like they should have done it so much worse? Here, I’ll stick something all way down into your nipples if you think you’re so tough. Right down the middle.”
“Oh-my-god, Ivy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound unsympathetic. I’d be freaked out to have anybody even touching my nipples with a needle, let alone sticking it in. I could never have endured what you did. ...That’s why I had to leave when you guys started talking about sticking things in my tits.”
“Oh... All right. Whatever. Sorry I snapped at you.” Still facing me, Ivy continued examining her right nipple, turning it up to better see it.
I wondered about her brazenness about wanting me to examine her breasts so closely. I would be much more modest. I wondered whether she was really that unselfconscious about her body, or whether this was some form of one-upmanship, to show off her perfect tits.
But maybe I was being unfair in my judgments. Wanting to end this encounter with warm feelings, I said, “Would it feel better if I gave them a little kiss. It’s the only way I can think to help.”
Ivy smiled at that suggestion. “Yeah,” she said. “A little kiss, real gentle. This one still hurts.”
I softly kissed her nipples, first the right, the sore one, then the left. With that one I tongued the nub, then pressed it between my lips.
Stroking her fingers through my hair, Ivy purred, “Yes. They feel better already.”
I liked having Ivy respond to me like this. I liked being able to control her sexual pleasure. I began sucking on her nipple. I knew Ivy was enjoying it. She wanted more.
But I didn’t want to give her more. I wanted the satisfaction of withholding what she wanted. Sucking hard, I pulled away from her nipple. It came away from my lips with a soppy pop.
I said, “Your poor nipples; I hope they feel better now.” In the back of my mind, I savored having just referred to her beautiful breasts as poor. My mind very much wanted to find her lacking. But certainly my feelings toward her were rooted in how bad I felt about myself at that point in time.
I turned to leave the room... but then turned back toward her. There was one more thing I just had to bring up. “Ivy, I don’t question that it really hurt to have needles stuck in your tits. ...But when I peeked in, it looked like you were having a good time ...with Rafiq.”
“Oh, that.” Ivy looked away with a little smile. “Well... the guys were having a good time. But that didn’t mean I was. I just faked an orgasm. ...But maybe the whole thing was worth it.”
I was silent for several moments. Then I said, “You know, Ivy, it’s really hard for me to get used to the idea of sharing.”
Quickly adjusting her bikini top to cover her breasts, Ivy looked at me soberly “How do you think I feel? Do you think it’s easy for me to share Rafiq with you?”
“Oh...” I realized how one-sided my thinking was. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just thinking about myself.” I touched Ivy’s shoulder. She pulled me toward her and we gave each other a little hug.
“Yeah, it’s hard,” she replied. “And is that two-timer worth it? I wish I could convince you he isn’t.”
I smiled and said, “Yeah, he’s a double-dealer. He’s got us both on a tether.”
Ivy said, “Right now he’s taking a siesta after his strenuous sexual exertions. I lay down with him for a while, but these berths aren’t big enough for two people, especially if one of them hogs what little space there is.”
“I’m glad he’s asleep,” I said. “I don’t want to deal with seeing him now.” I wasn’t sure that was true. I had anxiety about seeing him, but still I wanted him.
Turning to the door, I left.
********
Later that evening I was cleaning up the galley. April and James were in the men’s compartment. Rafiq was taking his turn at the helm. I think Ivy was out there with him. I had not yet spoken to him alone. I had wished he would seek me out.
The Skipper came in. “Ho, Jenny. You missed some heavy action this afternoon. I wasn’t sure you were feeling all right when you left.”
“Oh, it was nothing. I guess I just felt a little... unsettled.”
“Well, how do you feel now?”
“I’m okay. Just a little emotionally stressed. It’s nothing.”
“Emotionally stressed?” After a pause, he said, “Oh yes, of course. The tribulations of young romance. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, nothing. Really I’m fine.” Then like a fool I said, “And don’t come on with your medical officer routine either.”
The Skipper’s eyes brightened. “Yes. Yes. Chief medical officer. I nearly forgot. I’ll have to take care of you. I’ll have to examine you right now.”
“No you don’t. I’m having no part of that. Pick somebody else to play doctor with.”
The Skipper eyed my body for a moment. Then he turned and left. What a surprise. It seemed almost anticlimactic.
...But he returned a few minutes later, and now he had a bag of stuff. “All right. I think we’re ready here. My medical bag,” he said brightly, putting the plastic grocery bag on the counter. Almost certainly it had various devices for tormenting me.
“Now wait a minute. I’m not going along with this.”
“Of course you are. Look what happened this afternoon. We neglected you. We let you not go along with things. And look what a bad outcome it had for you. You’re all stressed out now because of it.”
“But... But...” His twisted logic hit annoyingly close to home. But still so wrong.
“No buts about it. I need to take care of you now.”
“But even if I were stressed out, you’ve got nothing to do with it.”
“What do you mean I got nothing to do with it. I was one of the people who let you make a bad decision this afternoon. ...But I suppose you’re trying to say that I’m not Rock.”
“Yes. That is what I’m trying to say.”
“Well Rock is occupied right now... with you-know-who. I’m the one who can give you the attention you need now. Besides, as chief medical officer, I’m much more qualified than Rock. So let’s begin the examination now. I need you to strip to the waist like a proper patient. No more arguments.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I said, “No. You shouldn’t try to get me to take my clothes off that way.” ...As I said that, I wondered if it sounded as if I were being a tease.
“Oh...” He glanced back at the doorway, smiled, and said, “What am I doing leaving the door open so that any passing stranger could see you strip for your medical examination.”
He turned and slid the door shut. And locked it. Now he really had me where he wanted me. “That’s better, right? Now you can take off your top.”
Arms still across my chest, I shook my head, saying nothing.
Going into his bag, the Skipper took out a martinet. He dangled it in front of my face. It had maybe a dozen slender strands, less than a half-meter long, attached to a short handle. Compared with the implements I had been whipped with in the previous days, I didn’t find it all that intimidating. ...Maybe I can admit being a little curious about what it would feel like.
“I suppose you want a good whipping first. Is that right?”
I said nothing, just continued facing him.
He drew back the whip and lashed it across the side of my thigh. Small and light as it was, it packed a pretty good sting. But I held my ground.
He lashed me again. Then again. And again. He wasn’t holding back. I winced and squirmed. He continued whipping me on the side of the thigh. I couldn’t help gasping with each stroke.
After about twenty hard strokes, he grabbed my arm and forcefully tuned me around, saying, “Put your hands on the counter. Arch your back.” Then he lit into the backs of my thighs.
He lashed me over and over. I kept fairly quiet, and held my vocalizations to gasps and little yelps. He must have laid on another twenty strokes before he paused and said, “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”
“No, I do not. It’s you that enjoys punishing me.”
“I don’t deny the satisfaction I get from giving you the whipping you need. I don’t have a problem telling you that.”
I rubbed my stinging thighs for a moment before saying, “Well... with all this stuff with Rafiq and Ivy, I’m just not feeling real good about myself right now. So maybe I do feel like this is something I deserve. ...But you’re taking advantage of how I feel.”
“No. I’m making you feel better.” Then he went into his bag and pulled out a wooden paddle. It was narrow, somewhat wider than a ruler, and thicker and heavier. “Tell me how this feels.”
He swatted me hard on the butt through my shorts. It made such a loud whap that everyone on the boat must have heard it. I winced but kept quiet.
He swatted me again. ...And then again. ...Then he swatted me on the back of the thighs ...on the bare flesh. What a loud crack. “Ow! Shit... That hurt.” Gasping, I rubbed the backs of my thighs. ...Crack! “Ooooh! ...Crack! “Ahhh!” ...Crack! Crack! Crack! “Ow, ow ow!” It was three in quick succession. The backs of my thighs were on fire.
“Now turn around.”
Panting, I looked at him trying to gage his intent. Then I slowly turned around, facing outward from the counter.
“Hold on to the edge of the counter behind you.”
I obeyed.
“Have you ever been paddled on the breasts.”
“No, don’t do that,” I replied, bringing one arm up to protect my breasts. I had once been spanked on the bare breasts with a light wooden ruler (as told in a previous story). This paddle was bigger and heavier than a ruler. I was afraid it could bruise me.
“You’re saying you’ve never been spanked on the breasts with a wooden implement?”
I felt the sense of threat from him. Rafiq may have passed along things I told had him of my past experiences. I said, “Well, not with anything as big as that. It could really hurt me. ...Aren’t you the chief medical officer?”
“Yes. I’m glad you finally recognize that. Now my medical advice to you is to cease your obstinate disobedience and remove your shirt.”
“Can you put the paddle down first?”
He responded by swatting me hard on the side of the thigh.
“Ow! Please no.”
“Now take your shirt off. You’ll just have to trust that I won’t paddle your girl flesh.”
I slowly unbuttoned my blouse. I stood for a moment with it unbuttoned, then opened it to reveal myself, and slipped it off. I just let it drop to the floor and then left my hands at my sides. All the while I held my eyes on his. His eyes alternated between my eyes and my body. He had a smile of satisfaction.
“Good girl,” he said. He raised the paddle to my right breast. I continued to trust, although I may have bowed my chest slightly away from it. He touched the paddle to the base of my breast and pressed it upward. Then with his other hand he fondled my nipple.
I squirmed but let him continue. He played with my nipple for some time. Then he turned his attention to the other breast.
With his paddle he tapped the base of my left breast. First very gently, just making it jiggle a bit. Then gradually increasing in intensity. I endured the escalating sensation for as long as I could. When it started to hurt, I recoiled away from it.
He laid off and now merely slid the paddle back and forth across my nipple. The smooth finish offered little friction; the coolness of the wood was the primary sensation. My nipples were stiff.
Turning back to the other breast and holding its base with the paddle, he said, “Tell me, how do you feel about your breasts?”
“Like I don’t want you to pound on them with a slab of wood.”
He laughed at that. Then he said, “No, I mean in general how do you feel about them?”
“What do you mean, how do I feel about them?”
“You know... do you like them. Do you like having breasts?”
“Well... not having them isn’t an option, is it? ...And what kind of question is that anyway? It doesn’t seem appropriate.”
“It’s highly appropriate. As chief medical officer, I have to look into your holistic health ...like the interaction of your mind and body. That’s the kind of language you’re into, isn’t it?” Then he twitched the paddle on my breast.
Although I didn’t buy his rationale, it felt a bit prissy to try to evade an answer. After a moment I said, “All right. Yes. Maybe I like having breasts.”
The Skipper smiled. Then prodding my breast with the paddle, he asked, “Are you proud of your breasts?”
Here was another awkward question. I’m not unhappy with my body. It seems like my breasts look okay. I don’t have a major issue with my less than average endowment. But the question made me uncomfortable. After a moment I said, “I’m not into pride. It just seems unwholesome to me.”
“Oh... Well, do you think your breasts are pretty?”
He was persisting with this awkward line of questions. I replied, “I guess I’m okay with how I look, overall.”
“I didn’t ask ‘overall’. I asked specifically about your breasts. Do you think your breasts are pretty?”
“I’m not comfortable with that kind of question. If they’re pretty, they’re pretty. If not, they’re not. There’s nothing I can do about it either way. ...So why don’t you answer the question yourself. ...No, on second thought, I’d rather we just changed the subject. I don’t want to talk about my appearance.”
“I think the appearance of women is a delightful topic. And I’ve made my opinion about your breasts clear on various occasions. I’m asking you about your opinion.”
“All right, if women’s breasts are pretty, then mine are pretty.”
He slapped the side of my breast with the paddle. “Ouch! Why did you do that?” I brought my hands up to protect myself.
“Because you keep deflecting my question. This time you gave a conditional answer. You said ‘if’. I want an absolute answer. Do you think your breasts are pretty? ...And put your hands down, right now.”
I lowered my hands a little, crossing my forearms just below my breasts. “All right. Maybe I think they look nice enough. But that doesn’t mean I think everyone else would think they’re nice. I guess some people do. Other people probably don’t.”
The Skipper smiled. Then he said, “Do you wish your breasts were bigger?” He jiggled my breast with the paddle.
Frowning, I pushed the paddle away. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
He set down the paddle and took up the martinet. “Take hold of edge of the counter behind you.”
He wanted to whip me on the front. Why would I submit to that? I crossed my arms over my chest. Yet on some level maybe I felt I deserved punishment after letting Ivy screw up my relationship with Rafiq. I said, “I can’t do it if you’re going to hit me on the breasts.”
“For now I’ll spare your girl flesh.”
I decided to do what he said. I uncrossed my arms and took hold of the counter behind me. He eyed me for several moments as I waited. His expression was buoyant. Finally he drew back the martinet. I grimaced in anticipation.
He lashed it across my stomach. “Mmgh.” I swallowed my vocalization. Then he lashed me again and continued at it, over and over. Wincing and squirming, I gasped loudly but tried to stifle my cries.
He had started in at the level just below my belly button and gradually worked upwards. They were hard, stingy strokes, applied with increasingly rapid succession. After about thirty strokes, he was still working on my ribs just below my breasts. Yelping and gasping with each stoke, I couldn’t take much more. My entire mid-section was stinging madly.
Finally he laid off. Panting, tears in my eyes, I let go of the counter edge and rubbed my burning ribs. I gasped, “Oh-my-god, what a sting! You’re whipping me so hard.”
“Pretty good, eh? And haven’t gotten to the best part,” he said, his breathing quickened with the exertion. “A little break, and then we’ll give your girl flesh the good whipping it needs.”
“Oh-my-god, please no. That whip stings too bad.”
“Yeah, we’ll put the sting to your titties. You want them whipped hard for not being good enough.”
“I do not. I never said they weren’t good enough.”
“Yeah. I asked if you thought they were big enough, and you got all bent out of shape. Obviously you have a problem.”
“I do not. My breasts are just fine the way they are. I never said there was anything the matter with my body. Mostly I just didn’t go along with your stuff about being proud.”
“Your lithe and supple body. The physical embodiment of the cool understatement ...shouted to the heavens.”
“You say the weirdest things.”
“No, it’s you that doesn’t talk sense. How can you have a body like that and tell me you’re not proud of it?”
“Oh, whatever. ...But there can’t be absolutes. Just this afternoon James insulted me. He said I needed a boob job.”
The Skipper laughed heartily. Feeling up my breast before I pushed his hand away, he said, “Jenny needs a boob job. I don’t know why it tickles me that he would insult you. ...It’s like a donkey spattering mud on the princess. But what do you think about a boob job?”
“I have no interest in getting one.”
“What, you don’t want your tits overstuffed with blobs of silicone till they look like water balloons about to burst? ...Well, how about this? What if there was some kind of wonder herb, known to be completely safe, and all you had to do is rub it on your tits, and they would grow one size bigger. Would you do it?”
“What a weird hypothetical,” I said, somewhat amused. “Well... If it were reversible, then why not? I could try it out. It would be an interesting change.”
“No, let’s say not reversible. Once you do it, it’s for keeps.”
“Well, I don’t know. ...Hmm ...But if it were completely safe, then maybe I would.”
“And that’s why you deserve the whipping I’m going to give you. You have a perfect body, and you don’t appreciate your good fortune.”
He went into his bag and pulled out some leather handcuffs. “Here. Give me your hands. We’ll put these on. It will make it easier for you.”
“Please no,” I whimpered, even as I offered my wrists. ...Yet he had them connected by a chain in front of me, so it seemed that he was not going to bind my wrists behind my back. And there was no apparent holdfast on the wall or ceiling with which to secure me, hands over head. I felt like I might be getting off easy.
Wrists bound together, I kept my arms over my breasts. My stomach and ribs were still stinging, but not so badly now.
“Okay, now kneel on the floor,” said the Skipper. “Your back against the counter, right here at the sink.”
I obeyed. Kneeling, I kept my cuffed wrists at my chest.
“Good girl. Now let’s have your wrists.” He took hold of the cuff chain and pulled my arms up and sharply back, securing the chain to the facet fixtures. He had me immobilized, wrists yanked far back behind my head, shoulder blades pressed against the cabinet and counter edge, chest thrust forward, breasts so vulnerable.
“Nice,” he said, as he admired his handiwork. He passed his hand over my breasts. Silently beseeching, I looked up into his eyes. He smiled and said, “Ah, such a cutie.”
Stroking my ribs and stomach, he said, “Kinda red. How does it feel now?”
“It still stings. You whipped me so hard.”
“And you took it so bravely. I admire your spunk. ...And there’s more to come. It’ll be a real workout.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. ...But quickly opened them as his hand glided below my stomach, slipping under the waist band of my shorts, into my panties, and toward my pussy.
“Please, sir,” I pleaded, squirming, as his finger probed my clit and then into my cleft.
As his finger probed the entrance to my vagina, he said, “You’re moist. Good girl. Shall we undress you the rest of the way?” He began pulling my shorts down.
I spread my knees to prevent that. “No, please sir. ...I’d feel so vulnerable. The way you got me tied up in here, you could anything.” Within the context of a disciplinarian, there is a degree of sexual contact that I had been accepting from the Skipper. But I did not want him to enter me, to actually have me sexually.
He eyed me for several moments as I looked up at him gravely. Then he said, “I’m the captain and chief medical officer. What do you imagine I would do, fornicate with my crew? I should punish you extra for implying such a thing.”
“I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean disrespect.” At the time I took his stated disinterest at face value. But afterwards I thought it may have been a way for him to retreat while maintaining complete control of the situation. ...But whatever.
“This is highly irregular, but since you’re so prim, I’ll try to complete my medical examination while you’re clothed. ” With that he removed his shoe and wedged it lengthwise between my knees, thus preventing me from closing my legs. Then he pushed aside the crotch of my shorts, then my panties, exposing my pussy.
I decided to keep silent. I had already indicated my limit. He had avowed no interest in exceeding it. This ordeal would go easier if I let myself flow with it.
Again he probed at the entrance to my vagina with his fingers, without actually entering. Certainly I did not want to be finger fucked. But still, it was not the same as being actually fucked. I didn’t have the energy to try to redraw the parameters of my limits, even within my own mind. So I closed my eyes and just focused on the sensations of my body.
His fingers passed onto my clit. He began softly frigging me. Slight pressure, subtle motion. It was not unpleasant. I was sure he could tell that it was stimulating me, even though I tried to suppress overt responsiveness.
With his chief medical officer manner, he said, “I can detect some reflexive reaction. But for a vibrant young woman in her prime, your response to tactile stimulus seems weak. I think it’s best if I try physical therapeutics.”
Then he took up the martinet, and lashed me on the inside of the thigh. I gasped. It really stung. The inside of the thigh is more sensitive than you might think.
He continued lashing me. And I continued gasping and yelping with each stroke. He switched to the other thigh. Hard strokes, he was giving it everything he had.
Then he lashed it hard on my pussy. “AHHHH! Shit! Not there.”
But he lashed me again. Then again. Many times over. With his shoe wedged between my knees, shorts and panties pulled aside enough to expose my pussy, there was nothing I could do, kneeling there, back to the counter, wrists secured way back behind my head.
It must have been at least twenty hard strokes right on the pussy. Each one with lightning bolt intensity. By the time he stopped, I was crying in desperation.
While I knelt there gasping, tears in my eyes, trying to recover my equilibrium, he went into his bag and pulled out those loathsome nipple clips. While I squirmed in aversion, he clamped them onto my nipples, first the one, then the other. And both right onto the nub where it would hurt the most. The intensity was electric. I leaned my head back, mouth open, panting, engulfed in sensation.
But now he was feeling at my pussy again. He probed a finger at my vagina. This time he was going in. I could feel him slowly penetrating me, his long finger exploring my tunnel.
He frigged me for several moments. Subtle movements, his finger twitching on the forward wall of my vagina. Then slid his finger back out. Then back in again. Then back out.
Now he was going back into his bag again. By this point I had ceased wasting mental energy trying to anticipate what new ordeal I was in for next. But this time... surprise... it was the butterfly vibrator.
I had never experienced a vibrator before. I wasn’t sure whether it would be pleasurable or irritating. With the residual sting from my pussy whipping subsiding and my nipples beginning to acclimate to the bite of those little metal jaws, maybe I could actually enjoy it.
He went back into his bag again. Pulling out that double-length black wooden dildo, he asked, “You’re no stranger to this?”
Closing my eyes and turning my head away, I said nothing.
Touching the dildo to my mouth, he said, “Come on, open up.” Acquiescing, I opened my mouth and began sucking on it. He slid it in and out, turning round and round. Only once did he touch it to the back of my throat and elicit a gag reflex from me.
After a couple minutes of me sucking on that dildo, he took it out. “Good girl. Now spit on it.” After I did so, he took it to my pussy, probed it to my vagina, and slowly slid it in.
Murmuring, “Oh... ooh,” I tried to relax as he penetrated it into me. ...Finally it was all the way in. He held it in me, impelling it with a subtle stirring motion. Not forcefully in and out with a grating friction that would inevitably become uncomfortable, but with a with a gentle rocking motion, the in-and-out too subtle to induce friction.
In retrospect, I find it curious that he was selective in how he wanted me to experience pain. The acrid severity with which he applied the whip, paddle, and nipple clips, contrasts with the tempered fluidness with which he penetrated me with the dildo.
While he continued to work me with the dildo, he turned on the butterfly vibrator and applied it to my clit. What a peculiar sensation. A buzz so artificially electric, but with a steady tingling intensity that had to mean sexual arousal.
It was like the vibrator had bypassed all natural modes of stimulation, and found a direct conduit to my sexual nerve sensors. I felt I had lost a degree of experiential autonomy – with the flip of a switch, he could force my body to undergo erotic tingling.
He pulled the front part of the crotch of my panties over the vibrator to hold it in place, let the dildo rest in stiff silence within me, and took up the whip. “Now you get the thrashing you so richly deserve.”
Raising the martinet, he eyed me for a moment. Then he laid a hard stinging stroke across the base of my breasts. “Ooh!” I cried. The impact reawakened the bite of the nipple clips, to which I had become somewhat numb.
He continued with a hard stroke just above the nipples. “Ahhhh!” ...Then another one below the nipples. “Oooh! God.”
He continued to rain whip strokes onto my breasts, a steady pattern above and below the nipples. I cried out with every stroke.
After maybe fifteen stinging strokes, he paused to feel up my breasts. Then taking them into his hands, he wrung them, but not badly. “Mmm, soft mounds. Squeeze the fat,” he murmured. Then with more force he tugged them back and forth while I gasped and winced. Then he yanked them upwards. Now it was getting unbearable.
Letting go of my breasts, he started diddling with the nipple clips, bobbing them back and forth, up and down, renewing their nettlesome bite. “Would you like me to free your nipples?” he asked.
I nodded yes, looking at him plaintively through the tears in my eyes.
“Ah. You’re a good girl,” he said, wiping away my tears. “Hey, I got one more idea.” Taking a dry dish towel, he wrapped it over my eyes, blindfolding me.
Closing off all visual stimuli seemed to magnify the tactile sensations. There I was, immobilized, knees on the floor, arms raked back behind my head, shoulder blades pressed against the cabinet, offering up my front to be punished. My nipples pinched fiercely in clips, the rest of my breasts were stinging from the prior whip strokes, my stomach and ribs now less so. Last but certainly not least was that steady electro-erotic buzzing in my nether region, and the big hard dildo stuffed into me.
The Skipper again bobbed the nipple clips back and forth for a few moments. When that stopped, I could hear him combing and shaking out the strands of the martinet.
After a pause, there was the swoosh of the martinet. A split second later I felt it flay onto my right breast, plucking off the nipple clip. “EEEEEE”, I let out a scream.
Straightaway the lash came down hard on my other breast, and off came that nipple clip, clacking onto the floor. “EEEEEE”, I screamed again. “My nipples! Oh fuck, that hurt!”
He responded to that by lashing me again across the breasts, right onto my anguished nipples. Then again. And again.
He continued to score my breasts with the whip, one hard stroke after another. Smarting, searing, scorching.
Shlack! A burning sting to my breasts. I cry out. I pant. ...Just as I begin to recover from its lightning ferocity, along comes another. Shlack! Another fiery sting to my breasts.
I don’t really know how long this went on. The steady rhythm of whip strokes was hypnotic. My nipples burned like glowing coals. Yet the electro-mechanical buzzing of my clitoris and the hard-shaft stuffing of my vagina turned the whole thing into an experience of powerful sexual arousal. I knew that if this kept on I would end up coming off.
My psyche was unhinged. Now I reveled in the chagrin of being bared, kneeling with breasts thrust out and legs open, flogged to submission. Reveled in the humiliation of surrendering my womenhood to be exploited with perverse devices. Reveled in the debasement of being a good girl brought low to become a creature of depraved sexual desire, impelled toward orgasm through ill use by an older man.
The intensity of the physical sensations, pain and pleasure, was overwhelming. I was swept into an alternate reality where I craved the energy the Skipper was pouring into my body.
My brimming sexual arousal could be contained no more. Beginning as a rivulet, it swelled into a raging torrent surging through every element of my being, obliterating everything in its path. Reducing my existence to one element, raw orgasmic energy.
Moaning with ecstacy, my body quivering, pulsating, throbbing with the fury of surging essence of animalistic pleasure, I strained in my bonds, trying to capture all of the trenchant force of the whip, the staunch firmness of the dildo, and the galvanizing amperage of the vibrator.
On and on I rode this torrent of energy, swimming through infinite time, immersed in ecstacy. It was a never-ending orgasm. All matter vanished, and time became no time. My existence was an all-embracing sexual exhilaration.
But no-time does not mean forever. As the flood of sexual energy gradually slackened and trickled to quiescence, I relaxed in my bonds. The Skipper had stopped whipping me. He removed the vibrator, but left the dildo in me.
When he removed my blindfold and released the chain securing my wrists behind my head, I sank to the floor, holding my sting-tingling breasts in my hands and murmuring a breathy “Oh-my-god. Oh-my-god.” With half of the double-ended dildo sticking out of me, I found a sideways position to sit.
Leaning against the opposite wall, breathing heavily, the Skipper sank down by me. “What a girl. What an extraordinary creature you are.”
I said nothing. I guess I was just staring off into space, in dreamy euphoria. I was vaguely aware that there were gooey gobs of cum seeping down the right side of my body. Sometime during my own orgasmic frenzy, the Skipper had shot his load onto me. ...Whatever. ...I got mine: that’s all that really registered.
We sat in silent reverie for a long time. Whenever I glanced at him, his eyes were soaking up my body. Not with apparent lust, but with what seemed like satisfied admiration.
Finally, it seemed like time for the dildo to go. Did I need permission to take it out? No, I quickly resolved the choice to be mine. I slowly eased it outwards. With a keen tingle the end slipped out.
I glanced at the Skipper. He had an amused expression on his face. I adjusted the crotch of my panties and shorts to cover myself. He picked up the dildo, and looking at me with a twinkle in his eye, he brought it to his nose and sniffed its length as if it were a cigar and he a connoisseur. ...In retrospect, I am amused by his show. But at the time, I thought it a bit weird.
The handcuffs being connected by a foot-long chain, such that I could undo them myself, I began to release my wrists. I said, “You dished it out really hard. I hope you realize that.”
“I gave you what you needed. You’re satisfied, I hope.”
“It’s you I hope is satisfied. What you were doing to me, you could have, like, fried my sensory system. Not to mention flayed off my skin.”
“How do you like that whip? Does it sting enough? It doesn’t mark you up too bad. Subtle welting, but nice and red.”
“Oh-my-god, yes, it stings enough. You whipped me so hard, right where it would hurt the most,” I said, nestling my whip-scored breasts with one hand and my pussy with the other.
“Well-whipped tits and pussy. That’s what I like,” he replied. “Now do you realize you have a dream body?”
I watched the thoughts of self consciousness and resistance arise in my mind. I decided let them pass unheeded. To have a body... to have a dream body... maybe they’re the same thing. No problem.
I smiled and just said, “Yes.”
Seeing his expression of surprise and consternation, I quickly asked, “Did I say something wrong? Didn’t I just get punished for not accepting that I had ...like, what you call a dream body?”
“Well... Do you think you’re better than others?”
“No, of course not. How could physical appearance do that, no matter what you looked like? Even so, lots of women are really nice looking, and all in different ways.”
“It would be unbecoming to think of yourself as better than others. Your anxieties are part of your charm.”
“Well , considering how badly my romantic affairs are going, I have no shortage of anxieties.”
The Skipper laughed and said, “So you’re not sure you’re as charming as Ivy.”
“I don’t know what it is. But I don’t like being in competition with her. ...She’s so ...polished ...like, high society. ...She’s so confident.”
“And you lack confidence ...except in bookish domains. Poor Jenny. You feel inexperienced. Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“Not sure if you’re as pretty as Ivy?”
“Well... maybe not. But maybe it’s not that big an issue. I don’t know.”
“Should not be an issue. ...But anyway, you’re not pleased that Rock and Ivy are out there together. And you’re stuck in here with an older guy.”
I smiled and said, “Why don’t we just leave it that I’m not happy about the situation with Rafiq.”
“Even after all of this... what did I call it... physical therapeutics, you still feel bad?”
“No. Actually I feel pretty good. It was you, not me, who brought up the subject of my anxieties.”
“So I did. ...So the physical therapeutics had a curative effect, is that right?”
“Physical therapeutics? What a bogus term. You just whipped the shit out of me. And frigged and fucked me with weird objects. ...First you trick me into saying that I might not mind changing how I look, then you punish me for it. Then you say I have a dream body, and if I agree, you get down on me for sounding haughty. No matter what I say, I’m always wrong.”
“Oh, well... So I’m not consistent. It keeps you on your toes, so you’re always at your best. ...But still, you just said you were feeling pretty good now. Doesn’t that mean that you’re feeling better after our therapeutic regimen?”
“Well, I do feel okay now. It was a nice release,” I admitted. I did not care to reveal that he had brought about the most unimaginably mind-blowing orgasm. It didn’t seem right that I should be that sexually responsive to the Skipper. Rafiq was the one I wanted.
“That’s good. You certainly appeared to have a good strong orgasm.”
“All right. That’s true. But I’m not going to say anything good about your dumb therapeutics, because it’ll just encourage you to keep doing it.”
“So what’s the matter with that?”
“I don’t want any more. I can still feel the sting. Do you know how hard you were whipping me? And right where I don’t want to be whipped.”
“You mean on the tits and pussy. And you took it so bravely,” he said, with a dreamy expression on his face. “...But of course we wouldn’t do any more today. Who’s got that kind of energy? But why not a daily regimen to keep you feeling at your peak?”
“You mean a daily whipping? No way!”
“Why not? You agree it makes you feel really good.”
“It does not. It really hurts.”
“But it gives you so much pleasure and satisfaction. Your aura is glowing right now.”
“That’s why it’s so fucked up. It isn’t right to have... you know... like a sexual experience during corporal punishment. It’s so degrading.”
“You don’t look degraded. You look radiant.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t you feel radiant?”
“Well... I felt fine until you started talking about making me do this every day. It’s bad enough that everyone could hear what was going on in here now. They’d really think I was fucked up if I let this happen every day.”
“No, they’d think you were really cool. ...And besides, what do you care what they think? A smart girl like you, don’t you think for yourself?”
“Yes... No... Maybe I don’t care that much what they think. It’s just... well... it’s still really screwed up for me to submit to something like this every day. It seems harmful psychologically ...and physically too.”
“Hmm... physically too? Like, your silky smooth breasts would get all leathery from whip welts? That would be gross.”
“I glad we agree on something.”
“Well, maybe we wouldn’t want to lash your breasts every day. I could whack you straight onto the nipples instead, say with a ruler or belt or something. That wouldn’t show. ...And inside your pussy lips.”
“Are you out of your mind? Don’t you think those parts of my body have a purpose, other than being beaten? If you’re trying to freak me out, you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”
Laughing, the Skipper said, “Your indignation is cute. You take everything I say so seriously.”
“I wish you’d start taking a few things I say seriously. I don’t want to be made to enjoy being tied up, whipped, or ill used anymore. It’s too perverted. It’s going to turn me into something I don’t want to be.”
“Is that what you meant when you said ‘psychologically harmful’?”
“Yes, it is. I’m going to end up addicted to rough treatment, unable to respond normally to loving tenderness.”
As the Skipper eyed me silently, I began to worry that what I just said could have sounded like an romantic invitation. Although I accepted him as a disciplinarian, I did not want him to approach me as a lover.
I thought I better equivocate. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe I’m making too big a deal about it. But it’s hard for me to accept that I feel so good after getting that kind of punishment.”
“Well, I’m being careful to make it a good experience for you. I’m really appreciating what a special person you are. ...But don’t interpret that as a come-on. Rock is your guy.”
“I wish he were. But how come he’s with Ivy now?”
“Well, the first I’ve seen Ivy in really long time was a year ago, and she was with Rock then. ...You know I’m a first cousin to April’s father. April’s mother and Ivy’s father are cousins. So I’m not related to Ivy, just some kind of distant in-law.”
“Yeah, April mentioned what your relationship was. ...She says you wouldn’t dare discipline her.”
The Skipper looked uncomfortable. Then he said, “Well... April doesn’t do anything wrong. She doesn’t need to be disciplined.”
“So what have I done wrong? I don’t know why I keep getting punished.”
“Well... Let me try and remember why you’ve been disciplined.”
“First you whipped me for burning dinner. With that awful cat-o-nine-tails with those hard knots. That hurt so bad. And left ugly marks.”
“Oh, that’s a bad whip. Whoever made that thing didn’t know what the hell they were doing. My philosophy is that you got to be able to snap the whip hard. If you can’t do that without hurting the girl too bad, then it’s the wrong whip. ...But still, you took it like a real heroine. And those marks it left weren’t that ugly; they were kind of pretty.”
“Well anyway, then Ivy and me got strapped and caned and switched when she picked a fight with me.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Well. I feel okay about that. I’m glad Ivy got the same as me.”
“It made peace, didn’t it. I mean, you and Ivy still like to bicker, but before you shared that whipping, the atmosphere on this boat was absolutely poisonous.”
“Well, the poison was coming from her, not me.”
Scowling at me, the Skipper said, “Don’t put on that goody-goody act. You put the moves on Rock and broke up their relationship.”
“I did not. ...I mean ...um, well ... Rafiq and I fell for each other. I realize that what happened created problems ...caused Ivy a lot of distress. But I didn’t set out to do that. It just happened.”
“What do you mean, just happened? You were putting the moves on Rock from the beginning, and the next thing we know, you’re up on the bow and having him take off your top and play with your tits.”
“Oh-my-god, no... You’re just trying to make it sound disgusting,” I stammered. “That’s so unfair. I wasn’t trying to put the moves on Rafiq. I swear I had no romantic designs on him in those first days. I thought of him only as a friend, and he and Ivy as a couple. ...I’m convinced that if I had been seeking a romantic relationship – what you call putting the moves on Rafiq – none of this ever would have happened. I would have been so self conscious and uptight about whether Rafiq liked me that I could never have charmed him.”
Smiling, the Skipper said, “Oh. That does fit you.”
“I was as surprised as anyone when Rafiq ...um ...started caressing me that day on the bow.”
“All right. I can believe that. Anyway, that whipping with Ivy had a good effect, didn’t it.”
“Well, the outcome was okay. But the experience itself was really hard. ...But I can sort of connect with the intensity of it.”
“That one was rough. Ivy’s way of putting the switch to your tits was a bit beyond the right way to do it. But anyway, after those first two, you’ve been turned on by every whipping you’ve got, haven’t you? When you volunteered to have Rock whip you in place of Ivy. ...And tonight. ...And ...And that’s all there is. My god, you’re not getting whipped enough.”
“I am so. That’s a lot. And there’s also the time you and Rafiq ganged up on me when I had those clips on me.”
“Oh yeah. Tit torture. You like that.”
“I do not. I think I’m more sensitive that way than some other women might be. For me it’s really hard.”
“Getting your nipples pinched?”
“Yeah. It hurts.”
“Well, tell me how it felt tonight when I whacked your nipple clips off with the whip?” As he asked, he reached over and gathered off the floor the two nipple clips he spoke of.
“Couldn’t you tell it really hurt? How loud do I have to screech for you to understand that?”
“Well, sure I noticed it got a good reaction from you. But I thought you might be able to articulate now just how it felt.”
“Well what’s an articulate person supposed to say? Are there big words for saying it felt like my nipples got torn off?”
Laughing, the Skipper said, “That’s good enough. Small words are strong.” After eyeing me for a few moments, he took the dish cloth blindfold and wiped the drying cum off my body.
Then he yawned and said, “Well, Jenny, you know, it’s been a really satisfying evening. You took your punishment like a true heroine. Brave. Strong. Beautiful. ...But it’s getting late, and I have the morning watch.” He got up and began putting his implements back in the bag.
Remaining where I was, I said, “Yes, it is getting late. But tell me. Do you think Rafiq just views me as somebody to have fling with, and forget about after this voyage is over?”
“Ooh, that’s a tough one.” The Skipper knitted his brow. “Being out here on a boat like this is a special time. Things happen between people that might not otherwise happen. ...But still, you two share a lot, a good match intellectually.”
After a pause he continued, “But you’re not oriented toward high society like Ivy, and with his father being a diplomat, I understand that Rafiq has some level of comfort in those circles, although you won’t know it seeing him out here.”
“When he’s mentioned that to me, he’s very dismissive of it.”
“Probably so. ...Anyway, how important is it that this last beyond the voyage?”
“I don’t know. Part of me says that the relationship needs to be exclusive and forever. That I can’t share him with Ivy. Another part of me says that I should enjoy the moment, and that worrying about the future will just screw it up.”
“Well, it seems that you have it figured out.”
“But it bothers me that he’s with Ivy now. Do you think I should approach him, or wait for him to approach me?”
Unlocking the door, the Skipper said, “This boat is crowded enough that we can’t avoid spending a lot of time together. I think you’re overanalyzing this thing. ...One thing I’ll tell you, Jenny. You’re a damn fool if you don’t realize how attractive you are ...in every way. ...Now good night.”
“Good night. And thank you. ...Sir.”
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