Argonaut in an Age of Discovery

Chapter 12: Crux Simplex

It was early afternoon and for some time we had been sailing up Chesapeake Bay, expecting to arrive back in the marina at Baltimore Harbor late in the afternoon.  April, Ivy, and I were chatting.  All of us were ready for the change of scene.

“Shopping deprivation,” said Ivy.  “I’m suffering from shopping deprivation.  Tomorrow I’m spending no less than six hours at the mall.”

That comment triggered a discussion of our various clothes shopping habits.  Ivy had more expensive tendencies than I did, but we both liked stores with a great variety of items but few replicates.  Then it was more likely that you could find things that you didn’t see other people wearing.  April was less concerned about that.  But all three of us liked big markdowns.

Rafiq appeared from below, approached us, but then moved on when he caught the gist of our conversation.  He joined the Skipper and James around the helm.  They talked quietly.

After a while Rafiq and the Skipper approached us.  Rafiq said, “We have a proposal.  It seems that no one has been tied up for a while.”

“For a while?” said April.  “Like a whole day?”

“It’s been longer than that, hasn’t it?” answered Rafiq.

“I don’t think so,” said April.  “Jenny had the Skipper tie her up when they had sex in the galley yesterday morning...”

“Hey!” I interrupted.  “Can’t you mind your own business?”  I could hardly believe she would tell Rafiq about that.

Yet there was no sign that Rafiq was disturbed by the revelation.  He merely said, “Well that was yesterday.  What about today?”

“You wouldn’t want to miss your daily regimen, would you?” said the Skipper.

“And this might be your last chance for a long time,” added Rafiq.

Ivy spoke up, “If I participate, it will be as top, not bottom.  You agreed that we ought to switch places sometime.”

“Did I say that?” said Rafiq.  “It must have been just a passing thought.  ...But sure, I’ll try anything, if that’s what you want to do.”

The image of Rafiq in a submissive role was not appealing to me.  But I could relate to the image of him being tied up and whipped like a sailor of previous centuries.  I was sure he would take it bravely.

“Jenny,” said the Skipper.  “I was thinking you could be tied to the mast.  That would be new.”

Looking around, the shore on either side of the bay was distant, but there were a fair number of boats on the water.  “I can’t do that.  Somebody might see me.”

“Who would notice?  Nobody’s that close.”

“Not at the moment.  But they could get close.”

“So what?  They wouldn’t think anything of it.  Just some maritime discipline.”

“Maritime discipline?  Is that your new word for what goes on here.  Normal people would be shocked if they ever saw all this stuff.”

“Hell no.  They could tell right away that you need to be disciplined.”

“Why?  I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Hell you haven’t.  You’re sassing the captain.”

“Fuck you,” I said, laughing.  Then I made an ugly face and stuck out my tongue.

The Skipper looked at Rafiq and said, “You can tell she wants the whip.”

“I’m not doing anything where anybody out there can see me.”

Looking at me, James took off his baseball cap.  Then he flipped it over to me, saying, “Here, wear this with the bill kinda low over your face.  Then no one can see who you are.”

Making no attempt to catch the cap, I let it fall to the deck.  But April picked it up, and taking her hair out of her pony tail and letting it fall around her face, put it on, low over her face.

“Looks cute,” said Ivy.

“Here, take the helm, Rock,” said James.  “I’m gonna be tying April to the mast.”

Readjusting her hair back, April looked at Ivy and me.  “Should I do it?”

I wasn’t sure what to say.  I knew I was wrapped up in what I thought was best for me.  If April got tied up, would that take the pressure off me?  Or put more pressure on me?  Was I intent on not getting myself tied up?  Or did I actually want to do it with April?

With her eyes on me, April said, “All right.  I’ll do it.  I can tell that Jenny wants to do it too.”

“I never said that.”

“I can always tell what you’re thinking just by looking at you.”

“I’m still not sure.  Maybe I will.  Or maybe not.  If you want to do it, go ahead.”

With Rafiq now at the helm, April and James and I went forward to the mast, with some rope.  The Skipper went below to gather his disciplinary devices.

Ivy stayed behind with Rafiq.  That caused me some anxiety.  I wondered if I should stay with Rafiq too.  But no, if I were clingy, that would just diminish me in Rafiq’s eyes.  I had to be independent, confident.  Be willing to create distance to let him come to me.  It was not a stretch to believe that Rafiq preferred me.

With April, James, and me gathered at the mast, James said, “Okay April, you can start by taking off your top.”

“I can’t take off my top here.  Somebody might see me.”

With a look of surprise, he said, “Are you trying to sound like Jenny?”

“Just because I’ve taken off my top out in the middle of the ocean doesn’t mean I go around like that in regular life.  Look at all the boats around here.”

James replied, “What’s the point of getting tied to mast with your clothes on?”

“A bikini is scanty-enough attire,” she answered.  But from the smile on her face it seemed that she was putting on a bit of an act about being distressed about taking her top off.

The Skipper now joined us.  He had brought the martinet, the belt-strap, and the cane.  But my jaw dropped when I saw that he had fastened the dildo to the six-foot-long boat hook pole.  Eeyew...  To me there’s something really gross about the idea of being fucked with a long pole.

“Well,” said the Skipper.  “If April doesn’t want to take off her top, maybe Jenny can strip her of it.”

“How am I going to do that if she doesn’t let me?”

“Your orders are now to strip her top off her.  Do you want a whipping for disobedience?”  The Skipper was holding the strap.

I didn’t much like the way he was ordering me about and making threats.  Yet I also didn’t like the idea of the guys descending on April and tearing her clothes off.  It seemed better if I did it, if April would let me.

“Come here,” said the Skipper, taking my hand.  He was eyeing my body.  All I had on was my bikini swimsuit.  He swung the strap onto the back of my thighs.  Whap.  Whap.  Whap.

“Ow...”  I wrenched away from him.  Being light strokes, my distress had less to do with actual pain than with the idea that I was letting myself get whipped again.  Out of reach of the strap, I rubbed the backs of my thighs as I eyed the Skipper.  With a smile, he watched me.  I could tell that he was expecting me to be receptive.

But I wasn’t going to be that compliant, even if this was my last fling with his maritime discipline.  I said, “You had no right to do that.”

“Just obey your orders,” he replied.

I looked a April.  She was smiling at me.  James was smiling too, probably hoping for a cat fight.  ...All right.  I would see if I could get April’s top off.

Approaching her, I said, “Let’s not make this like that stupid wrestling match.  That didn’t work out well.”

“Because I always won?  I had no objection to that.”

“Quit being a shit head.  You know the problem was these dumb guys getting carried away with swatting us.”  Then reaching around behind her to undo her bikini top, I said, “If you don’t cooperate, they’re going to whip me again.”

But before I could undo her top, she grabbed mine and pulling up, exposed my breasts.  I pulled away from her and tugged my top back down.  “Bitch,” I said, laughing, “you weren’t supposed to do that.”  Then looking at the guys, I said, “I can’t do it.  She won’t cooperate.  James, you should do it.”

As James stepped forward, the Skipper said, “No.  Jenny has been ordered to strip April.  If she doesn’t obey, she’s going to have to be disciplined.”

“I haven’t refused.  I tried but I couldn’t do it.”

“Bullshit.”  Whap!  The Skipper swatted the strap hard across my thighs.  Whap!  Whap!  Whap!

“Ow, ow.  Please no.”  As I tried to ward off the strokes to my thighs, he hit me on the side of the ribs, then across the back as I turned away from him.  “Ow.  I’ll do what you want.  Just stop swatting me with that thing.”

When he let up, I stood feeling the strap marks on my body.  Then I turned to April.  “Are you going to let me do this?”

“I wasn’t stopping you.”

“Well, if I want to keep my clothes on, then in effect you were.  But it’s no use arguing with you when you get like that.”  Then approaching her again, I said, “All right.  I’m going to do it this time.”

Thrusting myself on her, I threw my arms around her in a tight embrace.  As I untied the back of her top, she was tugging upwards on mine.  With one hand I tried to hold it down.  But as I reached my other hand up to get the tie from behind her neck and up over her head, she pulled my top partly off.  It was no use resisting.  And with her top off, it was only fair that mine should go too.

Putting up token resistance, I raised my arms just enough to let her slip it off me.  Now both of us were bare breasted.  Laughing and hugging her, I grasped her big boobs, mushing them this way and that.  She responded in kind with my breasts.

“Are you going to get tied up with me,” she asked.

“Maybe I should help tie you up.  Why should I always be on the receiving end?”

“Wimp.”

“Okay, April,” said the Skipper.  “Stand with your back against the mast.  Jenny can tie you up.”

“Jenny’s not going to do it right,” said James.  “Gimme that rope.”

As April and I separated, I didn’t dispute James.  This is the kind of situation where no matter how we women do it, the guys will find fault.  I stepped out of the way.

After April adjusted the baseball cap low over her face, James starting binding her wrists back behind the mast.  Then he changed his mind, and decided he wanted her to clasp her elbows behind her back.  Having bound her arms behind her, he then roped her to the mast, circling several times above the breasts, several times below the breasts, and several times at her hips.

I stood watching with one arm covering my breasts.  I knew it would be better for my state of mind if I paid no attention to Ivy and Rafiq, but I couldn’t resist glancing back at them.   There was Rafiq at the helm.  Ivy was lifting off his tank top.  I turned my attention back to April, now bound to the mast.  James was caressing her body.

Meanwhile the Skipper was looking into the plastic grocery bag where he keeps his smaller implements.  He pulled out a roll of thin twine.  “Maybe tie up April’s tits,” he said.

As James reached for the twine, the Skipper said, “How about letting Jenny do it.  If you’re not satisfied then you can redo it.”

Taking the twine, I asked, “How do you want me to do it?”

“Do her nipples.  Get the nub of the nipple.”

I looked at April.  She was not perturbed.  As James held her right breast, I put the twine around the nub of her nipple and tightened slowly.  “Tell me when it’s tight enough,” I said to her.

Breathing shallowly, she watched me tighten it.  She bit her lip.  I tightened some more.  “No more,” she gasped.  But instead of stopping, I tightened a little more before leaving off.  “Oooh...” she said with a grimace.

“Now tie her nipples tight together,” said James.  He pressed her breasts together, nipples touching.

I secured the twine to the other nipple and slowly tightened.  And again I tightened beyond where she wanted me to stop.  I was feeling devilish.  Now I was the person in control.

When I finished the job, I stepped back to admire.  It was like April’s big breasts were looking at each other cross-eyed.  James started flopping them.

With a combination of a smile and grimace, April cussed both of us, “Fuckers.  When I get out of this, I’m going to kick both of you in the ass.”

“Then we better not let you go till we tame you,” said James.  “The whip.  That’s what you need now.”

The Skipper said, “Let’s give Jenny a turn.  She almost never gets to whip anybody.”

“Good idea,” said James.  “See if she can tame her.”

The Skipper handed me the martinet.  “See what you can do with it.”

Taking up the martinet, I said to April, “I don’t have any choice; I’ve been ordered to whip you.  So don’t blame me for it.”

“I won’t get mad.  I’ll just get even.  And you’re savoring that.”

I don’t know that I was savoring a turnabout, put I didn’t have a problem with April punishing me in return.  Anyway, I stood before her combing out the thongs of the martinet.  Having gotten so much experience on the receiving end, I thought I ought to know how to give a good whipping.

I just stood there eyeing her body up and down, letting the dramatic tension rise as I toyed with the whip.  She knew what I was up to.  Grinning at me, she said, “Fucking bitch.”

I responded by lashing her across the belly.  Trying to play my role properly, I said “What did you call me?”

“Fucking bitch,” she replied.

I lashed her again, harder.

“Fucking bitch,” she said again.

Friendly play though it was, still I should be able to make her stop cussing me.  So this I lashed her on the upper chest, just above those big breasts.  That must have been more intimidating, because this time she kept quiet.

I continued to lash her.  As hard as I dared across the ribs and belly.  Some of the strokes made her gasp, but mostly she kept quiet.  It was fun.  I liked the power.

But then James said, “Jenny’s so wimpy.  Can you even feel anything, April?”

“Of course I can feel it.”

“But it doesn’t hurt,” said James.

“It sort of hurts.  I think she’s hitting hard enough.”

Sort of hurts?  That wasn’t much of an endorsement.  I lashed her harder.  She gasped.

“Whip those big tits,” said James.  “How can you keep avoiding such a tempting target?”

It was true that I had spared her breasts.  With the twine already biting into her nipples, tied taut together, I wasn’t sure I should whip her breasts.  ...At least not hard enough to satisfy the guys.

If I didn’t want to lash her breasts, I thought it would be best to change the focus downward.  I lashed the martinet hard across  her thighs.  Then again.  And again.  April let out a gasp with each stroke.  Yet she kept that bit of a smile on her face.

“Spread your legs,” I said.

“Oh no, not there,” said April.  But she trusted me enough that she spread her legs.  It wasn’t like she had to worry about getting it on the bare pussy – her bikini bottom was still on,

I laid a stroke to the inside of the thigh.  It wasn’t a hard stroke but April wrenched reflexively.  Then I laid on another.  And another.  Biting her lip and holding her breath, she kept her legs apart.  I continued laying on stroke after stroke.

“Jenny still doesn’t whip hard enough,” said James.  “But let’s get the rest of your clothes off.”  With that, he started tugging down April’s bikini bottom.

April tried to resist by keeping her legs apart, but with one arm James lifted her legs off the deck and with the other hand pulled her bottom off.

“Fucking asshole.  What if people can see?”  But looking around under the bill of her low slung cap, she satisfied herself that no other boats were near.

James said, “Skipper, you hold one leg up.  I’ll hold the other.  Jenny, you’re gonna whip her pussy.”

The Skipper hesitated.  Presumably out of concern for his family relationship with April, the Skipper seldom took the liberty of touching her.  Finally he stepped forward and gingerly took hold of her lower leg, saying to her, “James is the boss now.  I’m just doing what he says.  So don’t blame me.”   Even now, holding her leg up, he faced away from her.  But when the bill of her low slung cap obscured her vision of him, he turned his head to look at her pussy.

With the guys holding her legs up and open, I had a perfect shot at her pussy.  April was the only one of us who hadn’t yet been whipped between the legs.  Ivy had gotten it hard with the cane.  And I had repeatedly gotten it hard with various of the other implements.

I dangled the strands of the martinet over her pussy.  “Are you ready?”

She responded by splitting at me ...with a smile.

“Whoa.  Brave,” said James.  “Not afraid of nobody.”

While April laughed, I snapped the martinet with an overhand motion, hitting lightly just above the pussy.  She flinched but then spit at me again.  I snapped the martinet at her again, this time landing it at the front of the pussy.

“Ow.  Bitch.”

I did it again at the same spot.  And then again.  As hard as I dared to such a sensitive area.  I kept at it, snapping the martinet to her pussy several more times.  Each time she wrenched and gasped.

“She’s still got a awful light touch, don’t you think, Skipper?” said James.  “After all the hard whippings she’s taken, you’d think she’d have some clue about how to dish it out.”

The Skipper just shrugged.

“Fuck that martinet,” said James, grabbing it from me.  “Use the strap, if that’s as hard as you can swat her.”

I looked at April to see if she would object.  She didn’t.  So I took up the strap.  Taking my measure, I held it out, touching her pussy with it.  I decided an overhand stroke would be best, intending right above the pussy without actually hitting the labia.

“Wait.  I have a better idea.  First you’re going to fuck her with that thing,” said James, indicating the dildo fastened to the six-foot-long boat hook pole.

Was I going to do that to April?  Why not?  Better than having to swat her on the pussy with a strap.  And earlier in the voyage she had fucked me with the dildo while Ivy sat on me.  What difference did it make that it was on the end of a long pole.  It’s just the image that’s so gross.

Taking up the pole-dildo, I moistened it with my mouth.  The Skipper was grinning.  I wondered if it looked like I was sucking a six-foot-long penis.

Then wielding the pole with both hands, as though I was going to impale her with a spear, I touched the end to her pussy, while the guys continued to hold her legs apart.  Considering my aggressive stance, it is not surprising that she grimaced.  But she said nothing.

As I applied gentle pressure, her pussy lips parted around the dildo.  As I continued to press, it slowly slid in.  Further...  Slowly further...  April took a deep breath, and it was all the way in.

I rocked the pole with a gentle motion.  Here I had impaled my friend.  I wondered if this is what it would be like to be a guy with a six-foot penis.  You just fuck girls from afar.  No need to get close.  Get done quick and you’re out of there.  ...Is that the ultimate guy thing?  ...Well, not the guys I like, obviously.

Still, as I continued fucking April with the pole-dildo, I could feel a sense of power.  It might be sort of interesting to be a man.  But not as good as being a woman.

James grasped the pole and started thrusting it in and out.  When I complained, “Unhand my penis, you lout,” he looked at me like I was out of my mind.  ...Perhaps I was ...at least outside of the usual bounds of my imagination.

Letting go of the pole, James then lashed the martinet onto her pussy.  April gasped.  He lashed her again.  And again.  “Ah!  Fuck,” she cried out.

Her pussy lips still enfolding the dildo, he lashed them three more hard strokes.  Shlack!  Shlack!  Shlack!   “Ow!  No more.  Let me down,” she cried, kicking her leg out of the Skipper’s grip.

I withdrew the dildo from her.  But I reflected that if April’s turn was done, then mine was next.  I didn’t mind postponing it.  After all, April hadn’t been whipped very much.  And her dildo fucking was gentle.  So I said, “How about a butt spanking.  Would that be better?”

After a pause, she replied, “Untie me first.  Then I’ll decide if you can spank me.”

“You’re sounding uppity for girl in your position,” said James.  “You’ll stay where you are till we decide to whip your butt.  In the meantime I’ll whip your tits.”  He yanked upward on the twine binding her nipples together and lashed her on the underside of her breasts.

“Ah!” she cried out.  He lashed her again.  And again.  Continuing...  Shlack.  Shlack.  Shlack.  One hard stroke after another.  Each one punctuated by a cry, “Ow.  Fuck...    Ah...   Ooh...   Ah, my tits!”

I was mesmerized.  Having tugged her nipples practically up to her mouth, James laid on stroke after stroke.  Shlack!  “Ow!”   ...Shlack!  “Ooh!”   ...Shlack!  “Ah!”  April wrenched back and forth with each stroke.

James must have laid on at least two dozen strokes before he finally quit, saying, “There now that you’ve been properly whipped on the front, maybe we can let you turn around and take it on the rear.”

“Oh fuck.  That hurt.  And the way you were yanking on my nipples...  Next time you want to punish somebody’s tits, do it to Jenny’s.  She’s the one who can take it on the tits.”

I resented identification as someone who didn’t mind getting it on the breasts.  Totally not true.  “I don’t like anyone being rough with my breasts.”

But nobody was paying attention to me.  Instead, to April the Skipper said, “Fortitude.  You took it like a real heroine.”

As much as I might like the term heroine to be reserved for me, I had to admit that April had taken it bravely.  But then maybe that also meant that I wasn’t some super-weird pain slut for all the punishment I had been accepting.

As James started untying April, the Skipper said to me, “James is right about you having a light touch.  Here, how about if I give you a lesson on how to swing the strap?”

I didn’t actually think I needed a lesson on how to hit harder.  I wasn’t hitting April as hard as I was able, but rather as hard as I was comfortable.  Nevertheless, I was attentive as the Skipper took up the strap.

“Give me your left hand,” he said.  Although uncertain why he would want to engage my weaker side, I offered it gamely.  With his left hand he grasped my wrist firmly, raised the strap, and then...  Whap!  Hard across the back of my thighs.

Whap!  “Ooh!”   ...Whap!  “Ah!”   ...Whap!  “Oh please...”   Whap!  Whap!  Whap!  He continued stroke after stroke across the back of my thighs.  I punctuated each one with a cry of pain.

“This is the way to whip a girl with a strap,” he said, continuing to lay it on hard.  I couldn’t help struggling to pull away from him, even though I felt that I should try to be brave and take my whipping.

I glanced astern to the helm to see if Rafiq was watching.   ...He was!  Moreover, Ivy was nowhere to be seen, apparently having gone below for something.  I had Rafiq’s complete attention.  Naked except for my bikini bottom, taking a good whipping.

Meanwhile the Skipper held fast to my wrist and continued stroke after hard stroke.  Whap!  Whap!  Whap!  Whap!  He was making it wrap around to the inside of my left thigh.  I writhed, struggling.  Making momentary eye contact with Rafiq, I knew he was totally with me.  I wrenched back and forth, shaking my breasts.  Despite the travail, I felt so sexy.

Whap!  “Ow!”   ...Whap! “Ah!”  One hard stroke after another.  Sexy or no, there was a limit to how much I could take.  The backs and insides of my thighs were stinging like mad.  ...Whap!  “Ooh!”    ...Whap!  “Oh-my-god, please...”  It felt like that strap was on fire.  After what seemed an eternity of scorching strokes, I could take no more.  I sank to the deck, folding my legs beside me.

Holding my left arm over my head, the Skipper moved behind me.  When he dangled the strap in front of my bare breasts, I covered them with my right arm.  But with the hand holding the strap, he grasped my right wrist and pulled that arm over my head.

My wrists are slender enough that he was able to grip them both with his left hand.  As I sat unresisting, arms stretched over head, he dangled the strap in front of me, touching it to my breasts.

“Not on the tits.  Not with a strap,” I pleaded, throwing my head back to look up at him.  “That’s not fair.”

Yet I was reveling in my vulnerability.  He probably would not wallop me on the breasts with that awful thing.  But he could.  The feeling of surrendering my body was so arousing.  And I knew that Rafiq’s eyes were on me.

My nipples were so stiff as the strap bumped over them.  Imploring, I looked up at the Skipper.  A light slap on the side of the breast.  Squirming, I murmured, “Not on the tits...”

He continued light slaps to my breasts with the strap.  A few right on the nipples.  Even though they were not hard strokes, directed to the nipples, I couldn’t help squirming.

As the strokes increased in intensity, I said, “I’ll whip April really hard, the way you want.  Just don’t beat me on the tits.”

He continued slapping my breasts as I writhed helpless.  Then he paused and knelt behind me, setting aside the strap.  As he let go of my wrists, he said, “Keep your arms up.”

As I held my arms overhead, wrists crossed as though bound, he put his hands to my breasts, his fingers bumping over my stiff nipples.  Then he pressed hard into my breasts.  “Squeeze the fat,” he murmured.

He pressed my breasts this way and that.  Then he took hold of my nipples and pinched hard.  “Ow...” I murmured, bringing my hands down to try to protect myself.

Still holding me by the nipples, he pulled me upwards, making me rise to my feet.  Releasing my nipples, he murmured.“Wonderful titties.”  Then he stroked his hands more gently over my breasts, but still firmly pressing their softness.  Now I didn’t resist.

“Stick ’em out there,” he ordered.  As I straightened my posture, he put an arm around me and bent me back.  He put his lips to my breast and started sucking.  He was making me respond to him sexually.  I pressed my crotch onto his thigh.

This went on for a few moments before I pushed him away.  I was not comfortable responding sexually to the Skipper with Rafiq looking on.

At this point James had already untied April.  As she loosened the twine from her nipples, she was looking over her breasts and rubbing them.  She allowed James to do likewise.  The undersides were flushed where James had whipped them.

I glanced astern at Rafiq.  Ivy had returned.  She had changed into that beautiful long purple dress she wore the time she took on a mistress/slave relationship with me naked having to service her.

In her hand she had the cat-o-nine-tails.  Oddly, she was also holding a pair of white pants.  It seemed that she wanted him to change into them.  He did not seem receptive to the idea.

The Skipper, also watching, said, “Those have gotta be mine.  Why does Ivy want him to wear my white pants?”

I said, “Maybe she wants him to look like a sailor.”

As Rafiq continued to refuse the white pants, he glanced in my direction.  “Yes.  Do it,” I called out, nodding my head vigorously.

Looking at me, Rafiq knitted his brow.  Then he turned to Ivy and took the pants, although his body language expressed peevishness.  I had to smile.  I could get Rafiq to do things when Ivy could not.  Yes!

Rafiq dropped his shorts.  He had no underwear on.  His penis was somewhat stiff.  I was sure that was because he had been watching me taking the strap.  I was sure I had looked so alluring, struggling bare breasted and all.

As Rafiq put on the pants, the Skipper was muttering to himself, apparently about Rafiq not wearing underwear when he put on borrowed pants.  But considering the impositions us women had been putting up with, I had little sympathy.

Meanwhile, James had been unable to convince April to let him retie her.  But facing the stern she was holding onto the mast arching her back, sticking out her ass while James stroked and lightly slapped it.

“Okay, Jenny,” said James.  “You gotta finish disciplining April.  Now tell her, ‘you’re to be whipped hard, because you deserve it.’”

Taking up the strap and touching it to April’s rear, I mechanically repeated James words, “You’re to whipped hard because you deserve it.”

“No,” said the Skipper.  “You said it poorly.  It’s ‘you’re to be whipped hard... because you deserve it.’  For saying it wrong, I’m going to discipline you.”  There was a twinkle in his eye.

Taking the strap from me, Whap!  To the back of my thighs.  “Ooh.”   Whap!  “Ow!”  Whap!  Whap!  Whap!  Whap!  A total of six hard strokes in rapid succession.  I knew I still had Rafiq’s attention.

Giving me back the strap, the Skipper said, “Now say it right.”

This time I took care to emphasize the right word, saying, “You’re to be whipped hard... because you deserve it.”

“Okay,” said James.  “Now give it to her.”

Taking my measure, I touched the strap to her rear.  Then I drew it back and swatted her with it.  April didn’t flinch.  I knew I hadn’t done it hard enough.  Again I drew it back.  Whap!  This one was hard enough to elicit a murmur.

I continued swatting her, increasing the intensity.  The good strokes have just the right sound... a pitched Whap!  And April would respond with satisfying “Ah!”

I laid on one hard stroke after another.  I was entranced by the discharge of force.  ...An exhilaration of power.  ...And April was taking it really well.  She held her position at the mast, although she would kick back a foot or shake her body after particularly hard strokes.

James stood next to her with his arm around her body, giving her encouragement.  He had a hand pressing into each of her big boobs.  The Skipper looked on, seeming to have his eyes on me as much as on April.

April’s butt was getting really red.  I paused and passed my hand over it.  It was hot.  When James started looking it over, April straightened and rubbed her butt, also trying to look back at it.

“A good butt beating,” said James.

“How many more do I have to take?”

“Till you’re ready to be fucked.”

“All right, you win.  I’m ready now.”

“But Jenny wants to give you a few more swats... to finish strongly,” said James.  “Right?”

With the Skipper waiting to give me a whipping, I thought it best not to express an opinion.  “Whatever.  It’s not my decision.  I’m just following orders.”

“Bend over again so Jenny can finish up,” said James.

April looked first at James, then at me.  Then she decided to comply.  When she bent over again, holding the mast, I took my measure.  Her butt was really red.  I aimed lower, and gave her a hard swat at the juncture of the buns and thighs.  She gasped.  Then I gave her one a little lower, on the back of the thighs.  She gasped again and shook her body.

James said, “Legs apart,” tugging sideways on her legs.  I put the strap between her thighs and tapped from side to side.  She responded by continuing to inch her legs apart.  I continued the encouragement until they were well apart.

Her vulva was now prominently displayed.  April was the only one of us girls who had not been swatted on the pussy with a strap.  But I had no wish to give it to her.  Instead, I gave her a swat on the inside of the thigh.  “Ow, fuck,” she moaned, writhing.  Too hard, I thought to myself.

I gave her another one, not so hard.  She took that one a little better, so I gave her several more that way on the inside of the thigh.  Then some harder strokes on the back of thighs.

“Haven’t I taken enough?” said April.  “Isn’t it my turn to whip Jenny now.”

“Just a few more,” said James.  “On the butt.”

After a pause I gave her a hard swat on her red butt.  Then another.  And a third.  Since this series was to be the last, I thought I could give it to her hard.

“Lay the last ones on thick and fast,” said James.

Accordingly, I laid them on in rapid succession... Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! All hard on the same spot.

“Ahhhh!”  April dropped to her knees, bending forward, hands on her rear.  “Ow-ow-ow...”  She was gasping and panting.  I understood the crescendo of pain that was sweeping over her.

James dropped down next to her, pushing her forward onto all fours.  He was nuzzling her and fondling her breasts.  Receptive, she arched her back.  Then he dropped trou, preparing to enter her doggy style.

But she turned her rear away from him.  Playing hard to get, she murmured, “A man.  Trying to fuck me after my beating.”  She pushed him away.

Wrestling with her, both still on their knees, James tried to get her into a position where he could enter from the rear.  But she continued to put just enough resistance to thwart him.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle.  Both of them were having a good time.  James had a hell of a boner.

After a time James managed to get hold both her wrists from behind.  Seizing the rope, he bound them together behind her.  Murmuring, “Gotta get the girl down.  Get her down,” he yanked up on the rope, forcing her head down to the deck.

He wrapped the rope around the mast.  On her knees, head on deck, arms yanked up behind her, she murmured, “Now the fucker’s got me good.”  As James entered her, I felt awkward watching.  Time to direct my attention elsewhere.

As I moved away from them, I felt some envy for April.  She made herself so exciting.  Why didn’t I think of resisting Rafiq and the Skipper’s advances as a way to inflame their passions?  Instead, it seemed that I was always so passive, letting them whip the shit out of me before they took me.

But now in the stern, there was a different spectacle.  Ivy, behind Rafiq as he handled the helm, had the cat-o-nine-tails and had started whipping him with it.  Stoic, his expression determined, he did not acknowledge the strokes.

Coming up behind me, the Skipper put his hands on my sides, pressing firmly on my ribs.  Holding me against himself, we watched as Ivy gradually increased the intensity of her strokes.  The Skipper pressed his hands on the base of my breasts and said, “Hands behind your head.”

Still feeling the sting of his hard strapping on the legs, my natural inclination was simply to obey.  But why not brave noncompliance?  I covered my breasts with my hands and said, “I shouldn’t allow a man who whips me to touch my breasts.”

The Skipper laughed and slid his hand down my stomach toward my nether region.  With one hand I tried gently to fend him off as he slid his hand under my swimsuit bottom.  With the other hand I tried to protect my breasts.  I said, “You’re not going to take advantage of me, are you?”

The Skipper’s breathing quickened.  From under his shorts, I could feel his hard penis against my body.  I said, “I can tell it turns you on to take me against my will.”

“Or does it turn me on to bend you to my will?  In the end you’ll submit.  But perhaps not without a struggle.”  Holding me from behind, one hand inside my swimsuit, his finger was pressing into my slit.  With his other hand he grasped my breast.

I countered by trying to disengage his hand from my pussy.  Not too strenuously, just enough to make things difficult.  My resistance seemed to stimulate him.  He redoubled his efforts.  He was trying to get his finger up my tunnel.  “Ow...”  Now I thought he was getting too rough.  Twisting away from him, I broke from his grip.

I stood facing him, hands in front of me.  Giving a catty hiss, I bent my fingers as though baring my claws.  With my short-trimmed fingernails, that was not actually much of a threat.  He lunged at me but I dodged away.  Again he tried to get me but I kept away from him.

Backing away from him, I knew I would eventually get cornered in the bow.  When I could go no further, I stood facing him.  Play though this might be, I still didn’t want him to succeed in getting me.  As he closed in, I gave a squeal and tried to duck around him.  But there wasn’t enough room, and he caught me around the waist and lifted me off the deck.

As he carried me back toward the mast, I kicked and struggled and complained.  At the mast April and James were locked together in climax, April gasping with pleasure and James grunting bullishly.  And here I was, nearly naked, seized by a lustful man intend on working his will on me.

Bending on one knee next to his bag of devices the Skipper pulled me over his thigh.  As I tried to wriggle free, he reached in and pulled out the leather handcuffs.  Then he slapped me on the butt.  And again, harder.  And a third, yet harder.

When I reached back to protect myself, he took hold of my wrist and fastened the cuff.  Then he gave me another hard spank.  I was ready to be bound.  Ostensibly to ward off his spanks I reached back my other hand and let him fasten the other cuff.

Now bound with my wrists behind my back, I struggled no more.  He passed his hand up and down over my butt.  Then he stroked the backs of my thighs.  “How do your strap welts feel?”

“Stinging.  You whip me so hard.”

“Even so, you’re still rebellious.  Like I said yesterday, I must not be whipping you enough.”

“Rebellious or compliant, you give it to me the same.”

“No.  It’s more fun to whip the rebel.”

He assisted me to my feet.  I faced him, bare breasted, wrists bound behind me.  I felt vulnerable ...and very sexy.  I glanced at Rafiq, at the helm.  Ivy, behind him, draping the cat-o-nine-tails over his shoulder, was now caressing him.  But his eyes were on me.  I liked it that he had seen the spectacle of me being subdued.

The Skipper put his hands to my ribs at the sides of my breasts, and held me.  Looking down into my eyes, he said, “Are you ready to go down like April?”

“To let a depraved man like you enter me?  Never.  I’d throw myself into the ocean first.”  Rhetoric aside, I genuinely was not receptive to getting fucked out here in front of the others.  And I wondered if anyone on the other boats in the bay was watching through binoculars.

His hands stroked my breasts.  Then he took hold of my nipples and pinched.  I threw my head back and writhed.  Knowing that Rafiq’s eyes were on me, I wanted to make a big show of being tortured.  And it did hurt... some.

After a moment he released me.  I stepped back, gasping as I looked down at my body.  “You always have to go after my nipples.”

Turning me toward the stern the Skipper held me from behind, saying “And your sailor boyfriend has to watch your ordeal.  Do you think he’s troubled seeing you get punished?  Or is he secretly turned on by seeing you get what you deserve?”

Playing into the fantasy, I said, “He’d rescue me now if he could.  But Ivy’s giving him his own punishment.  We’re being punished for our love.”

Holding me tightly, fingers pressing into my breasts, he said, “Are you going down for me?”

“In my heart you can never displace Rafiq.”

“But he just a sailor.  I’m the captain.”

“I’ll never consent.  And you wouldn’t dare rape me or Rafiq would kill you when he gets free.”  Cuffed hands behind me, I grasped his stiff penis through his pants and worked it.  I was reveling in the edgy play.  I wanted some kind of sexual action, but I didn’t want him to enter me.

The Skipper said, “We should both rape you for all the sass you give us.”

“Evil men.”

“If you won’t go down, then you’ll have to give me a blow job.”

“And take your penis in my mouth?  Such an indignity.  How could I suffer that?”

Cocking his finger against his thumb, he released it with a snap across the nub of my right nipple.

“Ah! ...Fuck.  What are you doing?”

As he threatened again with cocked finger, I squirmed but could not evade the flick across my other nipple.  “Ow...  Don’t snap me there.”  I squeezed his penis hard.

Again he snapped my nipple.  Then again.  “Ooh...  Ow...”  Though I squeezed hard on his penis, he didn’t seem to interpret it as retaliation.  Rather it aroused him more.  It was a big hard boner.

Two more hard flicks to my nipples.  “Ahh...  No more.  Maybe I can do what you want.”

As I dropped to my knees, he said, “Good girl.  First you pleasure me.  Then you’ll get your own when we lash you to the mast.”

I glanced toward Rafiq.  But now he wasn’t even facing me.  Sandwiched between Ivy and the helm, he was embracing her as she steered.  Damn.  ...Well fuck ‘em.

Sitting on my heels, wrists bound behind me, I turned my attention to the Skipper as he held his penis to my mouth.  In his other hand he held the cane.  As I licked his glans, he played the cane over my breasts.

I trusted that he would not hit me.  But still, getting whacked on the breasts with a cane is not something I ever want to happen, so I thought I better hurry up and get him to come off.  I took his penis in my mouth.

He continued stroking my breasts with the cane, pressing them this way and that.  Then he played it over the inside of my thighs.  I was sucking for all I was worth.

He tapped the cane hard on my pussy.  By reflex I closed my legs some.  But he tapped back and forth hard on the inside of my thighs till I opened up more.  Then he plunked the cane onto my pussy, right over the clit.

Without opening my mouth, I gave a grunt.  Then he did it again, same place.  I grimaced in pain, but continued my work.  But he did it again, harder.  And if that didn’t hurt enough, he did it yet again, harder still.

Continuing to suck on his penis, I looked up into his eyes, entreating.  What was I doing to deserve a caning on the pussy?

“I like your eyes,” he said.  “I like you to beg with your eyes.”

I continued looking up at him with my most plaintiff expression.  Sucking as hard as I could, I never took my eyes off his.

Now rubbing the cane firmly over my breasts, he said, “You’re going to get your tits whipped good and hard today.  But maybe not with the cane.   ...But then again, maybe those titties need a good caning.”

I shook my head entreating him not to whack me on the breasts.  He tapped firmly on the side of my breast, saying, “I like to see your girl flesh jiggle.”

As he continued tapping the side of my breast, I squirmed and wrenched trying to satisfy his demand for jiggling girl flesh, without him needing to hit me any harder.  ...I was desperate to get him to come off, working the bottom side of his penis with my tongue.

Putting the cane back between my legs, he snapped it on the inside of the thigh.  Then twice more in rapid succession.  Then a hard one on the pussy.  And another.  And another.  I flinched with each stroke but continued my work.  If he wasn’t going to come off without tormenting me, then I would just have to take it until I could get him to come off.

Blinking back tears, I continued entreating him with my eyes as I worked his penis with my mouth.  Finally pulses of cum began to spurt into my mouth.  With a series of bullish grunts, he discharged his vital oils.

When the throes of his orgasm finally quieted, he withdrew from my mouth.  I hesitated only a moment wondering if I was expected to swallow.  Then I hocked a stupendous loogie toward the ocean.  ...But it failed to clear the boat.  I looked at that massive gob of spattered cum and saliva.  Then I looked at the Skipper and said, “Oops.”

“Girls,” he said, shaking his head.  “Never learned to spit.  ...And what a girl you are.”  He dropped to his knees behind me.  With his arms around my front he hugged me close, his hard-edged energy now reduced.

As I sat enjoying his solicitude, a sail boat was approaching going in the opposite direction.  My wrists still bound behind me, I tried to turn away from them, but the Skipper tightened his embrace.  Squirming, I said, “I don’t want them to see me topless.”

The Skipper put his hands on my breasts and pressed them around.  The other sailboat was passing closely.  Two men and three young teenage boys were watching us.  Scolding the Skipper I said, “Quit being gross.  They can see you’re feeling me up.”

The Skipper responded by letting my nipples show and squeezing my breasts this way and that.  He held me firmly as I squirmed.  I turned my head away so my hair would at least prevent them from seeing my face.

After they past I said, “Asshole.  Why did you have to humiliate me like that?”

“I just let your beauty brighten their day.”

“Well, what about my day?”

“What about it?  Aren’t you pleased that you can brighten somebody’s day?”

“Oh, you...”  I knew I couldn’t provide a rational explanation for something so fundamentally obvious as why I don’t want people gaping at me.  When the Skipper released my wrists from the cuffs, I stood with one arm across my chest.

At this point, April had long since put her bikini back on and gone astern with James.  With them minding the helm, Ivy and Rafiq now came forward.  As Rafiq eyed my body, I let one nipple peak through my arm.

Ivy still had the cat-o-nine-tails.  “Check out my handiwork,” she said.  “Show them your back, Rafiq.”

Rafiq ignored her and said to the Skipper, “Can’t be more than a hour to the marina, do you think?”

“Maybe a little more.  But we’re not far,” replied the Skipper.

Unobtrusively I slipped behind Rafiq.  I just had to see his whip marks.  ...There they were.  The knots on that whip leave distinct welts.  I wanted to give them some little kisses to make them feel better.  But knowing that he would never acknowledge that the whipping was bothersome, I wondered whether my solicitude would just annoy him.

As Rafiq made some small talk to the Skipper about the wind, I very lightly kissed his back.  As he did not respond negatively, I continued giving him little kisses, moving here and there among the welts.  Rafiq made no acknowledgment.  But I sensed that he enjoyed what I was doing.

After a time, he said to the Skipper, “Well, it seems that Jenny is overdue for being tied to the mast.”

“That was the plan.  Yet looking at her now my eyes just see a gentle creature who little deserves more punishment.  Think I’ll go aft and relax.  Besides with all these other people coming to and fro on the bay, it will look better if it’s female on female.  Better with me out of the way.”

As the Skipper went aft, Ivy flaunted her lash and said, “I want her hung on the mast.  String her up, Rafiq.”

I’m sure it was her imperious tone that got Rafiq.  Looking at her like she was crazy, he said, “Are you having delusions of grandeur?”

“Come on, Rafiq,” she said, her tone now wheedling.  “You said we could reverse roles.  And Jenny likes it this way.  She knows I’ll take care of her.”

I said, “Well, with your long dress, you look the part of the mistress of the vessel.  And Rafiq the handsome deck-hand sailor.  But what am I?”

“The beautiful captive,” said Rafiq.

“From a distance people out there could think you’re just the long-haired cabin boy who needs to be disciplined,” said Ivy.  “Hung with arms overhead, you’re flat enough to pass as one.”

Rafiq frowned at her.  It always annoyed him when she insulted me.  ...And I always took some pleasure in that dynamic.

She must have sensed that she had overstepped.  “Of course, those puffy nipples couldn’t be a guy’s,” she said, poking at me with the handle of the whip.  “On second thought, most everything about you is all wrong for a boy.”

I pushed the whip handle away from my breasts.  She could say whatever she pleased.  I just wanted Rafiq to tie me up.  Stepping to face the mast, I clasped it and said, “You’re going to have your way with me.  There’s nothing I can do.”

“No, you’re going to face outward,” said Ivy.

“People will see me topless.  What are they going to think?”

“Actually it’s not that big a deal to be topless out here,” said Rafiq.  “On the other hand, maybe it’s not so common to see topless girls tied to the mast.  Anyway, first I need to do up your wrists in the front.”

Letting him turn me outward, I clasped my hands together covering my breasts.  He took up the handcuffs and began to put them on me.  As he did so, I positioned my wrists to maximize his contact with my breasts.  My nipples were stiff.

With my wrists now bound together, Rafiq took a rope and fastened it to the chain linking my hand cuffs.  Again I positioned my wrists so that he had to touch my breast as he did so.  Smiling, he took the opportunity to press my girl flesh and rub my nipple.

With Rafiq positioned in front of me, Ivy could not see that I was having him play with my body.  But her brow was furled.  Perhaps from my smirk she suspected something.

That finished, he looped the rope over a fastening protrusion on the mast above my head.  As he pulled my arms over my head I quickly turned to face the mast.

“Outward,” said Ivy.

“Ivy, just relax,” replied Rafiq, as he pulled me up on tiptoe.  Then he fastened the other end of the rope, thus affixing me to the mast.

Assuming that they had it in mind that I should be whipped, I wondered whether I should accept the cat-o-nine-tails or insist on something not so harsh.  If Ivy didn’t whip that hard, maybe it would be bearable.  But it seemed best to ask for something else.  Or maybe Rafiq wouldn’t let her whip me at all.  That would be a refreshing change.

From behind me Rafiq nuzzled his cheek against mine.  My freedom of movement gone, I quieted my thoughts by raising awareness of the senses.  The warmth of the sun, the beauty of the sea, the smooth cold mast pressing against my front, Rafiq’s warm furry chest against my back.  So why not just let go, leave the choices to others, and experience whatever came my way?

Putting his hands to my armpits, Rafiq slid his hands down my breasts, each finger bumping over my stiff nipples, and slowly on down my ribs, coming to rest on my hips.

Murmuring into my ear, “The mistress insists on whipping the beautiful captive, just for being beautiful,” Rafiq, holding me by the hips, turned me around, outward.

The thought of facing Ivy’s cat-o-nine-tails overwhelmed my mind.  So much for calm acceptance of whatever came my way.  “Why do I always have to be whipped on the front?  I whined.  “Ivy only whipped you on the back.  It isn’t fair.”

“I know it isn’t,” said Rafiq.  “Soft breast.  Biting whip.  It seems so wrong.  Why do I love it?”

“Because you’re such a pervert.”

“But it’s the wrong whip, right?”  Then to Ivy he said, “What else do we have for a whip?  You can’t use the cat on Jenny’s front.”

“Why not?” said Ivy, grinning.  “If Jenny were as stoic getting it on the front as you were, getting it on the back, it would prove that girls are tougher than guys.”

I said, “I’m not trying to prove anything.  I just don’t want to get it on the front with the cat.  Anything else.  Except not the cane either.  And not the switch either.”

“Well what’s left?” asked Ivy. “And who the hell do you think you are setting all these conditions.  I’ll whip you with whatever I feel like.”

“No you won’t,” said Rafiq.  “Not if Jenny tells you no.”

“What if she tells you no?” said Ivy.

“She won’t.”

“Bullshit, Rafiq.  It’s me she won’t say no to.”

“Whatever,” said Rafiq, becoming impatient.  “Just use the right whip and it won’t be an issue.  What do we have here?”

As they looked into the Skipper’s bag, I said, “Actually, I want you to try that short single-thong whip that James used on April early on our trip.  We never saw that again.  Ask the Skipper where it is.”

“No way,” said Ivy.  “Too wimpy.”

“Use the long whip,” said Rafiq, referring to the device with the meter-long lash attached to a stiff meter-long crop.  “Everybody likes that one.  Or at least likes to wield it.”

“All right,” said Ivy.  “With a potential audience out there, we need something that looks impressive.”

“Go back and ask the Skipper for it,” said Rafiq.  “I need to tie Jenny’s feet up.”

Ivy gave him a dissatisfied look.  She might have felt that she should be giving the orders.  But she said nothing.  As she started past me, going aft, she stopped and looked me over.

With a smirk she said, “Jenny, I think you’re overdressed.”  Then she yanked down my swimsuit bottom.  Bound up on tiptoe and caught completely off-guard, it was below my knees before could react to hinder it.  Now it was too late.  All I could do is plead, “Ivy, please.  This is so embarrassing.  Isn’t it enough to be topless out here.”

“Your type isn’t entitled to clothes,” she replied, pulling them the rest of the way down and off.  As Rafiq looked on with an amused expression, Ivy slid her finger through my slit, no doubt to demonstrate that I had no right to personal space even for my most private area.  Then taking my swimsuit bottom with her, she continued on her way aft in search of a better whip.

“Rafiq, why did you let her do that?” I demanded.

With a guilty smile, he replied, “Who was I to interfere with doings between you girls?”

“Asshole.  If we end up getting arrested or something, it’ll be your fault.”

Rafiq shrugged.  Then he took up a rope and started binding it to my right ankle.  Since I was bound arms overhead, I said, “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere, tied up as I am.  What’s with tying my ankles?”  I was concerned about having him stretch my legs apart, blatantly exposing me.

“Don’t worry.  You’re going to like this.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Rafiq continued on my other ankle.  I glanced around at the surroundings.  The bay was had become narrower and increasingly crowded with boats.  But none were especially close by, and in any case I knew my hair obscured my face.

With both ankles now affixed by each end of the rope, Rafiq stepped behind the mast.  “Eek!” I let out a little cry as he pulled my feet off the deck, suspending all my weight from my wrists.  “What are you doing to me?”

“This is good, isn’t it?” he replied.  Now with my knees bent and my feet pulled up to the level of my butt, he fastened the ankle rope behind the mast.  My ankle bindings were now bearing some of my weight, but suspended with arched back, butt pressed against the mast, knees splayed on either side of the mast, I felt stretched and vulnerable.

“You’ve hung me.  I can’t move at all.”

Stepping in front of me, Rafiq eyed my nakedness.  With an expression of unbridled lust he murmured, “Oh my god.  This is the ultimate.”

Pressing his shirtless body to mine, he clutched me firmly on the sides of my ribs.  His hands worked their way up to my armpits.  Then slowly down on my breasts.  His thumbs pressed on my nipples.  I worked my crotch against his thigh.  My whole body was tingling with erotic energy.

Suspended as I was on the mast, I had an image of myself hung crux simplex – that is, crucified without a crossbar, just plain nailed to a tree trunk.  In some past lifetime 2000 years ago, had I been crucified that way?  One nail through both wrists crossed overhead, and a nail through each foot at the level of my buttocks into the sides of the tree trunk?

Was my fascination with bondage and punishment just the reverberations from that calamitous experience?

If such a thing had happened, I wondered if a guarding Roman soldier had raped me?  And perverse as it sounds, could I have had the untoward response of an orgasm?  Was all this stuff I was going through on this voyage the repercussions of  feelings that I turned myself from a passive victim into an active participant in my downfall on that fateful day?

As these thoughts came and then went, there remained the here and now with Rafiq pressing against me as I hung on the mast.  I was gasping with arousal.  I wanted him to enter me.

Or did I want him to unfasten me and let me down?  To go lie down with him in the cabin.  Ordinary sex.  Gentle loving sex.

As his fingers started on my clit, I didn’t want down.  I wanted it right there hanging on the mast.   As his fingers continued to kindle my arousal, the erotic sensations were building to a climax.  I didn’t care whether he entered me.  I was going to come off right now.

“Frigging the little bitch, eh?” interrupted the returning Ivy.  “Well I’ve got something that will stimulate her better than you can.  She always responds to the whip.”

The impending orgasm retreated.  Damn it.

Leaving off with fingering my pussy and separating himself just far enough that I couldn’t press into him given my limited freedom of motion, I wasn’t going to be able to come off.

“That’s sweet, the way you hung her on the mast,” said Ivy, patting me on the side of the butt.  “Now move aside.  It’s time for her to feel the whip.”

As Rafiq continued to stand before me, his hands passed over my breasts.  Then he gave my nipples a pinch.  “Ooh.”  I bit my lip as he gripped my nipples and pulled upwards.  “Oh... Rafiq...”

Finally he eased his grip and softly stroked my breasts.  His hands moved down my sides and onto my hips.  His face moved close.  Our lips met.  His body pressed against mine.  Now I could press my crotch against him.  Such an embrace.

Swish...thack.  Ivy had stroked the long whip across his back.  He exhaled abruptly but made no other sound. ...Swish...thack.  Another stroke across his back.  ...Then another.  And another.

Ivy laid one stroke after another onto Rafiq as he embraced me.  The lashes were meant for me, but he had offered his body in order to spare mine.  My gallant defender.

The next stroke she rapped around to catch me on the side of the ribs.  I let out a little yelp.  Again she lashed me on the side.  I pressed my crotch onto Rafiq’s thigh.  In a lovers embrace, we were being whipped together by a jealous mistress.  My mind was swept by the romantic vision.

Stroke after stroke Ivy laid across Rafiq’s back, rapping it around to sting me on the side.  Rafiq took it in silence.  But I made a special point of registering each stroke with a loud gasp or yelp, noisier than I ever would be if Ivy were whipping me alone.  I would not compete with Rafiq’s stoicism.  I wanted him to be the strong one.

Ivy started snapping it at me with overhand strokes that missed Rafiq and caught me directly on the side of my ribs, or on the side of my butt and thigh.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to protect her,” said Ivy.  “I’m going to have my way with her.”  Then she sliced the whip again across Rafiq’s back.

Caught up in the romance of the moment, I murmured, “I’m the one who deserves the whip.  But you’re the one who’s bearing the brunt – all to protect me.”

“If I expose you, she’ll whip your breasts.”

“Would she be that cruel?”

“Such a jealous mistress.”

Playing on the edge of fantasy and reality, Rafiq understood my mind.  I pressed my crotch to him as Ivy continued lashing us.  Stroke after stroke across his back, rapping around to catch me on the side.

“Move aside Rafiq,” said Ivy.

Being whipped with my guy by a jealous Ivy was the ultimate erotic charge.  Certain that he would continue to protect me, I murmured in his ear, “Save yourself.”

“I’ll triple her punishment,” said Ivy, continuing to lash us.

Rafiq moved slightly to the side, loosening his embrace.  Then he let go of me, moving aside, exposing me to Ivy.  Even though I had told him to save himself, I hadn’t actually thought he would do it.  But considering that he loved to see me whipped, I suppose I should have expected it.

Ivy aimed the next stroke to the inside of my thigh, hard.  I yelped with the pain.  But now it was just me versus Ivy.  I was not going to be weak.  She lashed there me again, even closer to my pussy.  This time I did not cry out, but I couldn’t help panting.

Two more stinging strokes on the inside of the thigh.  Then the  next stroke stung my pussy.  “Ahhhh!  Fuck.”

Swish...thack.  “Oooh!  Not there.”  ...Swish...thack.  “Eek!   Oh-my-god, don’t whip me there.”  ...Swish...thack!  “Ow-ow-ow.” ...Swish...thack!  “Ahhh!  Rafiq, don’t let her do that.  She’s really hurting me.”

Ivy said, “That’s what she gets because you pissed me off, Rafiq.”  And then she stung me on the pussy yet again. 

After three more lightning bold whip strokes, it felt like she was shredding my pussy lips.  I was feeling faint.  Would there would be no end?

Finally Rafiq intervened by sheltering my pussy with his hand.  As he pressed his chest to my body, Ivy paused and said, “Did you like those?  Want more like that?”

I shook my head weakly.  “Rafiq, how could you let her do that?”

Ivy said, “He likes the blood dribbling down your legs.”

As I let out a squeal, Rafiq said, “Bullshit.  There’s no blood.  That whip can’t draw blood.”

“Are you sure?”  Although I could see no blood, hanging immobilized as I was, I couldn’t tell.

“Of course I’m sure.  Did it feel that bad?”

“I thought I was going to faint.  I’ve had enough.   Let me down.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” said Ivy.  “But I’ll spare you any more like those.  Really.  ...Here, does this feel better?”  She dropped down and put her mouth to my pussy.  Gently she licked.

It was soothing.  I murmured my appreciation.  And if she was going to take care of me, maybe I didn’t have to be let down right away.

As she continued the gentle stimulation, the pain ebbed, gradually replaced by arousal.  I might be able to come off if she would keep it up.

Again I wondered about the possibility of a past life in which I had been hung crux simplex.  Had some onlooker given me cunnilingus?  Why?  To sexually humiliate me?  But in that lifetime perhaps I was such a nympho-slut as to be aroused by such humiliation.  In the end had they brought me to climax just as I gave up the ghost?  What a way to go.

I was undulating my hips with the pleasure of her stimulation.  I wanted to hurry up and come off while I could.  ...But trying to hurry is a hindrance

Then Ivy’s tongue retreated.  As she rose, she said, “It’s not time for you to come off yet.  We’re nowhere near done with you.”

She looked me over.  Then she touched my cheek.  As she passed her fingers over my mouth, she said, “Let it in.”

Letting go of my natural resistance, I let her two fingers enter.  Finger fucked in the mouth, that’s what I thought to myself.  I sucked a little.

Then Ivy withdrew her fingers, saying, “But fingers aren’t as good as the dildo, are they?”  She bent and picked up the boat hook pole with the wooden dildo fastened to it.  She held it to my mouth.  I didn’t open for it – after all, it had been in April’s tunnel a half-hour ago.  As I kept my mouth shut, she said, “Should I stuff it dry into your cunt?

I immediately took it into my mouth, trying to make it as wet as possible.  As she fucked me in the mouth from afar with the pole-dildo, I felt debased and violated.  Why it should make so much difference that the dildo was on a long pole, I’m not sure.  But with Ivy gripping it at shoulder height with both hands, thrusting it at me like a spear, it made her seem so much more powerful.

Meanwhile, beside me Rafiq was playing with my breasts, squeezing and mushing them this way and that.  Ivy then thrust the dildo to the back of my throat.

“Hey!” Rafiq rebuked her, and she withdrew the dildo as I gagged and coughed, tears in my eyes. 

“Sorry, my bad,” she said.  Next, since there was nowhere near enough height to get a six foot pole up under me, she unfastened the now well slobbered-on dildo from the boat hook and put it to my pussy.  “Fuck the bitch,” she said, as she forced it home with a quick thrust.

I gasped.  Clearly she was making a point of being rough with it.  It made my appreciate how gentle the Skipper had been when he put the dildo to me in the galley.  “You bitch,” I said.  “You’re trying to make it hurt.”

“No more than what you deserve,” she replied, dildo-banging me hard in and out. “And it’s what you like, anyway.”

“Stop.  You’re hurting me, you fucking bitch.”

At this point Rafiq stayed her rough in and out motion.  Ivy let go of the dildo and countered  “If you call me a bitch again, I’ll whip your little tits till you faint.  I’ll shred them.”

“You will not.  Rafiq won’t let you.”

“Woo.  Rafiq, the higher authority.  Only trouble is, Rafiq’s loves to see your tits whipped.”

“Whipped yes, shredded no,” said Rafiq.  He was clearly getting disturbed by Ivy.

“Jenny likes excitement.  Tit whipping: been there, done that.  Instead she wonders if she’s brave enough to present her breasts for a shredding.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” I said.  “Go shred your own tits.  Try the cheese grater.”

“Now there’s an idea for what we can do with your tits,” she replied.

“I’ve heard enough,” said Rafiq.  “You’re like out of control.”

“Don’t get all hyper.  I’m just trying to figure out Jenny’s limits.  And it looks like she’s a lot more tame than she’s tried to make us believe.”

“I never tried to make anyone believe that my limits were anything but ordinary.  I never asked to be hung on the mast.  I’d be happy if you let me down.”

This conversation was interrupted by April, who having just come forward, said, “Believe it or not, the Argo’s foremost pervert is getting bent out of shape about what’s going on up here.  You guys are attracting attention, and the Skipper thinks the dildo fucking is over the top.”

I glanced around; there were three other boats nearby.  Before shaking my hair in front of my face to obscure myself, I caught a glimpse of someone with binoculars.  Why had I let myself get into this situation?

“Anyway,” continued April.  “He wants Jenny to cover up with this towel.”

What a relief.  To be decently covered.  And Ivy would only be able to whip my legs.  No sweat.

Then I saw the towel April had brought.  “Only a hand towel?” I said.  “That’s not big enough.”

“It can work like a little skirt, even though it won’t go all the way around,” she replied.  “We’ll use this piece of rope as a belt to hold it in place.” 

April then put the rope around my hips as a belt and tucked the towel under it, covering my loins.  That it didn’t cover my butt was not really an issue, hung against the mast as I was.  Meanwhile, gravity having pulled the dildo inexorably downward, I gave a pelvic push and expelled it from my vagina.  It hit the deck with a clunk.

“What about my top?”

“Oh, but you’re cute topless,” April replied.  She put her hands to my breasts.  Her fingers rubbed circles around my nipples.  Then she put her mouth to my breast and started sucking.  Her fingers probed my clit and started frigging.

Yet another person sexually stimulating me.  Right out in public view.  And again I was responding to it with arousal.  Hadn’t I already decided that I wanted down off this mast.  But now I was ready for more.  What kind of slut was I?

Well, maybe I wasn’t really a slut.  After all, they hung me here.  I didn’t seek this out.  They set me up to work their perversions on my vulnerabilities.  I can’t help it that I respond sexually.  Why should I blame myself?

I didn’t expect April to continue stimulating me for long enough for me to get anywhere with it.  And she didn’t.  She unlatched from my breast and put her lips to mine.  We kissed briefly.  Then she pulled away and after glancing around at the nearby boats, said, “If your mistress will allow you to cover your breasts, I’ll get something for you.”

Ivy said, “A punishment bra is what Jenny would wear.  Some barbed wire wrapped round and round her chest.  Real tight.”

“Fortunately for me, there’s no barbed wire on board.”  My vision of a past-life crux simplex experience reentered my mind.  Had I been forced to wear a bra of thorns?  Oh-my-god, I wonder what that felt like.  ...Stimulation mixed with discomfort?  Real painful?  Total agony?  ...How tightly did they put it on?  Would the thorns just sort of scratch my nipples?  Or would they stick deep in?

“No time for punishment bras,” said Ivy.  “Cuz I’m just going to whip your front like you’ve never been whipped before.”

Swish...thack.  Ivy laid the whip across my torso just below the belly button.  Then another, higher.  And another.  Swish...thack.  Swish...thack.  Swish...thack!  One stroke after another, a steady rhythm lashing me across the belly and ribs.  She was making a point of snapping it on me hard.  The sting was fierce.

Gasping and panting with pain, I was determined to take it bravely.  So far, despite her threats, she had spared my breasts.  All I could do is hope for the best.

Swish...thack!  Swish...thack!  Swish...thack!  Hard stinging whip strokes.  Across the ribs.  Then finally across the base of the breasts.  I knew she was about to give it to me on the nipples.

A speed boat pulled up beside us and slowed down to our speed.  As it followed along side of us, I knew several guys there were checking us out.  My hair obscured my face, but still, they were making me uptight.  Couldn’t they just go away?  It’s one thing for people to check you out from afar, but another thing to move in close so they can really gape at you.

Then Ivy stopped whipping me, and turned to watch them.  I also looked over.  ...What!  ...Two guys were up on the bow, stark naked.  Each was bound to the other by the left ankle.  ...And they were swatting each other with belts.  And two other guys in the stern were cheering them on.

The two in the bow were really going at it.  Trading hard swats, all thick and fast.  They were having a great time. They both had erections.

Now it was obvious that they hadn’t brought their boat in close to ogle me.  It seemed that they just wanted to share in the crazy energy ...and fuel it.  With all their whooping, theirs was more of a show.

The one guy grabbed the other guy’s penis and was yanking on it.  Unable to break his grip, the other guy started swatting him in the crotch with his belt.  Lurching to avoid the blows, he fell over the side.  Pulled in by the penis, and connected by the ankle, the other guy went over the side with him and they entered the water with a double splash.

After more hollering as the two in the water were left behind, the guys in stern finally cut their engine.  The two guys in the water apparently in no trouble, the two in the stern then went at it trying to throw each other over the bulkhead into water.  But with me hung on the mast facing forward, they were all quickly out of my field of vision as we left them behind.

Continuing to look back at the action, Rafiq said to Ivy, “Maybe we’re not so deviant after all.  We seem to fit right in.”

“Compared to them, we’re inconspicuous,” Ivy replied.  Then turning to me, she lifted my little towel-skirt and flicked her finger across my clit, saying, “I don’t see why a slut like you should be allowed any clothes when you’re being punished.”

“I’m not a slut.  But you are a bitch,” I said in a light tone.

“Insolent brat.  I’m the one holding the whip.”

“Well woot-woot.”

She let go of my towel-skirt and stepped back taking her measure with the whip.  Swish...thack.  She snapped it hard across the upper part my breasts.  I tried not to react.  Swish...thack!  A lightning strike right across the nipples.  I held back a cry, but I couldn’t help panting.

Swish...thack.  Across the base of my breasts.  Swish...thack!  “Ooh!”  Again to the nipples, so hard.  As she laid another and another so hard to my breasts, in desperation I looked to Rafiq.  I needed his energy to sustain me.

He responded by touched my cheek.  ...And then brought his lips to mine!  ...Swish...thack!  Ivy laid another stinging whip stroke straight onto the nipples.  ...Rafiq pressed his lips more tightly to mine.

Such a vivid contrast of sensations.  The trenchant bite of Ivy’s whip, lashing my breasts.  The soothing moistness of Rafiq’s lips, smooching with mine.  Eyes closed, I was experiencing a hyper reality.

With his lips still pressed to mine, he swung my body a little away from the mast.  Suspended, I had been only resting against it, not bound against it.  Having made space behind me, his lips separated from mine and he slipped around my ankle rope, placing himself between me and the mast.  Now he was hugging me from behind.

Swish...thack!  Swish...thack!  Swish...thack!  With savage intensity, Ivy laid that fiery sting on my front, one hard stroke after another.  She snapped it across every part of my breasts ...above, below, but especially straight onto on the nipples.

Rafiq’s penis was no longer just a bulge inside his pants.  I could feel it bared on my butt and then between my legs.  One hand clasped to my hip, his other hand was guiding his penis toward my tunnel.  He was going to fuck me while I hung on the mast.

The shaft found my opening and thrust its way in.  Sliding up and up.  All the way home.  He had me.  He was holding me tightly by the hips.  One hand slid toward my crotch.  His finger pressed onto my clit, impelling my arousal.

Here I was hung on the mast, Ivy laying one scorching whip stroke after another to my front, Rafiq fucking me from behind.  This was the furthest antithesis from the missionary position.  Not snuggled recumbent between cozy mattress and warm overcovering body.  No, here I was suspended upright, outstretched naked to all the world, my unprotected front flayed with cruel scathing strokes.

Was I reliving the climax of a past life?  Was this crux simplex thing more than just a fantasy?  Had I been a rebellious slave girl in the time of Spartacus?  Captured, then stripped and bound, had I been led through crowds of gaping, clamorous villagers, who groped and humiliated me as I stumbled past them?

Unworthy of being nailed to the heavy trunk of a mature tree, had they hung me to the narrow trunk of a young tree, no older than myself?  Had the crowd cheered as they stretched my wrists overhead and drove the nail through?  Was that my moment of celebrity, in an otherwise humble series of lifetimes?

Had the crowd then worked their sexual perversions on my exposed body?  Tweaking, rubbing, prodding, pinching, and poking at my private areas.

To the cheers of the crowd, had my former mistress taken up a charioteer’s leather horsewhip and flayed my outstretched front?   As the ultimate indignity, as she continued scourging my flesh, had a Roman soldier slid between me and the tree trunk and impaled me with his penis up my vagina?

Whipped and fucked to the death, hung on a tree.  If there are indeed such things as past lives – and I don’t know if there are – such a cataclysmic end might then brand itself into the psyche to be relived in different ways lifetime after lifetime.

Swish-thack!  “Owww!”   ...Swish...thack!  “Oooh!”    ...Swish-thack!  “Ahhhh!”  One scorching whip stroke after another.  Most of them aimed at the softness of my breasts.  So many smacking straight onto the sensitive nipples.  My breasts were sizzling.  My nipples were glowing like red-hot coals.

And at the same time, my cunt was tensed by the thrusting organic shaft, my clit galvanized by frenetic frigging fingers.

An incandescent sexual plasma fluxed through me.  My state of arousal was approaching the brink.  All the while, with eyes closed I imagined a fateful day two millennia ago, hung on a tree.  Impelled toward a climactic end, a full participant in the frenzy of lust. ...A descent into the pit of ruinous carnality.  ...Or an ascent to the pinnacle of ecstatic sacrificial fulfillment.

Was there really any difference between Ivy’s scathing, girl-flesh shaking whip strokes and Rafiq’s fluid, cunt-propelling thrusts or clit-quivering manipulation.  Pain or pleasure, it was the impetus I craved.  Sexual energy pouring in.  I just wanted more.

Like a massive star consuming everything in its gravity, I absorbed every element of each whip stroke that Ivy laid on me – the hiss of the thong as it cleaved the air; the abrupt clap and explosive pain as it whacked bare flesh; the ensuing stinging aftermath.  Every detail of Rafiq’s rhythmic thrusting  – his loins pressing on my butt, his shaft impelling my vagina.  And all the quivering stimulation of his fingers ceaselessly frigging my clit.

To the signal of his breath heaving behind my ear, Rafiq began pumping cum.  I could feel the palpitations as he cast his life oils up my vaginal canal.

My own arousal had reached critical.  No matter that I wanted more, I could hold no more.  The throes of orgasmic climax rocked my core.  Seized by its uncontrollable force I gasped and quivered.  Eyes squinched shut, I held my breath. ...Eyes wide open, I panted for air.

Oh-my-god.  Eyes open, I now saw that we had sailed well beyond the marina and gone all the way into Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.  There was the National Aquarium building, and the WWII submarine and the Constellation tall sailing ship moored in their places.  The downtown Baltimore waterfront, people everywhere.

Suspended helpless on an upright, whipped and fucked until brought to climax, all facing a crowd of onlookers.  Not just a past-life crux simplex fantasy, it was happening right before me. ...But what cared I about onlookers.  I was in the throes of a detonating galactic supernova.

Gathering momentum, the orgasmic shock wave traveled outward from the epicenter in my nether region.  Up my torso, down my thighs, bounding outward to my extremities.  Then plunging back to the center, converging into a singularity of immeasurable heat and density before exploding outward afresh.

Cycle after cycle, transformation after transformation.  Birth following death, creation following destruction.  Ten thousand lifetimes of pain and pleasure.  Ten thousand cycles of samsara ever seeking nirvana.  Ten thousand life stories, told by ten thousand imbeciles.

Stupefied by seizures of rapture ebbing and flowing, expanding, contracting, I was no longer of time and place.  Uncoupled from the bounds, I journeyed ever backward, experiencing the pain and pleasure of a hundred million forebears, all the way to the dawn of life in a warm nurturing sea.  All the way back and then forward again, a pulsating cadence of existence after existence.

Driven ever deeper into the throbbing rhythm of orgasmic climax, I had thrown myself over to sensual ecstacy as if never to return to the realm of sanity.  A maniac gorging on every loving, scathing, stirring, or rousing tactile sensation my body was capable of experiencing.

The pounding din of clashing stimuli was rocking my core to the edge of disintegration when Ivy finally laid off the whip.  Although my breasts were still stinging like fury, at least I could focus on being locked together with Rafiq.  Having disgorged his potencies into me, the forcefulness of his rhythmic thrusting began to ease.

The momentum of my own tumultuous climax carried far onward until, nearly spent of energy, it too gradually quieted into receding sets of gently lapping waves.  Rafiq wrapped his arms around my front, cradling my sting-tingling breasts.  Below, we remained coupled.  Sharing an experience like this, I could not imagine that our spirits would not remain forever joined whatever individual paths we might take.

Having turned about from the Inner Harbor, we were now headed for the marina.  This odyssey would conclude shortly.

Serene in the amber afterglow of the embers of my orgasmic supernova, I reflected where I had been.  Was I the same person that I had been two weeks ago before I came upon the Argo?  Was I the same person I had been two hours ago before they hung me on the mast?  If we are what we think and feel, those thoughts and feelings change from moment to moment... a moment always fresh for discovery.

– Epilogue –

After the voyage, Rafiq and Ivy broke up.  I got together with him a couple times during August but I could sense that our magic had slipped away.  April told me that he had started going with a girl attached to the Russian embassy.

Just before I left for college, by chance I ran into Rafiq and his new girl friend at a trance-music dance club in DC.  I had gone there with a friend, Elwood.  Since Elwood is openly and exclusively gay, that may seem strange.  But it actually makes sense since all either of us wanted was a friendly partner who liked to dance.  After all the sexual intensity of the voyage, I wanted to cool it, and I knew he wanted nothing from me sexually.

But encountering Rafiq there was not that good.  The driving trace rhythm made it hard to converse.  And Elwood’s manner was sufficiently effeminate that Rafiq was eyeing him as though he couldn’t figure out why he was with me.

For my part I had little interest in getting to know Rafiq’s new girl friend.  Anyway, after that chance encounter, the club is big enough that we did not run into them again for the rest of the evening.  Shortly after that I left for college and did not see Rafiq again.

The Skipper, on the other hand, I saw later that year at April’s house.  It was during the holiday season after the semester ended.  April’s parents were having a big get together of relatives.  April told me that the Skipper had asked that I be invited.

He was clearly delighted to see me there.  He seemed to be doing well and made a point of telling me that he had been finding more work – as an independent consultant – and drinking less.  He attributed that to what he thought was the good influence of his encounters with me.  I sensed that he was sincere in his regard for me, but I was uneasy with the implied responsibility.

He tried to get me to go upstairs with him to April’s bedroom.  I politely declined, but quietly teased him with the image of everyone ceasing their noisy conversations while they listened to sounds emanating from the bedroom ...the sound of him whacking me with April’s hairbrush while I yelped with every stroke.  That seemed to make him more insistent.  But still I declined any closed-door encounter with him.

At the end of evening he offered to drive me home.  As it was a thirty-minute walk which I had already done one-way to get to April’s, I accepted the ride.  On the way, he said he thought I was brave to get in the car with him since he might kidnap me, take me to his secret hideout, and enslave me.

Laughing, I teased him about having delusions of powerfulness.  When I asked him how he imagined he could pull such a thing off, he started in on how he would do it.  Soon arriving in front of my house, we parked and I listened and interacted with him for another forty-five minutes as he unfolded a long tale of my imagined enslavement – what he would do and how I would respond.  But that’s another story.

– End –