Morning
Dawn was a long time coming
for Kris, Alyx and Cassandra. Tied as they were, sitting with their backs to
stanchions, legs spread wide, sleep was impossible. The deck grew ever harder
to their naked bottoms, their arms and legs soon began to cramp. They were all
grateful when the sky lightened and they heard the sounds of movement in the
cabin.
Finally the door to the
cabin opened and Mr. Binkman came out, carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and
his pistol in the other. The trophy wife followed him. She was much younger
than Mr. Binkman, blonde from a bottle and with a bust that Kris cattily
thought must be considerably greater than her IQ. She was dressed in one of the
skimpiest bikinis Kris had ever seen.
“Well, girls,” Mr. Binkman
said with a smirk as he looked over his captives, “you’ll be happy to know I’ve
notified the staff about your little escapade. They’ll send someone out to
collect you in a bit. I told them not to hurry. I’ve some plans for you.”
Binkman took a sip of his
coffee, then stepped closer, to inspect his naked, bound captives. As he did his
nose started to twitch and then he looked around, sniffing in an exaggerated
manner like a cartoon character.
During the night all three
women had succumbed to the need to relieve their bladders and being firmly tied
in place had done what had to be done. Binkman saw the stains on the teak deck
fanning out from each of the women. He put his coffee down on the railing and
went to a locker at the back of the cabin. He returned reeling out a hose.
“Melissa, m’dear,” he said
to the trophy wife, “would you mind turning on the pump?”
Melissa went to the
wheelhouse. A moment later, somewhere below decks, a motor could be heard
turning.
“Piss on my deck, will ya?”
Binkman said. “Well, it’s bath time ladies.”
He turned the hose on each
woman in turn, aiming mostly at their pussies. The water was uncomfortably cool
and the jet was painfully strong. He laughed coarsely at their futile efforts
to escape the pounding stream by twisting and wriggling.
When he was finished he
ordered Melissa the trophy wife to start untying them. She started with Kris.
When she was free she was helped to her feet and then allowed a few moments to
stretch and get the kinks out. Then Binkman and Melissa made her stand with her
back to one of the posts that supported the canopy over the deck. Her arms were
tied behind the post.
The Binkmans then did the
same for Alyx and Cassandra. When all three women were tied to posts Binkman
asked Melissa to freshen up his coffee. She took the cup below and returned moments
later. She handed it to him.
“Ah, yes,” he said,
stepping in front of Kris, “a good strong, hot cup of coffee. I always say the
hotter the better, don’t you?” He pressed the cup against one of Kris’ nipples.
It was definitely hot, far too hot to drink. She winced and tried to pull away.
Binkman responded by moving the cup to the other nipple. Then he moved on to
Alyx.
“You like coffee, too?” he
asked mockingly as he applied the cup.
“No,” she replied.
“Sure? Try it again,”
Binkman said, moving to her other nipple.
He stepped back and took a
sip, then looked at the deck, already drying out. The pee stains were still
obvious.
“Ya know just hosing down
the deck isn’t going to keep that piss from staining it,” he said. “Those’re
gonna have to be scrubbed. And I ain’t doing it.” He looked straight at
Cassandra. “You look able bodied, missy.” He turned to Melissa. “Bring a scrub
brush and untie this one.”
Melissa went below decks
again and returned with a large scrub brush. She dropped it on the deck at
Cassandra’s feet and then untied her.
“On your hands and knees
and start scrubbing,” Binkman ordered. “Melissa, why don’t you help her by
manning the hose. And I thought I told you to get down.” He glared at
Cassandra, who’d been slow to obey.
Cassandra went down on her
hands and knees. She picked up the scrub brush and started scrubbing. Being
naked and busty, her large breasts hung down and jiggled lewdly as she
scrubbed. Not only that but the position exposed her sex, which Melissa took
little time in exploiting, alternating between hosing the deck and aiming the
stream at Cassandra’s slit and anus. When Cassandra would move to protect her
bottom Melissa shifted the stream to her dangling breasts.
When Cassandra had finished
scrubbing Binkman ordered her to stand with her back to the post again. Melissa then tied her wrists behind her back,
around the post. She came back to stand next to her husband, who put the pistol
in his pocket. She snuggled up against him, a vicious little smirk on her face.
“Yep,” Binkman said,
gloating, “y’all are gonna get a public punishment for this stunt. Gonna have
to adjust my schedule so’s I can make it down here. Whaddaya think it should
be, m’love?”
“Oh, I think something
really, really nasty, dear,” the petite dyed blonde said.
“How about this for a
starter,” Binkman said as he slipped behind her, placing an arm around her
waist. His free hand was slipping under the waistband of her bikini bottom,
under the tiny patch of cloth covering her mound. “Tie them on the beach,
spread eagle style. Then smear bacon grease on their nipples and pussies.” He
had his hand all the way into her bottom now and was massaging her. “Then we
let the crabs nibble away at them. What do you think it feels like to have a
crab pinching your clitty?”
“I don’t know,” she purred,
“but I’ll bet it really, really hurts. Do you think a crab could actually bite
it off?”
She was reaching behind her
now, obviously stroking him.
“I don’t know. A big one
might be able to. Them little fellers would probably just keep tugging and
nipping away at it.”
“And could a crab get up on
them to get at their nipples. Especially Miss Boobies with those big melons.
That’s a long way for a little crab to climb, dear.”
“Well, I suppose we could
let the crabs have their clittys and let the seagulls have their nips. Wouldn’t
that be fun? Watching the seagulls grab their nips in their beaks and pull on
them? How far d’you think a seagull could stretch a nipple? Two, three inches
maybe?”
“Let’s try an experiment.”
She went to Kris and seized one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
She started pulling. “We’ll pretend I’m a seagull.” She lifted the breast,
stretching it out. Her long fingernails dug viciously into the tender flesh of
the nipple. She began tugging and twisting. “Whaddaya think, Krissy? Is that
what being bit by a seagull would feel like?”
Kris bit her lip to keep
from crying out, but couldn’t prevent the tears from starting to trickle. Good
Lord, she thought, this woman is as bad as her husband. She gave the poor
nipple another hard tug, then released it and stepped back.
“Maybe we’ll find out in a
few days,” Binkman said. “Meantime, this here is a ship and I’m the captain,
which means I’m the law on-board. And as the captain I’m damned well going to
impose some proper seagoing punishment on you pirates. Back in the old days they’d
flog the hide offa your back as soon as look at you.” Binkman had retrieved his
pistol from his pocket. He waved it at each woman in turn to emphasize his
point. “I think will start with this one.” He pointed the pistol at Alyx. She
thought for a moment Binkman intended to shoot her. But then he said to Melissa
“Get her ready.”
Melissa untied Alyx. As she
stretched her kinked limbs a thought entered her mind. She could jump
overboard. Swim for it. She could take them by surprise, be over the rail before
they could react. Would Binkman shoot at her in the water? But swim where? Her
memory of the previous night and the difficulty she’d had getting to the boat
was still fresh. Even if Binkman didn’t shoot her she’d most likely drown before
she made it to shore. Damn, she thought. I’m getting suicidal.
So, instead of leaping over
the side of the boat she meekly let the bitchy little trophy wife lead her
across the deck to another of the posts supporting the awning. Melissa had her
stand facing the post, then raise her arms over her head and cross her wrists.
Binkman handed Melissa a short piece of rope which she used to tie Alyx’s
wrists to the post. Melissa had to stand on tiptoe to reach high enough.
With Alyx secured Binkman
pocketed the pistol and went below again. He returned carrying a cat-o-nine
tails.
“Perhaps I should thank you
girls,” he said nastily. “Always wanted a chance to use Old Betsy here.”
He held it up for all the
women to see it, making sure to stand where Alyx could turn her head and look.
The cat was a fearsome thing. The various flogging devices used on the island
were designed to sting but do minimal damage, since a woman sent to the
infirmary for weeks or permanently injured was considered a waste of a valuable
property. But this device was longer, the falls made of coarse, stiff material.
And most frightening, bits of metal were worked into the falls.
“Yep,” Binkman continued
with pride in his voice. “Picked this up years ago. This is the genuine
article. This is what they used in the old days on men o’war, back in the days
of wooden ships and iron men. Always wanted to see what it could do.”
He swung the cat back and
forth gently, letting the falls trace a sinuous path through the air. Then his
arm moved back and Alyx closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, while Cassandra
and Kris stared in wide-eyed horror as he prepared to strike.
Binkman stopped and turned
to Melissa. “My dear, I think a few practice strokes are in order. Get a life
jacket and tie it to one of these posts.”
Melissa did as she was
told, ducking into the cabin and returning a moment later with a bright orange
life jacket and a piece of twine. She wrapped the lifejacket around a post
where all three women could see it and tied it in place with twine. Binkman
stepped up and chose his spot like a golfer lining up for a putt. He swung the
cat, not very hard, and it raked across the lifejacket, leaving ragged parallel
rips in its path. A second swing came in too low, striking the post and ripping
small splinters from it.
“Damn!” Binkman swore in a
low voice. “Gonna cost to have that fixed.”
He took a third swing, this
time hitting the lifejacket square. Small bits of fabric and plastic foam
flotation went flying.
“Ahoy, the Pequod,” a voice
called out. “Permission to come aboard?”
Alyx recognized it as
Eric’s. She turned to see a Boston Whaler approach with Eric and three of his
assistants aboard. She’d never been happy to see him before, but now she felt
she could kiss him. Mr. Binkman looked a bit unhappy.
“Permission granted,” he
called out somewhat grudgingly.
The Whaler pulled alongside. Eric climbed
aboard, followed by two of his assistants. He looked at the cat in Binkman’s
hand and the shredded lifejacket. He arched an eyebrow pointedly as he looked
at Mr. Binkman. “I do hope, sir, you didn’t seriously intend to use that device
on any of our girls. I’m certain the board of directors would be most unhappy.”
Binkman looked a bit
sheepish. “Of course not. I was just havin’ some fun messing with their minds.”
He shot a nasty look at
Kris and Cassandra. Something in that look made Kris believe Binkman had every
intention of working them over with the terrible device. She prayed he’d never
be given the opportunity.
“Very good, sir. I’m glad
to hear that.” Something in the tone of Eric’s reply told Kris that Eric wasn’t
entirely believing Mr. Binkman either. “We’ll be taking the girls into our
custody now.”
His assistants untied Kris
and Cassandra first and helped them into the Whaler. Then they returned for
Alyx. She was trembling and had to be helped to walk across the deck to the
boarding ladder. Minutes later Eric had them lined up on the dock.
“Girls,” he was saying,
“you have no idea how mad I am at you, and you know what an easy going person I
am. So you can imagine how much trouble you are in. Now, I’m going to take you
to the detention cells. I should have you hogtied and make you wriggle on your
bellies all the way there, but I’m not going to do that. But if you cause the
least amount of trouble, if you so much as show me a dirty look I’ll have you
spread eagled on the ground and whip your asses off right now. Is that clear?”
All three mumbled yes, eyes
firmly cast down at the ground.
“Ok, then. Follow me.”
He led them through the
cluster of service buildings they’d slunk through the night before, then turned
away from the fence and the main building, to lead them to a low concrete
structure, almost like a bunker. One at a time he led them down a stairway and
through a heavy metal door. Inside was a bare corridor with blank metal doors
on either side, cell doors. Each woman was ushered into a cell, alone, and the
door swung shut behind her.
Interrogation
Time passed slowly in the
cell for Kris. There was no window and she had no way to judge the passing of time.
She also had nothing to occupy her time. The cell was entirely bare except for
a metal cot bolted to the wall and metal bucket to use as a toilet and a
plastic water bottle. A single light fixture was sunk into the ceiling. A small
opaque dome, probably housing a closed circuit TV camera, was the only other
object to break the flat concrete surface.
After a while a small hatch
near the bottom of the metal door slid open. A bowl of plain rice and another
plastic water bottle were passed through and the hatch closed. Time passed. The
light dimmed for a time but was not completely extinguished. Twice more food
was passed through the door. Again the light dimmed, then brightened after some
hours. Kris assumed another day had passed. She waited for the next meal to be
passed in.
The door to the cell
opened. Two burly men in the khaki trousers and sand gray shirts of the club
staff entered. Kris braced herself, thinking she was being taken out for the
public punishment.
Her wrists were cuffed
behind her back and she was escorted out of the cell, one of the men keeping
firm hold of either arm. In the hallway they turned right, opposite the
direction she’d entered the building from. They passed several unmarked metal
doors, each with two openings, a small one up high and larger one lower down,
covered by sliding panels. More cells, Kris thought. She wondered which ones
Alyx and Cassandra were in.
At the end of the hallway
there was another metal door, this one lacking the openings. One of her escorts
opened it and they entered to find a stairwell winding downwards. They
descended the stairs and then passed through another door into a sort of ante
room. The room was empty of furniture, just unadorned beige walls and linoleum
flooring. There were three doors, one in each wall. Her escorts took her
straight through the room and opened the door.
The room was clearly a
torture chamber. The centerpiece of the room was a heavy, straight backed
wooden chair with leather straps fastened to it. A metal cabinet, several chairs
and small tray, like a TV tray, were lined up against the walls. Her escorts
unfastened Kris’ wrist, then went to stand by the door, leaving her standing in
the middle of the room, next to the chair.
After a few minutes the
door opened and three men entered. All three appeared to be well into middle
age, one short and rather thin, the
other two of average height and a little overweight. Two were dressed in
the white linen suits that the higher level staff of the Club favored. The
third was dressed more casually in slacks and a florid tropical pattern shirt. The two men who had brought her to the room
quietly slipped out the door.
The shortest man introduced
himself. “I am Mr. Hepple. I am the general manager of the club here at Dorado
Cay. This” he motioned at the man to his left, “is Mr. Watmaugh. He is the head
of security here.”
He paused and took a long
look at Kris. Something about his mien made her stomach turn over.
“You realize, Kris, that
this incident is quite serious,” Mr. Hepple said gravely. “As officials of the
Club it is our duty to investigate what has occurred, so that we might better
prevent future such occurrences. We tend not to use the word ‘slave’ here. It
has such, um, unpleasant connotations. However, slaves are what you girls in fact
are and you represent a considerable investment that our members would be
loathed to lose. And then there’s the considerable threat to their privacy
should one of you succeed in an unauthorized departure from the island. So you
can understand the awkward position you’ve put us in here.”
He paused.
“Personally, I take no
pleasure in inflicting unpleasantness on anyone. I’m merely a professional
resort manager. Our members, my employers, as you well know see things from a
different perspective. Our founders, many of them, had classical educations.
They established certain procedures that we on the staff must follow in
specific situations. Clearly, we must question you. That would be a given
anywhere. Now, you may or may not be aware that in ancient Rome testimony from
slaves was always taken under torture. Not surprisingly, our founders were
quite taken by this idea and thus incorporated it into our instructions.”
He paused again and then
gestured towards the man he hadn’t yet introduced, the one in the flowery
shirt.
“This is Detective Franz,
formerly of the N.Y.P.D. Retired now, he works as a consultant for us. He will
be in charge of your interrogation, though Mr. Watmaugh and myself will
observe.” The detective gave a small wave.
“Hi, Kris,” he said. He
walked around her slowly, glancing up and down, not saying anything. It was a
motion designed to make her nervous and it was succeeding. Mr. Hepple and Mr.
Watmaugh stepped back away, watching.
Detective Franz stopped in
front of her, staring at her with hands clasped. He finally spoke again.
“So, Kris,” he said
finally. She noticed he wasn’t looking her in the eyes. He seemed more focused
on her chest. “As Mr. Hepple mentioned, I was on the force in New York City for
many years, and I conducted many interviews with prisoners. It always bothered
me that there were limits as to what I could do to get to the truth. Not a
problem here and I have to say I’m enjoying my work so much more because of
that. Why don’t you take a seat. We’re going to be at this for a while.”
He motioned her to sit on
the chair. It was heavily constructed
and bolted securely to the floor. She stepped back and sat down. Franz walked
behind her, still talking.
“As Mr. Hepple stated, the
policy here is to apply a certain amount of torture, just to be certain you’re
not holding anything back from us.”
He gently brought her arms
behind her used leather straps fastened to the chair to bind them.
“Now, you realize that
you’re going up for a public punishment in the not too distant future, so I
can’t really be as aggressive as I would like to be. We can’t have bruises
showing when you go before the crowd.”
He gave her right breast a
light slap for emphasis. Then he knelt down at her feet. He positioned her
ankles at the front legs of the chair and secured them with straps. He stroked
her pussy, just to emphasize her vulnerability, before he fastened a strap
around each thigh. Then he stood up and looked down at her with a malicious
look in his eye.
“Fortunately there are
methods we can use that won’t leave any marks.” He went off to the side of the room and returned carrying
some items, what they were Kris wasn’t certain but there were dangling wires.
He knelt down beside the chair and placed the items on the floor. He fussed
around for a moment, then held up an item that looked like a Flash Gordon bra.
There were two translucent plastic cups, a copper nub centered on each, a red
wire dangling from it. Several more copper points were arranged around the
central one, these all having black wires attached. A wide elastic strap
connected the two cups, with two more straps dangling from the opposite sides.
Detective Franz held the
cups in front of Kris and placed one on each breast, positioning them so the
central copper contacts were on her nipples. The cups were much smaller than
her breasts so they were almost like caps over the ends. Deftly Franz slipped
his hands behind her back, fastening the straps that held the cups in place.
He picked another object
up. This one was a translucent plastic dildo, though a bit short, only five
inches or so. But at the base there were two extensions, a slightly curved one
in front and a much more hooked one in back. Copper strips were embedded on the
surfaces of both the dildo and the extensions. Detective Franz picked up a tube
of lubricating gel and smeared a generous amount on the dildo. He placed the
tip between her inner lips and slowly but firmly pushed the dildo into place.
It took a bit more effort and some
wiggling when the rear extension reached her anus, but he soon had it in place.
Kris could feel the forward extension pressing against her clit and the rear
extension intruding into her anus.
“Now this may pinch a bit,”
Franz was saying. “But we don’t want you expelling this.” She felt a pinch on
each of her inner lips. “Those clips should keep things in place. Would you
believe it? Before I added those clip I saw girls squeeze so hard they fired
the plug all the way across, the room.”