Sex Slave at Sea

They lead me out to the major deck of the Claforis, the one just below the smaller sun deck. Here, there are lounge chairs in the sun and plusher circular seats in the shade, where the rich folks (not me) and their guests can look out into the sea and whatever sun is going to set on them.

A Hispanic youth in a white shirt and shorts is on his hands and knees, polishing the handsome wooden slats of the deck floor. A bucket of soapy water sloshes beside him. He does a double take as I step out onto the deck.

“Hey, you,” Alice says.

The youth swivels towards her, clearly frightened.

“Yes, I’m talking to you. Go get me a brush, the kind you hold with your hand. Make it one with a medium-long handle, you know – the one that looks like a joystick.”

“A j-joystick?”

“What part of joystick don’t you understand? It’s long, like this – kapish?”

The youth scuttles away.

“He’s not Italian, darling,” Heather drawls. “He doesn’t understand ‘kapish’.”

“Whatever.”

I wonder if Alice treats all her servants this way. She must have been raised in a spoilt, bratty part of the Victorian climes.

“You OK?” Greg asks in a very low voice behind me. Since we are out on deck, the sound of the wind and waves helps to mask his concerned tones.

“I can’t bend my back.”

Indeed, the collar and rod keeps my back ramrod straight at all times. I feel like I’m training for a BDSM version of ballet class.

“Don’t worry. I’ll try to make it easy on you.”

Warmth trickles through me as I smile at Greg. I don’t know why, but he just makes me feel secure and adored.

Alice is inexplicably picking up the bucket and sloshing a portion of the soapy water onto the deck. I wonder if this is her way of torturing the staff. I also wonder why her father lets her get away with it. Surely heiresses need to be groomed at finishing school so that they can be hostesses to rich people’s parties?

Or maybe her father takes her across his knees and spanks her when she gets out of hand – I don’t know. The way this family carries out their relationships, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

“Where are Max and the twins?” I ask between my teeth.

“They took the speedboat out to go diving.”

That’s convenient.

The youth is back with a joystick brush or whatever they call it. The handle is made out of some synthetic material. Green bristles sprout out of its flared rounded end.

Alice puts out her hand. “Give it to me.”

The youth, wearing an expression of abject terror, obeys. Alice does that to people, so I can totally sympathize.

“You can stand here and watch if it’s done properly,” she says to him. Then she turns her gimlet gaze to me. “Come here, Gina.”

I freeze.

Heather slyly pushes me forward. “Go on.”

I can only teeter in my bare feet towards Alice, who holds the brush up like a cudgel. She gestures to the wet patch of soapy water on the deck.

“Go stand in that.”

What?

“Y-you mean . . . stand in the puddle?” I squeak.

“What part of it didn’t you understand? Are you dense?”

“N-no.”

“Then do it.”

My mind runs havoc with permutations of Alice as Wicked Stepsister as I step onto the puddle. My bare feet squelch in the water and I can see my reflection in the rainbow-colored soap bubbles on the surface. I have to tread very carefully in my bound and sodomized state to keep myself from slipping.

“Now squat,” Alice commands.

It is a very difficult maneuver for me because of the hook in my asshole. I have to spread my legs first and then bend my knees very slowly, all the time keeping my back straight. I don’t even have the use of my hands to help me balance.

The youth gapes at the way my pussy is exposed to everyone’s gaze.

Oh my God, it is humiliating.

Alice kneels in front of me. With several fingers, she peels open the layers of my outer labia so that my vulva can be clearly seen. Then she shoves the blunt handle of the joystick brush – which also resembles a crude penis (or any other rod) – into my pussy hole. She’s rather rough, and I twitch in pain as the plastic handle enters me.

“Don’t be a sissy,” she scolds, her breath hot against my cheek. Her hair falls in front of her face and she impatiently brushes it off.

She pushes it in further, as deep as it can go. The stick’s diameter is not that huge, and so my vaginal walls close around it in a comfortable fit. The brush’s bristles flower from my pussy like a crown of weeds.

I flush with embarrassment. Never before have I been subjected to thus.

Alice stands up.

“Now I want you to clean the wet part of the floor with that brush, Gina. Do it with your pussy.”

With my pussy? I am aghast. But I can’t! I have a hook sticking in my ass that is restricting my butt movements.

“Do it,” Alice says cruelly, “or I’ll fetch a whip.”

Greg looks away uncomfortably as Heather puts her hands on her hips. She wears an amused expression.

I have to gather every ounce of my mental strength to do this. The gawking deckhand staring at my compromised love holes doesn’t help.

“Do it, Gina.” The threat – of reporting a compromised contract to her father – is unmistakable in Alice’s tone.

I begin to swipe the floor with the brush in my pussy. As I lower my hips to the floor, the bristles poke into the tender flesh of my labia and clit. The sensation is both prickly and alarming, and I daren’t press too hard down against the floor. The brush makes a scratching sound against the wooden boards.

“Do it back and forth. And rotate your hips,” Alice says. “I want to see variations.”

It’s very difficult to do so with the hook in my anus, but in my restricted state, I attempt to do what she bids. The back and forth motions are a lot easier. But the oscillatory ones are damned torture, as the hook makes its presence extremely felt when I try to swing my buttocks in an arc.

“Creep to another spot and do it again.” Alice has her arms folded and she’s standing in front of me, her eyes raking my tortured pussy.

It’s equally difficult to move in my position, and so I settle for a graceless wide-based waddle to another part and begin brushing the floor again. It’s awkward and humiliating. Tears spring into my eyes even as my spectators observe my every movement.

“Faster,” Heather says.

Oh, so she’s chiming in as well. Super.

“Yeah,” Alice says. “Faster. And I want you to press down harder.”

She walks behind me. Her body casts a long shadow over me. She places her hands on my shoulders and pushes down hard.

“I said harder.”

I gasp as the plastic bristles dig into my pussy lips and clit. My clit is especially sensitive. I cry out as a spiky outshoot pokes into my hood, spearing the wrinkled skin in without penetrating it.

Alice maintains her cruel grasp on my shoulders.

“Now rotate your hips. I want to see you make circles.”

“Alice,” Greg cautions. “No injuries, remember?”

“I’m not injuring her in the slightest least. It would be good for her to experience a little pain now and then with all the coddling the boys have been giving her. Now move those buttocks, Gina. I want to see you scrub that floor.”

With hot tears blurring my vision, I move my hips to make a circle. The brush’s rod whittles inside my vagina even as my anal hook makes a clean sweep of my rectum. I do it again, and the two tormenting objects inside my erotic holes roll against my tender walls again.

“Scrub it.”

I’m trying my hardest, I want to scream. Even the youth is looking at me in pity.

“Again. Then pack your tight butt over that spot. I want to see this whole patch get cleaner than Heather’s douched cunt.”

“Hey. I do so not douche.”

“Of course you douche. I’ve seen you.”

Heather makes a face.

Alice turns her attention back to me. “Did I say you can stop? Do it again.”

She bears down upon me so hard that my groin is almost compressing the brush against the floor. I cry out.

“Now do a triangle.”

I try my best to comply.

“Alice,” Greg cautions again.

“Shut up. This is none of your business. Scrub it, Gina. Scrub it hard.”

A tear spools out of the corner of my eye and runs down my cheek as I work my hips.

“It is my concern,” Greg declares. “You made me part of this.”

“Just seal that pretty mouth of yours and do as you’re told. You’re my slave as much as she is. If you want that Baker and Buchanan job that badly, then you’d better not forget it.”

Greg’s face twitches, and then he masks it. A whirlwind of almost understanding tumbles through my head. Since morning, I’d suspected there was something off about Greg and Alice’s relationship. I wonder if he signed a contract with her in the same way I did, or if he’s a higher-level slave. The circumstances seem to suggest he is.

In the next twenty minutes, I make concentric circles, triangles, squares, hexagons, figure eights or whatever Alice wants me to do on the entire wet patch of floor. My clit and pussy are sore with all that poking and rough handling. My feet are wet, and my arms and elbows are fatigued from having to keep them from my tits for so long.

I don’t even have to mention my vagina and rectum. I feel as if I’ve been fucked in both passages by yaks.

“Get up, Gina,” Alice says.

I can’t. My thighs are knees are too tired to capitulate.

Greg moves to help me. A flicker of annoyance crosses Alice’s face, but he doesn’t care. He kneels before me.

“You OK, Gina?” he says in a low voice.

I nod weakly.

He holds me up by my armpits to support me. When my buttocks are slightly raised, he removes the joystick brush from my pussy. Its handle is covered with my cud. His body is very warm against my skin.

“Very touching,” Alice sneers. “Do you want to wipe her cunt with a hanky while you’re at it?”

Greg ignores her as he helps me up. I totter on my feet, more than a little dazed.

Alice turns and walks off.

“Follow me,” she says. “We’re going to need to work you a lot more around here lest lover boy here thinks you’re a coddled princess.”