Sex Slave at Sea

(BOOK FOUR OF THE INITIATION 2 SERIES)

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2012 by Aphrodite Hunt

Cover art by Aphrodite Hunt

Published by Aphrodite Hunt at Smashwords

WORKS BY APHRODITE HUNT

The ‘Initiation’ series

Open Your Legs for Me

Blindfolded and Spread-eagled

Thighs Wide Apart

Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy

The Final Initiation

The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories

The ‘Initiation 2’ series

Open Your Legs for my Family

Bend Over for my Family

Publicly Display Yourself for Me

Sex Slave at Sea

‘
The Royal Captive’ series

Prince Miro’s Capture

Prince Miro’s Submission

Prince Miro’s Enslavement

Prince Miro’s Punishment

Prince Miro’s Escape

Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation

The Royal Captive: Vol 1 to 3

The Royal Captive: Vol 4 to 6

The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series

I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac

Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me

Gang Banged by the Chain Gang

The ‘Undercover’ series

Undercover: Exposing the Bad Doctor

Hot, Wet and Steamy
(individual
stories)

When He’s Inside You

My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper

The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter
(Erotic Suspense)

Her First Clit Ring

Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens

Dear reader, as this list is not always
comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this
point in publishing, please visit
http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/
for more stories and updates

1

I’m terrified.

Or maybe that’s too mild a word.

I’m in-over-my-head, ‘the zombies are coming
to eat me up’ petrified. My limbs are frozen and I swear I can feel
my bones rattling within their casings of flesh. My throat is
parched and my palms feel drier than a potato chip in the midst of
a scorching desert.

Oh yes, my knuckles are white and I can’t
stop chewing on them.

Alice
is coming.

Yes,
that
Alice – the one who is so
not from Wonderland.

It’s like waiting on a hospital gurney to be
wheeled into surgery – one that will be performed on you without
anesthesia.

The trouble with Alice is that she is such
an unknown and unknowable factor. Yes, I know she can be cruel.
There’s that malicious streak in her eyes, and I know she’s
contemplating Guillotine murder whenever she casts her gleaming
gaze upon me. But she has not been physically cruel to me so far.
She has tormented and berated me and made me feel like a squished
worm under her soles.

In many ways, I’d rather she just punch me
in the mouth and get it over with.

This waiting – of not knowing what she can
be like – is much, much worse.

We are in Heather’s room, and I’m
hyperventilating. The luxury yacht is cruising along at a moderate
speed, going to goodness knows where. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t
hazard to tell me. After all, I have no rights. I am merely a
contracted sex slave to the Devlin family and whomever they want me
to open my legs and mouth for.

Heather is preparing me for Alice.

I am kneeling on the floor, and Heather has
left the black leather collar around my neck. Because the collar is
a tight choker that straddles the entire length of my neck – with a
metal ring in the middle – I have to keep my head and neck up, like
a debutante learning manners in a Victorian house. The only
movement it allows me is to tilt my head slightly – in all angles –
but I am certainly unable to bend my neck.

She has finished fucking me no less than
twenty minutes ago, and so Heather has left my nipple clamps
intact. A thin metal chain is threaded through the ring in the
collar. Both its free ends are connected to my nipple clamps – so
that my poor teats are pulled upward mercilessly and my areolas are
very, very taut.

My entire nipple and areola areas are
majorly numb by now.

“I like you trussed up,” Heather confesses.
She’s very pretty in an athletic, boyish way. When she smiles, her
mouth curls up in two dimples.

She is behind me, tying up my elbows and
wrists very securely with black leather straps. In this position,
my chest and ribcage are pulled back and I find it difficult to
take deep breaths. I have to breathe in what I call staccato bursts
– filling my lungs with shallow gulps of air when I am able to. And
this, to me, is more restrictive and indicativeof my slave status
than any of my bonds and chains can ever be.

Footsteps sound outside the door. My heart
begins to pound.

Alice is here.

Oh shit, shit, shit.

Suddenly, I’m more terrified than I had
thought possible. My breath catches in my throat and wedges itself
in there and simply refuses to budge. My vision begins to swim, and
I feel a cluster of panic attacks coming along in succession.

It is all I can do to stop peeing on the
floor.

The door swings open. Alice does not
knock.

I find myself staring up at her beautiful
face at the doorway. She wears a voluminous silk kaftan that
billows around her with the breeze sweeping down the yacht’s
central corridor. With her gleaming eyes – every bit as predatory
and malicious as I imagined them to be – she resembles a sorceress
from the ninth pit of hell.

I have to suppress a scream. If Alice knows
how frightened I am, she will torture the terror out of me all the
more. She’s a magnificent cougar, and she senses fear in her
prey.

Greg is behind her, his body blocked
partially by her caftan. He wears a loose-fitting shirt over his
tight green swimming trunks. I can see the very obvious bulge of
his genitals within the latter. He is not erect . . . at least not
yet. He favors me with a sympathetic glance.

“Do you like the way I’ve done her up?”
Heather asks, smiling.

I try to focus on the tattoo of the girl’s
face on her arm. Yes, anything to distract me.

Alice scrutinizes me as if I’m an effigy
that will be thrown into the bonfire.

“I don’t know. I have other ideas on how she
must be bound and paraded. Greg, do the honors.”

No please, no thank you.

Greg steps in the room even as Heather pouts
prettily. For the first time, I notice he carries a very strange
contraption. The main body of it consists of a steel rod, but one
end of it curls into a blunt hook. The other end is attached to a
steel collar with three rings upon it.

Dread turns my stomach.

“Oh, don’t sulk, darling,” Alice says to
Heather with a lofty wave of her manicured hand. “We’ll do a
combination of yours and mine.”

Greg moves behind me. He smells of a nice
cinnamon aftershave.

“You OK?” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Don’t speak to her, Greg. She is beneath
even you. Just tell her what she has to do.”

Greg glowers. “OK, stand up, Gina.”

I obey with difficulty. He catches my bound
arms to make sure that I don’t stagger.

“Stand straight, please.”

It’s difficult, but I attempt to. He
unclasps the black choker collar from my neck and summarily
replaces it with the heavier steel one. This one offers my neck
more mobility, but its kiss is icy upon my hot skin. My nipples are
thankfully freed, and I can feel the blood beginning to flow into
them again.

The attached steel rod is now behind my
back, and I have a sudden idea what the hook is for. The cold rod
presses upon my bound arms.

“I’m going to have to untie her,” Greg
says.

“Do what you must,” Heather replies.

Greg releases my bonds, which relieves me to
no end. My elbows and shoulders were beginning to ache with the
extreme pull. I take in deep breaths, and green spots start to swim
briefly in my vision.

As soon as my arms are free, he inserts the
blunt end of the hook into my anus – as I expected him to. The
chilly steel slides into me like a very hard finger.

“Uhhh,” I gasp.

The hook is embedded quite deeply in, and
its presence is firm and unmistakable. My asshole muscles pucker
around it involuntarily.

“Very nice,” Alice says as she appraises the
way the hook penetrates my ass. “Don’t you agree, Heather?”

Heather pouts her lip again. “I still think
she should be tied up in some way.”

“Oh, all right then. We’ll cuff her wrists
to the collar. Greg?”

Greg lets out a half-sigh as he threads two
metal chains through the left and right collar rings at my throat.
The medium-length chains are attached to two metal cuffs, which he
circles around my wrists.

“Keep your wrists apart always,” Alice
instructs me. “At no time must you attempt to hide your tits. I
want everyone to see them.”

To do this, I have to maintain a diagonal
stretch of my wrist cuffs at all time. I have to hold my hands up
as well, where they are at the level of my nipples but to the sides
of my considerable mounds. It takes a fair bit of muscular effort
to keep them that way.

“Good. Now I want her on a leash,” Alice
says.

Greg resignedly fastens a longer chain onto
the central ring at my collar. I’m now uncomfortably upright and
tethered and hooked.

I feel like a carcass at a meat factory.

“Walk,” Alice commands. “Heather, you lead
her.”

Smiling, Heather yanks my leash. I stumble
after into the bright corridor, wondering what Alice has in store
for me.

Where the hell are Max and the twins when I
need them?

2

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.