DAY TWENTY
Things Get Weird
That night had been great. I began to believe I could live like this.
Then things got weird.
After we raised the sails the following morning, Master took me to the training room, attached the chains, and whipped my back six times. "For talking out of turn last night."
Then he jerked me off, as usual, but this time instead of my asshole, he poked the fingers of his free hand into the welts on my back. It hurt like hell, but the pain also made my dick harder. "Pleasure and pain," he said. "Two sides of the same coin."
I expected him to fuck me next, but he skipped that part. He'd fucked me twice yesterday, so maybe he was giving his dick some time off. Instead of making me recite the rules, Master chained me into a chair, gave me a pen and a composition book, and told me to write them out ten times. Not ten copies of one rule and on to the next, mind you; I had to write out the full list ten times. Master attached the electrodes to my balls and set the timer for one hour. To give me an incentive not to dawdle, he said.
"You don't get out of that chair until you're finished," he warned me, "but neatness counts. Write sloppy and I'll make you do it over. I won't turn off the electrodes, either. Understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"The timer's already started, so you'd best get to work." I quickly opened the book and printed out "Rule One" on the first line of the first page. It wasn't easy, since I had no desk. I had to lean forward while balancing the composition book on my knee.
"I'll be back in an hour to check your work."
And he was gone. I went to work as best I could, but it hurt hunching myself over like that. I remembered what he said about penmanship, but it was hard to write neatly with the book wobbling, and knowing that the box attached to my balls was counting the minutes.
I got as far as Rule Ten on the ninth set when the hour ran out. Pain shot through my balls. I gritted my teeth and pressed on.
Master returned a few minutes later, while I was agonizing my way through the tenth and last set. I sweat and trembled, while struggling to control my hand as best I could. He watched over my shoulder, but did not switch off the pain until I'd finished. "Let's have a look." He took the composition book away from me. I gasped for air while I awaited his verdict. "Messy," he said, "but not bad for the first day. I expect you to do better tomorrow."
My heart sank. This was going to be part of my daily routine from now on? Honestly, I'd have rather been whipped.
"As long as I've got the box on you, you might as well run laps. You know the drill. Twelve laps. Fifteen minutes." He released me from the chair and waited. I looked up at him. He smiled a little and added, "The clock is already ticking."
I was out of the chair in a flash. I ran upstairs and began my laps. Master did not run with me; he stayed below. His goal must have been to keep me busy while he did whatever Master did when he wasn't playing with his slave. On the second lap, it occurred to me that no one was watching me. I stopped at the aft rail and looked out over the ocean. It was another sunny day and the ocean was a beautiful blue. I squinted. If there were any other ships around, I couldn't see them.
My gaze dropped below, where the motorboat was stowed. I took a deep breath and tried to imagine taking the boat and making my getaway. If Master was now going to leave me unsupervised, even for short periods, I might have an opportunity sometime to climb down and take the boat. But how did you lower the boat into the water? How did you start it? There wouldn't be time enough for me to work all that out on the fly before Master came at me with his hot stick. I'd have to figure it out ahead of time.
Was I brave enough to climb down there right now and have a look? Part of me wanted to, but it was outvoted by the sick feeling in my stomach and the memories of recent pain in my balls.
I ran a few more laps, until I made a turn around the deck house and found Master waiting. "How many laps was that?" he asked.
I didn't know, so I said, "The last one, Master."
The look on his face said he didn't believe me. While I waited for him to say something, a shot of electricity hit me in the balls, much worse than usual. I fell to my knees. Master stood over me, glaring in disapproval. "Please, Master," I gasped.
"I can hear your footsteps down below, and I only counted seven laps. Go finish the rest."
Somehow I pulled myself to my feet and started to run, despite the agony in my balls, but after I completed the final lap, Master still wasn't ready to turn off the juice.
"Five more minutes," he told me. "For lying to Master."
I went down on my knees and pleaded, but he was unyielding. He watched me impassively until the full five minutes of my suffering passed before he switched off the box.
It was hard to believe this was the same man who had held me so tenderly last night.
I spent the rest of the day looking forward to Master's bed. It might even have been worth the pain to enjoy those fleeting moments of happiness and air conditioning. But no such luck. When the day was over, Master locked me into my own room.
I lay there for hours, weeping and cursing myself alternately. I had disappointed Master and lost the privilege of lying with him. I promised myself I'd do whatever it took to earn it back.
The next day's routine was the same. I wrote the rules with the best penmanship I could manage, ran all twelve of my laps before the shock box zapped my balls, and the rest of the day I made extra sure to smile, be attentive, respectful, and say "Yes, Master," whenever he addressed me. Even so, that night I slept in my room again, alone.
Today it was raining, so Master and I lifted weights instead of running laps. After lunch, the rain stopped and he needed to go up to the cockpit, so he left me alone, with my balls chained to the deck as before. The deck was wet from the rain.
I knew what to do. I only had to pass the time until he wanted me again. I lay on my back on the wet deck and soaked up the rays of the sun as a cool breeze blew over me.
Life could be good on the
Mariposa,
I decided. What's better than sun, sea, and sex? Yes, Master could be hard; Master could be cruel. Even so, somehow the episodes of pain made moments like this all the more gratifying.
Was this what Master meant when he spoke of pain and pleasure?
I had learned to enjoy being naked. I liked the feel of the sun on my bare flesh, and the way the sea breeze ruffled the hair around my crotch and tickled my junk. I'd never get jock itch living like this, that was for sure. The idea of keeping my body wrapped in cloth all day began to seem strange. Why would anyone put up with that?
