The One-Way Voyage (day 26)

DAY TWENTY-SIX

Fishing Trip

That night had left me unsure of my own feelings again. Were they real, or was Master messing with my head?

Master had told me that being a slave meant I didn't have to worry about anything apart from keeping him happy. It was tempting simply to accept that and go with the flow.

But that was exactly what he wanted! Was I leaning that way out of genuine desire, or because Master made me want to?

What do you do when you can't trust your own feelings?

The next few days passed smoothly enough. I began every day with Master, ended it with Master, and shared meals with Master. In between, I did my crunches, lifted weights, ran laps, and helped Master with the sails and whatever other work needed doing aboard

Mariposa,

if it was simple enough that even an untrained idiot like me could do it.

I also filled page after page of that accursed composition book with Master's rules.

Twice a day, Master jerked me off, whether I wanted it or not, although to be honest, I wanted it. In the morning, he'd string me up in chains in the training room and poke a dildo up my ass while he rubbed one out for me. At night, he would jerk me off in his bed, and then fuck me, or both at once. He didn't fuck me in the morning anymore. I could manage twice a day, but I guess it was too much for him.

I got to sleep in Master's bed every night, alongside Master and with air conditioning, and both were very pleasant. Every night we watched a movie together, although I was having trouble keeping up with his eclectic tastes. One night it might be a searing drama, the next a Marx Brothers film, the night after that an Italian Western with subtitles, followed the next evening by

Whip Me, Fuck Me IX: The Best of Whip Me, Fuck Me.

This morning began as usual. After our shower we went topside, but as I was about to uncover the sails, Master grabbed my collar and yanked me back. "Wait a minute." He stared out at the ocean. I looked where he was looking, but didn't see anything. He licked his finger, held it in the air, and I realized the problem: no wind. "It's not worth raising the sails for this," he said. He thought for a moment, while I stood waiting for an order. At last he said, "Let's go fishing."

Not what I expected, but dutifully I followed him downstairs. He unbound my arms and led me to a storage cupboard below and aft, where he drew out a fishing rod and handed it to me. Then came a tackle box, a picnic basket, water bottles, sunglasses and sun hats, and more, until I was carrying an armload of equipment I could barely manage. I struggled not to drop anything as we went back up to the kitchen, where Master filled the bottles. He packed the basket with crackers, cheese, and granola bars. "Ready?"

"Yes, Master." No writing in the book today.

Yes!

We each put on sunglasses and a sun hat. My sun hat had a broad brim and a white cloth that draped down the back of my neck and shoulders. The touch of cloth against my skin made me shiver.

I followed Master outside and down the steps, still encumbered with the rest of the gear, until we stood before the motorboat I had previously only glimpsed from above. Up close, I was able to see clearly, and saw it was a beaut, about fifteen feet long, with a dashboard, steering wheel, and single seat up front and a bench seat behind with plenty of leg room that could easily have seated three people.

The boat was tied down under two pivoting arms. I helped Master loosen the ropes and swing the arms outward. Now they were two cranes, with the boat suspended from them. Electric winches lowered the boat into the water, then we climbed aboard and untied the lines.

As we worked through the procedure, I tried to memorize every step.

Could I do this alone?

I thought I could.

But how fast?

Master had me dump everything onto the floor of the boat and take a seat, after first prompting me to get a diaper out of a storage compartment under the rear seat. "Don't dirty my upholstery." He took the pilot's seat and swiveled around so that he faced me. Once he was satisfied his upholstery was safe, he turned forward, took the ignition key out of his pocket, and started the engine.

A key.

What a dope I was. Of course there would be a key, but I didn't know where he kept it. This would complicate my escape considerably.

Master floored the pedal and with a roar of the engine, our boat shot away from

Mariposa,

so fast that I was thrown into the padded back of the seat and squawked in surprise. Master looked back at me and grinned. That had been his intention.

Master pulled us a couple of hundred feet away from

Mariposa

, then circled the larger boat, turning the wheel back and forth and throwing me alternately to the right and left.

After he finished showing off, Master took us farther away, a few hundred yards from

Mariposa

, I guessed. Far enough I could no longer see it very well. Then he shut off the engine and the boat drifted to a stop. The sea was choppy and the boat bobbed in a way that made me a little queasy. I hoped I wouldn't get sick. I scanned the horizon, looking for other ships, but if there were any, they were beyond my limited eyesight.

Master swiveled his seat around, pulled off his shirt, and called for his fishing rod. I handed it over and sat uselessly while he set to work tying a heavy sinker to the end of his fishing line, then tying several lures to the line at intervals of about a yard. Once he was satisfied, he dropped it over the side of the boat, gradually letting out the line and allowing the lures to sink deeper into the ocean.

"The deeper you go, the bigger the fish," he explained as he let out more line. His fishing rod was thicker than any I had seen before. I tried to imagine what size of fish it was meant to catch.

Master was watching his line; I was watching Master. After a few minutes of dropping the line, he began slowly reeling it back up. Then he'd begin unreeling it again.

I was bored. From what little I knew about fishing, it involved long stretches of time in which nothing happened. There didn't seem to be anything for me to do, apart from look at Master's bare torso, which admittedly was a nice sight. I leaned back into the seat, stretched out, and tried to take in some sun.

An hour passed, probably more. The day grew warmer as the sun climbed into the sky, until Master remarked that he was thirsty. He passed the rod to me, saying, "Hold this for a minute," then opened the basket and drew out one of the water bottles.

Naturally, some goddamn fish chose that moment to bite one of the lures. The reel made a screeching noise as the fish pulled away. I didn't know what to do. If I did nothing, the fish would pull the line completely off the reel, the fish would get away, and Master would beat the crap out of me. So I grabbed the crank and start reeling the line back in.

That was a big mistake. The fish was a lot stronger than I figured and it yanked the line hard, hard enough to pull me out of my seat. It would have pulled me right off the boat if Master hadn't thrown his arms around me from behind and held onto me. Seconds later, the pull on the line suddenly quit, causing Master to fall over backward onto the floor of the boat, and me to fall on top of him.

I froze in terror. Master lay beneath me, his arms around my waist. Neither of us moved for a moment, until Master finally said, "You know that was really stupid, right?"

I sighed. "Yes, Master."

We untangled ourselves and sat together on the rear seat. "You know I have to punish you for this, right?"

"Yes, Master."

He actually laid me across his knees, like a little kid. My head and neck extended past the side of the boat, so I was looking down into the water. At the other end, he slapped my ass with hard, stinging blows, alternating cheeks. I tried to take it quietly, like a man, but it hurt. I started grunting with each slap.

Also, my dick got hard. Master would surely feel it pressing against his thigh.

The spanking continued. Each blow was more painful than the last, until I couldn't help but cry out with every strike. Still he went on. When he finally stopped, tears streaked my face.

I didn't feel like sitting after that, so I knelt on the floor of the boat. Master reached between my knees and began stroking my dick. "You liked that, didn't you, slave boy? Pleasure and pain."

As he stroked me, he explained that when you hook a fish, you have to let it run with the line for a while to ensure the hook is fully inside it before you try reeling it in, and that fish in the deep sea can be very big and very strong. By then my dick was throbbing so hard I could hardly follow what he was saying. Master released it, kicked away his sneakers, pulled off his shorts, and he ordered me onto my hands and knees. He reached into the storage compartment for a bottle of lube. I felt wetness against my asshole, then Master was inside me.

This might have been fun if my ass hadn't been spanked raw. Master's every touch stung back there. He wrapped his left arm around my neck, took hold of my dick with his right hand, and jerked it in time with his own motions. I was carrying his weight on top of me, struggling not to collapse.

I felt his dick inside me, poking at my own from behind, while his talented fingers slid along the front of my dick. I grunted as I came and squirted semen onto the floor of the boat.

"You'll have to clean that up later," Master grunted. He kept on fucking me and rubbing my dick, which was getting way overstimulated. I wriggled under him, then collapsed to the floor, Master still on top of me. He didn't miss a beat. He kept pounding my ass, his embrace of my neck growing ever tighter as he approached climax. Just as I thought I couldn't breathe anymore, Master cried out and I felt him blow his load into me.

We lay together on the floor for a few minutes, catching our breaths before Master got off me and pulled on his shorts again. He retrieved a butt plug from the storage compartment, because of course he kept butt plugs on his boat. This one was glass. I caught a glimpse of it just before he shoved it into me and I yelped.

"This is why we make a good team," he told me. "I enjoy hurting you, and you enjoy the pain."

I most emphatically did not enjoy the pain, but knew enough to keep my mouth shut. I picked myself up onto my knees again, since sitting was still out of the question, especially now that I had the plug in me. Master took up the fishing rod and wound the line back in to inspect it. The lures were all in place, so he dropped the line over the side again and handed me the rod. "Since you lost our first catch, it's on you to make it up. You saw how I was working the line, right? I'm going to take a little nap." He pushed my diaper aside, stretched across the rear seat, and pulled his hat over his face.

I moved to the front of the boat to get out of his way and knelt next to the pilot's seat. Slowly I let the line play out and the lures sink deeper into the ocean. Then I slowly wound the reel to bring them back to the surface. It was pretty dull stuff. Master slept. After twenty or thirty times, I craned my neck to look over the boat's dashboard. It had a steering wheel at chest level and a gas pedal on the floor. And a key in the ignition. It all seemed straightforward. I would be able to pilot this boat, if I could get my hands on the key.

Line drops deep, line comes back up.

I turned my head and looked at Master again. If I moved quickly enough, could I flip him overboard? Then I could start the boat and make my escape. I scanned the horizon. Still no ships I could see, so where would I go?

Would I have the courage to try?

Probably not. I was too small to push him out of the boat. Maybe if he stood and turned his back I could give him a shove...

It was past noon now. I was getting hot and thirsty, so I rummaged in the basket for a bottle of water, which helped.

I fished for another hour or so. If I caught one, maybe Master would be pleased.

Something took the line and began pulling. I remembered my lesson and let the line unwind, but I was nervous and excited. "Master!"

Master stirred and awoke. He sat up, adjusted his hat, and said, "Caught one?"

"I'm letting out the line, just like you told me." Then it stopped. I looked to him for advice. "Start reeling it in?" He nodded, and I began cranking the reel. I felt little resistance and began to think the fish had escaped again. But no, when I pulled the final length of line out of the water, there was a silver fish, about five inches long, caught by the mouth on one of the hooks. I stuck my chest out and beamed. "I got one!"

Master laughed. "That little thing isn't worth keeping." I slumped, disappointed. He thought for a moment and said, "Wait a minute. Give me that." I surrendered the rod. Master laid it down; the little fish flopped around on the floor of the boat. Master rummaged through the tackle box and found a bigger hook. He tied the hook to the line, then stabbed it through the fish and threw the line back into the water. "Maybe it's worth something as bait."

Master took the rod to the pilot seat and resumed fishing. I knelt beside him. After another hour or so, I squinted and thought I saw a big ship on the horizon. I looked back and forth between Master and the ship, wondering if this might be the moment.

I decided it was not.

About a half hour later, the reel began to scream. The rod bent. Master got a good grip on the handle and let the line play out. "I think we got something." I watched over his shoulder. When the fish pulled, Master let the line out. When it stopped, Master wound the reel. He made me fish a gaff out of the tackle box. When the fish was properly tired out, he drew it close, took the gaff, reached over the side and hooked it into the fish, and hoisted it aboard.

The fish flipped and flopped. It was trying to get away, but it only flipped itself into the boat, slapping its tail against my thighs as it dropped. The fish landed on the floor, still thrashing.

"Don't let it get away!" Master called.

I didn't know what else to do, so I dived on top of it and squeezed it in my arms, my body weight pinning it down. I could hear Master laughing. "What are you doing? Fucking the thing?" Only when the exhausted fish stopped moving did I release it and get up. I had a couple of scratches on my chest. "You are a slave of many talents," Master said, "but I never would have guessed you were capable of wrestling a tuna into submission. Respect." He saluted me with two fingers, then looked at the floor and chuckled. "Wait, did you just rub that fish into a puddle of your own splooge?"

I looked down at the gasping creature. Its eye seemed to look back at me. "Um, I guess I did."

"When we get back to

Mariposa

, you are going to be the one who cleans it. And this boat."

#

Master bled the fish, slitting it open and letting its blood pour back into the sea. Once we returned to

Mariposa,

Master did his best to make me clean and fillet it, but I didn't know what I was doing, so he had to demonstrate every step. As we worked, the kitchen lights flickered and went out.

"Again with the generator. You stay here." Master went to investigate, while I sawed at the fish with a knife, as if I knew what I was doing. A few minutes later, the lights came back, and shortly after that, so did Master. He looked at my work, shook his head, then took the knife away from me and finished the job. Most of the filleted fish went into the freezer; the rest would be tonight's dinner.

We went outside and sat together on the foredeck. Master put his arm around me; together we watched the sun set. When the stars began to appear, we lowered the sails and went in for dinner. Master announced we were going to have sashimi. He only had cut the filleted fish into little bricks, and we were good to go. He asked me if I'd ever eaten sashimi before; I told him I'd had sushi in Mason City once. He laughed at that.

Sashimi was all we had for dinner, but we ate a lot of it. Master brought the fish to the dining room, along with lots of soy sauce and wasabi. I had water; he drank sake. Master ate with chopsticks, and was surprisingly skilled with them.

I sat by his feet as usual, expecting not to get anything until he was finished, but after dipping and eating one piece of fish, Master took the second in his chopsticks, dipped it, turned to me, and said, "Open up." I complied, and he popped the piece of fish into my mouth.

It had a funny texture, but a pleasant, sweetish taste. Then the wasabi hit. It was like the inside of my mouth was getting scalded. I took my water glass and drank about half of it, while Master watched me with amusement. "What a delicate flower you are. You'd better get used to it. I'm not mixing up separate dip for a slave."

That's how dinner went: Master alternated every bit of fish; one for him, the next for me. He was eating as much wasabi as I was, but he showed no sign of discomfort, while my mouth was afire. I asked for permission to get more water. "No way. I'm not getting out of bed three times tonight to take you for a piss."

At the end of the meal, my belly was full of fish and my eyes with tears. Master had a lot of sake, which left him with a flushed face and a merry mood. He insisted we go outside again and take a stroll around the deck. He put his arm around my waist and held me against him as we walked through the evening breeze. Afterward we went downstairs to bed and watched some crime drama from the Seventies.

I wasn't really into it, so I lay under the covers, enjoying the warmth and comfort. Master had one arm around my neck and ran his hand back and forth across my chest. After the movie was over, he rolled onto his side facing me. He said nothing, but he reached for a bottle of powder, sprinkled some on my belly, and began rubbing it. It felt soothing. I laid my head back on his arm, snuggled closer, and closed my eyes.

I was loving it, and I was getting hard. After about ten minutes of this, Master leaned over, kissed me gently on the lips, and said, "You are the best slave." He laughed softly and added, "Well, you're a complete failure at sucking cock, but other than that. I know good slave material when I see it, and I knew you'd be a good one as soon as I laid eyes on you.

"I have you all figured out now. If I want you to be happy, I rub your belly. If I want your attention, I stroke your dick. If I want to tickle you, your balls and the insides of your thighs are the best places. If I need to punish you, a few smacks on the ass work wonders. And when I do any of those things, you get an erection, so it's all good. Soon Ill be able to play you like a musical instrument."

My eyes snapped open at his last remark, but I held my tongue. My ass was already raw; I didn't need another spanking.

Master read the look on my face and said, "You don't agree?" His hand moved past my dick and began tickling my balls. I laughed. "See?" he said. He sat up and put both his hands to work on my thighs. I laughed louder and thrashed on the bed, but since my hands were locked to the headboard, I couldn't get away.

"I have you figured out," he repeated. "Don't I? Don't I?"

The tickling was so intense I could barely breathe. "Yes!" I gasped. "Yes, yes. You're right, Master."

That got him to stop. As I lay there, catching my breath, Master got out the lube. "Now watch this."

It was as he said: I had gotten hard when he rubbed my belly, and the tickling made my dick throb. Master lubed both his hands and fingered my dick with one while the other probed my asshole. I moaned. Master's finger worked inside me, bit by bit, as he stroked my dick in the same rhythm.