The One-Way Voyage (day 27)

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

Caught.

Master fell asleep with his arms around me that night, but I didn't feel the usual comfort and security. I wanted to be somewhere else.

There was something wrong with this guy. For a while, he had me convinced that I wanted—I mean, that I had no choice but to be with him, but all this talk about my body becoming him, and how he could play music on it? Seriously weird.

I was too upset to sleep that night; my mind raced. My strategy of behaving the way Master wanted and earning his trust was paying off, but it was also making me complacent. The plan was to

pretend

that I had fallen for his mind-fuckery, not to actually fall for it.

All right, then. What are you going to do?

The following day began as usual. Midmorning, as we were lifting weights, the generator went out again and the weight room abruptly went dark. "Son of a fucking bitch," Master grumbled. "You wait here." He went to look at the generator, and a couple of minutes later, the lights were on again.

After lunch, we spent some time outside, sitting together on the aft deck. "We haven't seen much rain," he mused. I wondered how often it was supposed to rain in the Pacific Ocean while he rubbed the sole of his sneaker on the deck experimentally. "Deck needs a mopping," he said. "Tell you what. Get a bucket and mop the deck, while I have another look at that generator."

My heart began to pound. Here was an opportunity, if I could figure out how to use it. I fetched the mop, filled the bucket with fresh water and cleaner, and came back topside.

Master was nowhere to be seen. He would be below deck and aft, messing with the generator. The way he complained about it made me think he wasn't used to working with engines, which meant this might take a while. I had a few free minutes. How should I use them?

I was standing on the port deck, facing the deck house. In front of me stood the stair that led up to the cockpit.

The portion of the deck near the stair got really clean as I mopped it over and over, working up my courage, until I began mopping the steps...

I made my way to the top, mopping each and every step along the way. If Master returned and caught me, well, I was only showing initiative, right?

He didn't return. At the top of the stair, I set the mop and bucket aside, opened the door, and stepped into the cockpit.

Now I was committed.

The small room was air conditioned, which made a nice change from the humid air outside. Curved glass gave a full panorama of the ocean, and beneath it, multiple monitor screens were lit up with various displays. Some I didn't understood, but I easily interpreted the map of the Pacific Ocean with the little red pointer that indicated our position. We were smack in the middle, about a thousand miles south of Hawaii.

The monitors sat atop a dashboard, underneath which I found some drawers. I hadn't noticed these before. I opened the top drawer. Inside lay a clutter of notepads, pens, keys, and other loose objects, one of which I instantly recognized as my wallet. I grabbed hold of it and looked inside. Everything was where it belonged, even my thirty-six dollars.

My first impulse was to hold onto it. I didn't have pockets, so I kept it in my left hand while I rummaged through the drawer with my right. I soon found another wallet, which had to have been Master's. Inside I found his driver's license, some credit cards, the usual stuff.

It was the name on the cards that startled me. Justin Warmsley! The guy whose company perfected the Internet of Things and filled everyone's house with a hundred networked gadgets, and made himself a hundred billion in the process. I figured Master must be rich, but I never guessed he was famous! Everyone knew who Justin Warmsley was. Less than a year ago, he'd been part of a White House conference on technology. This was a guy who advised presidents!

This wallet went back into the drawer, in exactly the same spot where I found it. I looked through the keys and, yes, I found the key to the motorboat. A key would have been easier to conceal than a wallet, but even so, I was seriously short on hiding places. Could I possibly run aft to the boat right now, launch it, and get away before Master caught me?

Too risky, I decided. Escape would have to wait. I returned the key to the drawer thinking,

At least now I have a plan!

Next time Justin Warmsley left me alone topside, I knew exactly where to go and what to do.

Justin Warmsley! I couldn't resist looking through the wallet a second time. Apart from its owner's name, there was nothing special about it. I looked at his money. He had maybe $200 in there. No big deal.

So this was what a billionaire's wallet looked like. I felt disappointed. It wasn't much different from anyone else's.

This billionaire's personal life, on the other hand, was very much different from anyone else's. I could sell this story and make enough money to solve all my problems. It had sex and torture and kidnapping; the public would eat it up. I could also tell them how Master all but admitted he'd done this same thing a few other times.

Come to think of it, that posed a bit of a mystery. If he'd done this before, why hadn't the story already gotten out? Any of the guys who came before me could have sold their stories already. Why hadn't they?

Was I the first of them to learn who Master was?

That was possible, but it seemed unlikely.

Did Master pay them off?

This struck me as more likely. The guy was worth north of $100 billion; he could afford to buy discretion. A few million dollars would be enough to silence most people, though to him it would be no more than pocket change.

Should I take his money, or should I sell the story?

The second option might be worth more money, and the revenge would be sweet, but it would also mean describing to the whole world how I was kept enchained and naked and whipped and spanked and fucked. Once you tell a story like that, no one's likely to forget it. I would never be able to show my face in public without people nudging each other and pointing at me.

See that guy? He's the one Justin Warmsley kidnapped and fucked!

As I thought it through, the first option was sounding better and better.

Just take the money and keep your mouth shut. Easy peasy.

I guessed the other guys he'd done this to had come to this same conclusion. That would explain how he kept getting away with it.

It's amazing what money can do, if you have enough of it.

What would I do with a a few million dollars?

Come to think of it, why should I settle for so small a sum? Master could easily afford twenty million or more. Even a hundred million would be no more than a tiny fraction of what he was worth.

When the time came to negotiate for my silence, I vowed my opening offer would be no less than—

A high voltage electric jolt into my left buttock interrupted my greedy ruminations. I jumped, yelled, and turned to face Master. He waved the hot stick toward me, face red with anger. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded, as he lunged at me with the hot stick, aiming for my balls. I dodged, but he got me in the thigh with a shock so painful my leg spasmed and I fell.

"You were supposed to be mopping the deck, you little fuck!" He grabbed me by my leather collar and half-dragged me out of the cockpit. There at the head of the stairs were the bucket and mop, where I'd left them. Master kicked them over. The bucket tumbled, dumping soapy water as it fell down the steps. The mop clattered after it.

Master stormed after them, pulling me along. Halfway down the stair, he yanked the collar and threw me the rest of the way. I tumbled down slippery soaped steps and landed on the deck with a painful thud. He followed after me, pulled me to my feet, and shook me as he said, "You ungrateful little piece of shit. You filthy slut. I feed you and shelter you and give you everything you ever dreamed of, and this is what I get in return?"

He grabbed my collar from behind and forced me to the deck rail, slamming me into it and pushing my head down until I was doubled over the rail, head and torso dangling over the ocean. His other hand forced its way between my legs and seized my dick and balls.

I teetered on top of the railing. All Master had to do was lift me up by the crotch and I would flip over and drop into the restless ocean churning below me. "Nobody knows where you are. Nobody

cares

where you are, you worthless shit. I could throw you into the ocean right now. You'd be shark food, I'd go on to my destination, and no one would ever know what became of you, if anyone even bothered to ask, which they won't. Think about it."

He held me like that to give me time to think about it. I looked down at the swirling seawater below and thought

very

hard about it.

Everything Master said was true, up to and including the part where I was an ungrateful, worthless little piece of shit.

Especially

that part.

I looked at the water again. Maybe the other guys Master had taken were down there somewhere.

After dangling me for a few minutes, as I wondered whether I was about to die, Master unfastened my left arm from its chain, brought it down, and locked it to my left ankle. He did the same with my right arm. "Don't move," he said, then went inside and down below.

There was no way I was going to move. I was bent over the railing, hands and feet locked together underneath it.

Master returned in a few minutes with a box full of equipment from the training room. Head upside down under the rail, I watched between my legs as he dropped his pants and lubed his cock.

I knew this was coming. Restrained here as I was, head down, ass hanging out, I had no doubt Master intended to fuck me.

And he did.

Getting fucked by Master was a regular part of my life now, but this fucking was different. Master fucked me whenever he felt like it, never asking, because a slave's wishes don't matter, right? But even in those terms, I always felt that I pleased him. He fucked me because he enjoyed fucking me, and I liked that.

Not today. He grabbed hold of the rail and rammed his dick into me so hard I cried out. My ass was still sore from yesterday, and he was pounding it over and over, slamming my crotch onto the rail each time. In his anger, Master wanted not to please himself, but to hurt and humiliate me.

He was rage-fucking me.

"I'm sorry," I said, voice quavering between sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

If Master heard me, he gave no sign; he just kept banging away at me. Silently I begged for it to end, but no, it took longer than usual. When I felt his release, I hoped it was finally over, but he'd barely pulled up his pants before he began unfastening my wrists, all the while muttering darkly, and I knew this was not the end.

This was only the beginning.

He pulled me upright and slammed me against the wall of the deck house. He took padlocks out of the box and bound my limbs, one by one, to screw eyes that were fastened into the deck house wall. Funny, I'd never noticed those before.

When he was finished, I was spread-eagled against the wall, arms high and wide, feet uncomfortably far apart, unable to move, as Master stomped his way up the stairs to the cockpit. When he came down again, he was holding my phone, my wallet, and my glasses. "These are what you were looking for, right?"

I nodded dumbly. He seemed not to realize I had been more interested in the motorboat key, and I wasn't going to tell.

He held up my phone. "This is broken. No reason to hang onto it, right?" He turned and side-armed it. I watched the small metal device sparkle in the sunlight as it spun through the air, over the rail, and dropped into the ocean. I couldn't see the splash, but I could hear it.

Plunk!

My glasses followed. "You don't need those. You can see your Master well enough, and that's all that matters."

Next he opened my wallet and took my cards out one at a time, beginning with my driver's license. "Don't need that. You aren't going to be driving, and besides, this person isn't you anymore." He chucked it into the ocean.

Next, my credit card. "Don't need that. Your Master will pay for you what you need." It followed my license into the sea.

My student ID. "You're not a student anymore." Off it went.

My health insurance card. "Your master is your insurance. Whatever you need, Master will provide." Gone.

A couple of stupid little things, and then he came to the thirty-six dollars. "This is mine. Slaves don't own anything." He stuck the bills into his pants pocket, then threw the empty wallet overboard.

It was now literally true. I didn't own anything. Not one thing in all the world.

Once that was out of the way, Master teased my left nipple, then when it was hard, drew out a metal clip and clamped it on. A second clip went onto the other nipple.

The pain was fierce, but Master wasn't yet finished. He grabbed a handful of plastic clips and clamped them onto the flesh of my arms and chest. He forced my dick and balls through a rubber ring and stroked me until I was erect. Then he put more clips onto my dick and balls.

I was in unspeakable agony. I took ragged breaths and tried not to cry, as Master surveyed his work with satisfaction. "Master is the slave's mother, father, and family," he said, as he teased my dick some more. "Master is the slave's landlord, employer, doctor, teacher, therapist, lover, and best friend. Master is the slave's life, and the whole of the slave's life. The slave has no life apart from Master. Does the slave understand this?"

"Yes, Master," I gasped.

"Everything Master does to the slave is for the slave's own good. Does the slave understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Very good. Now the slave will contemplate what it did wrong and why it must never do anything like that again. I will return in two hours to evaluate its progress." Master went inside.

Two hours?

Two hours might as well have been two years. How could I possibly hold out that long?

And how could I be in this much pain and have a hard-on at the same time?

The pain seemed intolerable at first, but as the minutes passed, I began to get used to it. I realized the worst thing about intense pain isn't the pain; it's that it was totally exhausting. My heart pounded like a jackhammer and I breathed rapid, ragged breaths, while sweat poured from everywhere on my body, but especially my armpits, and trickled down my flesh. I felt wrung out, like I had run a marathon, even though I couldn't move.

From my vantage point, all I could see was the deck, the rail, and a lovely, sunny day over the ocean beyond. The beauty of the scene mocked my torment.

Clouds and waves passed before my eyes interminably, until at last, Master returned. "How's it going?" he asked cheerfully.

A quiet sob was my only reply.

"Cheer up. It's been an hour. You're halfway through."

Only halfway?

I sobbed again.

Master studied my misery and said, "I could end this early. Maybe I will, if the slave comes for me. Can the slave do that?"

I nodded vigorously, though I wasn't sure.

Master took the clothespins off my dick, which was somehow more painful than when he had put them on. My dick had flagged some in the past hour, but as soon as Master began stroking it with those talented fingers, it quickly stiffened. The pain was severe, but the familiar sensation of getting jerked off seemed to help. I felt some of my energy return. The pain even enhanced the experience; somehow it flowed into my dick and became pleasure.

Pleasure and pain.

Just as Master had said.

Master leaned close as if to kiss me. I opened my lips, but instead, he spat into my mouth and pulled away again, stroking my dick all the while.

I was close enough that I didn't even care. Orgasm was upon me; the pain heightened the power of it. I yelled and squirted. Master kept on stroking until I writhed from the now-uncomfortable stimulation.

"Was the pain worth it to reach the pleasure?" he asked.

"No," I blurted.

"Then the slave has learned nothing. We'll try again tomorrow."

He removed the pins from my nipples and I howled. Once the blood began to flow, the pain tripled. Master laughed and rubbed them with his thumbs. I screamed.

The rest of the pins came off and went back into the box. Master opened the locks and released me. I took a step forward, stumbled, and would have fallen, had Master not caught me. He chained my wrists to my collar once again and pointed to the mop. "All right, then. Back to work." He slapped my butt.

As I mopped, my strength gradually returned. At sunset, Master and I lowered the sails and ate dinner as usual, but afterward he took me not to his bedroom, but to the room where I used to sleep. He bound me, hooded me, laid me on the floor, diapered me, and left.

I had known that snooping in the cockpit was risky, but I hadn't imagined the consequences would be this severe. After weeks of painstakingly earning his trust, I had pissed it all away in one stupid moment, and now I was back to square one.

So be it,

I decided. If I had to start over, I'd start over. I'd claw my way back to the status I had lost. I'd earn Master's trust once again.

It wasn't a total loss. Now I knew who Master was. I wondered how to use that information.