The One-Way Voyage (day 37)

DAY THIRTY-SEVEN

Caged and Released.

The next day, we followed the usual schedule, now with the addition of another afternoon pain session. Master pinned me spread-eagled to the wall once again and it all ran much the same as the day before, except this time, after I endured my hour of pain, Master put a boxing glove on his right hand. He stroked me erect with his left hand, then punched me hard in the stomach with the gloved hand. I groaned.

"Did you like that?"

"No," I replied.

"Funny, because your cock did."

I looked down. He was right. Then he punched me again, and I could see it pop up and get redder in response.

Master stroked it, then punched me again. Then he took hold of my dick and stroked me to orgasm. This time, when Master asked if it was worth the pain to get to the pleasure, I was not a complete idiot. I told him yes.

"Good. Do you see it now, that pleasure and pain, they're the same thing? Two sides of the same coin?"

"Yes, Master. I understand." If the purpose of this torment was to demonstrate that pain could enhance pleasure, then it worked. I was getting the idea.

It was hard to say which was scarier: that Master had insane ideas, or that after a while his insane ideas started sounding reasonable? Either Master wasn't as crazy as I figured, or I was becoming just as crazy.

"Excellent," he went on. "When I hear you say the same thing three days in a row, I'll know you mean it."

I groaned, knowing that I'd have to go through this for at least another two days.

I slept hooded on the floor each night, and received pain training the next day, and the day after. When question time came, I gave the proper answers.

The third afternoon was supposed to mark the end of it. Master congratulated me, but instead of releasing me from the wall, he fished through his box and came up with a gleaming metal contraption. A key unlocked it into two pieces: a ring and a bent rod. The ring went around my dick and balls.

The bent rod was attached to a catheter. Master lubed the catheter, then inserted it into my piss slit. I winced. The sensation was uncomfortable, but not painful. Master locked the bent rod to the ring, and my dick was trapped. The rod and catheter prevented my dick from getting any longer, and the bend in the rod prevented it from getting straight. In other words, as Master carefully explained to me, it would keep me from getting an erection.

He demonstrated his point by massaging my dick. The rod wouldn't let it grow, and I felt no pleasure from the touch.

"Slaves aren't allowed to jerk off," he reminded me. "This cock is my property, and so far, it has pleased me to jerk it every day. I didn't have to do that, and a slave who understood his place would have been grateful, but it seems I don't have that kind of slave, so I'm going to quit jerking it."

I looked at him blankly. After four days of pain training, this didn't sound so bad.

I was wrong.

Our daily schedule returned to normal, if you didn't count the shiny metal gizmo my private parts were now sporting. I felt it every time I moved, and when Master took me to pee, it came out the metal tube at the end of my dick, but otherwise it made no difference. Master resumed taking me to bed with him, and I quietly luxuriated in the air conditioning as we watched TV. He fucked me every night, but only one of us got to come.

So what? I could live without sex. It wasn't like we were talking about oxygen here.

It wasn't long before I realized how mistaken I was. After two days, my balls began to tingle. After four days, I tingled all over. With the gadget keeping my cock so small, my balls became more prominent. Master took to tickling them suddenly at odd moments, which made me yelp with surprise, then giggle and shiver.

When I thought about sex, my dick would stir a little, but then a strange feeling would come over me. It was as if my sexual energy couldn't flow into my penis, so it flooded back into the rest of my body. I wasn't exactly horny; it was more like my body hungered for the touch of flesh.

Maybe jerking off was more important than I realized.

Master was the only other human being available, so the craving in my flesh gave me an overwhelming urge to touch him at any opportunity. Last night at dinner, the evening was warm, so Master wore only shorts and a pair of sandals. As I sat on the floor, waiting for my turn to eat, I couldn't keep my eyes off all that beautiful, beautiful skin. Unable to resist, I snuggled up against his bare leg. The touch of it was like fire. Master absentmindedly began running the fingers of his left hand through my hair, then rubbed my shoulder. My skin tingled with desire wherever his fingertips touched me.

That night, Master fucked me on my back. I liked it when he did that, because I liked the feel of him against me. I liked it when he kissed me. This time, I was on fire and his every touch healed the burning. I always enjoyed watching him fuck me, but tonight the sight of Master holding himself over me, pounding my ass hard as he made his 0-face and moaned, was as beautiful as anything I had ever seen. After he finished, he kissed me deeply, drew away, and looked down at my belly. He laughed. "You must have enjoyed it, too."

Semen was dripping out the end of the metal catheter. I sighed. I hadn't realized that you could ejaculate without an orgasm, but that night I discovered it was indeed possible.

Ejaculation without orgasm. The worst of both worlds.

This morning, as Master chained me in the shower for our morning wash, the lights went out again.

"God damn that generator. You wait here." He shut off the shower and stormed away.

I could hardly do otherwise, with my arms chained above my head. I stood alone in the dark, dripping wet, while Master investigated the problem. Some time later, he returned bearing a flashlight. "That's it. The generator's gone. Won't start for anything." We finished our morning showers by flashlight, then went topside to raise the sails.

"We have solar panels on the roof of the cockpit," Master explained to me as I winched the sheets. "They provide power to keep the radar and navigation equipment going, thank goodness, with enough left over for few other critical things, like water and the freezer, but no generator means no TV, no air conditioning, nothing nonessential."

Later we went below to lift weights by flashlight. "I don't know how many batteries we have aboard, but we'll use them until we use them up. Maybe they'll last until we reach our destination."

I was doing arm curls at the time, but my ears pricked up at the word

destination

. He'd only started using that word recently, and from the way he said it, it sounded as if our destination wasn't so far away.

We continued lifting. As I was spotting Master's bench presses, I thought about our defunct generator. "Excuse me, Master," I said, per Rule Nine.

He finished his reps before dropping the barbell back onto the rack and saying, "All right, what is it?"

"The slave would like to look at the generator, Master."

He scoffed. "What for?"

"To see if I can fix it."

Master went very quiet. He sat up and looked me over, from head to toe. His expression was that of a guy who'd just been shown a monkey and told it could play the violin. "You better not be bullshitting me."

"What have you got to lose?"

He couldn't argue with that, so we abandoned the weight-lifting session. Master led me aft and showed me to the generator. "It won't start. Or when it does start, it doesn't last."

"Have you tried the pull cord?" I asked.

"The what?"

Master shone the light on the generator as I took hold of the pull cord and gave it a few yanks. On the third try, the generator sputtered to life for a few seconds, then died.

"That's what I'm talking about."

I scratched my head. My dad and I used to work on his old pickup truck. I remembered a similar problem. "Is there a toolbox aboard?" Master pointed to a nearby metal cabinet. Inside its drawer sat an array of tools, clean, bright, and laid out neatly. I guessed they were seldom used. "I don't suppose there's any carburetor cleaner on this boat?"

Master looked at me blankly. I picked up a screwdriver and gave him an inquiring look. He nodded. "Go ahead."

It took me half an hour to figure out how to remove the air filter, and it needed replacing. I hunted around and found a clean one, so that was progress. After the filter was gone, I could shut off the fuel line and remove the carburetor. Master held the flashlight for me; I had him bring it closer. The carburetor was filthy. "How old is your gasoline?" I asked.

The question flummoxed him. "I don't know. I have people who take care of that."

"Is it possible that the gas in your tank has been sitting there since last summer? Because gas gets old."

"Does it?"

I suppressed a smirk. The guy was a celebrated tech genius, yet he knew less about engines than my grandma. I removed the carburetor from the engine, then gathered up some tools and took everything topside, where I could work in the sunlight.

Master followed me. How's that for a switch?

Up on deck in the tropical daylight, I carefully disassembled the carburetor. Master watched my every move. From his intent expression, you'd think he was watching brain surgery. I got a bucket, filled it with soap and water, grabbed a brush, and went to work scrubbing every single bit of that carburetor until the metal gleamed, then laid them out on the deck to dry in the sun.

Master went away for a while. He returned with a ham sandwich in each hand. He took a bite from one, and handed me the other. I hadn't realized it was already lunchtime.

When the parts were dry, I put the carburetor back together, took it below, and put it back onto the generator. I opened the fuel line, put the new air filter on, and stood. "Here goes nothing." I yanked the pull cord. It almost started the first time; the second time, it chugged merrily to life and the lights came back on.

I turned to Master for his reaction. I was hoping for praise, maybe even some kind of reward--taking this metal gadget off my dick would have been a good start--but the look on his face gave me pause. I knew that look; it only ever meant one of two things. Either punishment, or--

Master pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His eyes surveyed my body slowly, from head to foot and back again, with a look so intimate he might as well have been running his hands over me. I was sweaty from my labors and the heat. Limp hair hung over my face. My chest and arms bore dark grease smudges, and I smelled of gasoline. Not what I'd call sexy. Even so, it was clear that it wasn't punishment on his mind. It was the other thing. "Lie on the floor," he told me.

The noise of the generator filled the small room and I wasn't sure I heard right. I frowned and pointed to my ear.

"Lie on the floor!" he commanded, louder this time and pointing his finger downward for emphasis. He undid his shorts and they fell to his feet.

I looked down. The floor in this room was not part of my regular cleaning duties and it was pretty dirty, but Master had given his command. I pushed a couple of wrenches out of the way with my foot, and lay on the floor, feet toward Master, watching for his reaction.

He made a circling motion with his finger. I rolled onto my stomach. "Spread eagle! Arms and legs out."

I complied. Master knelt into the space between my thighs and entered me. He wrapped one arm around my throat and ran the other under my chest. He squeezed my nipple as he fucked me. His lips found my left ear and suckled the lobe in time with his thrusts. He ran his tongue down the side of my neck to where it met my shoulder, then began to suck there.

It seemed "skinny, dirty, sweaty, naked blond twink mechanic who smells like gasoline" checked off all Master's fetish boxes. I took a deep breath, willed my body to relax and took in the affection. I liked sex better when I could look at him, but by now I knew him so well I didn't have to see him to know how excited he was. I could feel it in the way he pounded me, in how tightly he squeezed me.

It felt good to be desired.

Master couldn't have been at it two minutes before roared like an animal, thrust into me hard enough to make me cry out along with him, and unloaded inside me, grunting with every squirt.

It was over. His hot breath was in my ear. "Amazing," he whispered. He lay on top of me for a few minutes, dick still inside my ass, as he caught his breath, while I wondered if my suntan would cover up the hickey I was going to get. He kissed my neck a few more times before rising to his feet. He didn't bother to dress; he simply slapped me on the ass and said, "Get up! We both need another shower."

After we showered together, I hoped Master would want us to stay in his bedroom, where the air conditioning was back in service, but no. After he dried us off, he didn't even dress himself or chain my wrists. He scooped a small key off his dresser, took me by the arm and led me topside, both of us still naked.

My heart began to pound with hope. Or something else.

He sat on the aft deck couch, then made me sit between his legs. He wrapped one arm around my chest, and rubbed by belly with his free hand. After a while it moved south, through my pubic hair, and took hold of my balls. "A slave who can fix things. Who would have imagined?" With his other hand, he took the key and unlocked my cage. He took hold of my penis while he drew the catheter tube out. Once I was free of the gadget, he wrapped both his arms around me and leaned back, pulling be back with him.

He looked over my shoulder at my dick. "Pathetic little thing, isn't it?"

Point taken. My dick was as small as it ever got. You'd think after all this time, it would pop up at the first opportunity.

Master picked it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger and began gently stroking it.

Nothing happened. I felt a burst of panic. Was my dick broken? Did this mean no more erections, ever?

Master laughed, as if sensing my anxiety. His breath tickled my neck. "This little guy forgot how, that's all. Don't worry. It's like riding a bike. It'll come back to you."

His thumb and forefinger kept working at it. The other hand slid across my chest until it found a nipple to play with. As he predicted, in a few minutes my penis soon began to grow. Master brought it fully erect and then worked it with his magic fingers. In next to no time, I felt an ejaculation build and release.

I grunted, loudly, four times, as my cock blew four big loads, any one of which might have passed for a normal ejaculation. The thing was, none of this felt like orgasm. It was kind of painful, to tell the truth, although when it was over I felt relief. I relaxed and allowed myself to sink into Master's embrace.

My loins ached. My balls felt sore.

"Not so much fun, was it?"

"No, Master."

Master laid me down on the couch, then leaned over me. "We need to exercise it back into shape. Twice a day every day, and in a week it will be good as new." He kissed me, fiercely. My arms were free, so I embraced him and pulled him close as I kissed him back.

It was hard to believe this was the same guy who was putting clamps on my nipples a few days ago.

We lay together on the couch and lazed away the rest of the afternoon, watching the deck house shadow gradually lengthen as the sun fell into the western sea. Master's began stroking my belly again. I closed my eyes and sighed. If only it could have been like this all the time, without the chains and the clothespins and the ass-slapping, I would have counted myself the luckiest guy in the world.

Master began sucking my earlobe again. "Excuse me, Master."

"Huh? Do you have to pee?"

I chuckled. "No, Master."

"Then what is it?"

The rules said I wasn't allowed to ask Master questions, so I phrased it as carefully as I could manage. "There must be a thousand guys in San Francisco who would be thrilled to go on a Pacific cruise with you--I mean, with Master. A thousand, and every one of them hotter and sexier than the slave you chose. The slave wonders why Master takes any slave at all. It's so much extra work, when you could find someone who would come willingly. Why go through all this trouble?"

I ended with a question anyway, but Master was in a good mood and he let it slide. "Why?" he repeated. He held me and stroked my belly for a few minutes in silence. "Let's just say I have trust issues."

Interesting.

I nodded, turning his answer over in my mind.

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