I heard the shrieks and screams the moment I opened the door to the ladder leading down into the dim, sultry belly of our ship. Slowing my pace, I descended the stairs with my swelling erection bobbing. I banged on the steel door and Doyle opened it.

       “Oh, hello, Doc. Come on in. You’re just in time to join us playing our naughty games. No man with a stiff cock would want to be left out. Punishing and fucking defenseless girls is certainly not a spectator sport.”

       “Thanks.” I stepped inside a scene from a sex-maniac’s paradise. Arranged around the large room was bondage furniture of all types. There were bondage benches, crosses, spread-eagle posts, flogging benches, suspension chains dangling from the beams overhead, and leather-padded whipping horses. On every device, a beautiful young girl was restrained, her helpless body positioned to receive the most merciless punishment, and attended by a man holding a whip, crop, cane, leather strap, flogger, or electroshock device. There was a persistent chorus of alternating screams, yelps, shrieks, howls, crying; and all mingled with desperate feminine voices pleading for mercy...

 ...   “We’ll have this lot whipped into shape for entertaining us tonight,” seaman Murphy said. He grinned and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It gets hot down here, what with the tropical noonday sun, and all this effort.”

       “But a sweet reward at the end of your labors,” I replied.

       “Aye, captain.” He saluted and turned back to his chubby brunette, whacking his cane into the tangle of red welts on her ass.

       I was drawn to the whipping horse, where my friend, Lance Dickinbush had poor petite Desiree, his young blonde French assistant, bent over and strapped down, with her lovely rounded buttocks raised up, inviting the repeated application of his wood-handled leather strap. He nodded and smiled at me, never losing the rhythm of his strokes.

       WHACK!

       “YIE-E-E!” She had her sky-blue eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open, shrieking with every blow. Her hair was a tangle over her face, Wet with her tears. Her ass was literally glowing with throbbing crimson welts. The backs of her widespread thighs also had not escaped Lance’s attention.

       He paused and held out the strap. “Here, you whack her ass a few times. My arm needs a rest.”

       “Oh, non, monsieur! Mercy, mercy, c’est vous plait!”

       WHACK!

       “AIE-E-E-YAGH!” Non! Non! Mercy, please, I beg you!”

       I handed the strap back to Lance. Then stepped around beside her. Sitting on the floor, I reached out and cupped her wildly dancing breasts in my hands and squeezed their yielding softness, savoring the feel of her defenseless femininity. With every blow of Lance’s strap, she jerked and yanked at her binding straps, making her breasts dance in my hands like a pair of terrified creatures caught in a cruel trap.

       Finally, when Desiree was on the brink of madness from the pain and terror, he dropped the strap and gently caressed her flaming buttocks with both his hands. “So, my little wounded dove, what have you learned from your master? What are you going to do to please your master tonight?”

       She blurted out the words between her body-shaking sobs. “Anything, sir. Anything that pleases you. Anything you tell me to do, sir.”

       “That’s a good girl. You’re beginning to learn.” He caressed the side of her face with his fingertips and lowered his voice to a soft murmur. “Would you like to be released and taken to my cabin to drink some water and rest up for your duties tonight?”

       “Y-y-yes, sir. Th-thank you, sir.”

       Lance unbuckled her wrist cuffs and she hid her weeping eyes behind her arms. When her ankles were free, Lance snapped a leash on her collar and she staggered away with him, stumbling out the door and up the stairs to the main deck.

       The next scene to draw my interest was Penny, an eighteen year old elfin girl only five feet and one inch tall strapped down on her back to an upward curving bondage bench. Her torso was lean but beautifully proportioned, her arms and legs slim, but still beguiling, her waiflike face wet with tears. She stared at me, biting her lower lip, pleading for sympathy with her wide, jewel-green eyes. Her copper red hair was cut short and arranged in a pageboy style caressing the cheeks of her small face. Her terrified gasps and whimpers hardened my already erect cock.

       Penny’s tiny feet twisted frantically in her ankle restraints, desperate to escape from Murphy’s cruel, vigorously tickling fingers.

       Her stammering voice pleaded with me. “M-M-MUH! P-p-please—NUGH! M-m-mister—UNKH! Sir, NYUH!—make him stop!”

       I bent over her and traced a tickling finger of my own around the tip of her strawberry nipple. “I wouldn't dream of stopping his jolly game with your dainty feet.”

       “NAUH! UN-N-N-YUH! Oh, please, AUH-H-H! ENGH! I can’t—NEAH-UH,UN-N-NGH! I can’t stand—UNH!—it any longer! Please, it’s too—YAUGN-N-N-N-NUH!” Her torso heaved and strained to twist away against her restraints. Her slim, creamy thighs quivered with the effort. I brushed my fingers over her perky little nude breasts and moved on to the next scene.

       Here was a pretty little olive-complexioned maid snared in an unbearable predicament. Angelina, the tall, but voluptuous bodied Italian girl with the long, curly black hair was stretched out on her back on a bondage bench with a curved surface. Her hips were strapped down at the high end, with her torso curved down and her head dangling upside down off the edge of the lowest part. Her lustrous tresses swept the floor as she twisted her head from side to side, her eyes staring blankly, her mouth open and uttering wordless sounds of anguish. Her horizontal legs were spread uncomfortably wide, with her knees and ankles strapped tight to vertical poles. Her arms stretched straight out to the sides, and were strapped to a horizontal beam. Her fingers splayed out stiffly, with her hands quivering.

       Yakov, the only Russian in my crew, was happily exploring her pussy. He had spent the previous hour amusing himself with a pair of pliers, yanking out all her pussy hairs one by one while she shrieked and strained at her restraints. He had a stiff, oval wire frame, curved into a crescent, strapped down against her exposed crotch and surrounding her intimate feminine orifice. Strong metal clamps attached to the ring gripped her pussy lips and pulled them apart, exposing the hidden mystery of Venus’ pink, velvety chamber of delights.

       Yakov sat on a chair between Angelina’s luscious thighs, his face less than a foot from her pussy. The bench positioned it exactly at his eye-level, for comfortable viewing. His fingers plucked at the delicate tissue of her vagina, pinching, rubbing it between his finger and thumb, and an inquisitive forefinger exploring the depths of her intimate chamber.

       Lying on a tray next to him was an assortment of gleaming gynecological instruments, modified so they would be fiendishly uncomfortable when inserted. Yakov grinned to himself as he selected a particularly wicked-looking probe. He dipped it into a jar of irritating liquid and scraped Angelina’s pussy lips with it.

       “NYAH! No—no, stop it! N-N-NUGH! It hurts!”

       Yakov looked up at me with a wicked grin. “This stinging stuff is unbearably nasty. It really gets a girl’s attention. She’ll soon decide that inviting my cock into her pussy is far better than enduring this.” He poked the smooth tip of the misshapen probe into her delicate, sensitive pussy and slowly twisted it.

       “NAUGH! Stop! NUN-UN-UN-UGH! Please! AUGH!”

       “It won’t damage her pussy,” he continued, “but it sure will hurt like hell.”

       Angelina’s shrieks and screams confirmed his statement.

       Gradually, bit by bit, Yakov slid his fiendish probe deeper and deeper into her. Her legs vibrated in their restraints. Her splayed fingers clenched into tight fists, her knuckles white with tension. I laid my hand on her belly, relishing the sensation of her abdominal muscles tensing and shuddering. Finally, Yakov carefully drew out the probe and laid it back on the tray. I was relieved to see no blood on it. Yakov was a paramedic before he joined our ship, and he knew how far he could push a girl to her physical limit without injuring her. He selected another probe; a long shaft with shiny metal spheres strung along it. Each sphere had tiny holes around its perimeter. When he twisted the knob at the base of the shaft, pricking studs rose out of the holes. He dragged the spheres up and down across Angelina’s spread pussy lips to give her a taste of what she would endure when he inserted it. There were more than a dozen other probes with frightful variations of menace lying on the tray, but I had seen a satisfactory sample of his naughty game. I moved on to the next girl.

       It was Medora, the woman who owned the modeling agency, and thus, until our mutiny, the employer of our captives. Now she, like them, was only a female toy to amuse us and provide pleasure for our cocks. Her thirty-one year old body was still in perfect shape, kept that way no doubt by diet and exercise. Now we would all reap the benefits of her meticulous efforts to maintain her body’s perfect shape and beauty.

       Tavis Ross, A fiery-red haired, six-foot, four-inch tall Scotsman, stood in front of her, gripping a twin-tail whip. Medora’s body was strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross, one that curved forward in the center, forcing her belly forward to be an alluring target. A thatch of red welts festooned her vulnerable abdomen and quivering breasts. She was wearing a leather gag, gasping through her nose, fighting for air, her breathing repeatedly interrupted by the blazing pain of each stroke across her bare skin.

       Tavis was totally adsorbed in his violent artistry, and did not notice me approach. I stood back a ways to watch, not wanting to disturb his exotic sport. He didn’t hurry, pausing between each blow to drink in the vision of Medora’s desperate but useless struggles to tear her arms and legs free of the straps binding her. Her once proud and arrogant stare down her nose at us who had to dirty our hands to earn a living had transformed into a frightened, pleading gaze at her tormentors. It would be doubly sweet fucking her, getting our revenge for her sneering comments and brazen insults about our unworthiness to look at her girls with lust in our hearts.

       Tavis had plenty of his own personal reasons for enjoying this violent revenge on a woman. Years ago, while he was at the university, a wild girl had seduced him, then claimed he had raped her. He was arrested, convicted by her lies and hysterics in court, and spent 12 years in a dreadful prison, being beaten by unsympathetic guards for committing a crime that never happened. It wasn’t hard to understand why he was enjoying tormenting our captive girls. I’d have to keep an eye on him to make sure he did not vent his rage and injure, maim, or kill one of the girls. But for now, as I watched him wield his whip against Medora’s defenseless body, he seemed to be in control.

       I have to admit; even I was the victim of her sneering remarks and superior attitude at the captain’s table at dinner each evening before the mutiny. I made a mental note to borrow Tavis’ whip and have a go at Medora’s luscious ass.

       I passed another girl with huge breasts. She was strapped to a T-shaped post that leaned forward with a short horizontal crossbeam at the top, five and a half feet above the floor. Her waist and ankles were strapped to the lower part of the post. Her arms were pulled back up over the horizontal beam and down behind her with her shoulders strapped to the beam and wrists strapped to the back of the post. The tension on her arms forced her shoulders and head to arch back. This posture forced her bountiful, defenseless breasts prominently forward, hovering in the air, inviting mauling and violent abuse. Sparky, our radio operator, was happily enjoying his favorite sexual fantasy. He gripped one of her breasts, stuffing it between his teeth and biting it viciously. Both the poor, screaming girl’s breasts were covered with dozens of his crimson bite marks. An arm-harnessed girl knelt between his feet, vigorously sucking his cock.

       I sighed with contentment and made my way back up the ladder to the main deck.

       Damn! These kinds of games get me enormously horny!

       The sun had set into the sea beyond the cliffs surrounding the ship on three sides. Even from my limited view, I could enjoy the beauty of the darkening, cobalt-blue sky and pink, cotton-candy clouds overhead. I sighed again.

       Life is good. Our courage and daring has given us all the carnal joy a man can wish for. After dinner, I’ll join the crew in selecting a girl to fuck. I think I’ll take her to one of the deck chairs on the stern deck. I suppose some of the men will be watching me fuck her. I don’t mind...Hell, I want them to watch. After I’m finished with her, I’ll parade her in front of the crew and force her to show them my cum oozing from her pussy and running down her thighs. Damn! It’s paradise to be a male with a stiff, lively cock!