The Enslaving of anna

Chapter 9

I have to admit, I was a bit worried that I had overdone it, testing anna so harshly when she had only been in slavery for a few months. But she took it remarkably well and recovered quickly from what had to be a horrible ordeal: twelve hours locked in a position that was uncomfortable at the beginning and grew more so by the minute. She must have attempted a good deal of maneuvering to relieve the agony because her wrists and ankles were badly chafed by the heavy iron cuffs. I had considered simply tying her up and leaving her in a small cage, but she looked so irresistibly helpless clamped hand and foot to that black iron bar that I yielded to my meaner impulse. mya's improvisation at the end, making anna disgrace herself on the floor, was a nice added humiliation. mya really enjoys switching to the role of Domme when she has a juicy slave like anna to play with.

Training did not stop when anna signed the slavery contract. It's an ongoing process. A slave will slide back into old habits and attitudes if not constantly reminded of her proper place and the need for total service and obedience. For this reason I was diligent about trying to make a clear distinction between play and punishment. If I whipped her for the fun of it, each blow would make her tense up and gasp. Pink stripes would emerge to mark where the tail of the whip landed. A session with the multi-tailed flogger would color her whole body crimson and leave her shining with perspiration from her physical reactions to the many blows. But if I whipped her as punishment, the level of pain was such that she would scream and cry and sometimes pass out. The marks of the singletail would be bright red and swollen, her body covered with a mass of welts, some of them bleeding. The effects of the cane were similar; a light caning left angry red lines across her bottom. A heavy caning left swollen purple wheals. When she was whipped or caned, the contrast between play and punishment was perfectly clear.

Restraints were another matter. I didn't always restrain her for punishment. As often as not I made her stand with her hands high over her head, or bent over a table grasping the far edge, counting the blows, thanking me for each one. She could have run from the room on those occasions and saved herself from a terrible ordeal. But she knew she would be thrown out on her ass for breaching her contract, so she never did. She cherished her role as a slave. She cherished my love. She was determined to bear whatever I could dish out, up to and including death, to make good her vow to serve me and obey. But what of those times when, as with the iron bar shackle, her punishment involved the application of painful restraints over a long period of time? Ah, that was a trickier matter, because the whole essence of restraining a submissive in play is to prolong the discomfort and pain long enough to satisfy her need to suffer, but not so long as to discourage her from future play.

So. I had to tread a thin line. I loved to put her in bondage, to find new ways to tie her up, to see her in chains or locked in irons or wooden stocks. She loved it, too. During our periods of free talk when she could say whatever she wanted without fear of punishment, she admitted that the thought of being tightly restrained and helpless always made her wet. She begged me not to heed her when she pleaded for mercy, but to do with her whatever pleased me because in the end, no matter how desperately she suffered, what she wanted was for me to push her to the far extremes of her limits, and beyond.

God! How I loved her!

Summer was coming quickly to an end, but quixotic Mother Nature gave us one last hot September weekend, a meteorologically illicit chance to enjoy New England as though it were Virginia. A colleague of mine and a fellow member of the Iron Collar Club, Dr. Jacob Lorenz, owned an extravagant yacht moored at Marblehead. Jake invited me, along with anna, to join him, his wife and a few friends from the Club on a cruise, with a stopover at a remote island beach. The other "friends" turned out to be Dr. Jonathan Howells, an obstetrician in his own medical group, Eric Decker, a senior manager from a national trucking company, and their wives, Kelly and Tori. Dr. Lorenz, whom I knew as Jake, had a contract slave relationship with his wife, julie, but the other two couples only played at bdsm as Tops and bottoms. Jake and I had discussed what sort of entertainment we would enjoy on the trip, but the others were only aware that it would be of an erotic nature, befitting our mutual interests. Jake's contract with julie was loaded with the usual caveats limiting the types of torment to which she could be subjected. Kelly and Tori were open minded and playful, but they were wives first and submissives only when they felt like playing. I was the only one of the group free to treat my submissive entirely as I pleased. This meant that anna would provide the initial spectacle, joined later by julie. If all went well, Kelly and Tori would soon be in the mood.

Jake's boat was called the "Titipoo," either a reference to the fictitious Japanese village in Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado or to his well endowed slave-wife. Probably both. We boarded the Titipoo early in the morning as the young sun rose over the Atlantic unimpeded by clouds. A gentle wind blowing out of the south added to the day's promising perfection. We loaded the stern and cabin with the inevitable bank of coolers filled with liquid necessities, and added a large trunk that was filled with the equipment that would make this excursion memorable.

This would be anna's first cruise on a luxury yacht and she was bursting with excitement, in spite of being warned that she would be the main object of display and sadistic play. Or maybe because of that. I had dressed her in one of the simple sleeveless sundresses that had become her signature public attire. The silky thin material and bright floral pattern demanded attention, clinging seductively to every sensual nuance of her body, adhering to the jutting points of nipples hardened by the cool harbor breeze and insinuating obscenely into the clefts between her legs. High heels would have looked ludicrous in this context, so I made her remain barefoot and enjoyed watching her cringe as the many pebbles on the tarmac stabbed into her tender feet during the long walk between the car and the dock. It was amusing to observe the intense interest she drew from the men we passed. Julie, Tori and Kelly, although sexy and attractive in their shorts, halter tops and sandals, were no match for my lovely anna who may as well have been naked for the degree of concealment afforded by that wonderfully indecent frock.

Her months of living totally in the nude had changed anna's attitude about clothing. She no longer cared what she wore or how much of her body people could see as long as I was happy with the effect. She would feel as comfortable wearing cheesecloth in public as denim if I ordered it. Naked had become so normal for her that she often forgot to put on her robe when UPS stopped by for a delivery. In fact, I believe she had begun to enjoy the reaction of the drivers, which ranged from dropped jaws to finding ways to protract the ritual of signing the electronic slate. Sometimes the bolder ones indicated a willingness to be invited in, no doubt ready to offer relief to this wantonly horny housewife. But she always turned them away, whether from obedience, from choice, or from awareness of the watching camera I cannot say. Doesn't matter. I had it in mind that soon I would take advantage of that particular predilection of hers for my own entertainment.

Except for the few items I had allowed her to keep from before that first day of her slave training, all anna's clothing, her entire wardrobe, had been personally selected by me. It was actually a delight to take her shopping, quite unlike the dreadful ordeals I had endured with my ex-wife. There was no hanging around waiting for her to try on endless articles to find the perfect fit and the exactly right look. I marched her into a store, pointed out the items that appealed to me, accompanied her into the dressing room to make sure she didn't dawdle, and made instant decisions. Actually, this process of dressing anna to suit myself gave me an understanding of the pleasure little girls must feel playing with dolls and changing their costumes. In a sense, anna was my very own doll, a living manikin whose firm, sculpted figure and soft, opalescent skin breathed a sexuality that invariably stirred my loins. her body cried out to be played with, and dressing her in provocative, barely legal outfits was great fun. The key, as I say, is never to ask her what pleases her or try to second guess her tastes. Women's tastes are impossibly complex, and since only my opinion counts, hers would only get in the way.

The first time we went on a shopping trip I had warned her not to say a word. She obeyed but registered her disapproval of some of my selections by rolling her eyes. When she learned that each eye roll would earn her two hard strokes of the cane, she quickly abandoned that practice, since she fears the cane almost as much as the singletail. Now she's more subtle about letting me know that she likes a particular item. She will touch it or caress it or hug it to her and smile hopefully up at me. If I like it, I'll buy it for her. If I don't, I pretend to ignore her. Nowadays she limits her display of disappointment to putting on a sad face and staring at the floor. That's perfectly acceptable. In fact, it turns me on, the way hog-tying her on a table when we throw a party turns me on. And I confess, I've been known to surprise her by buying the damned thing on the next trip just to enjoy the radiance of her happiness.

As soon as all our paraphernalia was stowed aboard the yacht, I clipped a chain leash to anna's collar, led her up on the bridge, stripped off her dress and attached her to a vertical roof support. I strapped leather cuffs to her wrists and locked her hands behind her so she couldn't mess with the short chain holding her neck to the support. Jake started up the engines while I went below to retrieve some ropes from the trunk. The boat was sliding backwards away from the dock as I returned to the bridge. Half a dozen men on adjacent yachts were frozen in place, staring at anna's naked breasts. she made no attempt to duck their astonishment but stood proudly, as though daring them to come over for a closer look. Kelly, Julie and Tori huddled in the stern taking it all in, their nervous giggles betraying ambivalent feelings about what we might have in store for them as this unusual cruise unfolded.

All four females watched me intently as I threaded ropes through pulleys on the back outside corners of the bridge roof. Jake had not quite maneuvered us to the mouth of the harbor when I detached anna from the roof support and led her to the rear edge of the bridge where I disconnected the leather cuffs from each other, secured them to the ropes and hauled her arms out and up, forming her into a stunningly nude Y. The view of her from other boats when she was standing in the bridge cabin had been from the waist up, a teasing preview. Now her entire body was gloriously on view to anyone in the harbor who happened to glance at the departing Titipoo .

As we slipped into the open ocean, it was time for the other females to start contributing to the decor. I took over the helm, steering us on a course parallel with the shore and close enough so that anyone with good eyesight could see there was something interesting going on aboard and anyone with a pair of binoculars would have a real treat. Jon and Eric sent their girls to the galley to prepare drinks for the men while Jake ordered his wife — slave julie — to strip. He handed a bottle of sun block to Jon and Eric and asked them to apply it to julie while he went below to help himself to some ropes from the trunk. julie closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of four hands spreading lotion over every inch of her body. When they finished, Jake led her up on to the forward deck and had her lie down on her back where he tied her spreadeagled to the rails that ran along the sides of the deck.

Kelly and Tori emerged from below to hand us our drinks. We allowed them a few minutes to admire the new decoration on the deck, then they were also ordered to strip and each was required to spread sun block over the other. Next they were placed back to back straddling the stern gunwale of the boat. Each girl's arms were pulled behind her and cuffed together in front of the other girl so they were locked together in a tight back-to-back embrace. Their inboard ankles were chained together and secured to an eye bolt on the gunwale. Their outboard legs were also chained together and weighted by a heavy anchor that dangled just above the roiling wake of the yacht. They made a pretty picture, and a striking study in opposites. Kelly was tall, about five ten, and classically Nordic — her features strong, her breasts firm and full, her hair a mass of ashy blond curls, so light that her eyebrows all but disappeared as spray from the boat's backwash slowly eroded her makeup. Tori, by contrast, reflected her Tai heritage from her mother's side. She was dark and tiny, not quite five feet, with a wispy body, apple breasts and a delicate, childlike face dominated by huge, hypnotic eyes. A man could easily drown in the liquid brown depths of those eyes. Interlocked spine-to-spine, Kelly's long, pale blond curls tumbling down into Tori's dark chocolate tresses, salt spray glistening on their slim, young bodies, they made a riveting picture. Jake, Jonathan, Eric and I sipped our drinks and admired our handiwork for several minutes as the Titipoo cruised slowly along on autopilot.

"Whadda ya say we adopt a house rule for this party?" Eric said, breaking the spell. "As Doms, we all give blanket permission to each other to play with all the subs, with the usual restrictions, of course, including no depositing our cum in someone else's property, unless it's her ass or mouth."

"Sounds good to me," Jon chipped in. Jake quickly assented.

"But Kelly and Tori aren't slaves," I pointed out to Eric. "Hadn't you and Jonathan better make sure it's okay with them?"

"Sure thing!" said Eric, jumping up and heading for the cabin. He returned with another item from the trunk: a cane. Strolling over to his petite wife, Tori, he tapped it on her breasts. "Whadda say, sweetie? Does that sound like fun to you, that any of the men can do whatever we please with any of the females here?"

Those incredible dark eyes filled with apprehension as his cane taps grew stronger.

"Yes, I agree," she said hastily. "It's a party. Let's not be stuffy!"

Jonathan picked up his cue, taking the cane from Eric he tapped the end of it against Kelly's exposed labia. "How about you, my love. Ready to play with any and all?"

"Whatever you say, Sir," she replied in her smooth alto. Kelly was no novice to wild sexual exploits or multiple partners. I had seen her participate enthusiastically in three earlier gang bangs. Jon's threat with the cane and her submissive response was pure theater. I didn't know Tori as well. Like anna, she appeared to be submissive by nature, but whether she was a true party girl like Kelly or actually intimidated by her husband's threat with the cane was unclear. I would have to watch her carefully to get a better fix. I don't fully trust any seemingly submissive woman who is not a contract slave and I had (and have) no desire to be accused of committing rape.

At any rate, it was time to change the focus. With julie tied up on the forward deck and Tori and Kelly providing living artwork on the stern, it would be inexcusable to ignore the star of the show, still languishing in her wrist restraints on the bridge.

I asked the boys to lather her up with the sunblock while I went back to the trunk where I dug out several yards of rope. Not the soft nylon rope I use for playtime bondage, but the harsh hemp rope whose prickly surface chews into tender flesh like miniaturized barbed wire and leaves raw tracks on the skin long after it is mercifully removed. I released anna from her restraints, unbuckled the leather cuffs and immediately pulled her arms behind her back, lashing them together, forearm to forearm, her hands grasping her elbows. Next I wound ropes around her torso, above and below her breasts, around her waist, her shoulders and upper arms, between her labia and up around her neck. I laid her on her side, bent her legs and tied her calves to her thighs. At this point she could barely move.

One of the features on this yacht was a winch and a yardarm that swung out over the starboard side for the purpose of loading heavy objects on board. Its usual cargo was a pallette laden with food, beer and liquors. Today the cargo would be anna. I secured her harness of ropes to the hook, winched her up to the yardarm and swung her out over the side. There she dangled face down, her body horizontal, suspended in mid-air by hemp robes bound around her knees and upper torso, and biting deeply into the cleft between her legs. The ropes supporting her torso also made loops around her breasts and, tightening now from the weight of her body, turned her tits into purple bulbs. I tied a spreader between her knees to keep her legs spread wide, her sex exposed to the ocean breeze. She began groaning and whining immediately from the extreme discomfort, so I swung her in again, stuffed Tori's panties into her mouth and cinched them in with several windings of rope which I tied off at her feet, drawing her head up and back as far as it would go. Then I swung her back out over the ocean. Tears trickled down her cheeks as her stressed body twisted with the wind and the motion of the boat, but only throaty moans could be heard through the gag.

While I was making these adjustments, another luxury boat, a yawl under full sail, materialized on our starboard side, its crew, three young men, agape at our decorations. We smiled and waved at them.

"It's all right," I called out. "We belong to an S&M club. We do this for fun! Say hello, girls!"

Tori and Kelly dutifully yelled a cheery "Hi, guys!"

"Wanna join us?" Tori added with a brilliant smile. She was the one facing the yawl.

"Shit, yeah!" one of the men responded.

"Hey, great!" Jake called back. What else could he say? "We're heading for Manassas Island. Join us there, if you'd like."

"No prob!" they shouted back as the wind peeled them away from us.

julie had begun to squirm on the forward deck as the sun and salt air heated up her skin. It was time to add another layer of sun block. Kelly and Tori were disentangled from their stern positions and Kelly, who was closer to julie's five foot six, was brought up and told to lie down on top of her, covering her. As she did, her arms and legs were bound to julie's limbs — forearms and upper arms, calves and thighs, with another rope cinched around their waists, leaving them pressed together like a girl-shaped sandwich.

Not to be forgotten, little Tori was led to the port side of the yacht, directly opposite where anna was still swinging freely out over the ocean. Tori's wrists were bound behind her and another rope pulled her elbows together, forcing her to arch her back and thrust her pretty tits outward. She had extraordinary nipples, hard and long, exaggerated by the chilling wind and her nervous excitement. Eric picked her up and placed her on the side rail, holding her there as I tied a rope into her long hair dark hair and secured it to an eyelet in the bridge roof, leaving only a little slack. A sharp pointed rod was positioned behind her that would make it impossible for her to lean back far enough to keep from being constantly thrown forward toward the ocean by the boat's pitching and rolling. Each time her body fell outward she would be yanked back by her hair. If she slipped off the rail, she would hang by her hair until rescued. (As added insurance, a rope was tied from her wrists to a bolt in the gunnel so that her arms would hook over the rail should her hair slip out of the rope.) We watched in satisfaction as she fell forward over and over, yanked short by her hair, her grimaces eventually turning to tears. But she had learned from anna's mistake and didn't complain, thus avoiding the necessity of a gag. She just ground her teeth and bore it. An amazing brave little thing.

The boys in the yawl, meanwhile, had been doing their best to keep up with us, even using their engine to try to offset an uncooperative wind. They were doing a pretty good job of it, too, considering the amount of attention spent on focusing their binoculars. As we veered west, however, making for Manassas, the wind direction put them at a greater disadvantage. Jake and I made broad beckoning motions to them to follow, to let them know they were still invited if they could make it to the island. I had no doubt that they would. Even from a distance of a couple hundred yards the expression on their faces made it obvious they had plenty of motivation.