Crew
by Peter Loaf

1

Wanted, Crewpersons for an extended windjammer cruise of the Greek isles and Eastern Mediterranean. Equal opportunity employer. Generous pay package. Experience not necessary but appreciated. Willingness to learn is essential. Must speak English. See Howard Green, aboard the Gypsy Queen, Slip 58, Cannes Yacht basin.

Jenny Johnson sat at the sidewalk cafe and thought about how much she needed to get out of France. Interpol was closing in and now she’d lost her last fake passport. She’d lost it last night when she’d escaped from that pension by climbing out a window and running away across the flat roofs of Cannes. In addition to her collection of fake passports, Jenny had been forced to leave her clothes, most of her accumulated loot and worst of all, her bag of lock picks and burglary tools. She had nothing now but a few euros, the clothes on her back and her extremely well built young body. Well, she thought, I’ve started out with less.

She paid her check and headed down to the harbor. Finding the Gypsy Queen, a large sailing catamaran flying the American flag, she called, “Ahoy the boat, is anyone aboard?”

At first there was no response, then a hatch slid back on the foredeck and a man’s shaved head appeared. After a long moment spent looking her over and obviously liking what he was seeing, he said, “Ahoy yourself, come aboard.” She was relieved to hear that he had an American accent. Americans tended to break the passport rules more often.

Jenny bent to remove her high heels, then stepped over onto the painted deck. She saw how the bald man, who was about thirty, was looking at her curvy female body and knew the power of possessing such an asset. She knew that just the sight of her well-endowed woman’s body was short-circuiting this big man’s caution. She had gotten used to this in the seven years since her puberty. Hell, she’d learned to depend on it. She walked forward toward the open hatch and stood over the man, fully aware that she was showing him her see-through panties up under her short skirt.

The man grinned appreciatively and climbed up on deck, wearing nothing but a Speedo and a smile. He was a big man, built like a linebacker and tanned to a perfect bronze. “Hi, I’m Howard Green.” He said, extending a huge, long fingered hand.

Jenny shook out her long golden blonde hair and took his hand, bending slightly so as to show off her big, high nipple tits. “My name is Jenny Ford, sir.” She said, picking a last name that was not on any of the lost passports.

His eyes lingered on her body for a few intense seconds then he said, “Welcome aboard Ms. Ford, I hope you are here about the deckhand job.”

“Yes sir, that I am. And please, call me Jenny.” Jenny said, glancing down at the man’s well-stuffed Speedo. “I have some boat handling experience but not a lot. I used to cruise the Great Lakes in an eight-meter yacht when I was in high school. I’m a quick learner and plus I’m a Cordon Bleu trained chef.”

Green chuckled at some private joke and asked, “Where are you from? Somewhere in the mid-west I’d guess.”

“Cleveland, and you?”

“Philadelphia, city of brotherly love.” He said indicating she should precede him into the boat’s well-appointed cabin.

As Jenny sat down on a large white leather couch Captain Green went behind a bar and got out a bottle of Napoleon brandy and two large cut crystal snifters. Pouring generous splashes of the dark liquid into both glasses he offered one to her and sat down opposite her to talk. “Well, as the ad in the Herald Tribune said, We plan to cruise the Aegean, Adriatic and eastern med. We don’t expect to be gone more than a few months but there is no real schedule we will have to follow.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Jenny said, tasting the brandy. “This is a really nice boat.”

“Thank you, we just sailed it over from America. It made the crossing in eighteen days. We never even turned on the engines.”

“Wow, I heard catamarans were fast.”

“And comfortable, not so much of that canted-bunk shit on a cat.”

“So how much does the crewman job pay?” Jenny asked, aware that his eyes were fixed on her cleavage again.

“Three hundred euros a week plus of course room and board.” He said, getting up to refill her glass. “I don’t believe in being stingy with my money, after all, I have enough.”

“Not having to worry about money is nice.” Jenny said, accepting the glass.

“Yes, I have been very fortunate. I got into tech stocks early and hit it big, then got out just before the collapse.”

“So, do you think I will be able to learn the duties of a deckhand?”

“I don’t see why not.” He said, gazing down into her cleavage. “Besides, there will be another hand aboard, plus my first mate, Mrs. Green.

This took Jenny aback, just a little. A wife aboard could complicate things. “Where is your wife now? Is she aboard?” Jenny asked, looking around for some sign of the woman.

“She’s ashore, looking for a fourth crewman. Our crossing crew jumped ship at Gibraltar. We had to sail up here with just the two of us.”

Just then, from up on deck there came the sounds of footsteps and a woman’s voice. “Howard, are you here?”

“In here, Janet, interviewing a cook!” called the captain.

The cabin door opened, revealing a short but very sexy brunet of about twenty-five, dressed in short shorts and a halter-top that cradled her big breasts perfectly. “Oh, hello sweetie, welcome to the Gypsy Queen,” the little woman said to Jenny. Then to Howard she said, “I found the perfect deck hand, he’s a Scots-born Canadian with years of wind-jamming experience. He used to be second mate on Rupert Murdock’s boat."

“Well, I think we have our crew.” said the captain, looking at his wife and getting to his feet. “The tide turns at six tonight.” he continued, looking down at Jenny. “That will give you time to get your clothes and check out of wherever you are staying. Be back here by five and you will start learning how to crew a boat like this.”

Jenny started to get to her feet and discovered herself quite incapable. Somehow two drinks seemed to have robbed her of her balance. Head spinning, she flopped back on the soft leather and had just enough consciousness to hear Janet’s knowing chuckle, before she passed out.

2

When she became aware again she was lying on her face in a bunk. She tried to bring her hands to her face but discovered that they were fixed out to the bunk’s side rails with hospital restraints, as were her ankles. She tried to speak but found herself gagged with what felt like a large metal ring strapped in behind her teeth.

Then she realized she was stark naked and she began to panic. When she lifted her head from the plastic covered mattress to scream, she felt the drug swirling in her brain, bringing on a wave of nausea and the feeling that she was going to be sick.

She closed her eyes and tried to fight it down only to feel someone grabbing her long hair and lifting her face from the mattress enough to slide a pan in beneath her just as the sickness came gushing out of her propped open mouth.

After a while whoever it was used a wet soapy cloth to clean her up before pulling a black velvet hoodwink down over her head, blinding her and making her feel ten times as vulnerable as before.

There came a caress between her spread legs and a touch to her sex that carried a message of the future. The second mate’s contralto was husky in her cloth-covered ear. “Just so you understand, Jenny, we heard about your narrow escape from Interpol, last night. We know that you are the infamous cat burglar who’s been cleaning out the rich and famous all over Europe.”

Jenny strained against her four way restraints. She could not close herself to the insistent, knowing fingers between her thighs that were awakening something inside her. Something that she did not want to admit existed.

“You ought to thank us for rescuing you from those bastard Interpol cops.” the small woman continued, her knowing fingers massaging Jenny’s now swelling clitoris. “They want to throw you into prison for a long, long time. We only want to fuck you around the Med for a few weeks, before we let you go somewhere safe from the cops. If you are a good enough little sex slave we’ll even give you a new identity, fake passport and all.”

Jenny grunted a few curses and thrashed her helpless body to the limits of her restraints, trying to rid herself of the fingers. The fingers only moved up to fiddle with Jenny’s anus. As they began to intrude Jenny suddenly smelled Vicks Vapo-Rub and knew she was being greased. When the cold steel hook slid inside her colon she screamed in pain and mounting fear. When the hook then lifted her ass up off the mattress she stopped screaming and began to make pleading noises.

When she was suspended, the butt hook tied up to a ring above her bunk, the first mate patted her up-thrust bottom and then returned to the task of sexually exciting her captive, this time using a big vibrating dildo which was also covered in the hot grease.

The night was long and arduous. The first mate never let Jenny down from the painful butt hook, never allowed her to rest, never stopped stimulating her, teasing her, driving her into sexual explosion after sexual explosion. At one point the captain came down and joined her in the bunk, his big hard cock also greased and dripping his spunk. While he fucked her from the rear, Janet sat straddling Jenny’s head, her wet and swollen sex pressed against the cloth stretched over her ring-gagged mouth. After forcing her to come around him a couple of times he switched positions with his wife, rolled up the hoodwink just enough to expose her mouth and after a while deposited his spunk down her throat while his wife fucked her in the vagina with the big vibrating dildo.

Then there came a period of carefully applied pain. First her breasts were tied in prickly sisal rope so that they ballooned and became hard as rocks hanging beneath her. Then they began to cane her suspended ass, seeming to be flaying the skin as they sliced it over and over, each blow leaving a welt and a pain filled memory.

The next time someone fucked her it was while wearing a spiked condom. He smelled differently from the captain and had a different style so she supposed he must be the as yet unseen Canadian. He was good enough at what he was doing that before he was done she had again passed out.

3

The next day, about noon, they let her up from the bunk, clamped a stainless steel collar around her throat and working shackles on her wrists and ankles, and after allowing her to use the head put her to work in the galley.

As soon as she was alone for a second her loosely chained hands went up to explore the gag, only to discover it locked in place, held by a steel band around the back of her neck and a strong padlock. She knew she would need tools and time to remove it. Having neither, she set to work preparing brunch. Eggs benedict and fruit for her captors and cream of wheat for herself. The smell of the Canadian bacon cooking made Jenny drool but there was nothing she could do about it due to the hated ring gag. Before brunch was half done her big tits were shining with her dripping saliva.

The first mate came down and, seeing the problem, solved it by stuffing an inflatable gag into Jenny’s mouth and pumping it up to the point that Jenny thought the corners of her mouth would rip. What was worse, the mouth-filling bladder had a second tube through it that allowed them to force-feed her a ration of tasteless, texture-less goop.

While the captain and first mate sat at the galley table and dined, Jenny was forced to kneel on the deck between them, her wrist, collar and ankle chains attached together by a short link down her back. It was a position she would soon learn to hate.

When the captain finished eating he went up on deck to relieve the Canadian, a large, beefy, red haired Scotsman who toyed with Jenny’s sore tits the entire time he was eating. The second mate watched, a strange smile on her pixie-like face, a feral glow behind her dark eyes.

When brunch was finished Jenny was still kind of hungry but no one was asking her. The chain that connected the back of her collar and ankles was removed and she struggled to her feet, her hands still attached up behind her head. She was taken out on deck and given a bucket of soapy water and a brush that fitted into the front of her inflated gag. “A clean boat is a happy boat.” said the captain from his seat by the tiller. “Start aft and scrub toward the bow.”

Jenny knelt down once again and, aware of the view she was giving her three captors, set to work. It was a large boat and, deprived of the use of her hands, it took Jenny until after sunset before the entire deck was scrubbed.

Then, as if they hadn’t had enough of her, they rolled her over onto her back up by the bow and connected her ankle chain up to the front of her collar before taking turns fucking her until moonset took away the light.

As she once again lay in her bunk, her hands and feet secured to the side rails, she found herself wondering how long it would take them to fuck her to death. At least they had finally removed the two gags, leaving her jaw muscles sore and cramping, her body welted, bruised and as satiated as it had ever been. After a while she fell into a deep and dream filled sleep in which she was pursued by hundreds of giant throbbing peni and one pair of very skillful pixie lips.

4

On the forth day out they fetched their landfall. It was Binzart, a small port on the north coast of Tunisia. Before sailing into the harbor they took the once again ring gagged Jenny up on deck, tied her hands to the mainsheet and hoisted her up to dangle high above the deck. A patrol boat came out to greet them and it’s officer came aboard, barely glancing up at the helpless captive. Down in the little patrol boat the Tunisian sailors were talking excitedly and making rude sexual gestures directed towards the hanging Jenny. After a short while the officer came out of the cabin stuffing a fat wad of euros into his pants pocket. He walked to where he could look up at Jenny and said, “Bonjour Madam, I hope you enjoy your stay in Tunisia.” before climbing back down into his boat.

As the catamaran dropped her anchor in the harbor several small boatloads of men came out to take a look at the naked woman on display. Jenny felt the intensity of their combined attention. There was nothing she could do to cover her nakedness. Her sexual exposure was complete.

When one of the boats came close to the cat’s side she heard a fat, bearded, white skinned man ask in heavily Greek accented English, “Is she for sale, sir, for if she is I will pay ten thousand euros.”

“Twenty!” called a second bidder, a short swarthy man in yachting garb.

Behind him a tall slim dark skinned man in yet another boat said, “I will pay forty thousand and I’ll throw in a fully trained slave girl from Sudan.”

The first mate came up on deck then and stood next to her husband, wearing nothing but a string bikini and a smile. “Well, good sir, that is a generous offer indeed! Do I hear fifty?. . . Anyone?”

From a third boat came a British accented call of “I will give you fifty thousand, in gold, plus the pick of my harem.” Twisting around to see who this Brit was, she felt a shock of recognition as she realized it was Sir Robert, one of her more recent victims, a man she’d robbed of nearly two hundred thousand euros in Barcelona just last month.

Janet smiled down at the Englishman and said, “That to is a very generous offer kind sir, thank you. Do I hear sixty?”

“Eighty thousand, in gold!” croaked a hooded man from a forth boat, this time in a heavy Arab accent. “And double that if this one is also for sale!” he said, making eye contact with the captain as he gestured toward the man’s little wife.

“Done!” said the captain, “Sold to the man in the dashiki for one hundred and sixty thousand euros in gold!”

Janet spun around to look at her husband in shock. “Wha . . .” she managed to get out before the Canadian, standing behind her, dropped a noose over her head and cinched it tight enough to cut off the rest. There was a short, quiet struggle then but the diminutive second mate never had the slightest chance to escape her fate against the two big men. Two minutes later she was down on the deck, struggling uselessly against a tight hogtie, her mouth held wide in another of the ring gags.

The circle of buyers watched the show in approval then rowed off toward shore, leaving the successful bidder to complete his purchase.

Jenny watched from the masthead as the Arab climbed aboard the Gypsy Queen carrying a heavy leather carpet bag that clinked richly when he sat it down on the deck between the two Americans. She almost felt sympathy for Janet as the Arab took out a knife, cut off her bikini and casually tossed it overboard. She watched as Captain Green and his new second mate counted the gold coins until they’d reached the agreed sum, then handed back the sack, still heavy with the Arab’s gold.

Looking up from his inspection of his newest sex slave, the Arab exposed his face to Jenny for the first time. Again Jenny felt the shock of recognition as she realized that this man too had been one of her recent victims. He was a younger brother of King Abdul of Saudi Arabia. A man she’d cleaned out in Rome just three months ago. Suddenly she was very, very afraid.

5

The trip from Tunisia to Saudi Arabia was short and very uncomfortable. Both women were packed into fiberglass caskets that allowed almost no movement, or air for that matter. Wrapped like mummies and gagged with the hated inflatable gags, there was no chance that either would escape. Packed like luggage in the back of a Gulf-stream, they were flown to the prince’s palace out in the trackless mountains of the Arabian peninsula.

Once there, they were taken out of the caskets, unwrapped, sprayed with sun block and put into heavy wooden head and wrist stocks. They were then turned loose on the palace grounds, still naked, still gagged, still completely helpless. The sun was like a blowtorch, the white gravel paths so hot that the barefoot girls could not stand outside the scanty shade for more than a few seconds at a time.

They were simply eye candy, like the peacocks, the wing clipped Chinese pheasants and the brightly colored parrots that flew from palm tree to palm tree. There was no possibility of escape, the palace grounds were surrounded by a twelve foot stone and plaster wall, topped by broken glass and razor wire. Nowhere did any tree or bush grow within ten feet of the wall.

Water was everywhere, inside the walls, in small pools, fed by beautiful fountains, in little waterfalls that burbled down stone stair steps and in large artificially cooled swimming pools sparkling in the sunlight. Whenever either of them needed a drink they only had to step under one of the fountains or falls and lift their faces to the falling water. The ring gags prevented them from talking but allowed them to drink and, after sunset, be fed.

That night the Prince had them brought to his Bedouin tent at the back of the palace grounds. Tethering Janet up on her tiptoes between two tent poles by a double hook in her button nose, he released Jenny from her stocks and offered her a thin whippy barkers cane. “I see by the welts on your bottom that you have a score to settle with your former owner.” the prince said, handing jenny the cane. “I’ll tell you when the time has come for you to stop.”

Jenny backed away, shaking her head, afraid to touch the instrument of so much pain.

The prince chuckled and then, without warning, sliced the cane into Jenny’s ass, its fresh welt crossing the half healed ones from the voyage across the Mediterranean. “Slave girls soon learn to obey the wishes of their Masters.” he said, gripping her wrist and forcing her to bend over and present her bottom for a second slice.

Jenny resisted the urge to use the karate training she’d had. There was no possibility of escape and she knew it. The palace was walled, guarded, and fifty miles from the nearest water. She took the cane and bowed her head.

“Good, now go get even.” he said, flopping back on his satin cushions and picking up the mouthpiece of his hashish pipe.

Dancing helpless under the nose hooks, Janet watched Jenny coming toward her exposed body. She had enjoyed hurting Jenny, somehow she didn’t think she was going to enjoy this so much.

Jenny circled the helpless girl, watching as the heavy stocks kept the pixie’s hands up, out of the way. She whistled the cane through the air, listening to its promise, remembering how it had felt, there in the Gypsy Queen’s bunk as the thin bamboo had cut into her hook suspended and perfectly presented bottom. She reached out and measured the distance, tapping the cane against its target, making Janet cringe away to the limits of the nose tether. Then she drew back and whistled it into Janet’s ass, marking it with a white, turning to crimson welt that marked the small woman across upper slopes of her round bottom.

Janet screamed out in sudden agony, the nose tether snubbing her short and holding her still for a second slice, this one lower, across the backs of her upper thighs. The third blow Jenny sliced into Janet’s big silver dollar nipples, cutting off Janet’s screams in a gasp of unbearable agony.

Then things got a tad fuzzy. Jenny remembered watching the pixie trying to learn to levitate, trying to escape the pain, escape the girl who’d she’d hurt so enthusiastically, just the night before.

After a while the prince ordered Jenny to stop and console the sobbing Janet with her lips and tongue. Jenny found herself in a fog of uncontrollable lust. She knelt before the helpless girl and kissed each of her welts, modifying the dancing slave’s screams as she moved up her back and then down her front.

The prince came then and tied Janet’s right knee up to her elbow, then said, “Make her your slave Jenny, make her come.”

Balanced on one shaking, welt covered leg, Janet screamed in passion as Jenny suckled her swollen, dripping clitoris. She hopped and writhed as Jenny’s tongue lapped her dripping cunt, then delved her open pussy to the length of her tongue. Jenny’s teeth nibbled Janet’s crimson labia as the helpless pixie made pleading noises that did not sound like she wanted anything to stop as yet. Jenny remembered how she had made the same kinds of noises, remembered how she’d wanted more of the pleasure born of pain.

The next morning they met Fatima, the prince’s pony-girl trainer. But that is another story.