A gay story: The One-Way Voyage (Day Three) DAY THREE
I learn the ropes.
When Master came for me the next morning, my diaper was dry. I’d had to pee, but I made a point of holding it until he took me to the bathroom. Then came the morning shower, with my hands chained above my head as before. Master seemed to like washing me. He was especially attentive to my crotch and ass, and I confess I enjoyed the sensations.
I felt funny about that, but I told myself that whatever pleasure I could find in this situation, I should take. I shouldn’t feel guilty about things being done to me that I never asked for.
Instead of locking my wrists to my hips today, Master introduced a different method: he padlocked two chains, each about eighteen inches long, to the metal ring on the throat of my collar, then padlocked my wrists to the other ends. This arrangement allowed me freer use of my hands and arms, for which I was glad.
Master eyed me suspiciously. “You can’t touch your cock, can you?”
I tried; the chains became taught before my hands got to my navel. “No, Master.”
“Good. Because you don’t get to touch your cock. Only I get to do that.” He emphasized his point by teasing it a little with his fingertip before he took me topside. “I’m the captain of the ship. That makes you the captain’s slave. Now that you’ve seen the boat, you might as well make yourself useful.”
The boat’s sails had been furled for the night; Master had me climb the ladder to the roof of the deck house and unbuckle the straps that held them inside their canvas covers. While I was up there, I stole a moment to gaze up at the clear blue sky, decorated in puffy clouds. The light of the sun was warm on my bare flesh. It felt warmer than yesterday, thankfully.
Next, Master showed me how to raise the sails. First the mainsail went up; you did that by pulling on a rope, which was called a “sheet.” I’d have thought the “sheet” would be the sail itself, but no, it’s the rope. I was happy to learn I didn’t have to pull the rope by hand; Master showed me the electric winch and demonstrated how to wrap the sheet around the winch and let the motor do the work.
My only responsibility was to collect the rope as it came off the winch. Master was very particular about coiling the rope neatly. “So it doesn’t tangle when we lower the sail at the end of the day.” I got several stinging swats on the ass until I learned how to do this to his satisfaction. Then we did the same with the other sail, called a jib.
Once the sails were up, Master took me up the stair that ran along the port side of the deck house. This led to the cockpit, a small windowed room that sat on the roof of the deck house. Inside was an amazing sight. There was a chair for the pilot, with a steering wheel in front of it, and several large computer screens. Spread across one of these I saw a map with a red indicator pin that showed where we were (in the Pacific Ocean, somewhere south and west of California, but I knew that already). Another hosted a radar display, and there were more screens with words and images I didn’t understand.
Master explained to me that the ship had an autopilot, so once we caught the wind right, all he had to do was program the autopilot to hold that course, “and then we can go downstairs and have fun.” He indicated the radar screen, which showed no other ships within ten miles. “This will warn me if anyone gets too near, so I’ll have time to change course. We wouldn’t want anyone to get close enough to see a naked man running around on our deck, would we?”
“No, Master,” I said, because it seemed the right thing to say. He laughed at that.
The guy seemed excited about the boat, and pleased to have someone to explain everything to. It made him smile, and I loved looking at that smile. I could almost like the guy when he smiled. He bragged that we had a satellite internet connection, so he could always stay in touch. Who or what he stayed in touch with, he did not say.
Master could be a monster when he was angry, but I was learning he could be fun, too. I supposed it was up to me was to find a way to encourage the cheerful, easygoing side and keep him from getting mad and pulling out the hot stick.
He gave me a drink of water, then we went below to the training room for today’s lesson. He chained my wrists together over my head as before and went for the lube bottle. I watched him squirt a generous amount into his right palm and rub it onto his fingers.
I knew exactly what was to come; so did my dick, which began to rise before he put down the bottle. It was a distinct disadvantage being naked; Master could always tell what I was thinking. He grinned and teased my dick with light touches and strokes until it was in a full, throbbing hard-on. “You want me to rub it, don’t you? You want me to make you come.”
“As you wish, Master.”
One fingertip lightly stroked the underside as he said, “Tell me what you want. You want me to jerk you off, don’t you?”
A long silence followed while he waited for an answer. The fingers of his other hand found my butt-hole and tickled it. My dick was positively aching. When I could stand it no longer, I confessed. “I want it.”
But he wasn’t going to let it be that easy. “Say, ‘Please, Master,'” he prompted.
I gave up the last shard of pride I was clinging to. “Please, Master.”
He withdrew his hands. The sensations ended. My dick stuck out farther, searching for his touch. “I’m not convinced. Say it like you mean it.”
I swallowed hard and begged. “Please, Master. Please jerk me off. I want you to make me come.” I tried to sound like I meant it, which was easy, because I did.
“That’s better.” He encircled my dick with his fingers and stroked it harder, then moved in for a kiss. I opened my mouth as he pressed his against it. He held my head in his free hand as his tongue entered my mouth and ran along mine. At that same instant, I moaned and shot my load.
Master kept stroking me, far longer than I would have liked. I wanted to pull away, but my restraints kept me close to him. I made sounds of protest, which were muffled by his tongue, until at last, he released me. I shuddered.
He went to the wall and took down the whip. “All right, then. Let’s see if you remember your rules.” He raised the whip as if to strike me as I quickly began reciting. I got through the first rule okay; on the next I missed the second “the,” which brought me a lash on the shoulders. I got it right on the second try.
Only one. Not too bad.
Master released me from the chains, moved me onto the fuck bench, and got out the leather paddle. He rubbed it against my butt as he taught me the third rule, which was a bit longer: “Rule Three: The most valuable parts of the slave are the cock, the balls, and the asshole. The slave must make these available to the master at all times.” I earned myself at least a dozen swats on the ass before I finally got through all that without a mistake.
“What the rule means is this: no ducking, no hiding, no pulling away. Keep your legs spread wide and your ass sticking out. Your cock and balls and ass should be ready for me at all times, in case I feel like playing with them. Remember that, or you will be punished.”
“Yes, Master.”
Then he fucked me.
The first day, it had been a shock. The second day, I was too tense. Today, I was better prepared. I took deep breaths and willed my ass to open up and not fight him, because that did nothing but leave me with a sore asshole. If I felt my muscles tighten, I’d bite my tongue or squeeze the legs of the bench with my hands, until my lower body relaxed.
Master ran the fingers of one hand lightly up and down my side, which made me squirm. His other arm was wrapped around my neck; he pulled my head back and sucked at my earlobe. I shivered and felt goose bumps, but stayed focused on my breathing.
His strokes came faster. He was really pounding me now, and I was grunting to his rhythm, expecting him to come at any time. It took longer than I expected. When at last he cried out, it was so loud I got scared, thinking I had done something wrong, but it was only his orgasm.
Afterward, he gave me his creepy speech again, about how he was squeezing my essence out of my body and replacing it with his, and how my body would gradually become his body. I listened politely until he finished and stuck the plug in me.
We went to the dining room. I fetched a diaper, spread it on the cushion, and sat, without waiting to be told. It was hard to find a comfortable way to sit with the plug in my ass; I settled on squatting and leaning forward. I could still feel the plug in this position, but it was less painful.
Master made himself scrambled eggs and toast. As he ate, I sat expectantly, stomach growling, hoping for a morsel of real food. But I waited in vain. Master ate as if he were alone, not sparing me so much as a glance.
Only after he finished did he fetch a bottle of nutrient solution and feed it to me. I swear, I was so hungry that I enjoyed it. I wanted more, but since when did what I wanted matter?
After I drained the bottle, Master ordered me to stand and put my hands behind my head. The chains on my wrists were just long enough to make that possible. He took a small bit of black leather out of his pocket and fastened it around my scrotum. I knew better than to object or pull away. After he was finished, a gleaming loop of chain hung from my balls. Master hooked a finger on it and tugged a few times, experimentally.
“Ow!” I winced at the pain.
“Nice,” he said, as he hung a weight on the chain. It was a shiny metal sphere, about the size of a ping-pong ball, but much heavier. He took my arm. “This will help keep you obedient.” He led me out onto the deck.
The pull of the weight was a steady pain in my balls. When I walked, it swung between my legs and hurt worse.
Master led me aft. Here was an open deck, with an all-weather sofa along the rear wall of the deck house, where you could sit and look out over the sea. Unless you were a slave, of course. For the slave, there was a metal ring screwed into the center of the deck, with a chain attached, which Master used to chain me to the deck by my scrotum. He did not remove the weight.
Then he sat on the sofa. “Come here, slave.” He extended his hand.
The chain was just long enough to allow me to sit by Master’s feet. He ran his hand through my hair as he gazed out over the ocean. It was a beautiful day, warm enough that I was comfortable naked, at least here in the sun. Today’s breezes were pleasantly cool. I looked up to admire the perfect blue sky.
Humiliation was a small price to pay to relieve the pain in my balls; as long as I sat still and kept some slack in the chain, they were all right. The chain didn’t quite let me get close enough to the sofa to lean against it, so I just sat, until I got tired of that and leaned against Master’s leg. Master approved; he reached down and rubbed my shoulder, occasionally taking a moment to reach down onto my chest and tease one of my nipples with gentle strokes of a fingertip.
I shut my eyes and rested my cheek on his knee. The touch of Master’s hand soothed. I took in the sensation and sighed.
Soon my dick got hard again. Master laughed and said, “Yes, you were born to be a slave.” He reached down and took hold of it.
Suddenly the restful morning wasn’t so restful. I flushed with anger, but kept my feelings to myself.
He could tell anyway. He was always studying me, and especially my dick, for clues to my mood. I could keep no secrets from him. “You don’t like when I say it, do you? But deep inside, you know I’m right. You are what you are, even if the truth makes you angry. Only recognize that you’re really angry with yourself. You’ve learned something about yourself that’s confusing, maybe infuriating. You may feel shame and self-loathing. None of these feelings are productive. You must learn to be happy with yourself as you are.” He rubbed my dick for a while, until it got big, then released it, leaned back and looked out over the ocean again. I sighed and waited for him to come back and finish what he had started.
But he only sat quietly, staring at the sky. I did the same. The sun seemed very high; I wondered how far south we had traveled.
Master stood, interrupting my reverie. “I have work to do. You stay here and be an obedient slave until I get back.”
I watched him climb the stair to the cockpit and waited, but whatever this work of his was, it seemed he’d be at it for a while. And here I was, chained to the deck, underneath a bright sun. I felt like one of those yard dogs, that people keep outside on a leash all the time. I tugged at the chain experimentally and concluded I was stuck with it. The chain was long enough to allow me to stand, but not walk very far in any direction. So I sat again, but I didn’t have anything to lean against, so that wasn’t very restful.
Even yard dogs get a doghouse where they can get out of the sun. All I had was a hard deck underneath me. The sunlight was getting uncomfortably warm against my flesh. I tried lying on my stomach for a while, then my back. I couldn’t find a comfortable position, and I began to worry about sunburn.
It was noon before Master returned. He brought a sandwich and a bag of chips for himself, and bottles of water and nutrient formula for me. He let me have the water bottle right away, and I drank greedily. But he made me wait until he finished his meal before he fed me the formula.
“Do you have to piss?”
“No.”
He slapped me on the shoulder, and it stung like hell. I had sunburn for sure. “No what?”
“No, Master.”
“If you can’t piss, then you need more water. We can’t have you getting dehydrated.” He left and returned with two more water bottles and a pee bottle. “Keep drinking until you do have to piss,” he told me.
I drank both the bottles before I felt the sensation. “Now I have to pee,” I reported. He made me stand, then held the bottle for me and let me pee into it. After I finished, he crossed to the nearest railing and dumped the contents into the ocean. He returned and looked me over. Then he reached under my scrotum and tickled it.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, then “Ow!” Reflexively I pulled away; the chain tugged painfully at my testicles.
Slap! Slap! That got me slaps on each ass cheek. “Did you forget this morning’s rule? Your balls are your master’s property. You keep them within reach, for whenever I want them.” He reached for my balls and tickled them some more. This time I held still, but I couldn’t suppress a few giggles.
Master smiled that beautiful smile of his and said, “Oh, are you ticklish?” Now he went at me with both hands, fingers tickling both sides of my chest, beginning under my arms and working down to my hips. I shrieked and squirmed, but the chain wouldn’t let me get away from him. His fingers went from my hips to the insides of my thighs, then back to my balls.
And my dick got hard. Now he tickled that with the fingers of one hand, while still stroking my balls with the other.
Laughter faded. I looked into Master’s eyes. Then he pulled me close and kissed me. His tongue went deep into my mouth. My dick pressed against his pants. I shifted my hips to move it back and forth.
“Whoa!” He pulled away suddenly, as if shocked by what I had done. “You are a slut, aren’t you? A slutty little slave boy, who loves every minute of his enslavement. That’s what you are, aren’t you?” I didn’t want to answer that, so I said nothing. He slapped my ass and asked again. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes, Master.”
“What are you?”
“Um, Master’s slave, Master.” Slap! Slap! “I mean, I’m Master’s slutty little slave boy, Master.”
That smile again. “You surely are. Let’s go below.”
Master took me back to the training room. I steeled myself for more whipping, but Master had something simpler in mind: a workout. He produced a clipboard and we lifted weights together, alternating sets, while he checked off each exercise on the clipboard. He kept a record of how much I could lift during each routine. Then we spotted each other for ab crunches. He made me do so many, I got cramps in my gut. “That body is mine now, and I intend to take better care of it than you did. Too much flab.” He emphasized his point by poking my belly. I looked down. Admittedly, I wasn’t ripped like a movie star, but my stomach was flat. Mostly. “I’m going to get this body into shape, and that includes feeding you right, since you clearly don’t have the discipline to feed yourself correctly.”
After the workout, it was time for dinner. Master had a cheeseburger and fries. I sat dutifully at his feet and was rewarded with a few fries, which he dropped into my mouth one by one, before he retrieved my dinnertime serving of formula.
When I’d finished, we went out on the deck again and I was startled to see the sun already setting. Master noticed and said, “It’s the tropics. It’s hot and summery like it is back home, but the sun sets a lot sooner than you’d expect.” He patted my ass affectionately. “Time to take down the sails.”
Master showed me how to unfasten the sheets and let the sails down. He pointed out how smoothly the rope uncoiled. “If it got tangled, the sail would get stuck. I’d have to untangle it, and you’d get ten lashes. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
The first stars of the evening twinkled at me as I tucked the sails into their covers for the night and buckled them shut.