Sex Slave at Sea by Aphrodite Hunt Page B

whatever sun is going to set on them.
    A Hispanic youth in a white shirt and shorts
is on his hands and knees, polishing the handsome wooden slats of
the deck floor. A bucket of soapy water sloshes beside him. He does
a double take as I step out onto the deck.
    “Hey, you,” Alice says.
    The youth swivels towards her, clearly
frightened.
    “Yes, I’m talking to you. Go get me a brush,
the kind you hold with your hand. Make it one with a medium-long
handle, you know – the one that looks like a joystick.”
    “A j-joystick?”
    “What part of joystick don’t you understand?
It’s long, like this – kapish?”
    The youth scuttles away.
    “He’s not Italian, darling,” Heather drawls.
“He doesn’t understand ‘kapish’.”
    “Whatever.”
    I wonder if Alice treats all her servants
this way. She must have been raised in a spoilt, bratty part of the
Victorian climes.
    “You OK?” Greg asks in a very low voice
behind me. Since we are out on deck, the sound of the wind and
waves helps to mask his concerned tones.
    “I can’t bend my back.”
    Indeed, the collar and rod keeps my back
ramrod straight at all times. I feel like I’m training for a BDSM
version of ballet class.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll try to make it easy on
you.”
    Warmth trickles through me as I smile at
Greg. I don’t know why, but he just makes me feel secure and
adored.
    Alice is inexplicably picking up the bucket
and sloshing a portion of the soapy water onto the deck. I wonder
if this is her way of torturing the staff. I also wonder why her
father lets her get away with it. Surely heiresses need to be
groomed at finishing school so that they can be hostesses to rich
people’s parties?
    Or maybe her father takes her across his
knees and spanks her when she gets out of hand – I don’t know. The
way this family carries out their relationships, it wouldn’t
surprise me in the least.
    “Where are Max and the twins?” I ask between
my teeth.
    “They took the speedboat out to go
diving.”
    That’s convenient.
    The youth is back with a joystick brush or
whatever they call it. The handle is made out of some synthetic
material. Green bristles sprout out of its flared rounded end.
    Alice puts out her hand. “Give it to
me.”
    The youth, wearing an expression of abject
terror, obeys. Alice does that to people, so I can totally
sympathize.
    “You can stand here and watch if it’s done
properly,” she says to him. Then she turns her gimlet gaze to me.
“Come here, Gina.”
    I freeze.
    Heather slyly pushes me forward. “Go
on.”
    I can only teeter in my bare feet towards
Alice, who holds the brush up like a cudgel. She gestures to the
wet patch of soapy water on the deck.
    “Go stand in that.”
    What?
    “Y-you mean . . . stand in the puddle?” I
squeak.
    “What part of it didn’t you understand? Are
you dense?”
    “N-no.”
    “Then do it.”
    My mind runs havoc with permutations of
Alice as Wicked Stepsister as I step onto the puddle. My bare feet
squelch in the water and I can see my reflection in the
rainbow-colored soap bubbles on the surface. I have to tread very
carefully in my bound and sodomized state to keep myself from
slipping.
    “Now squat,” Alice commands.
    It is a very difficult maneuver for me
because of the hook in my asshole. I have to spread my legs first
and then bend my knees very slowly, all the time keeping my back
straight. I don’t even have the use of my hands to help me
balance.
    The youth gapes at the way my pussy is
exposed to everyone’s gaze.
    Oh my God, it is humiliating.
    Alice kneels in front of me. With several
fingers, she peels open the layers of my outer labia so that my
vulva can be clearly seen. Then she shoves the blunt handle of the
joystick brush – which also resembles a crude penis (or any other
rod) – into my pussy hole. She’s rather rough, and I twitch in pain
as the plastic handle enters me.
    “Don’t be a sissy,” she scolds, her breath
hot against my cheek. Her hair