Chapter 3

An Introduction to the South Seas

A continuing story of depravity, dominance, submission, and erotica. Okay, thrown in are the occasional references to world locations, traditions of the sea, and sailing terminology. After all, it’s just a travelogue, there is no intent to create prurient interest. And I’m a wholesome boy without a dirty mind! Now, the real question — is this a recounting or pure fantasy — or somewhere in between? It is my intent to ensure that the distinction always remains blurred. First, you have to ask yourself, the first person I’ve chosen to write this in, is it really me or am I retelling the stories of others? Worse, is this just all a product of some virgins imagination? Don’t you love a good mind game?

It’s always boggled my mind: people hire actors/actresses to give their message in advertising credibility. Most of us fall for it. Yet, if you think about it, we’re expecting someone that makes a living of “playing” other people — basically, creating deception — and grant them credibility … And my cock is 24 inches long, I can orgasm 20 times a day and keep going … If that’s what you want, seek other stories. I’m (according to Kinsey and other research) slightly above average (about 1.5″ if all the facts are in). In most women I’ve had mutual enjoyment with, I’ve been able to at least touch their cervix. As a wonderful Tantric practitioner pointed out to me: the size of the vagina and the size of the penis is all that matters. There are, in reality, few women that can easily take something HUGE. The key is the right weapon in the right scabbard. If mutual is not your thing and you’ve got a three inch penis and want to be wonderman — cool. Just don’t read my stories.

If you think I abuse these women, well — okay. Another way of looking at it: they take advantage of me. We both want something that the other can provide. It opens paths of growth and there is a lot of mutual pleasure along the way. I can no more explain subspace and the beauty of it than I can describe the release that comes from taking a loved one there. So, all we do is grow together. Anyone can stop any scene at anytime.

Trust me, I have created a special place in hell for rapists and abusers of women. And I’ve done more than my fair share to send assholes there.

Everything in these stories (and my reality) is Safe, Sane, and Consensual.

The equator crossing behind us, now the run to French Polynesia. As the Neil Young song says: “The downhill run to Papeeta Bay…” Not long before you get to Tahiti, you encounter the greater Marquesas and the outer Islands — not to mention many volcanic formations that are trying to reach the surface. In the Marquesas there are seven major island groups. The beauty of this, as CBS’s Survivor series found out, there are many that aren’t heavily populated. Particularly in the smaller atoll formations.

My main focus after turning the crew into Shellbacks was to find the perfect “first landfall” in the South Pacific — and set the tone for the rest of the trip to Australia. Using my personal experiences, the “World Cruising Guide”, the Internet, and recommendations from friends, I decided our first landfall would be in the most perfect atoll for my purposes. A near perfect circle of some 15 islands enclosing a lagoon with a protective reef around the entire structure. Only 5 of the islands were populated, one actually had an airport (no 747 would ever land on the grass strip lit by lanterns), and a total population of about 300 people. [Sorry, I want to use this place in the future. I will not give names nor an exact location. There is a certain small island that my slaves constructed a little hut on — more later — if you find it, there is a guest book and a way to contact me directly. We've all signed it, as a few others after us have and told me about it.]

Warm water, clear in the lagoon, and privacy — on a perfect sandy beach somewhere south of the Equator. Temperatures that vary from 80-85 F in the day to 70-75 F at night. Perfect for no coverings. Yet, when we visited the islanders, I needed to make sure the girls were dressed properly and acted properly. This was their home, not ours. I needed their permission to use the lagoon and one of the empty islands. Having made these negotiations before, it wasn’t hard to figure out the right strategy. Yet, I had to condition the girls to it. Ah, training time! Oh, the work. [Okay, I'll admit, I get off on it. Satisfied by now? Does that help all the strange people that want to read things they disagree with and comment without grasping the story? By the way — don't knock it until you've tried living it, and if you can't live it — either enjoy the stories of others or shut up. You ain't gonna change me.]

I had a generous supply of Indian Silk onboard, over the week plus it took from the Equator to this island paradise, I pulled it out and taught the girls to create wraps of the material that would satisfy the local customs. Our first stop was the most populated island (the one with the alleged airport). All our passports were in order and we needed to clear immigration and customs into French Polynesia. When I pulled out the girl’s passports to put together the arrival package of documents, I inserted a folded $US 50 bill in each right after the id page. Amazingly, when we anchored in the lagoon, raised the quarantine flag and went ashore to process the documents, no customs search was needed. Plus, we were cleared to anchor and stay near the island I had selected and given promise that unless we called in, everyone would leave us alone. I took back the document pack and was unsurprised to find that all three $50′s were missing. I guess they fell out on the floor and were overlooked.

I further cemented relationships with the islanders by offering to trade books and DVD’s. When I was done trading, we had fresh fruits, fresh fish, a different collection of DVD’s, and new recipes. As well as a promise to come by at an exact time every day and trade more (right after lunch, which meant anywhere from noon to sometime in the afternoon). The 300 pound Tuna we had caught as we were coming in made an excellent bargaining point that secured more fresh provisions. After three weeks, we were all looking forward to fresh food. I now have 14 copies of “Captain Rob” in my inventory!

The girls were big hits wrapped in the Indian silk, exposing almost everything, with a hint of what was underneath. They were amazed that the children ran around nude and the women, for the most part, were topless. Yet, all adults covered below the waist — ah, the product of Christian Missionaries. Introducing guilt into a pure society of love and compassion. They grasped the lessons I had been teaching about different cultures, good. They were all impressed at the bargaining I had done. I had previously explain that to not make a counter-offer was an insult, yet to dismiss the value of anything offered was worse. They easily got into the game and began trading the Indian Silks they were wearing for locally died and decorated materials — which made huge hits both ways!

Ah, a private island. Palm trees. Sandy beaches. Lots of places to play away from the boat. I love living on board, but after nearly three weeks, a little dry land under my feet felt good. It was the second longest haul we would have. Fortunately we had many months — if not a year or more – of short hops before we faced the Indian Ocean crossing.

A local fisherman guided us through the lagoon to the perfect spot near the island I had selected. Claude was the same one that had won the lottery to lead us through the reef in the first place. I had made sure that when he or one of his extended family were trading with us, they got a slightly better deal — thus sealing our relationship that he was our host during our stay.

“My new friend, tell me about the lagoon. Good fishing?” I asked as we motored through the lagoon towards my little island.

“We don’t fish the lagoon, if you want to take one or two a day that would be okay, but no more.” I was amazed that he was allowing me to fish the lagoon at all and filed this fact away. Also, the promise to self not to abuse it.

“How about sharks?”

“We see them every now and then, but they leave us alone. There are enough fish that they don’t want humans.”

“Anything to eat on the island?”

“Plenty. Just watch out for the purple berries. I can teach you later about how to make them into a wine, but other than that, they are no good for you.”

“Claude, tell me about the people here.”

“Ah, we are a good people. Four extended families.” I knew he meant tribes in our way of thinking. “We fish, we trade with the occasional boat, supplies come about every three months. Can you ask more cruisers to stop in and visit with us? When they come, tell them to ask for me, I will take care of them!”

“I’ll spread the word, carefully. Some people that cruise aren’t so nice.”

“We know. About two years ago,” time is a very relative thing in the islands, “we had one that drink too much of the berry wine and raped a little girl. The authorities were okay with us killing him, but didn’t think much about our claim on his vessel and all it’s possessions.” He said this very matter-of-factly. I took the hint.

“My new friend,” he asked carefully, “I am curious about your three wives. Is this normal where you come from?” Danger, Will Robinson. The wrong answer could have either the missionaries praying for me or every single male on the island over here shopping for a new wife. Not what I wanted.

“Claude, are you married?”

“Yes, I am. That’s why I ask. One woman is hard enough. With all her sisters and other female relatives around, it’s really tough. I couldn’t imagine dealing with three wives!”

“Is it a problem if I have three wives?”

“No, my new friend, not at all. The missionaries come here, try to teach us things that would spoil our happiness, so we tell them to go. It is your choice. I am just curious how you manage!”

“Very well, actually!” We both smiled and laughed. We went back to talking about the four families, the local conditions, weather patterns. Eventually, we made it to the perfect anchorage. He helped me set the two anchors (just in case and to control the swing of the boat). As he departed in his fishing boat, that we had been towing, he promised to come by tomorrow around lunch time, until then, he would make sure we had some quiet time. Then he laughed and headed off. Almost 24 hours in paradise, alone with my three slaves. Oh, the possibilities.

We cleaned the boat, stored the deep water gear, brought out the stuff we needed for lagoon life. After a careful inspection, I decided that the girls had definitely learned a lot in the short time they had been on board. Everything was done to perfection. Damn. I gathered everyone in the cockpit and gave them a rundown of local wildlife and the warning on the berries. I also let them know that we would have peace and quiet for the next 24 hours or so.

“Plus, my lovely slaves, you cleaned the boat so well and put us in anchored mode so perfectly, I have no punishments to hand out. This upsets me so much, that I’ve decided to give you 4 hours of absolute freedom on the island to swim, explore, and relax.” I was descended on my three delightful, warm bodies — all in naked. Tits flying everywhere. I never knew from one second to the next who was kissing me, who was fondling my balls, stroking my cock, or sucking on it. At the same time, I was barely aware of whose tit is was fondling or whose pussy I had my fingers in. Given the last few hours of imposed sexual repression, I was still shocked at the reaction. I must have cum twice. I’m sure the families heard every one of the many orgasms each girl had.

I took them over to the island in the dingy, checked it out for myself that they would be safe, then headed back to the boat to prepare my “Welcome to Polynesia Party” I had been thinking about since the Equator crossing. Palm Trees, sand, crystal clear water — perfect for playtime (okay, training — right. Today was playtime for me). I also made sure I loaded up on Burdock Root, Ginger, Saw Palmetto, and a few other herbs that would help my no longer young body with stamina and energy! Who needs the little blue pill when diet, exercise, and herbs (plus a healthy sexual appetite) will keep you potent into the later years of life — plus the wonderful stimulation of three willing, lovely slaves. The one thing I always looked forward to the jump into the South Pacific is leaving land-habits behind. No drinkee-poos every day, the occasional cigar replaces other bad habits, the constant physical exercise, the fresh sea air, and eating very healthy foods. Yea, I know all the arguments about self-control and discipline, but I’ve always found life more fun when I give into temptation. Out here, the temptations change.

As I returned to the island (we could easily swim, but I needed to teach them about swimming with sharks, first) in the dingy, I considered my three lovelies and finalized my plans for their first evening in Polynesia. Tribal rites in the vain of Survivor was going to be the theme. Had there been a virgin among them, it might have been interesting! Yet, having personally explored every possible virginal passage in each, I knew there was no chance of that! Okay, here I am, guiding a 16 foot boat across a perfect lagoon to the perfect beach and the perfect island. There are three wonderful, sexy, and submissive ladies frolicking nude on that island. I’m nude. I have an erection that would easily chisel steel. Ain’t paradise grand? Picturing this will sitting in that little cubicle without the view, not that you’d miss it anyway — just another bleak winter day of snow, sleet, and such. Amazing, people still ask me how I could have walked away from a successful corporate career in my forties!

After making landfall, pulling my equipment and supplies out of the dingy and hiding them in strategic locations — easy to do, since all the girls were over on the ocean side of the island, I knew I needed sexual relief. Holly, Terry, or Andrea — or should I just do it myself? Okay, rule out option four. What about option five? Go back to one of the family islands and see what trouble I could get into with something fresh and new? Easy — it would be trouble, as Claude had pointed out already. As I crossed the island, I was careful to be as stealthy as possible. Most people are surprised that with my size and bulk I can be quiet waling through the woods. Yet, all the years of perfecting walking down leaf covered trails without making noise was paying off, again.

As I expected, they had separated and were enjoying just being away from each other and everything that resembled a boat. I carefully climbed a palm tree that would give me a view of each, even though they had found places they could not see each other. This was okay, since I pronounced the island safe. I watched as each played in the sand, the sun, and the surf. Gathering information about each for the future and just letting my mind eventually settle on which one to relieve the really tight erection I had going. Shit, the fluids were leaking enough already that any good tracker could have easily found me. Each was so unique, so appealing, and I was holding myself to enjoying just one at the moment. I finally decided on Holly. All were perfect in my mind. All were willing, there was no doubt. Yet, I knew if I took Holly first in the “free” period, there would be no jealous reactions from the other two, considering how much she had suffered during the crossing. Just as everyone remembers who bought the first round of drinks, this would be like that.

I carefully lowered myself to the ground, walked back into the middle of the island and “accidentally” arrived on the section of beach that Holly was enjoying by herself. She was in absolute, blissful joy frolicking nude on the perfect beach. She hadn’t seen me yet.

“Hi, sweetness, where are the others?” I asked innocently, yet my diamond-cutter erection leading me onto the beach should have been a dead give-away.

She dropped to her knees in supplication, presenting herself to me, hands behind her neck, knees spread. “Master, they are down the beach, we decided to enjoy some alone time, did we do right?”

“Holly,” I rarely used their proper names, but this was time, “I gave you guys absolute freedom for four hours. Has this time passed?”

“Ah, oh … I don’t know.” She stammered, confused, not sure.

“Holly, it has not, it’s only been an hour.” She took a minute to process this. I watched the changes in her face, her energy. It was really obvious when her eyes rose up and fixated on my cock. It took less then a quantum unit of time before she was off her knees, covered the distance between us, and we were wrapped up in a massive hug. The unbridled kiss began a moment later — at her instigation. It was break time for me too, remember? I totally allowed her to be the sexual aggressor.

As we lipped-locked, tongues exploring deep into each other’s mouths, she managed (without a lot of resistance on my part) to push me onto the sand on my back. Suddenly, she broke lip contact, turned around on top of me. As I felt her sweet, soft, moist mouth descend upon my cock, her delicious, wet, pussy descended on my mouth. Time went away. All I recall is her ability to take me all the way into her throat, do some interesting swallowing thing along with her attempted vocalizations that sent vibrations through my cock directly into the center of my being. In the meantime, I had worked one hand up to her nipple and began to caress and tease it. While my other hand I worked around and used two fingers, to start with, to invade her pussy while my tongue feasted on her lips and carefully teased her ever enlarging clit.

God, she tastes wonderful. As many times as I’ve directly and indirectly tasted her, she has that edge of sweetness, almost like pure clover honey. She rode my mouth to at least two orgasms. Somehow, I managed not to explode in her mouth when she screamed full force into my dick when it was completely engulfed into her throat when she came. Thankfully, for me, she managed not to bite me either!

As I was enjoying the excesses from her sweet cunt from the last explosion, she suddenly pulled off of me. Not turning around, she just scooted down my chest and belly, positioning her vaginal flower to the head of my cock. In one swift move, she buried me all the way to my pubic bone, yet she stayed laying down. Shit, her pussy was tight in this position. As I was trying to regain control, she started pumping in and out, leaving the rest of her body in position, she was just raising and lowering her hips. I had the perfect view of my cock sliding in and out of that tight, sweet pussy. Oh, god! How could I last? Her hip motions increased to the point that I could watch to the tip of my prick almost pop out, then her sweet sheath would engulf me all the way down again so I couldn’t see anything of myself. Her copious juices were leaving trails like a good wine does on the glass when you swirl it. Legs, they are called.

Just before the point I couldn’t hold out, with the physical stimulation, the forced denial all day, and the erotic display in front of me, she stopped. Sat up on top of me, did this really strange split thing and rotated herself — while buried in me to the hilt — and turned to face me. She lowered the upper half of her body so I could suckle her tits and began a new motion that was so powerful, yet so different, I had to start my cum cycle all over again. She drove into me with everything she had. I had already lost count of her orgasms — I think we were approaching 20. How was I lasting through this? Age, experience? Nope — her perfect control of me. Just as I started to cross the bridge again, she pulled off me, but slowly stroked me with her hand.

Looking me right in the eyes, she said: “I command you, sir, to get on top of me and pound me into the ground until we cum so hard we can’t get up for an hour!” What could I do? I pulled her down to me and gave her a huge kiss. While our tongues were so deep into each other in the fantastic duel, I flipped us over, never leaving the sheath protected by the gates of heaven. I reached my hands down and grabbed a full globe of ass meat in each, tilted her, pulled away from the kiss, arched my back and began a hard fuck into her sweet cunt. When the most powerful orgasm I had ever felt from her hit, how could I hold out? I slammed into her one more time, burying myself in as deep as I could and unleashed on of the most powerful and massive loads of semen and sperm I’ve ever let go. And, trust me, I’ve had handjobs that shot over my head before.

We collapsed into each other. I kept my weight on my hands and knees, yet stayed in full contact with her. Eventually, our breathing returned to that of a sprinter at the end of a race, and I rolled us over to the side into a perfect spoon. Just before I went into the land of nod, I felt her pull my hand onto her breast and squeezed it in the most loving way.

About four centuries later, or five minutes, whichever came first, I came back to the world. Holly was still out. I looked up to see Terry and Andrea hugging each other, big smiles on their faces, I also noticed a copious amount of fluids running down their inner thighs. They helped both of us back to reality and I could tell that my prediction was right — they were highly supportive of me taking Holly in this way. The kisses, the comments, the gentleness that they gave us. The incredible support they gave to Holly, the awe they gave me. It was obvious that they had heard us and seen us.

“Thank you, my sweet ladies. I’m so happy with your reactions to me and Holly having so much fun. As soon as I get my energy, I want to get up and cook all of you wonderful people the perfect meal — you have to do nothing more than enjoy it!” Did I mention that I’m a chef? I’ve had no formal training, yet have studied Escoffier, served in Haute Cuisine kitchens in my teens, always praised a good chef well enough that I could get invited into the kitchen of any restaurant and trade techniques, recipes, and gossip with anyone. Now on paradise, with fresh ingredients all around us, plus our recent catches, and our trades — how could I not prepare something wonderful. Not to mention, I was inspired, wanting to pull out all the stops.

“Well, to do this, I need a protected kitchen on paradise. I’ve already arranged that we can build a shelter on the island. I need one volunteer to come back to the boat with me. The other two will have to do some work — build a shelter I can cook in and we can eat in — plus anything else that might happen. This is not a command, but a request. When we leave here in a few weeks, we will leave the shelter behind, a guest book for future benefactors, plus try to pull more cruisers into these islands — aren’t the people wonderful? They need the right kind of people coming here.”

They all nodded their heads. “As I promised, for the next few hours, we are all equals. I trust each of you ladies enough to know that this won’t interrupt any of the training or other routines. It’s just this is a special time, as I just showed Holly — it’s your first landfall in the South Pacific. Let us savor this event. Live it the best we can, hold it sacred in our hearts. I am your servant tonight for dinner and pleasure. Now — who wants to build the shelter and who wants to help me prepare dinner? The shelter doesn’t have to much right now, we will make it better, but I would prefer something covered while I prepare the food. Then I want to leave a legacy that will attract other good people to this place.”

They went into a huddle, which I expected. Yet it was really good to see them do it in front of me and totally ignore me. After a long whispered conversation, apparently Holly had been nominated spokesperson and approached me.

“Captain,” I marveled at this declaration. Such a wonderful shift. “We’ve decided that Terry will be your assistant for the evening, while Andrea and I build the shelter. Yet, she and I would, respectfully, request some advice on how to actually do this, so we can properly honor your wishes, the wonderful meal we are about to have, and the history we are going to leave here.” I respected the request for information and how-tos. We had a wonderful 30 minute conversation while we chose the perfect spot, worked out the design, did the engineering, and made I made suggestions of how to do it.

Holly, finally, said: “Thank you, Captain. Andrea and I can handle this now. We’d like, very much, if you’d focus on the meal.” I had been dismissed. Kewl! Terry and I went back out to the boat. As I helped her onto the boat from the dingy, she wrapped her arms around me, grabbed my face, and planted the most intense, romantic, and soul searching kiss I had ever had from her. Somehow, with her wrapped around me, I managed to get us to the cushions of the cockpit. We spent a long time exploring each others erogenous zones (there is a rumor floating around that a man and a woman each have seventeen such places) — I think we found two or three thousand, each. At some point, her perfect flower was presented to me, dripping fluids, as I was. I rubbed our juices together and slowly pushed into her vaginal cavity. Okay, we were making love, the only hint of fucking was our mutual urgency to please each other.

My god, she was hot, clamping down on me. Massaging my prick while I stroked her as deep as I could, slowly pulling out until just my crown was inside, then slowly sliding back in. As she held back and I exercised every trick I knew (primarily control of the PC muscle), we built together, locked Looking each other in the eyes, diving into each other’s soul. It didn’t take lone before we began exploring each other’s mouths with our tongues. We kept our eyes open. Her ankles wrapped around me and pulled me harder into her. She wanted it faster, I built up slower, yet began pounding down with every inward thrust. Yet, being slow and gentle on the outward pulls. Another century passed, or ten minutes — this is relativity at it’s max. She was so hot, so demanding, so ready. I was tired of teasing and wanted to please her. I began to ram harder and harder, building it, until I was throwing myself into her. I’m sure her screams of release could be heard in India. I changed my pace, matched her contractions, sometimes giving the perfect counterpoint. Yet, I held on. Some how. She was out of control on pure pleasure. I was in heaven. I had the greatest desire to take her higher. I changed my motions, slightly. Just as she was coming down from that high, she went off again.

Between her legs, those strong vaginal muscles, her arms, and her thrashing about, I thought I’d die. Yet, somehow, I was able to maintain control, keep driving into her, and she continued to reach high after high. Then she passed out — cold. I stopped. Checked her, to make sure she was really alive. She was, just in some incredible space, so I kept my checks to a level that would not interrupt it. I continued minor stimulations — her nipples, around her clit. I didn’t pull out, yet I didn’t move. I figured the throbbing of my cock was enough. I couldn’t control that. She went into a perfect fugue — that high that wouldn’t go away. It lasted for ten to fifteen minutes, at least. Finally, she collapsed and couldn’t move. I slowly pulled out, careful not to wake anything up. I carefully pulled her around and spooned her from the back, snuggling in and holding her as if Terry was the only person in the world.

We stayed there for a long time. I watched the sky change, the clouds move, and felt every beat of her heart. I marveled at all her spiritual energy she was putting out. I lightly kissed her whole face. Eyelids, brows, nose, cheeks, ears, hairline, hair. How could I not love this perfect person in front of me. As I lightly honored her, she recovered, slowly. I was in no hurry, I was in heaven just snuggling and lightly kissing her. I was still hard, but I refused to move. I nodded off that way.

It’s a good thing I woke up quickly, we still had things to do. I slowly brought her back to the land of the living with a gentle back rub (designed more to invigorate than relax), some gentle, sweet kisses, and pillow talk. After a few minutes, she stretched, relaxed, pulled me to her, and gave me a sweet kiss. “Thank you, Captain.”

“You are most welcome, sweet Terry.” I kissed her lightly again and smiled at her. She smiled back. There was immediately a very deep bond between us. Instead of breaking training, we entered into a new realm of trust and love.

I told her of my plans for the meal, given what we had on board and what the island could provide. There was no time to catch any fish, so we took inventory of what we had acquired that day. As I got up to start gathering everything, she stopped me. “Captain, given that the others and I put everything away today, it would be quicker if I focused on collecting the supplies. This might be a good time for you to take care of the website or just relax. Please let me serve the Captain and repay him for all the pleasure I’ve received today?”

“Dear, sweet Terry, you owe me nothing. If you wish this, then I will agree. Otherwise, we need to talk.”

“Captain, since you are serving us today, this would please me. Besides, I don’t want you to make a mess of the way we’ve organized things!” With that I got a loving wink.

“Then, my sweet Lady, I will do as you wish. I will go and add a wonderful story or two to the website!” After a quick peck and a grope, I went to the small office in my quarters and started writing while she collected the supplies we needed for evening and morning. About 30 minutes later, she told me (yep, love it) it’s time to head back to the island.

When we got back to the clearing right off the Lagoon beach we had selected for the shelter, I was overwhelmed. “Ladies, I am impressed.” Was all I could get out of my feeble mouth as I surveyed the structure. It was larger, better build, and far more impressive than we had talked about. While some of the roof was still under construction, the space for a kitchen area and large communal eating area (and play area, I reminded myself) was huge. While Holly was still working on the roof, Andrea was busy building tables and chairs — how, I didn’t know — there was no lumber on the island that I had seen. She had finished a couple of tables for the kitchen and one for the dining area and was working on a second. She had built a couple of chairs for the kitchen and a couple of benches for the main area. Then I noticed: bamboo, reeds, and other island materials — perfect!

Plus, they had a fire pit already set up with a good fire going right outside the shelter. Where they had found iron for the grates and spit I wondered. I went to each and personally thanked them with a sweet kiss, a hug, and a very sincere set of compliments.

Holly called down from the roof: “Captain, as you can see, we’re hungry and want some of your delicious food. Thus the fire. Andrea and I would like you to get started on the appetizers as quickly as you can while we finish up our work. I’m sure Terry won’t mind joining me to finish this roof.” We all went to work.

The fire was perfect to do some light smoking of the fresh fish, so I decided the appetizer would be a selection of sashimi (enough smoking and heat to put a slight flavor into an otherwise raw fish), fresh local fruits, and a unique array of dips and sauces for them. I had made a couple of trades the girls didn’t know about. One was a leg of lamb that I was going to cook tonight and an entire pig that would be delivered later in the week (which I planed on using for a bar-b-q for our local friends and adopted family). The locals also had a yam that was similar to an American Sweet Potato — yet delightfully different, so I planned on cooking some tonight and for the big party later in Southern American Style (candied).

Forget the details. I had meat, fruits, starches, and lots of creativity. It took me a few minutes to finally plan out the course of action and I went to work. A half hour later, I set a plate of sashimi and sushi of 5 different fishes on the finished dining table with four dipping sauces. There was a delicious, cold semi-dry white wine from California to wash it down with along with a selection of local fruits (washed and prepared) with another set of dips to go with them. I also set out bottles of water. The girls had finished their work for the day, disappeared to clean up (there was one fresh water spring on the island that had a small pool to clean up in). I had just returned to the kitchen area when they returned refreshed and hungry.

I believe a proper meal is both a social happening, a ceremony to the providers of the bounty, a chance to explore and experiment, and a functional necessity — we need the right nourishments in the right quantities to survive. The appetizer course should be exactly that — something to build the appetite. To tease, to prepare. The wine flowed freely, the food was served in small quantities to tease, the flavors and experiences were designed to build — not satisfy. Sound familiar with the other aspects of my life?

At the same time, they could not miss the exotic mix of smells still coming from the kitchen. The leg of lamb slowly spit roasting over a low fire (coated in rosemary infused olive oil with slivers of garlic carefully pushed into the fat sheath, sea salt covering the sheath and telicherry peppers, freshly ground on the exposed meat. The unfamiliar, yet familiar scents of the yams cooking in butter and brown sugar, with a touch of maple syrup and orange juice (had to dig into the frozen stores for this — worth it, though).

The girls enjoyed their freedom and a special bonding time, not to mention the really good foods that I dribbled slowly out of the kitchen. It’s foreplay. It’s the tease of the flogger. It’s the building. It’s the seduction. It should always extend to all the senses. The white wine flowed. They went through 2 bottles as I teased them with the smells of the main course. When they finished the second bottle, I took the glasses away, forcing them to drink the water, and served a salad made with all local greens and things with a rich dressing made with Balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and local herbs.

While they devoured this, I prepared the perfectly cooked lamb, the sauce for it, the yams, and poured four glassed on a perfect California Merlot — something about the director of the Godfather movies? The perfect counterpoint to the meat. I served it with a flourish. Dressed in one of the India silks wrapped around me. I bowed, complemented each lady on the individual points of their beauty (physical, mental, and spiritual) and kissed each Lady’s hand.

While they were occupied with this next stage of the feast, I prepared desert. I had taken three Champagne flutes — tall and narrow — and layered carefully cut local fruits. With each layer, I had filled the “gaps” with a counter-point. In some case, a liqueur, in others a juice. The end product was the perfect “Local Parfait.” Six layers of heaven, each with a different taste. I even sacrificed some of the precious Heavy Cream I had stashed aboard to create a perfect whipped cream topping, with a single, thin slice of Passion Fruit stuck in the top. It was served with a delicious Eastern European wine — a Tokay Azuse. Very sweet and a perfect compliment.

While they enjoyed this, I eat some of the lamb and cleaned up. The four hours was coming to an end. Technically, it was well over. I justified my laxity by holding that all of this was part of their training. Okay — I got a lot of enjoyment out of it too, yet they were bonding with me in new ways and with each other in very powerful ways.

When the deserts were done, the kitchen basically cleaned, I brought out the final course. On a tray I had a single snifter, a bottle of 100 year old Cognac, and 3 sets of handcuffs. I walked up to Holly first and set the tray down in front of her. I let her look at the contents before I said anything. I gave her time to pierce the fog in her mind. After a minute, she just looked up at me, then down. Got off the bench they were sitting on, and went into supplication mode. Head bowed, hands behind her head, knees spread, and breasts out. Right before she completed it, she said: “Thank you, Captain.” She paused. “I am yours, Master.”

“You are most welcome, My Lady Holly.” And I paused. “Put your hands behind you back.” When she did, I handcuffed her. I then slowly sat in front of her. Took the decanter and poured a measure of the liquid gold into it. Keeping my hand over the base of the bulb, so it’s heat would warm the magic, I began to swirl it carefully. When the legs built into strong ropes on the side of the glass, I put the opening to her nose. When she inhaled, I could see her thighs trying to close to prevent herself from getting off. The intensity of the bouquet of a fine Cognac is so divine, this was overload. When she came down off that high, I placed the snifter to her lips and tilted the glass, allowing a small drop to enter her mouth. I watched her tongue devour it. I knew the other girls were watching, rapt. Holly’s tongue processed the taste, she came on the spot. A massive orgasm, the perfect culmination of the meal I had prepared. She looked up at me pleadingly, she knew she was supposed to ask first, yet it snuck up on her (yea — like I hadn’t designed this).

I just smiled at her. Turned back to the table, picked up the tray and moved it and myself around to Terry. By the time I had set the tray in her place at the table, she was already on her knees, hands behind her head. I could see the puddle of her juices on the bench and the dripping as she knelt in submission.

“Thank you, Miss Terry.” I said as I looked her in the eyes, loving, longing. I was talking about our earlier adventure on the boat.

“No, my Captain,” realizing she had one last opening, “thank you for that wonderful meal and loving us.”

She dropped into position. “This unworthy slave now awaits the Masters next command.”

I repeated the Cognac ritual. She actually came harder both times, as I expected.

When I set the tray down in front of Andrea, she came right where she was sitting. I smiled at her and said: “Let me put the others up for the night. In the meantime, you should enjoy this marvelous creation of man.” I put a bit more magic liquid into the snifter, showed her how to swirl it, sniff it, then taste it, and handed her the snifter. I looked her in the eyes and said: “we did not have a special time today. So, I’m still the Captain for you and you are still Lady Andrea.” Then I kissed her soft and sweet on the lips. She put her hand behind my head and pulled me into a very deep, intense kiss. When we came up for air, she smiled and winked.

It took me a couple of minutes to recover. I left her to the Cognac with a kiss and a grope, then moved to Holly. I had picked out two trees earlier and led her to the first of them. I had her stand with her back as flat against the tree as she could get, arms straight over her head. I had already wrapped a rope around the tree three feet over that point. I pulled her cuffs up and stretched her until her toes and the balls of her feet were the only thing supporting her. A tight wrap around her tits to make them stand and fill with blood. Then the tough part. A binding around each ankle and a pull back to take her off balance. Not too bad, but enough to make her dance to keep from stretching more and not to allow her a place to rest.

Terry was next. I tied her in the same position on the tree opposite Holly. Then I pulled and tied a set of ropes that would allow one to get relief from their tits, but hurt the others cunt, and vice versa. A nasty little cross tie. A waist rope around one, with the tail coming out between her legs. A knot or two right in the sensitive spots for each. For Holly, it was one right behind her clit hood and a larger knot right on her anal opening. For Andrea, it was a double knot on that wonderful skin between the two caverns of heaven.

I came back to Andrea, bowed, kissed her hand and asked her to come over between the two ladies and lay on the ground with me — and the Cognac (I wanted my share). We lay down together, feed each other Cognac between sweet kisses and gropes. Andrea looked me in the eyes and said: “Captain, it would give me great pleasure to go back to the kitchen area and create a treat for you. Before I do that, I want to add a couple of ropes to the cross ties between my sisters so you will have something to do.”

Without asking permission, she got up, found the pile of rope and added a single line from each of the cross ties and lead them back to me. She lightly tied one to each of my ankles. “Captain, while I’m gone, I’d like to keep you properly entertained. Without moving very far, you now have the ability to wiggle or apply extra pressure to any of the cross ties. I’m sure my Captain can find fun things to do with this while I’m gone.”

With that she left. I had to admit, this was a lot of fun. Sitting there with a snifter of 100 year old Cognac, anticipating what Andrea was up to. I could wiggle and shift my right foot and change the tension between Terry’s tits and Holly’s cunt. I could wiggle my left and do the opposite. As I was enjoying the magnificence of the vineyards of France 100 years ago, I was also observing the reactions of both of these beautiful ladies. When I wasn’t wiggling either rope, they were. Partly in struggle of their position, partly in the effort to get off. When I began a wiggle, they both came — no matter which rope I wriggled. The difference was the intensity and the speed to climax.

Okay, here I am. Sitting on the perfect tropical island. A 100 year old Cognac in hand. Sated from a wonderful meal. In front of me are two perfect women in bondage. They have the method in their restriction to stimulate each other — and they are. When I don’t think they are doing enough, I have the mechanism to help. What’s more erotic: the unbridled scream of a wonderful, female climax? The passion of what they are doing to each other? The control I have over both? Or the tight constraints they are in? I’ll leave that to future debate. Just about the time I was ready to just release without direct stimulation, Andrea came back. She saw my state, read it perfectly, and her mouth took my cock down to the root. All thought stopped. I only felt Andrea’s throat milking me as I let go, hard. She made it harder. It continued to build — which for men, after the second (if you’re lucky), the rest “peter out” – OH, SHIT. Somewhere around my seventh contraction (was I giving birth?), I blanked out.

After dreaming and drifting for seven lifetimes, I began to return to this world. I found my tongue was already working and I was receiving nourishment that was sweet and wonderful. Andrea had planted her dripping pussy on my face and was gushing her way into another orgasm. She was more stimulated than I had ever seen her. For me, even on my deathbed, I could lick a sweet pussy if you put it on my face. I was tracing her lips, diving inside (I didn’t need to scoop any juices out — they were readily flowing — Andrea’s Falls I was going to name it), alternating that with a lick, nibble, or suck on her clit, and tracing the sheath of skin back to her anus and licking around and probing in. I have learned over the years when to focus on one area or the other (it takes practice and awareness — good thing I was so practiced, because I hadn’t been aware). I could sense she was building to a huge orgasm. So I built, and teased, built and teased, took her to the edge time and time again, without giving her enough to get off. When she got desperate to cum and moved her hands down to help, I grabbed them with mine. I went on eating her like this for half an hour. Finally, knowing her, I sucked her clit into my my mouth and gave it a small blow job — sucking it in, carefully nibbling, and swirling the tip of my tongue around — all at that same time.

She exploded and literally squirted a gallon of she-cum into my chin. I kept sucking her clit until her bucking and thrashing became too much, my sign to fix my whole mouth over her pussy and suck in all her juices — which took her to another level of climaxes. Just as they were coming down, I attacked her clit again — more gently this time. That threw her into another series of waves. I didn’t know it, but she had grabbed the ropes tethering us to the other girls and was wildly tugging and jerking on them, causing them to orgasm over and over with her.

Just as I was running out of ideas of how to keep her going, she passed out and fell on my chest. Her body still shook and tremored, but it was slowing down. I could feel her chest struggling for air. What I didn’t know, but could sense with the screams from the others, was she was still jerking and pulling the ropes. As their screams and groans began to move from pleasure to too much, a gave Andrea a quick slap on the ass. This caused her to release the ropes with her hands so she could reach around in her delirium to rub her ass from the pain. Then I felt her breath deepen, every muscle in her release (collapse, actually), and I knew she was out.

I gently repositioned her on the ground, got up after a quick snuggle and promise to be back, and untied the other two. They collapsed on the spot, without bothering to find a better place to lay down for the night. I returned to Andrea.

“My sweet Andrea. That was amazing. I know you are not here right now, but it’s time for the Captain to leave.” With that, I gave her a gentle kiss, then bound her hands behind her back and snuggled into her and fell asleep.

Soft sand under me, a warm tropical breeze blowing over my naked skin, the delightful feeling of a soft and sweet, sexy woman curled up in front on me, my hand draped over and on her breast — I became aware. The sun was just beginning it’s struggle to take the night sky. I’m not as much a sunrise person as I am a sunset person. The mornings seem to be a slow struggle of control of light over dark, where the night is a blaze of glory to the defeat of the day to the power of the night. Yet, at sea or on a small island in the middle of the sea, both had their points.

As I woke, I realized we had only a few hours before the locals would show up. As I moved into my awake self I began to recall my plans and promises. The morning needed to be full and back in training Yet, in the back of my mind, I had thought about Terry and her teats. Damn, I’d love a good sip or two of milk every morning. She had such perfect breasts that could only become more perfect by being filled with milk. Was I willing to make her pregnant to make that happen? Or, should we find another way?

Ah, the worries of a Captain and a Master. The first order of business was punishments. Andrea had lost control and hurt her sisters.