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Spring Break Slaves 2: Reporting from Pirate Cay

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Three full days had passed as Barb and Kelly approached the water’s edge that night ... three full days, that is, since the horrific ordeal Barb had suffered at the hands of the Senator and Robert. With the brief exception of a morning chat after breakfast with Delia and Tara on the second morning, Barb had not been out of her room and had seen no one there but Kelly, who had dutifully turned up several times a day to apply the doc’s miraculous healing creams and salves to Barb’s whip-ravaged backside. As always, the medications had done the trick. Her backside had been already well on the mend by the second day, and nearly completely-healed by the morning of the third.

But Kelly’s visits had yielded more than healing the effects of the dozens of whiplashes meted out that dreadful night by Robert. It had provided Barb and Kelly an opportunity to work out a desperate plan of escape from Pirate Cay.

They had managed this on the sly, knowing full well that Barb’s Companion room was under constant video and audio surveillance. Coming to a decision on a course of action had required the passing back and forth of handwritten notes, as well as several sessions in a steamy bathroom with the hot water taps turned on full. It goes without saying that some of those sessions involved some rather steamy couplings as well.

The final agreed-upon plan had brought them to the water’s edge on this evening. All their planning had, in the end, boiled down to one workable option: an after-dark clandestine hijacking of the boss’ yacht.

The timing had to be perfect. They had to wait until the usual evening’s festivities had everyone engaged within the house. On that particular evening, it was Delia and Tara who had been tapped to provide the entertainment ... some kind of strip poker game. And judging by the laughter and girlish squeals floating out across the lawn from the open windows of the big house’s living room, it sounded as though the game was well underway, and that Delia and Tara had not been dealt many winning hands.

In addition to getting the timing right, success depended on a number of other variables, the first of which was getting their hands on the dinghy that was used to row out to the yacht given that the yacht was moored to a buoy more than a hundred yards offshore. Since Barb’s swimming skills were all but nil, they needed the dinghy, which was drawn up on the beach and padlocked to a stout post. That obstacle had been overcome by Kelly, who had managed to filch the padlock key from where it was kept in one of the boss’ desk drawers,

The second obstacle to be overcome was managing to row out to the yacht unseen. Luckily it was a moonless night which at least provided the shroud of darkness. Kelly had also had the foresight to bring some face towels from Barb’s bathroom that could be used to muffle the sound of oars in oarlocks.

A complicating factor, though, was the presence of a night watchman on the yacht. The boss always maintained a round-the-clock staff presence onboard, especially because late-night thefts of pleasure craft were a fairly common occurrence on the islands. If the watchman happened to spot them pulling up to and alongside the craft, Barb and Kelly knew they would have to talk fast to allay his suspicions and gain access to the deck where they hoped to overpower him and gain control.

The other unknown was whether the watchman had the keys to the boat in his possession. Kelly thought that must be the case. It stood to reason that he would. If he didn’t they were screwed, but that was the risk they decided to take.

So, as Kelly attended to the padlock that secured the dinghy, Barb stood watch, casting her eyes back and forth between the house ... from which she could hear the Senator gleefully shouting, “My full house, Jacks high, beats all ... remove your bras and bare those tits, girls!” ... and the yacht, which appeared peaceful without any sign of anyone moving about on board.

“Got the lock freed!” whispered Kelly. “Okay, Barb. Let’s shove off and get out to the yacht.”

Together they dragged the dinghy down the beach and into the water, one of them at each side of the small craft. There they walked it out until the warm water nearly came up to their shorts before slipping onboard by hoisting themselves over the sides. Kelly pulled the oars free from where they were stowed below the seats, wrapped the hardware in the face towels and set the oars in the oarlocks, while Barb settled herself at the prow. Moments later Kelly leaned into the oars and they were on their way.

The plan was to circle around the yacht’s stern and approach her from the seaward side in order to minimize the chances of being observed boarding from the house. The plan also envisioned mesmerizing the watchman, should he appear at the time of boarding, by each wearing versions of the ultra skimpy string bikinis insisted upon by the boss. As the point person on the dinghy, Barb readied herself by shedding her shorts.

“So far so good,” reported Barb from the prow, as they circled the stern ... the lettering ‘Pirate Princess’ emblazoned there in reflective paint. “No sign of any watchman yet.”

But onboard the Pirate Princess the dinghy had, in fact, been seen. Sune Ericsson, the big Swede employed by the boss to see to the operation of the yacht, was on watch duty that night and had spotted the dinghy around the time it had covered half the distance from the beach.

Ericsson was a man of the sea, who had migrated to the islands after a stint in the Swedish navy. There he had found employment with the boss, who valued his service not only for his seamanship but also for his loyalty and discretion.

The approach of the dinghy was definitely out of the ordinary in Ericsson’s estimation. It was too dark to discern who was aboard, but it was clear that there were two figures, one in the prow and the other doing the rowing. No one had alerted Ericsson to the yacht being used for any purpose that evening, so he thought it best to give the boss a call.

Picking up his cell phone, he turned it on and frowned. No signal ... something that often happened in the islands.

“Skit!” he breathed in his native language.

Retreating to the navigation helm, he turned on the craft’s radio phone and called the boss’ office ... but no answer. He’d have to handle this himself.

By the time he returned to the deck, the dinghy was closing fast on the yacht’s starboard side, and its occupants were quite visible. They were female, wearing very little. “Sexiga tjejer” he chuckled out loud to himself ... sexy girls ... a pair of the boss’ bimbos out on some kind of lark? Well, they’d come to the right place.

“There he is ... out on the deck now,” whispered Barb to Kelly. “He’s waving. I think he’s friendly.”

“Try taking your top off and waving it at him,” laughed Kelly. “Let’s make him think we’re looking for some action.”

Barb shot her a look, but did as suggested.

Ericsson grinned at Barb’s little performance, leaned over the railing, and tossed them a line, the end of which landed in the water near the prow of the dinghy. Barb leaned over the side to snatch it and then sat back as he pulled the dinghy over to the yacht’s side.

“Välkommen ombord,” said Ericsson jovially, lending Barb a helpful hand as she clambered awkwardly, head first, over the railing ... a helpful hand that also managed to explore the firmness of her barely covered ass with a playful pat.

Then he turned to help Kelly, only to find she was doing fine unassisted.

“Hello Ericsson.” she greeted with a big smile that reflected the fact that she was truly glad to see that it was the big Swede who was on duty that night. She figured that he was vulnerable to being manipulated as long as she and Barb played their cards right.

“Well, by golly, it’s you Kära Kelly. What brings you out to the Pirate Princess this evening, and who’s your lovely friend?”

“Ericsson meet Barb. Barb this is Ericsson,” responded Kelly, flashing a sly wink at Barb. “Barb is the boss’ newest .., um ... acquisition, and I brought her out here this evening especially to meet you, Ericsson. Barb, you see, is from Minnesota where nearly everyone is from Sweden originally, and some even speak a bit of the old language. I thought you two ought to meet,”

“Ahhh ... naturligtvis ... of course! Prater du svenska, Barb?”

“Lite grann ... a little bit,” replied Barb with a laugh. “A few phrases from home, plus I spent part of a year in the old country on a high school exchange program.”

“Ahhh, a beautiful country, ya?”

“Yes, very.”

“Vell, dis certainly calls for a drink! I’ve some akvavit down in the cabin. Vee must all go there and have some, ya?”

“Sounds perfect,” agreed Kelly swiftly, flashing Barb a raised eyebrows look.

Barb gulped. She’d had akvavit once and the results were not good. She’d ended up puking in the bathroom. But she had little choice now but to go along with it. So she nodded agreement, and suddenly remembering she was topless, busied herself with retying her string top as they descended into the expensively wood-paneled cabin below.

Ericsson produced a frosty white bottle from the mini refrig, set three small glasses on the table, filled them to the brim, and invited everyone to take a seat. Then holding his glass before his chest, he beamed at his guests, clinked glasses with them, and said, “Skål!”

Repeating the toast, Barb and Kelly followed suit, and almost immediately Barb’s head started to spin, while Kelly quietly refrained from swallowing until Ericsson was busy refilling his and Barb’s glasses and she was able to spit some of it back into her glass and quietly empty it on the floor beneath the table.

“Skål igen!” the big Swede called out, raising his glass. Barb looked a bit distressed, but dutifully downed the second glass. And again Kelly managed to minimize her exposure.

By the time he had filled the glasses the third time Barb was visibly reeling, and Kelly stopped Ericsson, saying, “Barb’s looking a bit woozy, Ericsson. I think she’d like to lay down. Why don’t you help her into the cabin bedroom? I’ll straighten up here while you do that. And, oh, might be a good idea to stay with her and make her comfortable. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“Ya sure,” he said, snatching Barb up off her chair as though she weighed nothing. She had gone limp by then, whether it was the schnapps or she was play acting, Kelly wasn’t certain, but either way it was playing into her plan. She knew Ericsson and was banking on him being unable to resist temptation.

So, she gave it a little time and when he didn’t return, she got up to look for something to use as a weapon. Searching the galley she found something suitable, a big iron skillet.

Sneaking over to the entrance to the cabin bedroom she peeked in, and just as she expected she saw Ericsson bent over Barb who lay stretched out on the bed. Her string bikini had been removed, both top and bottom, and the big Swede was occupied with fondling her breasts with one hand while rubbing her sex with the other. He had his pants off and was sporting a big erection. In response to his ministrations Barb was moaning and spreading her legs while murmuring “Fuck me, fuck me!”

Perfect, thought Kelly. Way to go, Barb!

Advancing stealthily, Kelly raised the iron skillet over her head and brought it down on the back of Ericsson’s skull. For a moment there was no response. Then he turned his head toward her as if to say something, but collapsed on top of Barb instead.

Kelly tossed the skillet aside, rushed to drag him off of her and said, “Nice work, Barb. Get yourself together now while I go search for the keys for the yacht!”

Barb groaned, tried to sit up, but dropped back holding her head. But before she did, managed to get out a slurred, “Shurrrrre, Killie!”

Fifteen minutes later Kelly returned, triumphantly holding up a ring of keys in one hand and carrying a microwaved cup of hot coffee in the other.

“Here, drink this!” she sang, pleased to see that Barb was sitting upright on the edge of the bed and had managed to get herself back into her bikini. Ericsson was still lying motionless on the floor, his trousers and underwear bunched around his ankles.

“Thanks, I think I can use that,” said Barb, accepting the coffee cup with both hands.

“Drink it down. It will do wonders for you.”

“Okay, but .... Umm ... Kelly ... is it me ... or is Ericsson not breathing? You don’t think ... I mean, could he be?”

“Uh oh,” replied Kelly, a look of concern crossing her face as she knelt to check the big Swede’s pulse. “Oh. Barb ... I’m afraid he is!”

“Shit! Now what?”

“What’s done is done, Barb. Regrettable, but can’t change it. We’ll just have to go ahead with our plan. We’ll get the yacht underway, get out to sea, and then dispose of Ericsson’s body.”

“How?”

“We’ll bury him at sea. He was a sailor. I think he’d appreciate that. I saw some of Robert’s barbells when I was searching for the keys. We’ll tie one of them to Ericsson to weigh him down.

Together they figured out how to start the yacht’s engine and master the controls. Soon they had cast off from the buoy and were slipping away from Pirate Cay, unseen in the darkness.

An hour later, and well out to sea, they slowed in order to heave Ericsson over the side. That was a struggle because he weighed plenty, and even more with the barbell, but they managed. Then they gave him a solemn moment of silence, before starting out again on a northerly heading that they hoped would eventually take them home to the U.S.

Good headway was made for about an hour, and they were starting to relax a bit when the dark of night was suddenly pierced by the beam of a search light directed straight at and illuminating the ‘Pirate Princess’.

Startled and frozen in place, Barb and Kelly struggled to comprehend what was happening. But as the source of the light, a sleek looking craft, pulled alongside, their hearts sank, for on the vessel’s side, clearly visible in the reflection of the search light off the yacht, were the bold-lettered words, ‘Providencia Coast Guard’.

“Oh Shit,” muttered Barb.
 
Barbaria1 said:
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Three full days had passed as Barb and Kelly approached the water’s edge that night ... three full days, that is, since the horrific ordeal Barb had suffered at the hands of the Senator and Robert. With the brief exception of a morning chat after breakfast with Delia and Tara on the second morning, Barb had not been out of her room and had seen no one there but Kelly, who had dutifully turned up several times a day to apply the doc’s miraculous healing creams and salves to Barb’s whip-ravaged backside. As always, the medications had done the trick. Her backside had been already well on the mend by the second day, and nearly completely-healed by the morning of the third.

But Kelly’s visits had yielded more than healing the effects of the dozens of whiplashes meted out that dreadful night by Robert. It had provided Barb and Kelly an opportunity to work out a desperate plan of escape from Pirate Cay.

They had managed this on the sly, knowing full well that Barb’s Companion room was under constant video and audio surveillance. Coming to a decision on a course of action had required the passing back and forth of handwritten notes, as well as several sessions in a steamy bathroom with the hot water taps turned on full. It goes without saying that some of those sessions involved some rather steamy couplings as well.

The final agreed-upon plan had brought them to the water’s edge on this evening. All their planning had, in the end, boiled down to one workable option: an after-dark clandestine hijacking of the boss’ yacht.

The timing had to be perfect. They had to wait until the usual evening’s festivities had everyone engaged within the house. On that particular evening, it was Delia and Tara who had been tapped to provide the entertainment ... some kind of strip poker game. And judging by the laughter and girlish squeals floating out across the lawn from the open windows of the big house’s living room, it sounded as though the game was well underway, and that Delia and Tara had not been dealt many winning hands.

In addition to getting the timing right, success depended on a number of other variables, the first of which was getting their hands on the dinghy that was used to row out to the yacht given that the yacht was moored to a buoy more than a hundred yards offshore. Since Barb’s swimming skills were all but nil, they needed the dinghy, which was drawn up on the beach and padlocked to a stout post. That obstacle had been overcome by Kelly, who had managed to filch the padlock key from where it was kept in one of the boss’ desk drawers,

The second obstacle to be overcome was managing to row out to the yacht unseen. Luckily it was a moonless night which at least provided the shroud of darkness. Kelly had also had the foresight to bring some face towels from Barb’s bathroom that could be used to muffle the sound of oars in oarlocks.

A complicating factor, though, was the presence of a night watchman on the yacht. The boss always maintained a round-the-clock staff presence onboard, especially because late-night thefts of pleasure craft were a fairly common occurrence on the islands. If the watchman happened to spot them pulling up to and alongside the craft, Barb and Kelly knew they would have to talk fast to allay his suspicions and gain access to the deck where they hoped to overpower him and gain control.

The other unknown was whether the watchman had the keys to the boat in his possession. Kelly thought that must be the case. It stood to reason that he would. If he didn’t they were screwed, but that was the risk they decided to take.

So, as Kelly attended to the padlock that secured the dinghy, Barb stood watch, casting her eyes back and forth between the house ... from which she could hear the Senator gleefully shouting, “My full house, Jacks high, beats all ... remove your bras and bare those tits, girls!” ... and the yacht, which appeared peaceful without any sign of anyone moving about on board.

“Got the lock freed!” whispered Kelly. “Okay, Barb. Let’s shove off and get out to the yacht.”

Together they dragged the dinghy down the beach and into the water, one of them at each side of the small craft. There they walked it out until the warm water nearly came up to their shorts before slipping onboard by hoisting themselves over the sides. Kelly pulled the oars free from where they were stowed below the seats, wrapped the hardware in the face towels and set the oars in the oarlocks, while Barb settled herself at the prow. Moments later Kelly leaned into the oars and they were on their way.

The plan was to circle around the yacht’s stern and approach her from the seaward side in order to minimize the chances of being observed boarding from the house. The plan also envisioned mesmerizing the watchman, should he appear at the time of boarding, by each wearing versions of the ultra skimpy string bikinis insisted upon by the boss. As the point person on the dinghy, Barb readied herself by shedding her shorts.

“So far so good,” reported Barb from the prow, as they circled the stern ... the lettering ‘Pirate Princess’ emblazoned there in reflective paint. “No sign of any watchman yet.”

But onboard the Pirate Princess the dinghy had, in fact, been seen. Sune Ericsson, the big Swede employed by the boss to see to the operation of the yacht, was on watch duty that night and had spotted the dinghy around the time it had covered half the distance from the beach.

Ericsson was a man of the sea, who had migrated to the islands after a stint in the Swedish navy. There he had found employment with the boss, who valued his service not only for his seamanship but also for his loyalty and discretion.

The approach of the dinghy was definitely out of the ordinary in Ericsson’s estimation. It was too dark to discern who was aboard, but it was clear that there were two figures, one in the prow and the other doing the rowing. No one had alerted Ericsson to the yacht being used for any purpose that evening, so he thought it best to give the boss a call.

Picking up his cell phone, he turned it on and frowned. No signal ... something that often happened in the islands.

“Skit!” he breathed in his native language.

Retreating to the navigation helm, he turned on the craft’s radio phone and called the boss’ office ... but no answer. He’d have to handle this himself.

By the time he returned to the deck, the dinghy was closing fast on the yacht’s starboard side, and its occupants were quite visible. They were female, wearing very little. “Sexiga tjejer” he chuckled out loud to himself ... sexy girls ... a pair of the boss’ bimbos out on some kind of lark? Well, they’d come to the right place.

“There he is ... out on the deck now,” whispered Barb to Kelly. “He’s waving. I think he’s friendly.”

“Try taking your top off and waving it at him,” laughed Kelly. “Let’s make him think we’re looking for some action.”

Barb shot her a look, but did as suggested.

Ericsson grinned at Barb’s little performance, leaned over the railing, and tossed them a line, the end of which landed in the water near the prow of the dinghy. Barb leaned over the side to snatch it and then sat back as he pulled the dinghy over to the yacht’s side.

“Välkommen ombord,” said Ericsson jovially, lending Barb a helpful hand as she clambered awkwardly, head first, over the railing ... a helpful hand that also managed to explore the firmness of her barely covered ass with a playful pat.

Then he turned to help Kelly, only to find she was doing fine unassisted.

“Hello Ericsson.” she greeted with a big smile that reflected the fact that she was truly glad to see that it was the big Swede who was on duty that night. She figured that he was vulnerable to being manipulated as long as she and Barb played their cards right.

“Well, by golly, it’s you Kära Kelly. What brings you out to the Pirate Princess this evening, and who’s your lovely friend?”

“Ericsson meet Barb. Barb this is Ericsson,” responded Kelly, flashing a sly wink at Barb. “Barb is the boss’ newest .., um ... acquisition, and I brought her out here this evening especially to meet you, Ericsson. Barb, you see, is from Minnesota where nearly everyone is from Sweden originally, and some even speak a bit of the old language. I thought you two ought to meet,”

“Ahhh ... naturligtvis ... of course! Prater du svenska, Barb?”

“Lite grann ... a little bit,” replied Barb with a laugh. “A few phrases from home, plus I spent part of a year in the old country on a high school exchange program.”

“Ahhh, a beautiful country, ya?”

“Yes, very.”

“Vell, dis certainly calls for a drink! I’ve some akvavit down in the cabin. Vee must all go there and have some, ya?”

“Sounds perfect,” agreed Kelly swiftly, flashing Barb a raised eyebrows look.

Barb gulped. She’d had akvavit once and the results were not good. She’d ended up puking in the bathroom. But she had little choice now but to go along with it. So she nodded agreement, and suddenly remembering she was topless, busied herself with retying her string top as they descended into the expensively wood-paneled cabin below.

Ericsson produced a frosty white bottle from the mini refrig, set three small glasses on the table, filled them to the brim, and invited everyone to take a seat. Then holding his glass before his chest, he beamed at his guests, clinked glasses with them, and said, “Skål!”

Repeating the toast, Barb and Kelly followed suit, and almost immediately Barb’s head started to spin, while Kelly quietly refrained from swallowing until Ericsson was busy refilling his and Barb’s glasses and she was able to spit some of it back into her glass and quietly empty it on the floor beneath the table.

“Skål igen!” the big Swede called out, raising his glass. Barb looked a bit distressed, but dutifully downed the second glass. And again Kelly managed to minimize her exposure.

By the time he had filled the glasses the third time Barb was visibly reeling, and Kelly stopped Ericsson, saying, “Barb’s looking a bit woozy, Ericsson. I think she’d like to lay down. Why don’t you help her into the cabin bedroom? I’ll straighten up here while you do that. And, oh, might be a good idea to stay with her and make her comfortable. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“Ya sure,” he said, snatching Barb up off her chair as though she weighed nothing. She had gone limp by then, whether it was the schnapps or she was play acting, Kelly wasn’t certain, but either way it was playing into her plan. She knew Ericsson and was banking on him being unable to resist temptation.

So, she gave it a little time and when he didn’t return, she got up to look for something to use as a weapon. Searching the galley she found something suitable, a big iron skillet.

Sneaking over to the entrance to the cabin bedroom she peeked in, and just as she expected she saw Ericsson bent over Barb who lay stretched out on the bed. Her string bikini had been removed, both top and bottom, and the big Swede was occupied with fondling her breasts with one hand while rubbing her sex with the other. He had his pants off and was sporting a big erection. In response to his ministrations Barb was moaning and spreading her legs while murmuring “Fuck me, fuck me!”

Perfect, thought Kelly. Way to go, Barb!

Advancing stealthily, Kelly raised the iron skillet over her head and brought it down on the back of Ericsson’s skull. For a moment there was no response. Then he turned his head toward her as if to say something, but collapsed on top of Barb instead.

Kelly tossed the skillet aside, rushed to drag him off of her and said, “Nice work, Barb. Get yourself together now while I go search for the keys for the yacht!”

Barb groaned, tried to sit up, but dropped back holding her head. But before she did, managed to get out a slurred, “Shurrrrre, Killie!”

Fifteen minutes later Kelly returned, triumphantly holding up a ring of keys in one hand and carrying a microwaved cup of hot coffee in the other.

“Here, drink this!” she sang, pleased to see that Barb was sitting upright on the edge of the bed and had managed to get herself back into her bikini. Ericsson was still lying motionless on the floor, his trousers and underwear bunched around his ankles.

“Thanks, I think I can use that,” said Barb, accepting the coffee cup with both hands.

“Drink it down. It will do wonders for you.”

“Okay, but .... Umm ... Kelly ... is it me ... or is Ericsson not breathing? You don’t think ... I mean, could he be?”

“Uh oh,” replied Kelly, a look of concern crossing her face as she knelt to check the big Swede’s pulse. “Oh. Barb ... I’m afraid he is!”

“Shit! Now what?”

“What’s done is done, Barb. Regrettable, but can’t change it. We’ll just have to go ahead with our plan. We’ll get the yacht underway, get out to sea, and then dispose of Ericsson’s body.”

“How?”

“We’ll bury him at sea. He was a sailor. I think he’d appreciate that. I saw some of Robert’s barbells when I was searching for the keys. We’ll tie one of them to Ericsson to weigh him down.

Together they figured out how to start the yacht’s engine and master the controls. Soon they had cast off from the buoy and were slipping away from Pirate Cay, unseen in the darkness.

An hour later, and well out to sea, they slowed in order to heave Ericsson over the side. That was a struggle because he weighed plenty, and even more with the barbell, but they managed. Then they gave him a solemn moment of silence, before starting out again on a northerly heading that they hoped would eventually take them home to the U.S.

Good headway was made for about an hour, and they were starting to relax a bit when the dark of night was suddenly pierced by the beam of a search light directed straight at and illuminating the ‘Pirate Princess’.

Startled and frozen in place, Barb and Kelly struggled to comprehend what was happening. But as the source of the light, a sleek looking craft, pulled alongside, their hearts sank, for on the vessel’s side, clearly visible in the reflection of the search light off the yacht, were the bold-lettered words, ‘Providencia Coast Guard’.

“Oh Shit,” muttered Barb.
Click to expand...
Well, the girls cannot be criticised for lacking ambition. Stealing a billionaire's yacht which is guarded round the clock by a man with Viking heritage ... but damn, it seems like the plan came together ... or did it? Can't wait to find out. Excellent stuff Barb!
 
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT​



He heard the engines coming across the pitch-dark sea before he saw the lights of the two craft, the smaller Coast Guard cutter leading the way, his yacht following behind. They stopped at the buoy to tie up the yacht, then the smaller vessel proceeded until it was as close to shore as it dared approach.

He heard the scraping sound as they lowered their skiff-he hoped his dinghy would turn up by morning- and several figures descended into it. As it made its way through the breaking waves, he could see by the flashlight that Robert held that there were two uniformed figures on the rear bench. One, facing the stern, was manning the small outboard engine, while the other, facing the bow, was holding a semi-automatic assault rifle and keeping watch on two smaller figures who sat on the front bench, facing the stern.

As soon as the bow touched the sand, the man with the rifle jumped out and pulled the boat onto the beach. “Let’s go ladies,” he ordered, waving the gun in their direction.

The boss could see by the moonlight that the two “ladies” were his errant employees, Barb and Kelly. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs and he could see as they maneuvered themselves over the gunwales with difficulty that their ankles were chained together as well.

“Thank you for bringing my yacht back, Lieutenant,” he said, looking out to sea. “And these two worthless cunts, also,” he added, barely looking at Barb and Kelly. “No sign of Mr. Ericsson, I presume?”

“No, sir,” the Lieutenant replied. “They claim they didn’t see him go overboard and have no idea where or how it happened. We’ll search as soon as it gets light, of course, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. The sharks are likely enjoying some Swedish meatballs tonight.”

“Too bad,” he sighed. “He was a good guy, but I’m guessing he let himself be seduced by these two sluts. But don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it. A good friend of mine who does interrogations as a sort of hobby is arriving tomorrow morning and he’ll have them begging to talk in no time. He isn’t bound by the rules that you guys work under, if you understand my drift.” He saw a look of abject terror flash across the womens’ faces.

“Perfectly, sir. We will leave them in your capable hands. If you wouldn’t mind signing these papers to acknowledge that your yacht is returned and that you are taking custody of these two.” The Lieutenant bent to pick up an envelope from the skiff, opening it and extracting several sheets of paper.

“This is for the ship,” he said as the billionaire signed with a flourish. “This is for the younger one, Ms. Moore, and this is for Ms. Winters.”

“Thank you, sir,” the Lieutenant concluded. “We will be in touch if we find any sign of Mr. Ericsson.” He turned towards the sea, then turned back towards the owner of the island and of the prisoners. “Oh, before I forget, here are the keys to their cuffs.”

“Very good,” he replied, taking them from the Lieutenant. Robert grabbed Barb’s arm in his large left hand and Kelly’s in his right and began half-walking, half dragging them inland.

When they got inside, he yawned. “It’s late and I’m tired. Robert, why don’t you attach their cuffs to the floor rings and we’ll deal with them in the morning when our guest arrives? Oh, and gag them, please. I don’t want their complaints and lies disturbing anyone’s sleep.” He handed Robert the keys and headed for his warm bed, where a naked Tara awaited him.

***​

He blinked twice as the new arrival came into his office the next morning. The guest had somehow managed to stuff his corpulent frame into a military uniform, replete with a chest full of medals, presumably awarded for loyally sucking up to his superiors, since the Latin American country he was pretending to be from hadn’t been in an actual war during the lifetime of anyone on Pirate Cay.

“Wow, Harley, you look sort of, how shall I put this delicately, ridiculous.”

“Very funny. I had to hunt around on line for hours to find this.”

“Is it authentic, Dean Carter?” the Senator asked.

“Who the fuck knows?” the Dean replied. “I wasn’t in Chile in 1973. But it’s been my dream for a long time to recreate that period in history. I can assure you that the equipment I brought is quite authentic and will get your two errant employees singing like little birds.”

“I’d like to try it on some of my colleagues with their wack-a-doodle radical ideas,” the Senator said.

“Well, anyway, Harley, we’re glad you could make it,” their host said.

“It wasn’t easy to get away. It’s admission season at the college. Gotta sign up a whole new crop of freshmen for next year. Maybe we’ll find a few replacements for Barbara Moore. I suspect she won’t be returning.”

“I suspect not,” their host said. “I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she recognizes you.”

The Dean opened the briefcase he carried and took out a mask that looked like something out of the Lone Ranger. “We’ll save that for later in her little session,” he said, slipping it on.

“For now, you can call me Colonel Martinez,” the Dean said, dropping his voice an octave and putting on a thick Spanish accent. “I don’t know if you fellows know this, but the Chilean military did many interrogations in seaside villas like this one. There’s something exciting about torturing beautiful young women in an ordinary house, rather than a dungeon, don’t you think?”

“Too bad our two are much too young to remember that period in history,” their host said.

“Well, a little history lesson can’t hurt. Though in their case, it will hurt very much!” The men laughed. “You’ve set up the posts as I instructed?”

“Yes, of course,” their host replied. “I’m eager to see how the parrot’s perch works. There aren’t too many things I haven’t done to the female body, but, believe it or not, that is one.”

“Well, then let’s get to it, shall we?” Dean Carter said. Their host led the way into the great room.

***​

Barb and Kelly sat on the tile floor in the punishment spot of the great room, each of their ankle shackles clipped to one of the rings set firmly into the floor. They were dressed, if you could call it that, in string bikinis. They each had a ball gag in their mouths.

They both looked haggard, as though they hadn’t slept much the previous night, which was quite understandable given the uncomfortable circumstances and their dread at the spot they were in and the undoubtedly awful fate which awaited them.

“Barb, Kelly,” the boss said. “I want to introduce you to Colonel Martinez, formerly of the Chilean military. He has a lot of experience in getting silly students and their older accomplices who should know better to confess all of their secrets.”

Barb and Kelly looked at each other.

Colonel Martinez circled each of the women. “My complements to our host,” he said after he had checked them out. “You choose your Companions for their beauty.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, in this case, not for their loyalty or good sense,” he replied.

“Not to worry, my friend,” Martinez said. “I will have them in a most compliant state. But not too quickly I hope. You girls will try your best to hold out, but a person can take only so much, of course.”

Barb looked at him, as though something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

“Can we examine the set-up?” the Colonel asked.

“Of course,” he replied, escorting them to the far corner of the room. There, two solid square wooden posts about three feet long had been set solidly about six feet apart into the subflooring in place of a few of the tiles which had been removed. Each post had a deep groove notched into the top.

In front of the posts were some folding chairs. Four were occupied, two by Tara and Delia, clad in Pitcher College T shirts, shorts and flip-flops and the third by the doctor in her white coat with, seemingly nothing on underneath it. She had a small medical bag at her feet. Robert occupied the fourth.

The Dean/Colonel pretended not to recognize Tara and Delia and it seemed they didn’t recognize him.

Against the wall was a small wheeled table, like one might use to serve tea to guests. On it was a large box with a number of dials and buttons. Beside the box lay a variety of wires and metal objects whose purpose one could only guess at, but which would doubtless become all too clear to poor Barb and Kelly.

Martinez strode back to where the two women sat. “Everything looks perfect. I commend our host. Let’s not waste any further time. Which of these beauties should we start with?”

“Senator, what do you think?” their host asked.

“They both deserve everything they’re going to get and more,” the legislative lion said. “But, I think Barb will be easier to break.”

“I don’t know about that,” he replied, “But I’ve got a bunch of questions for her, so let’s start there.”

“With pleasure,” Martinez said. “Stand up, young lady,” he ordered. Barb didn’t move. Martinez reached down and took one arm. The Senator took hold of the other. They yanked her to her feet. She tried to kick them, but her ankles were shackled to the ring in the floor, so that was impossible.

“We must take the gag off, so she can answer our questions. Also, of course, so we can hear her scream.” He unstrapped the gag and removed it.

As soon as he removed the gag, a torrent of swear words erupted from Barb’s mouth. “You fucking assholes! You can’t do this! I want a lawyer and I’m not saying a word until I talk to one!”

Calmly, like he was brushing a fly away from his dinner, Martinez slapped her hard across the face, then again. He made to slap Barb again, but stopped and said, “You will speak only when I ask you a question. Is that clear?”

Barb glared at him, but nodded.

“We need to remove the shackles,” Martinez said.

“Robert, would you bring the key, please?” their host ordered.

“And bring the pole, as well,” Martinez added.

Robert rose and picked up a long metal pole that had been resting against the wall and bought it over. “Senator, would you hold her arm, please? Tightly, because this one is feisty,” Martinez requested as he took firm hold of Barb’s other arm.

“OK, Robert, you’re going to unhook her from the ring and we’re going to lay her on her back,” Martinez ordered. Robert knelt and detached the ankle shackles from the ring. Barb tried to kick out, but with three men on her it was ineffectual.

“Fuck you!” she muttered. They ignored her as they pushed her onto her back.

Martinez rested his considerable weight on her chest. “Lift her legs and place the pole behind her knees,” he ordered. Robert and the Senator did as he asked. “Now, pass her arms under the pole and chain her wrists to her ankles.”

The Senator held Barb’s wrists while Robert undid the handcuffs and re-attached them so that Barb’s wrists and ankles were constrained together against the pole. “Good work guys,” Martinez said as he got off Barb’s chest and stood. “Now all we have to do is place the pole in the grooves of those posts over there,” he said, motioning with his head towards the posts.

“How about our host and Robert take one end of the pole and the Senator and I take the other end?” Martinez suggested. The men took their places. “On the count of three, one two, three…”

They lifted, and, as they did, Barb’s torso, pulled by gravity, swung down below the pole, her head hanging down, her hair almost touching the floor. “No! Please! Put me down!” she implored.

Ignoring her fruitless pleas, they carried her over to the posts and fitted the pole into the grooves. Barb wasn’t going anywhere.

Tara and Delia stared wild-eyed at the scene. The men, except for Martinez took their seats, the boss next to Tara and the Senator next to Delia, with Robert on the other side of her.

“Now, Barb,” the Colonel began, “Before we begin with our questions, let’s make you a bit more comfortable.” He reached behind her back and undid the ties that held her bikini top in place, letting the minimal piece of fabric fall to the floor.

He traced his hand over her tits, which hung down from her chest quite enticingly. “Very nice!” he commented.

“You pervert!” Barb shouted. He grabbed a nipple in each hand and twisted them hard.

“Ow!!!” she yelled.

“These young people today have no respect,” he said, shaking his head.

The boss glanced over at Kelly who was still chained to the ring in the floor. “I think Kelly should see this up close, so she knows what to expect when it’s her turn. Would you bring her over here, please, Robert?”

“With pleasure, sir,” Robert responded, rising and returning with Kelly.

“Sit her here next to me and handcuff her to the chair,” he ordered. “Keep her gag in. One rude, ungrateful bitch at a time is enough.”

“And now for the piece de resistance,” Martinez continued, untying the bottom of Barb’s bikini and removing the material, leaving her completely naked. And not only naked, but totally exposed, as Martinez pointed out to the audience, her pussy and asshole fully accessible to anyone who wanted to insert objects whether to cause pain or pleasure, her tits hanging down, her body entirely defenseless against the whims of her interrogators.

Martinez went over to the wall and wheeled the cart over. The long extension cord on the back of the power supply was plugged into a wall outlet. The lights on the front of the box were illuminated Despite her awkward position, Barb couldn’t help following it with her eyes.

“Now you see, Barbara,” Martinez said. “This is rather simple. We attach some wires from this box to your body, to all the fun parts,” he said, running his hands over her tits, “Here,” the slit of her pussy, “Here” and inside the crack between her lower cheeks, brushing up against her rear entryway, “And , yes, even here.”

“Let me show you,” he said. He picked up from the cart a large metal dildo. It had a black wire at the rubberized end which he plugged into a hole on the front of the box. “A little gel to help it go inside you and help conduct the electricity,” he added taking a tube and squirting some gel over the metal.”

He placed the object at the entrance to Barb’s vagina. “No! You can’t!” she protested.

”Of course, I can,” he said, and pushed it in as far as it would go.

He held up a red wire that ended in a small brass alligator clip, which he plugged into another hole on the front of the box. “And this one goes on that special place,” he said, smiling as he knelt underneath her.

With one hand he squeezed the jaws of the alligator clip open, while with the other he parted her labia so that he could position the clip around her clitoris. Satisfied with the positioning, he released the clip.

“Arrggh!” Barb screamed, her body gyrating as much as it could on the pole from which it hung.

Martinez stepped back. “Now, your employer has some questions, about some secrets that you have been keeping from him like a very bad girl. You will have a choice to make. You can answer his questions truthfully and we’ll take you down. Or you can refuse to answer or lie and you will find out what it feels like to have a current run through your most sensitive parts.

The boss stood and came over next to the Dean who handed him the control pad. "It's set at 3 out of 10," the Dean explained. "That's where they used to start in Chile, I've heard, and then they went up from there if there was insufficient cooperation. It's recommended that the doctor check her periodically. We don't want to kill her, at least not before we get some answers. All you have to do is press the red button and watch what happens."

Their host nodded. "Barbara, why did you come down here?"

"To learn about business and make money. Like I told Kelly back at Pitcher."

He pressed the red button.
 
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