Rape's Progress 18

by Ozmanga

I had the first night-watch on the Black Swan as we headed north to Fiddler's Green. The owner, pop star Basil Bundy, was locked in a cabin. Cleo, Marsha and a tearful red-headed woman called Ruby kept me company on the bridge deck, while Popeye went below to drown his sorrows.

"You'll have to let the girls out of the bolt-hole soon!" whispered Cleo, snuggling up to my starboard side.

"Yeah," agreed Marsha, as she rubbed her hip softly along my port quarter. "It must be getting pretty high in there."

"It will be difficult," I replied. "The skipper, Popeye, has taken over the master's suite. He's drinking heavily so we may be able to get them out and hidden while he is unconscious. But we must be careful."

It was a pious hope and overlooked the fact that, with a couple of gills of overproof rum beneath his belt, Popeye became mentally unbalanced. While the girls and I talked he decided that Basil Bundy was the cause of his misery. Not only did he imagine the flabby singer had plotted the ambush, which had seen Popeye's homosexual partner sent to gay-heaven, but the large sailor thought Bundy might substitute for his late Philippino bedmate. 

This I understood later. At the time I was unaware of the growing crisis until Bundy erupted on deck, dressed only in a tee-shirt, screaming for help and declaring that he was nobody's "buddy-buddy-bugger-boy". He was hotly pursued by a naked, rampaging, Popeye.

I left the girls at the wheel and tried to reason with the drunken sailor. He knocked me down and continued his unsteady pursuit of his reluctant swain. On Popeye's third circuit of the deck I hit him, hard, with a chair. He blinked, ripped the chair from me and swung it at my head. I ducked. He missed, staggered a few steps, and flipped over the rail and into the sea.

By the time we had turned the Black Swan around and retraced our course Popeye was nowhere to be seen. 

Bundy hailed me as a hero. Marsha let the three women (two of the "Boojums" backing group and the engineer's girl-friend) and McGregor, the engineer, out of the secret bolt-hole cabin where they had been hiding since the original pirate attack. They too regarded me as something of a saviour. It was an uplifting and entirely new experience.

Bundy made me a very handsome offer to captain the Black Swan to civilization. I accepted with pleasure and, with willing help from the bevy of beauties and Jock Mc Gregor, we reached Singapore without major trouble. Bundy reported the pirate attack. The resultant  burst of publicity did much to elevate his single - Walkin' the Plank - into the top ten. By that time I was winging my way back home, to my harbour-side boat-house residence, having banked a large sum of money, my reward for being virtuous. It made me think. Perhaps I should turn over a new leaf . Become a hard-working student, a one-woman man, and an all-round good guy. Be satisfied with vanilla sex. These thoughts of reform lasted until I entered my domain, where Charity and Theodora had prepared a welcome-home surprise I just couldn't resist.

They were dressed as two schoolgirls in uniforms that were just a shade too small. The white blouses strained across their well developed bosoms, which accentuated their proud nipples and advertised the fact that neither of my sex-toys wore a bra. The short pleated skirts were just long enough to leave some doubt as to whether they were wearing pants (Charity was, Theodora was not) and the high heeled pumps, with ankle socks and straps, exaggerated the smooth stretch of their long legs.

The pair confessed to being very naughty during my absence in foreign parts and begged to be severely punished. I bent them over the back of the soft, padded, chesterfield and caned them both, before roughly sodomizing Theodora. This was an act she pretended to abhor but one that sent her into paroxysms of delight, before I had climaxed. Such thoughtlessness earned her a beating from Charity, but not until I had stripped the red-head naked, and fucked her ruthlessly on the floor. When the greetings were over, we showered together and then tucked into a dinner cooked by them both.

Charity and Theodora listened with mixed emotions to the story of my adventures in Thailand and upon the high seas. They were as surprised as I had been that Kim, my sister-in-law, had used me as bait, of sorts, without telling me. They were equally appalled that my half-brother would shanghai me, even given his jealous nature and my near public rape of his wife. The circumstances were not of my making, nor had they been helped by the Pontius Pilate-like inactivity of the Organization, the crime syndicate that controlled major criminal activity in the city.

It was while I was being critical of the Organization I noticed Theodora looking concerned and asked why.

It seemed that in my absence Charity had approached her sister, Hope, who was a big-wheel in the all-woman hemp-cultivation cooperative known as Amazon-pot-com, and found employment for her little bed-warmer. Hope had used her influence with the Organization. The result was, Theodora Throsbie, who had been a lecturer in accountancy at the night school I had attended until recently, was now the chief accountant for the Organization. She had taken over the books and the management of funds from her grey-suited predecessor, Mr Gray, just before he suffered a fatal accident. A condition of her employment by the criminal syndicate was that she remained a "house-guest" in my boat-house apartment under the watchful eye of Charity for a year.

I explained to her I had intended to turn over a new leaf and was going to offer her a ticket to the Congo with enough funds to start a small mission. Under the circumstances it didn't seem such a good idea. My proposed generosity brought snorts of derision from both the young women. I concluded that Theodora was no longer a believer and took greater pleasure in our debauchery and a career in crime. Even so, I was obliged to discipline her again.

After a week of domesticity I received a hint through Theodora that it would be politic to call on Mr White or Mr Green and pay my respects. The Organization wanted a first hand account of what had transpired in Bangkok. They would expect to see me, said the efficient Miss Throsbie, at noon the following day at Kim's old warehouse. I understood from her that the payment to Madam Kim for surrendering her interests in the city had not been made.

The next day, I used the aluminium dinghy with the small outboard to reach the warehouse and was met at the jetty by Turk and an nervous looking Bruce Smith. Bruce seemed to have recovered from his ordeal at Turk's hands. The ultra-short haircut suited him. Nor did he seem particularly hostile to Turk. Perhaps he was the forgiving sort. I thought I must remember to ask Turk what had happened between them.

On the way to the warehouse, with its protected floors served by the latest in hi-tech security elevators, Bruce asked anxiously about Samantha. I explained that his bride had spent a week with me and my two affectionate young girl-friends and was well looked after (well, I could hardly tell him the three of us had used her as a piece of meat in a triple-decker sex-sandwich), before flying to Thailand with Madam Kim. Here she had been, I told him, held captive by the Colonel and his niece. I told him, I was fairly sure she had been sexually abused while in their hands, as I had been, but when I last saw her she had been well fed and was sleeping. I didn't add that after this I had spent several weeks at sea and that his wife had probably been staked out in some high-class brothel where, it was likely, she would have been fucked witless every night. Genuine blue-eyed blondes are as popular as they are rare in Bangkok.

Bruce seemed happier at hearing Samantha was alive and well when last seen, but he was, with cause, a worried man.

Mr White and Mr Green greeted me in a friendly fashion and dismissed Turk and Smith. I told my story. It seemed to confirm what they had heard from other sources. They assured me that they were in no way responsible for the Colonel's attack on Kim and myself. 

"A dreadful misunderstanding," said Mr Green.

"Quite," added Mr White. "And one which has led to your delightful sister-in-law adopting a most hostile attitude to Organization activities in south east Asia."

I said nothing but thought that Kim's attitude was understandable, particularly if the Organization was sitting on the money they had promised for Kim's warehouse and associated businesses.

"We have lost several valuable suppliers," lamented Mr Green. "Not to mention control of some lucrative properties in Bangkok."

"It seems that Madam Kim has taken over Colonel Robrien's extensive vice empire and is expanding her activities to our detriment," growled Mr Green.

"Have you been in touch with her?" I asked. "Remember, sirs, that after the coup by my brother I was either unconscious or at sea. I know as little of Kim's current plans as you."

"That's what we wanted to speak to you about," said Mr White. "We sent a messenger last week. He met with an unfortunate accident. We think you would be a better, er, ambassador for the Organization."

So that was how I was put back on the Organization's payroll at junior-executive rates and found myself, accompanied by Bruce Smith, flying first-class Thai Air into Bangkok once again. My brief was simple. Contact Kim, explain that the Organization was innocent of encouraging Randy Rob in his attempt on her virtue, and make her an offer she couldn't possibly refuse.

The deal was a return to the situation that pertained prior to Mr Black's death. The Organization was prepared to surrender the warehouse and all its peripherals, plus a six figure sum in compensation, in return for Kim relinquishing the Organization's Asian assets and suppliers. Kim and Conrad would be permitted to keep what they could of the Colonel's old empire.

It was a good offer but I wasn't sure Kim and my half-brother would trust the Organization enough for them to accept it. I had a private talk with Mr White, an elderly gentleman to whom I had rendered a service in the past, and explained my doubts. Between us we came up with a fall-back position I could use if necessary.

From my suite in the Ramada Hotel I telephoned the Colonel's residence. The phone was answered by a woman. I recognised Laiya's voice. 

"How's your uncle?" I asked. 

There was a pause before she answered, "Unfortunately he is indisposed. Who is speaking?"

"Sebastian. You may remember me," I purred. "I certainly remember you, Laiya."

"Ah, yes. Madame Kim heard you were in town. She would like to speak to you. Unfortunately she is not here at present. Perhaps you could meet her here tonight?"

"No. I will book a table for dinner here at the Ramada for seven-thirty. I want my sister-in-law and Samantha Smith to attend. Will that be a problem?"

Laiya answered with hardly a pause. "No problem, Sebastian. Samantha has been employed in a clerical position and is available."

"You mean she's been strapped to a desk, had her nipples clamped with bulldog clips, and been fucked insensible by office workers?"

Laiya laughed "Oh, Sebastian, you will have your little joke. Samantha has been most helpful during the reorganization. She is my right-hand woman." 

"Your right-hand woman?"

"Yes. Haven't you heard? I am Madame Kim's Manager in Thailand. Such an honour."

I hadn't heard. After what Laiya had done to Kim and me ... and what the little vixen had threatened to do to my family jewels ... I was staggered and definitely not amused. My good intentions evaporated. 

"Tonight," I said. "You come too. Bring a whip."

There was a long pause. "Yes, Sebastian," she replied meekly.

*          *          *

Kim arrived at the hotel with Samantha and Laiya, bang on time. Bruce and his bride were reunited. Samantha was so happy to see her crew-cut swain in one piece she gave me a peck on the cheek and said she forgave me and my two harpies. Then she and Bruce disappeared to resume their interrupted honeymoon. My resolution to become a nicer person received a momentary boost. When Laiya presented me with a thin plaited leather dog whip and whispered that Madam Kim had agreed I should "speak to her" after dinner, I nearly refused. But one look into Laiya's fear-filled big brown eyes changed my mind. Perhaps I would forgive her, but only after I'd flogged her naked, and given her a rogering to remember.

During dinner Kim told me how she and Conrad had persuaded the Colonel to enter a monastery and hand over all his property to a company managed, on Kim's behalf, by Laiya. The arrangement was consistent with Thai property law and allowed Kim and Conrad to concentrate on taking over bits and pieces of the Organization's Asian interests.

Kim said that Conrad had been upset to hear of the loss, with all hands, of the Dawn Trader, taken and burned by revolutionaries in the New Hebrides. He thought I had been on board.

The loss of the ship was news to me, but I said I wasn't surprised. Running guns is a risky business. Kim made me explain. She said she knew nothing about gun-running. It seems that the cargo of weapons I had helped to load, was a private venture of the late, unlamented, Mavis MacGregor and her mate, Popeye. Kim had heard from Cordelia, last seen by me sailing for Fiddler's Green, with a crew of rascals, in a stolen yacht. Conrad had gone to collect her and find a replacement for the Dawn Trader.

I put the Organization's offer to Kim. She was tempted. To accept meant a return to the city and the old warehouse base she and Conrad had established. But, as she quickly pointed out, there was little to stop the Organization from moving in, again, whenever they chose. We talked some more but when Kim left that evening the matter was still unresolved.

Laiya led the way to my room.

*          *          *

The little Thai woman slipped out of her blue and white cotton dress as we entered my hotel room. She probably had heard how much I used to enjoy stripping the objects of my lust with carefully judged cuts of a whip, and didn't wish to go home in rags. 

She bent over a gilt chair, upholstered in velvet, and swiftly pulled her pants down to expose her firm round buttocks and plump shaved pussy as a target for punishment.

"I know you think I deserve a beating, Sebastian," she said looking at me over her shoulder with her big dark-brown eyes. "I drugged you and helped my uncle use you to humiliate Madame Kim. But please, don't hurt me too much. I was only doing what I was ordered to."

A tear trickled down one peach-coloured cheek. She looked so pitiful and vulnerable.

"I think that's called the 'Nuremberg defence'," I said and gave her buttocks a savage slash with the little dog whip. "And what you and Randy Rob got up to with Kim and me is not the reason I'm going to tan your tail, Laiya." I gave her another few cuts. She was weeping freely and squirming in anticipation of my next blow.

"I particularly objected to your intention to cut off my goolies for your unspeakable collection of male genitals," I said, hitting her once again. "I'm rather attached to mine and the thought of you hanging them on a trophy wall makes me madder than a mongoose with a cobra." 

"But Sebastian ..." she began.

I had kicked off my shoes and hauled my pants down. "The only way you're gonna get my cock, dear Laiya, is alive alive oh!"

 And so saying I ripped into her, admittedly juicy, cunt.

"But Sebastian," she wailed, when she had finished writhing in the throes of an almighty orgasm, "my collection ... it is of plaster facsimiles. I take a rubber mould. No one gets hurt."

"Oh," I said, feeling foolish.

I spent the rest of the night being as nice as I could to Laiya and only used the dog whip twice.

*          *          *

The next day I spoke to Mr White and he, reluctantly, agreed to plan "B". I contacted Kim and, when she heard the terms, she too agreed. Which is how Kim became "Mistress Black" and joined the triumvirate now running the Organization. 

When the important business was finished , Laiya showed me the sights of the city. Several pagodas and a floating-market later, we arrived by jet-boat at the complex that housed Kim's main Bangkok night-club and where Laiya lived in regal splendour. 

She joined me in the shower of her luxuriously appointed bathroom, kneeling so she could more easily soap and rinse my growing erection.

"Please, Sebastian," she cooed, planting a butterfly kiss on the end of my tool. "Can I take a mould to make a cast for my collection?"

I consented but expressed a doubt that if the process was too clinical I might lose some length and breadth. Laiya laughed and told me not to worry, she had ways of keeping me stiff. She did. They involved a purple pill, a few glasses of wine and a sexy little private floor-show involving three of the night-club's top attractions. Namely, Greta and Madelaine Hildebrand-Smythe with her daughter Mellissa.

While the latex mould cured around my swollen cock I watched my three previous victims perform. The theme was simple. The show took place in a bedroom with a single old-fashioned brass bed. To what sounded like a variation on "The Thieving Magpie," Greta, in a black SS Officer's uniform and tight black skirt was interrogating the mother and daughter suspects. First she made Mellissa strip until she was wearing only socks, pants and shoes before going to work with a heavy, rigid-handled whip. Mellissa's performance as the victim of a vicious beating was Oscar-winning. When I complimented the little brunette on her ability to produce real tears and convincing howls of agony, Greta was happy to assure me that all of Mellissa's "veeping und vailing" were quite genuine and induced by real pain.

Then it was Madelaine Hildebrand-Smythe's turn to strip and be thrashed by the enthusiastic little German blonde while Mellissa sprawled on the floor and eagerly assisted Greta to flog and then fist-fuck the unfortunate Madelaine.

"I thought you would want to punish those two," said Laiya, prodding my hard, latex-coated, cock. "After what they persuaded my wicked uncle to do to you. They wanted to kill you, you know?"

Thinking about it, which I had done while at sea with little else to do, I could understand their point of view. I had, after all, been one of the causes of their present plight. I began to wonder whether I should try and make amends in some way, and had not quite decided, when a particularly loud shriek from Madelaine (Greta had rammed the whip-handle deep into the older woman's rectum) regained my attention.

Greta had removed her skirt. The two "prisoners" were kneeling either side of their tormentor, stroking, kissing, licking and begging for mercy and not getting any.

Greta addresses the audience (me and Laiya) "Vitch vun of these whores I tie to bed first?"

I shrugged. "As soon as this mould comes off, I'm going to deal with them both. For old time's sake. May as well be Mellissa."

"Ja!" snapped Greta and, with Madelaine's eager help they secured the young woman to the head of the bed using strips of cloth torn from the remains of her costume. Mellissa struggled but in vain. Soon she was fastened tight to the bed head, arms and legs spread wide.

Mellissa was frightened. She had cause to be. The last time we had been this close she wanted to humiliate then kill me. She began to beg.

"Gag her," Laiya said.

Her mother hurried to obey. Laiya felt the hardening latex. 

"At least another ten minutes, Sebastian. Time for Mummy to get her daughter ready for you." She turned to the trio by the brass bed. "Madelaine, use the whip handle. I want to see your little girl writhe with ecstasy."

It was like travelling back in time. For ten or so minutes the women's antics reminded me of the games we played in the cellar of their old house. The pill and the booze were having a predictable effect on my libido and my earlier good intentions were fading. Without removing her daughter's pants Madelaine had inserted the whip handle into Mellissa's anus and soon Mellissa was bouncing about straining at her bonds and making muffled little mewing sounds. Watching the Hildebrand-Smythes play, I promised myself I would do do something nice for them, and Greta too. Perhaps I could get Hans admitted to a monastery, like Laiya's uncle Randy Rob, but perhaps later.

Laiya carefully removed the latex mould and wiped my throbbing, rope-veined, erection with a damp cloth.

"Yes," I thought, remembering that inner glow of satisfaction that comes when having done a good deed. "I'll do something nice for all four ... tomorrow." 

Then I crossed to the brass bed, ripped the pants off  Mellissa, and entered her moist vagina with one strong uninterrupted motion. I fucked her slowly while her mother gently nuzzled my bollocks with her trembling mouth, until the effects of the pill and the wine overwhelmed my good intentions.

My memories of the evening are vague. It must have been crowded, three women and a very randy Sebastian, on the single bed. (Mellissa remained tied to the bed-head throughout)

I suspect none of my bed-mates realised that Sebastian was thinking of turning over a new leaf.

End Chapter 18
