Scene 3 - The Pirate
“For the crimes of delivering and receiving an unauthorized orgasm,” declared Drusilla, the gorgeous first mate of the SS Dominance, “these bitches will be flogged, as decreed by our beauteous and fearsome captain, The Pirate Emerald.”
The pronouncement from the raven-haired, buxom officer drew a cheer from the assembled crew—all female, all fit, all attractive, all horny—on the deck of a modern-day replica of an antique pirate ship.
One crewwoman, however, was too engaged in her task to cheer; she was licking the pussy of a woman who was nearing what would definitely be an authorized climax, as it belonged to Captain Emerald herself.
(The lady leader rationed orgasms for others with a firm hand. Oh, the lusty female mariners could kiss, caress and grope each other all they wanted—in fact, it was encouraged as a way to promote teamwork and morale—just so long as it didn’t result in the Big O.)
(It wasn’t that Emerald was overly stingy with the approvals; she just enjoyed having an on-the-edge, sexually-aroused crew under her control.)
The chestnut-haired enchantress was indeed beautiful and fearsome. I also knew that she was a wealthy, villainous genius with an obsessive interest in the history of old-time buccaneers.
She was also quite mad, believing herself to be a reincarnation of, and the modern-day version of, the famous eighteenth-century pirate Anne Bonny.
As the story goes, the billionaire heiress built herself a replica of an old-time schooner and added modern weaponry and electronics.
I was an agent for a secret crime-fighting organization and had been trying to uncover her nefarious scheme when Miss Verity Mayfair and I were captured by her martial-arts-trained goons.
(The goons were all females, so: Goonettes? Goonesses? Goonellas? The dictionary is no help.)
It was quite a scene, there on the deck of Emerald’s ship:
The pirate captain was sprawled in a large, padded chair with her pussy hanging over the seat’s edge and her splayed legs propped up on stirrups.
The crewwoman kneeling directly before her was chained by her collar to the front of the seat. That subordinate was skillfully using her mouth, fingers, and a dildo to please her superior.
Two other ladies were kneeling and chained by their collars to the stirrups. They were orally worshiping Emerald’s feet; licking the soles, sucking the toes, caressing her shins, giving it all that they had.
(The three women did not need to be bound for these tasks—it was part of their jobs. This crew just seemed to prefer their sexual activities and shipboard rituals spiced with generous helpings of bondage, sex and gestures of subservience and/or dominance.)
Also nearby on the deck was the young and innocent—and nude—Verity Mayfair, standing with her shackled wrists pulled cruelly upwards towards an overhead beam. She was nearly hanging by them, as she was on her tip-toes.
A curvy Latina sailor named Juanita was similarly unclothed and strung up, and was bound face-to-face, breast-to-breast, and pelvis-to-pelvis with Verity. Straps around their waists, necks and ankles kept them locked together.
Their naked backs were thus facing outward, ready to receive the flogging promised by the first mate, and authorized by the captain.
(Juanita seemed to be taking the situation mostly in stride; she may have been in this position before. Verity, however, was whimpering and squirming in her bondage.)
I had been witness to the cause for their upcoming punishment; earlier in the day, Juanita had been tasked with stimulating Miss Mayfair sexually, repeatedly bringing her to the edge but denying her an orgasm. Verity had been bound to the same chair that Emerald now rested on; it was obviously designed for convenient cunnilingus sessions.
But Juanita had failed to adequately control the girl; with uncontrolled guttural screams and writhing, the nineteen-year-old fair-skinned British blonde had unmistakably orgasmed, garnering a penalty for them both.
(Verity seemed surprised and shocked by the force of her sudden climax; it may have been her first—or, at least, her first caused by the tongue and fingers of another person.)
So now, a pair of Asian women, stripped down to bra and panties, stood by with their black leather floggers, awaiting the order to begin, one pirate for each victim. All four ladies were glowing with a light coating of sensual perspiration in the warm late afternoon sun.
And me? I had a perfect view of the whole scene.
I was standing nearby, the shackles on my wrists chained straight out to a pair of stout posts on either side of me. I was naked, of course, and my skin was oiled up; from the lusty looks on the faces of the assembled crew in various stages of undress, I assumed that my firm body and my large cock was a hit.
A few minutes before, I had been wearing khakis and a tee-shirt. When Emerald had appeared on deck from her quarters down below, dressed in a luxurious silk robe, she demanded to know, “Why is that bastard Drake still clothed? As a matter of fact, why am I?”
That drew a laugh from the assemblage. Emerald had then shed her robe to reveal a glorious body clad only in a tight black corset and boots, sans bra or panties. She settled into her chair as her servants moved into their positions. The two at her feet removed Emerald's boots and started their oral worship. The woman between her legs started kissing the captain's beautiful bald pussy.
Meanwhile, the two crewwomen in charge of my captivity advanced on me with a pair of sharp daggers and cut my garments to shreds, right off my body, and oiled me up, with a bit extra lube on my cock, which was beginning to swell.
(The proximity of the blades to my private parts was a bit scary, but the ladies were skilled and probably wanted to make sure my genitals would be of future use to the captain, or to them.)
Thus, I was now fully nude, but so was the woman who approached me from behind and pressed the front of her oiled-up body to the back of mine.
Other members of the crew then put straps around our waists and necks that kept us bound together. Her large breasts and slippery skin felt unbelievably sensuous on my back and butt as she wriggled and slithered in a sensuous, seductive dance.
She was a tall redhead, nearly my height, with long arms. Though our torsos were restricted by the straps—I told you, these gals loved any excuse for bondage play—her hands were free to reach around me and play with my nipples and my lubed-up genitals, which she did, in fine erotic fashion.
Satisfied at last with the scene before her, Emerald called out, in her Irish brogue, “Tomorrow at dawn these two spies, Miss Mayfair and Mister Drake, will walk the plank. But for now, they will provide us some entertainment.”
Besides being very good with her hands, the gal behind me also played an excellent game of verbal seduction as she whispered in my ear.
“My name is Belinda, but my crew mates call me ‘The Cock Whore.’ I try to be satisfied with their pussy-licking and scissoring and dildos, but I crave—absolutely crave—a man’s cock. A big one like yours, Mister Drake. A hard one. We so rarely get to have a stud like you to fuck. God, how I miss it. I will worship this cock.”
By this time, the two Asian pirates had started whipping Verity and Juanita. The force of the blows was not excessive; no skin was broken by the wide leather thongs. They must have stung, but it appeared that Emerald wanted the woman stressed and tormented, not killed or incapacitated.
As further proof of that proposition, I now saw that a vertical pole had been placed between the legs of the two victims, with a narrow horizontal bar pushing up against both their crotches as they stood face-to-face.
“The bar that presses against their pussies,” Belinda informed me, “oozes a continual stream of lubricants. As the bitches squirm and jerk around from the whips, their clits rub against the soft nubs on the bar, stimulating them.
“Each woman has been fed a powerful aphrodisiac with their lunches—as have you, Mister Drake. None of you are approved for orgasms and will be further disciplined if you climax. I, however, have been charged with forcing one out of you.
“I am to test your capacity to please Captain Emerald, who is—don't tell her I said so—also a first-class Cock Whore. If you demonstrate your prowess here, she will reward you with a night of passion, and then may grant you a quick and merciful execution.”
Belinda continued to pump and stroke my cock; it was more than ready for an orgasm as I had not had one in several days. My recent traveling companion, Miss Mayweather, was a virgin and had been determined to remain that way.
Verity was not a fellow secret agent, but she did have information and connections I needed in my investigation of Emerald’s evil plan. She had agreed to help me, much to her current dismay.
Actually, I’m not sure she was truly dismayed at that moment, because she and Juanita were both clearly getting aroused as the floggers landed again and again on their backs and butts, causing them to grind their clits against the device between their legs.
I knew from personal experience that bondage and danger, when skillfully applied, can be a more potent aphrodisiac than any potion.
And these female buccaneers were far more than just skilled at BDSM; they were fucking artists.
And they were all getting aroused by the three-ring sexual circus going on before them: Emerald getting licked, Verity and Juanita getting flogged, and me getting rubbed and pumped. Most of the crew members of the good ship Dominance were rubbing their pussies, or their neighbor’s pussies, as they watched in fascination.
My juices were flowing from the visual feast laid out before me, as well.
To add to the mix, Belinda was now jerking and moaning in a sexual frenzy behind me, which revved my motor even more.
That frenzy was caused by Drusilla flogging Belinda’s back and butt. The first mate would also pause every few strokes to reach under my bondage buddy’s butt and play with the redhead’s pussy.
Or her asshole. Or both, I couldn’t tell from my current position.
Either way, Belinda was quivering out of control as she continued to pump my cock, squeeze my balls and pinch my nipples.
The sights, the sounds, the sensations were overwhelming; my head was spinning like I was caught up in an erotic whirlpool. Though I tried to resist, the pressure in my groin built and built, until my cock finally erupted in a massive explosion.
I convulsed so strongly that I nearly broke the chains that bound me to the pillars on each side.
At the same time, Emerald climaxed in her chair, as did Verity and Juanita on their whipping post, and Drusilla behind me. The sound of our simultaneous screams echoed from the low hills on the tropical island that we were anchored near.
My legs gave way and I slumped, as much as I could, in my chains.
Except for the sound of several people trying to catch their breaths, the deck was silent for the full minute it took all in attendance to recover from the erotic shock wave that had rocked the SS Dominance like a sexual tsunami.
“Cut!” finally yelled Sam Traylor from his director’s chair behind the cameras.
There was a momentary pause and then the cast and film crew all clapped and hooted like they were watching cinematic history being made.
Maybe it had been; I doubt that five genuine, simultaneous orgasms had ever been captured on film, porno or non-porno.
(This wasn’t truly a pornographic movie, I had been told many times. Agent of B.O.N.D.A.G.E. would be a mainstream action/spy film, albeit with a healthy dose of sex, nudity, and... well, you know... bondage.
However, given the graphic stuff we were shooting, I suspected that it would eventually be released with an R-rated version, an NC-17 version and an XXX version. I was getting to be okay with that.)
We were on a film set that represented the deck of Emerald’s pirate schooner. It was on a platform perched a few feet above the water near an isolated beach in the Hawaiian island chain.
The placement was perfect; aim the cameras facing east, and the ocean in the background made it look like we were far out at sea; point them west towards the beach, and it appeared the ship was anchored in a cove. The set even rocked a bit back and forth, to simulate the movement of the ocean.
“Woof. I need a cigarette,” the director quipped when the crew’s applause died down.
“I thought you gave up smoking, Sam,” someone called out.
“I may have to start again, after that extravaganza,” he quipped. We could all see the bulge in his pants.
“Okay, gang,” the assistant director called out when the laughter died down, “that’s a wrap for today. We have an early morning call for the torture scene over there on the beach. Be back here at 3AM.”
Everyone groaned.
“That means forgo your usual fuck-fests and ass-grabs back at the hotel and go to bed early.”
Everyone good-naturedly bitched and moaned a bit louder as the cast and crew packed up their equipment or headed to the buses for the ride back to town.
“Hey guys,” pleaded the A.D., “I’m serious.”
I thought to myself, well, good luck with these horn-dogs settling down to chamomile tea and a good book after watching a super-charged sex scene like this.
As if to prove the point, Nicole, the actress who played Belinda, still strapped tightly to my back, kissed me on the ear and wiped the portion of my semen that had landed in her hands onto my chest
“Well, Dirk,” she cooed, “I gave you a nice big, juicy one just now. I assume you’re going to repay the favor tonight. I’m in room 420.”
“Give me a couple of hours to clean up and recover,” I replied, “and I’ll meet you there. Won’t your roommate object?”
(Everyone except the main players had to share a hotel room.)
Tammy, the bondage wrangler for the production company, had freed the two whipped women first, and was in the process of releasing Nicole.
“Object?” the young blonde asked. “I’m her roommate. I’m going to tie you two up again, this time in a position where you can fuck her until she’s satisfied. After that, I’ll have a crack at you.”
Tammy released my chains from the pillars, but then connected my wrist shackles together behind my back. I did not struggle; I wanted to see what she had planned. Whatever it was, it was always fun.
“As a matter of fact,” Tammy said, “the set for Emerald’s bedroom-slash-bondage parlor is almost completed, on the other side of the platform. I’ve installed some interesting new equipment there we can try out.”
“Great,” said Nicole. “We three can spend the night there and be close at hand for the 3AM call on the beach. It’s about 5 o’clock now, so that gives us almost 10 hours to play.”
“Ten hours?” I chimed in, incredulously. “Look gals, I’m supposed to look a bit haggard for the shoot in the morning, but I’m also supposed to have a visible erection for much of it. You can’t be draining me dry tonight.”
Tammy stopped our little parade and turned to me, smiling.
“I said I’d make you fuck Nicole, and then fuck me, among other fun activities. I never said we’d actually let you cum, now did I? ”
The two women grinned. Maybe they were serious, maybe not.
“So, what do you say, handsome and virile Agent Drake?” asked Nicole.
Hmm, I thought. Ten hours of role-play tease and denial at the "mercy” of both a horny bondage expert and a red-headed sex-bomb.
Really, how on God's green earth could I pass that up?
I agreed, and as the ladies led me away, I realized that I was coming to really savor the sensation of giving up control of my body to people I trusted. And controlling them if they trusted me.
Before all this, I had always considered bondage or role-play to be a silly activity. Despite four years of trying to be a successful Hollywood actor, my social life in California had been pretty bland, my sex life strictly vanilla.
I thought back to the night I spent with my agent/manager Melissa a few weeks previously, before I got this role. That might have been the moment I started to change my mindset.
Scene 4 – The Cougar
(Previously: To prepare Dirk for his auditions, his horny talent agent is putting him through some BDSM activities one afternoon in her office suite, which includes a bedroom.)
Melissa kept me tied up and servicing her—which I did with pleasure—until about five o’clock that afternoon. At that point, she released me, and we took a break.
Drained from trying to keep up with this insatiable MILF, and not wanting to face the LA rush hour traffic, I stayed on, and we sent out for Chinese food.
She had also ordered out for some additional bondage gear; it’s amazing what you can get nowadays with Amazon’s two-hour delivery.
We got some quality bondage cuffs—leather ones, that locked on—along with some rope, collars, and other gear.
Thankfully for my weary body, I spent some of those evening hours binding my agent and making her do most of the subsequent erotic work.
(We figured I needed the practice, since, although the character of Agent Drake got captured and tied up—a lot—I would be doing some of the binding myself, on my lovely co-stars. If I got the part.)
For example, I connected Melissa's wrist cuffs to the front of a leather collar—one that was more her size than the large one she had made me wear earlier. Kneeling, with her hands locked near her mouth, I “forced” her to give me the longest, sloppiest, noisiest combination handjob/blowjob I’d ever experienced.
Then—and this was also her idea—I took her into her office proper, made her stand on the floor at the front of her desk, and secured her ankles to the front legs. Clearing the desk, I bent her over it, putting her ample bosom on the top, and tied her wrist cuffs down to the back legs.
Thus, both her vagina and mouth were readily available, one at either side of the desk. I took advantage of this position to switch off, heads or tails, depending on my whim, and her needs, at the moment.
I took my sweet time ravishing her and made sure she had a couple of orgasms while pinned to the desk; that was nice, as our previous trysts were usually slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am sessions, because she always seemed to have an appointment coming up.
There was a funny little incident about 8 PM. When the building’s cleaning lady entered the outer office, Melissa called out, “Hildegarde, can you skip me tonight? I’m entertaining a client.”
The woman did so without questions; I took it she was familiar with how my agent sometimes “entertained” in the evening hours.
Melissa later explained that a couple of times in the past, the elderly Latvian immigrant just elected to empty the wastebaskets and dust the furniture, pretending not to notice while Mel and her beau of the evening went at it.
This time, however, the sight of a naked Melissa bound to her desk and wet with my bodily juices would be risking way too many questions, including some from a squad of LA policemen, who would need a lot of convincing that we were just doing prep work for a movie.
By the time our marathon bondage/sex session wound down, it was close to midnight; we’d been at it, on and off, for nearly 12 hours.
That was totally unheard of; normally when I met with Melissa, we would discuss my auditions and finances, we’d have a quickie, and I was out of there.
This time was different; the bondage slowed us down, forced us to talk about feelings, fantasies, boundaries. When I prepared to leave, Melissa stopped me.
“Dirk,” she said, “it’s late and you’re tired. And we’ve been drinking. Why don’t you stay the night?”
(Her office suite included a comfortable bedroom/bathroom, an inheritance from her movie producer father, who would “entertain” young starlets there.)
“Are you allowed to have overnight guests?” I asked her. That old office building was silent; we were probably the only ones still in it on this Friday night.
“I don’t know,” she replied quietly, her eyes avoiding mine. “I’ve never asked anyone else.”
She seemed smaller and more vulnerable than I had seen her before, perhaps a little sad and lonely. She had been married and divorced, a long time ago, and no kids that I knew of.
I got to thinking that maybe our earlier sex romps were rushed because, although she liked me as a person and client—and I liked her—she didn’t want to get too emotionally attached. Or maybe she thought that I didn’t want that.
“Just so you know,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “I’ve been told I snore a bit.”
She smiled.
“Fortunately, farm-boy,” she replied—she often kidded me about my conservative, Midwestern upbringing — “I ordered a penis plug gag that would completely muffle the noise. We just never got around to trying it out.”
We elected to defer that piece of equipment to another time and place. As we got ready for bed, I realized I hadn’t brought pajamas or a toothbrush.
“Oh, you country-bumpkin,” she chuckled, “you’ve got something to learn about impromptu sleepovers.
“I mean, we’ve been naked most of the day; what makes you think I’d let you wear ‘jammies,’ anyway? And secondly, you can use my toothbrush, if you’re not squeamish about it. We’ve certainly exchanged our fair share of saliva tonight; not to mention other bodily fluids.”
(Melissa’s a practical and experienced lady, whereas I, despite my boy-next-door good looks and sizable cock, hadn’t actually been with too many women up to that point.)
As we settled in for the night, cuddling with her head on my naked chest, she whispered, “Dirk? Could I tell you something I’ve never told anyone else? Something in complete confidence?”
I told her I’d take it to my grave.
She unburdened herself in the darkness.
------------------
I will not repeat what she shared with me in those next few minutes; that’s for her own memoirs, if she chooses to write them. Let’s just say my agent—now my lover, my friend—went through a rough patch in her life.
For someone who had never engaged in bondage before, I was beginning to see the benefits:
One, Mel and I wouldn’t have achieved the intimacy that we did, had we not engaged in the trust and power-sharing aspects of that activity earlier that evening.
Two, even when you trust the partner who’s binding you, the small—but instinctive—feelings of apprehension in the period leading up to sex is a hell of an aphrodisiac.)
Mel and I didn’t make love during our pillow talk, but she did wake me up with a wonderful, sensual blowjob. I offered to make it a 69, but she insisted on treating me. I relaxed and let her have her way.
(She always gets her way, and that has always been to my benefit.)
We dressed and finished the remnants of the Chinese take-out for breakfast in her office. We laughed and talked; it might have been the most pleasant Saturday morning I’d had since I came to California.
As I was finally getting ready to leave, Melissa checked her email. I was scheduled to meet with the casting director, Elaine Aldana, at her office Monday morning, to try out for the part of Emerson Drake.
That would give me two days to recuperate from our erotic marathon, which was a good thing; Melissa warned me that the combination audition/screen test would involve showing off not only my acting skills, but my body.
All of it.
Intimately.
Okay, I thought; if I’m going to swim with the big boys, I’m gonna have to jump off the deep end.
If only I knew then how deep those waters would get.
Next: Walking the plank. And the audition begins.
