The One-Way Voyage (day 17)

DAY SEVENTEEN

The rhythm of my new life.

Pleasure and pain.

Master told me they were the two basic facts of a slave's life, and he wasn't kidding. I gradually learned to endure the pain when I had to and accept the pleasure where I could find it.

After two weeks, we had settled into a rhythm. My days were now simple and predictable, and that made them much easier to take. Mornings began with Master toileting and showering me. He continued to chain my wrists above my head when we showered, taking pleasure in washing my body with his own hands. He also liked to tickle me; we both learned I was most sensitive on the insides of my thighs. He would tease my nipples one minute, then pinch them hard and make me yelp the next, but especially his hands were all over my dick and balls and ass. Sometimes he'd stick a finger into my asshole on the pretext of washing it. My balls got special attention too, but Master loved scrubbing my dick best of all. He never took me as far as orgasm, but I always left that shower with a full hard-on that wagged up and down with every step as he led me topside.

There I'd raise the sails while Master went up to the cockpit and did whatever he did up there. Plot our course for the day, I supposed. I felt pleased that Master let me do my work unsupervised; it meant he was beginning to trust me. That would come in useful someday, I told myself, though right then I couldn't have said how. When I finished with the sails, I was to join him in the cockpit, where I stood at attention without speaking until he finished his work and then followed him back down to the main deck, where he'd set the sails for the day, depending on how the wind was blowing. Most days he'd let me help.

Then would come breakfast. I'd sit on my cushion in the dining room while Master cooked and I sniffed the air, trying to guess what was coming. Master usually prepared himself a plate of eggs and toast and a mug of coffee. I was off the liquid diet by the second week; now whatever Master had for himself, he made me a plate of the same, except for the coffee. Coffee was only for Master. I didn't get utensils either, just a plate of food, leaving me no choice but to pick at it with my fingers as best I could, then lick the plate to finish off whatever I couldn't pick up, while Master watched me with amusement. I was glad to be eating real food again, but he still wasn't feeding me enough. I was perpetually hungry.

After breakfast, we'd go to the training room and fuck. Usually, Master put me on the fuck bench; other times he'd chain my hands over my head and take me from behind where I stood. Today he put me on the black leather sling that barely reached from my shoulders to my waist. There I waited while Master padlocked my wrists and ankles to the four chains that suspended me from the ceiling, my ass just at the level of Master's crotch.

I watched Master undress. His body was compact and his muscles showed when he moved, but he wasn't bulky like a bodybuilder. Here and there he sported patches of black body hair, not too much, not too little. Just the right amount for my tastes. My dick betrayed how much I enjoyed looking at him naked.

Master had a rule that I had to have something in my ass when he jerked me off. Sometimes it was a dildo, or Master's fingers. When I was in the sling, it was his dick. He forced his way into me and moved around gently to settle in before taking hold of me with his lubricated right hand. At first, he just stood as he stroked me, then he began moving in time to the strokes, and I was in heaven. He knew just how to hit my pleasure spot. I felt like I was floating on an orgasmic cloud.

Master allowed me these few moments of ecstasy before he started banging harder, until I shot come over my own belly. Afterward, Master slowed down to stroke me a few moments longer.

He insisted that the slave always had to orgasm first, because slaves needed to understand that the fucking wasn't over until the Master was satisfied, however much or little time that took. I always made howling and moaning noises when I came; it was something about the way he touched me that made it impossible to stay quiet. I was sure he did it on purpose, because the sounds turned him on.

Soon after my orgasm was finished, Master set to work on his own. The frown on his face was always intense as he fucked firmer and faster. This was serious business. Often Master ran his hands over my chest or even leaned over and kissed me while he fucked me. I liked that. But today he was focused entirely on pounding my ass. The rest of me might as well have not even been there.

Master breathed hard, gasped, moaned, pounded a couple more times, and I felt him coming inside me. If looking at him naked was fun, watching him lean over me with that grim face, eyes popping and body trembling as he blew his load into me, was just indescribably hot.

I asked myself, for the millionth time, whether there was something wrong with me for enjoying this, but it was fucking, right? It was going to happen whether I wanted it or not, so what was difference did it make?

Besides, I had promised Master I would obey him, sort of, on that day he tried to make me suck his dick.

I'll do whatever you say; just please don't make me suck dick,

I'd said. He'd replied me that slaves don't get to bargain with their masters, which left me wondering how many more times he was going to demand it, and how many more lashes I was going to get each time I failed.

Nothing like that happened; Master never tried to get me to suck him again, despite all his talk about doing whatever he wanted with me. We had an unspoken agreement, and he was holding up his end, so that meant I should too, didn't it?

It was confusing. Everything about this deal was confusing. I wished I had someone to talk to about it, but I only had Master, and Master's opinion always boiled down to this: I was born to be a slave, I was lucky he chose me, what I thought didn't matter, and I would learn to enjoy it.

I hated to admit it, but at least the last of those things was proving true. I

was

learning to enjoy it. As for the other three, color me skeptical.

Master fetched the butt plug as I ruminated. He had a wide collection of butt plugs in different shapes, sizes, and colors. He tried several of them on me, before settling on one that was extra wide. It hurt like hell going in, but it stayed in, and that's what Master cared about. I hated that plug, because it was hot pink. I don't know why, but Master shoving that fat pink thing into me felt especially humiliating. I could imagine how I looked, walking around with a pink handle sticking out of my ass.

Master still believed his wacky idea that draining me of my own semen and filling me with his was somehow changing me. It would make me more like him, he kept saying, until I was part of him. I would eventually understand, he insisted.

Weird.

He stood over me, still naked, and took hold of my balls, squeezing just hard enough to let me know he had a good, solid grip. "Recite the rules."

I'd spent my first ten days aboard this boat memorizing his ten "rules" and getting spanked or lashed with the whip every time I made a mistake, which was a hell of an incentive to get every one word perfect. By now, I had mastered the recitation:

"Rule One: The slave is the property of the Master. The Master may do as he likes with his property.

"Rule Two: The slave must always obey the Master.

"Rule Three: The most valuable parts of the slave are the cock, the balls, and the asshole. The slave must make these available to the Master at all times.

"Rule Four: The cock, balls, and asshole are for the Master's exclusive use. The slave may not touch them at any time.

"Rule Five: The slave has but one duty: to please the Master at all times and in every way.

"Rule Six: The slave may not use pronouns. Pronouns are for people; the slave is property.

"Rule Seven: The slave may not wear clothes. Clothes are for people; the slave is property.

"Rule Eight: The slave may not speak, except to reply to the Master. The slave must answer truthfully at all times.

"Rule Nine: The slave must divulge to the Master any information the Master might need to know. If the slave has information the Master needs, the slave shall say, 'Excuse me, Master,' then wait to be asked.

"Rule Ten: The slave must take care of itself, and inform Master at once if it is sick or injured."

"Very good," he said. He grinned as he gave my balls one playful squeeze and made me yelp.

The rest of the morning was exercise time. Master always made me do a couple hundred crunches; afterward he and I would lift weights together, but if the weather was good, like today, we might run laps on the deck. Twelve laps, which is about a mile. Naturally, Master wasn't satisfied merely to make me run. He had this small electronic box, about the size of a phone, which he clipped to the back of the leather belt I wore around my waist. Two wires from the box ran under my crotch to pads stuck against either side of my scrotum. He carried a remote and could electrify my balls at the touch of a button. He used this liberally during exercise time, whenever he thought I wasn't trying hard enough.

The device also had a timer. When we ran laps, he'd set the timer for fifteen minutes. If I ran twelve laps in that time, no problem. Trouble was, I couldn't. It's wasn't easy to sprint naked, with my dick and balls flapping all over the place, plus I was barefoot, so I had to slow down to make the turns, or else risk rubbing the soles of my feet raw.

Master ran in shorts and sneakers, so he had no trouble keeping ahead of me. He'd usually lap me three or four times along the way. On this particular day, the sky was clear and the sun shone hot and bright overhead—we were now most definitely in the tropics—so every time Master passed me, I got to admire him from behind: watch him work his ass, the sunlight gleaming on his sweaty back. The view was almost worth the pain.

Yes, he also gave me a jolt of electricity every time he lapped me, just for kicks. Today I was lapped four times, then had to run the last two laps with electricity frying my balls. That slowed me down, which made it take that much longer.

The first time we ran laps, about a week earlier, I was able to look over the edge of the aft deck and saw a small motorboat stowed on the port side below, with two arms above it that would allow the boat to be lowered into the water. My mind raced as I considered the possibilities. Could I get away from Master long enough to lower that boat, jump in, start it, and make an escape before he caught me?

But if I succeeded, where could I go? No land was in sight, as far as I could see with my limited vision. Sometimes I could make out huge cargo ships in the distance. If I timed my escape properly, I might get the boat close enough to one of them to yell for help. Maybe the crew would notice and rescue me.

It was just barely possible, but before I could hope to manage all that, I'd need to know how to launch and pilot the boat. I looked for an opportunity to slip away for a few minutes, climb down there, check it out, and see what I could learn.

For lunch we had protein shakes, then went back outside. Master chained me to the deck by the balls, while he spent the afternoon in the cockpit. I passed the time as best I could, keeping to the shade as much as possible. My only entertainment was to stare out at the endless horizon, where the clouds met the sea, but it was a compelling sight. I could lose myself in the vastness of the waters.

After dinner, Master usually toileted me one last time, then locked me into my room for the night. But tonight was different. For the first time, he led me instead to his bedroom. I'd only caught glimpses of it before, on my way to the shower. It was luxurious, at least for a bedroom on a boat, with wood-paneled walls, end tables, a dresser, and a king-size bed. A big TV dominated the wall across from it. And air conditioning! Master's bedroom was the only space on the boat with air conditioning, apart from the cockpit. What a blessed relief it was from the tropical temperatures.

His bedroom also boasted a full-length mirror. Master set me before it and stood beside me, one arm draped around my neck possessively. "What do you think?"

I looked. The guy in the mirror was slimmer and more muscular than I remembered, and he absolutely rocked a golden-brown tan that nicely set off his blond hair, both on his head and between his legs. The tan went everywhere; no lines. I tensed my gut and the guy in the mirror revealed a developing set of abs. "How did you do that?" I blurted.

"Don't ask Master questions." He slapped my ass twice to remind me that I'd broken Rule Eight.

He made me climb into the bed with him and chained my wrists to the headboard. I lay still as Master snuggled against me, one arm around my shoulders, the other rubbing my belly. The sheets were soft against my skin and smelled fresh. I reveled in the sensations, so comfortable and satisfying, compared to the futon in my own hot, stuffy room.

It had been so long since I'd lain in a real bed that I let out a contented sigh as I snuggled back. The press of Master's flesh against mine and the gentle fingers on my stomach soothed me. I felt comforted; I felt desired.

Soon my dick was pointing toward the ceiling. Master nuzzled my neck, tickling me with his breath. I laughed and wriggled. Softly into my ear he whispered, "You love being a slave. Admit it. You want to do this forever. You see how well I know you? I know you better than you know yourself."

"No way," I blurted, temporarily heedless of the possible punishment. "You don't know anything about me."

Master grinned. "Don't I? Let's find out, shall we? We'll start with this." His hand suddenly slid down and grabbed hold of my firm dick. "This tells me a lot right here. My slave is gay, obviously, but there's more to him than that. I've been watching this cock. Every time I order you around, it gets bigger. You want to please me so much, the very thought of it gets you hot. And this cock goes rock hard whenever I punish you. Every fucking time. The mouth can lie, but the cock can't. A cock always speaks the truth, and this one is telling me loud and clear how much you're loving this."

I clenched my jaw and said nothing. Master began stroking me, just a little. My dick got bigger.

"And then there's the contents of your wallet," he continued.

"You looked in my wallet?"

He pinched my nipple hard. "Talking out of turn. Yes, I looked through it. Its contents told me a great deal. I know your name used to be David Anderson."

"That

is

my name," I protested.

This time he slapped my balls, hard enough to make me cry out. "Not anymore. David Anderson no longer exists. You're only a slave, and slaves don't have names."

I flushed with anger, but held my tongue.

"The Iowa driver's license says you come from Clear Lake. And then there was a student ID from the University of Iowa. Those tell me even more. And I remember that text conversation on your phone. That was

really

interesting.

"What makes a young gay man so eager to take orders, so desperate to please?" Master paused before answering his own question. "Because he grew up forever trying to please someone. A father, probably. It's usually the father, but the tough old bird barely acknowledges that he

has

a son. The only time he seems to notice is when the kid fucks up. Never sees the kid's accomplishments, but zeros in like a laser on every mistake. Won't let him hear the end of it. 'Remember that stupid thing you did when you were eight?' Any of this sound familiar?"

I swallowed hard.

"The boy grows up. He keeps trying to please the old man, but fails every time. Around 12 or 13, the kid realizes he's gay. It probably took longer than it should have; he would have been deep in denial. When he finally admits it to himself, he's terrified of how the old man will take the news, so he stays deep in the closet. He'd probably have to in a town like Clear Lake anyway. Am I right?"

Master paused to run one finger up and down my dick, then over my balls. It made me shiver, even as I began blinking hard.

"He might date a few girls in high school, just for show, but in the privacy of his bedroom he's jerking off to gay porn on his phone. He graduates high school and moves on to the University. What a relief!" Master paused and looked me in the eye. I looked away. "Finally he can be himself. Maybe even come out, to a few people, and begin to experiment with his sexuality. College gives him ideas, and by the end of his junior year, he gets brave enough to go home to Clear Lake and come out to his parents."

God damn him. Doesn't he know how much this hurts?

"But it's a disaster. It seems Daddy and Mommy don't love their little boy as much as he thought they did. They kick him out of the house and cut him off. No more college. What now? Well, there's this guy Matt. Someone older, it seems. Someone he looks up to? Someone who is also gay and not afraid to let the world know. I'm guessing Matt escaped Iowa and settled in San Francisco. So our boy spends the last of his money on a bus ticket and follows him. He dreams of moving in with Matt and, for the first time in his life, being honest about who he is. But, no. When he turns up at Matt's apartment, he's shocked to learn Matt's with another guy. He should have expected that, but he was living out a fantasy, you know? Matt and his partner aren't willing to take in a charity case. So our boy wanders the streets of an unfamiliar city, with no money and no place to go. He slips into a gay club. Maybe he's hoping some older guy will buy him dinner and take him home."

This is where the tears began. Every one of Master's words lashed at me like the whip. It was bad enough I was messed up; even my life story was as predictable and ordinary as I was. My life had been one long downhill slide, like floodwater rushing down a gully, until it deposited me here, in this place of pain and torment, stripped of everything, even my name. Even my most private pain was Master's property now, one more part of me for him to play with.

Master surprised me by taking me in his arms and drawing me closer to him. He hushed me, kissed at the tears, and said, "You must have hurt so badly. I can't imagine. But it's over now. You've found your place in the world; you're where you were always meant to be."

This set off another round of tears, but different tears, because suddenly I saw the truth. Master

did

know all about me, and this

was

where I belonged. I could have peace here; all I needed to do was obey and trust, and Master would do the rest. No one would ever hurt me again. Except Master, and he only hurt me for my own good.

The tears that flowed now were of happiness.

Master held me and stroked my hair and waited until I was cried out. He wiped the tears off my cheeks with this thumb. I wanted that perfect moment to last forever, but no moment ever does. After a while, it became awkward. I shifted, and Master took that as a cue to release me. His left arm was still wrapped around my shoulders, but his right now slid down my chest and began stroking my cock back into hardness. He kissed me gently on the forehead. "You want to watch a movie?"

I was too stunned to reply. It was the first time he'd ever asked me what

I

wanted. "S-Sure," I stammered.

He reached for the nightstand and clicked a remote. The TV screen on the opposite wall came to life and began running a movie. He must have cued it up ahead of time.