Virtuality: A Pirate Story

Virtuality: A Pirate Story, a story by dwolf34, copyright 2014. All rights reserved. Please do not redistribute without author's consent.

This story is a work of fiction. All resemblance of names, characters and places are coincidental and non-malicious in intent.

Word count: 16070


This story contains violence, m/m sex, consensual BDSM and pirates. If any of these bother you, please feel free to stop reading now.

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The room was stark white, one mirrored wall making it look bigger than it was. The chair was deeply padded black leather facing away from the mirror. It was the only item in the room besides my client and myself. I liked simplicity for introductions. Or at least, for the beginnings of introductions.

My client was a tall man with beautiful dark skin unmarred by age or hard wear. He looked to be in his mid twenties, but that could be an illusion. The line of his nose and cheeks hinted that his ancestors hadn't all come from Africa, but I was betting that his eyes were as dark as his tightly cropped hair. He was wearing the analog of the suit he'd come through the door in, complete with pale blue tie and perfectly shined shoes. The consistency of clothing often helped bridge the gap between reality and virtuality, and that made it important for first timers like my client.

The name in his file was simply "Jim". He'd stated he wanted a sexual fantasy, but hadn't been any more specific than that. I hoped for something spicy, but I'd deliver whatever he wanted. It was his dime, after all. He'd paid for a four hour story, asked for plot and resolution. My kind of challenge.

I was monitoring, so I knew exactly when Jim's full interface came online. He didn't give anything away, which only told me he'd listened to the coaching he'd gotten from the techs who had suited him up. He stayed quietly still until I spoke.

"Hello, Jim. I'm Dianna, your guide through this part of your experience. If you'll open your eyes now, we'll begin." I had the smile in my voice that welcomed my client.

He opened his eyes, proving I was right about the color. I gave him a moment to study my icon - the image of myself in a simple white shirt and slacks. Myself before the accident that had stolen my legs, actually. No need to project the mangled flesh that was my reality.

Jim took a moment to look around, then smiled. "I guess I expected something fancier. An office, maybe."

I shrugged the icon's shoulders. "The first principle of virtuality is that it can be anything the mind can imagine. I wanted to give you the opportunity to tell me about yourself and what you're looking for today without distractions."

"I asked for you because a friend of mine loved the fantasy you did for him. We watched the flatscreen recording last week, and I just couldn't get it out of my mind. He finally talked me into this, and promised I'd love it." He licked his lips, dropped his eyes, and blushed. "He doesn't know I'd rather be the submissive than the dominant he played."

I made sure my smile was in my voice, and not the purr I wanted to use. BDSM stories were my best because I liked them. But this was about Jim, not me. "This is your story. You can play any part in it that you'd like."

Jim looked up at me, still blushing. "But I don't want St... I mean my friend to know that I want the submissive role. And he'll expect me to share the recording." He was gripping the arms of the chair, now, leaning toward me. A pleading note had crept into his voice.

"I can work with that, too. Neither character has to look like your real body, at all." The reservations he had were still in his eyes, so I continued calmly. "And if both characters have some traces of your personality, your friend will see what he expects - that you chose the same role he did."

He nodded, but bit his lip in an endearing way. "I want both roles to be male. He knows I'm bi."

I kept the thought that his friend probably turned him on to myself and just nodded. "So you want something like what your friend had, with the roles reversed and an all male cast. And you said I authored that story for your friend?"

Jim nodded, but his grip on the chair arms was easing.

"May I ask his name, then? His story should be in my data banks. Reviewing it will help me give you a similar experience without exact duplication."

"I'm not sure he used his real name. But the story title was 'Naughty Nate, Nice Nancy'." Jim had the decency to blush about the title.

I did not let my icon roll its eyes. Titles were assigned by the clients, so it wasn’t my fault. "Thank you. That should be enough to find it. Why don't you move some while I do a little quick research?" I decided that a little tease was in order, and grinned at my client. "It might be your last chance at liberty before your story begins."

I enjoyed his blush even as I walked the icon past him and out the "door". I continued to monitor him while I devoted part of my attention to the title he'd given me. Despite the title, it was a nice piece of work. I had a few notes about Nate that his friend might be interested in. Like the fact that Nate had changed his mind about the sex of his story's sub several times before settling on female.

While I went over the story's details, Jim walked around the room not really looking at what little there was to see. Mostly, he stretched, moved, and got used to the sensations of being virtual. The suits were good, but not perfect. He could feel the sensation of the floor under his feet, and the texture of his virtual clothing and skin. When he pinched his own arm, the feel was a little off, a little wrong. He could feel his virtual fingers squeezing down, but the suit couldn't produce enough force to actually bruise his arm.

My own interface was a direct neurological connection, which interacted more smoothly with virtual environments. But I was used to working within the confines of sensations the suits could give, and tailored stories for them. Nate's story had been suited. And, as I checked the details of it, definitely hot. No wonder Jim wanted more of the same.

So, setting first. "Naughty Nate" had a pseudo historical setting in old America's Deep South. But Nate had wanted other people around to brag to. Jim seemed a bit more timid. I thought he'd do better with something private. Maybe even forced privacy. I hadn't done a tropical island in a while, so that was a good setting. Make Jim a captive for the dominant male already on a tropical island. Good, sweaty, sandy fun. And the beginnings of plot. A man lands on a tropical island and is dominated by the island's only inhabitant. Does he fight for and finally find escape, or does he settle in and become the dominant's well trained toy? Well, now, that would be telling.

Time to fine tune the characters. I took a look at Nate's file again, first. He'd been a bigger black man than Jim, with stronger features and lighter skin, almost mulatto. I altered my icon to match, then added two inches and toned the muscles. I merged his facial features with Jim's, trending them more towards Jim, making the skin tone darker. The cock, instrumental to the torment of a male slave, I made sure was a little bigger and longer than Nate's. If the two friends ever did get together, Nate's equipment wouldn't be as frightening as this fantasy dom's was going to be. Lengthening the hair to dreds and clothing the icon in worn and torn trousers and nothing else helped complete the image. I saved it as Algernon Nails, once a pirate captain. Why not?

Now for James Liberton, soon to be the slave Jim, since I was sure “Jim” wasn’t my client’s real name at all. I started the alteration with Jim's image, overlaid it with Nate's and tweaked it a little until it was a lighter skinned amalgamated version that only hinted at either of them. A mulatto cross breed who bordered on pretty, actually. Real life Jim had a few extra pounds around the middle that I subtracted from slave Jim. I gave him long hair pulled back in a club and dressed him in a shirt and breeches that were suitable more to a scholar than a sailor. I made him younger, more vulnerable. He'd be a little less physically active than real life Jim, perfectly helpless against Master Nails.

I spent a little time tweaking a stock tropical island, giving it a lived on appearance. A shack, a couple of firepits, and a nice wet cave to play in. The ruins of a beached and storm blasted old ship gave a reasonable place for boards to have come to the island from. Master Nails would have all the equipment he wanted as well - ring bolts for the cave’s walls, heavy slave chains, and even whips. Creature comforts would come from his former crew, all part of the plot. Blankets and quilts to make a floor nest for the new slave beside Master Nails’ comfortable hammock bed. A mixed medley of dishes and flatware that included two heavy pewter mugs. Buckets and barrels and a beaten up but still magnificent carved chair for Master Nails to lounge in while his slave suffered in chains in the cave. Food would be tropical, lots of shellfish, crab and fruit, supplemented with bland ship’s fare.

Back matter was the next part, crucial to the experience and the continuity of the story’s flatscreen memento version. I set the opening scenes up to introduce the story’s dom with a little narration and a couple of scenes. Algernon Nails would be the pirate captain who isn’t shipwrecked here but marooned by fellow pirates who periodically check on him to see if he’s expired yet. And to leave him offerings, as if he is some demon to be appeased. He’s so sadistic that he scared his own crew into abandoning him. He’s always had a soft spot for scholars, though, making them his own pets. He’s been on the island for five years now, and has had the company of two slaves. The latest will be leaving the island when Jim is taken there, after living with the ex-captain for a whole year - punishment for a crime against his crew. Jim is the replacement that will get the captain to free his current toy.

Jim’s backstory will be a collaboration between me and my client, who was standing in front of the mirror, doing what most clients did the first time they wore a virtual suit. Looking at himself through the eyes of the techs who had taken holographic shots of him before they suited him up. Some things had been altered to mask his identity. Scars, tattoos, moles and all other identifying markers had been removed, including holes from piercings. His features had been age regressed to his mid twenties. To himself, he’d look much different from the man who usually occupied his mirror. The point of having a mirror in this room was to let my clients get used to this version of themselves before they were introduced to the fictional version they’d wear for the story. He seemed calm enough to me, and his heart rate and breathing were at his own baseline. A good enough time to start.

I walked my icon back into the room, giving my client a warm smile. “Ready to start?”

His heart rate jumped, but he turned to me and nodded. Eager and nervous. Nice. “What do I do next?”

“We get you into character next.” I went and leaned against the mirror. “I’m basing this in a semi historical fantasy setting, a bit like your friend’s piece. Your character is James Liberton, born in the city of New Orleans but educated in London’s schools. What would you have liked to study, do you think?”

He turned to his image in the mirror. “I always loved philosophy and the Greek classics - Homer and the like. Would that be too out of character?”

“Absolutely not.” I let my own smile reach my icon’s face. “Close your eyes, please, and tell me what you know about education in London in the time when the New World was a very new colony.”

His eyes snapped shut. “I don’t know much. It was very formal, right? With corporal punishment and a strict hierarchy among the students.”

“Yes. And very expensive.” I started making the changes to turn my client into Jim, taking them slowly so he’d barely feel them. “As a mixed breed young man, James would have had some difficulty fitting in.”

He nodded and thought a moment. “I imagine he’d have sucked up to the biggest, meanest kids around, and the teachers, too.”

“True. He’d still have been bullied, but maybe not as much.” I shifted my icon, let the sound of my movement fill the room. “I’m changing your appearance now, James Liberton. While I do, tell me your middle name.”

He shifted a bit uneasily, feeling the changes I made to his clothing more than anything. “Mathew, after my mother’s father.”

Repeating his fictional name was a trick to help him remember it. “James Mathew Liberton. You’ve been in England for the last eight years, going to boarding school there, staying part of the time with your father’s brother, Arthur Liberton the third. Uncle Arthur doesn’t really like you much. He’s even told you you’re a disgrace to the family, and he only doesn’t send you home because your father’s business in the New World has been making him another fortune.”

My client winced. “I’m sure he’s taken a strap to me more than once, then.” His cock thickened, responding to signals from his real body back in the suit. His neurological feeds told me that what he was thinking about was getting him emotionally and mentally excited, too. Master Nails would get to play hard with this toy, and that made me grin, as well.

“At least once a week. He seemed to like to bruise your ass and then pretend to ignore you when you sat funny for a day or two.” More excitement at that thought. “What did you do about it, young James Mathew?”

His hands clenched and unclenched. “I took it like a man. Father said being here would make me into a man, if I behaved myself and did what my betters told me to do.” He bit his lip. “Secretly, I liked it. I even gave him excuses to beat me, sometimes. I did it at school, too.”

In my own comfortable chamber, my scarred face broke out into a grin. This fantasy wouldn’t be work. It would be fun, and I’d get to indulge my own sadistic streak with my perfectly willing client in the safe environment of virtuality. I wanted him on my island, right now.

“So when your uncle pulled you from school one day, you weren’t surprised that he seemed to be so angry with you that it actually worried you some. He was silent on the coach ride that followed, and had ordered you to be so, too. You might have pushed just a little harder than was wise.”

He took a deep breath. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mocked the headmaster with that drawing that got passed around.”

“Yes, not wise. Open your eyes, James, and look at yourself.”

I watched my client as he did what he’d been told. The room had remained stark white, and the mirror was in front of him. The chair was gone. In my white clothing, I blended into the background. He had very little to focus on but himself, and he did. White shirt with a starched collar, pale grey pants that gathered just below the knee, white stockings and black shoes with a buckle on top, and a jacket with a school’s crest. I’d made him younger, maybe nineteen. Staring at himself, Jim blushed. And his erection got harder. I let him look a few moments longer.

“That coach ride is the last thing you remember, James Mathew Liberton.” I pointed at the corner. “Sit down over there, close your eyes. When you hear noises, you may open them. I promise the headache won’t be too bad.”

His eyes got a little wide, but he went to the corner and folded himself into it. His eyes closed obediently. I triggered the biofeedback of his suit to make him feel a lump on the back of the head and a bit of the kind of headache that comes from blunt force trauma. I switched the setting to the hold of a pirate ship, removed my own icon, added the motion of water travel, the smell of sea air and finally, the rhythmic sounds of ship life.

Jim opened his eyes. He looked around, startled by the changes, and started to move. That’s when he noticed the chains I’d added to his wrists and feet and the iron collar around his neck. The chain hanging from it was fastened to a ring in the floor with a sturdy lock. Jim spent a moment tugging at the chains, finding the extent of his confinement. He grunted with effort and finally yelled in frustration.

Wearing the guise of a gap toothed pirate crewman, I thumped down the nearby stairs. “Well, it’s awake, finally. Easy with the thrashing, boy. You don’t want to scar that pretty skin now, do you?”

Jim jerked at the chains again. “What’s going on here?”

I cackled a laugh and perched on a barrel, totally comfortable with the ship’s rolling motion. “Why, Lord Fancy Pants paid us a pretty penny to make you disappear, boy. I think he imagined we’d use you for a bit of fun then dump you in the sea when we were done. But we have other plans for you, boyo. Old Algernon Nails is going to love you, with your pretty looks and soft hands.” I cocked my head as he pulled against the chains again. “He’ll like you more if you’re not damaged, boy. And trust me, you’ll want Master Nails to like you. He’ll hurt you less that way.”

I left him yelling profanity at the sailor’s back and let him stew for a bit. Then I went down again as the ship’s boy, a maybe eleven year old dressed in fine clothes and carrying a bowl and a mug. I approached the prisoner cautiously.

“I don’t bite.” Jim said, sounding like he was getting into character very well. He’d calmed down, too.

“I brought you some food and water. Don’t dump it or you’ll get me in trouble, okay?” I made sure I sounded terrified.

Jim, who’d found he couldn’t even stand upright in his chains, sat down in the corner again. “I won’t. But I’m not really hungry.”

I crept closer and set the bowl and mug in Jim’s reach. “You should eat anyway. No telling when they’ll feed you again, and the rats will finish what you don’t.”

Jim nodded and reached for the bowl. I jumped back, frightened. It made him really look at the boy. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re going to see Master Nails. They’re going to trade you for John Blighstone, who’s been there a year. His sentence is up. They said it would have been me, but now there’s you, so I don’t have to go.” I gulped and folded myself into a space between two barrels, well out of Jim’s reach. “I’m sorry you do, but I’m really glad it’s not me.”

Jim looked at the thick porridge in the bowl and scooped some out with his fingers. “Why? Who’s this Master Nails?”

I love it when a client takes the bait. “He was Captain Nails, they say. He likes to torture people. He likes it so much his crew - this crew - marooned him on a secret island. He doesn’t have a ship now, so he’s Master Nails. We bring him food and wine and rum. And people who need to learn a lesson, like John Blighstone. But he won’t let Blighstone go if he doesn’t get someone else in return, and the crew’s been very careful, very good to each other this past year.”

Jim ate the porridge thoughtfully. The suit would provide the texture and flavor of the meal, although I’d made it pretty bland and there’d be no actual content. Psychologically, he’d still react as if it were food, filling a basic need. When fantasies went on longer than eight hours, the body’s nutritional needs were seen to intravenously, like mine generally were. Jim didn’t need that kind of care.

“So they’re taking me to be tortured by this madman. Why? Why not just leave him to rot?” He put the mostly empty bowl on the floor and pushed it toward me.

“That would be really bad luck for the crew. Master Nail’s ghost would surely haunt them all, and he’s the kind who wouldn’t rest until they were all drowned, or worse.” I gathered up the bowl and licked out what was left in it.

Jim picked up the mug and drank. Watered down cheap rum was the flavor I’d chosen, and he reacted with a grimace at the taste. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Tell that to the crew.” I set the bowl carefully aside and pointed to the mug. “I have to take that back up with me.”

Jim nodded and drained the mug with another grimace. “Thanks for being kind to me.” He pushed the empty mug over, too.

I gathered it and the bowl up. “I don’t want Master Nails mad at me, either. You’re for him. That makes you safe from the rest of them, so sleep easy. You’ll need your rest.” I headed up the stairs.

Jim grunted and curled up in the corner, pushing chains around until he was as comfortable as he could get. He closed his eyes. I whispered narration into his ear. The voice over would tell more of his story, including the back story I’d made up for Algernon Nails. But for him right now, it was more intimate narration, accompanied with warm breath against the side of his face.

“The voyage lasts for weeks. The boy keeps bringing food and drink regularly, but always the same fare - thick porridge and watered rum. Every now and then a sailor comes down and just looks at you, not saying anything, not doing anything. Some of them look a little hungry, like they’d like a piece of you for themselves. Most of them seem to pity you, and a couple seem ashamed of themselves, too. You’re never let out of the chains, but with your school jacket gone and the weather mild, you don’t sweat too much. The boy even brings you a bucket to do your business in, and some sea water to wash with every now and again. Still, sleeping on the hard boards and not being able to exercise leaves you tired and weakened. When the sailors come, you don’t have much fight in you.”

Four sailors trooped down to take the collar from around Jim’s neck and half carry him up onto the deck. Jim let them push him down to his knees in front of the pirate captain. He looked around a little, enjoying my scenery of pirate ship, calm sea, sunlight, seagulls and the little island looming a good way off to port. He’d noticed that he’d lost his shoes and stockings, too. The captain, a big burly man dressed in fine, colorful garments, studied him a moment, fingers tapping on the hilt of his short sword.

I was in the captain with the others as secondary characters, in my control but not part of my immediate experience. “You can read, can’t you boy?” Jim just nodded, still blinking in the sunlight. I turned to the crew. “He’s filthy. Clean him up and then get everything in the boat. I want to be gone from here by noon.”

Jim struggled a little when the crew - now eight or nine of them - removed the rest of the chains and then his remaining clothing. They scrubbed him down with brushes, washed his hair with a stinging soap, dried him roughly and then tossed clothing at him. The shirt was fine soft linen with front ruffles. The trousers were light wool, a pale blue that actually looked good on him. They were a bit tight and the shirt was a bit loose, but Jim managed to get into them on his own. The wrist and ankle shackles went back on as soon as he’d gotten dressed.

Jim reacted to the humiliation and the taunts of the crew by blushing madly through the whole scene. And getting a fresh hard on. He kept it while the crew hustled him down a rope ladder and into a small boat. One of them warned him that he’d drown if he went in the water, which is where they’d throw him if he didn’t lie still. Jim curled up in the bottom of the boat, half frightened and half excited about what was going to happen next.

Six sailors rowed the heavily laden boat toward the shore. Two more sat with muskets pointed toward the shore. Jim couldn’t see what was going on, but he could certainly hear the man shouting from the beach.

“Ahoy, ye bloody schoolgirls! Bring me rum this time?” My voice as Master Nails was gruff.

“We did!” One of the men with a musket yelled back. “And wine, and biscuits and rice. And we brought you a trade for Blighstone, if there’s anything left of him.”

I laughed, and it sounded evil. “He’s in one piece, anyway. Has it been a year already, then?”

“Aye sir. May we come ashore?” For someone holding a musket, he sounded pretty scared. I enjoyed the fact that Jim’s heart had started to race.

“Come on then.” I sat on a rock on the beach and waited for them to pull the boat onto the sand.

The boat was unloaded as background for the story. Jim was hauled from it, dragged through the soft beach sand to where I, Master Nails, waited. He stayed on his knees when they dropped him at my feet, his head down. I grabbed a handful of his long hair and turned his face up to mine. Watching him react to the combination of himself and his friend in my face was fun.

“Pretty as a girl.” I told the sailors. “What did he do and how long do I get to keep this one?”

The sailor to Jim’s right gulped before he answered. “His family wanted him gone, so he’s yours, Master Nails. Keep him as long as you like.”

I tightened the hand in his hair, then let go. His gasp at the little bit of pain was lovely. “I’ll get Blighstone, then.” And off I went.

The sailors toted their goods up to the shack beyond the high water line, but the two with muskets stayed on the beach with Jim, alert and ready. And scared. A chest was brought out and set in the sand in front of him. The lid was opened to show the chest was full of books.

The sailor who’d brought it glanced back toward the jungle Master Nails had disappeared into. “Make sure he knows you can read to him, boy. It’ll make your life easier.” Then he closed the lid and fled back down the beach.

I, as Master Nails, returned leading a stumbling naked man by chains at his wrists. Blood seeped from around the iron manacles. The obvious marks of a whip crisscrossed his body. His balls were dark and swollen. I tossed him to the sand beside Jim, letting him get a good look.

“Fair trade, then. Don’t forget the rum next time, either. And turnip seed. I miss turnips.” I exchanged some keys with one musket wielding sailor while two others helped their friend up and led him off to the boat. The man moaned when they started to move him. I laughed that evil laugh again, and enjoyed Jim’s shudder.

“Got a name, boy?” I asked Jim as the rest of the pirates fled the beach.

“James.” He managed to get out. I really did have him scared at this point. I liked it, but didn’t want to go too far. The boy was a BDSM virgin by his own admission.

I slid my hand into his hair, gripped enough to pull, let loose again. I petted him a bit, watching the boat leave. “What did they tell you about me, James?” My voice had gotten quieter, softer, gentler.

He wasn’t fooled. He trembled where he knelt, and stuttered his reply. “You t-torture people.”

“I like the sound of a whip on flesh, aye. And the moans of pain.” I pulled his hair a bit again and went back to petting. “Blighstone was here to be punished. He stole from his shipmates, a sin no pirate takes lightly. What did you do to your family, boy?”

He shook his head. “I was born a half breed, that’s all. My uncle hates me. He said my p-parent’s died. He wants me dead, too.” And he started crying.

Well, I’d had clients ad lib plot for me before. “You’re as good as, here. We’re too far from anywhere to swim or raft. The crew brings me supplies but they’re not likely to let me off this blasted sandpile. Do you understand that? You’re not getting off the island alive, boy.”

He nodded, tears still falling. I gripped his hair again, then petted some more. “Since you don’t seem to need punishment and you’re here to stay, I think I’ll give you other options than Blighstone had. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be more than just my whipping post?”

Jim shivered again. “Yes sir.”

I leaned in and licked his ear while I gripped his hair again. Lust dripped from my next words. “Submit to me, boy. Do what I tell you, when I tell you, even if you don’t think you’ll like it. Submit to me and I won’t leave scars on that pretty hide of yours for years yet.”

He sobbed hard and nodded. “Okay. Thank you, sir.”

“Good boy.” I kissed his temple and let him go. “Take this chest up to the shack, boy, and we’ll see what they brought for lunch.”

The chains hampered him a bit, but he managed to haul the heavy chest up to the shack. I followed, humming a waltz, twirling the keys to his manacles on a finger. I got to admire the nice butt in those tight pants, and wondered if he was a well used bottom. His entrance interview said he wasn't averse to penetration and he’d agreed to the suit’s anal insert, but that didn’t mean he had a lot of experience.

The shack was a sturdily constructed single room made of repurposed ship’s timber with a palm thatched roof. It was full of barrels, casks, crates and chests. Jim set the chest of books down and looked around, lost.

I handed him the keys. “Run, and you’ll wear the chains the rest of your stay here, understand me?”

“Yes sir.” Jim took the keys and sat to work on setting himself free.

I looked through the crates and barrels. “Apples again. And hardtack. Half a barrel of salt pork. Ah, wine.” I pulled out a bottle and examined it. The thick green glass had a fancy label and a wire over the cork. I put it back and went on. “Rum. Oh, here’s something nice.” I pulled out a crock. “Honey.” Then I pulled out another and opened it. The smile I showed him was pure evil lust. “Oil. They must have liked you, boy.” I set the jar down and reached for a handful of his hair again. I wanted to look into his eyes when I asked the next question. “Did you bend over for the whole crew, or just the captain and mate?”

He looked confused for a moment, then his eyes went wide. “N-none of the them fucked me, sir. They were saving me for you, they said. They didn’t lay a hand on me except to wash me clean, there at the end.”

I let his hair go. “Fucked. Such an elegant word.” He dropped his head. I crouched in front of him, making him look at me again. “The crew didn’t fuck you, but someone else has, haven’t they, boy?” He blushed hard and nodded. “You liked it, didn’t you, boy?”

He blushed, but this time he didn’t admit it. I slapped him hard enough to tumble him over sideways. “I want answers fast and honest, boy, or I’ll hear you scream.”

His eyes were wider. His cock was also harder. “Yes sir. I did like it, sir.”

I kept eye contact. “Even when it hurt?”

He nodded and blushed harder. “More when it hurt, sir, when it was hard and fast and brutal.”

I stood and turned back to the larder. “We’ll get along just fine then, boy.”

It took him a moment to pull himself up and finish unlocking the manacles. I popped open a cask and used my knife to slice into a large round of cheese. The scent was designed to make his mouth water, and I watched him react to it. “Hungry boy?”

“Yes sir.” He started to get up to join me.

“Stay down there, on the ground.” I leaned against a heavy barrel, broke a bit of the cheese off, and held it down by my knee. “You’ll eat from my hand, or not at all.”

He blushed for me some more. I waited patiently for him to come and take the cheese from my fingers, lips closing briefly over them. His only hesitation came from pausing to adjust his hard on in the tight pants. Master Nails, I, was pleased, and fed the boy more cheese while eating some myself. But as much as we both enjoyed it, this wasn’t what my client really wanted from his story. Nate had spanked Nancy to tears before fucking her, and then he’d tormented her some more. From the way he’d reacted to Uncle Andrew’s supposed attentions while we formulated back story, Jim wanted to be beaten hard, and probably more than once. From the way he’d crawled over to me to be fed, he wouldn’t even put up a fight about it.

I pushed away from the barrel and the boy kneeling beside it and looked into another chest. “Blankets, rags, old sailcloth, rope.” I left the chest open, went over and tossed the chains that had bound him on top of the blankets. The keys went into my pocket. And then I opened the chest he’d carried in. “Books!” I bellowed it, and Jim ducked his head. “Those smarmy sons of….”

“Sir?” He said it very quietly.

I turned on him, let him see the rage in my eyes. “What?!”

“I can read, sir. I can read to you.”

I let the anger morph to lust, with just a little bit of violence mixed in. “You can read. Are the books yours then? Are those sons of neutered goats playing some kind of game with me?” I stalked over to him, grabbed his hair again. “Are you, boy? You sound too good to be true. You going to knife me in my sleep?”

He whimpered, a sound that went right to my virtual cock. I shook him a bit. “Answer me, boy.”

“I don’t know what to say!” Tears began running down his cheeks. His cock was rock hard. “It’s not a conspiracy, I promise. I wouldn’t dare try to kill you. I’d mess it up and you’d torture me for sure.”

I gave him a toss toward the chest. “I may torture you anyway. Pick out a twice damned book and make it quick.”

Jim picked himself up and dug into the chest. Chaucer was on top, but beneath it were The Odyssey and The Republic. Jim chose Homer over Plato and held it out to me.

I grabbed it and opened the cover. Upside down. I thumbed through it, pausing at an illustration, turning it rightside up. Then I looked at Jim where he knelt beside the chest, looking nervous. “What kind of story is this, boy?”

“It’s The Odyssey, sir. An English translation of an old Greek story….” I cut him off with a snarl.

“I’ve heard of Homer, boy.” I snapped the book shut. “I think it’s time for you to lose the clothing. You won’t need such things around here.”

Jim whimpered again but pulled his shirt off. He folded it and put it in the trunk with the books, then stood up to work his too tight pants down. He couldn’t decide which way to face - toward the angry pirate who’d see his raging hard on or away, exposing his soon to be vulnerable backside. It made him hesitate. I growled something incoherent and advanced on him again, tossing the book lightly into the trunk on top of the chains as I went. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and the crotch. He made a funny sort of noise, half terrified whimper and half ecstatic lust. It was cute.

“Obedience is not optional, boy.” I squeezed his package until he groaned. “Fear gets a lot of men hard, and this little toy in your pants belongs to me now. You don’t get to hide it anymore.” I squeezed again, a bit harder. He didn’t pull away, but he did try to curl up around the pain. “Don’t waste any more time.”

I let him go and he immediately stripped the pants off, blushing dark red again and whimpering in fear. I paid attention to his heart rate and other monitors. He was worked up, but nowhere near a danger zone. It was time to turn anticipatory fear into something hotter, sexier, and a bit more painful.

I let the young man fold the pants and put them in the trunk, then I slammed the lid closed and grabbed the back of his neck again. Without words, I pushed him to his knees and bent him over the chest. I kicked his knees wide apart, then leaned down and smacked his ass hard, my big hand covering one whole cheek. He jumped at the pain. Surprised that the suit could deliver that much sensation or surprised at his own reaction to it was something I wasn’t sure of. It didn’t matter. I smacked his other cheek.

He groaned. “Oh god!”

“No gods here but me, boy. This is a lesson.” I smacked him again, back to the first cheek. “You told me you’d submit, even when it’s hard.” Another smack, and another groan from him. “You don’t get to decide which orders you’ll follow.” Another. “You follow them all, and you follow them fast.” I kept alternating sides, and hitting him hard. “If I put you in a position, you’ll stay there until I tell you you can move.” He groaned more loudly at that. “If I tell you to bend over for me, you’ll brace yourself on something just like this and spread yourself for me.” He whimpered. “From now on you’re going to let me do anything I want to you.” I grabbed his balls instead of hitting him and he arched his back and moaned for me. “You want to, because if you struggle, if you resist, if you try to run, you’ll only make me want to hurt you more.” I squeezed and he gasped and curled around the chest. He’d heard me. He wasn’t trying to get away.

I let his balls go. He sobbed and panted while I retrieved the crock full of oil. He closed his eyes when I knelt behind him. I grabbed a handful of his hair. “Tell me you want what I’m about to do. Make me believe it, boy.”

“Oh god, sir, fuck my ass, please.” His pleading sounded genuine, anyway.

I dipped two fingers in the oil and shoved them into him. “More.”

He jerked at the rude opening, and I knew his body had felt the anal insert abruptly grow within him. “Master Nails, sir, I want you to pound into my ass, fill me with your cock, take your pleasure with my body.”

I worked my fingers in deep, stretching him a bit, letting the anal insert prepare his real body for the intrusion to come. The suit’s failsafes wouldn’t damage him at any rate, but I wanted him to know Master Nails didn’t want to damage him, either. “Going to mark you inside with my seed, boy. If you’re good, I won’t bloody you with the whip today, even after all your insolence.”

“I’ll be good,” there were traces of tears in his voice again. “I’ll be good, sir.” And he even pushed himself further onto my fingers, moving just enough to fuck himself on them.

“You know, I think you will.” I pulled my fingers out, freed my own package, and slicked up my big, ready cock. No more banter, no more playing. I set the tip against the boy’s open asshole and pushed.

He grunted, moaned, and pushed back. Nice touch. I shoved my way in and didn’t stop to let him adjust. Back in his real body, the anal insert was growing, filling him. Here in the fantasy it was me, big hot cock being engulfed by his hot, hungry hole. And like usually happens when I really get into the story I’m telling, I felt his body closing around my cock. Virtuality had ceased to mean anything. The story had become real to us both.

I, Algernon Nails, once pirate captain and now marooned sadist, took the prize my crew had left me, this pretty boy who cried even as he shoved himself onto my cock. I fucked him, and his mixed moans and sobs made the whole experience sweeter. I pounded him hard and long, completely in control of my own body, taking him from pain to pleasure and back again to pain. When he’d screamed for me until he was hoarse, I gave him my seed, just like I’d told him I would.

I let him lie over the chest while I put myself away. He was panting and whimpering, clinging to the chest. My juices mixed with a little of the oil leaked from his red hot ass. I could see tears still falling into the sand beneath his face. Best of all, his hips were moving restlessly and his cock hung hard and heavy and deep red between his thighs, bumping helplessly against the chest, leaving a wet spot on the weathered wood.

I sat on the sandy floor and pulled my boy into my lap. He buried his face against my bare chest, and I let him. But my hand crept into his hair and I petted, then gripped, then petted, then gripped. Odd that the combination of gentle but slightly humiliating comfort and lightly painful control settled him down. I said nothing, just let the boy catch his breath.

When he did, he looked up at me, face streaked with tears. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, boy.” I wiped a thumb through the tears and tasted them. “What was the lesson?”

His eyes went wide for a brief second. “Submitting to you means following orders even when I’m scared what will happen when I do.” A shiver ran down his spine and his rock hard cock rubbed against my bare belly.

I pushed his legs out of my way and started playing with that toy. “Will you resist me again, boy?”

We both knew he would, just so I’d beat his ass again. He played the game. “No sir. I’ll bend over for you. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

What I wanted was to tease him until he was totally out of control. “Be still.” The command was quiet, but he stilled immediately. I kept playing with his cock, teasing, not giving him enough sensation to find release but keeping the pressure on so he got no relief at all. It didn’t take long before he was biting his lip, fighting his body to do what he’d been told.

I turned up the heat. “Don’t shoot until I tell you you can.” And of course I immediately began to stroke his twitching cock, my hand wrapped around it, the rhythm just right.

He managed to force himself still for a few more minutes. Then he shouted something that wasn’t a word and grabbed the base of his cock. I squeezed down until he curled around my hand in agony, gasping for air. But he didn’t fight, didn’t try to push away, and even moved his own hand back to where it had been. I grabbed his hair again and pulled his ear to my mouth. “Good boy. You may come now.”

It took a couple of strokes after I let up the pressure to bring him off. He shot fountains, and actually passed out for a moment. I grinned, smeared his seed into his skin and waited, monitoring his suit, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I hadn’t pushed too far. His real body had orgasmed with his virtual one, and that was just what I’d wanted.

His heart rate steadied. His eyes blinked open. He looked up at me, trembling, eyes filled with awe. I gave him my evil laugh and dumped his nude ass into the sand.

I got up and stretched, then pulled two apples from the barrel and added them to the chest with the chains. I took the honey and now reclosed oil pot and handed them to my boy before I closed the chest and hefted it up to one shoulder. “Come along, boy. The tools for gathering dinner are up at the cave.” And I led the way out of the shack and into the jungle.

Jim followed, watching the path, a little nervous about being bare outside like this. I ignored the reaction, hummed another waltz tune and strode confidently on. I didn’t worry. I’d made the path well worn, suited for our bare feet. And the walk wasn’t too long, because while I wanted his anticipation to build, I also wanted to play with him some more. The plot called for it. So did his own sexual fantasy. The clock was ticking, an hour down.

The cave entrance was half filled with a stream that tumbled down a rocky bed into a large pool. I didn’t even slow my steps, walking into the cave beyond. It opened up immediately, the big room cool and damp and fragrant with the clean water that tumbled from a higher passage into a smaller pool inside. I set the chest down on the dry side of the cave. Jim came slowly in, and I gave him a moment to look around.

Sunlight streamed in from an opening over the pool. It clearly illuminated the hammock, the big carved wooden throne of a chair, the small table beside it and the chains that hung from the ceiling and walls. His attention got caught there, so I urged it on by going to the driest wall and taking down a long, coiled whip. Jim whimpered quietly when he saw what else was hanging there. A classic cotton cat-o-nine, a couple of shorter whips, two heavy straps and a headmaster’s cane. Not a single gentle tool in the bunch.

I hung the longer whip from my rope of a belt and motioned to a shelf beside the table. “Honey goes over there. The oil too.”

He put them away, and when he turned back to me, I handed him a shovel and a wooden bucket. “We’ll have clams for dinner boy. Ever dug for them?”

His voice was a little rough. “No sir.” He gave the shovel a dubious look.

“It’s not hard.” I fingered the rather sinister looking whip at my hip. “I’ll give you plenty of motivation.”

He shivered, and his pretty, bare cock started to rise again. Very nice.

I marched him down to the beach. I showed him - once - what to look for and how to pull the clams from their hiding place under the sand. Then I handed him the shovel. “Dig for clams, boy. If you guess wrong about where they are, you’ll feel my whip. If you spend too much time looking, you’ll feel my whip. If you talk too much, you’ll feel my whip.” I uncoiled eight feet of leather and threw it, cracking the tip right next to his bare thigh. He jumped. “Get to work!”

He got to work. His first two guesses were right, but I had control about where the clams actually were. His third try failed, and the whip bit his bare ass. He yelled and stumbled forward, then got back to work immediately. I let him find three more clams before failing again. The whip caught him high on one shoulder. He reeled from the pain but he was already looking for more clam holes. I wondered if he’d figured out that a pop came well before the pain, yet. Not that the realism mattered. He found another clam, then another. And then desperately looked for more. There were no signs. He put the shovel in the sand and came up empty. I snapped his other ass cheek.

I’ll be honest. Throwing a virtual bullwhip is far easier than throwing the real thing. It’s also no where close to as painful as the real thing. What Jim was feeling was a hot sting and a heavy push. Three hard blows from a real bullwhip would be enough to nauseate most people. Jim would be able to stand many more of these little strikes. But the emotional and mental strain of knowing they were coming and being helpless to stop the torture was my real goal.

I gave him another clam to find, and he put it in the bucket. Then looked around. No more holes. He hesitated, and I popped his other shoulder. He turned to me. “There aren’t any more, sir!”

I grinned and threw the whip again. It caught him just above the nipple, and he fell back on his butt, screaming and clutching his injury. I took a step forward and raised the whip again. He grabbed the shovel and looked around desperately. I let him find another hole, bring another clam out of the sand. Then I gave him another decoy. And snapped the whip on his ass again.

“Two more nice big ones and we’re done, boy. Don’t stop now.”

He needed the encouragement to look again. Another hole was just down the beach, and he pounced on it. I followed, watched him pull a clam from the sand and toss it into the bucket. He looked around. I raised the whip. He spied a hole and dug. The clam was small, but he tossed it in anyway and turned to me, grinning.

I popped the whip on the side of his hip and he staggered, grunting in shock. “Too small. Find another.”

“But you said….” I let him start, let him cover his mouth and turn back to his task. Then I popped his ass again.

He fell to his knees this time with a scream of pain and rage. I waited to see if he’d turn on his tormentor. He didn’t. He dutifully searched the sand again, found another hole, and dug. I let him find his treasure this time, a reward for being good. It was the biggest clam of all. He put it in the bucket and turned back to the sand.

I grinned. “Enough, boy. Back to the cave.”

I did the next bit in quick cut scenes, something that I’d found worked especially well in stories as short as this one. I skipped the walk after two steps, showed the clams and apples cooking in a fire pit inside the cave, then a meal I ate sitting by the fire and he ate kneeling at my side, taking morsels from my fingers.

And started the story again with Algernon grinning at the tired and beaten boy beside him. “Bend over for me, boy.”

And Jim looked around for something to brace himself over. He chose the chest, got into position and spread his knees wide. I stripped my pants off and got the oil. And the lighter strap off the wall.

The whimper the boy gave me was hot. “Please no,” in his quietest voice was hotter. Hottest of all was the fact that he stayed put even when I set the oil beside him and brought the strap down on his bare ass.

He took it like a man, gritting his teeth and grunting only at the worst of the blows. I heated his ass up to a glowing red, knowing the welts from the whip would turn from dull aches to fiery brands all over again. Then I oiled his hole and took him again, going in rough and working for my own pleasure. He thrust himself back against me, tightened himself around me, did what he could to make it good for me. It clearly hurt him, my rough thrusts against his welted ass. He had tears on his cheeks again, but he was panting, hard, wanting what I was giving him.

This time, I reached around his hip, took his cock in my hand, and stroked him to climax before I came in his ass. “Good boy,” I told him again while he tried to catch his breath after.

“Thank you sir.” His voice was barely there.

I took pity on him and made him a nest of the blankets from the chest before I locked the heavy collar around his neck that chained him to the cave wall for the night. I collapsed into my hammock and proceeded to snore loudly.

The firelight faded out. The seductive voice in Jim’s ear whispered in the total darkness. “The night seems far too long. You toss in the blankets, reliving the day, the pain, the humiliation, the fear. Even so, the welts from the whip return to a dull ache, the fire goes out of your ass, and your exhausted body drifts off to sleep.”

The suit wouldn’t simulate sleep itself, but I let the set go perfectly quiet and stay dark for a moment while I faded the suit's various pain signals away. Then I cued the dawn.

The boy in the nest of blankets “woke” first. The pirate snored on. I let him look around, feel his whip welts and the heavy collar around his neck. I watched his gaze settle on the torture instruments on the wall while his cock rose to attention. He was thinking about the next scene, about what the pirate might do. And he was hoping his tormentor would hit him some more. When the longing got bad enough, Jim moved. The chain clanked, and the pirate woke.

I tipped myself out of the hammock and stretched. Scratched my belly. Looked over at my captive and grinned. “Stay.” And laughing that evil laugh I walked out of the cave, leaving him chained to the wall.

He didn’t panic. He couldn’t reach anything. But he could and did stand, stretch a bit like the pirate had, and then sit back down, sighing. He leaned against the wall and seemed to doze off. For the flatscreen recording, I composed a scene where the pirate takes a leak on a tree, bathes in the pool outside, walks down to the shack to gather breakfast for them, then returns. I didn’t let Jim wait quite that long, though. His time was ticking on. Two hours left.

I stepped back into the cave and set my bounty on the table. Then I went to my boy, who’d opened his eyes at my step. “Didn’t sleep so well, did you?” He shook his head and I unlocked the collar. Then I put my thumb on the welt on his chest and ground down into the bruise beneath. He grunted but stayed still for it. “You’ll sleep better tonight, I’d wager. Get your book, boy and start reading while I make us some breakfast.”

He got the book, settled where the light was good, and started reading. I dressed before I cooked up some rice with bits of fruit and fried some salt pork in a pan. Then I sat in the chair while he knelt at my feet. I fed him and myself with the same spoon, then sent him to wash the dishes in the pool outside. A scene cut had him back inside in seconds, putting the pans away on the shelf.

When he turned to me, I pointed lazily at the wall of torture instruments. “I’m going to beat you now, boy. Just because I want to. Pick out something nice for me to use on you, that’s a good boy.”

Jim shivered and turned to the wall. Whips, straps, cane, cat. No easy way out. He trembled a little as he walked to them, then reached out and took the cat down. His erection had softened a bit when he came back with it, but he knelt between my bare feet and offered me the cat.

I took it and laid it over the chair arm. Then I reached for a handful of my boy’s hair and pulled his head down onto my thigh. I played with his hair for a bit, petting then grasping like I’d done the “day” before. Slowly, he relaxed into it.

“You like being hurt, don’t you, boy?”

“Yes sir.” He sighed and raised his eyes to mine without moving his head. “It makes my cock hard, even while I’m in pain.”

I tapped the cat with my free hand. “This one’s brutal, boy. It’s made to open skin. You’ll bleed.”

He nodded. “It scares me.”

“That’s why you picked it, then?”

He nodded again and shivered. “And you like the torture. You want to hurt me.”

“I do indeed.” I pushed his head away and handed him the cat. “More than once today. Put the cat away. We’ll save it for a day I’m feeling lazy or angry. Bring me a strap.”

I wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved, but he went to back to the wall, hung the cat on it’s peg, and brought me the strap he hadn’t felt yet. I patted his head. “Go outside, find a tree to hug. Don’t make me search for you.”

He groaned and headed out. I gave him a moment before I followed. He’d picked the closest tree, and he’d pressed himself tight against the bark, arms around it, holding on tight. I approved.

And I laughed. “Eager boy.” I brought the strap down on his ass, away from the bruises left by the whip. He yelped. “Ask nicely for the next one.”

That made him blush again. “Please sir may I have another?”

The porn flick answer made me grin again. I laid the strap across his bruises. He grunted.

“Please sir hit me again?” He’d barely caught his breath.

I obliged and left a stinging stripe across the bruises on his shoulders. He flinched against the tree. “Thank you, sir. More please?”

I gave him another across the shoulders. He caught his breath, asked again, took another blow from the strap. Then did it again. I covered his back, ass and thighs with red marks from the strap, then concentrated on his ass. He kept asking for each blow, thanking me for some. Kept asking even after he started crying.

He was holding onto the tree and shaking when he changed tactics. “Please sir, will you fuck your boy? I need you, sir.”

I strapped his ass again, right across the bruises. “Get on your hands and knees, boy.”

He went eagerly. I brought the strap down on his back. “Crawl into the cave, boy. You want the oil for this.”

“Yes sir.” He crawled, and I followed, bringing the strap down on him randomly.

There wasn’t much force behind these blows, but there didn’t need to be. He was hurting already. Without any more prompting, he got the oil and brought it to the chest. I pushed him away before he could brace himself on it.

“I want you in the open, this time. You, staying on your hands and knees for me. Spread yourself, boy.” I took my cock out and oiled it. He moved a little to give me room and spread his knees wide. I put an oiled finger inside him while I was getting to my knees. He rode it like he’d been riding my cock, so I gave him another and let him do most of the work.

“I feel like you own me when you’re inside me, sir.” He grunted when I slid a third finger into him.

“I do own you, boy. My crew gave you to me.” I pulled the fingers out and started shoving my way into him.

He took me in, eagerly. “It scares me, and I still want it.”

I buried myself in him before I spoke again. “What scares you the most?”

He was moving, riding my cock. “That you’ll get tired of me. That I’ll bore you.”

“Not the fact that I want to torture every part of your body?” I let him do all the work for a bit.

“Yes sir, that too.” He blushed and slammed himself back harder, panting with the effort. “But I want that.”

“You want the torture? The strap across the bottoms of your feet until you can’t bear to stand? The whip on your cock until it’s puffed and bruised and uselessly soft?” I rammed into to him, taking over the pace.

He sobbed, “Yes sir.”

He wasn’t kidding. Hardcore, and I’d bet he never knew that about himself. “I’ll tie a weight to your balls and make you drag it around all day.”

“Yes sir. Please.” He met my thrusts, grunting now, tears running freely down his cheeks.

“You’ll put your hand into the stinging strands of a jellyfish on my command.” I wrapped his cock in my hand, let him fuck himself at both ends. “Your guts will still be cramping with the pain when I tell you to put the other one in.”

“I’ll do it for you, sir. To please you.” He lost control, shooting cum into the sand under him.

I pounded into him a couple more times and then gave in to my own orgasm. Then I collapsed on top of him, flattening him into the damp sand. “We’ve a long way to go before I start cutting you, boy. And I still won’t be tired of you, then.”

“Thank you, sir.” His tears fell into the sand.

I let him recover beneath my weight. He closed his eyes, and I took the opportunity for another scene cut, whispering into his ear. "You work next, moving supplies from the shack to the cave. He tells you what to fetch and you bring it. Your reward is the same each time, a moment to rest kneeling between his feet, his hand in your hair. Lunch is cheese from his fingers, and you're exhausted enough to doze after with your head in his lap."

I woke him from that "doze" by shaking his head with my handful of hair. "Clams don't dig themselves, boy. Get the bucket and shovel."

Jim shivered but went. I took a coil of rope and the snake whip off the wall and led the way out of the cave. This time the walk built tension in my client, and I let him experience it. Anticipation got him hard again.

Once on the beach, I had him stand with his feet apart and his hands behind his back. I put the whip in his mouth, let him taste and smell the leather. When I tied his hands together, he moaned softly. I'd put him in more bondage for the next scene, just because that moan went straight to my cock, too.

Now I walked around in front of him, reached between his legs and grabbed the rope that hung from his bound hands. I pulled the rough hemp up snug between his legs, wrapped it once around his scrotum and tied it tight enough to be secure without cutting off the circulation. He whimpered around his mouthful of leather.

I patted his hard cock. "You made such slow work of this yesterday I thought I'd let you hold the bucket today."

Once again I got that hot little terror and lust noise from him, and it made me grin while I tied the bucket to the rope so it would hang well above the ground. Last night, the bucket had been pretty heavy all by itself. I lightened it a little, but still let him feel the weight tugging hard on his balls when I let it hang. The bucket fell against his knees, so every step would add to his torment, but he could see that kneeling would be all he had to do to take the strain off.

I took the whip from his mouth. "Today, you keep that bucket in arms reach of me. Lagging will get you whipped." He nodded, biting his lip, already knowing I'd make him walk around. "And stay on your feet, boy. Going down will get you whipped, too. Understand?"

He whimpered. "Yes sir."

I think it's hot when they agree to the torment you've planned like that. I grinned, tucked the whip under my rope belt, and started digging clams. He grunted when I dropped the first into the bucket and made some other cute noises when he followed me down the beach for the next. By the time I dropped the sixth clam into the bucket, he was panting with the pain.

"Please, sir, may I have a short break?" There was a convincing amount of strain in his voice.

"Why?" I took another couple of steps.

He followed obediently. "It feels like my balls are getting ripped off, sir, please?”

I shrugged and dug for another clam. “This isn’t enough to rip them off, boy. They’re tougher than they look. They’ll probably swell up when the pressure comes off, and ache for a couple of days, but they won’t fall off.” I dropped the clam in the bucket.

He yelped at the extra tug. “Please, sir?” That one was a groan.

I looked for my next target, several steps down the beach. “You can always just kneel in the sand, boy. I’d recommend you go on and lean over that bucket if you do. Being braced for the whip is always best.”

He whimpered. “How many, sir?”

That got me to turn back to him. “How many what?”

“How many times will you hit me with it if I kneel here, sir?”

I considered his trembling knees. “Five.”

There was that cute little fearful anticipation noise again, and the boy nodded and knelt, scooting back a bit from the bucket and leaning over it. I jammed the shovel into the sand and took out the whip. This one was short, thick and supple, its core weighted and its braided leather cover an evil flat black. I cracked it above his back and he flinched.

I was grinning again. “Two on your back, two on your butt, and one on your thighs, boy. Your arms will feel this, too. You ready?”

He whimpered and nodded. “Yes sir.” Such a good boy.

I brought the whip down across his shoulders. Once again, a virtual whip is different than a real one. The real whip has a pretty hard punch. This one was all impact and burning sting. I did let his skin go realistically white before turning deep red. He’d have lines of bruises and that thought pleased me, the sadistic pirate wielding the whip.

Back in his real body he might have a few red marks on his skin, but no bruises. The suit couldn’t go that far. But the real Jim had sunk himself into the fantasy far enough that he screamed from the pain, his whole body tightening. I let him relax before I gave him another. He rewarded me with another scream and the first tears. And by staying in place. I gave him the two across his ass in quick succession, a gift that didn’t let him spend too much time worrying about how they’d feel there.

Then I paused. “This last one’s the worst, boy. But I’ll grant you a moment’s rest after if you ask me for it nicely.”

He was having trouble catching his breath but he nodded. And he tried. “Please,” a gulp for air, “sir will you,” another gulp, “whip my thighs?”

“Of course, boy.” I brought the whip down across both thighs, driving him forward a bit. His scream was ragged but nice and loud.

I went to one knee beside him and slid a hand into his hair, petting, gripping, petting. His sobbing shook his whole body. I gave him more than a moment. I let him catch his breath again, resting beside me.

Then I pulled his head up by the hair and growled in his ear. “Next time you stop, just have a seat on the bucket. You’ll get three across the chest and three across the thighs.”

He sobbed out a muddled affirmative, and l let go of his hair. “Up you come, then. Clams are waiting.”

I had to help him to his feet. And then patted his stretched balls just to bring his attention to the fact that they were, indeed, a bit swollen already. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. I tucked the whip away again, grabbed the shovel, and headed for the next clam, my boy following obediently again. He cried and whimpered and gave me more pain noises for each step and each of the other clams. I stopped at twelve and headed off toward the cave. No respite for the boy who had to carry the bucket of clams along behind me, living each second of the trip back to the cave.

He stood on trembling legs while I put away the shovel and started the fire. Beside the fire pit was a heap of smooth, round, fist sized rocks. Between the fire and the pool of water a chain hung down from the cave’s ceiling, dangling a hook that held a pair of manacles. I grabbed him by the arm and moved him under the chain. He was eyeing the pile of rocks, which was just what I wanted him to do. It distracted him while I untied his hands.

In real life, I’d have never pulled a sub’s hands from a tied and down position to the overhead one needed for the manacles like I did. The suit he wore couldn’t approximate the muscle ache from the position and I overrode it for potential cramps. I just wanted his hands above him so he couldn’t fail and go down on his own again. So I could torture him some more, and it wouldn’t be his choice this time.

His eyes went up when I put the first manacle on. He bit his lip and moaned. When I put the second manacle on, he took a very deep breath and reached for the chains, holding on tight to the support I’d given him. And his eyes went back to the rocks.

So I popped his ass with the whip I still had. “Comfy, boy?”

He jumped and screamed for me. Then stammered out something that sounded a little like “no sir” through his renewed tears. I laid a new stripe across both thighs and enjoyed the way the bucket bounced while the boy screamed.

I reached around him and played with his cock, still hard through all the torment. “Do your balls ache, boy?”

He nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” I patted his balls and moved over to the pile of rocks. “Time to cook those clams.”

His eyes widened and he turned his attention to the fire. I could see him thinking that hot coals in the bucket would certainly cook the clams. And his thighs, and maybe his genitals, too. So I picked up a rock and dropped it into the bucket. That brought his attention back to me very nicely. And with another pretty noise.

I calmly took one clam out, dropped it into the edge of the fire, replaced it with another rock. One by one, I transferred the clams to the fire, changing the weight on his balls over and over. He yelped and whimpered and cried out more than once. But finally all the clams were cooking. And I could give all my attention to the boy.

I picked up another rock and dropped it into the bucket. “You know, if I did this to you often enough, your balls would start to hang lower and lower.” He just nodded, so I stroked his cock a couple of times before I added another rock. That got a groan out of him.

“Something else you should know. When I take the bucket off them, not only will they swell, but they’ll hurt like I’ve been hitting them. It’ll take your breath away, boy.” I put another rock in.

He sobbed in a breath. “You’ve done this before, sir, haven’t you?”

I added another rock to the bucket before I answered. “Oh, aye. Used to amuse myself with whatever crew member had displeased me this way. Not always with rocks.” I put another in the bucket and he writhed soundlessly with the pain. “Sometimes I used coins, sometimes I just added water cup by cup.”

“Is that why they stranded you here?” Blessed boy, trying to keep his mind occupied while his body suffered.

I dropped three rocks in and listened to him grunt while he tried to curl up around the pain. “No. They objected to me peeling the skin off a prisoner piece by piece. I think the screaming kept them all awake. Or maybe it was the smell when I fried up the pieces.” He shuddered, and I laughed.

I turned my attention to the clams, using a stick to move them around so they’d cook evenly. The boy suffered in his chains. I took my time.

When I turned back to him, I also took the whip from my belt again. “Three more, boy. Sing for me.”

He started shaking his head, trying to turn away. “Please, no more. I can’t take it.”

“You can and you will, boy.” He wouldn’t give me his back so I laid the heavy whip across his chest, just under the nipples.

He bucked and screamed in pain, pulling both feet off the ground for a moment. This time I didn’t let him recover. I put another stripe across his back, and he screamed again, going rigid, then limp in the chains.

“Please no please no please no,” fell from his lips in time with his panted breath and his tears.

I gave him the third across his abused buttocks, then messed with the clams to give him a moment to recover. He hadn’t screamed. It had been just that much too intense for him. But his cock was still interested in the proceedings. Very much so.

He finally got his feet back under himself and enough air in his lungs to distract himself with words again. "Are you going to do that, sir? Stretch my balls out?"

I was actually relieved that he hadn't meant the skinning part. "Maybe. When I'm ready to change your pretty looks. For now I'm happy with them hurting. You ready to come down from there?"

He groaned. "I won't keep my feet."

I shrugged. "Too bad. I'm done whipping you for the day."

"Thank you, sir." He didn't add anything to that but a shudder.

But before I took him down I untied the rope from around his balls. There was a delay, and then he took a deep breath and gave me a lovely, ragged scream while he tried to curl up. I put an arm around his waist, lifted him, removed the manacles from the overhead hook and carried the boy over to where I wanted him, beside my chair. He curled up and cried and moaned. I pretended to ignore him and took the clams from the fire and finished preparing a simple meal.

I dropped heavily into the chair. Jim was still rocking and moaning, curled up tight. I had to lean down and grab him by an arm and his hair to get enough of his attention to pull him up onto his knees.

“Show me your balls, boy.” The command was gruff and I shook his head by the handful of hair I had to emphasize my point.

He moved his hands, quick enough to satisfy me, even. I took a good look at my handiwork, his balls swollen huge and red, almost visibly throbbing. I let him see my evil, lust filled grin. He shuddered. Nice. I grabbed the chain that still linked his wrists, pulled it over my head and behind me, let it slide down until it rested on the chair behind my hips. I was comfortable. The boy on his knees between my feet was definitely not. He shuffled around until he’d gained his balance. His hands were trapped between my hips and the chair. While he moved, I did too, pushing his knees wider apart and back, so I could rest one foot between them. He ended up leaning against the chair between my knees, head resting on my thigh. I could feel the tears he was still crying wetting my thin linen pants. I petted his hair and gripped it like I’d been doing, letting the food cool and him settle.

Then I pulled his head up. “Thirsty, boy?”

If he’d actually been suffering as much damage as I’d put him through, his stomach probably would have rebelled against the thought, but this was a virtual world and his real body was in better shape than his icon’s. He answered through the dry mouth I’d given him. “Yes sir.”

The mug on the table was full of ale, and I gave him only a few sips of it before I took a deep drink, myself. “Not bad.” I let his hair go and ran a finger over the long welt under his nipples. He shuddered and his breath caught. “You fought me, boy. I should punish you for that.”

He gulped. “I didn’t mean to, sir. I’m sorry.”

I gave him another few sips of the ale. “Still, you did. So after we eat, I’ll tie you up nice and helpless and play with you for a while. Use that pretty mouth of yours while your balls suffer some more.”

Terror flashed through his eyes, but he nodded meekly. And when I offered him a shelled clam, he opened up and ate, totally my obedient boy again. When I playfully batted at his swollen scrotum with my bare toes, he moaned and spread his knees a bit wider for me. Such a good boy.

I didn’t linger over the meal. There wasn’t a lot of time left, and there was a final “lesson” for the boy and a resolution for my client left. When I stood, it freed his arms and he scrambled to get them and the chains out of my way. I got more rope, grabbed him by the hair and half dragged him to the nest of blankets. I didn’t bother talking, and he didn’t ask any questions or comment past little grunts and groans as he was manhandled into the standing position I wanted.

The manacles came off first. I tied his wrists together behind his back next. Then I wound the rope around his arms and chest, crossing back and forth until his arms were securely bound and his breathing was slightly constricted. The rough rope rubbed over his whip welts with each short breath, waking fire in stripes across his torso. It had him moaning again in no time.

I put him on his knees and tied his ankles together, crossed behind him. Running the end of that rope through the one around his wrists and back between his ankles gave me leverage to pull his butt down to his heels, putting pressure on all the welts on his thighs and ass. He whimpered, and the new pain kept him moving a bit, trying to find any small comfort he could. When I let the pressure off, he came up on his knees and thanked me very sincerely.

I grinned, and left him there to fetch a bamboo pole from the corner. It went behind his knees and I spread them nice and wide before tying his thighs securely to the bamboo. He wouldn’t be closing them at all. His cock, which had shriveled some while his balls suffered, had gotten back into the game and rose nice and hard over his red and swollen scrotum. I patted it a couple of times and then grabbed the rope behind him and pulled him down again. I tied it off, nice and secure. This time when he tried to find some relief for the pain, he discovered that he could only twist a little at the waist. He was helplessly bound in rope and kneeling in a cave with a sadist.

A sadist who wanted to play with his abused balls while I fucked his mouth. The table was the right height. I cleared it, then picked him up and deposited him on it, laying him on his side. He grunted, tortured now by the rope and the whip marks. And then I moved him around to suit me. The end of the bamboo pole went off the table, which would make it hard for him to try to back away from me. It also put his groin in easy reach. I pulled his shoulder over to the edge of the table so I wouldn’t have to lean over or against the table to get at his mouth.

I grabbed a handful of hair. “Open up, boy, and know if you dare to bite me I’ll pull out all your teeth. Slowly.”

He opened wide with another bit of a whimper, his eyes fastened on my hard, thick cock. I let him wait for it while I reached for his balls and started to play. That flesh was tender, and even gentle fondling would be painful. I was quite a bit more rough. He gasped, and that’s when I filled his mouth.

This was punishment for him, but pleasure for me. I held his head still and fucked his mouth the way I wanted to. I played with just the tip in that wet warmth for a bit, and he did what he could to make it better, sucking and caressing with his tongue. Then I pushed in deeper and he had everything he could do not to choke on my thick length. I gave him a few strokes like that before I shoved myself down his throat and cut off his air. And held myself there while he struggled a bit against the hand in his hair.

So I squeezed down on his balls to get his attention. I felt the noise he tried to make against the head of my cock, but was happy to watch his eyes come up to me. “Take it.” I told him.

Acceptance filled his eyes and he lowered them. I pulled out enough for him to breathe, gave him a few shorter strokes, then buried myself deep again. This time he didn’t struggle. I let the pressure off his balls and went back to playing with them while I repeated the pattern of a few shorter strokes and then a deep one. He breathed when he could, gave me sounds when he could, and sucked when he could.

“What a nice way to take your punishment, boy. I like what you’re doing. Keep it up.” And I gave myself to the unique pleasure of torturing the willing, pushing his body to take things he never thought he could for me.

My strokes were brutal enough that his throat had to be hurting now. That was a thought that went right to my own virtual balls. I got a little rougher with his, enough to make him twitch and flinch, even though he couldn’t get away. Tears began rolling down his face again. That’s what I wanted, and I took him just a little bit harder, a few more deep strokes. When I came, I made sure to back out enough so he could swallow. He did, and even tried to suck me dry although what I was doing to his balls kept making him gasp.

Finally I’d had enough and pushed myself away from him. He got a short reprieve while I put myself away and caught my breath. I stretched where he could watch, knowing that was something he desperately wanted to do by now. He was having trouble catching his own breath, partly from the rope’s constriction and partly from the pain that was being fed by him trying to breathe, trying to move enough to find relief. The tears and moans continued, and I watched his suffering for a few minutes, drawing it out.

When I moved back to him he sobbed, a bit of fear that caught me in the groin again. I grinned at him. “Yes, I’m going to hurt you some more.” I casually reached for his balls, fondling them fairly gently this time. He shivered under my fingers. “Why are you being punished, boy?”

He licked his swollen lips. “Because I fought you, sir. I didn’t give in to your will to whip me.”

I squeezed down briefly but brutally and he grunted with the pain. I waited until some knowing came back into his eyes. “Why did you fight me, boy?”

He looked up at me. Fresh tears dripped from his nose. “I was afraid, sir.”

I took a pinch of swollen scrotum and pulled, making him grunt again. “Are you afraid now, boy?”

He nodded while still gasping for air. “Yes sir, you scare me.”

“Good.” I patted his balls and slid my other hand into his hair to grasp and pet and grasp, the now familiar sensation calming my captive some. “It doesn’t matter if you’re scared, does it? I’m still going to do what I want with you.”

“Yes sir.” He was relaxing, so I started fondling his balls gently again.

“I’m going to keep scaring you, boy. I like that wild look in your eyes, that fear that you can’t take what I’m going to do.” I patted his swollen, neglected cock. “You like it too, don’t you?”

He licked his lips again. “Yes sir.” He couldn’t deny it, after all.

I grinned at him. “What does that make you, boy?”

He looked confused for only a minute. “Yours, sir?”

I nodded. “My boy, my toy to play with.” I started running a finger up and down his cock. “And you know how I like to play, don’t you, boy?”

He pushed his head into my hand, and I gripped his hair again, giving him what he wanted. “Rough, sir. You’re going to hurt me, push me, make me do things I don’t want to.”

“Yes.” I let him go and stood with my hands on my hips. “Have you learned your lesson, boy?”

He nodded, and when I simply waited he looked up into my eyes. “Fear is going to make me misbehave again, sir, sometime. You’ll punish me for it then, too. I’ll submit to your punishments because I know you like doing it, and I like it too. Even when it hurts this much.” He paused to look down at the bulge in my trousers, then back up to my eyes. “You want me, or you wouldn’t bother correcting me, asking me questions like this, don’t you sir?”

I nodded and reached for his hair again. “I want you, boy. More than rum. More than turnips. More than I want off this thrice benighted island.” I turned his face to mine by a handful of hair. “And when the crew comes next, you’re going to do your best to convince them that you’ll do anything to get away, because that will ensure that they’ll leave you with me, and not try to trade you out for someone who just needs punishment. Understand?”

“Are they that evil, sir?” He was relaxing under my hand, accepting the pain the rope was still giving him finally.

“Yes, boy. And I’m the worst of the lot.” I grinned at him. “How about if I untie you now and let you rut against my leg like a dog?”

He groaned and blushed for me. “Please, sir?”

I untied him, and took a seat in the chair. He climbed down from the table as soon as he could move and proceeded to straddle my outstretched leg. I didn’t say anything more, and it took him some time to work himself past the humiliation and lingering pain and shoot his juices against my leg. I made him lick the mess clean, then pulled his head onto my lap and petted, gripped, petted his hair until he sighed, relaxed, and closed his eyes.

I blanked the cave out, replaced it with the white room, but left us both in character and me in the beat up chair. “The end.” I said it quietly.

He opened his eyes and looked around. “Already?”

It was the question they almost always asked. I nodded and moved my hand out of his hair. “Four hours, and a resolution to the plot.”

He sat back on his heels and hissed. I’d let the pain linger. “It was, wasn’t it.” He ran a hand through his own hair. “So this is what? An afterword?”

I shrugged. “A safety net, so going back to reality isn’t so jarring.”

He nodded and gave me a smile. “I liked the story. It exceeded my expectations.”

“Thank you.” I stood and stretched. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“I could tell.” He pulled himself slowly to his feet and stretched, too. “Although I had an inkling you would. The pirate part, the island itself was pretty hot. You’re genius, you know.”

That did not sound like the “Jim” who had come here for a sexual fantasy. I closed my eyes and gave my awareness to the monitors, searching them. The signals came from a suit, but the suit was unoccupied. I tried to trace further, but came up against the same security measures that surrounded my own direct interface. It stunned me for a moment. I’d been tricked.

And then a virtual door opened in the security measures and a young mulatto man walked out. Like my own typical icon, it was unblemished, youthful, radiating health. “Thank you, Dianna. It was a perfect experience.”

I realized that he and I were standing in a plain white room with a mirror. I was in my own icon again. We were both in white clothing, like we’d be if we were talking to clients. I reached for his identity, and this time wasn’t stopped by security. And I laughed. He was another virtual author, although I only knew him by reputation. He did great horror stories. “You’re welcome, Jim. Why didn’t you just ask me for a story?”

His icon shrugged. “I wanted to be the client, for once.”

“I was about to give you the real life isn’t like this speech.” I brought a white couch into being and sat.

“You took my hint fast enough to save us both from that.” He walked slowly toward me, then sank gracefully to his knees between my feet. “Now that you know the truth, will you allow another installment to that fantasy, sometime?”

“Filtered again, or with full sensory input?” I was having trouble keeping my virtual hands to myself.

He took off his shirt to show the long whip welt across his chest. “Full sensory, please. You know what kind of failsafes there are on the interfaces. I’ll only be able to wear your marks virtually, but I want to feel them completely next time.”

I reached to run a finger along the welt. Raised, hot, the bruising beneath starting to show. He’d augmented the suit signals I’d been feeding him to something more like the truth of the abuse I’d given him. He hissed at my touch, and didn’t pull away. “You want me, or you want Master Nails?”

“You.” He caught my eyes with his own lovely deep brown gaze. “Any story you want to put me in, but I’ll tell you now I’ll be happiest as a masochistic submissive.”

I leaned back into the comfortable couch. “Okay then, I’m willing to play. Are we trading?”

He knelt up straighter and slid his hands behind his back. “I’ll author for you, if that’s what you want. Where do your tastes run?”

“I like variety, and the weird stuff most of all. I’ll flag my files for favorites and let you take a look if you’d like.” Now I did reach for his hair, pulling his head down onto my lap. Petting, gripping, petting.

He sighed and settled in contentedly. “Fully confidential, between professionals, of course. I’ll do the same for you, and take direction like I would from a client.”

“And message me where our interests overlap.” I let us rest there for a moment in perfect virtual aftercare. “I can’t do this in real life, you know.”

He nodded against my thigh and hand. “I’m tanked. This is as close to real interaction as I get.”

Tanked. Jim was on full life support, then. I at least got to leave my room on days when the pain wasn’t too bad and what was left of my body was functioning well. About half a day every month or so I even got to go outside, into the sheltered courtyard of the facility that housed me. Jim didn’t have that. I called up the memory of that last visit outside, brought it up around us, leaving my icon sitting on a bench and his kneeling in fresh cut grass.

He took a deep breath. “Smells like spring.”

“It is. The cherries are blooming.”

He raised his head and looked around. “How long ago?” There was awe in his voice.

“Six days. I record every visit, every season. I don’t get out much.”

He put his head back down, looking up at me. “I like the island better. It’s more real, more detailed, more alive.”

Oddly, I agreed with him. “Then we’ll meet there, whenever we can.” I changed the scene to the island, where I was sitting on a log and he was kneeling in the sand, bathed in warm sunlight and the scent of the sea.

He nodded and closed his eyes. “Okay. I’ll send you my schedule. My free time is yours, just message me and I’ll link up however you’d like.”

I thought I’d like to have him just like this, some, too. His icon, my icon, and a private tropical beach. And my virtual hand in his virtual hair, gripping, petting, gripping.

A beautiful future, a perfect story’s ending and beginning.

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Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story.
dwolf34