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 Rape's Progress 18

   by Ozmanga

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "A dreadful misunderstanding," said Mr Green.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "How's your uncle?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Your right-hand woman?"

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

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

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

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

   * * *

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

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

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

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

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

   Laiya led the way to my room.

   * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "But Sebastian ..." she began.

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

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

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

   "Oh," I said, feeling foolish.

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

   * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Gag her," Laiya said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I suspect none of my bed-mates realised that Sebastian was thinking of
turning over a new leaf.
   End Chapter 18