Part 3

When they reached what must have been the most forward part of the deck, Michelle felt another man's hands holding her arms, steadying her. She sensed that Bobby had moved behind her.

"Easy, slave. Prepare now. Center yourself," the second man advised.

He snuck a finger up into Michelle's cunt, to tease her and to gauge her readiness. Michelle did not disappoint him. She was drenched, her pussy crying a torrent of tears and dripping with unabated lust.

"Just as I thought. You are afraid of what is going to be done to you – yet you are still completely, fucking wet. No wonder he cherishes you."

Michelle's mind leaped at Bobby's words. He cherishes me. Ohgawd, I need you, Master. I'm yours – forever. Use me now."

Bobby pulled her bound hands up over her head and behind her neck. A rope was attached to her wrist bondage. And now, more ropes were being affixed to the loops of rope attached to her ankles. Finally, she felt a length of rope being threaded through the looped ends of the ropes wound around her thighs and tied to the back of her breast harness.

Throughout these preparations, Michelle stood silently, with a lump in her throat and unable to speak. Her heart raced and she was able to stand only with the assistance of the two men who held her tightly in their hands.

Waiting.... Waiting.... Waiting....

Michelle shrieked in panic as the safety of the men's hands fell away. The sound of her scream was deafening within the confines of the hood that shrouded her eyes.

Her heart nearly stopped when her feet left the deck of the sailboat.

Michelle was jerked upwards and away from the catamaran's deck. The weight of her body was borne by the ropes attached to her thighs. The rope attached to the back of her tit harness kept her upright as she was vaulted upwards into the air, the ropes digging into her ribcage while they keep her from pitching forward. Her arms were stretched taut above her head, pulled higher and higher by the rope attached to her wrists.

Michelle shrieked again. Her legs were being pulled apart in mid-air, stretched out away from her body, exposing her clean-shaven cunt flesh and the inner pinkness of her pussy to the wind, the sun, and the spray being thrown up by the boat as it cut through the waves.

And then, suddenly and without warning, the hood was jerked off her head. It disappeared upwards towards the masthead on a slender line with a sudden flourish, as a gust of wind caught it just when it was jerked off her head.

Oh, my god. Oh, my god. I am flying. I'm falling, I'm flying. Save me. Please Master, save me!

Michelle's mind was a confused whirl of sensations and emotions as she comprehended what had been done with her.

She had been hoisted aloft, in front of the catamaran's tall mast, on a rope attached to the masthead far above her. The rope attached to her thighs and her harness had been shackled to a halyard that ran up to the top of the mast, and the crew had hoisted her aloft using the large coffee-grinder winches on the deck.

The ropes binding her ankles had been threaded through blocks on the deck near the bow of each hull, and she was suspended, spread-eagled, over the hissing, boiling water between the catamaran hulls. She was, literally, suspended between ocean and sky – flying in the air, naked save for the ropes that immobilized her in mid-air and for the semen covering her flesh.

The wind whipped around her, buffeting and slapping at her body. Her hair was turned into a Medusa's nest of wild, untamed blonde snakes, and the air raced between her outstretched legs, making her clit seemingly vibrate in unison with the low-pitched harmonics being telegraphed through her body by the ropes attached to the mast and the deck.

It was as if she was suspended between the tines of a giant tuning fork.

Michelle let out a long, loud, warbling cry as a powerful gust of wind heeled the boat over and made the mast quiver and hum with the sound of the lowest bass note on a church organ.

She twisted and turned in the air, a human kite sent aloft to dance and pirouette like a whirling dervish, while the full force of the sun beat down on her nakedness. The motion of the sailboat dancing through the ocean swells was amplified ten-fold up here.

The deck of the sailboat looked so very small from her position high in the air. There was Master Damien, standing at the bow on the opposite hull from which she had been hoisted aloft. Directly in front of him was Veronica. She had been lashed, naked, to the small chrome-plated metal railing that projected out over the water. She was held in place, and prevented from falling forward into the boiling bow wave beneath her, by the rope corset around her waist that was tied to the railing, and by the ropes binding her ankles to the stanchions. Veronica's hands had been tied behind her back as well.

She was a naked blonde figurehead decorating the bow of the slave ship.

Veronica turned and looked up at Michelle, hovering in mid-air halfway up the mast. She flashed a wide smile of salute and envy at her. Michelle watched as Master Damien reached around Veronica's deeply tanned body to affix a pair of gleaming white clothespins to her large, brown nipples.

Michelle could not hear Veronica, but she could read her lips and her face, as she told Master Damien, "Thank you, Master."

In response, Master Damien put his arms around Veronica and lifted and cupped her tits in his hands while he kissed her full on the lips. And while he was still kissing Veronica with ever-increasing passion, he unzipped his shorts and took out his cock.

Michelle watched enviously as he entered Veronica's pussy from behind, and began to fuck her, right there on the open deck of the sailboat.

He let the surging, up-and-down motion of the catamaran do his work for him, as he flexed his legs in time to the boat's motion to maintain his balance. Veronica had a beatific, blissful look on her face. She was in heaven, being so wondrously and so publicly fucked by her Master.

Now, Michelle's attention was drawn to the other catamaran hull. There, Kiersten had been tied to the bow, in the same manner as Veronica. The Shameless had two exotic busty, tattooed blonde Valkyries as figureheads, enough to make any single-hulled boat green with envy. Like Veronica, Kiersten had a cock in her cunt as well. She was being fucked by David Carter.

Marissa Carter was there, too, in attendance; assisting her husband. She was wearing her indecently tiny tanga-style thong bottom and nothing at all covering her luscious breasts. Marissa knelt next to her husband, licking his cock and Kiersten's ass each time he slid out of her pussy. Kiersten, too, was watching Michelle spin and dance in mid-air, while she was being fucked.

And there was Bobby. He, too, was standing on the deck, in front of the mast. He was holding the line attached to her left ankle, controlling how far out her leg was being pulled. Another sailor on the other hull, behind Master Damien, controlled her other leg.

The two men began to tease Michelle. They let the ropes attached to her ankles slacken a bit, enough to let her legs nearly touch. Then, they pulled on the lines, to stretch Michelle's legs as far apart as they would go.

The sensation of being spread wide open, again and again, while she was flying through the air, made Michelle nearly faint with lust. She moaned, desperate to come, her clit begging to be touched, and to be sucked and bitten. Anything, anything, to be massaged, even to be slapped or whipped. Anything.

Michelle looked out over the steady, orderly parade of ocean swells in front of the Shameless. The boat was racing across the outer perimeter of the anchorage, in front of a small resort village. Dozens of boats were making their way across the sound, and dozens more bobbed at anchor in front of the beach.

Everyone, on each and every one of those boats, as well as many of the people on shore, was watching the Shameless make its way in front of them.

Michelle suddenly lurched higher.

She looked down and behind her to see two men manning the winches alongside the mainmast, one on each side of the boat. Each crewman had a naked slave attending him. On the port side, Katia was enthusiastically sucking the man's cock while he winched Michelle higher up the mast.

On the other side, where another sailor awaited his cue to winch the huge mainsail in or out, Erica was kneeling on the deck with her arms wrapped around the large, cylindrical mass of the winch. The man had his cock in Erica's ass, and he fucked her with long, slow strokes. When he saw Michelle watching him, he grinned and waved at her. At the same time, he grabbed Erica's short red hair and jerked her head up so she, too, could exchange smiles with Michelle.

Then Master Damien turned around and said something to the men controlling Michelle's flight. His words were torn away by the wind, but Michelle knew that she would quickly learn what instructions he had given them.

Dancing on a String

And there was Loretta, in the cockpit and looking stunning in her nakedness, wearing only a pair of cheap sunglasses. She sauntered forward, holding Archer Howard's erect penis in her hand. A moment later, Archer's wife, Samantha, appeared next to Bobby on the other hull, resplendent in her miniscule g-string bikini.

Alana Grant showed up next, with her husband Kenneth in tow. Like Loretta, Alana was wearing nothing but tanning oil, sunglasses, and a smile. She whispered something to Samantha, and Michelle watched Alana stretch out on her back on the deck, looking up at Michelle.

Samantha went to stand behind Kenneth Grant, and unzipped his pants and took out his cock. She began to masturbate him while he stood over his wife, straddling her tits. All three of them were looking up at Michelle, above them.

Michelle enviously watched the sucking and fucking going on beneath her.

Then the sailors manning the lines controlling her body started to play with her.

First, the deckhand manning the winch that controlled the halyard running up to the masthead and down to Michelle's harnessed body slowly let the line out from around the winch. Michelle slowly descended towards the fast moving water between the catamaran hulls. All the while, as the man spun the winch handle around and around, Katia continued to suck his cock, deep-throating him once for each revolution of the winch handle.

While Michelle was being lowered towards the frothy blue-white water, Bobby and the other sailor holding the lines attached to her ankles continued to tighten and release the tension on the ropes, alternatively opening and closing her legs. She was a marionette, a puppet - literally on a string - being made to dance and display herself to the world and all of the gawking onlookers on the other boats and along the shore. She was a captive aerial acrobat, a fucktoy being forced to pirouette and dance for her Master, and a slave to the puppeteers who controlled her every move.

Closer, and closer, Michelle descended towards the water's surface. Now she felt the droplets of spray being thrown up by the bow waves as the Shameless sliced through the ocean swells. Her legs were held wide apart now; her smooth, come-smeared cunt lips brazenly displayed for the men and women and their slaves who were now watched her from the decks of the sailboat. Michelle turned her head from left to right and back again, taking in the blatant hedonistic display of the sexual games being acted out on the stage that was the Shameless' teak decks.

Michelle was level with the decks now.

Alana Grant had slid her prone body close enough to Bobby to permit her to reach up and guide his cock into her mouth, while he knelt on the deck with his eyes intently focused on Michelle. Kenneth Grant faced directly towards Michelle with his erect cock held firmly in Samantha Howard's small, delicate hand while she masturbated him over his wife's oil-slicked nude body while her other hand stroked Alana's clit, causing Alana to arch her back and lift up her ass off the deck as a blatant entreaty to Samantha to finger fuck her cunt.

On the other side, Loretta was on her knees, facing towards the stern of the boat, and energetically sucking the man controlling Michelle's right leg. Loretta's large soft breasts jiggled lewdly beneath her body in response to the catamaran's plunging and surging through the steep-walled swells. The sailor was massaging one of her tits now while Archer Howard, who was kneeling between Loretta's legs and fucking her doggy-style, squeezed the raven-haired slave's other large, nut-brown tit.

Katia was still fellating the sailor controlling Michelle's height above the water, which now hissed and boiled only a few inches beneath her feet. And Erica was still being drilled in the ass by the sailor manning the other winch.

The combination of oil and sweat gleamed on the bronzed women's naked bodies as they served their Masters and the crew. Coupled with the stunning tropical setting, it was lewd, pornographic art; Academy Award level fucking, like nothing any of them could have imagined forty-eight hours ago in cold, snowy Chicago.

Bobby and the other sailor used her ankle ropes to swing her back and forth, like a pendulum, between the gleaming white hulls of the catamaran.

Now Michelle could hear the grunts and moans that betrayed their passion and the juicy, luscious and unmistakable sounds of hard cocks penetrating soft, slick, wet female flesh – mouths, cunts, asses – all serving as eager and willing receptacles for the men's sexual pleasure.

This was how it should be. Michelle only wished that she, too, was being fucked right now.

Michelle cried out when, in mid-swing, she suddenly plummeted down and her feet pierced the surface of the ocean. The fast-rushing water dragged her splayed-apart legs backwards. She cast a terrified look towards Bobby.

He smirked at her and blew her a kiss at the same time that Alana reached up with her hands to massage his balls while the entire length of his cock disappeared down her throat.

The sailor being serviced by Katia's talented mouth let several more feet of line run out from the winch in a quick, sudden movement. Michelle's legs were horizontal now, and completely immersed in the frothy water. Each approaching wave top slapped her wide-open cunt, with the spray splashing up against her tightly bound tits. It was as if she was being flogged- - flogged again and again with the repetitive, relentless slaps of the waves that had traveled thousands of miles from the shores of Africa to punish her here, now.

Bobby and the sailor on the other hull broke free from Alana's and Loretta's mouths, their penises still rock hard and dancing lewdly in the air. They moved towards the stern, pulling Michelle's legs farther back and lifting them up, out of the water.

Michelle was flying horizontally now, only a few inches above the boiling, swirling wave tops, the wind whipping and tearing at her hair. The sense of speed was incredible, this close to the water.

While the catamaran was not going faster than fifteen or twenty miles per hour, and much slower than any speedboat, the apparent velocity seemed much, much greater. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the wind powering them across the ocean. Perhaps it was because she was so tightly bound and suspended, skimming over the ocean' surface completely nude, with so many people leering at her nakedness.

None of the details really mattered, though. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. And it was intoxicating.

The boiling, surging water rose closer to Michelle's body. Now, the crest of each wave licked her breasts and kissed her nipples and caressed her belly. As the waves traversed the length of her body and surged over her cunt lips to coalesce into an eddying whirlpools of frothy whiteness between her widespread legs; Michelle knew that, terrifying as this experience was, that she was going to come.

She was being masturbated by the ocean. The wind-driven waves, marching steadily from across the far horizon, performed an exquisite, clit-tingling and bravura performance of unmatched cunnilingus, unlike anything that a human tongue could duplicate.

Michelle strained to lift her head upwards to watch the people on the decks of the Shameless. Her Master stood alongside the railing, directly above her. He had stepped back from Veronica's nude, tightly bound figurehead at the bow, to stand as close to Michelle as he could. Erica was next to him now, her naked form cuddled up close to him, pressing her flesh against his. She held his cock in her hand, while he spread her ass cheeks and probed her cunt from behind. Both of them were looking directly at Michelle, their eyes riveted on the naked slave body-surfing across the waves.

He smiled at Michelle, and kissed her across the distance that separated them.

Michelle realized that Master Damien was really fucking her. Even though his cock was not touching her flesh or probing the wet, inner recesses of her body; even though it was Erica's fingers wrapped around his strong, hard erection pumping his cock closer and closer to ejaculation; Master Damien was fucking her, fucking his Michelle.

They were connected, mind to mind, Master to slave, in as intimate and private a moment of devotion to each other as could be imagined. Here, in this most public of settings, and with an eager and uninhibited audience willing them onwards with the amplification and reflected lust of their own libidos; and with an unbridgeable gulf of air separating them; Michelle could feel her Master's come surging up form his balls.

She tasted the salty pre-come on the head of his cock. She heard his voice whispering her name. She felt the beating of his heart in his chest.

Michelle knew that when Master Damien ejaculated, he would be coming for her. It mattered not that the stream of semen that he aimed at her would fall short, cascading down into the swirling waters before it splattered across her skin. She knew that when her Master orgasmed, she would too. She would come from the sensual caresses of the water across her nakedness and from knowing that her Master would feel each spasm and contraction of her muscles, telegraphed from her cunt through the intervening space to his cock through Erica's skilled hands.

Erica pumped Master Damien's cock faster and faster. His hand thrust into Erica's cunt, two fingers disappearing into her. Erica reached between her legs to join her fingers with his, stretching her cunt lips and massaging her clit to ratchet herself closer and closer to orgasm. She was going to join them, bonding herself to Michelle and their shared Master, in a singular, spectacular orgasm. She was the conduit, the conductor, and the medium through which Michelle and her Master were sharing this most intimate moment.

Erica withdrew her wet fingers from her pussy. She joined both of her hands on Master Damien's cock, anointing him with that most perfect and intimate of lubricants.

Faster. Faster. Faster. Master Damien and Erica rocked back and forth, edging ever nearer to orgasm.

Michelle twisted and strained against her bondage, savoring each wave slap against her flesh, knowing that she was being whipped and flogged into an orgasmic frenzy by her Master's wickedly staged fuck show.

Knowing that the pure resonating tone of orgasm was only seconds away, Michelle locked her eyes on her Master's face. She cried out, "Master, I love you, I love you, I love you," lifting her voice above the wind and the hiss of the fiberglass hulls of the catamaran slicing through the waves.

At that moment, her Master's body became momentarily smaller, more compact, gathering strength. And then he rose up, seemingly growing before her eyes, his power expanding and surging upwards from his feet through his entire body. His energy and his aura of unchallenged dominance grew and grew; radiating his power and his absolute control and mastery of Michelle. His cock appeared to visibly grow in length and girth, swelling with the onrushing arrival of his gift.