Chapter Twenty Three
Destruction
“The charges are set. Let’s get out of here,” Ali, the team leader, yelled as he jumped from the open door in the yacht’s hull into the waiting launch. With a roar of the triple 300 hp engines, the boat shot from the lee of Altuna and headed for open sea.
“How much time did you use?” Hammid, the second in command, asked as he guided the speeding craft over the windswept seas.
“Four hours. It will blow just after dark.”
“Too long. You fool,” Hammid ventured, knowing that such a censure of his leader might be dangerous. “Suppose someone gets loose and finds it.”
“You know, my brother, that that is not going to happen. Everyone is sealed in the tanks. They will stay there until they die.”
“I pray to Allah that you are right,” said Hammid.
“My plan in setting the delay included the possibility that we might encounter other crew members when we tried to leave or that something else might delay our departure. I did not want you, my brother, to be killed by our own explosives should something go wrong,” the explosive expert yelled into the wind as the boat plunged through the waves.
“If you have erred…” and his voice trailed off, lost in the roar of the engines and hammering of the hull against the waves. But in his mind, he recalled another time, a few months before, when one of his unfortunate associates made the mistake of not killing a group of hostages held in a safe house in Somalia while a ransom was paid. That failure to follow orders resulted in the memorable demise of not only the guilty party, but also of the four other members of the pirate gang. The message had been very clear, but it was nevertheless delivered to Hammid in a small wooden container, about the size of a cigar box and wrapped with decorative paper. Inside the box were ten human thumbs, neatly arranged side by side. In the hollow top of the box, tacked carefully to the surface, was an engraved metal plate. It read: “One fails. Five pay. Take heed, Hammid.” It was signed: B.
As he maneuvered the swift motorboat back towards the waiting freighter, Hammid remembered that, as the only survivor of the incident, he was now marked if even the slightest error occurred. He wondered if Ali’s setting the timer on the charges could possibly be that mistake which would cost him not only his thumbs, but multiple other body parts which would be carefully and artfully removed while he remained conscious. He knew that Brillcart had neither mercy nor pity in his heart. He had no soul.
Four hours later, lookouts on the Carlos Andiamo reported seeing a bright light to the west in the general area where Altuna had been left adrift. The light was reported to Ali and he noted this in his log, praying silently that this short burst of intense illumination on the horizon signified the end of the annoying yacht and its remaining occupants. He then carried out two actions which he had planned for some time: First be sent a cryptic radio message to a dead end address on the internet. The recipient of this short set of alphanumeric code would immediately realize that Ali and his partners had completed their mission and were headed for the high seas in the next twenty-four hours.
Second, he decided that it was time to share his knowledge with the five select female slaves presently enjoying the somewhat Spartan accommodations of the lower decks, isolated from the other slaves and experiencing the continuous revelations of their own sexuality and masochism. While he really enjoyed it, he told each of them that he was sorry to interrupt their various contemplations, but he thought they would perhaps relax more knowing that the one source of possible rescue, the yacht and its crew, was now lying at the bottom of the ocean, the victim of a terrible malfunction in one of the turbines. Ali delivered this news with sober tones as he observed each of his new charges.
Ann Norquist lay on the deck of her tiny cell, encapsulated in a rubber sensory deprivation suit. The suit was inflated just enough to hold every limb, every digit, immobilized. She was, of course, gagged and sightless inside the multiple layers of rubber, her head and body enveloped with latex that fit tight, without a wrinkle, over all body parts. The dual rubber probes inside her abdomen reminded her electronically that even though she was unable to even twitch, she was not permitted to rest except when the computerized controls allowed it, and that didn’t happen very often. The rest of the time she vibrated and shuddered from one series of sexual stimulation to the next, sweating and groaning as the waves of pain and pleasure alternately and at time simultaneously engulfed her body and mind. Through the emplaced earplugs, Ann heard the few words: “You yacht is gone. Abandon hope, Mrs. Norquist.”
Ali dutifully and happily worked his way from cell to cell, making sure that each new sex slave heard and understood their future and abandoned any thoughts of returning to their past. The twins continued to experience the multiple impacts of the milking process coupled with the other intense endearments of their impaled, upright stance. As they were, they could be kept for months, because their small needs were being well taken care of. Body functions were attended to. Their bowels and bladders carried out their functions through the multiple tubes running to pumps and collection containers. They took in hydration and nutritional substances through the tubes inside their mouths, and they provided a reasonable volume of fresh milk through their pierced and suction-pumped breasts. Otherwise, they were in stasis: They saw nothing, heard nothing but their own body and the pumps. They tasted nothing because the force-fed substances were totally neutral in taste. All of this negativity was countered by the intensity of the stimuli that reached nearly every part of their body. Electrodes carefully attached and wired through their leather and rubber suits constantly provided interesting and terrifying bolts of electrical power in a wide range of amperage and wattage, always enough to be felt, never too much to do harm. The inflatable and vibration-prone dongs deep inside their lower intestines and vaginas were remarkably efficient at keeping an almost constant series of sexual revelations coming and going. These electronically controlled movements were often accompanied by liquid flushings of the interior cavities. The effects of hot water enemas, for example, coupled with wild in and out thrusts in the vaginal area and tuned up, so to speak, by electrical impulses to the pierced and pumped breasts should have been enough to keep the twins deeply involved with what was happening to their bodies. But other bazaar stimuli, such as the thrusts and jittering of the mouth-filling probes, the vibration and painful nerve stimulus in their teeth and the unholy sounds that occasionally came through their earplugs all provided hours and hours of attention-getting study by the twins.
Janeen and her sister were spared only the milking phases of this training, but they nevertheless endured equally unpleasant sessions individually in their cages. The cage treatment was intended to soften up the most resilient captives. The top and walls of the small steel enclosures could be compressed so that the occupant(s), who were already bound in cuffs and shackles, were immobilized to the point where perhaps a toe or finger might be wiggled, but nothing else moved. Assuring this immobility were three nearly identical hard rubber prongs that resided deep inside the three major orifices of the captive. Mounted on the floor and rear of the cage, these phallic probes functioned as impalements and were most effective in holding the attention and position of the enclosed victims in the cage. When asked what they wanted most, all caged occupants always responded that they wanted the probes removed from their ass, cunt and mouth. This priority was foremost. Even higher than getting out of the tiny, barred box.
The two sisters were thrust into separate cages initially, impaled by the giant pricks and left for a day to contemplate their future. But by comparison, the initial single confinement paled by what followed. Removed from the boxes and refreshed, the girls were forced into a sixty-nine position with each wearing a Y shaped gag strapped into her mouth. The base of the Y was a deep phallic mouth probe that not only filled their oral cavity but when inflated, reached nearly down their throat. The double arms of the Y were similarly shaped and greased so that once in position, the double dicks were forcibly inserted into the ass and cunt of the sister. As soon as the probes were in place, straps attached to the already installed head harnesses were bound around the top of the thighs and waist of each captive, keeping the three deep dicks in their proper place while additional leather straps were tightened around the bodies. Finally, they were again stuffed into a slightly larger single cage. The top and sides of the cage were ratcheted closed and the twins were held in the vice-like grip of the cages, sobbing and struggling uselessly as their flesh oozed out through the small rectangular openings between the bars of the cage. Although hoods or blindfolds were often used on cage occupants, in this case the girls’ vision, such as it was, was unhampered and they could stare in futility at the crotch of their closely held sister. As impossible as the position was, they remained there for some hours, only to be released when it appeared that both had passed out because of the stress and compression as well as from the constant stimulation in all orifices. Freed and resuscitated, they were locked away in a darkened steel cell until the next training session. Their captors were pleased with the training progress and continued to send videos and photos via satellite to prospective buyers five thousand miles to the east.
Chapter Twenty Four
Hanging Lockers
Hanging locker: The definition from a marine glossary in Bibi’s Guide to Altuna: “A vertical storage cabinet on board, used for hanging long items, such as coats, rain gear, dresses, suits, etc. Often tall and narrow.”
The slave freighter’s hanging lockers however, served two purposes that were considerably different from the above definition. Specifically, they frequently functioned as a neat and silent storage facility for the young women selected to involuntarily join the cruise…in many cases, permanently. Because of this somewhat unorthodox use, the lockers were well hidden and often camouflaged to appear as something else. Those in the main salon, the master’s cabin, the owner’s cabin, the engine room and even crew’s quarters, were most often designed to look like shallow cabinets with a full-length mirror. When the door holding the mirror opened, a shallow storage area for anything from tools and cleaning materials to toiletries and underwear appeared. Each cabinet had a different access system. The ones in the sleeping quarters each used a simple code of pressing in on certain shelves. For example, you could open the shallow area further by pressing lightly on the top shelf and then on the second shelf from the top. At that point, a near silent click was heard and if you pushed the shelf unit to the left, it slid back, revealing the actual locker. This narrow area was well insulated and would in most cases accommodate one or perhaps two upright bodies. There was no room for fatties or large physiques, but then again, the slavers didn’t keep fat bodies.
Another interesting fact about these lockers is that they actually functioned as a sort of short-term stash for “what was on hand”. In other words, if you wanted a lush and handy female quickly, you could often find one in the hanging locker, hanging there, securely bound and gagged, awaiting your use. It was almost as good as Room Service. The pirates were permitted, with limits, to make personal use of the products, so there were times when each of the ship’s officers and mates had at least one young and lovely sex slave stashed in their personal hanging locker. In leaner times, only the despicable co-captains, Isa and Capstan Oberly, who were also fraternal twins, kept a pair of newly acquired young bodies in their lockers. It remained common practice for one or the other twin to raid the hanging locker late at night, seeking a quick BJ or an entertainment toy to help wile away the hours of terribly boring satellite TV programs or DVD films that everyone on board had seen at least twice. As Oberly often told his twin, “what better way to kill a couple of hours then to hang up the latest acquisition and work it over with a cat or buggy whip”? Naturally, the owners of the ship and the business took exception to this practice, but it was hard to place restrictions on the very people who one depended upon for a steady flow of young, attractive white princesses from the West, so the rules were not enforced unless real physical damage was done.
Capstan was the more destructive of the two. His inclinations were to carry out night-long rape and pillage activities on his toys and then throw them back into the cells below come morning. One night, when they were laying to off the island, waiting for the early morning shuttle from the habitat, Cap was more or less finished with the little blond, ex-cheerleader who was still slung hammock-like over his bunk. Strung up naked by wrists and ankles in such a way as to position her mouth exactly where he wanted it from time to time during the night, she was semi-conscious and easily awakened at the push of a button. A multiple electrode arrangement, connected to short needles through each nipple, her clit and lower lips and controlled by a bedside console, kept the girl responsive and attentive to his wishes.
The girl came from a middle class family in the American Mid West and was taken from her upscale island hotel the night before. She was not only a virgin, but had avoided any sort of sexual encounters while in school and was rewarded for this unique condition by her parents with this two week trip to the islands, supposedly under the watchful eye of a neighboring couple whose daughter completed the foursome. Her name was, oddly, Wink, and the chaperoning couple planned carefully for Wink’s disappearance once they settled on the island. Their chubby, less than gorgeous daughter, Bonnie, was part of the conspiracy and looked forward to getting Wink permanently out of her competitive hair in the small town back home. So, it was Bonnie who put the roofie into Wink’s second margarita in the hotel bar and it was Bonnie who escorted the dazed girl to the ladies’ room and out the back door into the slavers’ Ford Transit van. The moment she was inside, the driver shut the sliding door, jumped into the back of the van and handcuffed Wink’s wrists and ankles to the sidewalls, jammed a handful of rag into her mouth, finished it with packing tape and sped away with his catch. Bonnie wandered back into the bar, told the barman that Wink had taken off and that she was going to look for her.