Landing in a strange marina after a storm, I encounter a delightful young lady who teaches me about bondage, discipline, punishment and sexual satisfaction.
Chapter 52:
SIR SALT
After sampling some of the local talent, I wanted an adventure. I decided to take my boat exploring some of the local waters. I notified the office that I would be gone for a couple of days, secured my dinghy to my assigned mooring ball, and cast off. I navigated to the “ditch” and relaxed in my comfortable cockpit as I watched the scenery drift past in slow motion.
I had no destination, just a desire to escape for a day. I wanted time to be alone, to think, to assess my journey so far and where I was going. I was hankering for a cold beer but denied myself that luxury. No booze or pot for the helmsman while underway. Captain’s law. With a big sigh and the sun sinking lower in the sky, I searched ahead for somewhere to drop hook, somewhere out of the way where I could be alone. My charts weren’t helping, offering no suitable bights or bayous. The sun was fading fast, and my charts only showed a complicated series of twists and turns ahead. Following the channel markers in the dark would test my skills as a seasoned boater.
As I chugged along, now in the pitch dark, I realized that I must have made a wrong turn. None of the channel markers were where they should be as shown on my charts. I was lost and it was night. Not a good situation. Then, my chart plotter went dead, my internet collapsed, and I had no idea where I was. Suddenly, a microcell storm descended upon me and consumed me and my boat. I couldn’t see anything but darkness and the storm circling around me. The waves were crashing over the hull, spraying the deck. I knew I was in trouble, so I strapped on a life vest and hooked onto the Jackline. I struggled forward in the whirling wind and driving rain to drop anchor when through the storm I could make out the hazy image of some docks ahead. I got back to the wheel and steered that way. The storm was raging violently all around making it a challenge to get secured to that fucking dock.
When I woke up, I poured a cup of coffee from my newfangled, programmable coffee machine. For years I’ve been using a standard Farberware stainless 12 cup pot percolator, the kind with the basket for the grounds. This one turned itself on and created my morning necessity before I was even awake. Great invention.
With fresh coffee, I went topside to inspect the marina I had landed in. Through a wicked turn of events, I had gone way off course last night and a severe storm had made matters worse. When I looked around, the place was foreign to me, although in a déjà vu sense, I felt I belonged here. I inspected my Love Boat. I vaguely remembered banging into the dock when I approached in the storm. Sure enough, there was a fist sized chunk missing from the port side gunwale and a bit of dock rash. Good thing I carry a fiberglass repair kit.
I sipped my coffee and looked around. I saw some boats with names I recalled from years ago. My mind was racing, trying to fit this all together. I said to myself, “Hmm… wonder if that’s the same Wandering Spirit? It sure looks like the same boat. But last time I saw Gypsy she was headed to the Pacific. Why would she be here? And there’s Q. Holy Shit!” Q was a unique looking boat and the logo was unmistakable: a black raven. With a big Q and logo on the transom, the boat was one of a kind. “I thought Phoenix sold that boat. Last I heard she had hit some rocks or a reef. Did some serious damage to her boat. But Q’s looking good and she’s still afloat. What’s going on here?”
I studied the boats, and they all looked vaguely familiar, all with names I recognized. Even the buildings and the scenery brought on major déjà vu. I felt comfortable as if I knew this place, yet I had never been here before. I decided to see how far this déjà vu went. I got street ready and ventured off the boat. If my hunch was right, there was a pub just two parking lots away. If déjà vu was real, I’d been here before and could get lunch and a beer to clear my head.
Sure enough, the pub was exactly where I remembered. It looked the same from the outside but as soon as I entered the room, I thought “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” The inside was now an English seaside pub. The owners must have gone to considerable expense to replicate an English pub, down to the last detail, here in Florida. Taken aback, I approached the bar. A portly gentleman in semi-formal attire nodded and said “Mornin’ Guv’nor. What’ll it be?” He spoke with a British accent. I looked at the draft taps for my choices. They were all English beers, none of which were familiar to me except Guiness. “I’ll have a pint of Guiness, please.”
The place was completely empty save for the bartend, me and a pert young lass sitting alone at a corner table. Figuring all she could do was say no, I asked if I could join her, saying, “Nobody should drink alone, don’t you agree?” She reluctantly nodded her head and waved her arm for me to sit. She was very attractive, a quarter of the way through life, and was well made up, making a pleasing appearance. Long brown hair, an engaging face, and clear brown eyes. Awkwardness prevailed as we eyeballed each other, wondering who would go first. Of course, we both spoke at the same time, stumbling through the “Sorry … no, no … you go first” thing.
“I’m Sailor. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“I’m Loren. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sailor.” She extended her hand, and I tenderly kissed the back of it. She, too, spoke with a British accent, a dialect that is very pleasing to my ear. She gave her introduction in a polite, almost formal way, sending a strong social distance vibe.
“You speak with a British accent. You’re a long way from home. Are you from England?”
“Isn’t everybody?” she said with a childish smirk. She raised her pint in a salute to the British Empire.
I joined her in her salute. “Yes, without you Brits, the good ‘ole USA wouldn’t be here, now, would it? Very pleased to have you visit. You’re welcome in my home anytime.”
After a pause I continued my flirtatious ways. “Are you here for business or pleasure, Loren?”
She looked out the window pondering, then back at me with a look that spoke volumes. “A little of both. You see, I get pleasure out of business.”
In my experience, the people in the pleasure business belong to either the world’s oldest profession or they’re in the entertainment field. Needing a bit more information to unravel her conundrum, I asked, “Just what kind of business are we talking about?”
She went on about people needing certain things in their lives to feel fulfilled. Different parts of who we are can be expressed in various ways. She described different kinks that people have and how each one is unique and shaped by the people involved. I kept hearing her use certain words like control, humiliation, obedience, and punishment. I asked many questions, and she took each one, trying her best to explain how some needs you are born with and sometimes events create those needs. She was very well informed, and her explanations showed an upbringing and an intellectual capacity far beyond her tender years.
Being sapiosexual, I was drawn to her like a moth to a candle. We talked on for hours, lingering over our pints of Guiness. At one pause, I surveyed the empty pint glasses on the table. “Looks like we should order some food. Would you allow me to buy you lunch?”
Over lunch she took the helm and directed the questioning. She wanted to know all about life at sea, where I had been, where I was going. I regaled her with some of my tales, storms at sea, mishaps, even salacious, graphic stories about infiltrating the female population of the various islands I had visited. She seemed interested in my stories, and we carried on a lively conversation. As the Guiness loosened our tongues, we shed our inhibitions and talked freely.
When we had finished lunch, I stood up and grabbed the check. “Loren, this has been the most interesting time I’ve had in years. Thank you, kindly, for allowing me to crash your party.” As I turned to leave, she grabbed my arm and said in a somewhat panicked tone “So, aren’t you going to show me your boat? We’ve been talking about it for quite some time. I’d love to see it.”
Once aboard, she stood in the cockpit as I unlocked the companionway. I turned to escort her below when she said, “Aren’t you going to restrain me first?” She turned around, placing her wrists behind her back as if to get cuffed. She nodded toward a hank of line on the cabin roof. “I didn’t bring my handcuffs, but that rope should work just fine.”
She had explained to me some of the various kinks involved in the “business” affairs she had spoken of over pints. I hadn’t connected that she practiced those kinks. She seemed like such a pretty, sweet, young girl to engage in the punishments and humiliation she had described.
“Look, Loren. I’ve never played that way. Are you sure you want me to tie your hands together behind your back?”
“Absolutely. I need for you to control me, punish me, take advantage of me, humiliate me. I’m going to call you ‘Sir Salt.’ No piss play and anything anal is strictly off limits. Our safe word will be ‘Storm,’ and I must do as you say.”
It finally sunk in. Just as I enjoyed living my kinks with so many women in so many ports, this desirable cunt wanted to enjoy her kinks here on my boat. The problem was that I didn’t know how to give her the pleasure she so desperately wanted. “Loren, I’ll need a bit of advice first. When you say ‘punish,’ you mean whip you?”
“Absolutely, Sir Salt.” She bowed her head as I lashed her wrists together behind her back. I used special nautical knots to ensure that she couldn’t wriggle free. I bound them tightly and she winced in pain as her wrists sprouted red bracelets. I didn’t have any proper whips aboard, so I took a piece of three-strand and quickly unraveled it, knotting it into a make shift cat-o’-nine tails.
I led her below. Rather than have her strip herself, and being a neophyte at this, I made her stand still while I undressed her. If she was going to indulge her kink, I was, too. I love undressing women and getting to see and touch the wares I was about to enjoy. I unbuttoned her prim blouse and tried to peel it off. Because her hands were lassoed, the cuffs had nowhere to go. I grabbed a knife and cut them off. She groaned at the loss of her expensive attire. When she groaned, I grabbed the cat o’ nine tails and whipped it across her ass, still covered by her skirt. Thwack!
“No complaints, wench. You speak when I allow it.” “Yes, Sir Salt.” I slashed the whip across her ass again. Even through her skirt, she felt the blow. I unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She was now standing there in just her bra and panties. I cut her bra off and she stifled another groan, cutting it short to avoid the sting of my whip. I spanked her anyway. Her panties were next, sliced off with my razor sharp knife. The amused expression on my face told her that I was in kink heaven seeing her standing there nude, helpless and afraid. She wiggled around, desperate to cover her privates, impossible with her hands secured behind her.
As my hands roamed over her luscious body, I barked, “Is this what you want, slut?”
“Yes, Sir Salt.”
“Are you enjoying this you pathetic whore?”
“Yes, very much so, Sir Salt.”
“Turn around for me, you worthless twit. I want to gaze upon my prey.” She dutifully turned in a circle, still with her head bowed. I stepped behind her and said some nasty, degrading things to her. Each comment was followed with a “Yes, Sir Salt” reply. When she least expected it, I lashed her fanny with the whip. She jolted as the sting and pain coursed through her body. I slapped it across her other buttock to the same reaction. She was whimpering now, tears escaping her pretty eyes. I continued striking her ass, causing red welts to appear in a crisscross pattern.
I persisted in saying ugly things about her, hoping I was doing the right thing to satisfy her. Her body was tantalizing, tiny, perfectly formed. I’d pause and run my hands over her lithe body, up and down her torso, twisting her nipples, grazing between her legs. She moaned when I twisted her nipple, and its firmness showed me she was aroused.
I wasn’t certain how this was supposed to progress. She had told me at the pub that the dom would eventually have his or her way sexually with the captive. I must admit that I was turned on by all this. Having this attractive woman, naked, restrained, and helpless, standing in wait to let me control her was arousing. My loins reacted with a vengeance.
I retied her wrists in front of her now and commanded her to get on her knees on the bed. Once in position, I forced her head down to the mattrass and lashed her wrists to her knees, rendering her in doggy-fuck position, her derriere the center of attention. She had such a luscious pussy, and I knew that I was in for a treat. I spread her ass cheeks, red and swollen from the whipping. When I bent my head down to inspect her nethers, the aroma overwhelmed me. It was by far and away the most delicious pussy smell I had ever experienced, unlike any other. I inhaled as much as I could before I tentatively licked her cunt. I only teased it, flicking my tongue on her lips and clit. She reacted with moans of pleasure as if she wanted more. Instead, I straightened up and pointed my rigid staff at where it wanted to go.
I enjoyed fucking her but not for long. I wasn’t in any mood to bring her to climax with my manhood. For some reason I wanted to make it happen with my hands and fingers. I began taking advantage of her superb equipment by thumb fucking her, then using two fingers to search for that elusive G spot. As my hand feverishly groped and thrashed into her wetness, I spanked her bottom with my free hand. My fingers were ravishing her sloppy cunt, pounding it feverishly. She was dripping wet and writhing around like a caged animal, making guttural sounds. My fingers took another go at her clit, rubbing it hard and fast. I must have gotten it right because without warning she began squirting. This was not a demure, lady-like splash. This was a drenching. She moaned and cried out as the puddles on the bed quickly soaked in and her fluids ran down the inside of her thighs. Her fuckbox was a hot mess. I had to satisfy my own kink, so I buried my face in her sloppiness and drank her heavenly offerings.
In the aftermath, once she had been freed from her restraints, she had to dress in tattered clothes with no bra or panties. I hugged her and she hugged back. Locked in a bear hug she said “Thank you, Sir Salt. You did okay for a virgin. Maybe by next time you’ll learn more about my ways and how to really satisfy me.”
“Only if I want to, sugarplum, only if I want to.” I kissed her on the forehead, and she disappeared.