Tangled Passions Pt. 03 Ch. 35-37

As theCelestial Concubine split the warm waters, heading south in the Bay of Bengal, preparations continued. Performances were polished; specialized tasks honed; exceptional duties learned; conditioned compliance re-evaluated and perfected. At last, the hum of activity began to wind down, replaced by a thickening anticipation that surrounded the ship like a field. Awareness of the ship's slowly coming to a halt offered a slight relief to the mounting tension. Apparent only to those allowed glimpses of the outside, they had drawn into an idyllic bay, dropping anchor in a postcard setting of bright blue water ringed on three sides by white sand and lush green jungle. They rocked gently amidst a paradise, still unscarred by mankind. Silently another craft slid stealthily into the natural harbour, alongside the ...Concubine, and dropped anchor only a hundred metres away.

Asim was a man of incalculable riches. And, he indulged himself, wallowing in the abundant avails of his wealth's attendant power. He had been born into outrageous affluence, and had fattened his purse unconscionably. Originally Ceylonese, Asim still controlled huge tracts of land there, including large tea and coffee plantations. He had fled Sri Lanka in the late eighties, to avoid the ramifications of its ongoing insurrection and strife. Madagascar, where he had, some time earlier, bought thousands of acres of jungle – just on spec, had been considered, but he had eventually decided to settle – as much as he ever did – in Mauritius. He set up a residence in Port Louis and established offices to look after his diverse and extensive financial interests. Now officially a Maurititian, he spent most of his time at sea. Modern communication technology allowed him to be nowhere and everywhere at once; just like an elementary particle in Einstein's relative universe, it was virtually impossible to know his exact location at any specific time.

Although smaller than theCelestial Concubine, his sleek, white floating palace was awesome. Sensuously streamlined, it looked fast and powerful, even at anchor. It rocked with a muted air of exclusivity, aloof and private, its 'Do Not Disturb' sign was readable even if it wasn't visible. The name, inscribed on the stern in Arabic characters, meant literally, 'still of the flesh', and the usual idiomatic interpretation of 'heaven on earth' described only a few of its very many secrets. The interior appointments were stupendous – ostentatiously marvelous in their decadence. With palatial staterooms, gourmet kitchens, a state-of-the-art entertainment centre, fitness facilities, it was like a thousand-dollar-a-night hotel, only more extravagant. It had a Seraglio, for the chosen 'harem' of the voyage, and enough dungeons and chambers to satisfy the darker vices. At rest in the blue and green idyll, nestled into the savage Sri Lankan coast, Asim’s former home, just north of Trincomalee, the apparently dormant ship looked deceptively innocuous.

The two ships communicated their greetings silently. Objectively, the rendezvous seemed a secret, uncannily quiet affair; however, inside both vessels the anticipatory scurry of last moment arrangements raised the tensions until the air fairly crackled with excitement. The vassals of the ...Concubine, still largely ignorant of the exact situation, were stationed, their duties reviewed once more. A large entourage was assembled in the main hall of Asim's ship. Shortly before zenith, the first of the tenders pulled away with its load of dignitaries and courtiers, and motored over to the boarding platform hanging low off the side of the carnal cruiser. Over the next few days, the tenders would ply the short distance between ships with the regularity of a scheduled ferry service.

The tender transit took only a few minutes, and, as boatloads of visitors arrived – the princely entourage growing steadily – the stately decorum of a royal visit slowly disintegrated into noise and confusion, the carefree anticipation and brewing excitement of a carnival on opening day. Eagerness boiled and roiled over the stream of anxious courtiers like a contagion. Rumours of spectacular displays and outrageous orgies, stimulatingly imaginative revues and lavishly carnal feasts raced about the ...Concubine's lower entry foyer, through the milling and gradually dispersing crowd. Their fervor swept in like a cool draft amongst the ship's vassals, causing shivers of nervous impatience. The curtain had risen; the show was about to begin.

Jenn wasn't sure why she allowed these things to occur. Kneeling, on the tiny stage, before the actor who played the lascivious tutor, her face pushed into the fly-front of his trousers, she felt her skirt lifted on cue, as the vassal who played the boyfriend began to effect his entrance into her ass. Jenn squirmed in feigned resistance, then pushed back to meet his lunge. Once he was ensconced, she turned her attention back to the 'tutor', who twitched and writhed as she clasped his lean buttocks, digging her fingers in. His hands fell to the back of her head, his fingers quickly entwined her hair as he pulled her hard against him. The swollen head of his cock sent shock waves down her spine each time it bumped her pharynx – shock waves that collided with spikes of sensation being generating by the pounding of her rectum. Opening herself wider still, she managed to bend the turgid rod into her throat, well past her barely controlled gag point. Electrical discharges illuminated her vagina in flashes of excitation. The fingers in Jenn's hair tensed and knotted as the still growing penis began to pulsate, spewing jets of semen deep into her gut. The already rowdy audience whistled, cheered and jeered, as Jenn, with a deliberate effort, pushed back against her rear invader. "Let them see him come," she had been told. She managed to catch the last spurt before it went down, and dribble it out the side of her mouth, turning to slightly so the audience could see, and hesitating before engulfing him again.

Hands from behind tightened their grip on here hips. Bracing herself against the accelerating anal attack, she finally gave in to the eruption that spread from her dripping quim, through her grasping ass to explode like fireworks behind her eyes. The ferocity of the climax pulled her ravager over the edge too, as with grunts and heaves he filled her bowels with his hot jism, only just managing to pull out with a pop, and unload the last gob on her bum cheeks. As the room roared appreciatively, she dropped the still stiff cock from her mouth and began to lick it clean.

“Aha! Caught you, my pretty whore!” Right on cue her ‘husband’ entered. Jenn and her partners all stared up appropriately petrified, as the husband pulled his belt from his pants. “Clean his, too,” he commanded, indicating the boyfriend’s still twitching cock. With a last lick at the 'tutor's' she obediently shuffled about on her knees to smoothly glide her lips over her anal vanquisher's weapon.

It took all her training to thoroughly lave the tool in her mouth while the belt exploded repeatedly against her bared buttocks. “Think only of what’s in your mouth,” was easier said than done. Still the combination of her burning bottom and the growing arousal between her lips ignited her ardour once again.

“Beat it,” her pseudo-husband ordered, just as her felatee was about to come. He backed off, pumping his jism onto her face before turning to exit the stage. Simultaneously, a massive erection slammed into her doggie style and, with only a few strokes, released a torrent of come. Jenn fell, once more, into critical convulsions – shuddering and quaking, moaning and swooning – in an ad libbed mutually ultimate orgasm with her conquistador. The audience whistled and hooted, pounding tables and shouting for more as the curtain dropped.

It was, she knew as she regained her composure, slowly exiting the dimmed stage, an obscene performance for the vulgar company. She asked herself, as she had so often before, why she allowed these liberties to be taken with her person and with her body. But all she could figure out, by way of reason, was that the sensations – the thrill elicited permeated her body right through to its very core. "It must," she deduced, "be directly associated with the pleasure centre of my brain," for it definitely seemed to be a pleasure centre stimulus; and, even though she couldn't logically reconcile such acts with what she would – long ago – have considered right-thinking behaviour, her response was undeniable. She would, therefore, as she well knew, continue to allow such violations of her self – all manner of illicit sexual titillation and stimulation – simply because she reveled in salacious thrill. It was, she conceded, a little odd, but what could she say? What could she do?

The only experience Jenn could recall, which she categorically did not like and had no wish to repeat, was, ironically, an ultra-climax. Somewhere in the warm emptiness of days at sea, while riding the massive pego of a supine guest, on the bed in his stateroom, Jenn felt the onset of yet another orgasm. A female companion had been photographing and videoing the scene, offering comment and encouragement to her friend while appreciatively zooming in on Jenn and the continuing action. Earlier, Jenn had satisfied the wandering woman orally. She had also brought her mount off once in her mouth, just so he would last longer under her. She herself had already climaxed once during the current ride, yet, she now bucked wildly, rapidly losing control as she approached orgasm again. Unseen by Jenn, the woman left her camera, apparently still running, and, coming up from out of Jenn's view, swiftly snapped a cap of amyl nitrate under Jenn's nose. The almost instantaneous effect of the inhalant drug set off such an explosion in Jenn's chest that she screamed with fright, then the unnatural intensity of the orgasm swept her mind clear of comprehension. Shuddering and shaking, she stayed on the responding cock only through the firm handling of its owner. She only vaguely felt his back stiffen and his member throb as he pulled her onto himself even tighter. In the background, she thought she could detect cheered encouragement from the other occupant of the room. As the sickening ride reached its apogee, her heart pounding dangerously in her chest, Jenn's careening mind slammed into the blackness of unconsciousness.

She awoke in her own dim cell as she was being lowered onto her cot. Her head reverberated and her chest hurt. She felt as if she had been put through a Mixmaster, and unable to take the churning within, she only just managed to pull her trash can over before she vomited. Moaning, whimpering in abject misery, she couldn't focus her mind or her eyes. She continued retching for a considerable length of time, before finally lying back and falling into a restless sleep. When she finally awoke again, it was to the touch of a silently concerned keeper who'd come to bathe her. Jenn's heart still hurt, as she silently submitted to the necessary ablutions. She ardently hoped the experience might never be required again. "I didn't like that," she complained to the keeper, fully aware that what she liked or disliked was currently of no consequence at all; but just saying it aloud made her feel slightly better. "And," she continued more to herself than woman who gently washed her, "I don't need it." The orgasmic heights she was capable of attaining were increasing constantly as it was, without the help of foreign substances – poisonous gasses.

At subsequent performances of the vignette, bright and colourful stripes on Jenn’s shapely buttocks were evidence that it was not opening night; the previous strappings had had little chance to fade. As the final presentation concluded, Jenn submitted, bending willingly into the crotch of the errant ‘boyfriend', to the erotic belting with such nonchalance that, at first, she had to play-act her distress to keep in character. But as the stinging leather slashed across her backside with increasing strength and violence, she felt genuine whimpers and moans escaping her lips around the engorged cock. Still, the tactile intensity was a welcome herald, for the spanking would be followed by a good fuck, before she left the stage. The audience whistled, cheered and jeered. She checked a smile through her tears, and, as the ‘boyfriend’ ejaculated and was dismissed, she saw how easily she had come to accept 'punishment'.

Neither she nor Matt had ever really subscribed to the 'ritual thrashing' school of masochism, though they had both, at various times, experienced it. For Matt it was already becoming a commonplace occurrence; however, Jenn still didn't see whipping as a big or important part of her life. Nevertheless, it had become, she realized, a not uncommon part that, intellectually, she fully accepted; she had little choice in her physical acceptance.

During a whipping and its attendant rituals, Jenn experienced not only an intensity of emotion but also an intensity of thrill. The aftermath left her swimming in a joy that verged on ecstasy; however, the actual event, the actual punishment, was something with which she didn't want to or couldn't cope. Hence, she blocked it out – simple enough. She was always aware of the beginning, dreamily aware of the end, but usually retained no conscious awareness of the discipline itself – the actual act. In this way, she felt no dread at the announcement of an intended thrashing. Although they didn't occur often – this was not, after all, the castle of Beauty's prince – punishments were inflicted frequently enough to become an expected part of the weekly routine, if routine could be used to describe it.

The evening meals during the whole gala fête that was Asim’s visit, were repasts of exceptional character and splendour. Service of the fantastic variety of food was implemented with verve and imagination. The dining room buzzed with an elevated anticipation and high energy. As well as waiting tables and bussing, some of the vassals were actually used as serving dishes. A constant delight to the diners, supine bodies, heaped with meats and vegetables, were laid out on the tables as warm platters; desserts and succulents filled the vees of spread legs of figures sitting motionless in the middle of tables; cornucopias of fruit and tidbits were displayed on bare cleavage; pastries and sausages were paraded, hanging from appendages; trays of creams and custards, oils and sauces circulated, ever available. Platters – living and otherwise – were arranged suggestively; molded foods sculpted into lewd shapes. The entire event was completely concupiscent. Not a single detail, not a single chance to eroticize was missed.

Other vassals took positions as animate side tables, supporting drinks and saucers as they crouched on all fours beside various diners. They were often pressed into further service as oral finger bowls and napkins, using mouths and tongues to clean the guests on demand. As Jenn knelt motionless, her knees and fingers deep in the thick carpet, the guest on one side of her laughingly dripped sauce over his loins then told Jenn to lingually clean the 'spill'. As soon as she was done, the guest on the other side heaped thick cream custard onto her exposed lap and demanded equal treatment. Later, as a fruit server passed by, Jenn was told to get them a nice selection of berries.

"And don't use your hands," her current patron added with a smirk as Jenn rose from her position beside him. She turned to the waiting figure, her mind racing. She wasn't at all sure how to accomplish her task. A luscious variety of fresh berries was piled on the impressive bosom of a young female server. The girl supported her laden breast with folded arms, standing with her back arched to provide more of a stable platform for the colourful harvest. Her wide eyes met Jenn's for a moment of commiseration – a rather-you-than-me shared sympathy. Everyone had their place – to each her own. Clasping her hands behind her, Jenn carefully leaned over to gently choose a ripe raspberry with her pursed lips. In an instant of panic, her hands flew to the waist of the passive woman, as she almost overbalanced. Jenn tried to hold each of the chosen berries uncrushed in her mouth. She only managed seven the first time, before she had to turn and delicately deliver them into the waiting plate. Without letting go of her colleague’s waist, she returned five more times to pick with her tongue enough of the fresh dessert for two servings. Once or twice, as her tongue accidentally stroked bare mammary, she felt with her hands the shiver that ran through the server. At her last visit to the bosom of plenty, Jenn deliberately sought out a nipple with her tongue and lifted her eyes to appreciate the slightly glazed delight that resulted. Giving a final, subtle squeeze to the slender waist, she turned to tenderly unload her treasure. She sensed the berry girl moving away as she dropped once again to her hands and knees between the chairs.

"Perhaps," Jenn considered, "they’re finally running out of ideas," as, near the end of the meal, she was used as disposal unit of sorts. Fruit pits were inserted into her vagina and anus, not, she was sternly informed, to be released until she was dismissed. Having spent most of her shift kneeling beside the table, Jenn didn't see much of the evening's festivities. She didn't see Matt.

For his part, Matt had carried in a few dishes first, then circulated with towels draped neatly over his outstretched arms, shoulders, and hanging from his waist belt. He carried clean ones on his left side and used on his right. He was pressed into service now and then, laving with his mouth and scrubbing with his hands. A few used finger towels eventually hung from his erect penis and one out of his anus. Although his rounds took him right past his wife – at one point their feet even touched – he did not see her. One shapely female buttocks looks very much like another at a glance. If Jenn had looked back at that moment, she might have recognized his Matt’s asymmetrical scrotum and off-centred penis, but her attention was elsewhere, not on the myriad nakedness circulating about the table.

As far as Jenn could judge, the whole event, the festival or carnal carnival had been flawless. The organization had run like a Swiss watch. It had lasted three days, or three evening meals, in any case. The tenders had kept up a steady traffic between the two ships. As the visitors left for the last time, much of the ...Concubine's staff, most of the vassals were assembled to give Asim and his close courtiers a rather royal send off. Amidst the bally-hoo, as the retinue proceeded towards the tender landing, Matt thought he recognized by shape and stance, and bewildered, concerned eyes, a fellow vassal – a handsome young fellow with whom he had secretly spoken a few times. Surreptitiously watching with sharpened focus, he noticed several other cloaked and veiled figures – mostly female, small and fragile – moving hesitantly, faces lowered, eyes darting furtively. There was, it was suddenly obvious, a commerce in slaves taking place. Although, he thought, perhaps it should, the realization neither offended nor horrified Matt. It actually seemed reasonable, in a strange sort of way. Apprehensively but submissively, the veiled, cloaked figures shuffled forward to face yet another unknown; slipping quietly out from under the blanket that was life on theCelestial Concubine to who knew what. In the slow, surrealistic procession that was the gathered disembarking, they all gradually vanished, and were gone – out of sight and out of mind. Life, as convoluted as it could be, went on.