Scene 5 – The Plank 

“A pity that I won’t have this magnificent instrument to ride after today, Mister Drake,” purred Emerald as she stroked my oiled-up cock, which was swelling under her handiwork. “I relished the way it filled my puss-puss last night.” 

I could not stop her from massaging me to firmness, right there in front of her all-female crew. I was a bound prisoner here on the shore this morning, just as I had been when the chestnut-haired, eye-patched enchantress used my cock, hands and tongue as her personal playthings on her ship.  

Not that that experience, or this one, was unpleasant; The Pirate Emerald, as she called herself, was a stunning woman with a voracious sexual appetite and skills to match. She had proved it to me in the previous few hours in her luxurious captain’s cabin-slash-BDSM parlor aboard the SS Dominance. 

But now, she and her crew were gathered around me on this tropical beach in the middle of nowhere. Torches lit the scene, but they wouldn't be needed for long; the sun was beginning to rise. 

As was my cock, despite the heavy use and abuse it had gone through recently.  

“Truly, Mister Drake,” she said with an Irish brogue and an antique manner of speech, “I couldn’t get this sizable cannon of yours all the way down my gullet, much less all the way up my rump, and that’s a rare thing, indeed. I expect that with time and practice, I could have found a way to fully consume your delightful wedding tackle.” 

“You could take me with you,” I told the buxom villainess, looking out at her ship anchored just offshore. “Why let the good times end?” 

With that, she slapped my face. Hard. On my right cheek.

Then, for symmetry, she did the same for my left.  

She was a powerful woman, strong in physicality as well as in beauty, determination, guile, and intellect.  

She was also quite mad, believing herself to be a reincarnation of the famous eighteenth-century pirate Anne Bonny. She was proving to be a worthy and dangerous adversary.  

One that I had yet to defeat. And frankly, my prospects weren’t looking good at that moment.  

I could not block her blows, as I was restrained with unforgiving shackles that kept me in a standing spread-eagle position on a bondage frame on that scenic shore.  

“Take you along with me?” she asked, incredulously. “I don’t bloody well trust you, Mister Drake. You have diverted me from my grand scheme long enough with your masculine charms. I must catch the high tide soon and leave you here.” 

She started in again on the luxurious, teasing cock massage. This delusional bitch was a mercurial woman, to say the least.  

“But don’t worry, Agent Drake. I’ve arranged a little...scenario...to keep you and your ‘companion’ occupied o'er the next few days. You’ve had your pleasure; now’s the time to pay the piper.” 

I was acutely aware of Emerald’s scenario; I was a fly trapped in her spider’s web, and already feeling its effects. 

Emerald and her Wenches—that's what she called her all-female, all-ravishing crew—had strapped me against a solidly-built, eight-foot-square wooden board. It was currently secured vertically on the sand, with a little tilt back. The shackles locked on my wrists and ankles were pulled tightly toward the corners with leather cords. 

My “companion,” Verity Mayfair, was secured to a similar rig directly across from me. Like me, the pretty British blonde was clad only in a handful of tiny, tattered rags that did nothing to hide the vast bulk of our otherwise naked bodies. 

We’d spent most of our captivity naked, but Emerald had a flair for dramatic imagery, particularly if it involved pirate activity or sexual activity. Or both. 

And there had been a lot of "both" in the last couple of days.

In Verity’s case, those minuscule scraps did nothing to conceal her luscious C-cup breasts, which had been individually wrapped in thin rope so that they bulged straight out from her chest. They were turning a bit purple from the restricted blood flow; that must have been a bit...uncomfortable...for the lovely twenty-year-old. 

(Miss Mayfair was not a trained agent like me, but a civilian; a somewhat innocent young bystander who had gotten caught up in my efforts to uncover and stop Emerald’s plan to hijack a yacht carrying a secret weapon of some kind.) 

Speaking of uncomfortable, since I did not have the breasts for a similar tie, the Wenches had settled for wrapping cords around my scrotum between my balls and cock. They then attached that noose to the base of the board on which I was strapped.  

Right now, my testicles were tugged only slightly downwards but knowing Emerald’s perverted nature, I was sure that would not be the case for long. 

The bitch started describing the death-trap she had designed for Verity and me, but I found it a little hard to focus on the details; I was distracted by Emerald’s feminine charms and her outlandish outfit.  

The firm-bodied villainess was dressed in old-fashioned pirate style: three-cornered hat, jackboots, a red buccaneer coat with gold trim. 

However, the jacket was now fully unbuttoned, and her marvelous, perky tits were there for the world to see. Her vulva was a bit better concealed from view, but her tiny, high-cut black thong drew the eye down to where her enticing pussy resided, just a thin layer of silk away from access. 

(I’d had intimate contact with that treasure box over the past few hours—it was a shaved and well-maintained thing of beauty.) 

Of course, as an old-time pirate, Emerald also carried a flintlock pistol and wore the traditional black patch over her left eye. 

The pistol was actually a disguised vibrating dildo that I had seen Emerald use on herself and on others in the crew.

(Don't get me wrong; I had discovered that she and her crew had weapons aplenty; the SS Dominance, despite looking like an antique schooner, had hidden missiles and guns, plus electronic warfare devices.)

The eye patch was only for show; she had removed it last night in her cabin while I “entertained” her with all the skill I could muster while being restrained in various ways. 

I had had no choice in the matter; Verity was in the next room, guarded by Wenches who were listening and were prepared to kill her at a moment’s notice if I harmed Emerald or tried to escape. They took care to poke and torment the girl periodically so that her sobs and cries would remind me of the peril she was in. 

(Though the villainess was only a decade or so older than Verity, she seemed jealous of Miss Mayfair’s youth and delicate features. That, and the fact that I was clearly attracted to the girl.) 

But I digress; Emerald was explaining the devious devices that Verity and were strapped to.  

“As the penalty for meddling in my affairs, Mister Drake, I promised that you and the bitch here would “walk the plank” at dawn. This is my version of that hallowed tradition. It’s a much slower and more...harrowing...demise than simply stepping off into the depths of Davy Jones’s Locker.” 

Emerald was lightly, perhaps absentmindedly, caressing her clit as she spoke, obviously aroused at the thought of torturing the two of us.  

“The leather straps that bind your limbs to the edges of the boards have been well-moistened before they were applied. As the day warms and you roast in the summer sun, those straps will dry and contract, brutally stretching you out.” 

The pirate stepped in close and kissed me. Our tongues danced like familiar tango partners, as they had done the previous night. While we smooched, the pace of her cock-pumping increased. My pre-cum and her spit served as lubricant for her efforts. 

Damn, this enchantress turned me on so badly that, despite the danger I was in, she could have easily made me cum for...what would it be?...the fifth or sixth time in twenty-four hours.  

(That’s not counting the massive eruption her crewwoman, Belinda, yanked out of my bound form on the deck of the ship the previous afternoon while Verity and another pirate, Juanita, were being flogged and sexually stimulated to orgasm.) 

(See Part 2 of this story for the blow-by-blow details.) 

Of course, Emerald stopped her pumping just shy of my ejaculation number six or seven. Teasing and denial was obviously the order of the day.  

She then scraped her fingernails over my muscular arms and shoulders while she spoke, enjoying the vision of the sadistic strain they would soon be under.  

“According to my calculations, the leather’s pull will be painful—perhaps even excruciating—but not fatal. The same is true for the ties that bind Miss Mayfair’s oh-so-delicate limbs.” 

(Actually, Verity was in pretty good shape, with decent arms, legs and abdomen; she competed at track and field at her college back in the U.K.) 

Emerald’s fingernails continued down my chest to sadistically scrape at the nipples that had been clamped so painfully a short time before.

Oh, yeah did I mention that after Emerald and I had had hours of great sex, with several orgasms for each, she had a couple of Wenches apply clamps to my nipples and balls for a half-hour, just before they brought me and Verity to this beach?

Emerald's fingernails moved down to scrape my rib cage and stomach, eventually digging into my still-tender testicles.  

“The same is also true for the strap that will draw your family jewels toward the ground. It won’t pull them off, Mister Drake, but you’ll rue the day you ever grew such a handsome pair.” 

She then turned to Verity and started caressing the girl’s bulging breasts. 

“The same is true for the cords that bind the...admittedly glorious globes on your chest, my dear. They will contract and squeeze until you’d wish you’d been born flat-chested." 

While she spoke, a pair of her Wenches—the comely Asian ladies who had tortured me this morning—was attaching two hoses to a jug of water that hung overhead between us. The ends of those hoses were secured to the board beside our mouths.  

Emerald said, “You are both young and healthy. I suspect it will take two or three days of stress and exposure to the tropical elements to permanently stop your meddling in my affairs. 

“To give you some relief, but also to prolong your suffering, I offer you two some refreshment. One gallon of water to be shared by the Mister and the Miss. 

“Will you be a gentleman, Mister Drake, and give up your half of the life-giving liquid in the coming days to ease the lady’s torment? Or will she give hers to you, in the spirit of equality that seems to be all the rage these days?” 

The Wenches were now attaching hollow rubber dildos to the ends of the hoses beside our faces. They were realistic versions of erect penises; smaller than mine, of course, but they looked and felt real. 

“And just for the fun of it,” Emerald continued, “you’ll both need to suck the water through these plastic dinguses; ‘Fellating for Fluids,’ I call it. Ever sucked the flute of a man, Mister Drake? Miss Mayfair?” 

We said nothing. The pirate lady laughed. 

“Who here has ever given a blowjob?” Emerald called out loud, sarcastically, to the gathered female pirates with a smirk. “Let’s see a show of hands.” 

Of course, neither Verity nor I could raise our hands even if we were so inclined. 

However, Emerald and every member of the crew laughed and indicated in the positive, including Wench Belinda, who was busy sucking my dick, and Wench Juanita, who was licking Verity’s naked pussy. As with many earlier occasions back on the ship, their goal was to arouse us, but not to allow either of us to orgasm; that was solely the captain’s prerogative to decide. 

(An unsanctioned climax was cause for punishment, both for the captive and for the crewwoman who slipped up in her tease-and-denial protocol. Such an incident was the cause for Verity and Juanita to be stripped, bound together standing face-to-face, and flogged the previous afternoon.)  

“You’ve never gobbled a man’s love-pole, Mister Drake?” Emerald mocked. “I thought a man of the world like you would have dipped your toe in those...uncharted waters...at some point.” 

She turned to Verity and continued her mauling of the girl’s bound breasts.  

“As for you, Little Miss Princess, you never gave your beau a mouth-concerto to pay him back for dinner and drinks?”  

Verity closed her eyes and shook her head.  

“Speaking of drinks,” Emerald continued, “just a warning, dear. The liquid inside these jugs is not just water; I have infused it with the...bodily fluids...that Drake and I generated last night.” 

Verity groaned, possibly from the thought of drinking the unsavory stuff, but perhaps partly from arousal; she was reeling from skilled nipple tweaking up above and expert cunnilingus down below. 

“It’s quite a lot, I’m afraid,” continued Emerald. “The stud here is a bountiful sperm-shooter and I’m definitely a bit of a squirter. As a virgin, I’m sure it will be a new taste-treat for you.”  

Emerald suddenly squeezed and twisted the girl’s swollen tits and tender nipples. Verity cried out in pain.  

“You are a virgin, aren’t you, dearie?” she snarled. “Mister Drake didn’t have time to break through your maidenly defenses before you two fell into my clutches, did he? Well, did he, lass?” 

“No,” cried Verity, “He didn’t. Please let me live, ma’am. Don’t kill me. Don’t let me die without knowing the touch of a strong man...” 

The girl gave a doe-eyed look at the Dominatrix towering over her.  

“...or a powerful woman.”  

Good play, I thought, trying to send the girl a message telepathically: appeal to the bitch’s sexuality. That's her weakness. 

Emerald leaned in and kissed the bound girl, who after a moment’s hesitation, kissed her back with enthusiasm—perhaps feigned, perhaps genuine.  

The pirate captain then shooed away the Wench from between Verity’s legs and started fingering the blonde’s moistened clitoris with expertise. 

For a few moments, we all stared in amazement at the display of raw feminine sexuality.  

“Cut!” called the director over his megaphone.  

For a few moments, all you could hear was the sound of ravenous kissing and the wet "slop-slop" of veteran actress Richelle Rayes continuing to manually stimulate the moist kitty of the young ingenue, Kylie Kitchner.  

“I said ‘Cut,’ Richelle,” Sam called again. No response. 

“Nobody listens to me,” he complained to the sky. “For God’s sake, would somebody hose those two down? We’ve only got five minutes to re-set the cameras on the other side of Dirk and Kylie.” 

The shot in question would be a silhouette of the two of us against the rising sun, bound to the platforms, with my erect dick sticking out from my groin, and Kylie’s bound boobs jutting out from her chest. 

The dramatic image would visually illustrate the danger we were in, along with the arousal we felt while we were in it. The cast and crew of the movie Agent of B.O.N.D.A.G.E. (the working title) were on location in Hawaii to film the outdoor scenes at Emerald’s island headquarters and the deck of her ship. 

While the crew hurried to move the cameras, the director, Sam Traylor, spoke quietly to the three of us lead actors, two of us still bound to the boards.  

“Richelle,” he started, “much as I enjoy your enthusiasm for the project, could you cut back on the improvisation? You know, the tit-twisting and finger-banging of your fellow actress?” 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Kylie happily chirped in a bird-like voice. “I kinda like it; gets me into the mood. Uh, I mean...into character. We could do more.” 

It was the young woman’s first featured part in a film. Sam tried not to roll his eyes in front of the beautiful girl, but mostly failed in the attempt. To cover, he patted her cheek and smiled.  

“Yes, Miss Kitchner, I know. We’ll talk about it this evening. Privately. At the hotel.” 

Kylie was half his age, but those two were secretly schtupping, for sure. The rumor was, at night, she would dress up in a frilly little nightie, put her hair in pigtails and call him “Daddy,” just before he did some very un-fatherly things to her.  

(I’m not one to cast judgments; Richelle and I had done the horizontal mambo a couple of times ourselves. And let me tell you, she was good at it; I was picking up some pointers.) 

Speaking of Richelle, she continued to lightly pump my cock during this conversation. That was helpful, as I needed to have a firm erection for the reverse-angle shot. 

(She also just generally enjoyed a little tease-and-denial action, like her character. Especially when I could do nothing to stop her, like now.)   

“Sam,” she said to the director, “sorry to bring it up again, but do I really need to wear this fucking eye-patch all the time?  I keep running into shit on my left side.” 

“Richelle, we’ve been over this,” he replied. “Your character is a loony historian turned super-villain. It’s a visual short-cut; unneeded eye patch equals demented pirate.” 

“Well, can we discuss this later?” Richelle softly asked, stroking the director’s arm. “Privately? At the hotel tonight?” She cast significant glances at him and his tied-up girlfriend. 

Sam visually checked in with Kylie; her smile and the twinkle in her eye indicated she was obviously okay with the proposed three-way. Sam told Richelle to stop on by.  

She and I had been planning to share a bed that night, so it looked like I’d be sleeping alone. 

Which wasn’t altogether a bad thing; with a location cast consisting of almost entirely young and healthy women in various stages of undress, my “services” were in demand, and I always hated to disappoint any of them. As a result, I hadn’t had a full night’s slumber since we arrived in Hawaii.  

(Just like my previous, real-life night of role-play sex with our resident bondage expert, Tammy, and the horny redheaded actress, Nicole. I’ll have to recount the events of that awesome threesome someday.)  

“Could Dirk join us?” Kylie butted in, breathlessly. “I have some great ideas for what we all could do together...” 

Woof.  

“...uh, to build our character profiles.” 

“Sure,” Sam replied glumly, not entirely enthusiastic about the idea of another cock in his hotel room later. “The more the merrier,” he muttered.  

Okay, I thought, scratch that plan for a full night’s sleep. 

(As it turned out, he was eventually glad to have me there that evening; there was no way he could have kept up with these two vixens all by himself. At one point, he and I were naked, tied together back-to-back, butt-plugs in our asses, while the ladies competed in some kind of blowjob contest. The rules of the competition were unclear, but the action on the field was amazing.) 

Soon the cameras on the beach were rolling again, and we got the shot we needed as the sun rose behind us. 

Kylie and I spent most of the rest of the day secured to those boards.  The cameras got footage of us “suffering” in our bondage and “baking in the tropical sun,” although the crew would mercifully set canopies over us and spritz us down when the cameras weren’t rolling.  

And when the scene called for showing my naked groin, Richelle would helpfully “fluff me up” beforehand to get a good erection going.  

Not that she ever let me cum that day on the beach; she wanted me fresh and horny for the upcoming four-way tryst.  

In any case, I was feeling good as I basked in the pleasure of the sun’s rays and Richelle’s periodic BJs. I blessed the day that I auditioned for this role of a lifetime. 

Scene 6 – The Casting Director 

Previously: Dirk’s agent, Melissa, has secured for him a combination audition/screen test for the role of Agent Emerson Drake. This would be Dirk’s first big part in Hollywood.

Elaine Aldana was a petite, curvy Latina with gorgeous skin and marvelous, penetrating eyes. She had cast me once for a part in a failed TV pilot—a ridiculous show about a crime-solving, talking cockatiel, so help me God—so she knew me and my work. 

“This will be an unusual process, Dirk,” Elaine told me when I arrived at her casting office Monday morning. “It’s an interrogation scene and we’ll be doing some improvisations based upon your understanding of the character."

Yeah, that was different; usually you'd read off lines from a script from the show.

“The director, the scriptwriter, and the money behind the project will be watching, live, via closed-circuit TV. It’s a closed set; the cameras are all preset or remote-controlled. It’ll just be me and your...captors...in the room.” 

She led me into an adjoining area designed as a small studio for photography and screen tests. A solitary, solid wooden chair bolted to the floor sat in the middle,  surrounded by several video cameras trained on that chair.  

“Take off your clothes, Dirk,” said Elaine in a professional manner. “Down to your shorts for now.” 

“Uh, I’m not wearing shorts,” I said, sheepishly. “I kinda figured...”  

(I had done some nude modeling for a group of college art students—an interesting story in itself, for another day—and you’re not supposed to wear tight clothes that leave seam lines on your skin.) 

(Plus, if the shooting script was accurate, I figured they’d see my junk eventually, anyway.) 

Elaine sighed. “Fine, do you want me to leave while you disro...”  

She stopped. I was already out of my shoes and shirt and was unbuckling my belt.  

Well, she hadn’t asked for a slow striptease.

When I dropped my pants, Elaine couldn’t help but do a double take at my package. 

Now, as far as I knew, Elaine was a confirmed lesbian; she had shown zero romantic interest in me or any of my fellow male actors.  

But she liked me as a person, and we had a good relationship; like my agent, she sometimes would joke about my naïve Midwestern upbringing. In turn, I kidded her about our shared appreciation of lovely young women. 

But as she slowly walked around my naked body, taking in every inch, I couldn’t tell if her interest was purely professional, or possibly personal. 

Fascinated, she started to reach out to touch my somewhat-erect cock before thinking better of it. “Uh...uh...nice,” she said quietly. “This is...on the larger size, I take it? 

“Yes, and it gets better,” I said, trying not to boast, but to break the tension. 

She gave me a withering look over the top of her glasses, but she may have been stifling a laugh. 

“I’ll see if we have a wide-angle lens, Minnesota-boy. Sit.” 

The chair's seat had been altered to remove the middle part that would rest under my genitals and anus. To get support, I had to spread my thighs wide apart, in a V shape.  

It was obvious that this chair was designed to provide easy access to my private parts; parts that were obviously, considering the cameras, not going to be private for long. 

(I had been offered parts in porn films, but always turned them down. I wasn’t a prude, but that was not the road I had envisioned for myself. I was glad of it now, because I wouldn’t be considered for the lead in a big, mainstream movie if I had traveled that path. Plus, my parents and sister back home would’ve been mortified.) 

(However, my younger brother Jeff would have high-fived me to death. The nineteen-year-old was already asking if he could come out and try his luck in Hollywood.) 

I had brought along the leather bondage cuffs that Melissa had purchased a few days prior. Elaine attached them to my wrists and locked them together behind the chair’s back.  

She then pulled my ankles to the rear legs and secured them there with a second set of cuffs. A long belt held my waist firmly against the chair’s back, and shorter straps pinned my thighs wide apart to the edges of the seat.  

Elaine seemed to know what she was doing, bondage-wise. Good, maybe it was something else I could kid her about in the future.  

My cock started to stir as I pictured her tied together tightly to another woman in a sexy lesbian bondage scene, faces in each other’s pussies, being “forced” to lick each other under pressure.

Heck, that other woman could even be my sexy talent agent. I know Melissa had strolled in the Sapphic fields now and then. The vision of those two experienced vixens going at it... 

I willed myself to keep calm. Save it for the cameras, boy, I said to myself. Save it for when it counts. 

Too late; Elaine already noticed as she knelt within inches of it while finishing up my bondage. "That's a nice ear of corn you've got there, farm-boy," she whispered. She was trying for snarky, but it came out as kinda impressed.

She stood beside me and spoke to a video camera in front of us that showed a red light.  

“For the record,” she said, “please state your name, age, today’s date and location.”  

I did.  

“And, for the record, do you consent to being bound and subjected to a...certain amount of discomfort?” 

I said that I did.  

“And do you consent to being touched in a manner that could be described as...”  

Reading now from a card; “erotic, sensual, lewd, salacious, titillating, lascivious, sexually provocative. or appealing to the prurient interests of the average adult person?” 

I didn’t know a couple of those words, but the ones I did recognize gave me the gist of what was going to happen.  

I said I agreed. Absolutely, positively, emphatically, one hundred percent. 

Elaine pinched the bridge of her nose in a mock—I hoped—display of annoyance. 

“A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed, Mister Denning.”  

She then called out, “Is everyone watching?”  

Voices from a speaker confirmed they were on-line: the director, the scriptwriter, and the mysterious Lady J, who was producing and bankrolling this whole thing. 

“Then we can begin,” she said.  

The work lights in the studio cut out and spotlights came on to dramatically isolate me and the chair in the middle of the room.  Elaine stepped into the darkness behind the cameras. 

Light Oriental music began softly playing, like you’d find in a sleazy massage parlor.   

(Not that I’ve ever been to one. I’m just going by what I’ve seen in the movies.)  

Two young Asian women came in, covered in long silky robes; kimonos, I think they’re called. Their makeup was not traditional geisha, though; it was modern, dark, exotic, and a bit intimidating. Despite the heavy cosmetics, I recognized the pretty pair. 

Well, I thought to myself. This is going to be interesting.  

Next: Sex on the Beach and Interrogation time.