S/Y Princess Mala

Raised eyebrow.

Smile.

I hurried down to the cabin and released my sea bag, which was stowed under a bunk. A freeze bag became the house of the things from the freezer.

"It seems alright to me!"

Of course, Mala wouldn't have found anything wrong. There was nothing wrong.

"Look again! I'll be right up!"

Carrying the two bags and more than a bit excited, I entered the deck and walked slowly towards Mala, who was examining the sail meticulously. Without thinking of it, I had stopped walking and found myself looking at her. I closed my mouth and wiped my mouth – it seemed a bit misplaced to appear as a drooling fool. I was opting for a tad more authoritative first impression. I put the bags on either side of me and assumed a stable astride pose, arms crossed and waited for her; watched her fingers run along the edge of the sail, looking for irregularities; watched her examine the mast, its bolts and joints, the shrouds. Finally, she sighed and turned around towards me.

It was obvious that she realized that her assignment to check on the sail had been a diversion. She hid a sudden spark in her eyes by looking down and avoided a full smile by biting her lip.

"Look at me!"

Short, clear messages. No shouting. No abuse. Just clarity.

She met my eyes and I witnessed her look go from amused to curious to insecure. I started to undress; shirt, Bermudas, briefs. I was shielded by only the white bandage wrapped around my curious cock – it was swaying from side to side, half erect. Her eyes alternated between my mummified member and my eyes. By judging from the growing anxiety that radiated from her, I could tell that she had started to understand what I had in mind.

Reciprocity. It works both ways. By definition.

"Back against the mast. On your knees."

She obeyed without a single word. Sat down on her heels, her head and shoulders rested against the mast.

"Rise up on your knees with feet on either side of the mast. Grasp the back side of the mast with your hands!"

She looked a little bit puzzled but she did what I told her promptly.

"Good girl."

With the sea bag in my hand, I hurried behind her. From the bag, I pulled a three feet cord and started to tie her hands together, arms behind her on either side of the mast. She would be able to move her arms up and down along the mast. She would, however, not be able to worm her wrists out of the ropes. I continued with her ankles. Another cord, a bit longer, legs on either side of the mast, ankles tied together. Finally, I took her long, dark, curly hair in my hand and braided it together with a third cord until the cord was integrated with her silky locks. The cord was tied to the very same rope that would hoist the sail and much similar, I pulled it until Mala's hair was stretched by the rig along the mast and with it, her head and entire torso.

I was confident that she would stay the whole session. No matter what.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good."

"I understand if it is a bit awkward. Do you know why I have made you assume this position?"

"P-punishment?"

"No Mala, not punishment. Punishment implies that there's a lesson to be learned and there is none. No, I'm just planning for us to play for a little while."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Why do you thank me, Mala?"

"I w-was afraid that you would be mad at me after yesterday."

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because I was so clumsy. I'm so so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Mala. If it weren't for yesterday, I would never have figured out the theme of today's session."

"May I ask what you expect of me, Sir?"

"I don't expect anything from you, Mala."

"I don't understand, Sir."

"Actually, I do expect one thing. I expect you to not pass out. That's the most important reason why I made an effort to give you this cute hairdo."

I had walked around her and eyed her very carefully and had reached the freeze bag.

"You see, I brought some toys..."

I slid open the zipper of the freeze bag and presented it to Mala. For one or two seconds, she was unable to see what was really in there, but once she realized, it was quite apparent because she gasped and almost tore her hair off as she jerked away from the bag; away from me. She didn't get very far, I mused and smiled at her. There was true fear in her eyes. Don't think I had ever seen it before. I almost felt ashamed for actually enjoying the situation; her trepidation, my total control. Almost.

It was a sheer coincidence that I found it, the 16th century Holbein dagger; forged in Switzerland by the finest craftsman available; used by a century of mercenaries; mint condition, unmatched quality of the steel, daunting but beautiful; and sharp, not like the cut throat razor, but pretty damn close. The auctioneer did not know what he was selling. His bad. Nevertheless, I had kept it as a lucky charm for a good decade. It lay half-covered by ice and the cold had given the blade a grayish cover of mist. I cleared the ice from the knife and eventually I picked it up and wagged it before Mala's face.

"I have this theory... I put this dagger on ice because I figure that it will work as a sort of anesthetic. Numb the nerves by the incision. What do you think?"

Mala was unable to speak. Pearls of sweat had broken out on her forehead and her breathing was shallow.

"Then again, this instrument is extremely sharp, so any cuts will be very clean. Possibly won't hurt a thing. Try?"

Mala twitched and whimpered. I pointed the dagger at the inside of my forearm and let the broadside touch the skin. The frozen blade immediately stuck on the skin and when I lifted the knife again, the skin was pulled with it.

"Don't lick this steel, baby."

No laughter. No smile.

I released the blade from my skin by a short tug but didn't remove it from the proximity of my forearm. Instead, I pointed the sharp end towards my arm. Slowly, I pressed the tip of the knife against the skin until I felt the skin breaking. True, it didn't hurt a thing; thus far my theory seemed validated. All the time, I felt Mala's wide open eyes on me; she had started to tremble and her skin had goose bumps as though she was freezing despite the rather comfortable temperature. She hissed when I made a twitch with my wrist and let the tip of the knife cut an inch-long slit in my arm.

Damn, I've got a tendency to let my emotions rush away. I realized that I had become far more excited than what was good for me. The incision had become both deeper and longer than intended. Well, what was done was done. A quick look at Mala convinced me that my self-mutilation had had a profound effect on her. Her face had lost all of its color and her eyes watered. Breathing was rapid; even irregular. The braided hair hoisted in the mast served its purpose. Several times she jerked and straightened her back after having sunk together as if she had tried to huddle, escape or, perhaps, simply go to sleep. When I looked down at my arm, I hoped that my face wasn't going pale too. The cut was indeed deep and blood was if not flowing, at least trickling generously down my arm towards my wrist. I let the dagger shift hands and dipped my right index finger in the blood and served it to Mala's lips. Her first instinct was to press her lips together but I insisted and after a brief moment, she parted her lips. Even licked my finger. Tentatively at first, then increasingly greedily. My turn to get goose bumps. The mini-me mummy had also come to life and was scouting, only the head visible.

"You've got too much clothes, darling."

Sure. A cotton summer skirt over a bikini. Maybe it concealed her most intimate parts but definitely not her figure. Nonetheless, I wouldn't have her any other way but naked. Once again, the dagger glimmered in the sunlight before I gripped her dress and started to cut it in the front. The thin fabric slit easily under the sharp blade and the garments fell open; chest, stomach, mound, hips. A few extra cuts and everything she had on were hanging in shreds. It took no effort to peel off the rest and throw it astern. With some satisfaction, I concluded that I had managed to slice her clothes to pieces without cutting Mala's skin even once. Nevertheless, Mala was again shaking amid the presence of the sharp knife. Tears had begun to show on her cheek. My heart was almost broken.

Time for yet another piece of equipment.

"Was the sight of blood uncomfortable?"

"Yes Sir, a b-bit..."

"So I figured... This might help."

I presented a dark blue scarf from the sea bag. I had almost forgotten about it, but I had decided that it was imperative that she wore a blindfold. Mala swallowed hard. I could see it in her eyes that she was thinking of protesting. She had never been a great fan of blindfolds even though she would normally accept it if I asked very nicely. This time I was not asking, but simply tied the scarf around her head, over her eyes. She stiffened and started to move her lips.

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, darling?"

"This is getting a bit creepy, J."

"Tsk, tsk... where's my brave girl?"

"I told you I was sorry..."

"And I told you there was nothing to be sorry about..."

"See? That's what I mean: CREEPY!"

I didn't really like where this discussion was going. I had two options: Call the whole thing off, or take it to the next level.

I decided on the latter. Gripped her chin and leaned towards her. Whispering in her ear, I said to her:

"Darling Mala, do you trust me?"

I had no idea what she would respond. Honestly, I had not planned to ask such a pivotal question at all but rather tell her that she was tied up and could not move but an inch or so; that she had already submitted to me; that I was all powerful. I looked in her face. She seemed so very fragile. Her lips trembled and although the scarf shielded her eyes, I could tell that tears were running.

"Yes."

No more. No less.

Carefully I put the dagger back in the freezer bag and made sure it was covered in ice. The cold was important, as my little experiment had illustrated. Took a deep breath. Once I started, I would be running against the clock. The window of opportunity was open for only a brief moment before I would need to stop; before it'd be over. Second thoughts? None.

*

It felt as though the ice cold object was burning my hand. The sharp edge reflected the sunlight in all directions over the deck; icy rays of white light. I let the reflection touch her chest, circle her breasts, around her stiff nipples – the fact that she was excited amused me; let the beam of light run the very same distance that I intended the point to take. Blood still trickled from the cut in my arm and I dipped the point in it in a sudden streak of gothic mysticism. Somehow the symbolic act seemed appropriate. Or at least a bit amusing; mixed blood, eternal bonds, beginning and end.

The painting of a picture on her torso, her limbs, her soul.

She gave up a shriek when I let the edge very lightly touch the skin of her chest, just above her bosoms. Pressed just a tad harder; Mala held her breath as I let the icy knife slide in an arc over the breast, forming something of a brow. Next breast, yet another brow, even swifter. Both of my first two brushstrokes appeared to be crying. Tiny drops merging into threads, outlining the curves of her breasts. Again I dipped my index finger in the blood and touch her lips. This time she didn't hesitate but hungrily devoured my finger until I pulled it back, at which she moaned, lips puckered.

The eyes: I let the peak circle her nipples, once, twice without touching; the third time I let the edge of the peak trail her areola. The nipples immediately responded, stiffened, trembled, and stretched out as though they were searching for contact. They made close contact with the icy dagger. Her response was instant. Again a cry echoed over the lagoon, our natural haven. Once and again she tugged her constraints, which immediately made her moan as her hair was viciously pulled by the rig. The more Mala wringed, the more she moaned, the more excited I got, the more feverishly did I brush her skin with the icy peak. The more feverishly did my cock try to crawl out of its constraining bandage; the glans shone purple and looked as if it would explode any second.

The painting of other features of the torso-face I was sculpting led Mala to continuously breathe out a guttural whimper that seemed to swing from desperate moans of anguish and fear to excited shrieks of perverted excitement.

Cheekbones, nose, erase, redo, mouth, lips, chin. I was in frenzy. The trails of my icy pencil shone on her undulating body; every single muscle in her abdomen appeared to be vibrating.

Delicate carves, points, details creating a wholeness; soft impressionism. Swift strokes. Right to left, up and down. The angles, the power; increasingly expressionistic.

The frosty point had gained a life of its own. I was merely a passive supporter, following its lead whereas Mala was the very purpose of its existence. It continued downwards, over her belly. It was slippery and it wasn't without a bit of an effort that I could still keep the thing in my hand.

Continuously downward. Was this the Grand finale? The painting of flowers around her sex? The re-sculpting of her most intimate parts? The ultimate mutilation?

Her tension intensified to the point where she froze and held her breath. Her whimpering, moaning, shivering vanished. Then she sighed and relaxed. A long deliberating exhalation. I looked at her and she smiled her wonderfully warm smile.

"Do you want me to take away the blindfold?"

"Yes please, darling."

"How long have you known?"

"Only just now."

I liberated her from the scarf around her head. She winked several times as she adjusted to the sudden bright light. Then she tried to look down but the rig holding her hair stretched hindered her.

"Please?"

I released the rope somewhat. This game wasn't quite over yet.

Her chest, belly and thighs were soaked in the pinkish liquid created by the blend of my blood and the melted ice dagger. The dagger of ice. The icicle. I showed her what was left of the peak in my hand. The piece of ice had transformed from a sharp, very sharp, dagger-like frosty saber into a three inch watery lump; still cold and rigid but hardly the ominous weapon it had been only five minutes ago.

Shallow breath had turned heavy and wanton. The twitchy responses to my every touch had turned invitingly sinuating. I had moved the lump of ice below her belly button; the shimmering moisture covering her swollen lips was not caused by melted water, I was sure.

Brushed the ice over her mound. Gasp. Moan. Of pleasure. Of excitement. Of arousal.

More than a brush; the icy dildo slid between her lips. I moved it slowly all the way from her stomach, through her slit, to her warm and alluring entrance, and back up again. Down, up, repeating the tour. Slowly her breathing turned shallower again; increasingly erratic; twitchier movements. Closer. Closer. Let my left hand follow the cold trail of the ice, letting the warmth of my palm, my fingers leveling up the chill. The effect was profound – Mala's hips shot out towards me and her pussy seemed to be screaming for even more attention, a more intensive caress, a deeper penetration. I obliged and entered her with my fingers while I sucked her taste from the piece of ice. Edged closer to her, looked in her eyes; brushed her lips with the scented icicle and she readily put her lips around it and sucked it. She moaned as I moved my fingers inside her; pushed deeper. Her eyes were pleading for more. Her whole being was pleading for more. I leaned towards her, arm around her, pulling her to me – me to her – and kissed her while my fingers massaged her pussy from the inside. Held the kiss; affectionate, increasingly passionate, wet, hungry. Despite her constraints, despite her fragility and exposed posture, Mala embraced me as fiercely as I held her; with her warmth, with her aura that was vibrating around us.

Glued together, our tongues danced fiery through our kiss. Her tense trembling gave evidence of her raising climax and I let my fingers move friskier, rhythmically meeting her thrusting hips.

Crescendo. Acceleration. Driven by primitive lust. Faster. Harder. More.

Climax. Her whole body cramped, and I felt how her vagina clenched my fingers in a violent orgasm, flooding my hand with warm juices. Our lips were still fused in a feverish kiss. The sound of our moaning voices blending together in a raw, animalistic roar.

Spasms. Twitches. Undulations. Waves. Gentle caresses. Feathery strokes. Kisses. Smiles. Looks. Laughter.

Calmness?

Not quite.

The Mummy was never as aggressive as it was right now. Almost breaking its bandages, my cock was shivering erect and achingly swollen. The crown had ballooned and had obtained a dark bluish purple color.

Mala licked her lips. Grinned mischievously, which gave rise to an almost hilarious impression: The tortured victim of a medieval witch hunt, tied to the pole, waiting for the flames to engorge her, all the while leering at her persecutors. Hilarious because the sun was shining, gulls were laughing, and because the Mummy was crying for attention.

There's no question as to what is my most sensitive erogenous zone; it's the frenulum, or rather the whole area on the low side of the glans, from the opening to where the shaft and crown meet. Even more so, a soft tongue's wet laving this area will make my toes crumble and fingers go numb from loss of blood as though every centiliter is needed to fill my erection. Admittedly, it's not quite that large. But I can only state my true and honest impression. So, in essence an ideal stimulation of me that should take me to a swift and gorgeously explosive orgasm would be to concentrate on this area.

In theory.

Not that simple. Somehow, my body requires a constant intensification of the stimuli to take me all the way to ejaculation. Intensification in the sense that although not as sensitive, more parts of my body need to take part of the action. Equally important is the dynamics; the movement, the surprising shifts, the pressure, the... Do you catch my drift? The out of control experience. A concentrated effort on only my cock head will have different effects depending on where I am; foreplay – bliss, mid-fucking – frustration, at the very edge of orgasm – release.

The purple ball that Mala was looking at was lubricated by pre cum; every breath led to an involuntary twitch led to a new overflow of clear liquid from the opening. Her mouth was open, lips beckoning to the bandaged cock to come closer, to enter her warm and eager mouth. The Mummy said hello and entered.

And it was heaven. Wet tongue circling, lapping the pre cum from the smooth surface; playing, toying, teasing. Then lips closing. Carefully. Gently. Suckling, all the time her tongue swirling round, round, round.

My fingers dug into her hair and I had to fight my urge to hold her head steady and thrust my cock down her throat but let her suck the swollen part that was not covered in bandages. My knees barely managed to hold me upright and I moaned; no I cried out loud in frustrated pleasure as I could feel the familiar but yet so distant feeling of a rising climax held away on the other side of a seemingly endless plateau. I had reached a level just next to orgasm, next to ejaculation, and Mala's sucking mouth and frenzied tongue pinned me to this level; not letting me drop off, not driving me further into a releasing ejaculation. A denied orgasm was never more tantalizing.

Suddenly, the boat rocked; a wave passed the lagoon – maybe a large ship had passed by far away, maybe it was a crest of mercy by the gods. Off balance for a brief moment, I stumbled. Rather than letting go, Mala closed her mouth a bit harder around my cock, as if to keep me from falling (dreadful thought).