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Welcome To Torture Island by C P Stone

Welcome To Torture Island 
(C P Stone)


Chapter One


They had made good progress, at least until now, having sailed for over a week without having to reef in the sails or to make more than minor changes to their course. It had been idyllic, with a following wind, a relatively calm sea and a crew that enjoyed sharing each other's company.

Pete, Wendy, Margo and Silva had spent almost all of the past six months on one of the smallest of the thousands of inhabitable West Indian islands that stretch along the east coast of the Americas, from off the North American continent, right down to Venezuela.

They had rented their tropical paradise for six months and were now heading back to what some might call civilisation, but to them it meant the breaking of a spell; something that they would never forget.

Pete let the yacht take its own course, within reason, allowing the following wind to take them in the general direction they needed to go, but calling in on any island on their route if it took their fancy.

But now the wind that had carried them all this way had finally let them down, had finally died and they were left in the doldrums, wallowing on an oily sea with only one island in view.

“The way we're drifting,” said Wendy, studying the island through her binoculars and who had beyond a doubt, proved to be the best navigator on board. “We'll miss the island by at least a couple of miles. More, probably.”

Wendy was typically Anglo Saxon, with long blonde hair that had been bleached almost white by the months in strong sunlight.

“Just as well,” commented Pete, borrowing the binoculars from Wendy and surveying the island himself. “By the look of those cliffs, we could be in trouble if we got too close to them.”

Margo and Silva lay in the cabin below and not where they wanted to be, sunning themselves on deck, although Silva, with her almost jet black skin, had no cause to require a tan. Margo too was dark skinned, coming from South American extraction and by the amount of sun they had been exposed to in the past six months, she was considerably darker than her normal golden brown.

They both raised their heads and looked up as Pete came down into the cabin and looked at them.

“Had enough?” he enquired with a grin.

They both nodded without uttering a word, which for them was unusual, until it was considered that both were efficiently gagged, with wads of cloth filling their mouths, sealed in with ample layers of adhesive tape.

Both girls were totally naked, which had been the standard mode of 'dress' for most of their time away from civilisation, but at the moment their bodies were firmly bound with lengths of white rope which contrasted dramatically with their dark skins.

“Oh no!” said a determined voice behind them and they looked up again, to see that Wendy had also come down into the cabin. “They aren't going to get away just yet. At least not until I've had a play with these.”

The blonde held up two wicked looking vibrators and handed one to Pete.

“Which one do you want?” she asked, meaning which girl, rather than which vibrator.

“I'm feeling generous today,” he said with a grin, looking down at the squirming protesting girls. “You choose!”

Wendy knelt down beside the black girl and carefully stroked her thick wiry hair.

“Hi Silva!” she teased, a grin on her face, then held up the vibrator. “Look what I've got for you!”

Silva made some odd noises from behind the gag, then gave up on that and shook her head in a half-hearted protest.

“It's no good you trying to get out of it,” laughed the blonde as she placed the tip of the toy against the black fuzz of Silva's fanny. “You know you like it and would only moan if I let you get away without completing the job!”

The black girl didn't even try to answer, simply gave a soft groan, closed her eyes and accepted the smooth cool vibrator as it slipped inside her hole.

Wendy looked up from her task to see that Pete had done the same with his victim and they looked across at each other, smiled and nodded.

The next second, the vibrators were switched on and both bound and gagged girls reacted by straightening their legs and tensing their muscles.

“Mmmmmm!” was all Silva could say in protest, as Wendy wiggled the tool about inside its tight little hole.

“Oh!” said Wendy, in response to Silva's protestations. “You want some more?”

She switched the vibro on to full power and Silva screamed, as much as was possible from behind the gag.

She curled her legs up then, trying to push the buzzing tormenting device even further up her hole and clamped her strong muscles around the device, encouraging it to press against her clit and tease her to its ultimate conclusion.

Wendy, aware of the vice like grip Silva had on the vibrator, let it stay where it was and used both hands to press the lips of her victim's vagina around the vibrating device, then pressed the palm of her hand hard over the outside of the pussy to add to the pressure of the vibro against the clit.

Encouraged by the black girl's desperate struggles to bring herself to a climax, Wendy reached between her own legs and eased a finger into her own, hot, wet and throbbing slit, gasping as she located her over sensitive 'G' spot and began to masturbate herself, while encouraging her helpless victim to do her own thing.

Wendy gave a minute squeal as she rocketed towards orgasm and looked across at the other pair, who were totally absorbed in their own seventh heaven, with Pete masturbating himself, while making quite sure that Margo was going to blow whether she wanted to or not. By the look on Margo's face, she very much wanted to shoot straight through to paradise.

It wasn't difficult to tell who reached orgasm first as Silva stretched out, straining desperately against her bonds and let out a loud, muffled grunt from behind her gag, then another, as the second climax hit her. She shuddered and sank down in tender agony as the teasing weapon was removed.

It wasn't so easy to tell who reached their climax next, as the reaction to Silva's struggles was the signal for the other three to respond in a similar fashion and with some considerable noise and a great deal of heavy breathing, they each hit their own version of heaven, until all were satiated.

“We're missing all that lovely sun out there,” complained Silva, as soon as the gag was plucked from her mouth.

Wendy untied the ropes and Silva gave her a hug, kissing her full on the lips.

“Thanks!” she whispered, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “That was great!”

“It did something for me too, you know!” replied the blonde.

“Not that I would have noticed!” laughed Silva, as she followed the others up on deck.

The two girls, who had until recently been playing bondage games, stretched their slim bodies out on the fore-deck to make up for lost time and vaguely noted that since they had been up on deck an hour ago, the yacht had continued to drift past the island. They were still hoping that the wind would pick up, but there was no sign of it yet.

“What's that over there?” asked Wendy, turning her binoculars on a yellowy/grey patch of sea in the direction they were drifting.

“It looks like a patch of sea mist,” said Pete, trying to focus his own binoculars on the distant patch. “I think we'd better start the engine and try and avoid it if we can.”

He stepped into the covered cockpit but the mist was deceptive and started to roll around the boat within a few seconds.

“As we're drifting away from the island, there should be no problem about those cliffs,” he said to the girls, as they gathered their things and moved down into the main cabin to get out of the sudden chill. “I would prefer it if we didn't run the engine. If there are any other ships in the area, we want to be able to hear them.”

The mist continued to roll over the craft and the four of them pulled on jeans and sweaters, then stood out on deck to watch the fog billow silently about them until the visibility was reduced to such an extent that they could scarcely see to the other end of the yacht.

“Why is it so yellow?” asked Silva, her voice soft and low, as she wrapped her arms around her body against the sudden drop in temperature.

“I don't know,” whispered Pete in reply.

“Why are we whispering?” asked Margo, her voice as quiet as the rest and her big, liquid brown eyes growing larger than ever.

“I don't know that either,” answered Pete, “but it is spooky, isn't it?”

“I can't hear a thing,” said Margo.

“None of us will, if you don't shut up!” squeaked Silva, looking around as if she expected to see something appear out of the mist at any minute.

They stood there in the absolute silence of the blanket of fog, just staring at the odd yellow light that surrounded them; the only sound the occasional lap of water against the hull of the yacht and the even more occasional flap of the sails as they tried to catch the slightest of breezes.

Then everything happened at once.

There was the loud clang of a bell, accompanied by a multitude of creaking ropes and with the whoosh of water being pushed aside by force, a massive black shadow loomed out of the yellow mist and headed straight towards them.

“Look out!” yelled Pete pointlessly, as the prow of a huge wooden galleon loomed over them, then made contact with the starboard bow of their yacht, brushing it aside as if it were flotsam.

The girls screamed as the yacht heeled over.

“Jump for it!” shouted Pete, trying to raise his voice above the creaking, rushing sounds and seeing that the girls had pre-empted his call, followed their lead and leaped for the numerous ropes that hung down from the ancient timbers.

All four managed to scramble onto the tarred nets in the bowsprit and hung there as their yacht gave a lurch and was pushed under the surface by the massive timbers of the vessel.

“What in God's name is this?” screeched Silva, her face turning several shades paler than it had a short while ago.

“I hope someone is going to tell me I'm wrong, but it looks to me like a Spanish galleon,” croaked Margo.

“Spanish galleons went out of fashion a few hundred years ago,” replied Wendy uncertainly and then, when nobody replied. “Well? Didn't they?”

“Of course they did!” assured Pete, easing his way up over the net and peering onto the fore-deck. “Maybe you should tell the crew of this ship that things have changed a bit since then.”

“I know,” said Margo suddenly, her face brightening up, as if she had come to a definite decision. “This is a ghost ship!”

“Don't say things like that,” said Wendy, shivering more from the thought than the cool mist. “Anyway, it feels pretty solid to me!”

Always the practical one, Wendy tried to reassure the others, but she spoke in a whisper as if she had a hard time convincing herself let alone anyone else.

“Come on, you lot,” called Pete in a hoarse whisper.

They scrambled up onto the fore-deck, expecting to see somebody, but there was no-one in sight, so they crept over to the ornamental rail and looked down on the main deck as far as the yellow fog would allow. The rear of the ship was still shrouded in mist.

Easing themselves down the steps, onto the main deck, they crept forward towards the stern.

“I don't like it!” whispered Margo.

“Why are you whispering again?” whispered Silva.

“The same reason you are!” came the reply.

Pete stopped and looked about him.

“This is bloody ridiculous!” he said. “Here we are, creeping about on a three hundred year old ship in the middle of the West Indies and whispering like scared rabbits!”

“So who's arguing?” said Silva, shrugging her shoulders.

Pete took a deep breath, cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted at the top of his voice.

“Hello there! Anybody aboard?”

They stood there then, breathless and in silence, listening for an answer and half hoping that there wouldn't be one.

Suddenly there was a clattering of feet on wooden boards and raised voices. The next second, figures seemed to appear from all directions, sliding down the rigging, racing down the steps and leaping from hatches, until the group were surrounded by staring onlookers.

The four stood and stared back, not knowing what to say. Stunned into silence.

The figures surrounding them were all men, of innumerable shapes and sizes, but they all had one thing in common. They were all dressed as pirates, straight out of a story book, only these were no figment of the imagination. These were very real and with their cutlasses and daggers drawn, they looked convincingly menacing.

A man in a long, bright green coat and sporting the biggest red beard they had ever seen, pushed his way through the crowd and confronted them.

“What be you a’doin' here?” he said, rolling his eyes in the traditional manner.

“I'm awfully sorry!” replied Pete, trying his best to smile. “You seem to have run over our yacht.”

Silva rolled her own eyes at the understatement of the year.

“YOU WHAT?” roared the man, then turned to his fellow pirates and began to laugh. “It seems we have a jester on board.”

The big man stepped up to Pete, who seemed to shrink by several inches.

“Now tell me the truth, landlubber!” he growled through his bush of beard. “Who sent you to spy on us? Tell me the truth or it will be the worse for you all.”

“Leave him alone, you big bully,” yelled Wendy and gave the man a hefty kick in the shins.

“Yeeow!” he boomed, bent over, grabbed Wendy by the front of her sweater and hauled her off her feet.

“What have we here?” he rumbled, pressing his huge face close to hers. “If it ain't some wenches!”

He let her go and she tumbled to the deck.

“Maybe we should have some fun with 'em!” he grumbled, then turned away, as if he had lost interest, calling over his shoulder, “Bind 'em and throw 'em in the sail locker. I'll deal with 'em later, when we get out 'o this blasted fog!”

The four captives were grabbed and had their hands roughly bound behind their back with course rope, then while a large hatch set in the wooden deck was lifted, Pete and the three girls were dropped one by one into the sail locker, tumbling in a heap on the store of canvas, which fortunately broke their fall, but did nothing to allay their fears for the future.

Chapter Two


With the hatch slammed down above their heads, they lay in total darkness and listened to the footsteps of the crew on the deck, as they went about their business.

“Is every one all right?” asked Pete, as he struggled into a sitting position.

“Apart from a few bruises and having my dignity hurt, I think I'm still in one piece,” replied Wendy. “How about you, Margo?”

“Jesus Christus!” cursed the Latin and grunted as she struggled to free her bound hands. “If I ever get my hands on that shitting creep of a pirate!”

“How about you, Silva?” called Wendy, her eyes trying unsuccessfully to penetrate the dark.

“I'm O.K!” came the voice from over the other side of the compartment. “If I can find someone else in this stinking hole, maybe we can get these ropes untied.”

“Good idea!” said Pete, cocking his ear and trying to locate exactly where the voices were coming from and then, when no sound was forthcoming, he had to call out. “Where the hell are you, Silva?”

“Over here!” she called and they worked towards each other on their knees, struggling over the huge folds of canvas sail.

Having located each other, they sat back to back and Silva, making use of her strong, pliable fingers, plucked at the knots that secured Pete's rope until he was free. He then returned the compliment and very soon all four at least had their hands free, even if it didn't improve their situation to any great degree.

Suddenly, a thin shaft of light lit up their prison and although the amount of light squeezing through a long crack in the bulkhead at one end of the compartment was minimal, it gave enough light for them to see each other, which provided a crumb of comfort.

“What in God's name is going on?” said Margo. “One minute we’re in our yacht, wallowing around in fog and the next we get run down by a ghost ship and captured by pirates, who’re several hundred years out of their time!”

“They were real enough to me,” groaned Wendy. “There's nothing ghostly about this lot, but I must confess, I'm as puzzled as you are.”

“Shut up, you two!” hissed Pete and crawled over the bundles of canvas towards the slit of light. “I can hear voices.”

He peered through the crack in the timbers and saw several of the pirates gathered in the cabin that joined onto their compartment. They were sitting round a long wooden table and opening cans of very up to date beer. The lighting too, although simulating the candle lanterns of a bygone age, was artificial and actually powered by a very modern electricity supply.

“I say we throw them overboard!” said one of the pirates, thumping his can of beer on the table to emphasise the point.

“Maybe they are who they say they are,” joined in another, in between gulps of the ale. “Maybe they were just out sailing and know nothing about the set-up.”

“In that case,” argued the first. “How is it we didn't see them come on board? Answer me that!”

“My guess is they're FBI stooges, or coastguard, put on board by inflatable dinghy,” said a third pirate. “In which case we should throw them overboard and be done with it. What do you reckon, Jake?”

Jake was the bearded man who had appeared to be in charge when the four had been captured and was obviously in charge now. The group of men turned to the big man for an answer.

“In which case,” replied Jake, staring ferociously at the man who had made the last suggestion. “We need to hang on to them. To find out exactly what they're up to.”

The others growled in agreement and by the look of respect and possibly fear on their faces, they dared not say otherwise.

“We hold on to them and use a little gentle persuasion to ask them a few questions,” he continued, lowering his voice, so that they unconsciously leaned forward to catch every word. He paused to make sure he had everyone's attention and a wicked smile crossed his face as he added. “And then we can throw them overboard!”

The assembly burst into uproar and beer was poured down throats in celebration of the forthcoming entertainment.

“And now to business,” Jake shouted, calming the men down. “Sam and Gus will take the junk ashore as soon as we dock. The rest of you will get the passengers settled in their cabins and don't forget you're pirates, so I want to hear plenty of pirate talk. These people are paying a lot of dollars to be entertained and anyone who doesn't pull their weight can join those others as shark feed.”

The men all mumbled and groaned, but whether or not they took the threat seriously, none made any sign of protest.

“Come on then, lads!” called Jake, as he stood up from the table, reverting to the accent of the pirate captain. “Look lively now. We'll be ashore by nightfall and those landlubbers will want to be tucked up in their bunks well before we sail on the tide.”

“Aye, aye, Cap'n!” they heartily replied and trampled out of the cabin to return to their duties.

Pete turned to the girls, who had crowded around to listen to what was being said.

“What was that all about?” asked Silva, a puzzled look on her otherwise smooth, ebony face.