Cruise by Jurgen von Stuka
Abduction, sex slavery, pony training, extreme bondage and S&M combine to make this a fast-moving tale of men dominating females at sea. The mix of martial arts, para-military combat and pure revenge adds to the action.
German detective, Bibi Wolfe Lynx and her criminologist buddy, Jean Groff, (see AFTER SCHOOL, Pink Flamingo), take a contract to protect a wealthy Austrian family on a mega-yacht with an all female crew. Then, Jean and six young women from the ship disappear. While Bibi is searching for them, slaver/pirates take over the ship.
Bibi, torn between her search for Jean and the women, takes on the pirate band while the captives suffer torment and restraint in an old fort on the island and an off shore slave ship.
Meanwhile, the chained and gagged captives are readied for shipment to Africa and constantly subjected to slave training and “interrogation” by the slavers.
The source of all the mayhem is a sex and BDSM-crazed Swiss watchmaker, Brillcart who performs daily sexual torture on Karine, Bibi’s girlfriend, who is kept chained and impaled in his own private cellars in Zurich.
The story includes exotic bondage devices, whipping, milking, pony training, piercing of nipples and labia, double dildoe penetration, chains, gags, hoods, rubber suits, SCUBA breathing manipulation, anal and vaginal sex, TG events, breast and nipple torture, impalements, and anything else the pirates can devise to entertain themselves with the young captives. There are several violent gun battles between Bibi’s ninja-like female raiders and the Slavers.
Each of the seven sealed coffins yielded a nearly comatose young woman, cocooned and bound in layers of straps, chains and rope. The restraints were more than merely a method of keeping them immobile. The carefully executed layers of rope, leather and chain comprised a redundant system of pressure and confinement intended to constantly remind the captive that there was no escape from the bonds or from the suffering they would endure.
“I can’t believe they went to all this trouble just to keep a few women captive,” Karla said as she cut through the chains on one of the prisoners. “Right,” said Bibi. “This is not a restraint job, this is well executed and sadistic bondage intended to keep them aroused and ready. Haven’t seen anything like this since the greenhouse in Prague.”
“I heard about that one,” Karla said, still working on ropes and straps.
“From Groff?” Bibi asked.
“Yes, she told me about that case. That guy got what he deserved, for what I heard.”
“Agreed. Now let’s get moving on this. The day is getting old and we still haven’t found anyone we want to find.”
Once the chains were cut and the shrouds removed, the elaborate net web of rope was more clearly revealed, enclosing the naked bodies. Under the ropes, a series of locked leather straps secured ankles, legs above and below the knees, a wider strap around their upper thighs and a belt arrangement around their waist with a narrow strap through the triangle between their legs. Similar straps encircled their chest, squeezing their breasts into shiny, stressed mounds with the nipples taut and rigidly pointing outward. A few of the captives had rings or small metal barbells in their nipples and others wore a sort of wire harness that compressed the breast base and created bright red, pear-shaped turrets with blood filled nipples pointing straight outward. Their heads were enclosed in identical leather hoods with massive inflatable gags, their eyes blind and ears packed with wax, making them nearly deaf.
As Karla and Bibi worked to free them, the girls slowly came alive, weeping and moaning as the crotch bands were cut and the impaling rubber or metal prods were carefully removed from their anal and vaginal passages. Slowly, the gags were deflated and extracted from their stretched mouths and the many restraining straps and chains cut away. Nearly an hour later, all were settled against the wall of the underground chamber, wrapped in the same shrouds they had been held in, because there were no other clothes or even blankets available. In talking with those who were more articulate about what happened to them, Bibi learned that these women were unfortunate foreign tourists, taken either the night before in the local clubs or from their hotel rooms by the same gang that Bibi’s crew pursued.
The oldest girl, a tall redhead named Brenda Allen, appeared to be the most coherent and, with Bibi’s encouragement, she took charge of the group. Searching the chamber, they uncovered a stash of the girls’ original clothing, some of it torn and stained, but still better than nothing.
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