Ship of Remorse

by Chris Bellows

  “On the bed, Alexi.”

  They spoke to each other and I learned that their names were Dottie and Lottie. I could not distinguish which was which.

  One girl gratefully released my thumbs from the yoke and pushed me to lie on my back. The other then picked up a foot and encircled my ankle with a comfortable fur lined cuff.

  “We like girls,” commented one. “You may or may not. It doesn’t matter.”

  My thumbs found themselves attached to the bedposts. This stretched out my arms and separated my hands well apart over my head. The cramping ceased and initially the relief felt good. The utility of the cylinder encasing my hair was demonstrated. It was used to immobilize my head by securing it to a cord strung from post to post.

  With the second ankle cuffed, my feet were spread and attached to the bottom posts at a point well above the mattress. The girl was very particular in making sure my feet and thus my calves were suspended off the bed.

  When finished I found myself lying supine with my thighs off the bed at a perpendicular angle, my knees bent and my calves held in the air parallel to the bed. My nose detected the extreme level of my arousal. I felt drops of love juice dribble past my labia and down my perineum.

  “Let’s test,” one girl gushed with what seemed to be unwarranted enthusiasm.

  She crawled up onto the bed and while kneeling straddled my left thigh. She then lowered her head and licked my left nipple. I moaned. She in turn squeezed my thigh between her two, pushed back and frottaged her toga-covered genitalia against me. The annoying bell tolled about my neck.

  “Her chest is perfectly positioned,” she exclaimed, obviously noting that my longer torso permitted her to kneel over me with her face at breast level.

  “But the bell has to go.”

  It was easily detached. Then she scrambled from the bed and the two girls retreated to dresser drawers. After a moment of fumbling about, they returned to me. In each pair of hands was a rubber implement with a strap attached. Judging from the placement of various nubs and with each having a substantial phallus protruding, the devices were designed solely to pleasure the female organs, both vaginally and clitorally.

  “If Daddy ever knew how I was spending all his oil money...” mused one girl.

  The two giggled uncontrollably as they encircled each of my thighs with a strap. Soon I was looking down to see two hideous dildos staring back at me from the middle of my thighs.

  “Shall we let her watch?”

  “Just for a while. I’ll get the blind fold.”

  With that the togas were simultaneously tossed to the floor and the two vixens stood as naked as me. Their slim bodies were boyish. Small breasts were topped with excited cherry-like nipples. Perky buttocks and minimal pubic hair, trimmed well away from the vaginal opening, accentuated their youthful appearance, though I judged both to be older than me.

  They crawled onto the large bed from right and left. Each seized one of my breasts. With the slightest of squeezes a geyser of milk shot straight into the air from my right nipple. Both laughed and their heads instantly bowed in a polite contest to lick the nectar from where it landed near my navel. Their tongues felt wonderfully hot. I felt more of my juices released from my love pouch. I was embarrassed by my reaction particularly when the girl on the left noticed.

  “You see, Alexi. Lactating aboard ‘The Scarlet Letter’ isn’t all bad,” she commented as she again straddled my thigh.

  Her hands moved down, grasped the rubber phallus and with a catch of her breath she quickly impaled herself. The other girl turned and kissed her, seeming to gain pleasure from her pleasure. Then she in turn straddled my right thigh and likewise guided the second rubber protuberance into her love nest. She sighed.

  “You’re in for quite an evening, Alexi.”

  By repeatedly pushing their hips back against my thighs, both girls began to slowly pump, obviously seeking to lubricate the phalli with the moisture of their own arousal.

  Since each of my thighs was squeezed by theirs, their hot naked flesh pressing against mine felt wonderful. I was reminded of the brief moments in the washroom when Nurse Inga let us rub against each other. Only as opposed to frolicking about in the large communal washtub, with Dottie and Lottie my genitalia were left completely untouched. I felt myself pulling against the cords securing my thumbs. I desperately needed to finger myself. But instead I could only observe the looks of satiation, listen to the grunts of pleasure, and smell the arousal of Dottie and Lottie mix with the aroma of mine.

  After numerous small orgasms, both heads lowered to my breasts. A slow lick. A slight suckle. I felt my nest turn to a river and I began to quiver.

  “Time for the blindfold.”

  The girl on my right quickly placed it over my eyes and tied it around my head. In darkness, I could only feel, listen and sniff the overpowering fragrance of feminine arousal. But in an odd form of compensation for being deprived of vision, both girls hungrily attacked my nipples. They sucked strongly while pumping rapidly and firmly on the thigh mounted dildos. The dull ache in my breasts transformed to the pleasure I had come to crave. My senses were overwhelmed. The endorphins began to flow. The sucking sensation of the two child like vixens surpassed anything I had felt in the stall. They were extracting the essence from my breasts faster and with more pleasure than Dr. Helga, Nurse Inga or the dreaded machine.

  I climaxed for the first time in months. One girl laughingly exclaimed that I had ejaculated on her foot and indeed I felt a strange release followed by a wetness about my vulva that I had never before experienced.

  And my pudendum had not been touched!

  A post coitus-like glow served to place me in an amazingly relaxed mode. Yet the two girls continued to suckle and I felt both the proud and satisfying sensations of nurturing with the contrasting feeling of my strength slowly ebbing. Their hot tongues and lips worked without respite, drawing from my plump, over filled glands the milk, which Dr. Helga and Nurse Inga had so meticulously sought to develop.

  Again, I compared my conflicting emotions to those of an imagined rape... the rage and anger of having something so precious being taken from me against my will versus the absolute peek of feminine ecstasy, giving and nurturing with the glands so innate to the female body and so well readied by Dr. Helga’s extensive lactation program.

  Despite the diversion provided by the sounds of frequent grunts and cries of pleasure from the lesbian lovers, I laid on the bed, restrained... thus forced to lay back and feel them bring themselves to climax utilizing my thighs and slowly drawing the energy and essence from my body. And I was so oddly gratified to have it taken from me...

  I believe I slept. I may have passed out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I awoke. Faint light, glowing through a small, well-curtained porthole, hinted at an early hour.

  Dottie and Lottie had moved to the other bed and were sleeping completely naked. Each of their faces was firmly ensconced into the others pudendum.

  I was glad to see that they had lowered my legs before retiring. But I was still restrained spread eagled on the bed. The very molecules of the room air seemed to painfully collide with my overly sensitive nipples. They stung, the two insatiable lovers having sucked for hours and long after my breasts gave up their last drop of sustenance. My stomach growled, a sound and feeling to which I had become quite accustomed. I needed to urinate. But more, my neglected sex needed the attention of my fingers. I so much desired to pinch, knead and caress my labia and diddle my clitoris as I so often did as a young teenager.

  After a while the need to empty my bladder began to exceed my need to toy with my sex. My quandary as to whether to break silence and awake the lesbian lovers by pleading for release turned to panic. It became apparent that the two were not going to awake before my urges forced me to soil the sheets, thus mandating that I lie in my own excretions.

  And the thoughts of the subsequent punishment further panicked me. I had avoided many of the strokes of the
cane so casually meted out to the other girls of 3 stall, but I had received enough to know that such was to be avoided with vigor.

  What punishment was worse? That for breaking silence or that for urinating on a guest’s bed.

  Finally, with my consternation peaking, there was a soft knock on the door. Nurse Inga entered wearing her professional smile. She placed her finger to her lips to shush me. Within a minute, I was released from the bed, thumbs reattached to the yoke, and was stepping into the hallway. There Nurse Inga hooked on the annoying bell.

  “You’re full,” she commented with a knowing smile as her fingers pressed against my lower abdomen.

  “And sore,” she added as the same fingers moved up and toyed with my right nipple while she watched my reaction.

  I gasped with the irritation of having the abraded nipple touched, even so lightly.

  “Sometimes they like to nibble. Dottie and Lottie can be insatiable.”

  Nurse Inga reached into her pocket and produced a small jar of ointment. She gently smeared a whitish cream on my nipples. It felt cool but alleviated the sting.

  “Farmers use it on cows’ udders after extensive milking,” she explained. “It promotes the repair of the skin cells.”

  We began our descent back into the bowels of the ship. With full bladder, I felt like I was hopping along, squeezing the very muscles, which the Kegel exercises had sought to strengthen. My moistened nipples were cooled by the air. Once again they turned to pencil points. I walked closely behind Nurse Inga, ironically hoping to soon be permitted to squat while she held open my lips with beaker in hand.

  After traversing two flights, Nurse Inga led me down a hallway toward another stairway, which I knew to further descend into the hull. A door opened in front of us. Exiting his sleeping quarters and evidently on his way to breakfast was that most handsome blond sailor, the dispenser of candy and with it abject humiliation.

  He looked past Nurse Inga to me. His eyes quickly shifted to my extremely reddened nipples. He seemed to realize that I had spent the night ‘entertaining guests’ as Ms. Adams would phrase my activities.

  “Good morning Inga. I suppose it’s a little early to be offering candy.”

  She smiled back, warmly. There was a twinkle in her eye. Perhaps he had been told to await the sound of my bell. I always suspected that all the seemingly chance encounters, in which the broad shouldered, flat stomached, bulging crouched sailor kept meeting the girls of 3 stall at a variety of different times and places, with candy in hand, was a setup. That somehow Nurse Inga arranged for the meetings, the intent being to spice up an otherwise dreary day of massaging, milking, washing, and dispensing enemas.

  “Not now Josef. Alexi has to use the facilities. The poor girl has been restrained all night without relief.”

  Josef feigned great concern watching me cross my legs and fidget as we paused. I could not keep the bell from making very light noises as my acute need made me tremble.

  “I thought protocol mandated that you present yourself to the crew, Alexi. Instead you seem to be hiding your charms, naughty girl.

  “Well if you want to spare yourself a caning and relieve your bladder, you may as well use my cabin. Nurse Inga can chaperone. Isn’t that correct Nurse Inga?”

  I became more convinced of a setup as Nurse Inga nodded and thanked him on my behalf. We entered the open door.

  Just as with the stateroom of Dottie and Lottie, it appeared that Josef’s large cabin had been expanded by removing the adjoining wall of one or two other cabins. It occurred to me that with the abundant size of the ship comfort for not only the guests but also the crew was more important than conserving space. Thus a cruise ship with an original capacity of some 1,000 passengers and crew had been converted to a vessel accommodating up to 144 ‘cowgirls’ and what appeared to be 200 to 300 passengers and crew.

  With the luxury of space, it was no wonder that we seemed to endlessly cruise the warm climates without word of a destination. All on board, except for the ‘cowgirls’ of course, were happy just to engage in the perverse and sordid activities without need or desire to ever dock. Except, that is, to acquire new girls or off-load offspring.

  My thoughts clouded as Josef went into his small ‘head’, as the bathroom was termed aboard ship, and returned with a old fashioned chamber pot.

  Why would I ever think I would once again be permitted to use a normal toilet?

  He placed it in the middle of the floor and I assumed the well-ingrained position of squatting over it to await Nurse Inga’s assisting fingers.

  “No, no pet. On your knees. I will help.”

  As I complied, Josef stood before me and guided my yoke. Since my thumbs were secured out to the sides, I could not rest on all fours. Instead, Josef held up my yoke as I found myself on my knees and bent forward at the waist. My face was pushed into the denim-covered zipper of his jeans. I could feel his growing manhood. Nurse Inga stood to the side. Her pleasant professional smile had turned to one of evil. Where was her assisting hand? My bladder was bursting.

  Then Josef’s right foot cleverly moved forward and pushed the chamber pot back toward my ankles. It was no longer in a position to collect my excretions.

  I had definitely been setup.

  “Good girls get a reward. If you show me what a good girl you are I will let you use my pot. I like to have it taken nice and deep...”

  Josef’s left hand moved to the cylinder on the back of my head. His right pulled open his zipper. A mammoth circumcised phallus popped out. He pushed my face into it utilizing my handle. The proximity was such that the heat seemed to burn my nose and lips. He had done this before.

  Strange how one’s mind runs to unusual thoughts in times of stress. Mine questioned Nurse Inga’s motives in participating in this conspiracy. Josef would be fellated. Quickly, neatly, obediently. I had no other option.

  But what did this pretty young Scandinavian nurse have to gain? Judging from the manner in which she tenderly washed and milked me and all the other ‘cowgirls’, and her morning interludes with Nancy, I assumed she was a daughter of Sappho, receiving some deviant pleasure in controlling naked girls. Why deal with this unctuous male?

  Before I took Josef’s turgid penis, I glanced her way as best as his firm grip allowed. She stood with a smug smile, arms folded across her chest, appearing as if a great curiosity was about to be satisfied.

  Then Josef shook his hand, my head with it, returning my attention to the matter at hand. When I turned my eyes and refocused, I understood the curiosity and reason for Nurse Inga’s intense observation. Josef’s penis had grown even more. It was huge and stood straight up well past his belt buckle. There seemed no way I would ever get it into my mouth much less ‘take it deep’.

  I would be proven wrong. And Nurse Inga would find herself most amused while her curiosity was satisfied.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After that introduction to the antics of the main lounge, our schedule fell into a new regimen. The twice-daily milkings ceased. Instead, our lacteal needs were allowed to accumulate then satisfied by way of a visit with Ms. Adams and her guests.

  On most occasions I was simply placed kneeling on a table to become a guest’s entry into the milking contest. It was humiliating, debasing, stressful but satisfying in having sometimes up to two day’s accumulation of milk firmly extracted and collected in the stainless steel bowls.

  I never won. A girl from 2 stall could fill the bowl with amazing speed if her milker applied the correct technique. And on the rare times that Maria was not selected for special duty, as I had been with Dottie and Lottie, she always took the prize for quantity, requiring two bowls and nearly filling the second before the huge spurts began to subside to dribbles.

  Older women seemed to have the best technique for extraction. The male guests seemed to squeeze too tightly too early in the process. And there was also something about performing for a male that made the flow different, at least in my case. Perhaps the hormones d
iverted to other parts of the anatomy when a handsome male caressed my nipples or diddled my clitoris in what seemed to be standard procedure for readying the mammary glands.

  And young females just didn’t have the learned touch. When Dottie and Lottie cared to enter the contest they always did so as a team, each taking a breast. When they selected me one evening, I concluded their lips and tongue were a much more suitably tactile for extracting essence from my nipples than their hands and fingers.

  The physical change in being so often forcibly lactated for the deviant group was slow but steady. Since many guests did not have the soft fingers and did not apply the same gentle but firm squeezes as Dr. Helga and Nurse Inga, my nipples were being elongated with each squeeze and draw. After a few weeks, when aroused the pink darts arose some two inches from the body of my breasts. This feature intrigued the males, many of whom took great delight in feathering or applying cold objects in order to watch the buds erect like small penises. And their odd shape served to attract more milkers. Over the ensuing weeks every guest wanted to feel the soft pink tissue and watch my torrent of milk splash into the collecting bowl. And Ms. Adams ensured that every guest got their chance.

  So despite the different skill levels of the guests, I learned that the only way my glands would be relieved of the abundant nectar was in the lounge. Thus, the humiliating trips with bell clanging throughout the ship became an event to which I looked forward with appreciation.

  But there was always the possibility of being selected for a private session as I had been with Dottie and Lottie on that introductory evening.