Ship of Remorse

Nurse Inga would kindly stand and watch for a while, then one by one, after we had excited ourselves to what must have been very entertaining levels of arousal, she would call us to the edge where she waited with a razor and large, soft soapy sponge. There we would stand in thigh high water, wet, aroused and covered with suds while the devilish nurse shaved our pubes then slowly smoothed the sensuous sponge over every nook and cranny, obviously ensuring that the camera caught all.

With the exercise, thoroughly cleansing enema, and the wonderful warm bath, we became marvelously relaxed. Then it was back to the stall.

About once per week during the first month, Dr. Helga would come through the stall. She was enthralled with our growing breasts, and whereas the initial contact with her, particularly when she ‘had me for dinner’, was horrifying, I indeed learned to desire her touch. She was most adroit with her brief inspection technique, best described as a breast massage. And due to the fact we could not touch ourselves, her hands became most welcomed.

The ship spent a week in Wilmington, a week in Charleston, and a week in Savannah with no one joining our stall. But in Miami a beautiful Hispanic girl was led in and placed in the posts opposite me. Maria had jet-black hair and brown eyes so dark there appeared to be no pupils. Since she was in her fifth month, as we all were, her tummy was rounded. But her breasts still projected nicely and Nurse Inga made sure her yoke setting highlighted their size and firmness.

When Maria knelt in the posts, I became mesmerized by her low hanging mammary glands, the nipples of which almost touched the floor. Dr. Helga became equally impressed.

“Maria, you’re a meal and a half,” I remember her complimenting the gorgeous girl, evidently after Maria was likewise ‘had for dinner’.

And my proximity allowed me to watch the doctor ply her skills. I could detect the fragrance of Maria’s arousal after every one of Dr. Helga’s visits. The thoughts of her soft moans lulled me to sleep on many nights.

Chapter Eight

After the stop in Miami, our routines changed. For exercises Nurse Inga led us to an outdoor deck, set at a low level in what appeared to be the middle of the ship. There was no view of the ocean, four high walls surrounded the entire area, which was covered with soft mats. Though somewhat aged, a sizable swimming pool evidenced the luxuriousness of the ship in its prime years.

We were apparently cruising the Caribbean; for the weather was wonderfully warm and most days there was not a cloud to be seen. Frolicking about naked and outdoors made the girls initially very shy, particularly when various ‘guests’ watched from a deck overhead.

Yes, during the first outdoor routine the trainer found herself wielding a cane and meting out a number of crisp strokes to the round and growing buttocks of Nancy and Mona. After listening to their anguished cries, we quickly learned to ignore the motley collection of faces peering at us over the railing above.

But moving about naked with hands and arms restrained is something to which one really does not become accustomed.

In place of treadmill work our yokes were attached to couplings around the edge of the pool and the stern trainer made us kick our legs in the water, endlessly. Afterwards came the leg spreads, and with it the abject humiliation of looking up to see a crowded railing. Though only some 30 to 40 feet away, at least a half dozen pairs of binoculars were being focused as the trainer barked her orders concerning the display of pink. And display we did.

About two weeks after leaving Miami, Dr. Helga entered our stall after we spent a long morning on the exercise deck and a pleasant hour or so in the washroom. Normally it was feeding time and Nurse Inga would be moving from girl to girl, spoon-feeding the specially formulated gruel into hungry helpless mouths.

But instead, a stanchion was wheeled in with five clear plastic bags filled with clear but brownish liquid hanging from an eye level bar.

“Feeding time ladies. We have a very nutritious meal. But you won’t be able to taste it.”

Remembrances from that first day of the number eleven girl, tucked away in another stall and not seen, came to mind. Yes, it was November and as noted, beginning in the fifth month, Dr. Helga’s girls were fed intra-rectally.

One by one Dr. Helga and Nurse Inga mechanically lubricated each anus, inserted a nozzle, and inflated it in order to begin the flow of the brownish substance into our backsides.

As I felt the odd but somewhat pleasurable sensation of Dr. Helga’s finger smearing my rectum with lubricant, she spoke to Nurse Inga.

“Spent the morning in the number eleven stall, Inga. Another girl dropped a child. That leaves only one more due in November. And it makes eighteen adoptions available for our stop in Guiana.”

Nurse Inga smiled.

“The bonus pool should be sizable this year. Will the fees be the same, Doctor?”

“Higher, the agency has increased their prices. It seems the adoption market is tight. Interesting to think we’ve got fifty thousand dollars right here in this room.”

Dr. Helga laughed with her observation. I felt the nozzle, then heard and felt it being inflated.

“Eat well, Alexi,” Dr. Helga laughed at her comment and stepped to my front.

I ruminated on her overhead comments.

So the pregnant girls were a source of income. With the ship equipped with 12 stalls, one for each calendar month, dozens of babies were brought to term and offered for adoption. And for fees! The notion explained how Dr. Helga could afford to offer free care and services to so many girls. And then there were all the guests. How much would a wealthy woman with peculiar sexual proclivities pay to observe young, lactating girls being totally controlled and subjected to complete degradation?

I felt the coolness of the room temperature liquid begin to flow into my colon as Dr. Helga began her massage. She had amazingly skilled hands, firmly kneading the meaty portion of my expanding globes and slowly working downwards toward the nipples.

“Yes, my dear. I think you’re going to be quite the producer. We’ve gotten to know mammary glands very well over the years. These are growing nicely.”

Nurse Inga stood to her side watching with an evil smile. When Dr. Helga’s fingers reached my nipples she gave my right a firm pinch. White liquid squirted to the floor for the first time. Both laughed in surprise.