Ship of Remorse

Then Dr. Helga entered with our nutrition bags and we found our backsides being lubricated with the inflatable nozzles forcefully holding in place the feeding tube.

I reflected on how my perspective had changed over the months. The once unpleasant sensation of having my sphincter stretched had become a feeling of warmth and comfort, knowing that after my once tight anus was filled, the nourishing liquid would commence to flow and fill my intestines. Whatever was in the concoction, it seemed to both soothe and slowly renew my energy. And within an hour, I knew that I would feel a strangely satisfying tingling in my nipples. Perhaps it was psychosomatic, Dr. Helga having on many occasions explained that hormones in the formula increased the prolactin levels. Or perhaps there was indeed a catalyst that promoted lactation.

It did not matter. The girls of 3 stall would all appear eager to feel the firm fingers of a skilled milker and thus, by the time the last drops siphoned down the tube, would display child like anticipation in wanting their throbbing breasts to be massaged.

With filled colon, my mammary glands would begin to feel like balloons that had been over inflated and ready to explode. I readily understood how Maria’s had begun giving up fluid when the trainer forced her to perform the unusual exercises. Mine felt close to doing the same.

Dr. Helga spoke as her hands smeared lubricant between Maria’s shapely cheeks.

“Get some rest girls. Tonight you’ll be entertaining my guests and their demands can be tiring.”

Once again the ten nipples of 3 stall were manipulated to a point just short of full lactation. Then Nurse Inga and the doctor left. With the comforting liquid filling me, I slept.

Chapter Ten

I awoke to the sound of clapping. My eyes focused to see Dr. Helga in the middle of the stall area crisply smacking her hands together. The other girls, also sleeping, stirred and turned their yoked heads toward our benefactor standing with another woman.

I felt fingers spreading my labia. I knew Nurse Inga or one of the others was behind me with beaker in hand. I reactively pushed against my bladder.

“Girls, this is Ms. Adams. She is the ship’s social director and ensures that my guests are properly entertained. Over the next few months, you’ll be seeing quite a bit of her. She is to have your respect and to be obeyed.”

Dr. Helga stepped to the side of the stall. Ms. Adams gave her a nod of thanks and all eyes turned to this mature but shapely woman in white blouse, black silk slacks and knee high leather boots.

“Good evening, girls. I have read all your files and reviewed many videotapes. So I feel I already know you. As Dr. Helga indicated, my name is Ms. Adams and I’m here to ensure not only the comfort but also the amusement of our passengers. Our paying passengers that is.”

She smiled with the irony of her distinction.

“You may have noticed some of our guests observing you during your exercise period and I must compliment you all for providing such wonderful displays of your charms...

“Well this evening you’ll have an opportunity to meet them and display even more.

“The satisfaction of our guests is absolutely paramount aboard ‘’The Scarlet Letter’’ and therefore there is no activity, short of causing permanent harm or damage, and I emphasize the word permanent, in which you will fail to engage in order to please them. Your refusal to comply with the request of a guest will be met with a harsh introduction to the cane, if you have not already had one, and then, you will comply.

“So my suggestion is to be obedient... spare yourself the caning.”

I was filling the beaker as Ms. Adams spoke. The sound of her ominous words combined with the feel of the nurse’s soft fingers about my frustrated genitalia overwhelmed my senses. I felt goose bumps form. Strangely, I could not determine whether the reaction was from thoughts of the cane, or visions of being forced to perform some exotic ritual, naked and bound in my yoke, for some unknown lecher.

I recalled the laughter I so often heard from the overhead deck as I laid on the exercise mat. My legs would be thrust skyward, toes pointed as required and the trainer commanding that we ‘spread ‘em and hold ‘em’. The warmth of the tropical sun, in shining on sensitive parts, which I myself had only touched and never fully seen, provided a most peculiar sensation. It was as if someone had me under a microscope and all the world was free to watch and examine. And with all the voices and clicks of the cameras, perhaps all the world was or would be viewing glossy full color photos of my most intimate anatomy.

The goose bumps led to a shudder, realizing that this most perverse collection of people would be permitted even more access to my bound and naked body.

“You’ll be joining girls from 1 stall and 2 stall. As usual there will be no talking permitted. In the privacy of a guest’s cabin, you may speak... but only in response to a question or command!

“Nurse Katrina, the cocktail lounge when you’re ready. Have the yokes adjusted for proper display.”

I looked over to see an unfamiliar nurse holding a beaker under Sharon. She nodded. Dr. Helga left. Ms. Adams paused in front of Maria and grasped with her left hand the wooden cylinder hanging from the back of her head. She lifted and pulled back, cruelly forcing Maria to look up.

“Very, pretty. Tits the size of milk jugs.”

The fingers of Ms. Adams’ right hand pinched Maria’s cheeks until she cried out. Ms. Adams slapped her, hard.

“Silence!”

The crisp sound startled the other girls and the loud firm voice delivered her message of authority. She was a woman with whom we were not to trifle.

With the last girl relieving herself, Nurse Katrina stood and approached me. Unlike Nurse Inga, she was tall and powerfully built.

“Just relax cowgirl,” she advised me in a low, soothing, German accented voice, “you will feel a little discomfort but you’ll get used to it.”