Ship of Remorse

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.

Some private sessions were less memorable than others. I returned to Dottie and Lottie’s cabin twice more, for example, and their method for enjoying the fruits of my feminine anatomy did not waver from the first visit.

But there was a session with an odd couple whom I judged to be in their thirties, that age when the sexual urges remain strong but the need for variety in gratification rises noticeably.

A very handsome couple, they took me back to their cabin, which once again was large. Special apparatus was waiting. It appeared to be a trapeze bar hanging from poles well secured to both floor and ceiling.

The couple had obviously spent much time together for they wordlessly led and positioned me for the evening of entertainment.

First the woman had me stand in the middle of the room while she diligently worked to encase my entire body in a clear plastic wrap such as that used to preserve food. She was most meticulous and spent the time to ensure the seams of the various layers over lapped and formed a seal.

The sensation was very odd. I had not worn any clothing in months, thus nothing had touched my skin except the controlling hands of Dr. Helga, nurses and guests and the corrective end of a cane.

But the clear plastic left me exposed and my hairless pudendum became a particularly curious sight when the moist pink of my labia pressed against the smooth, clear surface of the wrapping.

As the woman worked her way up, she was careful to seal my breasts, flattening my protruding nipples within the plastic entombment. She laughed at the result but continued in her efforts.

Meanwhile husband was setting up various restraint paraphernalia and when the women was finished, making certain the plastic was well sealed around my neck under the yoke, she retreated and undressed giving control to husband.

As always when exhibited to the lounge guests, all us cowgirls had our thumbs secured behind us, presenting our breasts in a most obscene manner. And so it was in the couple’s cabin. Peripherally, in the lower field my vision could detect nothing but nipples and breasts, Dr. Helga’s lactation program, nutrition, and well-timed milkings having caused my breasts to swell enormously.

So when encased in plastic, the pressure of the wrapping actually caused my flow to begin. The husband appeared ecstatic when he noticed the clear plastic begin to cloud with spots of milk about my nipples. But he continued working, clipping a cable onto the left end of my yoke then the right. Afterwards, he knelt and attached large firm ankle cuffs to which another pair of cables was attached.

I looked to see the woman, trim and obviously the benefactor of much exercise, donning a latex suit. It was black. It was shiny. It was thin. And its one piece covered her entire body, ankles to neck. Getting into it was an amazing undertaking. It appeared the inside was lubricated.