Ship of Remorse

“Send me the girl nearest ovulation, first. Then the others in order of the dates “

She departed and Nurse Inga went from girl to girl (or should I write hip to hip) to determine whom amongst us had experienced their period two weeks before.

It was Maria and when Nurse Inga took her out of the room, leaving us to ourselves, we rubbed thighs against mons veneris like animals in heat. None of us gave a moment’s thought as to Maria’s fate. Until that is when Nurse Inga returned and next took me. I was wet and frustrated when she pulled me from the tub. Mona and I were quim to quim and frottaging like never before. It was then that I wondered what was interrupting our short daily recreation period.

Well, it was back to the examination room. I had thankfully not been there in months and Dr. Helga waited with Nurse Katrina in full medical garb.

With all the time spent aboard ship, I wordlessly went to the table, sat and spread my legs. Nurse Katrina smiled with my act of subjugation, yet chose to secure my ankles into the stirrups. A thorough pelvic exam followed. Fully exposed, the camera whirred away as usual. Dr. Helga spoke in medical terms. Nurse Katrina took notes.

My mind wandered to a point. Then certain snippets of Dr. Helga’s diction caught my attention.

“The wombs of these girls are remarkable. But... that’s youth. Schedule this one for three days after Maria. Mix the semen. You know I like surprises. The DNA tests will tell us if we later need to know the progenitor.”

Semen! Progenitor!

I was again led back to the stall in a quandary. For the next few days the normal routine continued. But then one afternoon after exercise, Maria was taken away. She returned a few hours later, crying and was subsequently excused from lounge duty for that evening. These were the times when I found the mandated silence to be so frustrating. After all that we ‘cowgirls’ had been through, what could make Maria cry? She was treated with great care. She was not only the best milker among the group, but no girl from 1, 2, 4 or 5, stall had yet to produce better than she did.

What had upset her so? We could not ask, and if we did so we could not expect an answer.

Days later, I was taken from the exercise room. By the end of that afternoon I fully understood Maria’s remorse.

Dr. Helga inseminated me! Just as days before she had Maria!

The method for filling my vagina with semen was a strange combination of clinical sterility and bordello sordidness.

Nurse Inga led me up flights stairs to a large room near the main lounge. The floor was tiled in white with the walls painted the same color. Dozens of extremely bright lights made all the white seem whiter.

There was no ruse concerning cameras as in most of the other rooms frequented by us ‘cowgirls’. This room had cameras mounted in plain sight, high in each of the corners with two others in the middle of the ceiling.

In three of the walls the austere expanse of whiteness was interrupted by large picture windows. Below were steel cabinets, also painted white. The fourth wall was draped with medical paraphernalia.

In the center of the room was an operating table. The numerous cranks, handles, dials evidenced the purpose of the design, which was to enable the operator to place the subservient, nude female body in any desired position and secure it there.

I was scared. Naked. Restrained in my yoke. My bell clang

ed, reminding me of my lowly status as Nurse Inga walked me about. As we passed the table I noticed another camera imbedded into the floor covered by a strong clear plate of Lucite.

Nurse Inga led me to a far corner. There she turned a valve and a shower nozzle spurted water. She quickly hosed me, soaped me, then rinsed and gently toweled my freshly cleansed flesh.

Next she led me to the table. Nurse Inga placed me prostrate on the flat surface. Each end of my yoke was clipped to waiting brackets on the edges of table. My ankles were cuffed and secured left and right to the edges at the bottom. Nurse Inga turned one of the cranks. I felt my legs separate as the bottom portion of the table parted. After a minute my labia opened and I felt the cool room air in my most intimate place. She continued turning until my legs were incredibly split and I was obscenely presented. I thought about the camera in the floor below and imagined it to be filming my not only wide-open vaginal passage but the very opening of my womb!

Another crank was turned. The table tilted with my head moving downward and my well-parted feet moving higher. Finally, a latch was pulled. A door within the table surface under my breasts fell away. My swollen, milk-laden glands fell with it to hang freely. My elongated nipples almost touched the cold tile floor.

I was given an enema. Warm, deep and thorough I had become accustomed to the daily procedure, but not before all the cameras. After expelling the contents, my rectum was carefully lubricated. This was not part of the daily procedure. Her gloved fingers probed deeply with globs of slippery goo.

Faces began to appear at the windows to the right and left. I recognized the guests from the many evenings of lounge entertainment. I could only imagine how many were assembled before the window behind me. I shuddered being so completely exposed under the bright lights and having the pretty young nurse work about my well displayed genitalia.

“I’ll need to have you empty your bladder, Alexi. Be a good girl for me.”

Did I have a choice?

Nurse Inga held a beaker under me. I complied with her request and watched the cheery reaction on the faces to my left.

The next few minutes were spent douching me then carefully shaving what must have been mere stubs of what little pubic hair had began to grow since the prior day’s shave.

When she finished she dabbed away with a towel removing all lather and excess moisture.

Then she wordlessly left, leaving me bound and exposed to the gaze of the many lecherous guests.