Ship of Remorse

“My robe.”

With my tongue having been deemed to cover all pertinent areas, my task is completed. I crawl to retrieve her robe, clench it within my teeth and return. She clips on my leash. I am led back to her apartment.

“There will be other changes, Alexi. Tomorrow you have a doctor’s appointment. I decided on some alterations, small but meaningful.

“I am also attempting to contact a certain artist. I’ve been im

pressed with her work but don’t know her name. Finding her will require time and money. I have both.”

Chapter Thirty-two

I am granted the privilege of watching Ms. Powers shower, and again find myself mesmerized by the combination of muscles and feminine curves on her six-foot frame. Donning a soft cotton robe, she tugs on my leash and we proceed to her living room .

There, Ms. Powers guides me to the carpet before her large television. I sit on the floor with my back propped against the front of her lounge chair, legs stretched straight out in front of me. My wrists remain cuffed in my waist belt. Without command, I know to spread my feet. My golden ball first peeks out then is slowly drawn up inside me. The ominous videotape is inserted. A button is pushed. She returns and sits with her legs straddling my shoulders.

Filling the screen is the radiant face of Nurse Inga. Her blond her is braided and as the lens zooms out, the camera finds her wearing a costume resembling a German milkmaid. My mind races with the recognition and the recollection of the event. It is the video made for the wealthy Arab Prince!

“Interesting, is it not Alexi? The quality of the cinematography is rather good for a kinky video.”

It is indeed. So, Marvin’s work is better than average, I think to myself. The Prince’s money appears to have been well spent.

As Nurse Inga frolics on the screen and the camera focuses on her stainless steel pail and rubber apron, my mind wanders back to that most humiliating role I was forced to fulfill.

After watching Nurse Katrina add ‘color’ to Maria’s nipples and labia it was my turn. The rubber slapper was specifically designed to induce pain without causing damage to the flesh. It had the useful side effect of causing the area of application to become flushed with increased circulation and, as Marvin discovered, to thus present a deep shade of red for the benefit of the camera.

I howled like a wild animal. But Nurse Katrina was relentless. I learned ironically that with the slapper the recipient may suffer even more than from the application of the whip, cane or riding crop. With those instruments of correction the flagellatrix must be careful not to inflict permanent injury. With the slapper, there are no limits except the endurance of the dispenser’s arm.

When finished, it felt as though my nipples and genitalia were on fire. And the bright red certainly made the areas appear as such.

But Marvin was pleased.

“Wonderful,” he exclaimed as he looked into his viewfinder.

“Take them to the set before the color fades.”

Nurse Katrina knotted a coarse rope through my newly inserted nose ring. She did the same with Maria and we were led out of the insemination room and toward the lounge, where I had spent so many evenings performing for the benefit of the guests.

Stepping into the large room was like entering a Hollywood movie set. Marvin and his crew had built what appeared to be the interior of a barn, complete with watering troughs and hayloft.

Bright lights were strung everywhere. Three large cameras were set to capture any activity within the ‘barn’ from various angles. Out of view, were dozens of Dr. Helga’s guests, priapic males along with the equally concupiscent females, eagerly awaiting the director’s call of ‘action’.

After a brief run through, Marvin called for a full rehearsal. Then the room became even brighter as more and more lamps were illuminated.

Nurse Inga, appearing innocent and almost prepubescent in her cute white ruffled blouse, suspenders and short skirt took in hand the coarse ropes. She gave her wrist a quick flick. The resulting tension on the rope was excruciating. Dr. Helga’s device had pierced my septum where so many nerves seem to congregate and Nurse Inga’s simple message needed no repetition. Follow her leading tugs or feel the consequence of incredible pain.

And so when Marvin finally did call out ‘action’ Maria and I found ourselves being led about the set like barnyard animals. And I can assure the reader that this barnyard animal was most docile and eager to relieve as much tension as possible from the heavy rope knotted to my large brass nose ring.

“The body make-up is very well done.”

Ms. Powers’ observation brings me back to the present. Yes, Maria and I look like cows. Her bronzed skin is randomly covered with large white spots. I in turn am painted with black spots, one of which covers the left side of my forehead and sweeps downward over my missing eyebrow. The woman had even taken the time to paint my left eyelid and ear.

I had not before seen myself. I sit in shame. At one point I close my eyes, too humiliated to watch, whereupon Ms. Powers objects.

“You look like such a nice cow, Alexi. I think you should watch.”

She reaches down and painfully pinches my right nipple to emphasize her point, sending a jet of milk toward my feet. I resume watching.

Nurse Inga, dressed as a Teutonic farm girl, leads us about. Our crimson nipples are uncanny and draws the rapt gaze of the viewer. With arms pulled back and thumbs connected to more decorative wooden yokes, our mammary glands appear to be enormous. As I recall neither of us had been milked for days before filming and the screen shows Maria’s breasts bouncing rhythmically with each of her steps, seeming to be begging for attention.