Disconnections

The Flotsam Dame – Episode 2
(a Charlotte Moans prequel)
by Eve Adorer

Synopsis: - If you have not already read Episode 1 of this story, then you can find it at Part 24 of ‘Disconnections’.
In Episode 1 we learned that Private Investigator Charlotte (“Charley”) Moans’ enquiries into the goings on aboard the Shapely Shark, a yacht owned by the devilish Lola, had not gone entirely smoothly. Indeed, along the way Charley had somehow lost lovely police lieutenant Adrienne Kowalski....

The Flotsam Dame – Episode 2
(a Charlotte Moans prequel)
by Eve Adorer

To have heard Captain Kismet Lipps rave at me, you would have thought I’d actually made Lieutenant Adrienne Kowalski stay aboard Lola’s yacht, the Shapely Shark.

Kismet’s stress and distress were understandable, but I was hanged if I was going take the crap, for the sassy Kowalski having apparently discovered enjoyment of submissiveness. If enjoyment it was. If that, and not shear fear, was what had prompted Adrienne to decline to come ashore when we docked to ride out the storm that had called short Lola’s voyage.

Lipps’ flames took extinguisher soon enough though.

“How on this side of the world of fuck do we get her outta there, Charley?”

“Who says we oughta, Kismet? She’s a grown girl, and if a grown girl is discover she likes having her pretty bottom spanked, that’s a grown girl’s privilege ain’t it? Every girl oughta have a hobby, don’t they?” I quipped, resignedly.

I knew what Kismet was going to suggest of course, and I was not quite ready to ‘yes’ such a notion yet.

The proposal came soon enough though, and in the shape and size I’d anticipated. But I had not foreseen that Kismet would slide it in both sideways and underhand.

“You’ve still got intro to Lola and Bonito Clyde’s world Charley....”

“Forget it Kismet. I ain’t no Tantalus. I ain’t gonna risk my wings gettin’ melted flying too close the moon. I’m PI now. If you recall, that ‘P’ is for ‘private’, not ‘police’. Adrienne’s problems are cop problems.  You and Adrienne are the cops. So Adrienne’s therefore your problem. I was just doing my job on the Pussy Purr front. But now, as far as any helping goes, I’m just gonna help myself right outta this.”

“We didn’t get no answer on who did Pussy Purr afore she washed up in New Edingow Bay: assuming it was no accident.”

“I did my job. I found her missing person. That she didn’t die of drowning, and what else she might have goodnighted from, is for the New Edingow Police Department, the good old NEPD, not me. Her ma can still have her fee back, and that leaves the square circled where my business is concerned.”

“Pussy Purr’s ma never in fact of point paid my fee, so it’s only a matter of me telling her she don’t need to now....And that’ll be a relief, cos it never did seem right taking money for not finding Pussy missing alive, rather than discovering her as a Jane Doe first out.....” I affirmed.

“Yea ‘fees’...funny you should mention fees Charley. Fees are just what we need to talk about you and me”, Kismet responded.

Even before I began again to insist it was not my business anymore, I trailed off. I’d seen that wicked look in Kismet’s eyes before. I knew she was as sharp as a snake’s fang. And I sensed she was several moves ahead of me on the chessboard, and was about to announce ‘cheesecake’, or whatever you call it.”

“What about Ursa Bows’ money Charley?” Kismet smiled confidently.

“What about Ursa Bows’ money Kismet?” I responded, having not seen her southpaw coming.

“They bankrolled so you could play high-flyer on a bonus squander wander yonder, yachting out beyond the line in the ocean where Lola takes high rollers to avoid state and federal taxes. It was a tidy sum. It put you and Sam Splayed and your tec agency back in the black. I woulda bought me shares in Splayed Moans Inc right then, it looked so good a buy. But Splayed Moans shares look now as if they’re heading south, if you read me.”

“I expect Ursa Bows will take a cheque, but not a rain-check Charley....” Kismet smirked triumphantly, with a smile I wanted to kiss off her lovely mouth.

“You can’t pin that shit on me Kismet!” I ventured with the uncertainty I had about everything other than Kismet’s obvious certainty, making my voice end-sentence a bit on the squeaky side.

Kismet smirked: “You and I both know I signed the NEPD’s certificate of surety that the sum would be returned nett of any damage at Lola’s roulette wheel. And I think we both know who, if its instant total recalled, won’t be able to make the necessary available in full, for quite some time. That’s cos her business was dead as said by her auditors last fiscal, and therefore her bank said ‘thank you everso Charley that’ll do nicely as a dollar-pro-quo’, for an account more in a force nine gale than a mere overdraft......”

“......Yea: I know Charley. You’re thinking that Ursa Bows Bank loaned that dough to the NEPD, and therefore the debt is on the NEPD......”

“......Sure. That’s right. But it was paid over to you, and I’m afraid I accidentally lost, or will shortly lose, the agreement signed saying that, if you needed delay, the NEPD would give you time to pay it all back drip by drop, instead of all in one whole lot. Sorry Charley!”

As she then took my hands in hers, to tell us both that we were still friends, despite this blatant blackmail, Kismet giggled: “You know, you’re face says you’re wanting to call me a bitch, Charley”.
.............................

The Shapely Shark was waived bye-bye ocean wave a whole month before she again docked for revit’ling and coaling-up. Old king coal was on the throne again now, oil having last flowed decades ago. So, allowing for the loading of food and fuel, and an underwater refit of a wonky propeller, it was more than six weeks before I could use contact with Captain Lusciouoso Ngano, Lola’s appointee for the bridge of the Shapely Shark, and get myself back aboard a sea-readied vessel.

I’d decided to slide aboard by this indirect route, rather than call Lola or Bonito Clyde’s attention to my return. But I needn’t have worried. Both were ashore attending to the business that saw Bonito’s name headline on the finance websites, when she pulled off a deal that made her the outright owner of the Double-U ponygirl stables in Pinkoria Texas. Yes: the very stables that has produced five Kentucky Derby, three Melbourne Cup, and three English Derby winners in the past seven years.

Tell you the truth; I was as much on the lookout for the sparkling brown eyes of the gorgeous little negress, Lickme, as I was for Adrienne Kowalski.

Don’t get me wrong none. It was just that Adrienne was unfinished business, whereas Lickme was unfinished pleasure. Having Lickme’s heavenly negress’ lips suck the cream from my éclair last I was voyage, was something I was never easy gonna forget.

On board the Shapely Shark, Hollywood and Bollywood beauties were on parade as before. Though there had been some changes of place, the new faces were still familiar from screen and some from stage too, and the visions of feminine loveliness, no less than before.

To these actresses, the frisson of being the guests of Lola and Bonito, whose repute as being of evil root was not in dispute even if their records were squeaky clean, was symbiotic with Lola and Bonito’s adoration of being welcome in celebrity society.

“You got such lovely eyes”
“Thank you”, Adrienne’s voice responded.
“And great legs”
There was no response there, and I sensed Adrienne would be blushing at eyes wondering up and down what were no more than two long very shapely proofs of the truth of the latter statement.

I looked up at the screen. I hadn’t expected this. But dinner had ended with the captain’s announcement that the propeller repair was taking longer than expected.

She added something technical about it being better done in dry-dock, but time was saved using divers, only that was taking a tad longer than expected, what with hitherto unexpected underwater welding now being entailed.

Anyway, she apologised that our hosts had made a no-show, on account of the delay. And then offered us a chance to see screened, the latest adventure of Hadrian, the Shapely Shark’s shapely cabin boy.

“The life of a cabin boy has been summarised as ‘rum, bum, and concertina’...” Captain Ngano, the model of a model in her light blue gold-braid-laced uniform, tried to joke.

“It had been a long day for Hadrian when she....I mean when he went to the sailors’ sleeping birth. All he wanted to do was shower, and slide into his hammock....”

This we could see for ourselves. The DVD loaded in the projector, though the picture flickered slightly whilst, as now, it was held in freeze-frame, showed the gorgeous Adrienne Kowalski, wearing only a white towel around her hips, coming out of a shower cubicle on the sailors’ dormitory deck. Her boy-cropped radiant-red hair was darker hued on account of its wetness. Her delicate pink nipples were kissed with tiny droplets of water anointing them alike with dew dappled spring rosebuds.

For a girl I knew had only six weeks since been savagely whipped, she was now back as pristine as a Sistine.

The DVD ravished the delicate beauty of her breasts, even down to the intricate filigree of fine-line-veins that showed blue through the ghostly whiteness of Adrienne’s exquisitely soft redhead’s complexion.

She was being accosted by five of her fellow sailorettes.

All the sailors on the Shapely Shark were stunning negresses, and the five eying Adrienne Kowalski’s bold and beautiful thighs, were decidedly no exception to the rule of that rule.

“The DVD is from the security cams”, Captain Lusciouoso Ngano continued. “Some of the goings on among the hammocks and bunks in the sailors’ quarters you would hardly believe!”

“Our five in the picture had had their eyes on Hadrian for some time. He’s a handsome boy as you can see. They wanted to make the cabin boy feel at home, and to do that, they wanted to feel the cabin boy!”

Some of the newcomers among the Holly and Bollywood set, must have wondered why a creature so obviously a girl, the stunning Adrienne, was being spoken of as a boy, the handsome ‘Hadrian’. But they would no doubt learn of Lola’s love of games-play, once their ultimate host deigned to award us with her presence.

Meanwhile, Captain Ngano had realised her sense of humour met no match with a listless audience, so she signalled for the movie to be started from its beginning.

“Ladies and ladies, I hope you will enjoy our humble entertainment. Please order such drinks as you please. They are all on the house. And please feel free to roam the Shapely Shark as you may wish; save that I would respectfully request that the crew’s quarters be kept out of bounds. Thank you....”.

We all watched the screen......

“You got such lovely eyes”
“Thank you”, Adrienne’s voice responded.
“And great legs”
There was no response there, save for Adrienne’s profuse and very lovely blushing.

On the screen, Adrienne moved to busy herself with a hairdryer, only to have her hands gently taken and held, while one of the five stunning negresses took Adrienne’s towel off her, leaving her naked.

A genuine gasp from the watching audience of the movie being wall-screened in the Shapely Shark’s dining hall, could have been lip-synched with the gasps of the five negresses on screen, for all were astonished at the wonderful beauty of Adrienne’s thus exposed slit.

She was as smooth tight-lipped and hairless as a pre-pubescent innocent. Let alone that she was clearly in her early twenties, the heart-stopping gentle hillock of her pronounced Venus mound, was as immaculate as if she had never yet seen ten, let alone passed all eight of her teens.

“You’re all girl! If you is a cabin boy, where’s your fucking dick?!” one of the gang of girls challenged, with distinct surprise evident in her intonation.

“Just cos she’s all girl, don’t mean we can’t ‘ave a bit of fun do it?”, the seeming leader of the predatory pack gloated. “It just means we got us an ‘ole instead of a pole to play wiv dunnit?” she sneered.

“No! Please!” Adrienne begged.

“We’ve seen ‘er credentials now Vixy, better show ‘er ours ‘adn’t we?”

At this, as if they knew there was Closed-Circuit CCTV recording them, the five taunting the frightened redhead, took off their skirts with integral thongs, so they stood in their sailor’s blue and white hooped tee-shirts alone: alone that is save for the company of their very erect cocks.

The almost painful looking rigid stiffness of their erections, was wholly a compliment to the wholesome holy beauty of Adrienne’s face and body. These dick-girls, these unsated half-female satyrs, had been lusting after the lovely redhead ever since she had come aboard the Shapely Shark.

Adrienne being called ‘Hadrian’ by captain and crew had made them assume she had a cock too. But at the discovery she had a slit where a cock was expected, their cocks had flown, grown, and now silently moaned their need to mount, pierce, and piss their orgasms inside Adrienne.

Their cocks were magnificent. That was decidedly because they stood so proudly, and shouted so loudly, that they wanted Adrienne.

None was less than at least fifteen inches, and, now she was fully naked, that of the leader of the predatory pack was curving back so that its throbbing head was nestling in her concave navel.

These cocks were crying that they were dying for relief, and Adrienne’s body excited their rigidly upright uptight attention.

“’Ere Vixy. She’s only got three ‘oles and there’s five of us!” one of the dick-girls mockingly bemoaned, in order to terrify Lieutenant Kowalski the more.

“So, she’s gonna ‘ave to take them in her, in turn, don’t she”, Vixy replied.

The sight of this quintet of erectile tissue began a twittering of excitement among the Holly and Bolly beauties watching the movie. Giggles of embarrassment undoubtedly denoted that more than one pair of knickers had acquired a sudden moist patch. Some shifting on seats could, if one were suspicious, have been attributed to a desire to rub or press on the musk-scented pods on which these lovelies nestled.

Then pantomime boos broke out, since, because the rigidly fixed CCTV cameras, unlike time, did not take survey of all the earth, the follow-up action was consequently a fraction and then an entirety off screen.

But ears grew attentive, mine not least, to a reflex coughing throttling begging sound, that told us all, that Adrienne had had an erect cock forced down her throat. Then came a momentary glimpse of Vixy leaning back, her eyes closed with the consummate pleasure of the attention being paid her devastatingly distended dick, by Adrienne’s ululating tongue, as we saw lovely Adrienne, her eyes half-closed as if her eyelids must thus take precaution against her seemingly unseeing deep dark browns bursting out of their sockets, she was in such distress, her face reddened beyond the lovely blush that made her redolent a rose, toward the violent-violet end of asphyxiations’ spectrum, her sweet voice an indecipherably muffled repeated retching, begging for mercy, that she not be so cruelly used that even her magnificently flared nostrils gave her no air. She was become the sole soul of the satiation sensation for the penetration on which she gurgled gargled coughed and choked, as she struggled for the very breath of sweet life, with seventeen inches of Vixy’s hard-rock cock, rammed and forcefully held all its length down her throat.

We saw that Vixy held her swollen sword down Adrienne’s throat using it as a sexual scabbard to the fullest, such that Vixy’s testicles were dangling at Adrienne’s chin, and Vixy’s hands were grasping Adrienne’s hair, to hold her cock in there, where Adrienne’s struggle for life was the highest of height of delight for the length of the shaft flickeringly licked and the swollen head experiencing Adrienne’s vibrant vibrato retching gargles.

And yet, when Vixy let mercy prevail and let go Adrienne’s head and radiant curls, it was Adrienne herself who instead gripped gentle hands on Vixy’s pretty bottom, to hold Vixy’s cock down her throat, in longing to keep it fully filling and fucking her mouth, even as the irises of Adrienne’s eyes rolled above her top lids out of sight, her exposed eyes thus showing only whites.

As her strangulation by the cock was bidding her faint to final cruel world goodnight, Adrienne was holding the cock down her at full length, all seventeen inches of its throbbing vitality filling her mouth and throat as she endlessly coughed and murderously choked.

Only when Vixy insistently pulled herself out of Adrienne’s lovely mouth, did we witness that the plunging action of the cruel prick, so swiftly withdrawn, caused Adrienne to fountain out vile sucked up bile, that now spattered on Adrienne’s restless breasts as they swung where their transparent near translucent beauty hung, never at rest, pronouncedly bouncing as Adrienne announced the degree to which she had suffered in this initial fuck, by coughing and gasping for sweet air in combination and competition, as she squatted bare on the boards of the deck, fantastically hugely thighed, wondering where she would experience the penetration of her powerfully potent pulchritude next.

“Get the fucking bitch kneeling so she can take it up her bum!”

“Nah! There’s no need to lubricate the whore. She can take it dry so it fucking hurts!”

The words were meant to sting like a spur to urge on the desire in her, the gorgeous Adrienne, as on fire as her inflammatory hair. The other four had her kneeling in prayer over a lower bunk, and held Adrienne’s lovely hands to keep her there, as if there were need, as there was not, even as Vixy’s huge cock, still wet with the bile Adrienne continued to taste in her pretty mouth, pecked and kissed the tight sphincter that formed the ‘lips’ of Adrienne’s exceptionally shapely bottom.

There would be no Red Sea pedestrians’ separation for the stiff prick that sniffed akin a bobbing throbbing over-eager connoisseur sommelier at Adrienne’s fear-tightened anus. Instead there was a slow push, a withdrawal strategic, a rally, another defeated push, and a rush push and surely inexorable thrust, that still met with defeat, such that Adrienne’s sphincter seemed able to forever repeat; till a brutal final rush of rapine rigidity, opened Adrienne’s eyes like an astonished ingénue, as wide as her anus’ sphincter was forced aside in surrendering the fight to the superior might of Vixy’s insistent unstoppable stab, which pushed the reluctant doors wide, and Adrienne’s endless scream of pain matched the duration of the cock that was sliding relentlessly up her bum to ready Vixy for a joyous joyride.

The cameras caught sweet Adrienne’s angelic face as a scream and tears of pain took rein in place of her usual tender look, when Vixy’s cock went up her bum and began to fuck her in the wholly holy hole of deepest darkest joy.

And the cameras too, in the edited film, showed Vixy riding the range with her cock sliding in and out of Adrienne’s surrendered anus, as Adrienne’s face, now shown again, depicted acceptance that her beauty could only be thus expressed, by her taking a cock where it chose to shaft her, in one of the three holes all cocks were forever ever after.

Adrienne was being taken up the bum. And her face blushed as she knew the joy of giving a love ride to the girl half-boy whose dick was diving seventeen inches deep within her bum’s insides, as she fought to overcome the feeling that was innate, that she was about to defecate. That feeling, akin to the little girly fart evinced at times with arousals start, was girlfully overcome as Adrienne relaxed to enjoy enduring the relentless fucking of her gorgeous bum.

The cowgirl at rodeo scene seemed apt as Vixy rode Adrienne’s bum hard with repeated slaps, as her violent thrusts rocked the girl she was using forth and back.

Then she grabbed Adrienne’s hair and pulled her head hard, harder and harder still, till she jerked and squirted her total outcome, overcome and come to cum. For the beauty of Adrienne’s bum was too great for Vixy not to cum, and so her hot seed pissed in Adrienne’s insides as Vixy, at her loveseed’s hosing a white hot jet in the pretty bum her cock had so viciously and yet so temporarily owned, groaned and moaned with completion and repletion.

There was but a moment’s respite for Adrienne’s lovely butt. The film was in real-time. It had been edited only to show views from differing cameras, not to shorten the duration of Adrienne’s rape.

“’Ere, give us a go Vixy - we wanna fuck ‘er in ‘er bum’ole too!”

Vixy was sufficiently in control of the other four would-be rapists though, that she alone would dictate what, and who would, and how they would take Adrienne next.

So it was only at her behest, and for chance to recover to her best, that Adrienne’s bum was fucked in turn by all four of the rest. Then.....

“Are you fully ripe?” Vixy sneered cruelly.
“I’m sorry....ripe?” Adrienne’s off-screen voice sweetly queried.
“Ripe! Are you at risk?”
“Risk? I really don’t understand, I’m sorry...?”
“Well you better fucking understand, cos you’re going to get it fucked bareback sweetheart...”

The possibilities from the ministrations of the unprotected cocks of these shemales forced up the sheath of her peerless innocent’s slit, was thus reminded the delicious Adrienne. The purpose of so doing being to horrify her when it dawned, as well as to make her resistant to having it penetrated, so that the dickgirls could and would enjoy slapping her around to make her part her thighs and take their immense intense inches fully to the maximum of full fathom three by five inches minimum dive inside.

The scream and the spurt of blood when Vixy’s reinvigorated cock took Adrienne’s virginity, made us all look up. But the tears of extreme pain in Adrienne’s soulful brown eyes, were swiftly followed by her sweet hands caressing Vixy’s sides as Vixy, with both of Adrienne’s harshly slapped tits grasped in each fist, took Adrienne for another savage selfish ride, till she spilt her fecund milk within Adrienne’s febrile fertile insides: Adrienne ripe for the result resultant from rape, as the scalding spunk shot up her slit, fucking her with fertile fertiliser to speed seed.

It should not have been that we got bored and turned to chat, such that the next two hours of Adrienne’s constant and repeated rape, turned into background music of grunts, and Adrienne’s very sexy moans and sighs.

The cockgirls forced to look on were non-too-gentle with Adrienne when they took their further turn.

The triple penetration was particularly cruel, but Adrienne eagerly took into her mouth a cock that had just delved sixteen inches deep into her bum, and was readily ridden to a three seed cum by her triumvirate of non-penitent penetrators, who, though they spurted in sequence not simultaneous as sought, made joy of their sport, by wiping their spent dicks on Adrienne’s tits, and having Adrienne take into her with her succulent moist lips and eager tongue, the semen splattered from the half-seamen on her aroused delicate pink nips.

The last I saw of the film was, corner my eye, sweet Adrienne going back into the shower to try, it would appear, to douche away her fear and guilt, as her replete repeated lovers admitted defeat, and conceded the wonderful Kowalski victor in their now seemingly always inevitable exhausted defeat.

Poor Kowalski had taken all five cockgirls, at least twice each down her throat and up her bum, and as many and more times in her slit. And surplus semen was trickling then dribbling then dripping down on the deck from the innocently closed nude lips of it, with only time to tell if the spunk spurted in it, from the cocks she had had rammed up it, to ride her for their selfish pleasure, and the same number that had pissed white hot within its cloisters, would make a pearl in the ripe clam of this girl; a pearl in the oyster of heaven’s lovely daughter.
.............................

I wasn’t know whereabouts on the Shapely Shark sweet Lieutenant Kowalski would be, so I wasn’t know from personal experience that, even while we were half-watching the DVD of her recent gang rape, she was scenting a hammock with her womanly aromas, while playing guitar on her pleasure plectrum, trying not to sigh at the pinnacle of pleasure when she peaked.

Mind back time, Adrienne was daydream that night at the opera with her lovely momma.

It was just after the time her momma had remarked that Adrienne was now taller than her. Adrienne was slimmer of build, though already a wet-dream of curves, complimentary to, and in contrasting comparison with her mama’s more fully womanly wonder.

They might have been sisters, with the wild red of their autumnal-maple-leaf hair, their dark-deep deep-dark shining brown eyes, and the proud soft lips of their moist eager mouths.

Her momma was a head-turner threatening to put a permanent kink in the necks of all the chicks who twisted astonished agape and eager to feast their eyes as she slinked by. The confusion and double contusions risked by the necks of the girls who now wolf-whistled the mother and daughter combination, set Adrienne and her momma off into giggles adorable conspiratorial.

Emilda Kowalski, Adrienne’s lovely momma, so longed that her daughter should make more of her life than she thought she had achieved herself. And, so as to ensure her daughter did not repeat her, Emilda’s, error, of falling in love with the first girl she met and marrying too young, Emilda had taken three paid jobs to pay for Adrienne to go to college.

But that was to come. In her reminiscence of the present, Adrienne was recall of her being fourteen and, though not understanding why, deeply in love with the sensitive toy she had in her panties, and the shape she had been fashioned into by nature, as she was beginning to mature around it: it being at the central to the shy wiggle in her natural walk.

That mother and daughter should have the occasional disagreement was inevitably to be seen, now that Adrienne was filled with the sexual hypertension of being a tempestuous tempting temptress teen.

As fourteen had found Adrienne, there had been the row over what Adrienne had regarded as just plain silly: her momma’s insistence that Adrienne should keep it hygienically shaved. She loved her darling red curls.

When Emilda had insisted that shaving was essential, and reminded Adrienne that she, Emilda, knew what was best for her young daughter. Adrienne had sulked and not spoken to her momma for a whole 24.

But Adrienne had, in the end, taken up her momma’s offer to pay for Adrienne to have them removed, and it thus smoothed. And then she had cried her eyes out with the hours of endless agony endured, in having each individual pubic hair plucked out of its follicle by its root with tweezers.

Adrienne had not spoken to her momma for a whole week after that: not till she now enjoyed relief: the pain and soreness having been replaced by the exciting feel of its new complete replete nudity against the cool crotch of a fresh pair of panties.

When then arrived, Adrienne had given Emilda a sudden kiss on the cheek, and a whisper of “Sorry mummy”, that had made Emilda smile puzzled for the passing moment; then with realisation and satisfaction with Adrienne’s belated acceptance that her momma had been right all along.

A week later, and the row had been over Adrienne’s behaviour on the night she and Emilda were to share at the opera: Emilda’s birthday treat from Adrienne no less.

The evening had begun so lovingly, with Emilda behaving more like a teen than sweet Adrienne. Indeed it had been Adrienne’s momma who had suggested they dress as much as possible alike.

The result had been two stunning redheads decked out in white, standing before a mirror they took turns to share, as each stood tiptop tiptoe in her heelless ballet shoes, behind the other, to tease the final touches to their opposite’s copious curling hair.

Who would dare to try and compare these gorgeous creatures in white ballets, curvy legged en-pointe to shape their calves knees and thighs to draw sighs, their micro-miniskirts tauntingly hauntingly pleasingly teasingly just hiding the potent pods pouching centrally, and scenting their pristine white thongs; their single breasted jackets double-breasted by their bosoms’ riding proudly in their crisp white cool white blouses, bountifully in Emilda’s case with a strongly cantilevered bra struggling to keep its lively contents behaving decorously; and braless as yet in Adrienne’s case, she was so virginally young and firm, though much more by far than merely boldly budding.

Their decision to walk together arm in arm was decidedly because Emilda decided she wanted the wolf-whistles she knew would follow their alarming charms.

Each had checked the tops of their white stockings were smoothly around the boldness of their beautiful thighs below the hems of their skirts, that those hems were just hiding fragrant flagrant heaven, and that the exposed suspender clasps at their thighs’ sides would cause onlookers ogles and sighs.

And then they giggled in musical unison, as they took their fresh-faced freckles outside, and made the sidewalk heaven as their pretty toes kissed it to pride with their every tiptoe stride.

“Just look at the fuckin’ legs on that!” one of the contractors, English girls, working the road drills and pile-drivers mending the highway outside the Kowalski home, had stage-whispered in a loud aside to her mates, “What a pair of fuckin’ dolls!”

“Hey darlin’ is it finger-licking good?” called one labouring girl to Emilda, whose blushing face had turned shy-eyed her way momentarily.

“Yer can come round to my place anytime you like sweetheart..... As long as you bring it wiv yer of course!” this first girl added, as Emilda turned away again.

“Say dat agen! Where was it yer said yer kissed yer sister good-night last night?!” she then added.

“You lettin’ it catch the breeze under dem skirts are you?” another called, a bit lamely tamely.

“Nah, dat ud never work! ‘Ave you tried an ice-pack on it darlin’?!” the first girl now shouted.

“Bloody ‘ell. So it’s dat and not global warmin’ what’s meltin’ all de fuckin’ ice at der norf pole!” opined another stunned ogler.

“Do you two always go around togever?” the second girl enquired, a little more peacefully, as Emilda and Adrienne were receding from earshot.

“Of course dey fuckin’ do: it’s permanent sat atween ‘er fuckin’ gorgeous fies innit?” the first girl concluded, as her fellow labourers giggled and reluctantly returned to work.

Neither Emilda nor Adrienne was going to confess to the wetness this direct and, if humorous, still somewhat earthy attention to their charms, had caused in the slings of their tiny white panties. Indeed both pretended to the other that they were upset by the crudity.

Both were blushing. Their blushes denoted the instant and the instances and incidents when they moistened. They had blushed and moistened throughout the teasing from the labourers. And the blushes they wore now, were the afterglow to signal their continued feminine wetness, even though Adrienne didn’t know why she was wet there, and thought it must be that the heat of her blushes caused her to sweat there.

It was from that moment that trouble between mother and teenaged daughter began again.

A chance meeting with Davidia in the foyer of the opera house before the show, had set it in train.

Later time had revealed that, through coincidence, Emilda’s ex lover, Davidia, the girl who had been Adrienne’s other mother till Emilda and she had broken up, had a seat in the same front stalls row, indeed, numerically, the seat next to mother and daughter.

The atmosphere between Emilda and Davidia was as cool, as that felt by her teenage daughter for her alma mater, Davidia, was shyly hot.

The discovery that Emilda’s seat in the opera house was right next to that for Davidia, had prompted the feeble excuses that had left Adrienne in her stead, next to the woman Adrienne longed would to her say “bed?”

Davidia attempted to be civilised and continued the conversation across the vast expanse of Adrienne’s stockinged thighs, as she tried small talk to heal the rift, at least to the extent of being once more friends with Emilda, whom she had not seen for some six months by then.

Perhaps it was because she had sat too hurriedly in the confusion over who should sit where, that the crotch of Adrienne’s minuscule white panties had somehow managed to divide it. But while the two adults were making politenesses across her stocking tops and the flawlessly smooth flesh of her white thighs, bare above those tops, she could not try to rearrange her clothing so that there would be less pressure in it.

It was only in an attempt to relieve that pressure that Adrienne had crossed her legs, and thus displayed a very shapely enormity of right thigh, which she shyly noticed, instantly attracted and distracted both of Davidia’s roaming appreciative eyes.

“Adrienne!!” Emilda’s risen voice sharply reminded her leggy daughter, as mothers will a mother’s will apply, making girls like Adrienne humbly numbly shy.

“Sorry mummy”, Adrienne whispered as she uncrossed her thighs, while the orchestra struck up the overture for ‘Il Seraglio’ and her parent, and at one-time parent-apparent, Davidia, continued to pretend they wanted, once more, to be friends, across the seat in which Adrienne uncomfortably sat.

As the opera proper began, and Mozart’s wonderful music filled the auditorium, was it Adrienne’s fault that, somehow, the lowered lighting in the auditorium, and the spotlighting on the stage, made for subtle shadows that showed the supremely virginal shapeliness of her very firm young tits?

Or that, as her pretty hand played distractedly distractingly attractively attractingly with her red-hot curls, her forearm would press a breast and brush a nipple through her blouse?

Adrienne’s mesmerising brown eyes were aglow with the joy of what she witnessed on the stage. But she made no show when she finished twiddling her pretty curls, and put down a lovely little hand, which, in that very instant Davidia grasped, clasped, and held.

But though Adrienne was enough of an actress not to, for even one millisecond, alter her gaze, she was thankful that the hushed lighting did not let her blush show, and therefore let the world know, that the crotch of her panties, so caught up in dividing it, and causing her discomfort, was now wet, and its pressure on her dancing clitoris pleasuring her, with an additional feeling in her nipples that she had never before felt yet.

Adrienne was so confused. Why was Davidia now so eager to get her, Davidia’s, hand on the hot bare thigh flesh above her right stocking’s top? Surely it should be like in ‘Romance’, the illustrated comic Adrienne religiously read each week, where the older woman and the virginal miss who, like Adrienne here in real life, had never yet been kissed, always did no more than hold hands on a date, till the miss realised her fate, and entered the nunnery’s gate, to devote her life to good works for god’s sake.

Adrienne put her freed hand on Davidia’s hand, meaning it to message that she did not want to play that way. But Davidia took it as a signal that all was okay, and moved her hand to get to where it nestled so warmly on the seat, only to be disappointed when she discovered that Adrienne’s panties were pulled up in it hard, and she could therefore not get a finger in it to search for Adrienne’s little trigger, to stroke it and make it better and bigger.

Thinking she would try again after the interval when Adrienne’s clothing would be straightened, and her little love-button thus more accessible, Davidia now withdrew her hand.

To sweet Adrienne this sudden withdrawal was an act of the deepest passion and compassion, and she just knew that the experiences of her favourite character, ‘Lorna Love’ in ‘Romance’ had come true. She now had no doubt that Davidia was the love of her life. She instantly knew, in her sweet inexperience and wholly holy ignorance, that she had met the woman who would make her her wife, and that they would not even kiss until their wedding night.

But, at the interval, Davidia had left her seat to answer her mobile where that action would be discreet. It had been set on vibrate, though it should not have been on at all. However, Davidia had been expecting a potentially very important business call, and it had come and held sway, so Davidia now disappeared for the rest of the day.

Adrienne now turned to her momma and smiled, only for Emilda to take her daughter’s slender wrist and haul Adrienne from her seat.

Astonished, Adrienne made no resistance as Emilda pulled her across, and bent her across her knee, and pulled her skirt the tiny minimum it was necessary to completely bare Adrienne’s pretty bum, and began to spank her daughter very hard there.

A cheer from the audience that had remained rather than having to the bars for refreshment detrained, reminded poor sweet Adrienne that she was being spanked by her furious momma, in front of an audience enjoying the resounding ‘smack’ of  Emilda’s heavy slaps on Adrienne’s bare bum, as they echoed audibly of the walls of the auditorium.

Poor little Adrienne’s bummy was being slapped by her mummy, because of Emilda’s frustration that it had been Davidia that had ended the relationship, that with Emilda that is, and the pain she had endured from her broken heart. A heart she had consoled with the thought that at least she had her lovely daughter to succeed her, and succeed in life where she had failed. And now her daughter had behaved in a way that made her fear that even that hope had also paled.

“I will NOT have you behaving like that!” Emilda repeated as she gave Adrienne’s bare bum yet another hard slap.

The embarrassment of Adrienne’s public spanking was only increased as she kicked her pretty legs and wept and wailed as her mummy’s hand her pretty daughter’s bare bummy publicly flailed. And the bars were emptied as the echoes sounded, of the slaps on soft firm flesh where Emilda’s hand harshly pounded. And then bye and bye clapping and jeering accompanied the rhythm of the slaps, and sweet Adrienne thought she must surely die. Till when Adrienne knew she was feeling what she shouldn’t, and her tears went dry as she tried to disguise the new true colour of her secretly wanton cries. And as her mummy continued to slap her bummy hard, the crotch of the panties dividing it was as wet as a slavered gag. And her secret secretions only increased when she glimpsed the girls on the balcony agog, with opera glasses binocular before their unbelieving eyes, as the beautiful auburn woman in the front row of the stalls, slapped the bare bottom of the cute curly redhead in a way at which they should have been appalled.

“Mummy please!” Adrienne pleaded but Emilda continued to give her daughter what she considered the naughty girl needed, unaware that Adrienne’s plea was from the fear she was about to cum across her mummy’s knee, though Adrienne knew not what to cum might be. For Adrienne was feeling something so strange that she had for it no name. She only knew that her panties were soaking wet: wetter than ever before: wetter even than when she had peed in them when she was very young. Hence the cause of her plea: “Mummy please” for the fear of the innocent miss was that she had wet herself with piss.

And then her mummy had held her wrist and dragged her out of the serried ranks of seats down the centre aisle, as the audience returning greeted the spanked naughty girl with a knowing smile, that was followed by wolf-whistles from the stares that showed Adrienne’s skirt still ridden up and her thong leaving her reddened bummy glowingingly bare, and the crotch of her panties pulled up where it rubbed Adrienne as she wiggled along tiptop tiptoed in her ballet shoes, and thus multiplied her shame, the shame at which the blushing freckle-faced redheaded fourteen-year-old schoolgirl, with the lovely long legs and hanging blushing demean, came, and came, with cums she had never before known, as her mummy still slapped her bare bummy in open view plain, as she dragged her home, spanking her even in the open aisles where the smiles of the audience said they knew a newcomer new-cummer, when she wiggled that way to rotate her bare bottom in enticing display, and grind herself on the sopping wet panties pulled hard up into it along the way. And she was dragged home to where Adrienne hoped and prayed that after this humiliating parade, her mummy would spank her again this very day.
.....................

“You playing with it Hadrian?!” Adrienne’s suddenly arrived overseer sarcastically barked.

“No ma’am. I would never do that ma’am”, poor Lieutenant Kowalski lied and whisper cried, knowing she would be punished if her overseer knew she had had her finger in it.

“Hadrian no masturbate! It weaken Hadrian when he got work do!”

“Get out hammock. We got order steam raise!”

Adrienne, still known aboard and treated and spoken of and to, as “Hadrian”, was, unknown to me, now employed in the Shapely Shark’s boiler-room, below many decks. “He” worked there, “he” ate there, “he” slept there.

Obeying the sexy little negress whose turn it was to take charge over her for this shift, Adrienne’s dainty feet, still shod in the dirty ballet shoes she wore 24/7, for she had no time to remove them even to go to bed, dropped silently to the still warm steel plates of the boiler-room deck.

Reaching up to the end of her filthy hammock, she pulled down a rag that had long since ceased to be white, and tied it around her slender hips, in a bow at her right side, so that the longer left side of this, her only clothing, covered her left buttock and thigh, but the slope up to the bow let the delights of the right cheek of her beautiful bottom more than half show.

Then her pretty little hands put on a pair of leather gloves so worn that her soft palms nearly showed through their torn ones.

The reason for their careworn appearance became obvious, as not long since newly appointed Stoker Zero Class “Hadrian” Kowalski, wiggled tiptoe, hurriedly across the deck, and flicked two catches which opened the access to the still hot but now burnt coals: the clinker dropped through the grating at the bottom of the yacht’s furnace’s fire.

Hadrian’s long day of sweating sweated labour had begun.

Now she that was treated as a he, squatted on her superb haunches, making her thighs compellingly huge, as she fought with her little hands and slim arms, with their feminine lack of muscularity, to remove the tray full of the clinker she must dump in a chute across the way.

Her redhead’s ghost-white body was smeared with soot stains she had acquired in her toils, and had had no time to remove, because she was so dead tired at the end of her days.

Now she wiped her soiled gloves on her sweat-shiny thighs, as she drew a deep breath, and grasped the handles of the ashcan, showing the sheer beauty of the power in her wonderful legs, as she rose to tiptoe in her ballets, her breasts heaving as if she sobbed from having just been jilted by a lover, as she uprighted her curves with the weight borne by her sweetly muscle-tensioned arms.

Then she wiggled her comely bum, her tits swinging side to side determinedly, while she carried the half-tonne of clinker to the chute down which her cute face and adorable brown eyes stared in relief, as the old spent coals and ash, tumbled and rumbled down, to form ballast in a skip that would be taken ashore another day.

As she bent at the waist to put the emptied clinker tray back under the furnace, its naked lips flashed between her exceptionally excellent thighs. This was no boy! And, in the know that that was so, she straightened quickly at the recall of how this particular overseer liked to flick it with the tips of her whip, to make her do a leggy leap and yelp and caress the pain, so the overseer could whip her again for ‘playing with it’ when she ‘should be working’.

The regrets Adrienne had experienced from her decision to stay aboard the Shapely Shark, had not dawned till the day, not long after her gang-rape, that her role as ‘cabin boy’ had been re-advertised by Lola, the owner of the ocean-going yacht on which Adrienne now served.

Lola wanted ‘fresh meat’. She had tired of sporting with ‘Hadrian’, and decided to put him where his redhead’s ghostly-white presence, would not stand out among the gorgeous negresses that were ‘standard issue’ among the rest of the boat’s crew.

Taking a pair of metal tongs in her gloved right hand, Adrienne flicked open the door of the furnace, and her near naked body glowed its glory in the red heat of the dying flames. That radiant glow poured itself on the canvas of her redhead’s spectral complexion, and the resulting pink almost matched, but could never surpass, that of Adrienne’s nipples.

The door for the furnace was not easily closed. Its engineering was clever. It was temperature controlled.

The furnace had a long lower steel ‘jaw’ door, as long as lovely Adrienne was tall.

When dropped open, as it was now, it looked like the maw of a monster. It had a serrated top edge with square-profile ‘teeth’ to mesh with those at opposite intervals in the stationary top ‘jaw,’ on which it would close like a mouth. Thus shut, it even had a grim smile. The smiling jaws would close when an acceptably even temperature had been reached by the fire in the furnace’s ravenous belly.

Adrienne now turned the dial that would set the jaw of the furnace in action and reaction to the temperature of its fire.

An embossed plate four-corner-riveted on one of its sides, confirmed that the furnace had been installed by ‘Fannie’s Conversions’ of Clitboro NE; Fannie’s, being a now defunct one-time employer of thousands of New Edingow girls.

The Shapely Shark had been oil-fired till oil had got so rare it had even gotten beyond Lola’s fortune affording it. The coal-fired replacement furnace, these days used the proceeds from many of the former Fannie’s Conversions’ girls made redundant, who were now hewing and hacking and pick-axing two miles down in the New Edingow coalmines.

For the moment, since the coals within it were cooling, the furnace’s jaw stood stuck agape, as if expressing dumbstruck astonishment at the sight of the beauty of a girl like Adrienne.

Orders for the yacht to be ready to set out to sea within the hour had come from the bridge but ten minutes since, and sweet Adrienne was going to be busy.

I was discover where Adrienne now was, when I saw part her day in the bowels of the boat on which I was cruise leisure, while she slaved away.

For the sades among the Holly and Bollywood dollies fragrancing Lola’s yacht, and for the ‘tainment of Lola and her girlfriend Bonito Clyde, and their honoured guests, there were viewing platforms, some with one-way mirrors / other way glass, for those who wanted watch the lovely crew girls put to work.

Where discipline was needed, discipline was harsh. So, the crew-girls were regular stripped waist, so the whips used to drive them would be maximum pain.

We were yet to witness the lovely legs under muscular strain when the negress sailorettes would be whipped if need be, to drive them to turn the anchor-haul capstan. Dressed only in their tiptoe ballets, their microskirts with inbuilt thongs, and the sailorettes hats on their adorable curls, their shining ebony calves would curve while their sweaty thighs displayed the power innate in their superbly shaped enormity, as they bent their curvy backs and thrust up their firm buttocks, with their pretty hands grasping the capstan’s arms, while their bare titties swung irrelevantly elegantly, as they sweetly sang at their strenuous labours.

Once they were stripped for action this way, none of the sailorettes ever less than ran in her ballets, titties dancing as their lovely legs were prancing, to go their next order to obey.

I was party on the platform viewing the boiler-room. It was recommend we sades watch the sailorette, who was work there under the direction of one of the sergeants of crew.

That I was now know where Adrienne was onboard this expansive expensive tub, was something I must no show. That I saw that the delicious Lickme was her sergeant overseer was a mind blow.

Last cruise Lickme had spoken love to my clit like her tongue was ten miles long, and washed me with soft sponge and hot kisses shower. Now she wielded a nine-tail of cat category, with knots not three-inches apart down each two-foot long kissing tongue, with a knot ending each ropette. Adrienne’s back showed Hadrian had tasted its kisses too: come to that two or three times two.

Adrienne was no see us, as we saw one-way mirror, her beautiful body dressed only in a dirty slanting rag tied bow her right hip: her body shining with the permanent inspirational perspiration on her soft flesh: sweet sweat caused by the heat of the furnace she must attend, in the unventilated boiler-room’s claustrophobic space.

Her bare back was already reddened with three whip strikes min, making some twenty-seven or more stripes on her flawless flesh, from the thrash of the nine-tail that had stalked her, then whistled at the sexy shapeliness of her body, and then kissed her bare back to punish her, and drive her in the horrible heat of the boiler-room’s bowels. And each of the nine-tails many knots had left their love-bites as brutal bruises on her sensationally sensuously soft skin.

The jaw of the furnace was demandingly open, and we watched Adrienne’s shapely legs, her curvy calves’ fleetingly flexing muscles not least, as she tiptoed busily in her ballets, over to the chute in which cold coal was delivered in crushed form from a hopper higher.

Now the insides of her golden-down-decorated forearms brushed her bare breasts brusquely aside, as she worked her wooden-handled steel-shod shovel into the coal, and measured metre that which would fill but not overspill load wise.

Then her babe’s biceps bulged as she carried her shovel-load to the greedy maw of the fire, that was forever demanding more and more. And so, as her nipples glowed in the yellow flames longing to lick them, she spread the load she had up-shovelled, sprinkling it evenly, as she intended, along the length inside of the furnace’s open door, and trotted in wonderful wiggle back for coal more.

As she tippy-toe trotted, briskly sexily daintily, prancing entrancingly, her titties dancing while she wiggled back to the coal chute, Adrienne’s gorgeous face looked up at the mirror she could see but not see through, the one-way glass we were behind. And I looked at the strain on her pretty face, the absence of anything less than exhaustion in her glorious dark brown soul globes, and the glow of her boy-cropped red locks, matted and unwashed as they were, as was she; the lips of her pert mouth dry and cracked with her thirst.

The squeal and leap of pain when Lickme lashed Adrienne’s firm scallop-dimple-sided half-bared bum, for her daring to look in the mirror when she should be working, was accompanied by:

“Hadrian no time look mirror! Hadrian here work, not look pretty face! Hadrian get his titties moving, or Hadrian get whipped more!!”

Had the pain from the nine-tails across her half-bare bum excited Adrienne? Was there an extra wiggle in her trot as she tiptoed, leggy muscles in lovely display, as she made her way to spoon-feed the jaws once more, her bum swinging, as blue bruises, cruel contusions from the whip’s caresses, gradually replaced the cat’s knots’ initially red kisses on her petulant posterior?

Or was it in hope that?.... yes... hope fulfilled, when she had filled the furnace’s jaws with the spread of the shovel’s load, and, moments later more, it slowly closed its jaw.

The furnace was now up to temperature and its moving lower jaw had been shut by a signal from its thermostat’s thermometer. Adrienne could rest till it gaped open-mouthed at her astonishing beauty once more.

Now Adrienne tippy-toed in her dirty ballets over to a transparent plastic tube dangling from the ceiling: a tube which her eager red lips and her lascivious pink tongue licked, to make it ejaculate water into her wanting wanton waiting fellating hot mouth: water that was actually the piss, filtered, if not fully, of faeces, from the latrines in the crew’s quarters on the deck above.

This hell, in which even the steel deck on which her pretty toes danced in her square-toed ballet shoes: this hell of primeval humidity in which her body was constantly wet with her sweat, sweat running even now in two un-matching trickles down the ski-slopes of her magically majestic milk-white breasts, till they formed individual transparent salty tears on the tips of her exquisite nipples, the tears her poor body cried now that the tears from her eyes had dried. This hell was the sade’s heaven, in which police lieutenant Adrienne Kowalski had dwelt since I had left her onboard, at her insistence, after my last cruise on the Shapely Shark, now some six weeks since.

Masturbation was Adrienne’s only relief. Only in her lonely hammock where she could play with her clit till she fell asleep, did Adrienne feel any remaining connection with her humanity. And even that joy was receding since she was increasingly finding that the only thoughts that would arouse her clitoris were those of her suffering onboard this ship.

Playing her pink with finger -plectrum to the tune of the memory of her mummy pounding her bummy in public at the opera, was a fading source of arousal. Now her trigger would increasingly only respond to her middle finger, when she recalled the bullwhipping given her tits, or her mermaid torture. And even they needed extensive hard rotation and rubbing to arouse her nibble’s nocturnal interest; whereas the memory of the horrors of her endless days under threat of the lash, as she fed the fire here in the boiler-room’s bowels, made her pinky perky in an instant.

The order for Hadrian never to masturbate had been issued firmly by Captain Lusciouoso Ngano, the ship’s commander on her, Adrienne’s, appointment as Stoker.

Masturbation would weaken a boy like Hadrian, and make him less able to carry out his heavy duties. Being found masturbating would lead to profound penalties never expanded upon or expounded.

As her pretty lips and long tongue were lapping piss from the drinking tube in a manner making we onlookers long Adrienne were licking between our legs that eagerly, only a female mind-reader could possibly know that Adrienne’s brain was focused on her only relief from the hell in which she must now dwell, and planning how she would arouse herself in her hammock this coming night: what to feed her pink so that she could take herself to the queendom-come of a relieving cum. The horror of the thought that she might lose even that relief, leaving her with nothing to live for, had occurred to her though.

Even though she got relief from the horrors of her day by thinking this way, Adrienne’s foremind had not yet admitted to itself that she secretly wanted to be caught masturbating. The excitement of that prospect was nonetheless growing as a subliminal thought.

That she was now excited sexually by the thought of getting caught playing with it, was seeing her take greater risks. She had nearly been caught just back from now caressing it under her blanket. Yet she would not admit that she intended to finger it on top of her hammock tonight: that is she did, till the thought made her excited and she instantly told herself she must not be so stupid, and stowed the idea away once more.

But her body had betrayed her. At the very thought of being caught masturbating, Adrienne’s nipples momentarily peaked. Lickme spotted their flicker of interest, and knew what Adrienne had got going through her mind, if not the detail.

“Hadrian’s titties’ nippies say Hadrian think dirty thoughts!” Lickme insisted.

“No ma’am, no: really and truly ma’am!” Adrienne pleaded.

“Hadrian very naughty. Hadrian touch toes!”

“Oh please, I beg you ma’am” Adrienne tearfully whispered, in a tone admitting she knew what she must inevitably do.

“Hadrian no argue!

With pleading-begging beaming from her glorious brown eyes, Adrienne wiggle-wended over to where she must bend, and we watched as she grasped at her shapely ankles, with her little gloved hands holding each, before she took her fingers, and made them long so that they joined her ballet tiptoed toes, in anointing where she stood the very locus of highest heaven.

Her pendulous breasts dangled heavily, as if they were full and she ready to be milked. The nipples that had betrayed her, bulged pointedly, as if her tits were promisingly full of fresh white cream.

As Adrienne held her submissive position, Lickme was in no haste, for her eyes too wanted to taste, nay, feast on the sight of it as it slowly rose, vertically, between Adrienne’s strong thighs when Adrienne bent over. For there it was now in all its magical presence: Adrienne’s very essence, the heart, the mind, the very soul of such a girl.

Its nude lips looked veritably vulnerably virginally innocent. A perfect line was formed by its labia majora where they met and lovingly lightly kissed. This sensitive doorway to her passionate pink was as tightly, though lightly closed, as her lovely mouth. And both were as begging of a kiss north as south.

Knowing she was showing everything about her, Adrienne was blushing prettily, and her lovely eyes closed, praying that she could only have clothes enough to cover it from Lickme’s blatant stare, the loin-rag Adrienne wore at her waist being not even near, so that the view of it was all too clear.

“Naughty Hadrian make his pretty legs straight!” Lickme ordered, and in that instant, Adrienne locked back her thus made dimpled knees, only for the knotted cat o’ nine tails not to miss; as it swished and whistled and hit it: ‘THWICK!!!! and its greased-lightening swiftness forced it open and took it, sundering its sweet lips to plunder her pink, a knot not merely beating her clitoris, but battering bruising biting and branding it burning with brutal fire, as Adrienne shot upright screaming with pain and her pretty hands sought to sooth the flames in it.

But resisting what she knew she must not do, she screamed the more as she crossed her lithe long legs, intertwining their lissom loveliness, and lowering herself to a squat, one lusciously lubricated sweat-sheen-shining thigh, sliding silkily silently smoothly swiftly over its equally boldly beautiful and equally sweat-lubricated lubricious sister, as she squeezed her huge squatted sweaty thighs to ease her dreadful pain, till standing again on her long beautiful legs and twisting intertwined those lovely limbs, so that one dainty ankle and tiptoed foot was behind the other as she strangled her huge sweat-shimmering thighs fighting forcefully to wring out the echoing agony in it; finally reaching a hand down to give it balm......before....

“Hadrian no touch his penis!!” came the contradictory order that Adrienne who was Hadrian must obey, even as tears from her pain trickled from her lovely eyes, and her tongue licked their salt from the swollen lips of her lovely mouth. The visitation from the cat’s tail had left it throbbing with pain. And then a little droplet, a tiny red tear, formed; hesitated; dripped; and then dropped from the lips of it, before it became a trickle of blood from it: blood from Adrienne’s spilt clitoris.

In that instant, as if in astonishment that a girl could take such pain, the lower jaw of the furnace fell open again, and pretty Adrienne grasped her shovel once more, to tiptop tiptoe in her ballets, all legs that wasn’t legs and bum and proportionate yet huge thigh, her heavy titties aswing, her nipples like lanterns warning of her wicked wantoness, as she trotted submissively to do her thing, and shovel more coal into the hole that could and would, like her pinkest one, never ever be satiatedely satisfied.

But as she paraded her pretty legs in eager trips to and from the furnace in which fresh coal to tip, and blood still dripped from it, was she hiding a shine in her eyes that said she was enjoying enduring the terrible echoing sting in it?
..........................

I was deck when Lola and Bonito Clyde came back aboard the Shapely Shark.

I was still mission rescue sassy redhead Lieutenant Adrienne Kowalski from this ocean-going, having got her aboard first out on a missing person mission solved by DNA ident of a Jane Doe, as the same dame whose whereabouts show was what I was originally need know.

I’d just witnessed site sight Stoker Zero Class “Hadrian” Kowalski, the mischievously masculine misnomer of the very feminine Adrienne Kowalski: an alter ego given her in game play for the evil Lola, who owned the yacht, and had advertised for a cabin boy.

Sweet Hadrian was doing time boiler room fire feed, and I was get her where I might get her outta here need; boiler’s bowels being a tad on the inaccessible side.

I was still bankrolled bonus gambler by the NEPD, though I was PI in truth of fact. Ursa Bows Bank was my employer according to my records as forged for the occasion. I’d been Lola’s guest twice before now. And for the new now, I made myself pretty as an Anglo-Saxon-Afro-Caribbean-half-cast can be - which is to say I looked completely compellingly kapow! - for another chance of powwow.

“Charley Moans, you old devil you!” in passing recognition and a blown kiss from Lola’s albino-negress lips, was all I got though: this as she rushed to talk to Captain Lusciouoso Ngano, Lola’s appointed sea-experienced commander.

After whatever was conveyed that discussion, Lola slipped away her quarters aboard, and I was witness the all-negress crew of the Shapely Shark, or at least the lowest and thus the working ranks of it, the myriad of pretty negress sailorettes, strip naked to their waists to ready themselves for the cat o’ nine tails lash, if they failed in their tasks, as they tippy-toe, brown-nippled titties swinging, ballet-shoe shod, around the deck in a dash.
...............................

Later:-

“Ma’am I caught him masturbating last night ma’am”, I overheard a sergeant sailorette saying to Captain Ngano as I lolled over the rails looking around New Edingow harbour.

“We gotta have someone in the boiler room”, I heard Captain Ngano respond, as she organised our setting sail, steam having already been raised by Adrienne’s efforts.

“Ma’am Sergeantess Lickme was kissing him ma’am”, the reportee reported.

“That decides it Sergeantess. Lickme is relieved her rank forthwith. She’s Stoker Zero Class Lickme from this instant. You take charge of her. As for Stoker Zero Class Hadrian Kowalski......Have him clapped in irons. It’ll be for the ship’s owner, not crew like me, to decide his fate. So, if he’s to be court martialled, you’d better have him washed and scrubbed too.”

“Ma’am yes ma’am” I heard. And I thought I heard a certain anticipatory pleasure in the latter speaker’s tone. Was it from the thought of having Lickme busted back to deck rank, and answerable to the whip for loading coal in the boiler-room furnace I wondered?
.........................

By the time I was see Kowalski next the Shapely Shark had been sea a week.

Don’t worry none. I’d been ‘tained. I was sade enough to enjoy the boiler-room viewing platform sight of the little negress Lickme, stripped to the waist, wearing only an oily rag as a loin cloth, as she stoked furnace under threat of the lash.

When they marched her in, Adrienne looked tired, terrified, and totally terrific.

Her ghost white redhead’s body was filling out, almost spilling out, her patriotic red white and blue sailorette’s uniform once more.

She was up topmost tiptoe on her goddamn gorgeous legs, in squared-off-toed heelless white ballets. Her bountiful bosom abundantly abounce in a sky-blue and virgin-white hooped torn of tee, that left her firmly flat belly bare, where one could see she was navel as well as naval.

A scarlet sailorette’s round hat, could not possibly outglow the glory of her red-gold hair, the curls of which had been freshly cropped, and a left parting applied, to give her the sweetest of boy-cuts.

The milk-white undersides of her silk-soft breasts were exiting excitingly below the short hem of her vest, a vest pointedly attesting to where her nipples had appointed to rest.

Her bum, beautifully, twice emboldened her sky-blue shorts. At each rear of the legs of her shorts, the foothills of her bum cheeks made quarter moons’ outglowing the night sky’s inferior half-hemisphere.

Adrienne swung her golden down decorated forearmed arms, and her lovely legs; the latter in shapely rigidly stiffly-locked-back-kneed goosestep, as she was marched into the guests’ mess after our dinner, and made to stand to attention in front of Lola and Lola’s girl, Bonito Clyde.

Captain Lusciouoso Ngano was in charge of the girl, the sweetly freckle-kissed brown-eyed red-lipped ghost-white honey, who was about to be court martialled, for being caught masturbating her surely irresistibly beautiful body.

“Prisoner hat off!” Captain Ngano ordered, and Adrienne reached up a pretty right hand to remove her hat in respect for the court, and held it at her right thigh, as she stood to conspicuously curvy attention, on her exceptionally shapely legs, her dark brown orbs gazing dutifully unseeing at the distant horizon.

“Ma’am Stoker Zero Class Hadrian Kowalski is hereby reported to you for sentence ma’am”

“Of what is the prisoner guilty?” Lola casually meowed, with a barely suppressed yawn.

“Ma’am Count 1 ma’am - Touching it with lascivious intention aforethought and without licence or authorisation from any duly appointed and accredited senior, or appropriately delegated and duly licensed junior ma’am: to wit using his right-hand middle finger as means of unnatural stimulation of his penis matter, with the intention of arousing sexual excitement, and with the probable intention of taking that excitement to an impermissible conclusion, thereby breaching Clause 1 of Standing Order 1 of the Service Code relating to activities conducive to the detriment of physical and mental welfare, and Clause 2 of Standing Order 1 of the Service Code relating to lewd behaviour in public and or private that has not been duly sanctioned and authorised by a person or persons having due authority or licence ma’am. And....

Ma’am Count 2 ma’am – Being a person of the first part in inappropriate appropriation with his mouth, of the mouth of a person having an appointment giving that person of the second part seniority over the person of the first part, which is in breach of Clause 5 of Standing Order 2 of the Service Code relating to misconduct, whether solo or more than solo, between differing and / or within the same rank and / or ranks, ma’am.”

Ma’am Count 3 ma’am .......”

At the threat of yet more legalise, Lola held up a hand in a policegirl’s ‘stop-the-traffic’ mode, bidding the captain cease....

“My goodness me captain! The prisoner is surely guilty enough on the first two counterosos!”

“Ma’am, do you wish me to repeat those two counts to aid your certainty ma’am?”

“I think my certainty is sufficient as it stands, thank you captain. But please tell me why it is that there is a totally disgusting stain in the crotch of Hadrian’s uniform shorts?!” a distracted and bored sounding Lola enquired; thereby, as no doubt intended, drawing our attention to the stain.

“Ma’am, at the time of his release from solitary confinement, after showering and before dressing in uniform to attend court martial, prisoner requested prisoner’s guard issue prisoner with a tampon or sanitary pad or the like thereof in function, ma’am.”

“Ma’am prisoner is claiming to be having a monthly period ma’am.”

“Ma’am as prisoner is a male of the species, the completely ridiculous request was immediately denied ma’am.”

“And quite rightly so captain, and quite rightly so!” Lola agreed, before enquiring.....

....”And what do the regulations define as the punishimento for young Hadrian being caught playing with his penis mmm....? Oh, and do please, for goodness’ sake keep it brief captain!” Lola drawled.

“Ma’am, the time of month being taken into account ma’am, that he be trawled ma’am”, Captain Ngano confirmed.

“Excellent captain! ‘Those who play with their swordiosos etcetera, etceteraa’ mmm.....?” Lola added, to our and poor Adrienne’s complete puzzlement, though the latter dare not show it.

“Tomorrow morning perhaps captain?”

“Ma’am tomorrow morning would indeed be ideal ma’am”

“Then make it so, captain, make it so....” Lola concluded dismissively.

“Prisoner: hat on!” Captain Ngano barked at lovely Adrienne, and we watched as she was ordered “About face!” and then “Quick march!” and stomped her tiptop-tiptoe-stood feet, goosestep, her tits jumping mesmerizingly, fit to flip out of her top, as her hyper-hot openly menstruating body was marched out of the dining hall and out of our sight.
.......................

In the buzz of eager conversation at breakfast on the next sunny dawn: a Sunday born with choppy seas but only a light breeze local to the locale where we were at anchor far out sea, I caught snippets of breakfast chatter from differing directions on a united theme....

“Hadrian? I thought she was Adrienne or some such...”
“She....I mean he is a boy, not a girl Petra! At least that’s Lola’s idea of fun with the little honey”......
“Playing with himself, deserves everything he gets”......
“Could they not just flog his back with a cat o’ nine tails like they do in the movies?” .....
“Did you watch him in the boiler room? God what a pair of legs he’s got on him!
“Yes, and how: magnificent thighs!”.....
“I’m a tits girl myself” ......
“No disappointment there then either!” .....
“I’d skin his lovely bum with a cat for even thinking of touching it.....”

Then a late arrival for breakfast, having overheard what I had too, advised: “He’s out there now, prepared top deck: have you not seen.....?”

This latter made me hurry as slowly as pretence I was desperate for another cigarette would allow.

I was still fear Kowalski be discovered Lieutenant of Police, or me as PI or, worse still, me and she in league. But I’d be lie if I denied I was enjoy Kowalski’s distress, even though I was still fear discover meant Lola could put me and Adrienne both in max of mess.

I was top deck trying casual look, as I strolled over to where a crowd had gathered to give sweet Adrienne the full 20:20 ogle.

It was resting between two upright wooden wine barrels. A barrel filled with a girl being treated as a boy.

How they had crammed and jammed Adrienne in, I would never be know.

The imprisoning containment was terrible in contemplation, for the barrel in which Adrienne had been crammed, her body folded jack-knife, was surely no more than two feet high, and of similar diameter.

The barrel contrasted with the wine barrels on which it rested, in that the barrel containing the gorgeous Adrienne, had transparent plastic staves, so that we could see her beauty and that beauty’s cruel constriction.

She was naked, butt naked, but for her ballets, and had somehow been jack-knifed, so that her folded legs, with their thus made massive thighs, were pressed hard up to and squashing and crushing her heavy breasts to those thighs, and to her chest. Thus was she forced somehow into a barrel, with her lovely arms, bent double at the elbows, jammed helplessly at her sides inside it.

This brutal encapsulating capture of Adrienne’s captivating body, was capped out by the translucent top of the transparent barrel, a barrel that contained far more intoxicating contents than mere wine – Adrienne. The top of the barrel had been manufactured like a circular cangue.

The top thus made, had two halves hinged together at one end like a movie clapperboard. This closed, Adrienne’s neck was through central semicircle half-holes in each half of the cangue-like top: semi-circular holes that formed a complete central hole when closed around her neck. The closed barrel top, had then been padlocked at each point of the compass to the transparent barrel, irremovably, leaving her head alone out of the barrel.

Around the circumference of the base of the barrel, there had been firmly fastened, the like of a circular rescue lifebuoy; somewhat larger in diameter than the riverside or ocean-beach norm. This cork-filled lifebuoy-akin-addition to the barrel, was around the barrel’s base: the bottom of the barrel proper being through the lifebuoy’s central hole.

To aid we eager onlookers to see it without problem, a mirror had been placed at a slope under the barrel in which Adrienne was crammed doubled-up, so we could see the arrangements at the base of the barrel itself.

Within the barrel in which she was folded and totally and absolutely immovably forced, Adrienne still wore ballets, and her tiptoed toes touched the outer edge of one side of the transparent bottom of the barrel. At the opposite side she sat on her beautiful bum.

Adrienne’s containment within the two-foot high, two foot diameter, transparent barrel included a wedge at her back, at the small of her back, that thrust her jack-knifed body forward at belly level, and made sure that it, her essence and epicentre, the sheath within her slit in particular, was perpendicular to the hole in the barrel’s base.

Between where her bum sat and her toes touched, there was a hole in the barrel’s bottom. From that hole, Adrienne’s sacrificial monthly had dripped, and spatters of her moon-cycle sacrifice to womanhood, were trickling down the mirror. And down from just above where her menses flowed, there dangled the evidence that she had had an intimate, supremely sensitive, part of her anatomy, intricately bound around with a line, the end of which was dangling out of the hole in the barrel’s base.

Droplets of Hadrian’s heavenly blood had sainted the mirror placed below him on the deck. This beautiful girl Adrienne, the cabin-boy ‘Hadrian’, was menstruating heavily: the bleed that hymned her heaven on earth, was in full flow with nothing to staunch it, save that the purposely placed mirror showed that she, that he had been prepared. A line dangled from within her. That line hung down some inches out of the hole in the barrel’s bottom, and thus below her. And the curved metal attachment at the end of the line, glinted in the early morning sun, and the reflexion of its sparkles sparked in turn off the sloping mirror.

And to make the girl completely into a buoy in her two-foot high two foot across barrel, Adrienne wore a heavy brass crown pressed compressingly-hard down onto her forehead, held further in place with a strap that ran under her chin. And at the sides and back of the crown, were pre-welded solid brass hammer heads, facing out in all bar the forward plane. And behind Adrienne’s head and to its left and right, there hung and swung three matching open-ended brass bells without internal clappers.

Adrienne’s lovely dark brown eyes already showed the extent of her suffering, crammed immovably jack-knife in the tiny barrel of this torture: the Bitch-Buoy.

‘Hadrian’ was naked bar his shoes. His superb thighs were pressed up against his tits and his calves hard up against the backs of his thighs. He was jack-knifed in the transparent Bitch-Buoy so tightly, that his folded legs and his back were trapped as if he were in an inescapable cocoon. He could hardly breathe.

As he squatted squeezed thus, each and both of his soft firm tits were squashed against each and both of his gorgeous thighs.

His lovely slim arms were bent at the elbow and tucked at the sides of his body, unable to move bar minimally, because he that was she was so tightly jammed into the cocooning barrel. Only his adorably freckle speckled visage was free. His haunting deep-dark-brown eyes looking for the mercy he would and could not see.

However, wait one moment. This Bitch-Buoy had a warning bell arrangement on top, but surely it was lacking a warning beacon! But of course that was not so, for the radiant red of Kowalski’s glorious hair stood as refutation of any accusation of a lack in the warning beacon department.
...........................

Without any forewarning for poor Adrienne, four strong half-naked negress sailorettes suddenly marched up behind her, as ordered, and then, distributing themselves evenly around its cork-float base, lifted the Bitch-Buoy in which the beautiful girl was bound in readiness.

That beautiful girl, Adrienne, closed her gorgeous brown eyes as if in prayer.

Then she screeeeamed with horror and terror and begging and pleading as they carried her over to the Shapely Shark’s top deck’s safety rails, lifted her clear above those rails, and dropped the Bitch-Buoy overboard into the open ocean.

And, as we heard the splash and Adrienne’s further screams, I was no less eager to watch than the crew, and the actresses who were Lola’s guests, or Lola herself, or the divinely evil Bonito Clyde, as we all ran to the ship’s side.

At first the Bitch-Buoy capsized one side and then its other. Then it righted itself and Adrienne was bobbing on the azure ocean: afloat with her pretty bum her thighs her ballet shod toes and it, being plashed by the ocean’s wash through the hole in the base of the Bitch-Buoy.

Adrienne / Hadrian was in her, in his Bitch-Buoy. She / he was on the open ocean in the Bitch-Buoy: afloat without a line attaching the Bitch-Buoy to the yacht: afloat, drifting off, already some twenty yards from the yacht: afloat bobbing on the water helplessly, bound immeasurably immovably, with a pool of her menstrual blood being spread by the undulating swell of the waters in which she now did dwell.

For Adrienne, firmly folded in the Bitch-Buoy, there were suddenly two views of the world in which she dwelt.

One was the world occupied solely by her lightly freckled outstandingly pretty face: her face standing out of the top of the Bitch-Buoy barrel: the only part of her body that was not in the cruellest of imprisonment.

Her face felt the bright breeze. Her nostrils filled her lungs with a sea salt tasting tang. Her pretty ears were awash with the slish and slosh and sometimes swifter sluicing swash, of the ceaseless shifting of the sibilant sea, oftimes dashing and crashing over her; as well as the contrasting constant flip-flap of the water local to where she in the Bitch-Buoy was afloat, as the sea lipped-lapped on the lip of Bitch-Buoy’s lap comprised by the circular rescue-buoy on which her imprisoning barrel was mounted boat.

Her lovely brown eyes, stang with salt from the breeze and the seas, and looked longingly up at the clear sky, enforcedly half-closing at the brightness of the still rising to midday sun, and of the brilliant blue in the free heavens.

But the woeful world in which bewitching beauty alluring Adrienne doubly dwelt in paradigmatic parallel, was the hideous hell of her exceptionally exquisite beautiful body, brutally bound, tied tightly by the thus brimful barrel of the Bitch-Buoy in which she sat foetal formed and cruelly crammed so firmly fully.

As she distantly cried in pitiful pleading for mercy, while she floated away in the Bitch-buoy bleeding, Adrienne’s head rocked and the hammers on her heavy brass crown tapped the bells of the buoy: the bells along with her redhead’s aflame hair, being there to warn all shipping, and especially the seductive sirens of maritime mythology, to beware the supreme extreme danger for all hearts, that here was a girl!

I was handed binoculars to better see Adrienne’s suffering. As tears from her terror coursed down her freckled cheeks, an anxious frown on her lovely face creased her brow. Her cries begging for mercy were made incoherent, not just by the distance she was from the yacht, but also by the terror in her sobs.

Nothing happened now.

Nothing happened for we on the yacht that is. In the Bitch-Buoy, Adrienne Hadrian hollered her hell, terrified she would sink and drown, unable to save herself with her body jack-knifed immovably, her legs folded, her arms bent at the elbows; all four of her limbs held helpless. She rocked with the Bitch-Buoy’s rocks, and rolled with the Bitch-Buoy’s rolls, and bobbed up and down in wave and trough with the swell of the ocean on which she helplessly dwelled, the crown on her head rapping the warning bells.

Inside the Bitch-Buoy’s barrel Adrienne Hadrian was in veritable hell. The ocean’s waters were only a little choppy, but the Bitch-Buoy’s height was of no account such that the occasional wave would wash over Adrienne, and flood past her neck into the Bitch-Buoy’s barrel, where it soaked her beautiful body, washing it with salty chill, as it poured over her handsomely huge thighs: thighs pressed closely together as if in a virgin’s prayer: thighs pressed as closely together as they were hard up against her tits. And the ingress of cold ocean took the route provided by her cleavage, to escape over her belly and past it, to make for the hole at the Bitch-Buoy’s base. And this occasional flow of brine over it, together with the constant in-wash through the open hole at the barrels base, took more droplets of her monthly into the open expanse of expansive ocean on which the Bitch-Buoy freely uncontrolledly sailed.

Dawn had timed into mid-morn by now, and the sun on the deck of the Shapely Shark become warm. But in the Bitch-Buoy, Adrienne’s body was saturated with the ocean’s wash, with waves lashing over her bedraggled redhead’s curls, and salt stinging her pretty eyes. And the water finding recourse in taking a course over her, jack-knifed as she was in the transparent barrel, had wet her so that her body shone with sheen as beautiful as that seen when she had been bathed in sweat in the boiler-room. But this new form of complete repeat soaking, in which her nakedness was bathed in the bubbling brine, chilled her. She shivered; but her tits were too hard pressed against her thighs to quiver.

Adrienne closed her lovely dark brown eyes in despair. As if to taunt her, another wave washed over the Bitch-Buoy, and past her cangue – the barrel’s lid – and ensured the saturation of her statistical shapeliness continued. And she began to cry: to cry not just with despair, and not just with fear, but also for her thoroughly wet and totally chilled body, and the increasing pain from and in her immovably jack-knifed position in the two foot high by two foot across barrel of the Bitch-Buoy.

Then they came. Hideous cramps in her conspicuously curvy calves. It was agony, unrelieveable, unbelievable, agony. Jack-knifed and jammed in the Bitch-Buoy as she was, Adrienne could do nothing to ease her cramps, and her seized-up muscles made her scream with pain. But all the open ocean did was to mock her, and wash over her and into the Bitch-Buoy, once; then twice; then thrice, again.

As her body bobbed in the Bitch-Buoy side to side, and up and down with the movement of the tide, Adrienne tried to ease her pain, but found that, such was the strict constriction of her confinement in the barrel, that she could but only move her fingers and then only just.

Her cries to her god that she be released, sounded into the empty void without even the echo of Adrienne’s own sweet voice to comfort her. And the Bitch-Buoy bobbed like the proverbial cork on the literal not littoral waters, and a wave lashed over Adrienne’s despair, and its waters washed once more into and through the barrel of the Bitch-Buoy where she squatted jack-knifed immovably there.

Was the bright, some would say the brilliant, Police Lieutenant Adrienne Kowalski to be driven out of her mind by the dreadful torture of the Bitch-Buoy, just for being caught touching her clit?

The Bitch-Buoy rolled, rose, fell, shot up on the swell, and then dipped down in a trough, then spun a three-sixty, then rocked fore and aft, then tried to turn turtle, before it rose on the swell once more, then in a trough would again dwell, till another wave washed over it, onto her head and flame-red hair, into the Bitch-Buoy and over her, and Adrienne cried once more. And her sobs caused her breasts to ride, and her nipples on her thighs to slide. The terrible cramps bit her calves again, and she screamed. And her nipples, hitherto hardened with the cold and her cramps, began to flicker and dance.

At first bare Adrienne was barely aware that the function of her body that had got her into the Bitch-Buoy as punishment in the first place, was still there. Her lonely sobs, her cries of despair, and the expansion and contraction of her chest from those and her natural breathing, was never at rest. And the nipples of her beautiful breasts were taking care of the rest, as they were rubbed on her huge thighs, and once more gave rise to the knowledge that she was wholly a girl, a girl alive.

An hour later, and Adrienne’s engorged engaged nipples rubbed on the silken smooth softness of the flawless flesh of her sumptuous thighs, and, despite being midst her monthly and her terrible cramps, Adrienne became sexually aroused.

And Adrienne’s mind delivered wisdom to the wise that to keep herself alive, she must make herself warm, and to masturbate herself was the only way to deliver herself from harm.

Then she cried out once more in the mocking knowledge that she could not deliver on the necessary promise, for her body was too confined for her fingers her clit to find. And so the constant rub of her nipples on her thighs took her only to heaven’s edge, with no means for her to enter inside.
........................

For we still aboard the Shapely Shark, an hour passed, and nothing happened.

For we still aboard the Shapely Shark, another hour passed, and that same nothing happened again.

An hour later still, and that same nothing had happened yet once more.

Those hours had seen most of us become bored, and move off for cocktails aperitif to luncheon.

The scream and the beating of the bells like the bells of hell on the Bitch-Buoy, was therefore all the more terrible when they tore the air asunder with chilling horror. And we rushed back to the rails of the top deck, many of us trying to focus binoculars, and fumbling in failure, till we calmed our sweaty-palmed excitement sufficiently.

We could not hear Adrienne’s repeated cries of akin to: “Get it off me! Please get it off me!! Oh god, please get it off meeee!!!”

All we could see in our binoculars, was that the waters under the Bitch-Buoy were being whisked to froth, and that the red stain caused by Adrienne’s monthly to float just under her torture boat, was being spread by something thrashing and threshing the waters into a miniature local maelstrom.

“Get it off!!!!! Please god, get it off! Oh dear god please get it off meeee!!!”

The pull on Adrienne’s clitoris from the fish that had been attracted by the bait of her menstrual blood, was agony’s astonished agony. The fish, alive and helplessly held on the barbed curved hook that was at the end of the short line tied to and around Adrienne’s clitoris, to make her clit into a little pink fishing rod, knew that its life and freedom were at threat, and so it fought to pull itself off Adrienne’s clitty-rod even yet, and yanked and twisted and turned and corkscrewed Adrienne’s clit, as it fought to get itself free from the barbed 10/0 circle hook that Adrienne had had fitted to the fishing line tied to her clit. And Adrienne’s eyes were wide with her immeasurable pain, as the fish her clitty-rod had caught fought its freedom to gain.

This girl being punished for wanting to masturbate, had been forced into the Bitch-Buoy and was now mistress-bait.

There could be only one perky part of Hadrian’s pink anatomy that could have been bound brilliantly tightly with the required length of line, the required strength of line ending in the barbed 10/0 circle hook that Adrienne, being tortured and mocked as Hadrian, had, dangling in the water from the hole in the base of the Bitch-Buoy.

Adrienne Hadrian’s holy blood had pooled around in the waters of the open ocean, and its lure had baited the hook on her clitty-rod, and at last a fish had took, the crashing of its tail mixing her menstrual blood’s red with the blue of the ocean to make it purple instead.

To give my eyes a rest, the better to focus on this divine torture, I looked away from my binoculars for a tiny moment, and noticed that Captain Ngano had an industrial-sized tripod-mounted pair of binoculars readied and focused, and was making a cool assessment of the violent distress under the Bitch-Buoy: under poor Adrienne.

“And your advice captain?” Lola calmly enquired.

“Ma’am, it is a minor catch ma’am. However, ma’am, along with Hadrian’s bleed, it will be excellent bait for a more significant catch ma’am”.

“Thank you captain.”

“Is a further catch likely soon, or are we as well to go to luncheon in the meanwhile?”

“Ma’am there can be no exact telling when Hadrian’s penis will catch more worthwhile prey. It does not appear to have been so ideal a day for bitch-fishing as my experience originally led me to conclude....... Menses is usually irresistible bait ma’am.....”

“So, shall we repair to luncheon or not captain?”

“Ma’am, my humble apologies for rambling ma’am.”

“Ma’am, may I respectfully propose that I send crew to inform you in the instance a further catch by the Bitch-Buoy Trawler, would justify your breaking away from your luncheon ma’am?”

“No apology was necessary captain. I appreciate that trawling with a Bitch-Buoy is not an exact sciencemneto... and yes, please do feel free to interrupt my guests, and myself, if a more worthwhile catch takes.”

The captain saluted, and I took one last look at the swishing and swashing under the Bitch-Buoy, and noticed how wet my knickers were at the thought of what that feisty fish’s fearsome fight to flee the barb at the end of the fishing line and hook tied to her clitoris, would be doing to what had been thereby made Adrienne’s clitty-rod.
...............................

A clanging of the bells of the Bitch-Boy and another blood-curdling scream of Adrienne’s absolute agony saved any need for the captain to call for us. The double bait comprising the fish, the fish already caught by her clitty-rod, and her menstrual blood, had caused another fish to take the invitation, and Adrienne in the Bitch-Buoy was screaming in the extreme of extreme, of extreme pain.

But for the incoherence of her cries and the distance at which she bobbed in the Bitch-Buoy, we might have deciphered and decided Adrienne’s cries were: “It’s up me! Oh god it’s up me!! It’s up me! It’s up me! It’s up meeeeeheeeee!”

Adrienne was screeching in unimpeachable unrepeatable pain again. Below her violently agitated buoy, the sea was awash with a tail threshing, and her menstrual blood was mixing to make the white spume from whatever was violently agitating the hitherto comparatively peaceful waters, turn pink this time.

Her cries turned to animal agony as the thrashing of her new catch grew still more strident, as it fought violently to try and escape the hook and line that was dangling from her clit under the Bitch-Buoy Trawler: under her gorgeous bum.

Her Bitch-Buoy bound chest heaved with horror, and her salt water wetted breasts pressed and rubbed on her huge thighs, her smooth thighs thus caressing her sensitive nipples as her belly showed her breathtaking slimness when she screamed and screeched and screamed again with pain.

“Oh god help meee!! It’s up me! It’s ripping me!!! Oh god it’s ripping meeee!!!”

Adrienne was bawling in inescapable agony again, as the whipping and slapping and swishing and flapping below the Bitch-Buoy in which her beautiful girl’s body bobbed and swayed, now witnessed a tsunami of waves from her second catch’s violent creation, almost seeing the Bitch-Buoy turn submarine.

Her oh so kissable mouth now gaped and her eyes stared silently; stunned as she was with the horrible pain from her clitty-rod.

I looked away from my binoculars for a moment and focused on the calm Lola, whose albino's pink eyes showed the only smile of which they were capable, that of the deepest cruelty being immeasurably enjoyed.

“Oh god it’s up me!!! It’s up me! Oh god it’s tearing me!! It’s up me! It’s up me! It’s ripping me! Oh god it’s ripping meeeeeeheeee!!!”

Adrienne was screeching with the swishing and swashing and thrashing and threshing of the waters below her beautiful bum, as she gave a louder scream and more blood poured from her slit into the waters.

“Oh god it’s torn meeeeeeeheeeee!!” she screeched and sobbed in incoherent unison, as if begging, as indeed she was, for her god to take whatever it was out of her.

The attraction of her menstrual blood had caught a huge catch. The swift eye of some submarine animal had spied her menses and its eye and its senses had been secondarily excited by Adrienne’s clitty-rod’s first fish catch.

The fishing hook at the end of the strong line that was dangling from the fishing rod formed by her clitoris, to which the line was tied, and around which it was wound and bound, had caught one fish attracted by Adrienne’s menstrual blood. And now a far bigger second was fighting to free itself from the hook, dashing the ocean to a saltwater froth, whilst Adrienne’s clitoris was pulled and twisted by its inexhaustible excited writhing; the hook on her clit-fishing-rod holding it fast.

Adrienne cried and screamed and screeched and hollered her pain as her catch fought and tried to dive, only to more securely and more certainly hook its mouth, as it pulled and twisted and swung and tugged and dove and pirouetted and writhed and tore at Adrienne’s clitty-rod, punishing ‘Hadrian’ for masturbating it.

Without any change in her state of horror to match the change in the wording of her imploring: “Fuck me! Oh fuck me! Fuck me! Fuuuuck meeeeheee!!!” Adrienne bawled, as if obscenities could ease her agony.

Behind we guests as we watched through our binoculars, eager not to miss an iota’s scintilla of Adrienne’s suffering:

“Ma’am, shall I instruct chef to arrange a fish course for dinner ma’am?” Captain Ngano relaxedly cruelly enquired.

“Mmmm?....... Oh yes do.... Do..... Erm..... Do that..... Erm....Do just that please captain”, Lola responded.

“Oh, and, in particular, advise chef to look out her recipes for swordfish...”

“Ma’am, swordfish ma’am?”, the captain enquired, slyly-knowingly, with a rise of voice expressing mock astonishment, intending Lola’s answer to inform we ignorant landlubbers.

“Undoubtedly captain”, Lola replied, after returning her eyes to the tripod mounted binoculars, through which she has been studying the Bitch-Buoy Trawler as it tossed on the wandering waves, and its catch sought to drag it below to a watery grave, its life to save.

“There is no question that Hadrian’s little pink penis has hooked at least a 150 pounder: a good six-footer I shouldn’t wonder: a female I would guess, a female on Hadrian’s penis-hook with, and, by all the protests we have had from the young man, its two-foot-long sword all the way up it....”

The thrashing of the fish on Adrienne’s clitty line-and-hook began again. The swordfish, for such indeed it was, had indeed penetrated Adrienne full hilt up it. But it had been resting to think of some way of wresting and wrestling itself from the flexible rod line and hook on which it was caught, and extracting its two-foot-long beak from the bleeding pink scabbard in which it was sheathed.

Then it began to thresh and thrash and splash and crash and swish and swash and smash, and thrust itself harder up Adrienne’s slit once more, as it renewed its fight to escape, and:

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh god! It’s fucking me!! It’s fucking me!!  It’s fucking meeeee!!!”

Adrienne cried in wanting wanter’s despair, as the epicentre of her girlness, the very centre and core of her mind and body and soul, surrendered to the vile humiliation of her clitoris and menstrual blood being used as rod and bait. And the torture and humiliation of having caught fish with her clit and menses, flipped her mind, even while the huge swordfish’s crashing and slashing still pulled on her clitoris, and the fish’s vicious sword still continually ripped and raped and ravaged and savaged her slit. And she came with a cum on a cum on a cum on a cum, and her chest heaved with her sighs and wailing cries, and her inescapably jack-knifed body, her beautiful body crammed and jammed immovably in the Bitch-Buoy in agonising immobile immovability, came alive, became girl.

As if to shatter this new life though, at the parallel point of its presenting its presence, Adrienne’s cramps arrived anew, and the muscles of her pretty arms and her shapely calves locked in agonising pain. And she hollered out in her stricken strife, her tongue shooting out as she shouted her unbearable excruciation, so that she bit her tongue and never noticed that she had done so, such was the brutality of this new bout of exceptionally extreme cramps.

She could not move. Her beautiful body was folded jack-knife and forced so hard into the impossibly confined space of her two-foot by two-foot prison-cell barrel, that she just could not move a millimetre let alone an inch. The terrible cramps had taken her over and over again, and yet. She had endured them from the first when they had cast her in the Bitch-Buoy onto the open ocean’s waves, and yet. After their initial oncoming, they had eased but briefly, as if to muster strength to cramp her up again, and yet. And when they had regrouped their forces they had come over her once more even worse than before, and yet. And now the total agony, the unrelievable unbelievable pain of her cramps had seized her arms and her curvy calves yet once again, and yet her body was in agony that her mind now welcomed, the perverse reverse of and to her suffering from her cramping during her cums, after initial dampening thereof, thereafter only serving to increase the already indelibly incredible heaven now found in her hell: her mind’s gain from the horror of her confinement, her inescapable confinement bent immovably doubled-up foetus-folded, completely and utterly unable to move her body let alone escape the terrible torture of being jammed and crammed into her two-foot by two-foot barrel, and the insult to her body and mind of her body being redeployed and its monthly bleed being used as bait, and the huge catch that was taking her no matter wither hither whether or whatever her will, as it tortured her clitoris and rip-raped her, took Adrienne to a state of multi-multiple cums that nothing before had ever replicated, and to which now her every ounce of beautiful being was to their experience dedicated, and her cramps, the furiously fearsome fire in her arms and calves had taken her cums even higher.

Now Adrienne’s nipples rubbing on the satin-smooth soft firm flesh of the massive thighs formed in her jack-knifed imprisonment, the imprisoning torture that pressed her tits so hard onto her thunderous silk-smooth thighs, distended and extended in the instant and hardened to peaks sensitive and sore. And then, amidst her multiple orgasms, each new orgasm attaining the seemingly surely impossible feat, of a massivity greater than the critical mass of that which had just preceded it, until Adrienne had become her orgasms, and still more onwards until Adrienne was organic orgasm, her solely sexualised mind felt a sudden onset of pain in her breasts. This pain was relieved as suddenly as it arrived by Adrienne experiencing a completely inexplicable but totally wonderful sensation of warmth in both of her beautiful tits. Then, to her horror, the warmth was accompanied by a terrible sensation that her tits were swelling, unstoppably. And then she screamed anew as her tits felt as sure as certainty and more, that they had suddenly burst, and the warmth she had experienced within them, was in that same instant, replaced by hot fluid running over her gorgeous thighs.

Adrienne felt the strange hot wash over her huge thighs but, crammed folded foetal-form totally immovably in the Bitch-Buoy as she was, knew not from whence it might arise, and had no way of finding out what had caused the most wonderful of most wonderful sensations: a sensational sensation that had been instantaneously coincident with her orgasm rising to an even higher plane, and her loudest yet screeching scream of orgasms attained. For the terrified Adrienne was not to know that the rape ripping total torture in the Bitch-Buoy, had been so elemental, that it had caused her attaining the ultimate in femininity: that it had finally totally transmogrified her instantly post-gestation, and that she had just ejaculated from her tits. Adrienne had been tuned by her torture, so all-girl, that her tits had been brought to milk. And that milk had suddenly poured: milk had just pissed from her nipples: from both tits: Adrienne had ejaculated milk from her tits, and her hot milk had poured, nay squirted, from her beautiful translucent pink nipples, up onto her huge thighs; and consequent trickles, alike to streams of white tears, had poured down her silk smooth thighs till the hot stream from her nipples, from her breasts, from her love-cum-levered-lactation, had finally flowed out the Bitch-Buoy’s barrel and made alliance with her menses and the blood from her penitent’s penetration and rape by the beak of the swordfish, to try, as balm, white balm turned brusquely briskly pink by her menses and rape blood, to claim calm for the never still, ever still tossing seas, on which the Bitch-Buoy Trawler, and Adrienne, continued to bob .

After her tits had ejaculated on her thighs and her consequent instantly coincident final and most climactic cum, Adrienne, exhausted by her total sexual surrender, opened and closed her lovely mouth, gasping for breath whilst pleading for mercy; silently, with her adorable dark brown eyes alone, because she was hollered completely hollow and hoarse.

As she gasped her oh so sotto voce whispered exhaustion, and the swordfish continued to twist and turn and corkscrew her clitoris, and rip and tear and rape her with its sword, I cast my line to help her with her catch: to aid the Bitch-Buoy Trawler bound girl with her swordfish catch.

But my line, skilfully tossed as I had thought, merely made a snake on the water before seeking to sink.

I had gained the right distance but not achieved the necessary purchase, to help bring the swordfish lined up for the fish course at dinner, back to the yacht.

I must needs be more skilful on my third and last turn, or else pass the sea-fishing rod handed to me by Lola for a guest to go first, to the next guest girl for her to have a go.

I wound the line in from the waters, checked it was not tangled, flicked a lengthy end of it over my shoulder, checked that that end could not get caught up on anything behind me, and whisked it out distantly over the ocean once more, listening to the brisk rotation of the reel releasing the line, as I watched the weighted hook, fly toward lovely Adrienne and the swordfish that was continuing to ravage and savage her.

Adrienne’s gorgeous mouth opened to exhale another prayer for relief and release from her extreme extremity of eternal pain, and the swordfish still threshed and thrashed and crashed the waters under Adrienne, its violent commotion increasing, as my hook, this time, found home.

As it would never confess to itself it seemed, the swordfish was caught by Adrienne’s clitty-rod and by her taking its sword full tilt, full hilt, up her slit.

This time though, my hook had also found purchase, and I began to haul the catch in.

Winding the rod’s reel, in a brisk business-like manner, whilst watching that the restless swashing of the swordfish would not make my hook lose its purchase, I began to haul the catch in with my sea-fishing rod, and my skilfully cast line of course.

With my success seeming to hold, I began slowly to reel the swordfish in to help Adrienne: I began to successfully reel in the swordfish lovely Adrienne had caught with her menstruating slit and her clitty-rod in the Bitch-Buoy Trawler....

.....That is, of course, I began to reel Adrienne in, Adrienne in the Bitch-Buoy.

By my fishing hook, by my treble-hook, cast for her to catch, and now savagely cruelly pulled through her soft freckled cheek from the inside of her oh so kissable mouth, I began to reel Adrienne in, Adrienne in the Bitch-Buoy..... and the swordfish still dancing to its death on her clitty-rod, and still raping her slit, of course.....