The young nurse worked diligently and it wasn’t until she moved from my left side to my right that I realized during the entire procedure she positioned herself so as not to block the camera’s view of my moist, pink vaginal opening.
Before I could comment or protest, she smoothed the fingers of her right hand most sensuously over my bald mound then briefly inserted her middle finger. I moaned. At first embarrassed by the unintentional response, I became flustered realizing that her caress was deliberately less than professional.
“You like to show yourself, yes?” she inquired in accented English. “You’re wet.”
But she turned away, pompously neither expecting me nor giving me an opportunity to reply. This young vixen, not much older than me, was dismissing me. Treating me like an object. A pile of flesh to be groomed and toyed with at her whim.
She removed the tray, took the time to tightly secure my ankles into the stirrups, then pushed the supports as widely out to the sides as my feet would tolerate and locked them in place. Her final action was to slowly smear a skin cream over the slightly reddened area exposed to the razor. When finished she looked up to the plastic dome, obviously ensuring that I was properly exposed to the hidden camera and diddled my depilated outer labia, pulling apart the large lips to momentarily expose my clitoris to the intrusive dome. Then she laughed, picked up the tray and left.
With the action of the pretty young nurse’s soft fingers and the effect of the room air even more pronounced, I once again felt my juices flow as the sensation of the cooling air interacted with the cream and highlighted my nakedness. I was flushed with embarrassment. But I had said nothing! And I was indeed wet.
With the silence of the empty room, the whirring noise emanating from the ceiling dome became more noticeable. I imagined a telescopic lens moving to hone in on my newly shaven mound. Appearing as a newly plucked chicken, it had a curious attraction and even I found myself looking down at the shining skin and the obscene gash, which allowed my lips to blossom forth for the benefit of the camera.
Now a puddle of my essence would indeed form, I thought. And with my feet secured there was no way to obtain another tissue.
The waits between procedures seemed very long. The dock was empty, as written, and I had not seen any other expecting girls when the reception nurse walked me through the ship and showed me to the examination room. Since there seemed to be little activity I wondered what took so long. Where was the doctor?
Finally, the door opened. Stepping over the high threshold of the watertight door and simultaneously ducking under the top of the frame was the largest woman I had ever seen.
Dr. Helga was blond as were all the staff, at least six foot tall and with a massive frame. Her hair was straight, simply cut, and hung evenly to her shoulders with bangs crossing her forehead just above her eyes. One’s first impression was to assume she was fat, but with closer observation it was apparent that the broad shoulders and powerful hips were a source of deceit, making the expanse of her white smock to appear to cover obesity. It did not. As she continued toward me, the brevity and efficiency of her steps evidenced not corpulence but power and purpose. A professional smile appeared but could be interpreted as one of either care or condescension. I assumed the latter.
The saucy young nurse followed her into the room and silently stood at a nearby cabinet.
“Good afternoon, Alexi. I am told you have been enjoying your brief visit.”
Her slightly accented English was readily understandable and much better than the young nurse. But her words were both annoying and embarrassing, obviously referring to the telltale tissue.
“You’ll keep your hands behind your head for me like a good girl, yes? And we like our girls to be quiet, so you’ll only speak if I have a question.”
She stepped toward the young nurse who dutifully handed her gloves. She snapped them on forcing the latex to make the expected squeaking noises. Then her examination of me began. It was the most debasing experience of my young life and I could not help thinking much of it was for the benefit of the camera. I wordlessly lay there recalling a television documentary I had once seen. It suggested before abortions were legalized, many were performed quickly and dangerously in cheap hotels where the most useful implement was a wire coat hanger. A strange vision came where I wished for such a scene. Where no one knew my name, or cared, and where the job was done quickly. Over. Finished. And life resumed.
Finishing with my eyes, nose, mouth, throat, etc. Dr. Helga lowered her hands to my breasts.
“Very nice, Alexi. Beautifully shaped and firm. They are plumped lately, yes?”
I nodded as she toyed with my right breast. I had never been examined in such a way by a doctor. I once had a boy play in a similar fashion, during an afternoon after school when I was sixteen...
She pinched the nipple, firmly squeezing and ignoring my muffled squeal. Slightly cloudy liquid at first dripped out and when she moved her fingers and increased the pressure, it streamed down to my stomach.
“Colostrum, my dear. Very good. It’s one of the early stages of lactation. The advent normally does not occur so early in a first time pregnancy, but you’re a very healthy girl.”
She performed the same vigorous squeeze on my left breast with the same result. Then, leaving the two trails glistening in the room lights she stepped back. I peered downward and could not help but think of the view from the camera. When I looked up, incredibly, Dr. Helga was licking the essence from her gloves!
She noticed my shock and smiled.
“You’ll get used to our affectations over time.”
Before I could think she stepped between my well spread thighs and began the pelvic examination. She was gruff and initially cursory with much of her handiwork, then she slipped two fingers of her right hand between my bald lips and of course had to comment.
“You’re absolutely dripping, little girl. I won’t need to lubricate a thing!”
I was not sure whether her statement or the accompanying sardonic laugh was more disconcerting.
She continued exploring, making comments about my vaginal walls and the healthy condition of all my feminine parts. But then I felt her left hand above my mons and looked down to see her thumb and forefinger positioned over the clitoral hood. Then there was a new sensation of cool air as she spread me further open there. My little bud popped into view and she laughed again. There was nothing left to be shown. Nothing she didn’t toy with or expose to the camera. Despite the sensations I felt caused by her penetrating fingers, the feel of my flowing juices was even more apparent. I was gushing and she noticed.
“Yes, my dear. I think you’ll like your stay here.”
She twisted her right hand the thumb of which began to touch my exposed clitoris. Another finger penetrated my vagina. She began to work all her fingers most vigorously, pressing firmly and gyrating her thumb. I was being masturbated!
In a well lit room. By this huge handsome blond women. Before the saucy irritating young nurse. Spread obscenely open. Exposed to a video camera. I began to moan. I fought the building pleasure and desperately I tried to close my thighs. Then I felt her fingers hook upwards within my vagina and knowingly massage that magic spot. I climaxed.
Yes, and as usual, I vocally celebrated my orgasm with cries of ecstasy. It did feel good. Despite the humiliation and being forced to give a demonstration of my feminine pleasure for the enjoyment of the young nurse and for the benefit of the camera, I was satiated.
“Good girl.”
I turned my head and closed my eyes. The climactic release made me instantly bashful. I could not look at the doctor and nurse.
I heard things being moved about and Dr. Helga talking, but otherwise I was in a different world. And then the room began to vibrate and I detected motion, however slight.
The ship was moving!
“Take the usual measurements, Inga. Then give her a bath and a thorough enema. I’m going to have this little strumpet for dinner.”
>
Chapter Four
After Dr. Helga left, Inga, the annoying young nurse, turned to me and smiled evilly. I imagined if spiders could smile, flies would be so greeted upon becoming entrapped in the web.
“We have a special room for cleansing,” she announced with combined pride and joy in her thick Scandinavian accent. “Eventually you will learn to like it there.”
By inference, I had to assume that initially I would not. The ominous manner in which Dr. Helga ordered my bath and enema gave me a hint. But I was more concerned with the movement of the ship than my near term perils with Miss Sponge Bath. And then there was the reference to dinner...
I finally asked about the engine noise and movement, ignoring the mandated silence.
“Tsk. Tsk. You didn’t read your papers? We’re headed down the east coast, then for South America. A long, slow voyage while you and the others bring the babies to term. All will be taken care of. We’re very good with this sort of thing. But you will remain quiet. Those are the rules.”
With her reminder, she had released my feet and was standing by the door waiting. I arose from the examination table. It was obvious that wherever I was going, I was going without clothing.
In retrospect, I believe as I stepped out into the hallway I was in a state of shock. I was being kidnapped!
My mind raced as we proceeded down the hall. Naked, I needed a reminder to keep my hands atop my head. There were too many thoughts converging. My clothes were gone. And even if I had the temerity to bound away without covering, where would I go? Assuming I could make it to the deck or an open hatch, would I really jump? Swim naked in New York harbor in the middle of October? Pregnant!
Nurse Inga seemed to read my thoughts.
“I should mention that one of our agents, Carl, has visited your hotel room. You’ve been checked out. Your bill has been paid and all your things are in storage. Dr. Helga thinks of everything. When we’re through with you, all will be returned... without charge for storage.”
Apparently I was supposed to feel grateful. I didn’t. Scared. Embarrassed. Bewildered. But not grateful.
The hallway was understandably narrow, space aboard a ship being a premium. Thus, I walked behind Nurse Inga. Over her shoulder, approaching from the opposite direction was a man! Dressed in a grimy red shirt and worn jeans, he was otherwise virile and most handsome. I paused. There must be some place to duck and hide, I asked myself. I did not want to be seen completely naked and being led about like a pet.
Nurse Inga turned back and looked at me as I hesitated.
“You’ll have to get used to sharing space with the crew, Alexi. The professional staff is female. But we do need experienced sailors to manage the ship. It’s rather large and many duties require much more muscle than a woman cares to use.”
As she spoke, Nurse Inga stopped and stepped against the wall to allow the sailor to pass. I did likewise, but when I moved my hands to cover myself received a warning glare from my caretaker. I slowly moved my hands back, completely exposing my breasts as the handsome, rugged looking man turned his broad shoulders to the side to provide room as he walked by.
“Another new one, Inga?”
There was a degree of knowing mirth in the tone of his voice, and when he was directly abeam, he paused, reached down with both hands and palmed my breasts.
“Dr. Helga always finds the best. She is amazing.”
I expected Nurse Inga to protest. To protect me and my nudity. To admonish the gruff sailor for his impertinence. Instead she said nothing and seemed amused by my reaction as the sailor laughingly moved onwards.
“You’ll learn here that the crew members are sacrosanct. You will obey them just as you’ll obey the professional staff. In time I think you’ll soon find their touch to be pleasurable. But you’ll discover that for yourself.”
We resumed walking. At one point on the wall we came across a glass case. Inside, instead of fire equipment or medical supplies was a cane and a short riding crop. There could be no doubt as to what emergencies the implements were meant to address.
Another few steps and we found ourselves adjacent another watertight door. Just as Nurse Inga reached for the large metal handle it opened from the inside. There stood the large dour nurse who had taken my clothing.
“Just finishing, Inga. Got an eight-monther who needed a nice high colonic. She’ll be better behaved now.”
The large woman laughed. It was a diabolical laugh. Expressing a degree of enjoyment, which frightened me.
“Come dear. Back to the stall.”
The nurse stepped aside and this astonishingly rotund pregnant girl came through the doorway. With her plump belly she gingerly stepped over the high threshold. She was naked like me only resting on top of her shoulders was a large block of plastic which not only encased her neck but also served to immobilize her hands well out to the sides and somewhat behind her shoulders. This position forced her arms back and thrust forward the most amazing set of mammary glands I had ever seen. Nipples the size of silver dollars, it was evident from the erythematic appearance that someone or something had been abrading the soft sensitive flesh. The front of her head was shaved. Some hair in the rear of the head remained unseen but apparently draped down her back.
The girl appeared slightly older than me and did not acknowledge my presence. Instead she obediently kept her face turned to the dour nurse seeming to seek direction and looking at her uniformed guardian with newly found admiration. Whether it was feigned, I could not know.
The large nurse followed her into the hall and turned away in the opposite direction. The girl followed, waddling under the weight of her expansive belly. I noted a number of odd things that I would soon come to better understand.
On the girl’s right naked buttock was a large number ‘11'. It appeared to be a tattoo, later I learned it was indelible ink.
The section of hair, which escaped the razor, was drawn back into a hollow wooden cylinder where it was securely entwined.
But what was most distressing was the plastic bag filled with fluid, which hung from the back of her plastic yoke. A tube ran from the bottom, down her spine and disappeared into her anus.
I watched in awe as the duo departed.
“From the fifth month onward, Dr. Helga likes to ensure all the girls obtain proper nutrition. Intra rectally, Alice is receiving a wonderfully formulated combination of protein, calcium, vitamins and hormones. Her resulting prolactin level is incredible. One of our best producers, although occasionally a little cantankerous.”
I dared not speak and ask for clarification. There were too many questions and based on what Nurse Inga told me. I would have much time to learn the answers.
We stepped through the open door into a large washroom.
It appeared to be the ship’s laundry room at one point and I supposed years before, when the vessel was used for luxury cruises, the daily requirements for the washing of towels and linens was vast. Now, for what other purpose it was used I would soon find out.
I was given a hint at my late afternoon ordeal when Nurse Inga led me to long and low trough and directed me to straddle it. As I did so, I looked up to see a plastic dome on the ceiling identical to that in the examination room.
The young nurse then disappeared into an adjoining room for a moment. When she returned the lower portion of her white cloth uniform had been discarded. In its place was a simple apron of white latex, which in the rear failed to completely cover her buttocks. Overtime, I came to learn this rather revealing garment was the standard uniform worn by the nurses when ‘working a girl’.
“I’ll need a urine sample and I’m sure your bladder needs to be emptied. Squat. Keep your hands on your head. I’ll get a beaker.”
So, in the middle of the large room, Dr. Helga’s patients were expected to do their business. And under the close supervision of a nurse and under the lens of an invasive camera!
I bent at the knees and began to push with the muscles of my abdomen. T
his was going to be difficult, I remembered thinking. Particularly with the perky young nurse closely observing. And then she stooped next to me, parted my labia with her left hand and held a beaker under me with her right. And she thought she was assisting...
Chapter Five
So. Dr. Helga was having me for dinner.
I sat on a dining table in a rather large room. Before Dr. Helga entered I was blindfolded and told to remain motionless. My feet and calves dangled over the edge and my ankles were secured under the table in a manner, which forced apart my legs. When a waitress came along, I felt a plate placed between my thighs. The edge brushed against my outer labia. It was cold. My body eventually warmed it.
Nurse Inga had spent the remainder of the afternoon in the washroom carefully measuring and recording various parts of my anatomy. I soon learned one reason was to fit me into the odd plastic yoke similar to that I had seen on the girl with Nurse Sourpuss.
It was surprisingly comfortable, designed to snugly fit about my neck and lock closed. The main function was to hold my hands well out to the sides. With my elbows bent downwards, my hands were held upwards at the ends of the yoke. This was accomplished by simply encircling the knuckles of each thumb with a thin but strong strip of plastic (I had seen similar strips used in place of handcuffs) and attaching such to the yoke.
Thus, no longer did I need to be reminded to keep my hands on my head. I could not move them at all.
The yoke was cleverly designed so that the position of my hands could be adjusted. Nurse Inga initially demonstrated this feature by pushing the two ends of the yoke back. This forced back my arms and hands and served two purposes. One was that my breasts were thrust forward in a most obscene manner, a sight that seemed to amuse Nurse Inga to no end. The other was that, as my arms moved back, various ligaments and muscles stretched, slowly increasing the level of discomfort to the point of absolute torment.
Nurse Inga had locked the yoke in a most extreme position, set well back she allowed the anguish to slowly build. As tears formed, she admonished.
Ship of Remorse Page 2