Ship of Remorse

by Chris Bellows

  Little did I know my role was just beginning.

  Sometime in late April, Nurse Inga skipped our morning milking. Instead she just slowly feathered our nipples, then caressed each breast until the drops of white liquid evidenced the beginning of a flow.

  When she finished this tantalizing action, she paused to look at the five of us, panting and expectantly waiting for our throbbing breasts to be fully milked. They were not.

  Instead, with her smile of wickedness, she led us to the exercise deck. There, during various movements and forced positions some of the girls involuntarily gave up breast milk.

  Maria was flowing like a leaking water pail. The cameras above clicked rapidly.

  After ablutions, Nurse Inga took us back to the stall and attached us to the posts in a kneeling position. Normally, in mid afternoon we were hitched standing so we knew something different was going to happen.

  Then Dr. Helga entered with our nutrition bags and we found our backsides being lubricated with the inflatable nozzles forcefully holding in place the feeding tube.

  I reflected on how my perspective had changed over the months. The once unpleasant sensation of having my sphincter stretched had become a feeling of warmth and comfort, knowing that after my once tight anus was filled, the nourishing liquid would commence to flow and fill my intestines. Whatever was in the concoction, it seemed to both soothe and slowly renew my energy. And within an hour, I knew that I would feel a strangely satisfying tingling in my nipples. Perhaps it was psychosomatic, Dr. Helga having on many occasions explained that hormones in the formula increased the prolactin levels. Or perhaps there was indeed a catalyst that promoted lactation.

  It did not matter. The girls of 3 stall would all appear eager to feel the firm fingers of a skilled milker and thus, by the time the last drops siphoned down the tube, would display child like anticipation in wanting their throbbing breasts to be massaged.

  With filled colon, my mammary glands would begin to feel like balloons that had been over inflated and ready to explode. I readily understood how Maria’s had begun giving up fluid when the trainer forced her to perform the unusual exercises. Mine felt close to doing the same.

  Dr. Helga spoke as her hands smeared lubricant between Maria’s shapely cheeks.

  “Get some rest girls. Tonight you’ll be entertaining my guests and their demands can be tiring.”

  Once again the ten nipples of 3 stall were manipulated to a point just short of full lactation. Then Nurse Inga and the doctor left. With the comforting liquid filling me, I slept.

  Chapter Ten

  I awoke to the sound of clapping. My eyes focused to see Dr. Helga in the middle of the stall area crisply smacking her hands together. The other girls, also sleeping, stirred and turned their yoked heads toward our benefactor standing with another woman.

  I felt fingers spreading my labia. I knew Nurse Inga or one of the others was behind me with beaker in hand. I reactively pushed against my bladder.

  “Girls, this is Ms. Adams. She is the ship’s social director and ensures that my guests are properly entertained. Over the next few months, you’ll be seeing quite a bit of her. She is to have your respect and to be obeyed.”

  Dr. Helga stepped to the side of the stall. Ms. Adams gave her a nod of thanks and all eyes turned to this mature but shapely woman in white blouse, black silk slacks and knee high leather boots.

  “Good evening, girls. I have read all your files and reviewed many videotapes. So I feel I already know you. As Dr. Helga indicated, my name is Ms. Adams and I’m here to ensure not only the comfort but also the amusement of our passengers. Our paying passengers that is.”

  She smiled with the irony of her distinction.

  “You may have noticed some of our guests observing you during your exercise period and I must compliment you all for providing such wonderful displays of your charms...

  “Well this evening you’ll have an opportunity to meet them and display even more.

  “The satisfaction of our guests is absolutely paramount aboard ‘’The Scarlet Letter’’ and therefore there is no activity, short of causing permanent harm or damage, and I emphasize the word permanent, in which you will fail to engage in order to please them. Your refusal to comply with the request of a guest will be met with a harsh introduction to the cane, if you have not already had one, and then, you will comply.

  “So my suggestion is to be obedient... spare yourself the caning.”

  I was filling the beaker as Ms. Adams spoke. The sound of her ominous words combined with the feel of the nurse’s soft fingers about my frustrated genitalia overwhelmed my senses. I felt goose bumps form. Strangely, I could not determine whether the reaction was from thoughts of the cane, or visions of being forced to perform some exotic ritual, naked and bound in my yoke, for some unknown lecher.

  I recalled the laughter I so often heard from the overhead deck as I laid on the exercise mat. My legs would be thrust skyward, toes pointed as required and the trainer commanding that we ‘spread ‘em and hold ‘em’. The warmth of the tropical sun, in shining on sensitive parts, which I myself had only touched and never fully seen, provided a most peculiar sensation. It was as if someone had me under a microscope and all the world was free to watch and examine. And with all the voices and clicks of the cameras, perhaps all the world was or would be viewing glossy full color photos of my most intimate anatomy.

  The goose bumps led to a shudder, realizing that this most perverse collection of people would be permitted even more access to my bound and naked body.

  “You’ll be joining girls from 1 stall and 2 stall. As usual there will be no talking permitted. In the privacy of a guest’s cabin, you may speak... but only in response to a question or command!

  “Nurse Katrina, the cocktail lounge when you’re ready. Have the yokes adjusted for proper display.”

  I looked over to see an unfamiliar nurse holding a beaker under Sharon. She nodded. Dr. Helga left. Ms. Adams paused in front of Maria and grasped with her left hand the wooden cylinder hanging from the back of her head. She lifted and pulled back, cruelly forcing Maria to look up.

  “Very, pretty. Tits the size of milk jugs.”

  The fingers of Ms. Adams’ right hand pinched Maria’s cheeks until she cried out. Ms. Adams slapped her, hard.

  “Silence!”

  The crisp sound startled the other girls and the loud firm voice delivered her message of authority. She was a woman with whom we were not to trifle.

  With the last girl relieving herself, Nurse Katrina stood and approached me. Unlike Nurse Inga, she was tall and powerfully built.

  “Just relax cowgirl,” she advised me in a low, soothing, German accented voice, “you will feel a little discomfort but you’ll get used to it.”

  She released my left thumb, gave my arm a brisk massage then forcefully drew it up behind my back. The left side of the yoke was swung over my shoulder and my thumb was reattached. She did the same with my right, and I found myself restrained with my arms pulled backwards, elbows bent, and my hands secured upwards almost at the level of my shoulders.

  The nurse was correct. It was most uncomfortable and it felt as if my swollen breasts protruded outwards serving to attract attention like the headlights of a car.

  She released the yoke from the posts, sliding it up until I was standing. There she re-secured it and moved to a swarthy Maria, her Hispanic genes causing her flesh to change to a very attractive deep tan due to the daily outdoor exercise.

  “Well, a very nice brown cowgirl. Did you every watch movies as a little girl? All the cowboys riding horses and herding cattle. Well I call you cowgirl because you’re herded and milked like a cow.”

  Nurse Katrina laughed with her comparison as she deftly reached down and fingered Maria’s vulva, producing an instant sigh and quiver from the long neglected genitalia.

  “So warm and wet. We like girls that way.”

  Nurse Katrina licked Maria’s juices from her fingers, repositioned
her arms in the yoke then moved onward.

  Within a few minutes all the ‘cowgirls’ of 3 stall stood and ten pink nipples thrust into the aisle separating the dozen pairs of posts. None of us had been milked since the prior evening and I’m sure every breast ached and throbbed as much as mine. I thought about Nurse Inga’s words and indeed, were she present, I would beg to have her soft firm fingers methodically draw down the body of my meaty glands then gently pinch my nipples. The sight of the spurting milk being forcibly extracted at first horrifies the psyche. The level of control afforded the young nurse in insouciantly stroking and squeezing combined with the sound of the bizarre rhythm of droplets hitting the steel pail was intense. Yet strangely over time, I found the slow deliberate repeated manipulation served to soothe and placate the feminine need to be suckled.

  I pondered whether the emotions felt could be compared to that of being ravished, with ostensible feelings of anger and rage not completely overcoming the deep sexual pleasure of having a hot, stiff penis frictioning the most sensitive of feminine organs.

  “Well cowgirls,” the nurse commented with a smug look of satisfaction, “we certainly do like to show off don’t we?”

  She laughed at her observation while moving from girl to girl. With obvious delight she caressed each mammary gland, ever so slightly titillating the overly ripe melons. When she reached Maria, she palmed her right breast with one hand, then carefully stretched it straight out with the other. It was incredibly long and large and, though her touch was light, gave up milk, the evidence of such lactation dribbling to her navel.

  The nurse dabbed at the excretion and again licked her fingers. With a smile, she retrieved the tethering chains hanging on the nearby wall. Also hooked there were large bells, evidently awaiting our journey to the lounge.

  Nurse Katrina retrieved both. As she tethered one yoke to another she also attached a bell to the front of each girl’s yoke. Mine clanged with the slightest of movements.

  “I think you’re all ready for the lounge. Do not ‘moo’,” she mockingly suggested with her final taunting words.

  Chapter Eleven

  For the first time, we girls of 3 stall were led up flights of stairs to the various decks perched atop the vast hull of the ship. The tropical sun was just beginning to set and being able to look out windows for the first time in months was comforting. As written, the exercise deck was set low, like a bullring surrounded by walls and curious observers. Therefore the sun radiated from above but left us with no view of the ocean.

  Now we were on levels of the ship well above the exercise deck and the size of the vessel seemed dwarfed by the incredible expanse of blue ocean reflecting the setting sun.

  Being stripped naked and led about on a leash in a public area was still disconcerting, even after the months of subjugation. The constant clanging of the bells served to remind me of my status. I felt myself becoming wet between my thighs and my nipples, somewhat chafed and elongated by twice daily milkings, crinkled. The yoke pulling back my arms forced my chest outwards and the well-used pink protuberances resembled pointers, parading before me and indicating for all to see the intended direction of my perambulation.

  Nurse Katrina led us into a room that appeared to be the ship’s main dining hall. It occupied the entire width of the vessel, with windows on each side, and its length was impressive. The scene within was shockingly decadent with similarly naked and yoked girls bearing the numerals ‘1' and ‘2' on their right buttocks. They were engaged in sordid activities with fully dressed passengers, though some were attired to facilitate intimate contact.

  “Welcome to the main lounge, girls.”

  Nurse Katrina began removing the tethering chains and I stood motionless and in awe while surveying the room.

  In each corner was a trainer, standing with well-muscled arms akimbo. Their powerful hands wielded long, thin canes, causing to cringe anyone who had ever been on the receiving end of such a painful implement of behavior modification.

  Many of the 1 stall and 2 stall girls knelt on tables. The somewhat soiled tablecloths indicated that earlier in the evening, meals had been served. But now, naked and spread, a collection of girls knelt, their breasts hanging like large grape fruit, while numerous guests inspected, fondled, pinched and poked.

  Then a matronly woman came through a swinging door from the galley carrying a pile of stainless steel bowls. I had no doubt as to their purpose, having so often seen my own breasts spurt white essence, first coating the shining bottom, then slowly filling the basin as soft but firm fingers worked.

  Ms. Adams stepped to the middle of the room.

  “You have fifteen minutes to choose, ladies and gentlemen. As you can see, the girls from 3 stall are also ready for your selection and enjoyment.”

  As the last tether was removed a loud murmur arose as the group collectively noticed our arrival. As scared as I was, I was mentally conflicted by the aching of my breasts. The twice daily milkings had become a strange source of comfort with either Dr. Helga or Nurse Inga coaxing me to perform at my best. Physically, with the intra-rectal feedings compelling my prolactin to the ultimate level, I was the equivalent of an Olympic athlete, trained, fed and exercised for one purpose... to perform... to respond on demand to the caress, draw and pinch of a nipple with a formidable stream of breast milk.

  But more importantly, mentally I wanted to perform!

  Yes, I had indeed come to lust for the wonderful touch of the skilled milker and feel the dull ache slowly subside and turn to a most satisfying pleasure. I came to find that within seconds of the first firm squeeze and draw, my vagina moistened and a curious endorphin was released. I questioned whether somehow the natural desire to nurture the child I never saw had been replaced by the desire to provide Dr. Helga with the breast milk she seemed to so much enjoy extracting.

  So I performed rather than nurtured. And as I watched the bowls distributed to the various tables and placed under pairs of suspended nipples, I realized that tonight I would likely learn to perform for others. That my offering, so happily given to Dr. Helga or Nurse Inga, would now be offered to all aboard ‘The Scarlet Letter’.

  My thoughts were diverted as two young girls approached. They were diminutive, almost identical in height and weight and initially I thought they were twins. But when they stopped in front of me, I realized that the impression was caused by their attire. Both wore what appeared to be togas of simple white cotton, and though their hair was styled identically, jaw-length with bangs, their pleasant but dissimilar facial features told me they were not related.

  “Good evening, Alexi. We’ve enjoyed watching your tapes.”

  The girl was smiling politely. As she spoke I noticed the top of her head was barely over the level of my yoke.

  I flushed with embarrassment. As written, I knew of the video cameras, but having the subject matter broached as I stood with my naked breasts thrusting forth, inviting both examination and touch, was overwhelming.

  “Spread for the ladies, Alexi, they’ll want to inspect you.”

  Nurse Katrina pinched my buttock. I obeyed. My bell clanged with my reaction.

  For the next minute, one pair of small hands worked between my thighs, parting my labia and inserting two then three fingers. The other pair caressed my aching breasts, carefully avoiding any action, which would cause my nipples to leak.

  Meanwhile, Ms. Adams spoke again in the middle of the room.

  “Those wishing to enter tonight’s contest, make sure you have a bowl and someone is timing your efforts. As always, there are prizes for speed and overall quantity.”

  A contest! My head began to spin thinking of all the girls being simultaneously milked. Meanwhile the small hands were moving both inside me and out.

  “She’s amazingly wet,” commented the girl exploring my love nest.

  “And the full breasts are at just the right height,” countered the other palming my glands.

  They turned to each other, smiled then looked a
t Nurse Katrina.

  “Charge our account,” they instructed in unison as each girl reached up and took one end of my yoke.

  “No contest for us. Maybe next week. We’re taking her to our room.”

  The notion that I could be purchased like a department store item was disconcerting. But as I was led from the lounge, I looked back to see an older gentleman examining Maria. The gleam in his eye and his wicked smile made me feel ironically grateful for being taken away by the two small girls, for Maria was bending well over at the waist and I could see that all her charms were exposed to the gaze of the old lecher whose wrinkled hands were parting her cheeks. When her breasts fully unfolded and her nipples began brushing the soft carpet, he laughed evilly.

  Chapter Twelve

  Being led about the ship by the two small girls did indeed make me feel somewhat like a bovine. I did not ‘moo’ but the rhythmical clanging with each of my steps, my full breasts and my mandated silence caused me to ruminate uncontrollably.

  The feelings of arousal caused by the exhibition of my nudity and of being controlled by the two girls mixed with the dull ache of my mammary glands and the slow growing pain of having my arms so cruelly restrained. But then I realized the torment seemed to increase my arousal!

  As we proceeded through the ship, one girl reached down and placed her palm on top of my mons. Using that area to steady her hand, her fingers draped downward and diddled away at my labia and clitoral hood. Step after step her fingers worked and the sensation was most peculiar—walking naked and restrained while being masturbated. Twice I had to stop as a wave of pleasure momentarily prevented my legs from moving. The girls laughed.

  “Her nipples are like arrows,” commented one.

  “She’s beginning to drip down her thigh,” replied the other with the busy hand.

  We finally reached their stateroom and entered. It was large and it appeared that the partitioning walls separating two or three rooms of the ship, when it was used for normal pleasure cruises, had been removed to provide for one very large play room. Two huge beds were found inside, both with steel posters, items of furniture seemingly incongruous to an ocean going vessel. One wall was covered with implements of restraint and correction. I shuddered at all the whips and crops, but could not envision the diminutive girls using such.