by Don Winslow
Unlike Mallory, who had no choice but to swallow her indignation one more time, Kip shrugged at the thought that the grinning bastard wanted to watch while she took a shower. By now, she was getting used to being naked under the eyes of these guys. And running around buck-naked had never bothered her very much anyway; she kind of liked it. But Kip’s problem was, that for some time now, she had been feeling the call of nature, and as she was led into the bathroom, she felt the twinge between her legs as the tickling urgency grew stronger than ever. Finally, she had to say something to Dewayne, who merely shrugged and pointed to the toilet. So the tousle-haired girl was forced to squat on the toilet and relieve herself while the other two watched. Mallory, seeing this added humiliation resolved to hold it in and bide her time, if at all possible, even though she was feeling similar stirrings.
Mallory threw back her wet rope of hair, luxuriating in the warm spray, that rained down on her upturned face, the pulsating water washing away the hated male residue of all the indignities she had been forced to suffer in the last few hours since getting aboard. She vowed her revenge, and silently cursed herself for being so stupid as to walk right into a trap. It was sheer stupidity on her part; stupid pride. She had been so eager to prove a point that she let her need to show men she was just as good as they were, overriding her good sense and bureau training. These thoughts went through her mind as she shampooed her hair, and then soaped up every inch of her long, leggy body, her eyes avoiding the leering bastard who sat only a few feet away, who shouted out helpful advice on how to wash thoroughly, and greatly enjoyed himself.
Chapter Eight
With all the dignity she could muster, the stately brunette drew a deep breath, and took her first steps into the ship’s mess. The captive’s pride would not be broken, even though she now wore the narrow ribbon banding her neck with the number “9” inscribed on the dull metal tag the size of a small coin that dangled from the front. She kept her chin held high, her lithe body softly swaying as the high heels she had been made to wear sank into the thick pile carpet with each step. But the tall woman never faltered, holding the tray before her, keeping her blue eyes fixed, unseeing, on some distant horizon, while her cheeks burned with profound humiliation.
A step behind and to her left, her slightly built companion tottered precariously on her steepled heels with all the uncertainty of a young whore out for her first night on the streets. There was something about that sincere innocence of that small, freshly scrubbed face under that dusky mop of hair that made men want to fuck the girl. It was a thought that went through the mind of each man who saw young Kip, clad in black pantyhose and the loose miniskirt that barely layered her small, neatly-rounded bottom, entering the room in the wake of the elegant brunette. Abruptly all conversation stopped when, as one, the Captain and his rowdy crew turned from their places at the table to enjoy the entertaining sight of their two topless waitresses, coming through the doors with the heavily-laden trays.
Standing in attendance to one side of the table was Meghan Dillon. The curvaceous blonde, now well rested and refreshed, looked much better than when they had first seen her hanging by her wrists in the playroom. Properly made-up, and with her pale wavy locks brushed back and combed, she was gorgeous; exposed breasts hanging heavily; bounteous tits, full and deeply curved, and tipped with wide taut nipples. She stood behind the men, an opened bottle of wine in her hands. The sight of that dynamite woman with that shiny black skirt slung low on the generous cradle of her flaring hips, her glamorous legs shimmering in the silky sheen of black pantyhose was guaranteed to bring a surging erection to even the most jaded man on board. The pretty girl looked up at the entrance of the other women, lush red lips parted expectantly; but she wisely kept quiet, though her wide chocolate eyes spoke of a sudden rush hope. Mallory couldn’t meet those hopeful eyes; she had to lower her own to the tray of dishes she carried before her.
Having eaten a quick meal in the cramped galley under the watchful eye of the cook, a particularly despicable slug of a man who seldom emerged from his haunts deep in the ship, they now served the seated crew. All five were there: Merc and Yasir on one side, Dewayne and Sego facing them, and the neatly-dressed Captain at his accustomed place at the head of the table. Plates were set out, glasses filled; the erotically-clad waitresses made to stand by, while the crew dug hungrily into their evening meal, enjoying the scenery provided by their topless serving girls, who stood lined up in a row at the far end of the table.
The men joked and told tales, their talk lubricated by the free-flowing wine as Meghan was kept hopping, re-filling glasses, which were generally finished in one swig. At one point, as she bent over to fill Dewayne’s glass, a swaying breast brushed his shoulder, causing him to turn to regard the beautiful blonde. He couldn’t resist scooping up the errant boob and pulling her forward by the clenched tittie-flesh until the helpless girl was bent low, her succulent breasts swinging forward, dangling over the table. The big blonde didn’t move, but froze in place, allowing herself to be fondled, for she well knew the price of disobedience. Her captor idly toyed with her nipple, as he kept up his side of the conversation with Merc, and then, without looking at her, flipped her hanging breast in dismissal, causing it to wobble for the amusement of his shipmates as the girl quickly straightened and was allowed to go about her business. All eyes followed her progress; they relished watching their bare-breasted prisoners’ parade back and forth about the room.
After the dishes had been cleared, the Captain called for cigars and a round of Cognac. Mallory had been ignoring the drunken louts, and watching the Captain throughout the dinner. She was repulsed by him; thoroughly detested that swaggering demeanor of the smug male, but still she remained intrigued by the measured sense of command, the self-controlled will she saw in those impassive blue eyes. He was a man who was used to being obeyed! She noticed, with a surge of interest, that his gaze, even when engaged in conversation with the others, drifted back to her again and again, and she felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl under his attention.
And now, Mallory and Kip, each armed with a bottle of Brandy, came to the table. When Mallory stepped up to serve the Captain, he curved an arm around her legs and ran his hand up to the back of her knee. She froze, stockinged legs set close together, her head tilted down, the bottle in her hands, and held herself perfectly still while the man enjoyed her body, running his curved hand up the sinuous contours of an elegantly sculpted leg while she stood obediently at his side. He savored the silky smoothness of that tightly packed nylon. The masculine hand fitted itself to the curve of the back of her thigh and moving leisurely, inexorably upward until the out- stretched fingers closed to encompass a choice, nylon-encased rear mound. The hand that clamped her plump cheek lavishly fondled her, gave her a squeeze, and, with a light pat on the butt, she was dismissed to take her place beside the other two.
By now all the men were half-drunk, and in a jovial mood. They pushed back their chairs, and while Meghan made the circuit, lighting cigars, the talk turned to the women. The sailors were laughing and joking about the prisoners as though they weren’t there - treating them as nothing more than sex objects — the thought went through Mallory’s head. It was raucously agreed that the each of the prisoners had certain pleasing feminine attributes. And it was unanimously decided that the girls should put on a little show, posing so their male audience was better able to compare and judge their unique charms.
The women were made to stand at attention, hip to hip, exposed bosoms proudy displayed, served up for the inevitable comparisons. On the far left, the magnificent brunette stood with head thrown back and turned to one side. The dim contours of Mallory’s lithe chest suggested youthful breasts; but for the maturity of those protruding nipples, the slight curves might have been the maidenly nascent bosom of a pubescent girl.
Next to her, small-breasted Kip stood with shoulders back, as ordered, her eyes locked on some distant horizon, letting the grinning men look with contemptuou
s indifference. Her frisky tits were high set, taut and firm; two pertly curved, sloping breasts, each one a neat handful. The dusky nipples were precisely defined, stiff nubbins peeking out from pebbly disks of dusky brown aureole.
To her right, Meghan stood with eyes lowered, feeling the gaze of leering men. She was used to such men ogling her prominent breasts. It had been that way since high school. The choice pair she sported would cause any man to stiffen in instant arousal — firm mounds curving out in a comely display of feminine pulchritude. Large, though not excessively so, the firm jellied wobble of those delightful breasts, their generous nipples and silky texture simply enticed the masculine hand. And indeed each man in the mess had had the chance to thoroughly enjoy them, hefting their weight, stroking and lavishly fondling Meghan’s tits, delighting in the firm silky feel of those lush, pliant breasts, while the big blonde twisted and moaned in helpless passion. It was no contest: Cunt 8 was voted the girl with the best tits!
Next, the male inspection turned to the three pair of attractive legs. The lines of Mallory’s lanky figure tapered down to elongated hips, sleek thighs and the shapely long and lovely legs of a high-fashion model striding the catwalk, their fine-muscled curves and slender ankles elongated by the high-heeled open sandals she wore on her stockinged feet.
The slight lines of the smaller girl’s rounded shoulders, reedy torso and straight hips continued to form a pair of coltish legs, straight and smooth, with the suggestion of feminine contours. Under the short skirt, those supple legs, encased in the black pantyhose, seemed curiously youthful yet delightfully seductive, as the girl shifted her weight, setting her heels a little apart on the deep-piled carpet.
Meghan’s hips were fuller, her splendid thighs, more richly curved than Mallory’s with a plump fullness of fleshy promise offered to the adoring hand that might slip in between to sample the tapering columns. Those statuesque legs showed the full flower of lush feminine curves, and the appeal of those succulent, robust, nylon-encased thighs was undeniable. The men made a leisurely study of those long stockinged legs, set off to best advantage, openly comparing their manifest attributes. It was a heated contest, but in the end it was the leggy brunette that won a close victory over the better-endowed blonde.
Next, still standing side by side, the three women were made to turn in place, presenting their backsides to for approval. They were made to lean forward; hands braced on thighs. They would be further humiliated by the next command that, backed by threats of a public paddling, had them arching their backs, and bending their knees; three pert rumps jutting back in lewd presentation. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the captives were then ordered to reach back and raise their skirts, lifting them up to uncover their nylon-encased buttocks presented for the viewing pleasure of the rowdy sailors. Five pairs of hungry male eyes grew wide with lust as they watched the abbreviated skirts being hoisted up, and three mouth-watering feminine bottoms brought into spectacular view.
On the left, Mallory’s delectable ass cheeks stuck out seductively, two sleek, elongated ovals; narrowly set. They appeared well-defined under the shadowy haze of nylon, a thin, tight crack separating them; the soft pouch of her vagina peeking out at them from between snugly-pressed thighs. On the far right, Meghan Dillon’s full-fleshed, shapely rear end came into perfect view, generous and inviting, each lush mound would overflow a cupping hand. Her underslung pussy, molded by taut nylon shaping her fleshy nether lips, peeked out with a certain saucy impudence. Sandwiched between the two taller girls, Kip looked like a little sister. In stark contrast to the more mature curves of those plumper, more shapely asses, her compact butt, straining against the tightly stretched satiny sheen of the pantyhose, protruded back with all the saucy insolence of a naughty schoolgirl’s. A curved masculine hand fitted to her bottom, could easily span and encompass that small-cheeked, firmly mounded little rump.
Burning with deep-seated humiliation, the female prisoners were made to stay in place, striking, then holding, the most provocative poses, while they swallowed their indignation and raucous comments burned their ears. In the end, no winner could be named, for each girl had her champions, and so it was good-naturedly agreed that in the ass department, there could only be a tie. Mallory felt a flood of relief when they were allowed to let their skirts fall back into place and straighten up. But her relief was short lived, for there was one more contest to endure. They were made to turn, and once more face their seated captors.
The Captain was sitting back from the table, seemingly indolent, his legs crossed, content to let his underling, Dewayne, assume the role of emcee, directing the performance while the rest of the crew chimed in with shouted advice and lewd, outrageous suggestions.
“Okay, girls. Down with the pantyhose. Let’s see some pussy!” Dewayne ordered.
For a moment, no one moved. The three women exchanged glances, while male laughter rang out in the room.
“Go on, haul ‘em down, all the way. I want them pantyhose down around your knees! Now!”
An expression of bitter distaste flitted across Mallory’s face, but she set her lips in grim determination. After being used and abused by the rowdy crew, Mallory had learned to let herself go numb whenever she had to endure such exhibitions. Her mind remained distant while her hands moved in obedience to this latest degradation. Moving mechanically, like some beautiful android, she reached up under the little skirt to find the elastic top of the pantyhose, hooked her thumbs into the waistband, and simply peeled down the clinging nylon.
Kip slipped her hands under her skirt, grabbed two handfuls of taut nylon, and yanked them down boyish hips in one swift move. Meghan followed suit, shoving the bunched nylon down the flaring cradle of her hips, while adding a little girlish wiggle.
Then, hoisting up their skirts, the girls provided their eager audience with exactly what the men demanded: all three prisoners, with accordioned pantyhose spanning their knees, their feminine sex openly, brazenly brought to view. Mallory closed her eyes as her knuckles tightened on the fistfuls of silky skirt she was forced to hold up; prepared to endure yet another humiliating inspection.
She felt all eyes riveted on her womanhood, a perfect delta of Venus, adorned with a riot of thick dark coils of soft pubic hair. The wedge curved softly, and at the apex of the triangle, the crease of the senior agent’s cuntlips protruded through the tufted haze in a slight pout.
Male eyes darted back and forth, like kids in a candy store, alighting for a moment on Kip’s more modest pussy, a slight, lightly-furred mons, tucked between supple legs; the girl’s sparse pubic hair, a pale shadow of dusky down precisely defining her narrow vulva.
The blonde sported a more prominent Venus mound, rich with soft curlings that thickened into a tuft of fur at the apex of the plump triangle. Thick pussylips were dimly visible, their small bulge evident between those lush columnar thighs, as five pair of male eyes devoured the jutting mound of that silvery blonde pussy, its very brazenness a challenge to the watching males.
As they stood there, Mallory’s eyes fluttered open, and she found the Captain eyeing her up. Her anxious eyes caught sight of the unmistakable bulge at the front of his pants as he sprawled with legs extended. As she looked into his eyes, he slowly beckoned her to him. She saw the sudden decision flare up in those pensive eyes, and she shuddered.
“Come here Number 9,” he beckoned, his voice soft, his finger pointing to a place between his splayed legs. The room fell instantly silent. Mallory reached down to tug her half-masted pantyhose into place.
“No! Leave them! Come here.”
Flushed, and feeling foolish, the girl was forced to scuttle awkwardly forward to where he sat, taking tiny steps, encumbered by the bunched pantyhose still hobbling her legs. What was so hateful to her was that the man seemed to most enjoy this very sort of thing: forcing her to humiliate herself before him!
He beckoned her closer. All eyes were riveted on Mallory’s darkly furred sex. Her mincing steps brought her to within inches
of the seated man, whose lips curled in a little smirk as he looked up at her. He brought a hand up to feel Mallory’s exposed cunt.
He began to finger her vagina, running two joined fingers along the bulging cuntal crease. Taking the labia precisely between his thumb and fingers, the Captain sampled the rubbery texture of Special Agent Mallory Channing’s pliant nether lips.
Mallory could do nothing. She looked into the eyes of her captor, and helplessly submitted to having her cunt shamelessly fondled. The man’s lewd manipulations seemed removed from her inner being, as though he were her gynecologist duly examining her private parts, while she sat with her feet in the stirrups, curiously detached from the dry, professional probing between her legs. It was no surprise then, that when a testing finger slipped between the fleshy lips to explore the inner walls, she winced; Mallory was dry.
The intruder immediately withdrew, and for a moment her captor cupped her, held her by her womanhood. He paused to consider.
"Spread your legs," he ordered; and he watched with pleasure as the obedient legs opened at his command, stretching the binding pantyhose that still spanned the girl’s knees.
Mallory was standing with her thighs spread offering him complete, unhindered access to her naked cunt.
Now he slowly resumed his leisurely toying with her sex, rubbing the pinkish folds between his fingers, as if testing the feel of her, all the while looking up to study her exquisite features. Mallory kept her eyes averted, blushing under the man’s unwavering stare. And as she took a deep breath, she felt the warmth, the first tingle of excitement, as her healthy young body instinctively responded to all this male attention. She glanced down, looking into those implacable eyes; felt herself moistening in his firm hand. The next time her tormentor sent his middle finger probing upward, it slipped with surprising ease, right up into her well-lubricated cunt. A stifled gurgle rose from deep in her throat, a shiver a pleasure shot through her.