 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 10. Training for Fitness
I woke up fairly early the next morning. I wondered whether I should actually report to the Skipper as he had directed. I knew he intended to try to do his medical officer routine on me. But I thought, why not go out and chat with him, maybe even tease him along even if I had no intention of letting him examine me.
As I lay in bed, I wondered what I should wear. There was no need to wear anything special for the Skipper, but I knew he would be appreciative. I decided to wear a dress for a change – my short and snug sundress – and maybe even a bra underneath. Perhaps my mind state was affected by Ivy and April being all dressed up the previous day when they made me strip for a whipping.
So I rose and got dressed. When I used the bathroom, I realized that I was spending extra time on my hair. I even considered using Ivy’s eye pencil. But I scolded myself for overdoing this idea of an appointment with the Skipper.
Going out on deck, I was greeted by a foggy morning. There was no wind at all. The Skipper was not at the helm, but at the side table, reading.
“Good morning,” he said. “That’s a cute outfit.”
“Thank you, sir. You... um... asked me to report to you this morning?”
“Yes, I did. You had some medical issues you wanted to see me about. Now what exactly are your symptoms?”
Now I had second thoughts about entangling myself in his medical officer routine. “Um, well... actually maybe it’s okay now. I guess I don’t really have any complaints.”
“That’s not what you were telling me last night. You were indicating some kind of soreness. Where exactly is it? Come on, out with it.”
“Um, well... I did mention it to you last night. But actually, it’s a lot better today.”
“I know how modest you are. It was something about your breasts being sore, right?”
“Well... yeah.”
“And is this pain dispersed all over, or localized to a particular part of your breasts, like your nipples?”
“Um, well... I guess it’s mainly in my nipples. I think I told you that last night.”
“Do you always begin your sentences with ‘um, well’?”
“I guess I hadn’t noticed that. Sorry. ...But actually I told you about my complaints last night, and you told me to take two aspirin and call on you in the morning. But now that I’m here it seems like you’re trying to make me feel awkward.”
“Feeling awkward. I guess that is a legitimate medical complaint. We’ll look into how to remedy that. ...Anyway, yes, I do recall our conversation last night. But I’m extremely busy, so I was just trying to get you to review the facts.”
“Yes, sir. I can see how busy this weather is keeping you this morning.” My eyes fell on the book he had been reading. “That book... I was wondering where it had disappeared to.”
“Guns, Germs, and Steel. It’s Rock’s, not yours.”
“Yeah, but I had started reading it. It’s really interesting, isn’t it? But I didn’t know you read that kind of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff do you think I read?”
I couldn’t resist this chance to tease him. I said, “It’s a little different than porno like The Cheerleader’s Initiation I saw you reading.” Actually it was obvious that he read a range of ordinary fiction, but this was the first I had seen him reading nonfiction.
“Pornographic literature? Well, in recent days I haven’t been reading pornographic literature. To tell you the truth, Jenny, lately I’ve been feeling like I’m living inside a pornographic story. ...This voyage has been like no other.”
“Well, it’s been a real experience,” I said, mulling conflicting feelings.
“If we get some wind again, we ought to be back in Baltimore tomorrow some time. And good thing too. Out of booze. Just about out of food. But still, I’m not looking forward to the end.”
Pondering, I said nothing. Certainly I was concerned about what would become of my relationship with Rafiq after this. Yet it would be a relief to get away from this weird sexual environment where I was constantly getting in over my head. A relief not to have to worry about whether I could deal with what’s coming next.
But I would miss the excitement. I would miss the challenge of plunging beyond the limits of my usual everyday existence. Or would I? My everyday existence is placid and safe. Isn’t that what I like?
The Skipper broke into my thoughts. “Anyway, you’re here to discuss your medical issues, right? So let’s get on with that. You indicated soreness in your nipples.”
“Um... Yes sir.”
“That could have a number of causes. Let’s have a look at them.”
“Maybe that won’t be necessary, since I already know the cause, sir. It’s because you whipped them.”
“I whipped your breasts... Yes, indeed, that is something I did yesterday. And you certainly needed it, didn’t you?”
“No sir. I don’t agree. I told you last night you hit too hard. I almost fainted.”
“Well, then let’s have a look at them. Remove your dress.”
For whatever reason, I didn’t give him a no-nonsense negative at this point. Instead I gave him a teasing reply. “I can’t take my dress off. Somebody might see me.”
The Skipper glanced around at the fog. “I don’t think you have too much to worry about. Besides, I can tell you have a bra on underneath. So what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you’re always trying to get my clothes off. And then you do things to my body.”
“But I’m the chief medical officer. I happen to know that you have some medical complaints. It’s my duty to examine you to determine the nature of the problem. And it’s your duty to undergo this examination and have your medical issues remedied.”
He stood up and said, “Now take off your dress, before I lose my patience and decide to take disciplinary action.”
“Well...” I hesitated. But he was more intimidating standing. I didn’t want to get involved in any corporal punishment again already. And maybe I hadn’t come out here actually believing that I wasn’t going to have to take my dress off. After all, I had made a point of putting on a bra. I could humor him by stripping to my underwear, which is not so different from a swimsuit.
I took hold of the bottom of my dress and slowly pulled it upward, enough to reveal my panties. In the spirit of a teasing delay, I asked, “Do I really have to do this. Maybe I can just tell you how I feel, and you can take care of me without having to look at me.”
The Skipper laughed, then said, “You really want a good whipping before you take your clothes off don’t you?”
“No sir. Actually I’d rather not be whipped so much.”
“No? Well how often would you like to be whipped? What would you consider optimum?”
Ooh. I really walked into that one. “Well, um... I didn’t mean to sound like I’d enjoy whippings if they weren’t so often. Not as hard as you do it. It’s you that thinks I need them.”
“And you recognize that I know what’s good for you. So let’s proceed. You look very cute holding your dress up like that, but it needs to come off.”
Slowly I lifted it the rest of the way up my body, and pulled it off, turning it inside out over my head. I stood before him in my bra and panties.
“Why are you wearing a bra? You never wear a bra.”
“Well, I haven’t been during this vacation. But I usually do.”
“Why?”
“Well, in high school, it was required. Not necessarily a bra, but some kind of undergarment. And besides, why shouldn’t I wear a bra?
“The best thing about a bra is taking it off. So strip to the waist and we’ll proceed with your examination.”
I hesitated. My mind flashed back to that day early in the voyage when the Skipper had confronted me alone in the galley and made me lift my shirt. That had been so humiliating. But this... This seemed closer to a game. Still, I did not intend to let him get my bra off. I said, “I’d rather not do that.”
“Why not? It’s probably that bra that’s making your breasts sore. I’m sure they’d feel much better if they were out and free.”
“You know perfectly well my bra has nothing to do my breasts being sore.”
“Well then, let’s have a look at them and see what the problem is.” He sat down and motioned me to stand up close, between his knees. With my breasts right at his eye level, and him intent trying to get my bra off, I kept my distance from him.
“When did your nipples start feeling sore?”
“Why are you pretending you don’t know? It’s when you whipped me so hard with the switch. ...You know that time Ivy switched me so hard that I fainted? I remember you later said that it wasn’t right. But then yesterday, you did same thing, and it hurt so much I almost fainted.”
“Yes, yes, yes. You sound like a broken record. Almost fainted. Almost fainted. Over and over. It must have been like a peak experience, right.”
“Well, it was pretty strange... But still, I already said you hit too hard. I can’t take the switch on the breasts... not on the nipples. You don’t know how that feels.”
“What would you like to be whipped on the breasts with?”
“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to whipped on the breasts?”
“Then where do you want to be whipped?”
“Who says I want to be whipped?”
“You are a recalcitrant patient. Refusing to do as you’re told. Evading all my questions with your own questions.”
“I could make a comment about your assuming the role of a doctor. But just to be polite, I won’t.”
From his seat he gently took my hand and guided me a little closer to his right side. “Stand sideways. That’s good.” He was smiling at me.
Abruptly he pulled me over his knee. “Eek!” I struggled to get free, but he held me down. His left hand grasped my breast.
“Ow. Don’t pinch me.” I tried to loosen his hand from my breast.
Smack! He slapped me on the butt. Smack! Smack! I brought my hand back to protect my rear. Letting go of my breast, he grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm behind me.
“Keep still,” he said, as he pulled something out of his medical bag. Looking over my shoulder, I could see that he had that slender wooden paddle.
Whap! “Ooh!” He smacked me on the butt through my panties. Whap! ...Whap! Even through the panties, it really stung.
Feeling that I had done nothing to deserve this, it didn’t seem right to meekly submit. Wrenching about trying to get free, I slid my right thigh off his knees.
Taking hold of my panties with his right hand, he held on to me. He locked his right ankle in front of mine, effectively trapping my leg. But now I was straddling his right thigh, my crotch pressing into him. Although I continued to wriggle, it was only token resistance.
He pulled my panties up exposing my butt cheeks. Crack! “Ahh!” Right on the bare flesh. Oh-my-god, what a sting.
Crack! “Ahh!”
Crack! “Ahh!”
With a slow even rhythm he laid into my rear with the paddle. And I voiced a throaty gasp with each stroke. My crotch was pressing into his leg. My butt was burning.
Crack! “Ahh!”
Crack! “Ahh!”
I didn’t want to keep submitting to corporal punishment, but some part of me was hypnotized by it. In rhythm with the strokes I was rubbing my crotch into his thigh. I knew he could tell that I was responding sexually, but I didn’t care.
But still, after more than two dozen hard strokes my butt was on fire. This spanking was losing its erotic appeal. The pain was starting to freak me out. ...Crack! “Ow-ow. Please stop. You’re hurting me so much.”
After a few more hard strokes, and my continued pleas, he paused and felt my rear end. “Pretty warm,” he said. “Are you ready to cooperate now?”
“Yes, sir.” As he released my right hand, I felt my burning butt.
“Do you want any more?”
“No sir. That was too much. Ooh... My butt is stinging like crazy.”
“Do you think you can answer my questions now? Without any sass?”
“Yes sir. I’m sorry sir. I didn’t realize I wasn’t answering properly.”
He assisted me to my feet. As he remained seated, I stood facing him, rubbing my butt with my hands.
Slowly, he started to lift my bra off. I offered no resistance, but continued rubbing my rear end. His eyes were glued to my body as he exposed the base of my breasts. He raised my bra above my nipples, then gently putting his hands to me, he murmured, “Mmm. Soft mounds.”
After gently feeling my breasts for several moments, he stood up and pulled upwards on my bra. I raised my arms and he lifted it over my head and off. Examining my bra, he said, “Not much to this thing, is there? No contours or anything.”
“No. Just stretchy material. It’s pretty comfortable.”
“Just the opposite of a padded bra. Padded bras are like putting your breasts behind armor.”
“I have a couple padded bras. I don’t think they’re that bad. They accentuate your qualities.”
“Totally fake. They’re for foolish women who are hung up about their breast size.”
“You’re so judgmental. I don’t think it’s any of your business what kind of bra a woman wears. And you’re the one who seems to be hung up on breast size ...in your own weird way. You’re always bringing it up.”
“Only to get you to stop being hung up about your breast size.”
“Could we not go there again today? Please. I’m not trying to be difficult, but you’re making me out to be dissatisfied with something isn’t actually a big issue to me.”
The Skipper shrugged and said, “Whatever.” Then he sat back down and pulled me close before him, my breasts right in front of his face. He said, “But tell me, what do you think about puffy nipples?”
“Well... I don’t know. Why would I think anything about them?”
“Well you’ve got them, don’t you?”
“Mine aren’t as puffy as some women’s. You said that yourself the other day when you were telling that story about those girls on Cayo Peligro.”
Putting his fingers on my nipples, and running little circles around them, he said, “Yours are puffy, not super puffy.”
“Good thing they’re not. They’d just be a better target for your whip.” I tried not to acknowledge the stimulation of his fingers on me, but I may have squirmed a bit.
The Skipper said, “Perhaps so. And you seem to have some reservations about getting your breasts whipped.”
“I hope that’s finally sinking in.”
Now feeling my breasts all over, he said, “So that gets back to my question about where you’d rather be whipped. What do you think, on the butt or on the breasts?”
“You already know the answer. On the butt.”
“That’s assuming the same implement on each?”
“Well, yeah. But it would have to be a whole lot lighter to choose breasts over butt.”
“How about a choice between tits and pussy, same implement?”
“Neither. How about anywhere else instead?”
“Choose one or the other, tits or pussy.”
“Well, I don’t trust guys whipping me between the legs.”
“So on the tits then.”
“I guess, but still... not the way you do it with the switch.”
“Well, about implements... just now, starting off, you seemed receptive to the paddle, but then it seemed that you developed a problem with it.”
“Receptive?” But as soon as I said that, I could read vexation in his expression. With this conversation it seemed that he was simply trying to ascertain my preferences, and it seemed silly for me to keep getting hung up about acknowledging the sexuality in corporal punishment.
So I said, “Well, yeah, after I got over the immediate shock of being swatted, it was interesting for a while. But then it got to be too much, like hitting one spot over and over.”
“Hmm... Well, of the things you’ve been punished with, which have you thought were the most effective?”
“What do you mean by ‘most effective’?”
“You can interpret that however you want. Effective. Whatever it means to you.”
Smiling, I pondered that. Thinking of that orgasmic tsunami I experienced when he tied me up in the galley, I said, “Well, that stingy little martinet. What a whipping you gave me with that.”
“That little thing. It has to be used on the tits and pussy to make any impression on a strong girl like you.” He gave my nipples a little pinch.
“That isn’t true. You used it all over my front. It really stings. ...But what about that short single thong whip you gave James to use on April that first time. I’ve never seen that one again.”
“That wimpy thing. All show. No go. It would be an insult to your fortitude for me to use that on you.”
“I swear I would never be insulted by being treated gently. Never.”
“Are you denying being receptive to challenging situations?”
“I think I’ve been accepting a lot of stuff that I really should not accept.”
“Yes, yes. Everybody knows you’re worried about becoming addicted to punishment. But I think you’re just responsive to a broad range of stimulation.” All the while his fingers were continuing to run little circles around my stiff nipples.
Smiling. I said, “Could I ask about the medical purpose of what you’re doing now, stimulating my nipples? It seems overtly sexual. I think you’re a really perverted doctor to be taking advantage of your patient.”
The Skipper laughed. Then placing his whole hands over my breasts, he started massaging them. Gently kneading them.
I wasn’t sure how I should respond. As he continued caressing me, I put my hands on his shoulders. I had never touched him in this way. I wasn’t sure how he would respond. But with a dreamy expression on his face, he just continued caressing my breasts.
Then putting his arm around my back, he pulled me closer. His lips met my nipple. He kissed it and started sucking.
This was highly stimulating. With my arms around his neck, I was hugging him tightly. I wanted more. And yet my mind was unquiet. Did I really want to do this? And right out here in public? What would people think if they saw us?
Rafiq was foremost in my mind. Yet having had the night watch, I knew he wouldn’t be up before noon. And Ivy had been up late with him, so she wouldn’t be up for quite a while. April? She might come out, and she can be a blabbermouth, so that was a bit of a concern. James? Who cares about James?
But did I really want my relationship with the Skipper to go here? Therein lay a concern. But still, with only one day left in this voyage, perhaps I was free to do anything I wanted, without concern about future implications.
As we held each other tightly, he continued sucking on my nipple. I was pressing my crotch into him. I savored the warmth of our embrace.
When he unlatched from my breast, I came down straddling his lap. He caressed my breasts as he kissed my neck. My arms rested on his shoulders but I did not turn my face to him. Rather I continued the physically passive role I had always maintained with him. He gave; I received. But what I was receiving now was so different.
My mind alternated between reveling in the pleasure of the moment and wondering how far I would let this go. Would I go down for him? Or would he even try to have me? After all, during our long encounter in the galley, he had implied the negative.
The hot and heavy action continued. But after a time, I heard stirring in the cabin. Then came the footfalls of James coming up the steps. I felt embarrassed straddling the Skipper’s lap, face to face with him with only my panties on.
As I pulled away from the Skipper and stood up, James said, “Hey. Jenny’s dressed for action. Gonna join me for morning exercises?”
James was dressed in manner not all that dissimilar to me, just boxer shorts and nothing else. He had a pair of dumbbells and a jump rope. I stood obliquely to him, not wanting him to notice any part of my red-spanked bottom that might be peeking out from under my panties. I fiddled with my hair, having my arms impede his view of my breasts. What an awkward situation.
“I was giving Jenny some massage therapy,” said the Skipper. “She had some complaints about her chest.”
“Here, take these dumbbells,” James said to me. “I’ll show you how to build up your chest.”
Frowning at James, I folded my arms across my breasts.
“Oops. Sorry. I forgot you don’t like me saying anything about your body,” said James. “I don’t know why. You’re not in bad shape.”
“Well thanks but I don’t want your dumbbells. I only use Ivy’s.”
“What’s the matter with these?” said James, with a smile.
“Duh. ...Maybe they’re not the right weight. ...And don’t make any comments.”
“Comments? But what’s the matter with saying you’re wiry.”
“Oh. Well that’s okay.” I smiled with the pleasure of that thought. James rarely complimented anyone. If he said I’m wiry, then I must be.
“So now you’re okay with these,” said the Skipper, taking the dumbbells from James and trying to impose them on me.
I backed away, still keeping my arms across my chest. “I don’t want them. There still too heavy for me to do much with. ...And I want my bra back.”
“We’ll help you with the exercises when they’re too heavy.”
“I don’t want you guys hovering over me when I’m lifting weights. You’ll harass me.”
“Harass you? Us? Never.”
“With your groping hands.”
“That’s nothing to worry about. Here, just take them,” the Skipper continued pressing them on me.
“I don’t want them. ...But maybe I’ll take them if you give me my bra.”
“Sure, I’ll give you your bra when we’re done. What am I going to do with it, other than admire it?”
“I mean now. I’m not comfortable this way.”
“Why not? James is dressed just like you.”
“You guys have used that stupid argument before. But it’s obvious that guys and girls are not expected to dress the same. ...And besides, I don’t stare at your body when you take your shirt off. And I don’t make comments.”
“Comments...” said the Skipper as he turned to James and frowned.
James looked from one to the other of us. Then he said, “Oh. You mean the other day when I said something about a boob job? It was just a dumb joke. But you took it so seriously. Sorry bout that.”
“There, you got his apology” said the Skipper, turning to me. “Now that’s resolved, right? And you’re dressed ready for exercise. So let’s go to it.”
I said nothing for a few moments as I pondered how modest I was compared to Ivy and April. Finally I decided to do what the Skipper wanted. Uncrossing my arms from my chest, I took one of the dumbbells with both hands. But I’m sure I didn’t look too happy about it.
“That’s a girl,” said the Skipper. “Let’s see, can you curl that thing?”
Holding it with both hands, I was able to do a curl. But on the second one, the Skipper started tweaking one of my biceps, saying, “Mmm. Women have the cutest biceps.”
“Please,” I said, recoiling away from him. “I don’t want to be poked or touched while I’m doing this.”
“Only whipped, eh?”
“Not that either.”
“Why not? Don’t you like it better when it’s used for encouragement rather than punishment?”
“Let’s not even consider that. I might drop the weight.”
“Let’s try another exercise,” said James. What a pleasant surprise that he was steering in a more savory direction. Then he said, “Lift it over your head.”
I didn’t especially like that idea. But after some hesitation I said, “All right, but I don’t want anyone to touch me. Could you stand back a little?”
“We gotta be close to spot for you,” said James, smiling.
“Just don’t touch my body,” I said, raising the heavy thing over my head.
“Now I’ll help you bring it back behind your head. This is an upper core exercise.” James guided it back behind my head. I let him take a lot of the weight. All the while, the Skipper’s eyes never left my body.
“Now back up,” he said, guiding it. “Hey, come on. You’re having me do all the lifting. You get no benefit from that. Let’s do it again.”
As he guided it back down behind my head, the Skipper went into his bag and pulled out the belt-strap. This time I lifted it myself.
“That’s better,” said James. “She just needed a little encouragement.” While he guided me through three more repetitions, the Skipper brushed the strap softly across my breasts.
“I can’t do any more. It’s too heavy. And don’t hit me with the strap. That won’t help.”
“That’s enough of those,” said James. “Let’s try the lateral raise. Here, take the other weight, one in each hand. Just hold them at your sides. ...That’s not too bad, is it? Now raise them straight out to the sides.”
I could move them out maybe forty-five degrees from my body and no further. The skipper glanced the strap a bit more firmly across my breasts.
“Let ’em back down,” said James. “Now up again. This time I’ll guide you up.” Standing directly behind me, his hands enclosed around mine, he helped me bring them all the way out.
“Another. This time don’t have me do all the work. Maybe the Skipper will give you some encouragement.”
James hands were still enclosing mine. As I lifted with all my strength, the Skipper slapped me on the breast with the strap. “Ah,” I gasped. But still I gave it my all.
As I brought it back down, James said, “That was better. She seems to need encouragement with the strap.”
Through several more repetitions James held my hands around the weights but gave little help in lifting them. I couldn’t get them very far up so the Skipper continued slapping my breasts with the strap. Holding the weights at my side, I felt I could do no more. I gasped, “They’re too heavy. You’re just taking advantage of me.”
Feeling my breasts, the Skipper replied, “And that turns you on, doesn’t it.”
“You’re the one who gets turned on by it, not me.” But I knew he was right. In some perverse way I was stirred by the thought that he was taking advantage of me, lashing me as I struggled, nearly naked, with a task beyond my strength.
“Let’s try something else,” said James, taking the weights from me. “Dumbbell flyes. Builds up your chest. Gotta lie down on the deck.”
After a bit of hesitation I did as he asked. With so little clothes on I felt uneasy about lying down as two guys were poised over me.
With me lying on the deck with my knees bent, James said, “Arms out to the sides, elbows a little bent.” When I did what he said, he placed the dumbbells in my hands. “The Skipper will help you on that side. I’ll help you on this side. Now lift, keeping your elbows slightly bent, and bring the weights up to the center.”
The two of them guided the weights up and brought them together up over my chest. I made them do nearly all the lifting.
“And back down. ...Gently. ...That’s good. Now that you got the idea, how about if you actually put a little effort into it, instead of us doing all the lifting. And Skipper, it’d be best if you keep both hands on the weight, so I’ll take the strap to give her encouragement.”
As James took the strap I said, “I don’t want to be hit on the breasts. And I don’t want to be hit hard.”
Seemingly almost to himself, James muttered, “It’s April’s tits I’d like to whip.” Then to me he said, “Lift.” Then he swatted me hard across the ribs.
“Ow.” I lifted as hard as I could. The guys helped guide the weights up. Then back down. ...Whap! “Ah.” Across the belly. Again I lifted. And back down again.
Whap! “Ooh!” On the inside of the thigh. “Don’t hit me there.” But still I lifted as hard as I could, and with their help managed to get them up. When I let them back down again, he swatted me right on the pussy.
“Ow! Fuck. That hurt. I quit.”
“No. You got to do some more.” As the two of held my arms down, James tried to hit me on the pussy again, but knees up and together I twisted my hips away from him.
Whap! Whap! Whap! On the thighs. “Ow. Let me up.”
“We like to get you down,” said James.
I really didn’t like the sound of that. Turning to the Skipper, I pleaded, “Please...”
The Skipper released my wrist and I turned toward James, threatening to scratch him. He released my other wrist. I sat up covering my breasts with one arm. “I want my clothes back right now, or I’m going in.”
I had no sooner said that than April came up the steps onto the deck. Smiling, she said, “I could tell you guys were up to something with Jenny.”
James said, “We were working out together. But Jenny’s not very motivated. She’d rather be a couch potato.”
I countered, “Liar. I lifted as much as I could. You were just using all this as an excuse to hit me with the strap.”
“Oh man,” said the Skipper. “Not this victim thing again.”
“No matter,” said James. “April will show you how to use these weights. Right, April?”
“I don’t want those things. But I’ll take your jump rope,” she said, picking it up. But she did nothing in particular with it.
“Well, how about a jump rope contest?” said James.
“No contests,” I said. “Not after the way that wrestling match went. You guys get carried away and end up turning it into a bummer.”
“She’s in a real cranky mood today,” said the Skipper.
“I am not. I just know you’d turn it into an excuse for beating us.”
“Chill,” said James. “Just make some room so April can show you how to jump rope,”
I got up and stepped aside. I felt awkward to be topless when April was clothed. I fiddled with my hair, obstructing the view of my front without making a obvious show of covering myself.
After of couple botched starts, April got going with the jump rope. James was smiling broadly as he watched. Under her tank top, there was plenty of movement.
After a minute, she stopped. “There,” she said. “Somebody else can take a turn,” offering it to me. I didn’t want it. James took it instead.
He jumped it for a minute or so. “Who’s next?” he said, holding it out.
The Skipper said, “I’ll give it a try. I don’t think this is something you forget how to do.” It took a few tries for him to get the rhythm, but he got it going well for a while. He used the low-impact, one foot in front of the other style.
When he stopped, I knew it was my turn. I wished I had my top on. But it felt lame to keep making a big deal out of asking for it. Feeling awkward and uncertain, I was biting the side of my finger.
Unexpectedly, James said, “April, Jenny would feel more comfortable if you were topless like her. Do you think that would be a nice thing to do for her?”
April gave James a wary look. With gentle sarcasm she said, “Such a sensitive guy to be attuned to how Jenny is feeling. ...But if everyone’s going to take their shirts off like you and Jenny, then I will too.” She ran her hand across his hairy chest.
The Skipper immediately peeled his tee-shirt off. That done, April lifted off her tank top. But I don’t think it made me that much more comfortable that her breasts were now out too.
The Skipper then turned to me and said, “Jenny, your posture needs work. Let’s get those shoulders back.” He pulled back on my shoulders. I dropped my hands to my sides and straightened. It felt better, although I didn’t like being reproved for awkward behavior.
James said, “While Jenny’s practicing good posture, April will show her how to jump rope again. How about it, April?”
April gave him a dubious look but took the jump rope again. This would be interesting. Meanwhile the Skipper hands continued prodding my posture, wanting my chest out, stomach in. Then he jiggled my breast. I flicked his hand away, maintaining straight posture.
April began jumping rope. Her bare breasts were really bouncing. I’ll admit I was mesmerized. She kept at for some time while we all watched, transfixed. With each cycle of jumping the rope, it seemed that her ample breasts did one big bounce and one short bounce before beginning the next cycle of jumping the rope. It was a complex motion.
After a time she stopped. “Awesome,” said James, putting his arm around her. “Totally awesome.”
Smiling she said, “That’s enough for me. Who wants it now?” Everybody looked at me.
I knew I had to take a turn. I suppressed the feelings of self consciousness. Whether I would look good or look stupid jumping rope topless... well, there was nothing I could do about it either way. I would just jump rope and try not to worry about it.
I took the rope, letting it dangle before me. I looked down at my breasts. There were some red marks on them from the strap. And red marks across my ribs and stomach too. I wondered what April thought about me always getting myself beaten.
I started jumping the rope and promptly tangled it in my feet. With the second try I had no problems, and got it going well. It was fun. Everybody eyes were on me, but that felt okay. I knew I had a big smile on my face.
I increased to top speed, kept that going for a while, then gradually slowed it down. I felt more motion in my breasts at some speeds than at others. After some time, probably longer than any of the others had jumped, I stopped. “There. That was fun.”
“Good tit bounce,” said the Skipper. “Don’t you feel lucky that your body does cool stuff when you’re jumping?” He pressed his hand to my breast.
Glancing at April, I was going to shoo his hand away, but she was occupied with James embrace. So I let the Skipper continue to fondle me. Because I felt a little anxious about a public display of affection with the Skipper, I didn’t know quite how to respond.
After a few moments I moved his hand away and said to him, “Since we’re done exercising, maybe I should make some breakfast. Just about all we have left is oatmeal. I can make some for everybody. ...Are you going to help?”
“Sure,” said the Skipper. “James, take the helm if anything comes up.”
Interrupting his kiss with April, James replied, “Take your time. April and me won’t be ready to eat for a while.” Obviously they wanted to be left alone.
So I headed down to the galley. The Skipper was collecting his bag of stuff as I left the deck. I felt wild and daring. Still dressed only in my panties, I had just invited the Skipper to an encounter in the galley. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.
Once in the galley, I stood facing the door, waiting. It didn’t seem necessary to go through the motions of putting some water in a pan for oatmeal. I was sure the Skipper had other expectations.
He entered a few moments later and closed and locked the door. Then he turned and looked me over up and down, eyeing my nakedness. “You don’t seem to be making much progress in making breakfast,” he said with a smile.
“No... I don’t.”
“Do you need some encouragement?”
“I don’t know.” In my mind I was turning over the possibilities of sex with the Skipper. Vanilla sex? Kinky sex? ...And wasn’t there still the option of no sex?
The Skipper dug into his bag and took out the strap. As I stood facing him, he brushed the strap back and forth across my breasts. I kept my arms at my sides. Vanilla sex with the Skipper was not something I could imagine. It would have to be kinky sex or not at all. Not at all... I still considered that a workable option.
As he grazed the strap over my breasts with increasing percussion, I crossed my forearms over my ribs, pressing my biceps into the sides of my breasts to provide a bit of protection without actually covering myself. After receiving several increasingly vigorous strokes I said, “Actually, there’s no reason to strap me about making breakfast since nobody is in any hurry for it.”
The Skipper set aside the strap and took hold of my upper arms. “Mmm. Let’s see how those biceps feel after you’ve been pumping iron.”
This seemed a better direction for a conversation. Clasping my hands together I flexed my biceps as hard as I could. “I don’t think they’re going to be any different than they were before.”
Squeezing my biceps, the Skipper said, “Ah yes. Nice.”
“I don’t have big muscles. But James said I was wiry. Do you think that’s true?”
“You liked that, eh? It got James out of the doghouse. But sure, I think you’re wiry. Here, put your arms straight out to the sides. I need to check out your musculature.”
I did as he said. With him standing directly in front of me, stretching my arms out felt as if I was surrendering my naked upper body to him. I asked, “Are you my personal trainer now? Or are you continuing your medical exam?”
“Personal trainer. Disciplinarian. Medical advisor. All rolled into one. I’m looking after you.”
Knowing that he would be turned on by the idea, I said, “How can I be sure that you’re not just taking advantage of my innocence to work your perversions on my body?”
“On your naked body.” First squeezing my forearms, his hands moved inwards, feeling my upper arms. Then into my armpits. I’m a little bit ticklish there. But I suppressed a giggle and closing my eyes, I surrendered to his touch.
After feeling my armpits for some time, his hands moved down my sides onto my hips, then up my stomach onto my ribs. His fingers slid back and forth along the indentations of my ribs. Then his fingers moved inexorably upwards. Firmly onto my breasts. He pressed my soft flesh in circles round and round.
I said, “I don’t have muscles there.”
“No. It seems not. All I can find is soft jiggly fat.”
In a breathy murmur I said, “Now you’re trying to humiliate me for being a female.”
“For being so beautiful, you deserve to be humiliated.”
“Ah,” I sighed, musing. “Is that my fate? To be tormented for something I can’t help.”
“Such a fate. To have to suffer for your beauty.”
I reflected on the Skipper’s style, so different from Rafiq’s. Rafiq was less overt with his compliments and seldom directed them to my appearance. He usually expressed fondness in nonverbal ways. Although quick to respond to an invitation toward kinky sex, in the absence of such invitation, his lovemaking was affectionate and uncomplicated. That I have said little of our vanilla encounters is because I have no issues to revisit; they are fond and private memories.
In comparison, the Skipper was often effusive with praise, as if my physicality was a bright spot in his universe. Earlier in the morning, before James appeared, he had revealed an apparent capacity for vanilla lovemaking. Yet for me, that was too sharp a turn. I seemed to need to maintain him in the role of the disciplinarian.
Continuing the conversation in the vein of suffering, I said, “This morning you set me a task beyond my strength, then you beat me when I couldn’t do it. You’re hard on me.”
“Made you lift weights that were too heavy while we whipped you. How unfair is that.”
“So unfair...” I was in reverie. His fingers were pressing into the softness of my breasts. Round and round, yet not touching my nipples. Still I held my arms straight out to the sides. I imagined I was crucified.
After some time, he left my breasts, saying, “Hold your hands out in front of you.” Leaving off my crucifixion fantasy, I held my wrists together straight out before me. Taking a rope, he wound it round and round, binding them together.
“Now we’ll get your arms out of the way,” he said pulling my arms over my head.
I looked up and saw a large eye-bolt affixed to the low ceiling. “Hey. That wasn’t there before.”
“Yeah, I’ve remodeled. Especially for you.” He fed the rope through the eye-bolt, and tugging my arms taut, affixed the rope. “That ought to hold you.”
Grasping the rope with my hands to take the strain off my wrists, I pulled and twisted this way and that, knowing that I could not free myself but savoring my helplessness. “Now you’ve got me so that you can do anything you want.”
Rummaging through his bag, he took out the nipple clips and put them on the counter. I wondered why it couldn’t suffice for me just to be bound naked and defenseless. Did we always need to mix pain into it? I watched him take out a little box and open it. Holding it in front of me, he asked, “Know what this is?”
“The little shell of some kind of sea creature. A baby star fish? But it’s so prickly.”
“Yeah. A young crown-of-thorns starfish. I thought I would use it as a jewel ...for your belly button.”
“I don’t want that prickly thing in my belly button. And it’s not going to fit.”
“I might be able to get it in. Or should I roll it around on your nipples?” He pressed it on my left nipple.
“Ooh...” I twisted trying to avoid the jabbing spines. “Not there.” I writhed as he continued tormenting me with it.
“Stiffens up the nipple really good.” He left off the one nipple and put it to the other.
To no avail I tried to twist away from it. “My nipples were stiff to begin with. After all you’ve been doing to my body, how could they not be.”
“Well, it’s true that they were stiff as soon as I stripped you back on deck. But now they’re super stiff.” Leaving off with the little crown-of-thorns starfish, he bumped his fingers back and forth over them, “Stiff nipples must be one of the greatest things in all creation.”
Arms bound overhead, my body was there for him to use or abuse for his pleasure.
“Would you rather have this thing on the nipples, in the belly button, or in your twat?”
“None of them. I’ve had enough of it.”
“Even I wouldn’t want to imagine what that would feel like inside your twat,” he said, sliding his fingers inside my panties.
“I’m glad you have some conception of limits.”
“So what will it be? To the tits, in the belly button, or inside the twat.”
“If you’re determined to torment me with it, then in the belly button. But don’t push it in hard. It won’t fit.”
“Maybe it will,” he said, slipping his hand out of my panties and poking his finger in my belly button. He worked his finger in it for several moments. “Do you ever get belly button lint.”
“Not much. I thought hairy people get belly button lint ...from cotton tee-shirts. Rafiq gets belly button lint.”
“Maybe so,” he replied, now crouching to put the prickly little starfish to my belly button. He began pressing it in.
I tucked my stomach in as far as I could, but of course to no avail. “Ahh...” I gasped. “Please...”
“This thing is so prickly it’s hard to handle. From one perspective there might be something to be said for sharing the pain. But still it doesn’t seem right. It’s more cruel if the pain is yours alone.” He opened a drawer and took out a wooden spoon. With the end of handle he then worked the prickly thing into my belly button.
“Ow... Ooh... Ahh...” I gasped, writhing. Still he continued working it in.
Finally he said, “There. That’s pretty good. A nice-looking adornment. How does it feel?”
“Terrible.”
“It’s a tight fit.” He tapped on it with the end of the spoon handle. Then he stood up and looked me over for a long time. “Such a beautiful creature to have to be in pain.”
Then he bent over and began to pull down my panties. I didn’t resist. In a moment he had them off and was examining them. “A bit moist down there,” he said.
“So? ...Am I supposed to feel humiliated about it? For the last hour you’ve been goading me sexually.”
“So I have. So of course you’re moist. As though ready to be penetrated.”
I knew he was verbally feeling out where I was on that question. I preferred to give an oblique reply, “You’ve got me completely helpless. You could do anything you wanted.”
“And naked. So beautifully naked and helpless.” He put his hands on my sides and slid them up my body, over my ribs, onto my breasts, then back down again. “Such a body. Sleekness defined.”
I closed my eyes and surrendered to his caress. His hands slid down over my hips and onto my butt. He pulled me close against his body. Skin to skin contact, except that his shorts were still on.
His hands then went to my ribs and gripped me tightly. He said, “I want to see if you’re strong enough to do pull ups. Let’s see you pull yourself up.”
“I don’t do pull ups.”
“Well, try now.”
“I know I’m not going to get very far.”
He took hold of my nipples and pinched. He started pulling them upwards. “Come on. Up you go.”
“Ow. Ow. Please stop. I’ll try to do a pull up. Just don’t yank on my tits.”
He eased up on his pull but didn’t let go of my nipples. I tugged as hard as I could on the overhead rope, pulling myself off the floor. When I could lift no further, he let go of my nipples and clasping my ribs tightly, pressing on the lower part of my breasts, he lifted me further, and I got all the way up.
“You’re so awesome struggling with all your strength,” he said. “Hold yourself up there.” He let go of me and dropped his shorts. Now he was as naked as me.
I didn’t try to hold myself up for long. As I let my body drop back down, his stiff penis brushed against me.
“Now another pull-up,” he said, taking hold of my nipples and yanking upwards.
Again I pulled myself off the floor, this time trying to get a little traction with my feet on the wall behind me. That thrust me outward against his body.
Continuing a light pull on my nipples, he also pressed his palms to my breasts and ribs and helped me upwards till, struggling with all my strength, I got all the way up.
The strength in my arms totally spent, I didn’t want to keep doing this. I knew how this had to end. Yet as I started to let myself down, he did not press his body to mine. He was going to make me come to him.
Again I pressed my feet to the wall behind me, thrusting myself against his body, while struggling with all my strength to keep from coming down too quickly.
He let go of my breasts, and with one hand clasping me under the butt, with his other hand he guided his penis into my moist tunnel as I let myself down on him.
“Oh...” I murmured softly. “Now you’ve got me.” Hung by the wrists, tormented with an evil prickly thing in my belly button, there I was; he had just nailed me.
He pressed me firmly against the wall. Holding me with both hands under the butt, with a slow rhythm he was thrusting into me.
I had yielded my body to him. After submitting so many hard whippings from him, it seemed destiny I should surrender everything I had to him.
I wrapped my legs around him, helping to squeeze us together. The slow rhythm of our love embrace continued.
Yet I was distracted by the continual pricking of that nasty little crown-of-thorns starfish he had stuck in my belly button. Why did he have to add pain into the sensory mix? Was it because I somehow invited it?
Perhaps I was getting what I had chosen. Having had my rear spanked with a paddle and my front whipped with a strap, now hung by the wrists, I had wanted him to exploit my womanhood ...with some added torment.
I realized that I was reveling in a feeling that I was submitting to what I fancied to be a disciplinary fucking. I knew that was depraved. Yet I was turned by that image.
I imagined that after a series of almost daily whippings, it was clear that I was incorrigible. Not the mousy and diligent person I actually am. But a rebellious and disrespectful ne’er-do-well. A slacker. The captain could not reform me with a whip. So now he was administering the ultimate female punishment, a disciplinary fucking.
Since his mode of copulation was in no way harsh, the torment of that galling object in my belly button served as the punishment stimulus. Panting with desire, I imagined I was gasping with pain.
My arousal heightened with his steady driving rhythm. My desire was torrid. I could only fling myself further into the flames of passion.
I was propelled by the thought that he was taking everything. Letting fate run its course, I could hold back nothing. Sacrifice it all on the alter of carnality.
Grunting orgasmically, he thrust harder, pinning me to the wall. Forcefully discharging his vitality into me. As we ground our bodies together, it felt as though he was pumping fuel into the glowing furnace at the core of my womanhood.
My arousal flared out of control. I cast myself into the wildfire orgasm sweeping through me as it obliterated everything in its path. In that inferno I was gone, incinerated on the pyre of sexual abandon. Taken ...consumed.
|
|
|