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Chapter 11. The Reform School Girl
In the afternoon of the second-to-last day the sky had cleared and the breeze freshened. April, Ivy, and I were together on the bow. All of us were topless.
My back was to the stern where the guys were. But even among women I still feel a bit self conscious about being topless.
April asked me, “How do you like being Skipper’s girl?”
Put off by that question, I answered, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means? He had you, didn’t he? In the galley this morning.”
“What makes you think that? We were in there making breakfast for you guys. It just took a while.”
“Jenny, you are most unconvincing liar I’ve ever met. I don’t know why you even try.”
“Well... Maybe he took me by force. But maybe I don’t want people to find out,” I said, with a furtive smile at the silliness of my fabrication. “Rafiq might feel obligated to avenge my honor, and that would make trouble.”
“Yeah, right,” said Ivy. “We’ve heard your rape pretensions before. ...By the way, if you’re imagining that Rafiq is going to express jealousy, don’t depend on it. That’s not part of his repertoire, in my experience.”
“Oh, really? I guess I had wondered about that.”
“It’s like he doesn’t feel possessive. He assumes he’s the most desirable of any of your possibilities. He’s not threatened if you test the waters. At least that’s been my experience. And besides, he seems to like to share you with the Skipper.”
“Well, anyway, I don’t think that makes me Skipper’s girl. It was a one-time thing. After we get back to Baltimore tomorrow, who says I’ll ever see him again? I can’t imagine a context that has fewer implications for future expectations.”
“I can relate to that,” answered April. “I’m ready for a change. James is okay for a fling, but he has limitations. Good muscles though.”
I glanced at Ivy. She said, “I wouldn’t mind a change back to the way things were. Even given that there were problems before now. ...But I don’t know. Maybe I should move on.”
April said, “Leave Rafiq in the lurch. Jenny’s already dumped him for the Skipper.”
“I have not.”
Well you certainly put the Skipper in a good mood,” replied April. “He’s like... ebullient. ...And he didn’t actually force himself on you, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“But you were tied up.”
“Yeah. He hung me from an eye-bolt in the ceiling.”
“Oh, that. I was working in there when he put it in. He won’t tell me what it was for. Anyway, was it okay?”
“It was okay.”
“Do you like it better being tied up? Do you think I should try it some time?”
“I don’t know. I like it okay. But your mind state has to be in a certain place. I don’t know if it would work for you. I don’t even know why it works for me. It seems sort of perverted. Afterwards I end up having second thoughts about it.”
“But you have second thoughts about everything. Still, you enjoy it, right?”
“I don’t have second thoughts about everything. Just some things.”
“Like dessert. Like sex. Like anything you enjoy.”
“That’s not true. I enjoy sex with Rafiq, like ordinary vanilla sex, and I don’t have any second thoughts about that.” But with one glance at Ivy’s expression, I had to equivocate, “Except... well, obviously there are complications...”
“How nice of you to recognize that,” said Ivy, with a tone of sarcasm. “It’s ordinary loving sex that you should have second thoughts about. But you should accept whippings and hard fuckings as what you deserve. No second thoughts there.”
“Let’s not start arguing again,” I replied. But something in me was pleased to be able to arouse jealousy in Ivy.
“Maybe we should change the subject,” said April. “I heard the guys talking about putting on like a real show with whips and stuff when we sail into Baltimore and people can see us. I’m wondering whether I should participate.”
“No way I’m doing that,” I said. “Not where anybody can see us.”
“I’m not going to be on the receiving end again,” said Ivy. “And I’m going right now to make sure that’s clear to those guys.” Getting up, she went aft.
**********
At dinner, out on deck, the Skipper sat next to me. He was in an expansive mood. At one point the conversation turned to politics. April was complaining about social conservatives’ objections to sex education and their fictionalization of the effectiveness of abstinence-based programs.
At one point, after the discussion turned lighter I mentioned, “I had this really weird dream last night where I was used as a model in sex education.”
“What did you have to do?” asked Rafiq. Although he controlled his tone so as to sound only politely interested, I could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was turned on by the idea.
“It was a strange dream. I had been captured by pirates. Most of them were like my age, but seemed not very familiar with females. The first mate, who was a little older and more experienced, made me display myself... for like a morphology lesson or something.”
“Did they practice on you?” asked the Skipper.
“No. Yecch. It wasn’t some kind of gang rape nightmare. It was kind of scarey at times, but mostly not that bad, just strange.”
I was rescued from having to reveal any of the outre details when the Skipper said, “Well, I can tell you a real-life sex education story from my youth. I was going to this private boys school in New England. It was called Uppercrest. There weren’t any girls there. But there was this reform school for wayward girls nearby.”
“Totally bogus,” said April. “Now this conversation is really heading south.”
Laughing, Rafiq said, “Lighten up, April. This story sounds like it’s got potential. Keep going, Skipper. And I won’t give you a hard time about whether it’s true or not. We’re with you.”
“Yeah. Let’s hear it,” said James.
I kept quiet. Ivy, at the helm, rolled her eyes but said nothing. With a shrug, April said, “Whatever.”
“So anyway...” said the Skipper before pausing and standing up. He walked about the deck thinking. In his place Rafiq sat down next to me.
“It was like this,” continued the Skipper. “Uppercrest had an arrangement with the reform school to sometimes use girls as the subjects for sex education lessons. It might seem a little hard to believe, but at the time we all thought it was pretty cool.
“Of course, no girl would want to volunteer for such a thing, so the reform school would send a girl over as punishment for misbehavior. So one day the teacher starts class saying we’re going to have some sex education, and a few minutes later the dean comes in with this girl, who was dressed in a plaid skirt and white blouse, which is what they wore at the reform school. The dean was going to conduct the lesson.
“Anyway, to be sent over was a severe punishment, so the girl had to have been considered nearly incorrigible. The dean was wary about what this kind of she-devil might do, so to make her more docile and compliant, the first thing he did was give her a good paddling.
“Of course she didn’t look like a she-devil. She looked like a regular girl-next-door. I’m sure she was pretty scared. But she was reasonably plucky about it.
“Anyway, with her wrists cuffed behind her back, he had a couple guys bend her over a table by pulling her arms up behind her. The dean then raised her skirt, pulled her panties down far enough to expose her bottom, and started in with the paddle.
“It was the first time I had ever seen a girl get a bare-bottom spanking. The sound was unforgettable. That strident whack as hard wood hits soft flesh. The girl singing out with pain.”
“Eeyew,” I said. “You’re like exalting how much it hurt her just because you like the sound of her crying out.”
“But she had a pretty voice. As do you. Have you ever listened to yourself while you’re getting a good whipping?”
“Not really. Maybe I’ve been occupied with other sensations. But are you saying that you whip me just so you can hear me yelp with pain?”
“No, I whip you because you need to be whipped. It seems to do you a world of good. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Maybe I’d rather not be the topic of conversation. Just go back to your gross story. I know it’s all made up, but I still object to what you are doing to the girl.” I felt emboldened to confront the Skipper. I felt that having had sexual intercourse with him elevated my status, such that he had to consider what I wanted.
After a moment the Skipper said, “Well, as a hypothetical, what if I were to say that the only reason I whip you is for the pleasure of watching and listening to you expressing pain? What would you say to that.”
Not to be disconcerted, I smiled and said, “Well, I’d say you’re depraved. But everybody already knows that. And I’m sure people think I’m a little depraved for enabling you.
From the helm Ivy laughed and said, “I think you’re just depraved period, you slut. The Skipper hasn’t beaten you enough.”
Rafiq looked at me with concern, apparently wondering how I would react to that. I said to him quietly, “Nothing to get disturbed about. This is stuff we’ve already been through.”
“Jenny should have been sent to reform school,” continued Ivy. “So let’s hear this story so we can find out what should have happened to her there.”
The Skipper said, “Well, all the punishments that we could visit on Jenny are a great topic for conversation, but a few days ago she told us she doesn’t care for that kind of discussion. Anyway, the story I’m telling you has nothing to do with Jenny. She wasn’t even born when it happened.”
Ivy replied, “Then it was probably Jenny’s mom. The need to be whipped must be genetic.”
That really set me off. At the top of my lungs I shrieked, “Shut up, bitch!”
For several moments after my outburst everyone was silent. Then Ivy said quietly, “I didn’t mean that seriously.”
After another awkward silence the Skipper said, “Anyway, where was I? The poor reform school girl was getting paddled, right? ...While two of the guys were holding her down.”
I wasn’t really listening as the Skipper continued to describe her disciplining. Ivy’s insulting reference to my mom made me start thinking about my parents. I could picture them as they would be now in our living room, music of Satie or Debussy at low volume, my mother reading a nineteenth century English or Russian novel, my father reading his Chemical Society news magazine or maybe some Richard Dawkins book. Such a staid existence. Such a contrast to mine.
The sex I was experiencing on this voyage was so far beyond anything that could ever enter their imagination. The torment. The debasement. They would be so mortified if they ever saw the perversions their daughter routinely submitted herself to.
Rafiq must have sensed my unease. He put his arm around me. I tucked his hand under my arm and with my other hand guided it to my breast. His fingers pressed into my softness. What a slut I was. I wallowed in the idea of it.
The girl in the Skippers story... were she a real person, she would have had parents too. Parents who would have been disappointed that she ended up in reform school. Parents who would have been distressed had they known that she had been sent to a neighboring boys school to be bared, spanked, and sexually humiliated.
By normal outward appearances I was a good girl. Someone who seldom gave her parents and teachers cause for concern. Thoughtful, quiet, diligent, academically successful. Someone expected to go places in life. But that was merely the outward appearance.
Inwardly I was a slut. Inwardly I was a reform school girl. A girl who had to be stripped right out in public and disciplined with a whip, always so hard as nearly to faint. A girl so incorrigible she had to be given disciplinary fuckings.
...Except I wasn’t. I wasn’t a slut. Since I hardly ever did anything wrong in the first place, I couldn’t be incorrigible. And whatever I imagined a disciplinary fucking to be, I knew I had never had one – and certainly didn’t want one. So why was I submitting to all this masochistic stuff? Couldn’t I resolve to steer clear of it all and limit myself to vanilla sex? Or maybe it would be best to eschew all sex...
“Am I boring you, Jenny?” asked the Skipper, breaking into my awareness. Wrapped in my own thoughts, I had missed a lot of the Skipper’s description of the girl’s spanking. My mind quickly reviewed what I had taken in. They must have pulled her panties all the way off, because I had caught that with legs apart, still bent over the table, she got whipped on the inside of the thighs with a leather belt. If they whipped her pussy, I hadn’t caught it.
“No. Not at all,” I answered. “Keep going.”
“Are you disappointed that we aren’t enacting this on you?”
“No. Why would I ever want that?”
Rafiq laughed. I frowned at him, then jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. He grunted, and then with his arm still all the way around my back and holding my opposite breast, he tweaked my nipple through my top.
“Ow. Quit it,” I said to Rafiq. “If the Skipper wants to tell his story, fine. But don’t even think about enacting it on me. I’m not into that kind of stuff any more. And if you don’t like it, then get your arm out from around me.” But instead of pushing his hand away, I held it tightly against my breast.
Rafiq seemed unfazed by my mixed message. With a confident smile, he pulled me closer. He said, “Just go on with your story, Skipper. And don’t bug Jenny. Okay?”
The Skipper shrugged. Then he continued with his story. “So anyway, the dean let her up from being bent over the table. She straightened her skirt as best she could with hands still cuffed behind her back. And stood there rubbing her bottom and looking very contrite. Occasionally she would look down longingly at her panties on the floor next to her foot.
“So the next thing he does is to tell her to take off her blouse. She glances around at us, but doesn’t seem that distressed about his demand.”
“The handcuffs,” said Rafiq. “They have to come off first.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. After that spanking the dean took off her leather handcuffs. All us guys thought they were pretty cool. Ever since, I’ve had this thing about leather handcuffs.
“Anyway, having been told to remove her blouse, she slowly opens it. She looks at the dean, then at us. Then she takes it off. She clasps it to her chest until the dean tells her to drop it on the floor.
“Standing there in just her skirt and bra she straightens her posture. She’s a well built girl. She keeps her eyes on the dean, wondering what’s going to happen next.
“Next he tells her to take off her bra. She really doesn’t want to do that. ‘Not in front of the boys,’ she begs. But the dean is insistent. And he’s still holding the belt. He starts swatting her on the legs. On the calves and the lower part of her thighs. After about a dozen increasingly vigorous strokes she breaks, saying, ‘Please stop. I’ll do what you say. Just don’t whip me anymore. It hurts so much.’
“So she slowly unfastens her bra from the back. She leaves it hanging on her shoulders, still covering her breasts for several moments. She looks imploring at the teacher. ‘Off with it,’ he insists. ‘Show your nipples to the boys.’
“So she slips it off her shoulders and her breasts are displayed to all the world. She holds her bra at her waist as if hoping to be allowed to put it back on as soon as possible. But the dean orders her to drop it to floor. She does so, and stands there very awkwardly putting one arm across herself for partial cover.
“The dean makes her put her hands to her sides and straighten her posture. Then he squeezes and shakes her big funbags to demonstrate how soft they are. Obviously she’s kind of freaked out that he’s handling her like that.
“Then he tells her to do some jumping jacks. I guess she figures that would be better than having him harassing her tits. So she starts that up.
“She a well built girl. Maybe not quite as big-titted as April. But certainly not as flat as Jenny...”
“You’re disgusting,” said April. “I’m going in if you keep that up.”
Although I said nothing, I also was appalled. I felt betrayed. I allowed him to have sex with me, and in return he speaks of me in disparaging terms in front of everyone.
I looked around at the others. Ivy was frowning at the Skipper. Rafiq and James kept quiet.
“Hell. If I can’t get a rise out of you,” said the Skipper, “then how do I know you’re awake?”
“I want an apology,” said April.
“I can’t do that. I’m the captain.”
“You’re an asshole,” replied April.
“I’m with April,” I said. “I didn’t like what you said. I thought it was mean.”
“Well maybe it came across badly,” said the Skipper. “The true facts of the matter are that you three are the most beautiful and extraordinary women I can imagine ever sharing a boat with. All in different ways.”
“Fine, but I still didn’t hear an apology,” said April.
“Don’t press it,” he replied.
James said, “Come on, April, don’t make a big deal out of it. The Skipper was just trying to describe an important feature about the girl.”
“Maybe important to you...” said April.
Rafiq said, “Hey, the U.S. ambassador to Italy was once heard to refer to somebody as ‘that big-titted woman’. Maybe it’s socially acceptable in some circles.”
“Oh-my-god. The three of you. You all need a dope slap.”
“Okay,” said James, closing one eye he cocked his head, inviting her to slap him.
She seemed to ponder it for moment. Then she said, “Don’t tempt me.”
Apparently sensing that nothing further was going to happen, the Skipper said, “Well, should I continue my story? Where was I before we got sidetracked by the girl’s well-developed mammaries?”
“It had to do with bouncing boobs,” said James. “She was gonna do jumping jacks.”
“Oh yeah. So anyway... I suppose I don’t need to go into graphic detail about how her tits bounced.”
“It would be better if April demonstrated it,” said James.
“Fuck you,” said April.
“It wasn’t a problem this morning. You were really cute jumping rope.”
“That was different. The context wasn’t sexually perverted. And there were fewer people. And all of us were shirtless. It wasn’t just me.”
“No problem.” James pealed off his tank top. “There. Is that better?”
Rafiq followed suit. Then he eyed me expectantly. No way I was going to do that now. Meanwhile the Skipper unbuttoned his shirt and took it off.
“Chippendales,” said April, smiling. “How nice.”
“Come on, April,” said the Skipper. “You need to show James the jumping jacks, so I can get on with my story.”
“I never wanted to hear your story to begin with. It’s just about abusing some poor girl.”
“Don’t be a party pooper,” said James. “I’d demonstrate the jumping jacks myself, but it wouldn’t have the right effect.”
“The story will get better,” said the Skipper. “The girl is just going through some difficult times. Things will work out in the end. ...Somehow or other.”
People looked at April expectantly. I was glad the pressure was on her and not on me. But having made up her mind, she won’t budge. That she had gone topless numerous times during the voyage seemed irrelevant. I won’t expect her to respond to this kind of pressure in an atmosphere charged with abusive sex.
But instead it was Ivy that spoke up, “Want me to show you some jumping jacks?” She was eyeing Rafiq. She could see that with arm around my back, his hand was on my breast.
“Yeah,” said Rafiq. “You and me were the ones who missed the action this morning, whatever it was.”
I was tempted to give him another jab in the ribs with my elbow. Instead I just tapped him gently with it, as if to remind him that I was still here.
While April took the helm, Ivy, without taking off her bikini top, proceeded to do some jumping jacks. I watched the guys exchange glances. Then Rafiq said, “Hey. The point was that you’re supposed to be topless.”
“Oh,” said Ivy with a smile. “Then you’ll have to remove it.”
With a gentle pat on my shoulder as he withdrew his arm from around me, Rafiq got up and went over to Ivy. ...Damn. But I had to respect the cleverness of her tactical victory.
Facing Rafiq, she raised her hands over her head. He put his hands on her ribs and caressed her. Then slowly, very slowly, he inched her bikini top upwards. Ivy shifted her hips, briefly undulating her body. At that moment I felt that Ivy was a hundred times sexier than I could ever dream of being.
Finally he exposed her nipples. It seemed like he was playing with her breasts for long time. Her nipples were stiff. After a while Ivy took it upon herself to lift her top the rest of the way off. Rafiq seemed to have forgotten his original purpose, having lost himself in her breasts.
The Skipper said, “Well, Ivy, are you going to show us your jumping jacks?”
Rafiq left off her breasts. Ivy handed him her bikini top. Then she started doing her jumping jacks. The guys were mesmerized. But I was feeling disconcerted. And Rafiq’s behavior was pissing me off.
I wondered if I should take my top off too. Since nobody was paying any attention to me, who would notice one way or the other? But still... the point of this whole thing was that the girl in the story was amply endowed. So taking my top off would just be awkward. I felt alienated and inadequate.
I thought a break from the scene might help. I got up murmuring, “Gonna use the bathroom.” As I headed in, Ivy quit her jumping jacks and with a laugh said, “Show’s over.” When I glanced back, she had crossed her arms over her chest.
As I was closing the door of the bathroom behind me, I could hear James saying, “April’s turn now.”
After I took a pee, I decided to check myself out in the mirror to see how much motion my body did when I was jumping. Just exactly what it looked like was not something I had given much thought to since adolescence. A memory... around age 13, standing in front of a mirror fully clothed, with a bra underneath, and running in place to see what it looked like. At that time I had persuaded myself that no one would probably notice the slight bounce.
Now I had the opposite perspective. My concern was that my breasts didn’t bounce enough. Even when bare.
So I stripped off my bikini top, and in the privacy of the bathroom stood there jumping up and down, checking out what I looked like in the mirror. What I saw wasn’t that bad. Obviously my breasts can’t flop around like April’s since I don’t have anything like her build. And maybe they don’t move as much as Ivy’s. But the bounce is still obvious.
Then I decided to try side-to-side motion. I shook shoulders and upper torso to and fro. It was harder to do. But with the right rhythm it looked pretty good. Like an exotic dancer or something.
But in what context would somebody ever see me doing such a thing? Maybe struggling against my bonds while I was being whipped. That would look striking. ...Except that I’m never doing that kind of stuff again. ...Well, whatever.
Anyway, I decided that I was making too big a deal about my imagined deficiencies. Only Ivy, when she’s in a bitchy mood, has to vent her jealousy by calling me flat-chested. Only a fucked-up person would do that. In my totality I’m probably more a lot more desirable than Ivy. ...But then again, maybe not.
Oh shit. Here I was entangled in this thought pattern again. Comparing myself to others. Imagining I’m better. Imagining I’m worse. Does the experience of reality, including the reality of this ever-present body, have to involve a self? Or is the self just an idea that the mind imposes on that experience?
So why don’t I stop gazing in the mirror and get back to experiencing the reality of these five people I share this boat with. Why don’t I stop trying to imagine what they think about me. Isn’t it obvious that most of time they’re too busy thinking about themselves to think anything about me, good or bad.
I was about to put my bikini top back on. But then I wondered whether maybe I didn’t need to put it back on. April had probably taken hers off like Ivy. So I might as well leave mine off. It would spare me having to strip it off in front of people – something that makes me more self-conscious than just having it off in the first place.
On leaving the bathroom, I tossed my top into my room and headed out on deck. Even before climbing the three steps from the cabin to the deck, I could see that Ivy and April had their tops on. I realized that April, still at the helm, had probably never put on the jumping jacks performance I had expected.
I was about to turn around and get my top, but I glimpsed Rafiq’s eyes light up when he saw me. I also caught Ivy’s irked expression. I must be doing something right. I proceeded, but with some degree of anxiety.
Trying to be cool about it, I said, “Gee, am I underdressed?”
“No, obviously not,” said the Skipper, himself shirtless like the other two guys. “You fit in just fine. It’s Ivy and April who are overdressed.”
He ushered me over to the table. I sat next to the bulkhead, and he sat next to me. Ivy was standing next to Rafiq – as she looked at me, she murmured something to him. Rafiq glanced momentarily at me, then frowned at Ivy. I could tell she was saying something catty. ...No problem. Let her annoy him. I just tried to look innocent.
The Skipper said, “So anyway, as I was saying, the dean was showing us this anatomical diagram of the insides of breasts. Milk glands. Ducts leading to the nipple. All that. And of course the girl is standing there bare breasted in front of us.
“And Jenny, while you were gone, I mentioned that the dean had cuffed her hands behind her back again ...to give him unfettered access to her front after she gave him trouble about squeezing her tits.
“Anyway after all this anatomical stuff, he pointed out that in addition to their mammary function, the nipples were an important erogenous zone. He starts playing with her nipples to show how sensitive they are. And she’s like squirming with pleasure and her nipples are real stiff.”
Meanwhile, standing behind April while she was at the helm, James was lifting April’s bikini top and feeling her breasts. After some playful attempts to resist his advances, she gave up and let him remove her top completely.
Then she said, “Ivy, you take the helm again. James is being a pest.”
Smiling broadly, James said, “I’m still waiting for my dope slap.”
“When you least expect it,” replied April. “That’s when you’ll get it.”
So Ivy took the helm. Rafiq stood behind her with his arms around her front. But he cast me a wistful glance. I returned a demure smile.
After James sat down, April sat in his lap. His big hands started kneading her breasts, mushing them this way and that. Then he took hold of her nipples, pulling and twiddling them.
“Yeah,” said the Skipper. “That’s like what the dean was doing to this girl. And she’s like squirming and panting and saying, ‘My tits. My tits. What are you doing to them?’
“So anyway, the dean waits until she’s really horny, and then he takes down her skirt. It drops to the floor at her feet. Her panties... Were they already off?”
“Yeah,” said Rafiq. “When she got paddled. You said something about her looking at them while they were at her feet.”
“Okay. So now she’s standing up there with no clothes on. And she’s clean shaven. All the girls at the reform school got their crotch shaved once a week by the local barber. It was for reasons of hygiene. To keep from getting lice and stuff.”
“You’re totally full of shit,” said April, shaking her head.
“I know it sounds crazy. But that’s what the reform school warden thought. The strange thing about it was that the local barber was gay, so he didn’t enjoy the job much. But he had to make a living, so he didn’t feel he could turn down the work. ...At least that’s what we heard.”
I pondered the scenario. Which would seem worse? Having your crotch shaved by a male stranger who was leering at your body? Or was averse to your body? ...No question. The gay guy was less threatening. But being shaved by a male was just bad, period.
“So anyway, the dean tells her to bend over, legs wide apart, and hold her ankles, so he can display her privates to us. So she does that. And he spreads her open and identifies everything while he’s poking around with his pointer...”
“You’re just gross,” said April.
“This story is no worse than that other one I told. About the hunt.”
“I didn’t hear that one, fortunately,” said April. “But I heard about it. You’re the one who ought to get a dope slap.”
“No, don’t waste it on him,” said James, digging his fingers into her breasts as she sat in his lap. “I’m the one that wants a dope slap.”
April said nothing, but momentarily lifting her weight off him, thrust back hard into him. James let out a grunt and stopped harassing her breasts.
“So anyway, out come some anatomical diagrams of the pelvic area,” continued the Skipper. “And the dean talks about all the high-powered biological equipment women have that men don’t have.” It seemed that the Skipper was trying to soften the scenario.
The Skipper paused, thinking. Then he said, “April, you know... you’re really crimping my story. Anything I say, I feel you’re going to get down on me. The girl has to go through some difficult times before everything works out. But I’ll let you choose the ending.”
“Come on, April. Be a sport,” said James. “Let him tell his story.”
“All right. All right. Tell your story and I’ll be quiet. And I pick the ending. Will it be multiple choice or fill in the blank?”
“Either. Both. Whatever,” said the Skipper. “Just stop bugging me. ...Anyway, where was I? He was teaching us about her pussy, right? So he demonstrates how to frig her clitoris. So she’s bent over ooh-ing and ahh-ing and generally going crazy, he’s stimulating her so much. But he just keeps it up.
And meanwhile this kid Melvin, sitting in the front row, is grunting and gasping while he’s blowing his load. This girl is a hell of a show.
“Finally the dean sticks his big old middle finger up her pussy, and starts frigging her that way. And he’s really going at it, but it doesn’t seem like she’s enjoying it that much. In fact, she says he’s hurting her.
“A reform school girl, you might think her pussy would be well trafficked. But apparently not. In reform school and all, she doesn’t have a lot of contact with guys. And girls, they’re usually pretty gentle with each other. Unless they’ve got issues... like Ivy with Jenny.”
Ivy and I exchanged glances. It seemed that neither of us liked being mentioned in the context of Skipper’s story.
“So anyway, he’s kind of concluded his talk, and now he wants her to walk up and down the aisles so each of us can check her out real good and get the touch and feel of her. So with her wrists still cuffed behind her back, she has to go around to each of us.
“First kid, right off he starts sucking on her tits. Then he has her turn around and he sticks his tongue in her asshole. Some of the guys were really grossed out.
“Second kid, he was such a dweeb, he puts his forehead to her chest and takes hold of her tits and sticks her nipples in his ears. Nobody understands what his fetish is. But the way this is starting off, it’s clear that anything goes and nobody needs to feel inhibited.
“In fact, this one guy, Wayne Nork... Nork the Dork, he picks his nose and sticks a big booger up her pussy. But maybe that’s lucky for her, because most guys don’t want to go in there after that.
“Anyway, this keeps up and she goes down that aisle and each of the guys has fun with her body. Then, when she reaches that back of that aisle, this guy, uh... his name is Mack Swacker, he takes his ruler and starts smacking her tits with it. She twisting and turning, trying to get away, but he’s got his finger hooked in her pussy. So he’s got her and he’s spanking her tits real good, and they’re really jiggling.”
I pictured myself a few minutes ago in front of the mirror. Jiggling. Imagining myself under duress, struggling. Why do those kind of scenarios always so captivate me?
The Skipper continued, “But the dean mercifully intervenes and moves her along to the next aisle. One guy after another. Each deals with her a little differently. Some are just exploring her physically. Others want to see if they can get her to come off. And others just want to spank her. Her butt, her tits, her pussy.
“This one guy, Dick Brut, he’s a rough character, a regular juvenile delinquent. Managed to get himself kicked out of school a few months later. Anyway, he takes off his belt and is going to beat her tits. I’m fearful for the girl. From a run-in I had with him a few months previous I knew what a vile character he was. He’d want to distinguish himself by being the one to hurt her the most.
“But the dean, who’s already had plenty of problems with this guy, sees that he’s aiming to use the metal belt buckle end on her tits. He intervenes. But he decides to use the opportunity to give us some further instruction on the proper technique for whipping girls.
“So he says ‘You can’t whip a girl’s tits with just anything.’ And he gives her tits several spanks with a flexible plastic ruler. Then he gets out this martinet with slender strands. Like the one Jenny thinks so much of.”
Interrupting, I said, “I don’t. I’m not in to that any more.”
“Why not? You know how good whippings are for you. All of a sudden you’re in a real cranky mood. Was it something Ivy said?”
“It’s more than that. Just leave me out of your story.”
“But don’t we need to demonstrate the dean’s lesson on using the martinet?”
“Skipper...” Rafiq interjected with a shake of his head. He didn’t have to say more.
The Skipper said, “All right, all right. I won’t bug Jenny about it. But don’t we need somebody for demonstrating the martinet lesson?”
With a toothy grin, James subtly pointed at April. Sitting in his lap, she didn’t need to see him to sense what was going on. She cocked an eyebrow and glanced back at him.
“Well anyway... Um...” the Skipper got up and went over to the storage compartment where he kept his implements. He came back with the martinet.
“So the dean’s martinet was a lot like this one,” he said, putting it on the table in front of April and James.
Both reached for it and took it up at the same time. James gently tried to extract it from her grip, but she won’t let go. So he merely draped the strands over her bare breast.
He swished the strands back and forth over her breasts. April continued holding on to the handle of the martinet. It could have been a feather duster, it was all so gentle. ...But for whatever reason, I wanted to see more action. I wanted to see April take some good swats on her breasts.
“Anyway,” continued the Skipper, as he sat back down next to me. “The dean had her stand before the class, wrists still bound behind her back, and he whipped her all over the front with the martinet. She let out a gasp with each stroke, except when he swacked it onto her nipples, and then she’d let out a yelp.
“Yet as she continued taking her whipping, I began to sense a change. Something in her body language. She was getting into it. She wanted that whipping.
“Still she would let out a gasp or a yelp with each stroke. Still she would wrench this way and that, jiggling her girl flesh. But you could tell she was receptive. She wanted that next stroke. Her body language was like daring him to snap that whip across her tits.”
Meanwhile James was lightly flicking the strands of the martinet onto April’s breasts. Finally she let go of the handle, giving James free rein with it. But James merely continued dancing the strands lightly over her breasts.
Then he set the martinet down on the table. He started caressing April on her shoulders. That seemed anticlimactic. I wanted to see April challenged with the whip.
Now his hands slid off her shoulders and down her upper arms. As he reached her forearms he started guiding them behind her back. With a faint smile, she bit her lip. She seemed wary. But she let him guide her arms, and there, behind her back, it seemed that she had clasped her forearms.
James then returned one hand to caressing her shoulder. With his other he took up the martinet. He flicked it lightly across her breasts. Then again. And again. They were light strokes, not giving April any problem.
The Skipper continued his story. “So after the dean demonstrated proper tit-whipping technique, he continued sending her around the classroom. I was in the back corner so she won’t get to me until the end. But finally she got around to my desk.
“The guy before me had already gotten her really hot. It would be so cool if I could make her come off. But I really wanted to whip her too. Wanted to swat her big funbags and listen to her gasp. I wasn’t consciously thinking about how well both could work together.
“With one hand I started frigging her clit. With the other hand I was whipping the martinet across her breasts. To keep frigging her I had to stay close, so I couldn’t really whip her as hard as Jenny likes to get it. But I lashed her as hard as I could from the position I was in.
“And her breasts are dancing and jiggling. I’m really putting the sting to those nipples. And she’s like gasping and moaning with pain and pleasure.”
Meanwhile, James was increasing the vigor of his strokes. Each stroke shook April’s breasts. Do mine jiggle like that when smacked with a whip? Seems like they must jiggle some.
James cupped his hand under her breast and held it out there. Then he scored the whip on to it several times. He was not in a position to hit that hard. I knew this was nowhere near the way I get whipped ...and that accorded me some perverse sense of satisfaction. But still I knew that April was immersed in the sensation of it.
As her whipping continued, she brought her hands out from behind her back. With one hand she was pushing against the table to press herself back harder against James. The other hand was under the table. I knew that she had that hand in her crotch.
I was tempted to do the same. Would anybody notice? Across the table April and James wouldn’t have been able to tell what I was doing, even had they not been totally immersed in themselves. I looked over at Ivy and Rafiq. Her top was off and Rafiq’s hands were all over her. ...But just fuck it. So it’s her turn with him. No use of me getting bent out of shape about it.
I slid my hand into my swim suit. Sitting right next to me, would the Skipper notice what I was doing? After his earlier obnoxious comment about my build, I wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking his story was generating that kind of reaction.
The Skipper continued, “So I’m sitting there frigging her clit and whipping those big tits, and she’s standing there, just a little bent forward to better offer her tits to me. And those tits are really jiggling. I just love swatting them with the whip. And all the while she just keeps ooh-ing and ah-ing.”
“And a lot of the guys, they can’t help themselves. They’ve got their hands in their pants and are pumping away.
“It’s the sound of her gasping and moaning, all in time with the steady shlack, shlack, shlack of the whip. The sight of all that girl flesh quivering from the impact. All her writhing and undulating. Most of the class had to blow their load.”
Meanwhile James kept scoring April’s breasts with the whip. And the way she was responding I was sure she would come off soon. I wondered if I’d be able to.
The Skipper was saying, “The girl can’t hold in her sexual passion any more. She lets out a squeal as she starts to come off. But I just keep on keeping on. Frigging that clit and whipping those tits.”
At this point April was like alternating between panting and holding her breath. Eyes closed, mouth open. Then she grabbed James whip hand and clutched it to her breast. She was just rocking and moaning with pleasure.
“This girl,” said the Skipper. “Suddenly she just throws herself on me. Pressing her pussy into my thigh and pushing her tits into my body. She’s crying out ‘Ah. Ah. Ah.’ Rubbing her body onto me.
“And with one arm I’m squeezing her close to me. And the other hand I have buried in that big fat tit. And all this girl... she’s so right there... I’m like totally immersed in her femaleness. I cream inside my pants.”
The Skipper paused at this point. Although I had been pleasuring myself, I didn’t think I’d be able to come off. It was just too weird and distracting with all these people around. So I withdrew my hand from my inside my swimsuit.
The Skipper continued, “So anyway, the girl gets up off me, and she’s all embarrassed about coming off while she’s being whipped in front of everyone. When the dean releases her wrists, she stands there next to my desk, holding her tits that are now all covered with welts.
“Looking at me, she says, ‘It’s because he whipped me so bad, I had to throw myself on him to make him stop.’ She didn’t want people to think she had been so aroused that she had spontaneously thrown herself on me to come off.
Anyway, the dean leads her to the front of the class and has her get dressed. And he reassures her that it’s okay to come off when you’re being disciplined.
“So anyway, that was my experience with sex education at Uppercrest. I was at an impressionable age, so it was inevitable that I’d be hung up on whipping girls ever since. So it’s not my fault that I’m so depraved,” he said smiling.
April was done. It seemed like James had come off too. They were both in motion at the end. Smiling, April said, “It was a perverted story. I didn’t enjoy it at all.” Then she laughed.
“You’re welcome to add an epilogue,” said the Skipper. “That was the deal.”
“Well. It didn’t end too badly. But it was still an abusive situation. If she were a real person, she’d be emotionally scarred by it. ...After you told me that I’d pick the ending, I tried to think of some endings you wouldn’t like.”
“So let’s hear them. Doesn’t matter if I like them.”
“Well, how about... she’s so freaked out by the experience she never wants to see another male again. So she enters a nunnery and is chaste for the rest of her life.”
“Boo. That sucks,” said James.
“All right,” said April. “Then she eventually becomes a dominatrix so she can torment guys.”
“Eh. Whatever,” said the Skipper. “Got anything else?”
“Maybe this one’s better. None of you guys ever hear anything more about her. And after you leave school you all go your separate ways. But one of the guys gets murdered. The person who did it is never identified. A year later another one dies under mysterious circumstances, and it’s not clear whether foul play is involved.
“Over many years, one after another of you guys gets killed. Because you’ve all gone your separate ways, and the deaths occur over so many years, the investigators never notice the one commonality – all of the dead were in the same place at the same time many years ago.”
“Well what about me?” asked the Skipper.
“It turns out that you are the last surviving class member. The second-to-last was murdered last year. So if I were you, I’d be afraid... be very afraid.”
“That’s pretty good,” said the Skipper. “I’ll have to watch out when we get back.”
“The danger may be closer than that,” replied April. “I’ve noticed certain strange things that make me wonder if we have a stowaway on board.”
The Skipper laughed and said, “Perhaps we do. But I’m not worried. The thing is, she wasn’t mad at me. From the look in her eyes, I knew she had fallen in love with me. But circumstances prevented us from ever finding each other again.”
From the helm Ivy interrupted, “April... Or James. Would you mind taking over your job? I don’t want this any more.” Rafiq was still caressing her.
“Oh yeah. Thanks for taking it for me,” said April, getting up. While she was putting on her top, James went over and took the helm.
Ivy took Rafiq by the hand and immediately headed below. I knew they were after the privacy of the girls’ compartment.
Still sitting next to me, the Skipper asked, “What did you think of my story?”
Not looking at him, I merely shrugged.
“Are you mad about something?” he asked.
For several moments I didn’t reply. Finally, still not looking at him, I said, “Yes. But I’m not going to talk about it out here. Let me out. I’m going below.”
He got up and I slid out from the table. As I went down the steps, I glanced back at him. He wasn’t coming. I stopped and just looked at him. Did he understand that I wanted to talk to him but was too annoyed to ask? I turned and entered the cabin.
I went into the guys compartment. The Skipper followed me in. I was still topless. I couldn’t confront him that way. He would just look at my breasts the whole time and make me really self conscious. I picked up a towel and draped it around my shoulders, covering myself.
Then I said, “Why did you feel you had to insult me out there?”
The Skipper looked confused. “Did I insult you? What did I say?”
“You called me flat chested. After I have sex with you, that’s the way you treat me. And it’s not even true. I know girls with lesser builds than me, and they’re very cute girls.”
“Well of course they are. Flat chested isn’t an insult. It’s just as much of a compliment as ‘stacked’ or whatever. I love the diversity of women’s builds. ...And, well, it’s true that I did exaggerate. But only to make you more special. You’re actually not that flat. You’re a regular A size.”
“My bra size is none of your business.”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk. I don’t care to be snapped at.”
“All right...” Then after a pause I said, “Well, coming from you maybe it’s not that big a deal. It’s just that calling me ‘flat-chested’ is one of the ways that Ivy tries to annoy me when she’s feeling bitchy. Like ‘flat-chested slut girl’.”
“Ivy says that to you? How crude.” Then he laughed and said, “She’s figured out how to yank your chain. Fact is, she isn’t that different from you. She’s a B-size. Were there any doubt just by looking at her, I noticed it in her laundry heap.” There was furtive smile on his face.
“You go through girls’ laundry to check out their bras? You are a pervert.”
The Skipper laughed and said, “I like bras. It’s because they’ve had breasts inside them. Speaking of which, there is no need to cover yours with that towel.”
I said, “I didn’t feel I could confront you if I weren’t clothed.”
“But now you feel better that the misunderstanding is cleared up.”
I slid the towel off my shoulders and tossed it on the back of the chair where it came from. Wanting to move the conversation away from me and my body, I said, “I can’t figure out whether you make up your stories on the fly or whether you have previously worked them out.”
“Well, I have these underlying scenarios. But the details come out as I’m telling the story.”
“You’re good at it. Me, I’m not a storyteller. I’m not comfortable being the center of conversation for long enough.”
“Too shy, but that’s part of your charm. Of course it’s harder to tell a story if you’re not sure people want to hear it. Today April was giving me such a hard time. I wasn’t sure what I was allowed to say. Like I held back from adding this bit about making the girl lay her tits down on a table full of thumb tacks.”
“Eeyew...”
“Of course I’m not going to pretend any of that stuff actually happened. Except Rafiq is not allowed to question it.”
“Or you take it out on me?”
“Exactly. If he makes trouble, you get a whipping.”
“Except that I’m not in to that any more. I’m turning over a new leaf,” I said, as I sat down on his bed and kicked off my sandals.
I could tell by the way he was eyeing me that he was gaging the significance of me sitting on his bed. He said, “Turning over a new leaf? Why?”
“Maybe just to try out being normal again.”
Sitting down next to me, he replied, “After experiencing the extraordinary, how can you ever be satisfied with the ordinary.”
“Try me.” As I said that I lay down and stretched out, bringing my hands up to rest my head on. I wondered if this was too blatant an invitation.
The Skipper eyed my exposed front for several moments. But then he only touched my hair, and then my cheek. Slow and patient. I like that.
Only then did he take up the offer of my exposed front. Placing his hand on my ribs, he stroked down my stomach.
I nestled contentedly, arching my back. His hand slid back up and caressed my breasts. His fingers rode in circles around my nipples. My body was electric. Surging with erotic energy.
His hands slid down my torso, gripped my swimsuit bottom, and pulled downward. I raised my butt off the mattress to assist. Having stripped me naked, the Skipper kicked off his shoes and took down his shorts. There was no underwear beneath. He lay down next to me.
He stroked my breasts, then twiddled my nipples. His thigh across my crotch, I pressed into him. The heat of sexual passion rose as we continued. On and on. ...Finally, he rolled on top of me and our bodies joined as one.
Moving in rhythm. Together locked in the pursuit of sensual pleasure. Further and further we went.
Here was what should have been a purely vanilla encounter. Yet I couldn’t just let it remain like that. I seemed to need something else. At some point I stopped hugging him and brought my arms over my head. I gripped the edge of the mattress above my head with both hands. In my mind my arms were restrained. A captive being ravished by the captain of this vessel.
The effect on his energy was pronounced. Thrusting forcefully into me, he brought one hand up to hold my wrists down, while his other hand held me firmly under the butt. It was obvious that I was not the only one gripped by the image of him taking me by force.
A force it was, carrying me over the top. With a convulsive shiver, my body and mind were seized by climactic tremor. From the grip of sexual passion, the release to orgasmic ecstacy.
Me gasping loudly. Him grunting bullishly. Together we rode the torrent of energy to the ending of time... All the way to the ending of endless time.
...And then back again. Back again... wanting nothing... satisfied with everything.
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