Ship of Remorse Read online

  “Rest.

  “Now up and spread again...”

  Thus the morning passed with the only thoughts occupying my mind being absolute obedience to the huge trainer, and wonderment as to what set of eyeballs were observing at the receiving end of the video camera above me.

  After exercise, we were again tethered and led to the washroom. Thorough and high enemas, shaves, inspections, measurements and finally what Nurse Inga termed ‘bath time’ followed.

  As written, the washroom had a tub the size of a small swimming pool filled with wonderfully warmed water and scented soap. Here we were permitted to frolic and although yoked, I found myself initiating homoerotic contact, brushing my thighs and buttocks against Mona or Sharon and with Nancy, we liked to rub our nipples together. Since there was no sexual contact, the frottaging served to take an edge off our frustrations. So despite the ever-present plastic dome situated directly over the tub, we played. And although my pregnant status diminished my hormone level and therefore for my drive, the austere conditions, with my hands restrained, served to cause my needs to accumulate.

  Nurse Inga would kindly stand and watch for a while, then one by one, after we had excited ourselves to what must have been very entertaining levels of arousal, she would call us to the edge where she waited with a razor and large, soft soapy sponge. There we would stand in thigh high water, wet, aroused and covered with suds while the devilish nurse shaved our pubes then slowly smoothed the sensuous sponge over every nook and cranny, obviously ensuring that the camera caught all.

  With the exercise, thoroughly cleansing enema, and the wonderful warm bath, we became marvelously relaxed. Then it was back to the stall.

  About once per week during the first month, Dr. Helga would come through the stall. She was enthralled with our growing breasts, and whereas the initial contact with her, particularly when she ‘had me for dinner’, was horrifying, I indeed learned to desire her touch. She was most adroit with her brief inspection technique, best described as a breast massage. And due to the fact we could not touch ourselves, her hands became most welcomed.

  The ship spent a week in Wilmington, a week in Charleston, and a week in Savannah with no one joining our stall. But in Miami a beautiful Hispanic girl was led in and placed in the posts opposite me. Maria had jet-black hair and brown eyes so dark there appeared to be no pupils. Since she was in her fifth month, as we all were, her tummy was rounded. But her breasts still projected nicely and Nurse Inga made sure her yoke setting highlighted their size and firmness.

  When Maria knelt in the posts, I became mesmerized by her low hanging mammary glands, the nipples of which almost touched the floor. Dr. Helga became equally impressed.

  “Maria, you’re a meal and a half,” I remember her complimenting the gorgeous girl, evidently after Maria was likewise ‘had for dinner’.

  And my proximity allowed me to watch the doctor ply her skills. I could detect the fragrance of Maria’s arousal after every one of Dr. Helga’s visits. The thoughts of her soft moans lulled me to sleep on many nights.

  Chapter Eight

  After the stop in Miami, our routines changed. For exercises Nurse Inga led us to an outdoor deck, set at a low level in what appeared to be the middle of the ship. There was no view of the ocean, four high walls surrounded the entire area, which was covered with soft mats. Though somewhat aged, a sizable swimming pool evidenced the luxuriousness of the ship in its prime years.

  We were apparently cruising the Caribbean; for the weather was wonderfully warm and most days there was not a cloud to be seen. Frolicking about naked and outdoors made the girls initially very shy, particularly when various ‘guests’ watched from a deck overhead.

  Yes, during the first outdoor routine the trainer found herself wielding a cane and meting out a number of crisp strokes to the round and growing buttocks of Nancy and Mona. After listening to their anguished cries, we quickly learned to ignore the motley collection of faces peering at us over the railing above.

  But moving about naked with hands and arms restrained is something to which one really does not become accustomed.

  In place of treadmill work our yokes were attached to couplings around the edge of the pool and the stern trainer made us kick our legs in the water, endlessly. Afterwards came the leg spreads, and with it the abject humiliation of looking up to see a crowded railing. Though only some 30 to 40 feet away, at least a half dozen pairs of binoculars were being focused as the trainer barked her orders concerning the display of pink. And display we did.

  About two weeks after leaving Miami, Dr. Helga entered our stall after we spent a long morning on the exercise deck and a pleasant hour or so in the washroom. Normally it was feeding time and Nurse Inga would be moving from girl to girl, spoon-feeding the specially formulated gruel into hungry helpless mouths.

  But instead, a stanchion was wheeled in with five clear plastic bags filled with clear but brownish liquid hanging from an eye level bar.

  “Feeding time ladies. We have a very nutritious meal. But you won’t be able to taste it.”

  Remembrances from that first day of the number eleven girl, tucked away in another stall and not seen, came to mind. Yes, it was November and as noted, beginning in the fifth month, Dr. Helga’s girls were fed intra-rectally.

  One by one Dr. Helga and Nurse Inga mechanically lubricated each anus, inserted a nozzle, and inflated it in order to begin the flow of the brownish substance into our backsides.

  As I felt the odd but somewhat pleasurable sensation of Dr. Helga’s finger smearing my rectum with lubricant, she spoke to Nurse Inga.

  “Spent the morning in the number eleven stall, Inga. Another girl dropped a child. That leaves only one more due in November. And it makes eighteen adoptions available for our stop in Guiana.”

  Nurse Inga smiled.

  “The bonus pool should be sizable this year. Will the fees be the same, Doctor?”

  “Higher, the agency has increased their prices. It seems the adoption market is tight. Interesting to think we’ve got fifty thousand dollars right here in this room.”

  Dr. Helga laughed with her observation. I felt the nozzle, then heard and felt it being inflated.

  “Eat well, Alexi,” Dr. Helga laughed at her comment and stepped to my front.

  I ruminated on her overhead comments.

  So the pregnant girls were a source of income. With the ship equipped with 12 stalls, one for each calendar month, dozens of babies were brought to term and offered for adoption. And for fees! The notion explained how Dr. Helga could afford to offer free care and services to so many girls. And then there were all the guests. How much would a wealthy woman with peculiar sexual proclivities pay to observe young, lactating girls being totally controlled and subjected to complete degradation?

  I felt the coolness of the room temperature liquid begin to flow into my colon as Dr. Helga began her massage. She had amazingly skilled hands, firmly kneading the meaty portion of my expanding globes and slowly working downwards toward the nipples.

  “Yes, my dear. I think you’re going to be quite the producer. We’ve gotten to know mammary glands very well over the years. These are growing nicely.”

  Nurse Inga stood to her side watching with an evil smile. When Dr. Helga’s fingers reached my nipples she gave my right a firm pinch. White liquid squirted to the floor for the first time. Both laughed in surprise.

  “Goodness, Alexi, you’re lactating already. Oh, when the hormones kick in, your prolactin level is going to be sky high.

  “Well, no sense in wasting good breast milk.”

  The Doctor and Nurse left the room. I was strangely disappointed. Her hands felt good and expelling the milk, cloudier than the colostrum extracted weeks before, provided a curious feeling of satiation.

  For the ensuing months, we were fed intra rectally. Maria’s breasts became enormous and Nurse Inga had to secure her higher on the posts least her nipples brush the padded flooring. Each day Dr. Helga come through the sta
ll and performed her wonderful massage, each time bringing us to just the beginning of lactation. It was frustratingly pleasurable and I came to look forward to the brief afternoon encounter.

  Meanwhile, my empty stomach constantly ached for food. I did not experience the weakness one normally feels from lack of solids, since the brownish liquid provided incredible sustenance, but still one’s system expects food.

  The crewmembers seemed to understand this need among the girls being fed intra rectally. For on many occasions as we were being led to the exercise deck or to the washroom, a passing crewmember would smile at Nurse Inga and stop to converse. Then he would wave about a package of candy, which after weeks of tasting nothing, was the equivalent of offering an exotic French dessert.

  “Who’d like to spread for me?”

  Yes, the randy young sailor offered a piece of candy for a quick display of our genitalia and Nancy was the first girl to part her feet and bend over. The sailor laughed on that first occasion and with one hand inserted the proffered candy into her mouth while the other was found exploring the well shaven labia.

  After Nancy’s initial acquiescence, it became reflexive for us to bend and spread when the young, virile sailor held up his bag of sweets. Nurse Inga seemed most amused watching the girls humiliate themselves for a piece of candy. But it did taste good, and the sugar served to quiet my growling stomach for an hour or so.

  Within a few weeks I came to look for the well-muscled, blond and blue-eyed crewman and it became a contest amongst the girls as to who could best attract his attention, bending and spreading to obscene extremes. And I wanted to strip to make lots of money, I thought to myself with great irony. Here I was willing to do more for just a piece of candy.

  On one afternoon, I was caught talking to Maria. She was incredibly plump, as were all the girls, and she was whimpering. My words of comfort were apparently heard by the powerful microphones, for within minutes I found myself being led to the washroom for a cold-water punishment enema.

  Once again the sailor crossed our path, only this time I was alone with Nurse Inga. He smiled and dangled the bag of candy. Nurse Inga stopped pulling on the leash and I knew to immediately bend and spread. Since there was no time schedule to be followed I suppose Nurse Inga decided to just let the amazingly handsome crewman to have his way. For as he placed the candy in my mouth, the fingers of his other hand entered my vagina.

  It was shocking how easily his fingers slipped in.

  “You’re dilating, little lady.”

  He laughed with his observation and I remember thinking... did he have to be so good-looking and so knowledgeable? He proceeded to play with my quim like a musical instrument and within a moment, I joined his concert with a song of ecstasy. It had been many weeks since I was touched there, longer by a male. Thus, I moaned and became angry with myself, knowing that it brought a wicked smile to the lips of the young sailor. But his fingers felt so good.

  “She’s quite a vixen, Inga. Due in two months and randy as a rabbit. She’d like to swallow my whole hand. I can feel her squeezing my fingers.”

  Both laughed and I let out another sigh of ecstasy.

  The sailor withdrew, very much entertained for the price of a piece of candy.

  Our journey to the washroom continued. There the cold water enema served to douse my arousal and was amazingly uncomfortable.

  I vowed to remain silent thereafter.

  Chapter Nine

  Our eighth month approached. Dr. Helga began to include in her daily examination an inspection of our vulvas. As she did so she announced to Nurse Inga the slow increase in dilation, which was duly recorded.

  Also included were Kegel exercises with the added twist that we had to perform them while the fingers of her gloved hand felt the contractions and counted out the cadence.

  “Good strong pelvic platforms, girls. Squeeze again. Give me another set of 20.”

  Then came Lamaze instruction. On the outdoor deck, naked in the warm tropical sun, our exercise period turned to instruction in the basics of childbirth.

  And finally, after a brief over night stay at a desolate port in Guiana, the ninth month came for 3 stall. One by one, each of us experienced contractions and labor pains. Then a trip to the delivery room. Then recovery.

  Dr. Helga’s fortune was increasing. But little did I realize to what extent me and the other girls had contributed and would continue to do so.

  Within a day after leaving the recovery room I returned to the stall and was secured to the posts. Girls with newborns received a one week reprieve from the exercise period. But instead the of combined drudgery and fear of having a horrid trainer standing over me with a cane, Dr. Helga visited.

  “Well Alexi, you look most nubile today. A nice flat tummy and full, rounded breasts. We start off our lactation program with a firm hand milking. Tomorrow you’ll have the machine. We have quite the market for breast milk and I’m sure you won’t disappoint me.”

  Dr. Helga began her usual breast massage. Only this time a large stainless steel bowl was placed under my low hanging breasts. And as her fingers worked to my nipples, an explosion of milk hit the bottom of the bowl with a notable metallic sound.

  It was most humiliating and I closed my eyes. But Dr. Helga worked and despite my shame her fingers felt good. Somehow she knew my throbbing glands begged for her attention and over 30 minutes time they gave all they had to give.

  “So the baby you didn’t want will find a home. You’re well taken care of, both food and shelter. Nurse Stolgren says your psychological profile fits into our program very nicely. For what more could a girl ask?”

  She posed her question as her busy fingers continuously pulled and squeezed.

  The bowl was close to full as my flow slowly diminished. The pleasure was turning to a feeling of irritation. Her fingers were quite firm and the tugs were vigorous. The sensation of calm pleasure turned to moderate torment. I squirmed, futilely attempting to release my nipples from the experienced hands.

  She laughed.

  “Yes, my dear, I know it’s uncomfortable. But we need to maximize the discharge. You’re going to be very surprised at your level of production and the strong desire you’ll develop to lactate for me... and my guests of course. We know girls here.”

  With another half dozen strong tugs, I was dry.

  “Yes, that’s very good for the first time. But you’ll do better.”

  She left the bowl sitting in front of me and stepped to my rear. For the next half hour I was again forced to perform Kegel exercises for the amusement of her inserted fingers despite my soreness.

  Thereafter, she left. With the other girls being exercised, I was alone for the first time since I arrived on the ship five months before. Alone except for the overhead camera and the presumed microphones, that is.

  I reflected on my situation and Dr. Helga’s words. Perhaps it was wrong to plan or hope for an abortion. Maybe I was better off being cared for and knowing that my child had a home. But at what price?

  A young nurse came in and carefully removed the bowl. Later when the other girls returned, the nozzle of the nutrition bag was inserted. Despite having brought the child to term, we were still being fed intra rectally. And Maria’s breasts seemed to still be growing!

  For the month after delivery, we were lactated each morning and late each afternoon. If not hand milked, the tubes dangling from each post were used and the cups on the ends seemed to perfectly encase my nipples. Maria’s cups were larger than mine and I concluded such were custom fitted, thus the reason for the extensive amount of time measuring my anatomy on day one.

  Nurse Inga was quick in attaching the devilish soft circles of rubber, and since an unseen machine provided the suction for the tubes, the cups instantly adhered to the supple flesh of our nipples.

  Nurse Inga also knew how to best begin a girl’s flow, gently caressing each breast with one hand and inserting two or three gloved fingers into our vaginal passage with the other. It wa
s amazingly effective and she laughed as she proceeded down the row of posts and watched as the actions of her hands caused the clear plastic tubes to turn white with the flow of breast milk.

  Where the milk went was an open question. Evidently, it flowed into the post and presumably down into more extensive tubes or pipes within the flooring of the stall. But wherever it went, I was sure it was being carefully accumulated for the benefit of Dr. Helga’s pocketbook, judging from the way the breast milk from a hand milking was so carefully collected and handled.

  After a month of recovery, sometime in April we all returned to the outdoor deck for morning exercise. With our more shapely figures came not only the assorted faces peering down at us over the railing, but also the sight of camera lenses and the sounds of numerous clicks.

  Yes, our daily show was being recorded and on occasion a sardonic male laugh could be heard and the more chirping laughter of females.

  With our flatter stomachs, new exercises, including very revealing bend and stretch movements became mandatory. And when Maria’s amazing mammary glands touched the deck while she bent forward at the waist, I could sense the wonderment and awe expressed by way of the increased decibel level of the noise above.

  But it was ‘pink’ that was demanded and the trainers made sure the observers got their share. For sometimes, as a girl bent at the waist, a trainer would stand to the rear and pull apart the well separated buttocks even further, pausing as numerous clicks recorded the glistening inner labia and the perhaps the peeking vermilion tip of a clitoris as the girl underwent the utmost level of humiliation.

  Such exposure seemed to be my destiny, for more than any other girl; the trainers positioned me in the most revealing of poses, demanding that I hold while clicks and laughter followed.

  I often thought about the alternative. But there really was none. My conclusion was to endure and wait until the ship once again docked in some east coast city and my posts in 3 stall would be needed for a newly expecting girl.