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I apologise for taking so long to add instalments, but work pressures prevent me from writing any faster. I hope you enjoy the continuing tale of fantasy.
Another awakening, another beautiful woman by my bedside. Or in today’s case, two of them. Both dressed, both keen to catch my attention, not that that ever was going to be a problem.
It took me a few moments to reach full consciousness, but once I had I noticed one of them was Slava. And having recognised her, I had to check again to make sure she was dressed. She was in fact naked, wearing only the scanty “clothes” that were tattooed onto her lovely body. I checked closely and finally decided that the other lady’s clothes were in fact real clothes, albeit also scanty. She was wearing a very short denim skirt, a white singlet, runners and, as the saying goes, Chanel No 5. She smelled delicious.
Once Slava had ensured that I remembered her (how could I have forgotten?), she introduced me to Vanda.
Vanda had to be a distance runner: no more than about 5′ 1″ and without an ounce of spare fat on her. In fact she seemed to have barely an ounce of any sort of fat. And yet she looked anything but frail: her matchstick-thin arms and legs seemed well-muscled and moved with a confidence and suppleness that implied power.
As I took more notice of her, I realised she was older. Older than most of the ladies that is, but not older than me. I recalled my confusion about Chris’s age back a few weeks (and a lifetime) ago, but even taking into account the healthy lifestyle of the ladies of the brigade, surely this lovely lady was nowhere near my age.
Vanda had a short bob of slightly frosted light brown hair surrounding an elfin face. She had large grey eyes that were directed at my face with a steady gaze that made me feel exposed, body and soul.
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I recalled her as one of the ladies who had chased me down on that first day. She might not be a showy beauty to stand out in this brigade of radiant beauties, but as one of only two ladies she was captivating. I thought for a humorous moment how literally correct that word was, but now I was thinking figuratively. I wondered what plans she had for me.
The few moments I had had for these thoughts to go through my mind were all I was going to get.
“Get up.” Slava told me curtly. She was holding out a thin dressing gown, and it was clear that I was to get out of bed right now and put it on.
But why was I reluctant? I decided embarrassment could be the only possible explanation and that that was ridiculous. However, there was to be no quarter allowed. I sat up and reached for the dressing gown, putting my arms in the sleeves and pulling it over my shoulders.
Two hands lifted me to my feet and unceremoniously bundled me out the door and down the corridor as I – for some unknown reason – tried to protect my dignity by closing the gown in front of my nakedness.
In about twenty seconds we were walking down the steps in the early daylight to the road where an old Moskvitch was waiting. Even under the circumstances I was pleased to be able to recognise the type. But Tina was standing by the open door and, despite my confidence that I was among friends, she too was brusque.
“Get in.” I got in the passenger door she was holding open for me, and as soon as I sat down the door was closed on me.
Tina looked in the open window. “You are to do anything and everything Vanda tells you. Is that understood? Anything.”
I nodded. Vanda was in the driver’s seat and immediately we were on our way. I looked back and saw Tina and Slava watching us. I briefly recalled Slava’s nakedness, even though she looked like any other beautiful girl standing there in the street “wearing” only her tattoos and standing beside the fully dressed Tina.
But back to Vanda. She certainly seemed to know where she was headed. I asked where we were going.
“Shut up. Didn’t you hear what Tina said?” I nodded. “Shut the window. I don’t mind if you want to freeze, but I don’t want to freeze with you.” I rolled up the window. I felt a little warmer.
We drove for about twenty minutes, half of that out through the outskirts of the city and half towards and then along a wild coast. Vanda drew up near a wharf, got out and walked off towards a single-masted yacht, about thirty feet long. I trailed behind her, uncertain.
Vanda was not uncertain, springing onto the gangplank and getting to work with ropes and such. Soon a sail went up and the yacht magically changed from a passive lump floating beside the wharf to a thrumming, eager animal.
“Pull in the gangplank.” I pulled it in and laid it down in what looked like a suitable spot. As I stood up again, we started moving from the wharf and I nearly fell overboard.
“Watch yourself. I don’t want to be pulling a drowned rat out of the water.” I looked at her and thought I might have noticed a slight smile. “You’d better get below. It’s a little warmer and it’s not as easy falling overboard from there.” I went down a few steps ankara escort into a small cabin, and sat near a windscreen, alternately looking where we were headed (seemingly out to the open sea) and then around the boat to watch Vanda busy herself at the front – sorry, for’ard – then at the mast, back and forth from this rope to that.
As suddenly as the yacht had come alive, everything now settled down. The boat was heeling over and straining forward towards the horizon. Vanda came in and sat beside me at the wheel, as calm as she had been in the car. I knew competence when I saw it.
Perhaps she’d be a little more communicative now we were under way. “Where are we headed?”
“Would you understand if I told you?” At least the tone was a little gentler now. There was definitely the touch of a smile now, although perhaps a little sarcastic.
“I might not know the geography here, but are we just going for a sail or are we headed somewhere particular?”
“Yes.” An unhelpful answer, but this time the smile was clear as she undressed me with those lovely eyes. Yes indeed, this was one lovely woman. The looks might not be quite as dazzling as some of the younger fellow members of her brigade, but she had a class all her own. A Bacall or a Hepburn (either of them) among the Johanssons and the Dunsts. No less sexy and no more, just different. Perhaps to someone of my mature age, yes, a little sexier.
I decided to sit and enjoy the moment, and to steel myself against the sexual subjugation that seemed inevitable. This yacht had now shrunk to a mere bathtub in the immensity of the sea hissing against the bows as the land started to diminish in our wash.
I had done a little sailing years ago, and although I was clearly a lubber compared with Vanda I thought perhaps I might at least be able to survive without becoming seasick provided we didn’t encounter huge seas.
I relaxed as the coast behind us faded to a line and then nothing. We were out on the open sea. On and on we sailed, the sun climbing higher and warming us just a little.
“Lose the dressing gown.” Sudden, but hardly unexpected. I stood and slipped it off my shoulders onto the deck.
“Where is the dressing gown?”
Huh? “It’s on the floor – er – deck.”
“Then it’s not lost is it?”
Well no, but… “I thought you…”
“You’re not here to think. You’re here to do what you are told.”
I picked up the dressing gown and took it to the rail and looked at her. She nodded briefly. I dropped it overboard and watched it disappear aft. I felt very vulnerable, but presumably that had been the idea.
“Take the wheel.” She stood up and indicated I should take her seat. I took the wheel and sat down. I was a little nervous, but provided I concentrated I was able to manage to stay on course.
Clearly however, this was not meant to be easy. I left a finger tracing around my buttocks. I turned to look, and suddenly the sails were flapping.
“Watch your course!”
I looked up and was able to get the compass back where it had been. But now there was a tongue running slowly up my spine. My task was to continue paying attention to our course, but the distractions were not letting up.
The tongue was now at my neck and moving towards my ear. “Aaarrggh!!” That was me. With no warning she had pinched a nipple. Hard.
“Did that hurt?”
“Not really, you just caught me by surpri…aaarrrggghhh!!!” That had been a bite, not a pinch.
“Another surprise? Or did that one hurt?”
“No, that one hurt.” I want to rub the painful part, but my hand was slapped away and her hand did the rubbing. Her other hand reached down in front of me and I realised I was throbbing with pure lust.
“You like pain?”
“I don’t really know, but clearly part of me like what you’re doing to me. You’re driving me crazy.”
Suddenly she pushed me onto my back onto the floor, biting my already sore, throbbing nipple. I cried out again and suddenly she had slipped what looked like a blue tablet into my mouth and was holding my mouth closed. Whatever it was (I had a pretty good idea), down it went.
“If that was to keep me ready for you, it was unnecessary.” I told her, as again we came up to the wind and started chopping madly about.
Vanda didn’t seem to care. She stood over me, revealing a lack of underwear and rubbing a very prominent and shiny mound.
“I suppose this, too, is unnecessary?”
What with my lust inflaming me and my mouth dry with anticipation, I couldn’t speak. I was probably drooling like a teenager at his first strip show. I think I nodded.
Before I knew it the mound was rubbing up and down my face. And then again just as quickly she was standing, smoothing her skirt down (not that it went far down) and pointing to the wheel.
She barked at me. “Get back on course.”
I staggered back to the helm and fought with a fog of lust and confusion (mainly) and with the wheel (a little), eventually getting things back smooth again. Smooth nautically, that is: my ming was escort ankara even less smooth than the boat had been a moment ago.
This lovely lady was now almost demure again, looking at a chart, then going out on deck with a pair of binoculars.
Suddenly she started adjusting the sheets, tightening this one and loosening that.
“Ready about! Hard a starboard!” I felt for a moment as if I were in a “Pirates” movie under Captain Sparrow, although he didn’t look at all like Vanda and I don’t recall his crew members being naked and erect. Nonetheless, I swung the wheel and the boat came about. The mains’l came across with a bang and we settled on our new course with the ropes humming in the breeze after a few more calls of “three points to port” and the like.
Vanda came in and took the wheel. “To the bow and keep a lookout.” I had decided to accept her orders without question. Out I went to stand out at the very pointy end, feeling like a spare bowsprit. A cold bowsprit at that.
Vanda had not given me her binoculars, so I just stood there gazing around, and generally towards the direction we were headed. It was not long before I saw another vessel on the port beam, roughly our size except without sails.
I did my sailor’s impression: “Motorboat on the port beam!” Vanda turned towards this boat. I note that she could easily manage both sails and helm without my help.
As we approached I saw the other vessel turn towards us, and I saw the flash of the sun on binoculars. My sense of vulnerability increased.
I called out to Vanda. “They’re looking at me with binoculars.”
“So? Do you want me to enter that in the log?”
That seemed to dismiss my concern. Not the way I had hoped, but clearly things were going as she wished. I kept watch for other craft as I monitored the approach of the motorboat.
After a while I could see figures lined up on the rail, two pairs of binoculars moving from hand to hand. And then it came to me – they were all wearing very, and I mean very, brief bikinis. Now I felt like an exhibit at slave sale. Uncomfortable, but still not completely unpleasant.
It became clear that they were coming alongside, and Vanda called out to me to put out the fenders as she dropped the sails. As I was bending over to comply I heard whistles and crude comments.
“Stand by to take the line!” I looked up to see a line already curling towards me. I was relieved to be able to take it and tie it off at the bows, ready to take the stern rope. By the time I had tied this off and the two craft were lying aside against the fenders, there were six more women aboard.
Perhaps that would be better described as twelve breasts, as all six women were massively equipped. That equipment was revealed rather than covered by tops which barely covered the nipples, and in some cases not completely at that. They were all blonde (the ladies that is, not the breasts), and all six brightly coloured outfits put together wouldn’t have added up to enough material for one handkerchief.
The six women were standing around Vanda, staring at me and asking her about me in a chatter of US twang. It seemed they were on holiday in a group with their husbands who had left them to find their fun alone while they played golf.
They wanted to know lots of things, including my Lady Brigade tattoo on my forehead, and Vanda answered these questions patiently.
Then Vanda called me over. “These six need a crewman for their boat. Do you want to help?”
Only a few weeks ago that would have been the best offer I had had, but now I was very happy where I was. However, I was under orders.
“I await your orders Captain.”
“I order you to tell me if you would like to accept their request.”
I had to answer carefully. I was happy to help, but I wanted to stay with Vanda today, and with Chris and the Brigade forever. In any respect, it seemed a dangerous risk to start messing with married women.
“I’d like to help, but I want to stay with you. They seem to be able to manage their boat themselves. I’m not sure what I can do to help”
Vanda had me there. “They are going to take us in tow. That will save us a lot of time. They need someone to take charge of the tow. Will you do that.”
I had no more experience at this than anyone, but Vanda had been quite clear. There was only one answer. “Yes Captain.”
I organised a heavy line from the stern of the motorboat to our bows, stepped over to the motorboat and started to untie the other ropes holding the boats alongside each other. By the time I had done this, the twelve breasts were back on the motorboat with me, and Vanda was alone on the yacht, ready to take the fenders. I went to the helm and slowly edged away.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea which direction to take. I called out to Vanda and the reply came in two words: “Due East”.
Back to the helm, I slowly drew the line tight and swung the yacht around to follow, then started to apply the power. This was certainly a powerful boat, and both boats ankara escort bayan started to cut a huge bow wave.
Now the course was set, the throttle open and we were moving steadily. I was sitting in the captain’s seat with little to do except to cope with the twelve…er, six bodies pressed hard around me. And the twelve hands touching every possible erogenous zone I had, with some hands left over for other areas. And with my – er – slavemaster, following behind getting what she would probably refer to as a ringside view of me and my attendants. My recent medication would have kept me ready even if the situation hadn’t.
I knew there had to be some limit set, but where…and how?
I think each hand (except my two holding the wheel) had tested the effect of the Viagra at least once, and the trend seemed to be to see what they could get out of it. I couldn’t see any hope of getting their hands off me, and so eventually I explained that they could touch but not grip it.
Something soft touched me head. By the time I had grabbed it and found it to be one of the minuscule bikini tops, another five had descended upon me. And then another six matching items and we were all naked.
“You can touch and grip or do anything else you can imagine to anything you can see”, one of the women said. And in fact the six bodies were pressed against me, sliding up and down and around. I couldn’t make out the individual women, just an amorphous mass of breasts and lips and genitalia and hands, all focussed on me.
Suddenly all I could think about was the treasure hidden (or at least covered) by the denim skirt in the yacht behind me. I knew now that the main target of these women was now throbbing and rigid only because of Vanda and the medication she had given me. Or at least mainly because of it. It was only then that I started to become confident that I was going to be able to resist the temptation Vanda had subjected me to.
Now I felt able to relax and enjoy an experience that I knew I would remember all my life without succumbing to it. With my now cooler head I started to be able to identify individuals out of the sexy mass.
At one point a woman who was kissing me slid around to lick my ear and then to whisper (loudly) what she wanted to do to me. Suddenly the other five were listening intently.
I nibbled my way around to her ear. In a similar whisper, for her and for the other five, I said that I would remember this experience all of my life, and perhaps they could too. I was going to fantasise about this for ever.
I continued, telling her that the lady in the yacht behind was the one for me, and that they would be returning to their husbands at the end of the day, I was looking for a longer term relationship.
“But don’t you like us? We have had the top surgeons give us the sexiest bodies and the most beautiful faces possible? And you can have us just the once and never have to bother with us again.”
I told them that they were indeed very lovely, but that I preferred longer term relationships, and that was what I had found. I was hoping that the plural “relationships” wouldn’t be taken too literally, but I was out of luck.
“You prefer your perverted relationships with a group of foreign losers like that sexless stick back there, when you could have six luscious women all at the same time?”
I felt very protective about Vanda, and was not interested in explaining that I could share my bed with more than six beautiful women. I may have lost my cool. “They’re not sexless, they’re not losers and, just in case your geography has failed you, you’re in Russia. They’re not foreign here, you are.”
Suddenly I was flailing about in the wash. The six had simply tipped me over the side. I surfaced again in time to see the yacht go past, and I waved my arms and shouted as loudly as I could, but the yacht, too, disappeared into the East leaving me bouncing around in the second wash in just a few seconds.
So here I was, naked in the Pacific Ocean, miles from the coast with nothing but sea around me. I’ll admit that I panicked, for a moment hoping that a shark would get me rather than dying of exposure or thirst to finish me off after hours of misery.
However, I knew the boats had disappeared into the East, and that the nearest land was west. I knew also that it was still morning and that the sun would be east. These two things both confirmed that the direction I should take. Without even the slightest hope, but having to do something, I started a gentle breaststroke. “Breaststroke”, I thought with a savage humour. It had seemed much more fun only five minutes ago! The only reminder now of any sexual feeling was that I had a keel, but even that now gradually lost its lead.
For no particular reason I started counting my strokes. I remembered counting my steps as I had walked back to the house after my second kidnapping. Vanda had been part of that too. And I had been naked then too, but that time I had been walking through the snow to a known target, and this time I was swimming with no hope of reaching my target. In any case, the east coast of Russia didn’t offer much hope of support even if I achieved the impossible and reached land. In no time at all my head started playing tricks with me. Was I going mad already?
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