Brilliantine Navy
a fantasy in two parts by
A x o l o t l
© 2001 Axolotl
For readers who enjoy the idea of women in and out of uniform.
Part II
"What are we going to do about all these men, Creamy?"
"Do about them, Captain?"
"They've all come from different ships, different navies, even. The ordinary sailors aren't a problem; we're so short-handed they'll just have to muck in as best they can. It's the officers I'm worried about. What are their names again?"
Creamy consulted her clipboard. "Smith, Jones ... and ... Mouse, Captain."
"Do you think those are their real names?"
"Does it matter, Captain?"
"I suppose not. But we've only got a couple of hours to shake down before we get within range of this Malvolian cruiser. Before I call the officers together for a final briefing, I need to work out what they're all going to be doing. Damn it, if they were women, there'd be no problem. I'm the captain for obvious reasons, and you're my second in command for even more obvious reasons. Ptarmigan — where is the woman, by the way?"
"Counting ammunition, Captain. She's good at counting things."
"She's got a what, forty-five, forty-six inch bust?"
"Forty-four. Then there's young Shagmore, forty-twos, and Clittinger, forties. A clear heirarchy. But how do we fit these three men into the structure? They're possibly more experienced than Shagmore and Clittinger, but they're completely flat-chested."
"We could look at their ... other features, Captain."
Belinda's eyes narrowed. "You mean...? But that would only be part of the solution. We'd be able to compare them with each other, but how would they fit in with the ladies?"
"It would have to be done on averages, Captain. We know that the average bust measurement of all Brilliantine Navy officers is 38 inches. The average bra size supplied by our ships' foundation stores is 34D. Fortunately, then, our three officers are rated above average. We'll simply measure these three men and compare them with the average cock size in the navies of the world."
"How do we find that out?"
"There must be records somewhere, Captain."
"I'll leave it all to you, Creamy. I've got two hours to study the battle tactics employed at every naval battle since the days of the Phoenicians."
"Message coming in, Petal." Leading MAN Lucian Uranus said, ripping the message from the machine and handing it to his partner, MAN Felix Cummings. "Just decode it while I have a pee. My bladder's simply bursting."
"Can't I come with you?"
"You can't, silly, she's watching. Besides, you're heaps better at decoding than me."
"I shan't enjoy it," Cummings promised, pursing his lips and studying the slip of paper. With the tip of his tongue sticking out he began tapping at the keys. After a few seconds he gave a sharp little cry and half rose in his seat. He rapped the final keys really hard, stood up, and scribbled the message on his pad. Blushing deeply and chewing his full lower lip, he minced away to find Lieutenant Archibald.
"What's all this?" She read the brief note and glowered at Cummings. "Is this your weird queer idea of a joke?"
"It isn't funny, ma'am."
"You'll find out how funny it isn't when I've shown this to the admiral. Where's your friend?"
"In the loo."
"Both of you stay in here and don't dare run away. Understand?"
The admiral was looking down through the quadruple-glazed window, wiping a tear from her eye. She looked up as the door opened. "Yes, Archibald? What's this?"
"A piece of paper, Admiral. A message from Insufferable."
The admiral studied the message, turning it over to see the other side. "Is this all it says?"
"Aye-aye, ma'am."
172245ZAUG00
TOP SECRET BITTER CHOCOLATE URGENT
TO CINCBNHOMEFLT
FROM F09 INSUFFERABLE
ESSENTIAL DETERMINE SOONEST AVERAGE RPT AVERAGE PENIS LENGTH ALL RPT ALL OFFICERS ALL RPT ALL WORLD NAVIES. + PSE ADVISE
ENDS
|
"Hmmm. Not like Belinda to need to know this. 2245 Zulu? Ten minutes ago. No chance of it being a fake message, is there, Archibald? It was received in code?"
"Primrose Three, Admiral."
"I see. We'll have to assume it's genuine. Essential soonest. That means it's urgent. What's this Bitter Chocolate business?"
"No idea, Admiral."
"And what about Primrose Three?"
"Search me, Admiral."
"Good. Need to know, you know. Now, Insufferable's only got less than a couple of hours before he's in battle. So in this case Urgent means precisely that. Urgent. Get me everything you have on naval officers' penis length?"
"In our navy, ma'am?"
"Of course not, you damned fool! The navies of the world. Are there any penises in Jane's?"
"I very much doubt it, Admiral. Not while we're at WILD CHERRY. But I'll ask Jane if you insist..."
"No time. We need figures on average penis length. We'll have to generate our own data. Get on to it and let me have the figures by midnight. Zulu. Remember, Archibald, the clock's ticking!"
"Ah, Miss Ptarmigan, can you spare a moment, please?"
"Certainly ... ma'am."
"As a little change from counting the shells, I've got a job for you. It involves the three male officers we have on board. It will need a little tact and a bit of organisation, but as you're the only officer in the Insufferable who's not doing anything important, the captain says you'll have to do it."
"Yes, ma'am. I mean aye-aye, ma'am." Creamy lowered the eyebrow she had raised a second or so earlier. Ptarmigan adjusted her bra straps nervously. "What do you want me to do?"
"Measure their cocks."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We need to find how theirs compare to the average size for all officers in all the navies of the entire world. Measure them and find out, will you? I think individually would be better, to avoid taking them away from essential duties. What are they doing at the moment?"
"Smith is organising the cleaning squad, polishing up the brasswork and whitening the ropes all along the left hand side of the ship. They're in a shocking state. I nearly died when that huge crowd of people arrived just before we left port. I just know they were looking at all that dirt. Jones is doing the right hand side in case we park the other way round when we come back."
"Good, what about Mouse?"
"I saw him with a bunch of giggling seawomen tidying up the sickbay. I've no idea why, nobody's going to be sick tonight, it's calm as a millpond out there."
"Bring them in one at a time. Measure them for length and write it all down. And don't forget to ask them how they compare with the average. Bring the figures to the bridge as soon as you've finished."
"Aye-aye, ma'am."
Creamy hurried away, nodding politely to the blushing sailors who shrank away from her approach, their nipples hardening instantly with respect.
She rapped respectfully on the captain's open door. "All in hand, Captain."
"You've measured them already?"
"Ptarmigan's doing it."
"Ptarmigan? Do you think that's wise?"
"It's what she does best, counting and measuring things. She's going to bring the figures to you as soon as she's done."
"Good. I just wonder if ... if perhaps it might be better if you were to measure them as well. We don't want any slip-ups..."
"If you insist, Captain. Although it's only a quick measuring job..."
"It's all about good Order and Discipline, Creamy. When we go into battle, we want to know we have the right people in positions of trust."
"Aye-aye, Captain."
"Good work, Archibald. You finished half an hour ahead of schedule. Are these the figures?"
"All there, Admiral. A sample of ten MANs from our staff. One refused on religious grounds. But we think the ten who volunteered are a good cross section of males. Of course, none of them are officers, but that shouldn't make any difference to the size of their genitalia.
Name
Bottomley
Brownhatter
Cummings
Everard
Jollibottom
Shorthouse
Stiffgusset
Uranus
Wrecktham
Wright-Upham
Average |
Size
2¼"
3"
5½"
2½"
4½"
***
5"
13¾"
3¾"
4"
4½" |
The admiral studied the figures for some time. "What's the story with this Shorthouse?"
"Not long enough to measure, ma'am. My clit's longer than his cock."
"Really, Archibald?" The admiral moved on down the list. "Uranus certainly makes up for him, anyway. You'd better send him to me when this is all over. So, we can safely say that the average penis length of the human male is four and a half inches. Get that figure encoded and sent out to all ships; action Insufferable."
"Aye-aye, Admiral."
"Were you ever married, Archibald?"
"No, ma'am."
"Still waiting for Mister Right to come along?"
"Sort of, ma'am."
"Not Mister Wright-Upham, though."
"Preferably not, Admiral."
"Although they say size doesn't matter. Run along, Cynthia. You don't mind if I call you Cynthia, do you?"
"Not at all, Admiral," Lt Archibald admitted. "Cynthia's a very nice name. But my name's Cordelia."
"Just checking, Archibald. Security is vital."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Smith. You may get dressed now." The lieutenant swiftly reached for his trousers. He fervently wished he was back in his own ship. When the chance had come to return to sea, he had grasped it with both hands. The last thing he'd expected was to find himself on a ship run by women, including this forbidding harridan who had ordered him to take his pants off in the ship's office. Mercifully, she'd done nothing more than measure him, but he was ashamed and alarmed to find that he couldn't even get an erection. Six months since he'd seen a woman, and this creature with a splendid pair of firm, jutting whoppers failed completely to get a rise out of him. True, she had a face like a bag of chisels, but those massive breasts thrusting out only six inches from his face ought to have had some effect on him.
"It's usually bigger than that, you know," he ventured.
"How much bigger?" asked Ptarmigan sharply. "And why?"
"Oh, about this much," said Smith with due modesty. "And for all the usual reasons."
Ptarmigan frowned. "What are those? What on earth could possibly make flesh grow as much as that?"
"Well ... like ... a pretty girl, perhaps? Something like that?"
"A pretty girl?" Ptarmigan thought of all the pretty girls she knew. "Pretty?"
"Well, pretty. A nice face ... big breasts ... that kind of thing."
"Big breasts? How can big breasts make a penis grow?"
Smith was silent. After all, he'd just had it demonstrated clearly to him that big breasts didn't always make a penis grow.
"Mine are big," Ptarmigan persisted. "Mine didn't make it grow. Is there something wrong with it?"
There was a knock on the door. "Nearly finished, Miss Ptarmigan?" said Creamy, coming in and looking Lt Smith up and down. "Is this the last one?"
"No, he's only the first. I think there's something wrong with him."
Creamy looked at her watch. "You've really got to get a move on, Miss Ptarmigan. We need to be finished with this exercise in another twenty minutes. I'll take this one into the wardroom pantry and interview him. Captain's orders. You'd better call the others in. When you've done with them, pass them on to me. I suppose you have measured this one?"
"Aye-aye, ma'am," said Ptarmigan through gritted teeth. She handed a piece of paper to the commander, who tucked it into her shirt pocket, where her left nipple threatened to punch a one-inch diameter hole in it.
"Come on, you," said Creamy to the dysfunctional lieutenant. "This won't take long." She led the way into the pantry and closed the door. "Now, what seems to be the trouble?"
"Erm ... nothing. That is, there was a problem, but it seems to have got better all by itself."
"What do you mean?"
"This." Smith indicated the bulge in his trousers.
"It's no use to anyone in there, is it, man. Get it out!"
"Ma'am?"
"Out with it." It was a direct and presumably lawful order. Smith complied. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with this," said Creamy. "Nothing at all."
Smith could only agree. It lay on the commander's palm, twitching and throbbing with every appearance of excellent health. She closed her fist gently and moved it up and down in a tentative way.
"Ma'am...!"
"Yes, Smith?"
"It can't stand much more of this, ma'am. It's going to blow any second now."
"You're not a chief engineer by any chance, are you?" said Creamy with a hint of a smile.
"No, ma'am. Guided missiles. Offensive ones."
"That's a pretty offensive missile you've got there, yourself, Smith!"
"This? It's only average, ma'am."
"Is it, by George?" She produced a small ruler from her top pocket. "Hmmm. Thank you. Pull your pants up."
"Aren't you going to finish what you started, ma'am?"
"Sorry?" Absently she took the thing in her hand again. "Strange, it's so hard, yet somehow it's soft at the same time. Fascinating."
"I wouldn't get too close to it, ma'am..."
"It's getting harder."
"Please, ma'am! Ma'am ... ooops! Sorry, ma'am. I tried to warn you."
"Dismiss, Lieutenant. That will be all."
"Aye-aye, ma'am. You're probably right."
Creamy remembered the piece of paper and pulled it out of her shirt pocket. Frowning, she compared the figure written on it with the dimension she had recorded for herself. There was a discrepancy all right. She wrote her own number below Ptarmigan's backward-sloping pencil and added the word 'Smith' alongside before tucking the paper out of sight again. "Damn," she said, wiping at the array of sticky marks on her bodice. "This is my last clean shirt. What is this stuff, anyway?" She tasted it cautiously, then shook her head. There was a knock on the door. "Come!" she cried, wondering why the word sounded vaguely familiar.
Whereas the recent Lt Smith had been tall, dark and not altogether unhandsome, the slim and boyish figure which entered the pantry was several inches shorter than the commander. He looked up at her with apprehension. "Sub Lieutenant Jones reporting, ma'am." He handed her a folded slip of paper which Creamy opened and glanced at briefly. Her eyes widened.
"Drop your trousers, please, Mr Jones."
"Aye-aye, ma'am. Er ... ma'am?"
"Yes, Mr Jones? You haven't dropped them."
"It's ... I'm not usually like this, ma'am." And he lowered his trousers to half-mast, along with a pair of what appeared to be wild silk boxer shorts. They were certainly purple, which made a striking contrast to Jones' pale bluish white matchstick legs. Creamy's eyes widened still further.
"That's a nice average one," she said, flicking her steel ruler out of its hiding place. "Just make it hard while I measure it, will you?"
"Make ... that's what I'm trying to ... it won't go hard. This is as big as it will go."
"I can't measure it dangling down there. It gets even longer than this, doesn't it?"
"Usually, ma'am. But not today, ma'am."
Creamy glowered at the diminutive officer. He was quaking in his little shoes and his knees were actually knocking with a faint bony sound. Trying to keep a safe distance, the commander grasped the cold, clammy, flaccid appendage and raised it to the horizontal. "This isn't as long as when Miss Ptarmigan measured it! It's getting smaller."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
It had become smaller still. With a sorrowful shake of her head, Creamy wrote down the latest figure, noting that even at its smallest it was still bigger than Smith's. "It's quite a big one, despite everything," she remarked lightly, letting it drop with a thud against the little officer's thigh. It seemed to have lost another half an inch in the process.
"It's only average, ma'am."
"Pull them up and dismiss, Mr Jones. We've got a war to fight. I'll give you your assignment shortly."
"Aye-aye, ma'am." He wheeled round and marched out like a parade ground recruit, almost colliding in the doorway with a rugged outdoor type; rangy, tanned and craggy-featured. He grinned at the pale-faced Jones and saluted casually.
"Evening, ma'am." He handed over his slip of paper.
"Mickey Mouse, I presume?"
"Not my real name, ma'am. It seems I've upset one of your officers. The old battleaxe out there in the wardroom."
"Miss Ptarmigan is not a battleaxe, Mister! Stand up straight, stop lolling around, stand to attention and drop your trousers."
"Not necessarily all in that order, ma'am," Mouse drawled. "You sure you're ready for this? Ol' Ptarmigan sure as hell wasn't, I can tell you!"
"Just do it, Mr Mouse." She read the slip of paper for the first time and her eyes boggled. It read the same the other way up as well. But mere figures didn't tell half the story.
Mouse's eyes never left hers as he worked his pants with some difficulty down his footballer's thighs, revealing something undoubtedly larger than average. Was there no end to it?
"You seen enough yet?" He grinned at her. "There's plenty more."
"Drop them completely and stop playing silly games."
"Aye-aye, ma'am. You've got a load of cum on your shirt, ma'am, by the way. You ought to get it in to soak. Cold water's best. Leave it in to soak overnight. In fact, that's what I like to do best of all."
Why did everything this young man said seem to sound like a double entendre? "Mr Mouse, if you would kindly lower your trousers all the way down, please. Th-thank you. Oh, my God!"
"It seems pleased to see you, ma'am. Amazing, but you may need to update that figure old Ptarmigan wrote down. Luckily, you can easily change a one to a four."
"Thank you, I am quite capable of measuring it for myself."
"Not with a twelve-inch ruler you're not! Tell you what, I'll put my thumb at the twelve-inch mark, and you can measure the rest of it."
"I'll do it myself, thank you. All of it. Pass me that grease pencil, please."
"Suit yourself, ma'am." Mouse handed over the black Chinagraph pencil, then placed his hands on his head. "Look, ma'am, no hands."
Creamy tried to apply her ruler. "I can't do anything while it's leaping around like that, can I?"
"Sorry, ma'am." He shrugged his rugged shoulders. "Just a suggestion, ma'am. You need to be able to hold the end of it still while you use both hands to do the measuring, right? The best thing you can do is to..." And he whispered in the commander's ear.
It certainly made things easier.
An urgent pounding on the pantry door.
"Come in," drawled Mouse.
"Signal for the commander, ma'am..." It was the small sailor with the pointed nipples who had earlier spoken to the commander. "Beg your pardon, ma'am."
"The commander's got her hands full at the moment, sailor," said Mouse.
"And her mouth, too, sir!"
"Just leave the signal with me."
"It was for her personal attention, sir. Can you make sure she gets it?"
"Oh, yes, sailor. I'll make sure she gets it all right."
The captain strode from one wing of the bridge to the other. She knew her pacing was making the sailors nervous, but she had to keep moving. This bra was impossibly tight. And it was her biggest, too. This was all she needed; having to go into battle in a bra like a safety harness. Where was Creamy when she needed her? Ah, she remembered, checking out those three male officers. Surely it didn't take that long to measure three men's penes? But then Creamy was always most thorough and conscientious. She wouldn't leave a job undone. Creamy wouldn't go off half-cock.
But Belinda really needed to get this bra off. Even if it meant going bra-less into battle. That was the solution! Show the crew she was a woman of action. She stripped off the admiral's shirt and dumped it on twin handles of the engine-room telegraphs. "Sailor, come here, please."
"Captain?"
"What's your name, sailor?"
"Ramsbottom, Captain."
"Unhook my bra, Ramsbottom."
"Aye-aye, captain." The sailor disappeared behind her captain and busied herself. In the distance, bright flashes lit the sky above the horizon ahead of the Insufferable. A thunderstorm, or...?
"Make it quick, Ramsbottom. It's going to get even tighter in there soon."
"It's shrinking, Captain! My fingers are trapped ... under the ... straps! There!"
"It's off. Good girl. Take it away, it's no use to me now." As Ramsbottom retired into the shadows with her still-warm prize, every eye on the bridge turned to the captain as she wriggled her way into the admiral's shirt and fastened the first five buttons, leaving the top three undone. Six inches of gleaming cleavage glistened in the pale green glow of the radar repeater. It was scarcely believable. The young captain's bust must have increased by at least three cup sizes in half an hour. And her nipples!
"Watch your course, dammit! You're falling off to port. Pilot, how long now?"
"Estimating six-one minutes to contact, Captain."
"Thank you." The most vital question; would this shirt stand the strain of another hour, followed by a battle to the death? Belinda could almost feel herself swelling by the minute. Yet it was important for the morale of the crew that she remain visible on the bridge. It would be so easy to go below and change into a pair of those shapeless khakis. But that would be the coward's way out. The white shirt would become a focus for her girls, a beacon of rampant feminity to inspire them through the coming ordeal. The skirt, too, was vital. Tighter and far shorter than allowed by Naval Regulations, it showed off her legs in their gleaming black stockings. She wished she had a pair of higher heels than these. Could she risk sending a sailor down to her quarters to fetch something? No, she remembered in time, all her sexiest things were in her wardrobe back on dry land. All she had in her cabin were a few changes of underwear. She simply couldn't send a sailor to fetch those. If the captain wasn't yet pee-ing herself, the crew could take heart, no matter how extreme the danger. In fact, the crew was hugely encouraged to see that their captain was sufficiently relaxed about the situation to touch herself intimately through the front of her skirt, a sight which made their hearts swell, to say nothing of their nipples. There was not a soul on the bridge who would not have gone down on the captain at this moment.
"Signal, Captain." A small voice at her elbow, and a message flimsy was thrust into her hand. "From the admiral, ma'am."
172305ZAUG00
TOP SECRET BITTER CHOCOLATE URGENT
TO F09 INSUFFERABLE
FROM CINCBNHOMEFLT
YR 2245 REFERS. + AVERAGE PENIS LENGTH DETERMINED EMPIRICALLY FROM DIRECT OBSERVATION HQ OPS STANDS AT FIGURES 4.50, FOUR DECIMAL FIVE ZERO INCHES. + GOOD HUNTING.
ENDS
|
"Have you read this signal, sailor?"
"Aye-aye, Captain." The sailor's blushing young face appeared puzzled. "Is it in some kind of code, captain?"
"Code, sailor?"
"My Darren's is ten inches long, Captain. And as thick as my leg."
Her pale narrow face bore what seemed to be a permanently bewildered expression; she wore thick glasses, her mousy hair was greasy and stringy, she had no breasts or hips at all. Truly, nature had her ways of adding variety to the gene pool.
"Then you've got something worth fighting for, haven't you? Back to the radio shack, sailor!"
There were sounds of disturbance, and footsteps clattering up the ladder to the bridge. Belinda's spirits soared when she saw her executive officer come on to the bridge, accompanied by three males in officers' uniforms. Stripes of rank had been hastily attached to their shoulders. Two of them seemed most aggrieved, the other one, smiling foxily to himself, found a convenient surface and leaned negligently against it. He wore the stripes of a lieutenant commander. An extremely young lieutenant commander. Belinda could imagine girls swooning over his craggy features.
"Sorry it took so long, Captain," Creamy saluted. "Lieutenants Smith and Jones, and Lieutenant Commander Mouse."
"Mouse?"
"Mickey Mouse, Captain."
Belinda lowered her voice. "All measurements completed, Creamy?"
"All done, Captain. All apparently average, Captain, but I've given them their new ranks according to their size."
"How big's that one?" Belinda inclined her head towards the smirking Mouse.
"Just over fourteen inches, ma'am."
"Four ... fourteen? My God, he ought to be an admiral! What's all that stuff on your shirt?"
"Apparently it's called cum. I managed to swallow most of it. Permission to change into something a little drier, Captain?"
"No time. Get these two away to their duties. You get away to the front of the boat, up forrard, and Mr Mouse can stay here with me."
"As you wish, Captain. Your tits look enormous, Captain. No bra?"
"I had a sailor take it off for me. I can't see this shirt making it through the night. It's the excitement. It always makes me swollen, but this is something else entirely."
"I want to suck your nipples, Captain."
"Later, Creamy. When all this is over."
"Well, Mouse? What's your speciality?"
"Nothing really, Captain. I'm learning the ropes, as it were, and how to shoot guns and things, but mostly I fuck girls."
"You do? All the time?"
"Only on shore, Captain, until now, at least. Our navy doesn't have girls in ships. I don't do it with men, although I've been asked on occasion."
"You've been what, Mouse?"
"Asked, Captain. A-s-k-e-d, with a 'k', ma'am."
"I hope you haven't been getting up to any funny business in Insufferable, Mouse."
"I've only had six of the girls, Captain. About twenty fucks altogether. And one blow-job, but that was with the commander. You can see why she's commander, ma'am. She did things with her mouth and tongue, captain ... I can still feel her down there." Mouse's voice tailed off. He appeared to be staring. "Erm, Captain..."
"What is it, Mouse?"
"Your ... bust, Captain. It's extremely large..."
"Of course it is. I'm the captain of this ship. I have to have the biggest bust of all the officers. The commander's bust is actually bigger than mine, but..."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's because of the emergency, and one or two other factors. Commander Crea ... I mean ... Coffey has a larger bust measurement, but my breasts themselves are bigger, hence the fact that I am in command."
"It's not, you know!"
"Not what?"
"The commander's bust isn't as big as yours. Believe me, I am a connoisseur, and I have seen both of you from very close-up in the past few minutes. I'd say hers was fifty-eight inches, right?"
Belinda felt a flush in her cheeks. "Exactly right, but mine's only fifty-six."
"Rubbish, ma'am! You're well over sixty inches!"
"Sixty? Don't be silly!" Belinda ran her hands down the swollen mounds of her bosom. Even without her aching nipples, they did look extremely full this evening. And she'd had to take her bra off. But sixty! That would qualify her for command of a fleet destroyer, if Brilliantina had any. "Do you really think so?" she said, lowering her gaze modestly and fluttering her eyelashes.
"Well over sixty. Creamy told you how big they looked just now, didn't she?"
"You mustn't call her Creamy. She's the commander. Anyway, how did you hear that? She was whispering."
"She said she wanted to suck your nipples, didn't she, Captain?"
"So what if she did?" Belinda raged, and a number of faces on the bridge turned anxiously.
"I've got the same problem, Captain, if it's any consolation," said Mouse quietly.
"What problem's that?" Belinda asked, curious despite herself.
"Going into action, your breasts become bigger, don't they?"
"I wouldn't know," Belinda said haughtily. "I've never been in action before."
"You've seen the guns fired. What happened to your breasts?"
"My nipples got bigger. So what? It was a cold day, and..."
"And they stayed bigger, didn't they?"
"As it happens, yes. But my breasts are still growing anyway, so there's nothing unusual in that."
"You mean there's nothing unusual in them growing two, three, four inches in an hour?"
"They haven't grown that much. Have they?"
"At least. But as I say, I have the same problem. When I get excited — I don't mean sexually, that happens all the time — when I'm about to see action, I get ... bigger, too."
"What, all of you?" Belinda stared, then her eyes fell to the officer's groin. "You don't mean...?"
"Yes. I was in a minor bit of trouble when we had to stop and search a gunboat — a Chinese junk. They were running horse out of Pong-kao-dung. I happened to go to the head just before we were in range, and I had a huge hard-on."
"Mr Mouse, I don't think this is..."
"I went again afterwards, Captain. Before the action I had been thirteen inches. Afterwards, I was fourteen. Erect, of course."
"Oh, of course. You haven't got smaller since?"
"I'm not erect all the time, but when I am, I'm fourteen inches. At least, until now..."
"Now?"
"Now, talking to you, Captain, admiring your gigantic breasts, your staggeringly erect nipples, I am very hard indeed. It's the excitement, sharing the experience of going into battle with you, my Captain! I'm sure if you were to measure me now, I'd be even bigger than when Creamy did it. Just as if I were to measure your bust, you'd be big enough to blow Creamy into the middle of next week!"
"Go to your duties, Mr Mouse!"
"You haven't told me what they are, yet."
"Stay here on the bridge and stand by. I'll give you something to do when..."
"There's a cure for it, you know!"
"A cure? How can there be a cure? There isn't a disease."
"It's a known condition, Captain, and we've both got it. Nelson had it, so did Joan of Arc, Hannibal, Alexander the Great. There's a cure, as I say."
"What is it?"
"Sex. If you have sex, it will stop your breasts becoming large enough to incapacitate you, which could all too easily happen once the lead starts flying. God, Captain, you've grown four inches and we're not in sight of the enemy yet. Imagine if you grew another four! You wouldn't be able to walk properly. And I'd be the same!"
"What are you suggesting? No, don't tell me! You want to fuck me right now, on my own bridge!"
"Of course not, Captain. That would be conduct to prejudice of good Order and Discipline. No, we'll go down to your cabin."
"You can not be serious!"
"Just think, Captain. We are less than one hour from battle. The crew, the officers, are getting edgy. They look to you for inspiration. What would inspire them more, a captain whose bust keeps growing until she looks like a circus freak show? Or a captain who is confident enough to go down to her cabin for an honest-to-goodness fuck to relax and prepare her for the forthcoming ordeal? Do they want you poking their eyes out with your nipples and your puffy areolae? Or having a damned good seeing-to?"
Belinda looked round in panic. To her alarm, a small crowd had gathered. They applauded enthusiastically as Mouse came to the end of his speech.
"Go for it, Captain," said the pilot, her eyes bright. "Go and get fucked!"
"Get fucked, Captain!" said young Lt Shagmore, her own nipples poking holes in her flashproof overalls. "Show the cocky bastard how it's done in the Brilliantine Navy!"
"Aye-aye, Captain!"
Mouse lolled against the bulkhead, grinning at her.
"How long have we got, Pilot?"
"Forty-five minutes, Captain."
"Well, now, Doctor Mouse. Do you think that's long enough for you?"
"I'll do my best, Captain!"
"Think of food," someone advised him.
"Or football."
"Try reciting the names of the Crown Princesses of Brilliantina," said a third voice. "In the correct order, starting with Bettina the Bounteous, 1185-1203."
"You'd better hurry up, Captain," said young Shagmore. "Your tits are bigger than I've ever seen them before."
The captain either failed to notice or simply disregarded young Shagmore's faux pas. There had been a sharp intake of breath on the bridge when she had used the dreadful lower-deck word 'tits'. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Mouse. The fourth buttonhole of the admiral's shirt stretched to its limit and finally let go. The fifth button was perhaps not sewn on as well as the others. It resisted briefly before the last threads unravelled themselves and allowed the little mother of pearl disc to roll hypnotically down the ski-slope of the captain's thunderous bust and launch itself out into space.
Mouse caught it insolently. "Your button, Captain?"
"Follow me, young man," Belinda snapped. To a great cheer, she strode off the bridge of the old Insufferable. Lt Cdr Mouse followed as fast as he could. He was apparently limping. As he said, he'd seen action before.
"Are you absolutely sure sex is a cure for our condition, Mouse?" Belinda looked over her shoulder at the exhausted officer sprawled on her bunk. He had diminished little in thickness and nothing at all in length. She examined her magnificent breasts in the mirror. The areolae were indescribably puffy, larger than the palm of her hand and so swollen that she could barely contain them with her fingers spread. "If anything, I'm bigger still! I mean, we're bigger still!"
"Just think how big you'd be if we hadn't just had it," Mouse panted. He looked shattered.
His captain, on the other hand, appeared capable of going another fifteen rounds. She grabbed a nipple between her thumb and fingers and pulled it outwards. The last time that had happened to her had been when Ptarmigan had done it. The damned thing must be twice as long now, and twice as thick.
"Measure me," she demanded suddenly.
"What? We're on a ship, rushing headlong to almost certain destruction, and you want me to measure you?"
"Losing your nerve, Mouse? A more apt choice of name than you thought, perhaps. There's a tape measure in the top drawer. Not one of your sixty-inch ones. Fortunately, the previous captain of the old Insufferable had a pair of childbearing hips on her, as well as an impressive bust. She went on to a cruiser, you know. Get it out. We haven't got all night!"
Mouse knew he had met his match. He crawled off the bed, noting that his organ seemed heavier than ever before. At least, hanging down there, it was stopping his knees from knocking. He unreeled the tape measure and approached his captain, holding it ready to wrap round her phenomenal bust.
"Mouse! Haven't you ever read any erotic literature at all? God, man, where were you educated? Hips first!"
"H-hips?"
"Down here. Around my bum. Not too tight. Let me hear the worst, Lieutenant Commander!"
"Thirty-six, Captain."
"Oh, my God! Thirty-six! That's shameful. Shameful! Now my waist, if you can call it that!"
"Twenty-five, Captain."
Belinda let out a howl of desolation and shame. "A whole inch bigger! I daren't let you measure my bust. It will be too traumatic."
"With respect, Captain?"
She looked at Mouse, who seemed to be approaching readiness again. A glance at the clock suggested that there might just be time for a quickie. Ten minutes.
"Go on, then! As long as you don't tell me how huge it is!"
So Lt Mouse measured his captain's bust and didn't tell her how huge it was. But he looked surprised, and not a little pleased with the result. And when his captain grabbed his erect weapon and loaded it into her sloshing wet torpedo tube, he finished in nine minutes, forty-one seconds.
Insufferable never faltered as he plunged on to war. Those dockyard mateys had done a sound job de-mothballing the old ship. The engines were almost purring, with only the occasional funny tinkling noise. There had been a little orange light next to the cigar lighter when they went round corners but the problem had gone away now that the Chief Engineer had hung her hat over it.
Word spreads at the speed of light within the restricted confines of a ship of war. Within seconds of the captain descending to her cabin to see to the new lieutenant commander with the unusual name and the very big cock, the whole ship knew, from the sharp bit at the front to the rounded bit at the back. The effect on morale was immediate and uplifting. If it was good enough for the captain, it was even better for the crew. And, most unusually in the Brilliantine Navy, there were men to do it with. Perhaps not quite enough to go round, but it was a huge improvement over a sailor's usual lot. In every department, fucking had commenced approximately two minutes after it had started in the captain's cabin. Three or so minutes later, all over the ship, it was coming to a conclusion.
"You bastard! Not yet!"
"Not yet, you shit-head!"
"Oh, come on, you can't have finished already...?"
"Yes, yes, yes! Oh, no!"
All over the ship, sailors were remembering just why they were bisexual. If they couldn't take a joke, they shouldn't have joined.
Ironically, it was the less superficially attractive, less well-endowed sailors who reaped the benefit. No sooner had the males recovered to any extent than they were remounted by the second shift, who found things lasting much longer than the first-timers. Orgasmic howls rang out from the most unlikely hiding places.
"Captain on the bridge! Ooh, ooh, woooh!" The sailor sentry slapped the butt of her personal weapon to salute her commanding officer. "Thank you!" she whispered to her recent lover. "Just pull my pants up, please." The male sailor complied wearily. He had just performed for the third time in half an hour, taking the sentry from behind; the lady's preferred position, as she had learned that few men could sustain a viable erection while looking at her face.
Over by the radar repeater, young Lt Shagmore was a little slower in finishing. Lt Jones' impressively average member filled her deliciously, despite his tendency towards erectile dysfunction, and young Shagmore was a resourceful girl. The lieutenant's inability to come was a blessing. Young Shagmore had already come thirty-seven times, causing most of the bridge personnel to put on ear defenders. Jennifer Shagmore liked orgasms.
"Hurry up and finish, Miss Shagmore," the captain boomed out over the noise. "We've got a war to fight. How long to go, Pilot?"
"Just finished, Captain," the navigating officer was busily stuffing a towel between her legs and pulling up her flashproof trousers. "Ten minutes on this heading." She applied a hasty but wet kiss to her departing lover, a boy of no more than seventeen wearing no discernible badges of rank.
"Right, let's go!"
The entire bridge looked to its captain. Possibly, just possibly, Lt Mouse's suggestion had made a difference. The captain's runaway breast growth had perhaps been checked slightly. But in no way had it been stopped altogether. She was wearing a new shirt, and a very big shirt it was, too, but it was not big enough for Capt Belinda Brockenhurst BN. Very few shirts would be.
"She ought to be Admiral of the Fleet!" gasped a sailor who had been unlucky in love half an hour earlier and now sought solace with her head between the creamy thighs of a messenger-girl. "I've never seen such tits!"
"Breasts, sailor!" snapped Lt Ptarmigan. "The captain has breasts."
It was patently true. The captain could have been attached to the sharp bit at the front of the boat thing so her stupendous bosom could protrude like a figurehead. But meanwhile, who better to lead Insufferable into her last battle?
"Sound Action Stations, Mr Mouse!"
"Aye-aye, Captain!" The lieutenant commander cleared his throat and grasped the microphone firmly. Thump thump. "Hello, hello? Er, one-tew. Fffwwwchhhhff." He wiped the spittle from the mouthpiece. "D'ye hear there? Action Stations, Action Stations. This is not a drill. Close all watertight doors ... and..."
"Draw the curtains," the captain prompted him. "Read it off the card."
"...and draw the curtains. Make sure they're all tucked in nicely. Action Stations. Cease all intercourse immediately and wear clean repeat clean underwear. Hurry up with that lipstick. Your hair looks okay. I mean it looks wonderful tonight, just do hurry, please! And no, your bum doesn't look big in those flashproof coveralls..."
The echoes of the tinny voice died away. "All closed up, Captain," Mouse reported.
"Very good. You're becoming erect again, I see."
"And your breasts are huge, Captain."
"I know. Someone bring me a bigger shirt."
"I doubt if we'll find a bigger one than that, Captain."
"Call the sailmaker to the bridge, Quartermaster. Tell her to bring one of the spare battle ensigns!"
"Aye-aye, Captain."
"Gunfire ahead, Captain." It was the lookout on the starboard bridge wing, an attractive girl with a small bust which she attempted to disguise with tissue paper in her bra cups, within the limits permitted by Article 36T. "Flashes at green zero-five."
"Bridge, Radar. Missile launch! Four incoming missiles dead ahead, four-fifty knots, low level."
"Decoys. Standby port triple-A. Hard right rudder, Q! Fast as you can, Bridget!"
"Oy-oy, Captain, fast as we can it is, ma'am."
"Wheel is emergency right, ma'am, no course..."
"Make it two niner zero, Q."
"Two-niner zero, ma'am."
A stream of unintelligible cursing came from the engine-room voicepipe, but the Chief's response could be felt instantly as Insufferable heeled steeply and leapt forward like a dolphin. Away behind them, a firework display split the night sky.
"Three missiles homing on the decoys, ma'am. We've still got the fourth."
"Hard left, Q. Back the way we were going a minute ago and head straight for it. A turret engage at will, Guns!"
"Aye-aye, ma'am:" Smith's voice, a little too shrill. "Engaging."
"Ah, sailmaker! Well done!" The captain ripped off her shirt and exposed her still-expanding bust. "You can see the problem!"
"Missiles, Captain. We're under attack by missiles?"
"All under control, Sails. Now what I really need is a new shirt, but the colours of that battle flag are so lovely, I think it would make a really lovely ... what's it called?"
"Incoming aircraft, Captain! Could be cruise..."
"Hard right again, Q, please. Same as last time. What are those things called, Mouse?"
"Like Demis Roussos used to wear, Captain? A kaftan?"
"Not really, although one of those would do, I suppose." Belinda considered, gnawing on a fingernail.
"Captain, Exec..."
"Oh, hi, Creamy! What are those things called, they kind of wrap themselves round your boobs and hang downwards. Big soft floppy things...?"
"You mean men, ma'am? What I really called to tell you was that we destroyed that last incoming, ma'am."
"Well done, Creamy. Be sure and say thank you to the girls for me. We've got a couple of cruise missiles coming in as well. Do what you can with those while I drive the boat around."
"Aye-aye, Captain. Regarding your clothing enquiry, stand by one."
"Creamy's finding out," said the captain comfortably. "The girls in A turret are really the fashion experts..."
"Sarong, Captain?"
"Nothing's wrong, Mouse, we're doing fine. Oops, just straighten up a bit, Q, we're heading right for that firework thing. That's better. When you get a chance, point us at the enemy again, would you?"
"Splash two cruise missiles, Captain! They flew right into the first decoys we launched."
"No, it was called a sarong. You know, it kind of wraps round here..."
"The girls on the guns think it's a sarong, ma'am," Creamy reported. "And they think it will look great on you with your bust."
"Thank you, Creamy! Keep shooting! Now, Sails, you'd better measure me again, just to be sure. Mr Mouse did it a while ago while we were making love, but so much has happened since then..."
"Permission to open fire with main armament, Captain?"
"Must you, Guns? You know how noisy those things are."
"We're in range, ma'am!"
"Oh, all right, then! Fire away. She's young," the captain confided. "You know what they're like. Now, you'll want to do my hips first, I suppose?"
The main armament crashed out a rippling broadside, and after a few seconds a thin cheer rang out.
"Straddle, Captain!"
"Not here, Mouse! Later, darling!"
"Thirty-six and a half, Captain. Better be thirty-seven to be on the safe side."
Belinda fixed a glare on her recent lover. Mouse shrugged and held out his hands. "So maybe it's a stretchy tape measure."
"Yeah, and maybe I've got a huge bum! It's shameful, shameful! Don't do my waist, Sails, it will be too embarrassing. Just the bust."
"Hit! We've hit the bastard, ma'am!"
"Oh, good! Perhaps we can stop all that noisy banging now? And stop the girls screaming like that, I can't hear myself think! Well, Sails? How big?"
But there was no reply. The sailmaker was over against the aft bulkhead. A medical orderly bent over her bulky but lifeless form. She looked up, tears gleaming on her cheeks, and shook her head slowly.
"Is she...?"
The orderly nodded silently. The sounds of battle seemed to have died away. Belinda swallowed a lump in her throat. "Right, we've all got a battle to fight here, people. Who's got a clean tape measure?"
"Bridge, engine room. Problem with the engines, cap'n! Oi've got the accelerator thing all the way across and he's not answering."
"Sounds like an airlock in the fuel pressurisation primary circuit, Chief. You got a hairpin down there?"
"Only the one in my hair, an' oi'll be lookin' a right mess if..."
"Belay that, then, Bridget. Miss Ptarmigan, to me, please!"
Lt Ptarmigan presented herself with a parade ground salute.
"Get yourself down to the engine room and give the Chief a hand with her hair. And while you're there, what do you know about airlocks in the fuel pressurisation primary circuits of these Insufferables? Twin oscillating contra-rotating gear pumps with negative hysteresis downstream relief valves venting back into the tertiary plenum chambers: cross-fed, of course."
"A little, Captain."
"Got a hairpin on you?"
"Aye-aye!"
"Off you go, then, and good luck!"
"More incoming, Captain. Missile launches from dead ahead, time to impact thirty-seven ... thirty-six..."
"Can anyone see where we're going, please? Who put all that nasty black stuff on the windshield?"
"It's from that missile we just took, Captain."
"It's so messy and greasy, like soot. Get some sailors to try and scrape it off, Shagmore, will you? There are rubber gloves in the sideboard thing..."
"Aircraft, Captain, starboard fifteen, closing..."
"We can't go on like this. Look after things up here, Shagmore. I'm shifting control down to the front end." Belinda reached for the voice-pipe. "Creamy, get your lovely ass down to the bow and meet me there. Mouse, you come with me."
"Sure, where are you going?"
"Right down at the pointed bit, where I can see what's happening. Quartermistress, get one of the girls to watch out for my signals and be ready to turn whichever way I tell you. Far less confusing than trying to remember all this left, right, port, starboard stuff. You ready, Mouse? Bring that funnel ... megaphone thing with you."
"Aye-aye, ma'am."
"Then let's go!"
And wrapping the battle flag round her shoulders and breasts, she was off, striding for'ard with Mouse having to hurry to keep up with her. The sailors chewed their lips in fright as their captain passed them, yet they felt their chests somehow swell at the inspiring sight of this woman with her massive tits sticking out a mile in front of her. Together, the two officers marched right past the foremost gun turret, right up to the pointed front end of the ship until they saw Creamy's white uniform looming out of the smoke. Belinda sat down on the deck with her thighs on each side of the upright which supported the rail. Her shapely legs hung down over the sides and she grinned into the thirty-five knot wind that stretched the battle flag tight across her achingly huge nipples. She flung out an arm and pointed at the three aircraft homing in from the starboard beam.
"Shoot those fuckers out of the sky, Mouse!"
"Aye-aye!" Mouse waved to the anti-aircraft gunners who needed no encouragement. The multi-barrelled guns banged in rapid succession and kept on banging. One aircraft exploded immediately, the second, already in the act of releasing a bomb, broke away to avoid the debris and its bomb flew harmlessly into Insufferable's creaming wake. The third plane came on, but Belinda was already waving her arm in tight circles.
Mouse hadn't a clue what this signal meant but it didn't matter. The helmswoman had already taken appropriate action and he had to hang on tight as the old ship heeled to port, coming around like a racing dinghy, black smoke belching from both stacks. The anti-aircraft guns came round at the same time, blowing a wing off the last aircraft. But their efforts were too late! Two black bombs wobbled as they fell, the first exploding directly in the path of the shop, the second striking the water just ahead of the starboard bow and skipping like a pebble off the surface of the sea to howl over the foc'sle and bring down a tangle of antennas and sailors' washing over the port side. Miraculously, this bomb failed to explode.
"Close!" Mouse said with a laugh, picking himself up from where he had flung himself on top of his captain. "You okay?"
"I think I broke my nail, and I'd just got them looking nice. Where's Creamy?"
"Down here, Captain. That first mother blew all my clothes off!"
"It certainly did! Gosh, you look good enough to eat! Any injuries? Isn't that blood on your leg?"
"I'm fine, but I think my period's started."
"Mouse could call on his megaphone thing for a sailor to bring you a Tampax..."
"I'm afraid it's all bent out of shape, Captain."
"Semaphore, then. You learn semaphore in your damned navy?"
"Of course, but I don't know how to do an X. We don't have to signal for Tampax very often."
Creamy cut in to protest. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't thinking of playing tennis until we get back to port anyway."
"Good girl! Right, Mouse, can you find out from Guns how many FAKED ORGASMs we have available?"
"Orgasms? Does it matter if they're faked or genuine? With respect, Captain, are you sure this is the time and the place...?"
"FAKED ORGASMs. Fully Autonomous Kinetic Energy Direct Overhead Radar Guided Anti-Ship Missiles, damn it. We didn't have time to take on a full warload but if we've got a pair we can take out that bastard Malvolian cruiser. If we come within range of his guns, we're in the poo."
A girl came skidding across the deck and saluted, checking that her hair was in place.
"What is it, sailor?"
"Gosh! It's so windy down here, how do you ever manage to keep your hair tidy...?"
"Sailor!"
"Aye-aye, Captain. Young Lieutenant Shagmore sends her love and..."
"Her respects, sailor!"
"Her respects, Captain, and we're under attack again. Malvolian missiles five miles and closing. Permission to open fire, Captain, she says."
"Open fire with everything we've got!"
"Everything we've got aye-aye." The sailor saluted and backed away, her lips moving as she repeated the order.
"Wreckage on the port bow, Captain!" Creamy shouted, pointing out over the swell. "Just there! Permission to launch the gig?"
"Gig's destroyed, Creamy," shouted Mickey Mouse. "It went over the side when we took that five-hundred pounder."
"Damn. Is that the only boat we've got?"
"Apart from the Captain's pinnace, ma'am."
"The Captain's what?" Both female officers looked at Mouse, horrified.
A great roar echoed around the ship and a missile streaked away trailing an orange plume. It soared skywards, deviated from side to side as if searching for a victim then zoomed down to sea level and made off at high speed.
"Go, you big beautiful mother!" Creamy howled, shaking her fist.
"How long to impact?" Belinda stared into the distance. With startling suddenness, the sky lit up. "We hit the bastards!" She enjoyed a mighty orgasm and looked down at her nipples which seemed to have grown at least another inch. "What are you lookng at, Mouse?"
Mouse pointed ahead. "That flash wasn't a hit. It must have been a missile launch."
The women looked at him gravely then back at the horizon. Already a glowing pinprick of light was visible, weaving slightly as it streaked across the wavetops.
"Oh, fuck!"
Off to the port bow, in the direction of the floating wreckage, a red distress flare soared skywards.
"Damn, Captain, there's someone alive out there!"
"We'll all be floating down there with them in ten seconds!" Creamy gripped her Captain's hand and pulled her to her feet. All three of them clung to each other in their last seconds in this life.
Then a number of things happened in rapid succession. The distress flare hung in the air above Insufferable's bows, illuminating their eyes with a blood red glow. There was a dull thud in the sky and a brilliant bluish-white light threw everything into stark light and shifting shadow. Streaks of light whistled overhead, crackling explosions filled the air and the ship lurched sharply to the left, dumping the officers in an undignified heap on the deck.
The smoke hadn't cleared, swirling, acrid clouds of it. Something was burning. The guns of A turret sagged flaccidly, useless and powerless. The anti-aircraft cannons were silent, pointing aft. There was a strange stillness.
"Come on," Belinda scrambled to her feet. "The engines have stopped. Up to the bridge!"
They clattered up the ladder and burst into the shambles of the ship's control room. Officers and crew were on their hands and knees, coughing. Up on the bridge there was starlight where starlight had no business to be. The wheel swung pointlessly from side to side.
"At least we needn't worry about cleaning the windshield any more." Belinda indicated the gaping hole outside which the world was carrying on as if nothing had happened.
Mouse looked around. "Damned missile must have exploded right in here."
"I don't think so. It hit but it didn't explode." Belinda leaned over the crumpled mouthpiece of the voice pipe. "Engine room, bridge."
No answer.
"Engine room, this is the bridge, come in!"
"Who is it?"
"Ptarmigan! This is the Captain. What's happened?"
"Engines have stopped. Chief's unconscious but she's still breathing. I'm trying to bring her round. What happened up there?"
"We took a Crouton on the bridge but it seemed to be a dud. Can you get us some power? We need emergency lighting."
"Wait one. Let me wake the Chief and we can start the standby genny. It's dark down here. And wet. About a foot of water."
"Is it getting any deeper?"
"Can't tell. Give me a minute." The box went silent.
"Mouse, there's battery lighting down in the control room. Should have cut in automatically. Maybe the breakers have tripped out."
"I'm on my way."
"Good man. Creamy, can you ... Creamy? Creamy?"
"Quar ... Quartermistress on the w-wheel, Captain..."
"Thank God! Are you hurt?"
"Just knocked out. Didn't it explode?"
"Apparently not, but we've lost engine power. Miss Ptarmigan's on the case. What's that up ahead?"
"Distress flare, ma'am. Shall I steer...?"
"We're stopped, Q. And I think we've lost the Commander. She was with us down on the bows when we took that hit."
The lights came on briefly, flickered and went out. Then with a rumble, smoke billowed from the forward smokestack and the engines began their reassuring throb. The lights came on and stayed on.
"Captain, engine room."
"Go ahead, Ptarmigan."
"It's not Ptarmigan, it's the Chief. We got the engine going again, ma'am. Oi can give you half speed in ten minutes."
"Nice work, Bridget."
"Ptarmigan's wounded, ma'am. She's just collapsed. The girls are trying to bring her round."
"Okay, Bridget. We've lost the Commander, I think. It's a shambles up here. But do your best and we can ride this old rustbucket into Brilliantina."
"Red flares, Captain!" It was Shagmore's voice. What was the woman talking about? This was no time for discussion of unfashionable clothing.
"You're alive, Shagmore?"
"I think so. Something hit me on the head." Shagmore appeared at the wheel, pulling herself up by the spokes. "I saw red flares on the port bow, then everything blew up."
Mouse came into view. "Stewardess is bringing coffee. White with sugar, I'm afraid. Wardroom's still without power and it's coming from the seawomen's mess."
"Right," said the Captain. "Just keep things ticking over up here while I go down to the heads and fix my hair. I must look an absolute sight!" Belinda ducked her head and disappeared.
Mouse looked around the battered bridge. "Shit, Shaggy, what happened to you? You're stark naked!"
"The missile must have blown all my clothes off. I didn't notice..."
"You look okay from here. Forty-fours?"
Shagmore blushed and lowered her eyes. "Forty-two."
Mouse shook his head. "They're forty-fours, Shaggy, and no need for a bra at all." The voice box squawked. "Mouse here, go ahead."
"Engine room here. We've got reduced power on both screws. Ready to go, but gently, not too fast round the corners."
Mouse stuck up his thumb. "Not too fast round the corners aye-aye, Chief O'Rafferty, and thank you!"
"What's that, sir? Port bow. A light? Flashing?"
"By golly, you're right! Come left a bit. Chief. Give me slow ahead both and be ready for an emergency stop."
"Signal coming in, Admiral."
"Bring it up as soon as it's decoded, Archibald. No, on second thoughts, send what's-his-name up with it. Uranus. He's the one, isn't he?"
"He's the one, Admiral. Coming up now. It didn't need decoding, it was sent in clear. Shall I read it out to you?"
"Security, Archibald. Security. Need to know. Where is that MAN, Uranus?"
"He's coming, Admiral."
Uranus minced into the control room and hovered near the door. "Message, Admiral..."
"Ah, come in, Uranus. Take a pew. Now, what have we got?"
HALF PAST TWO IN THE MORNING
SHALL I TELL YOU A SECRET BITTER LEMON? REALLY REALLY URGENT
TO CINC HOME CINCB WHATEVER ADMIRAL
FROM F09 INSUFFERABLE
ENGAGED AND BELIEVED DESTROYED ENEMY SHIP. CASUALTIES ONE OFFICER K.I.A. (PTARMIGAN) 19 (NINETEEN) INJURED ONE OFFICER (CREAMY) 2 (TWO) SEAWOMEN MISSING. + INVESTIGATING LIGHTS ON WATER THEN RETURNING BRILLIANTINA STOP
LOVE, BELINDA
ENDS
|
"Oh, shit! Poor old Ptarmigan. Decent old stick. Still, never mind. Come over here, Uranus. Drop your trousers and stand to attention. Gosh! I see what Archibald meant!"
"Aye-aye, ma'am. Permission to go back downstairs, ma'am? My boyfriend will be missing me, ma'am."
"Denied, Uranus. Lie down on the floor. No, on your back. Now, this won't hurt a bit..."
HALF PAST THREE IN THE MORNING
GOSH DOESN'T TIME FLY?
KEEP THIS TO YOURSELF BITTER LEMON? AND ALL THAT SHIT
TO THE ADMIRAL
FROM F09 INSUFFERABLE
PICKED UP SURVIVORS BS IMPROBABLE + CREAMY OK ISN'T THAT WONDERFUL SHE LAUNCHED A LITTLE BOAT THING AFTER WE GOT HIT BY MISSILE AND FOUND CAPTAIN GOODBODY 2 (TWO) OFFICERS 19 (NINETEEN) CREW ALL WET BUT OK APART FROM THEIR HAIR AND NAILS AND STUFF. AND NO CLOTHES. BRINGING THEM ALL HOME. + YOU WON'T BELIEVE THE SIZE OF OUR BUSTS NOW BUT CU L8R STOP
LOVE, BELINDA
XXX
ENDS
|
The old Insufferable's siren yelped three times as he heeled over and churned the water to foam just inside the harbour mouth. The sun scorched down from an unbroken blue morning sky, drawing rainbows in the spray tossed from the the pointed bit at the front. The ship was racing in towards the dock at an acute angle with a furious clangour of bells sounding out a message of extreme urgency to the assembled multitude on the land. The band of the Loyal Brilliantine Marine Corps which had confidently struck up an optimistic tune faltered ever so slightly as the bass drummer lost the beat. The crowd was backing nervously away from the water's edge as Insufferable backed up emergency full and slid to a halt barely inches from the side of the dock. Greasy water slopped in the narrowing space between ship and shore as the rusty plates barely caressed the baulks of timber protecting the venerable stonework.
The crowd let out a communal gasp of admiration at this swashbuckling display of ship handling. Up there on the twisted, smoke-blackened bridge, onlookers could see and recognise the massive-breasted woman in a white shirt who was bending forward from the waist. Her hat was at its usual jaunty angle, exactly as it had been in the picture which had appeared on every front page and featured on the television news. From time to time she turned to look over her shoulder and shout words of encouragement to her crew. If this was indeed the Captain Brockenhurst who had carved her name in the annals of Brilliantine naval history she was even cooler than legend had it. She had parked the Insufferable without even looking.
"All stop, Chief! Make fast for'ard. Make fast aft. Double up all lines. Finished with main engines, Chief."
"Aye-aye, ma'am!"
Lt Shagmore slapped the intercomm switch to the off position and strode to the side of the ship to stare down at the foam-flecked water. She had measured her bust this morning before entering harbour. Forty-seven inches, and it wasn't water retention. There was a place for her in this woman's navy. Captain Goodbody, late of Improbable, would be retiring and everyone would be moving up one place. Or even two or three places. Shagmore would be getting a little ship of her own after this. She appreciated the kindness and generosity of the Captain in letting her bring Insufferable into harbour for possibly the last time in his distinguished career.
Mind you, neither the Captain nor Lt Shagmore really had any option. During the emergency rescue of Improbable's survivors from their life raft, Belinda's bust had expanded to a mind-blowing sixty-one inches, and when she had caught a glimpse of the crowds — the cameras, the bands — awaiting their grand entrance, her nipples had practically punctured the bra built for her by Improbable's newly-promoted ex-deputy sailmaker. She was on her way toward seventy inches, and an inevitable promotion to Admiral of the Fleet, but all of that would be of no consequence if she committed the unforgivable sin of docking with her breasts hanging out. She had to take immediate action.
"Mouse, get your fucking arse over here!" She tore off her skirt and panties. "Take her in, Shaggy!" she roared, as Insufferable charged headlong at the dock.
"Gee, thanks!" Shagmore muttered as she peered ahead to see what the hell was happening. She hadn't really been paying attention, having been scanning the dockside through her powerful naval binoculars, looking for potential fucks. After all, she'd been at sea for over a day.
As Shagmore's hair had slowly stood on end, it had been Creamy who came to the rescue. "You'd better stop this thing a bit sharpish, Shaggy, or we'll be a permanent exhibit in the Museum of Brilliantine Maritime History. We're doing twenty-seven knots and the dock's two hundred yards away. One-eighty. One-seventy..."
Shagmore seized the handles of the engine room telegraph and yanked them round to All Stop, then Emergency Full Astern on both engines. As she had a sneaking feeling that might not be quite enough, she yelled for the helmswoman to turn hard a-port. She hoped she'd got it the right way.
Now, her heart thumping as she leaned over the rail staring down at the greasy water, she feared she might be about to spoil everything by losing her lunch. But then she remembered that she had measured her bust this morning before entering harbour. Forty-seven inches, and it wasn't water retention. There was a place for her in this woman's navy. She looked up and her horizon broadened.
"Nice work, Shaggy," Creamy told her, sauntering across the bridge untying the strings of her life jacket. The busty Executive Officer planted a wet, lomg-tongued kiss on her still open mouth and her questing hand slid into her unbuttoned shirt to cup her heavily engorged left breast. Shagmore looked around her. Everyone was crowded together on the port wing of the bridge, whimpering with fright and still holding on to each other for dear life. They were all wearing their life jackets, too. The only person who wasn't was Captain Belinda Brockenhurst. She was bending forward from the waist, her nipples pointing at the deck, while Lt Cdr Mickey Mouse pumped her from astern with long strokes.
Sweat trickled down the Captain's rich milk-chocolate face, down her neck, soaking her last crisp white shirt. She felt between her naked thighs with a preoccupied expression, making sure her lover was still safely inside her before she began bucking her hips with redoubled energy.
"Yes, Mouse, yes, yes, yes!"
"Aye-aye, ma'am!"
"Ooh, that is so good! Yes, yes, yes! Oh, you bastard! Not yet!"
Lt Mouse let out a high-pitched scream and ejaculated into his captain. It was just like being back in his own navy, he thought briefly before coming to his senses. "Who did that?" he yelped, looking over his shoulder. "Creamy? Take your finger out of my arse!"
"T'ain't my finger, it's my thumb. Sorry, Mouse, you were taking too long. The Admiral's coming aboard and we need our Captain back."
Belinda stood up, bringing tears to Mouse's eyes. "The Admiral? But we've only just arrived back. Damn the woman! Can't she let an officer finish her fuck first? Take it out, Mouse, will you? Didn't you hear? The Admiral's coming aboard."
"I can't take it out. Creamy's got her thumb up my bum."
"Why should that stop you?"
"Have you ever tried it?"
Belinda shook her head impatiently. "No time for that stuff now, Mouse! Later, maybe, when we're at a loose end and a couple of hours to spare. After we're married."
"After we're what?"
"Congratulations, Captain!"
"Admiral!"
"Stand easy, everyone, just a social call. You too, Lieutenant-Commander...?"
"Mouse, ma'am."
"Ah, yes, of course. I've heard so much about you. Is it all true?"
"That depends what it is, ma'am."
"Oh, come on, man. Slip it out of the captain and let's have a look at it. Creamy, if you'd just take your thumb out of his arse for a moment. Thank you. An old naval custom...? Gosh, the rumours were right. That's bumped up the old average a bit. You're not free tonight, by any chance...?"
"Commander Mouse and I are getting engaged," said Belinda.
"Excellent! First rate! Capital! Just what the doc ... Creamy, must you stand around with your thumb sticking out like that?"
"I'm trying to keep it away from ... I mean, I know where it's just been."
"We all know where it's just been, girl. Look, if you must park it somewhere ... Uranus! Forward! Five paces, mince!"
MAN Uranus did as he was told, sashaying to the Admiral's side. He caught a glimpse of Lt Mouse's now flaccid penis and his eyebrows rose. "Mmm-hmmm!" he purred. "Up spirits, as they say..." Then he emitted a squeal as the Admiral yanked his bell-bottoms down to his knees.
"There you go, Creamy, shove it in there."
Young Lieutenant Shagmore had been hovering on the outskirts of the group, hoping for a mention in despatches for her dashing ship handling. She edged forward and coughed politely.
The End