CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR:  

THE CRUISE, PART TWO

	Christine stood at the railing at the bow of the 
ship, several stories above the water line, blinking 
watery eyes caused by the wind generated by the movement 
of the Carib Mermaid as she made her way toward the port 
of Montego Bay.  It was late, well past 1:00 am, on a 
perfect, cloudless night.  Chris was amazed at how many 
stars were visible once one got away from the lights of 
the mainland.  Even though there was no moon, one could 
easily see by the starlight, although mainly in dim hues 
of bluish gray.  Chris was wearing a thin billowy 
sundress with nothing underneath and was reveling in the 
sensations the cool breeze provided as the fabric 
rippled across her amaranthine body.  From this lofty 
vantage point she saw no other people above decks at 
all; those few passengers still up at this hour were at 
the casino or nightclub.  Chris felt like she had this 
gargantuan ship all to herself.
	Perched at the very front end of this boat as she 
was, Chris was reminded of the old-fashioned figurehead, 
usually the undraped torso of a lovely lady, carved into 
the bow of classic wooden sailing vessels.  She suddenly 
felt an impulsive desire to be the Mermaid's figurehead.  
With a quick glance around her to confirm she was alone, 
she reached up and untied the strings holding her dress 
around her neck and shoulders.  The top fell away to 
where the material was gathered at her waist.  Chris 
leaned out over the railing, arching her back and 
throwing back her head in classic figurehead pose.  Her 
awe-inspiring breasts thrust forward, proudly defying 
gravity by even curving slightly upward as she bent 
back.  The caress of the cool night wind felt good on 
the hot skin of her bosom; the glands beneath had been 
working overtime to compensate for Chris's increased 
caloric intake -- the midnight buffet she had attended 
earlier had been her fifth meal that day -- and were 
once again filling the myriad lactiferous sinuses within 
to capacity with warm, sweet milk.  The breeze finally 
lowered her skin temperature enough to raise goose 
pimples and turn her nipples into twin 3/4" cylinders of 
solid ruby.  She recalled that she rarely displayed 
herself out in the open like this, and when she did it 
was usually in a controlled environment, like a fenced-
in swimming pool.  The knowledge that she was now fully 
exposed to both the elements and potentially to any one 
of the thousand or so people aboard who might happen to 
wander up to this particular lookout proved to be very 
erotic for her.  The three glasses of wine she'd 
consumed at the buffet were definitely helping suppress 
her inhibitions as well.  Chris felt a coolness in her 
crotch as the breeze penetrated the fabric of her dress 
and tried to evaporate the moisture that was beginning 
to collect there.
	The sensations were so novel, and the situation so 
unique, that Chris decided to run with them.  As the 
last of her inhibitions melted away, aided by the wine, 
she retained just enough conscious sense to turn to the 
port side railing so that the wind would not be directly 
in her face.  Leaning out over the railing with eyes 
closed, chin lifted slightly, and tits outthrust, she 
concentrated on the sound of the ocean far below 
striking the bow of the ship -- millions of gallons of 
water rushing past in a continuous, mighty surge.  She 
imagined herself surging with that kind of power, and 
sure enough seconds later her breasts began spewing 
forth torrents of hot milk.  The wind caught the needle-
thin streams and blew them to a white mist that quickly 
dissipated into the night.  As the tingling of the 
letdown intensified, Chris used her lacquered 
fingernails to lightly stroke the long sides of her 
aching nipples, stimulating the tiny muscles along her 
milk ducts to contract even harder, pushing the streams 
out with even greater force.  Not content even with 
this, Chris cupped her incredible boobs and began 
tugging and squeezing in an attempt to increase the flow 
even more.  The small openings in her nipples had 
reached capacity, however, so her actions only served to 
increase the feeling of pressure inside her breasts, 
which was sufficient to push her toward orgasm.
	She felt her nectar start to run down the inside 
of her legs, so she released one breast, gathered as 
much material from her dress up around her waist in one 
hand as she could, and planted her feet wide apart so 
she would splash directly onto the deck.  She let go of 
the other breast, trapped both of them between her 
forearms, and squeezed them together to keep the flow of 
milk going at maximum.  The index finger of her free 
hand disappeared into the folds of her bald beaver, 
sought out her slippery, engorged clit, and began a 
vigorous circular motion.  Chris held her breath to keep 
from crying out as she mounted the final hill, and the 
subsequent drop in oxygen to her brain took her 
immediately into an orgasm of superluminary porportions.  
Her nipples felt as if they would pop off from the 
pressure of the milk rushing through them, and the force 
of the flood from her pussy made a loud splat as it 
struck the deck.  Caught up in unreasoning ecstasy, 
Chris actually forgot to resume breathing, and her knees 
began to buckle.  The night seemed to take on a reddish 
hue, and as she began to faint, she felt something hard 
strike her across the midriff.  As consciousness began 
to flicker out, she realized that it was the railing -- 
she was beginning to pitch forward over it!  She gasped 
for breath and fought to regain control of her body, but 
it was too late -- she felt herself in the grip of 
gravity and in stark white panic realized she was about 
to fall overboard!
	In that millisecond she felt her head snap back as 
a second impact across her middle jerked her violently 
backward.  When awareness returned she found herself 
sprawled in a heap several feet back from the railing.  
There was hoarse breathing in her ear and a strong arm 
wrapped tightly about her at just below the level of her 
breasts, which now pointed upward and were still 
dribbling milk down their smooth slopes to soak into the 
sleeve of that arm.  She slowly realized that she was 
not lying on the deck, but had landed on top of someone.
	The breathing in her ear turned into a male voice 
laced with concern.  "Christine!  Are you all right?" it 
said.
	How does he know my name? she thought, still badly 
shaken.  Wait, I recognize that voice...  She looked 
back over her shoulder, right into Jonah Ballwin's 
bluer-than-blue eyes.  She tried to speak, but realized 
that she was still struggling to regain her breath.  
Jonah had had to come from several feet away to keep 
Chris from going over the railing, so his collision with 
her had been a rough one.  She nodded yes instead.
	Jonah looked toward the railing.  "God damn it!" 
he swore with feeling.  "I've always thought those 
railings were too low!  What were those stupid designers 
thinking?!"  He was practically trembling with anger and 
adrenaline.  He forced his eyes closed and took several 
deep breaths to calm himself.
	Chris reached up and stroked his cheek.  "I 
seriously thought I was going to die.  Thank you."  She 
also looked toward the railing.  "I don't know what I 
was thinking, getting so close."  She felt herself 
blushing, the heat in her cheeks more noticable in the 
cool air.  "I guess I was caught up in the moment."
	Is he blushing too?  It's so hard to tell in this 
light.  "To be honest, so was I," she heard him say.  
"This particular overlook is a little difficult to get 
to, so not many passengers come up here.  I often do 
because the view is so spectacular.  Tonight it was 
particularly so."  His eyes briefly flicked down across 
Chris's body, which made her realize how fully exposed 
she still was.  Oddly, however, she felt no immediate 
need to disengage from his grip and cover herself.  The 
wine must still be exerting some influence.  Besides, 
the salt air was definitely becoming nippy, and he was 
nice and warm.
	She snuggled a little deeper into his chest and 
straightened one leg that had gotten caught at a funny 
angle when they had tumbled to the deck.  Smiling 
mischievously, she said, "How long had you been standing 
there?"
	"Long enough," he replied.  "Long enough to see 
that you are the most incredible woman I have ever met.  
If I hadn't seen what you just did with my own eyes, I 
would never have believed it."
	Chris blushed again.  "Believe me, I don't do that 
sort of thing every day."
	"Then I feel doubly fortunate to have been here 
when I was."
	Chris shifted slightly, purposely pressing one 
warm, firm breast into Jonah's side.  "I wasn't done, 
you know," she said seductively.
	Jonah's eyebrows lifted.  "Oh, should I have just 
let you go over the side, then?" he inquired.
	"Of course not, silly," said Chris.  "But you 
don't notice me wriggling about trying to get my dress 
back on, do you?"
	"I suppose I was sort of wondering why you 
weren't."
	Chris turned to face Jonah, in the same movement 
pushing him back down to the deck.  "Right now I owe you 
a debt, and I'm the kind of person who likes to pay off 
her debts promptly," she said as she started unbuttoning 
his shirt.
	"Excellent policy," Jonah said with a grin.  
"Might I suggest, however, that we adjourn to someplace 
more comfortable than this deck?"
	As soon as he mentioned comfort, Chris realized 
that she had skinned one of her knees, and in her half-
naked state, even through the false warmth of the wine, 
she was getting cold.  Hiking her dress back into 
position, she asked, "I assume you have a particular 
'someplace' in mind?"
	Jonah got to his feet and helped Chris to hers.  
"Indeed I do.  Allow me to show you the Carib Mermaid 
that most paying customers never get to see."