Cabin Boy to Cabin Lass

by

Amanda Whipp

 

Day One on the Voyage - Lesson One

 

"Bamb!" the cabin door slams shut on Cabin One, First Deck of the recently launched HMS Viceroy Beddersham, His Royal Majesty, the King of England's newest Steamship of the line, just christened last year, 1915, at the Birmingham shipworking docks, prior to her maiden voyage to India and the other far-east British Colonies, and now on her return voyage to England.

The Cabin Boy, jarred out of his fascination with the woman's clothing he is fondling, jumps back from the huge, stand-up steamer trunk that he is leaning over, and yells, "OH! Memshahib!" The Cabin Boy quickly bows and touches his forehead, his chin, and turns his hand out to the huge, smartly dressed Englishman who stands in the massive walnut doorway. Hatted, with a wing-collar shirt, fashionable dotted bow-tie, dark blue double-breasted, worsted suit, made by the finest tailors of Fleet Street, London, he stands with a short, black leather whippet in his right hand, smacking it against his left. The tall Englishment smirks and looks down, "Can you read, Cabin Boy? That chest is clearly marked 'DO NOT OPEN'."

The Indian Cabin Boy, completely scared out of his wits and trembling, mutters quickly, "Oh, oh, oh, please, please, Memsahib? I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please. Please." The Cabin Boy is now cowering on his knees, looking up at the tall Englishman, his mouth agape, obviously caught in his guilt-laiden tryst. "I... I... I was only putting your things away in the drawers as instructed by the Deck Steward."

"Yes. Yes. Well and good. I am sure that's what you were doing. Hmmm." A pregnant pause, then a smirk, "Do you like them, Cabin Boy?" The Englishman observes the gaping mouth of the young Indian lad. "Yes", he thinks to himself, "I'll put that to good use in good time, my newly found plaything."

"AGAIN! I say, do you like them?"

Still trembling, the Cabin Boy shakes his head, yes, yes.

Now marching around the spacious cabin, the tall Englishman, continues to smack his hand with his whippet, "Yes, Yes, of course you do. They are nice, are they not? They were my late wife's precious things. Silk dresses from the Orient. Feel the silky weave. The finest linen blouses and skirts from the looms of Ireland. Feel the softness. Cotton dresses from of the highest count Egyptian cotton. The most delicate lace brassiers and garterbelts from Venice, and lace panties made by tiny English hands."

"They start them out at age 4 you know, working them only 10 hours a day, 6 days a week, so the young things don't get so tired out. Yes, the delicate lace tattings are the smallest and tightest found in the world. You are lucky to be here rather than there, working your little fingers to the bone in some English sweatshop."

Fingering the lacey things hanging in the stand-up trunk, the Englishman, continues, "Yes, Yes, my little Cabin Boy. My late wife had the finest in taste. As I see you do too. Aye, my lad. Or, my 'lass' should I say?"

"Lass, did he say? Vot does he mean, I vonder", the Cabin Boy thinks. Now dejectedly sitting on the floor, the young Indian looks up questioningly. "Vaa...Vot? I am sorry. Memsahib. Er... Please do not tell the Captain. Please, Please?" He knew what happened to ship's crew members who incurred the Captain's wrath. Likely he'd be chained in the deep, dark damp bow-hold for the duration of the journey, without anyone brave enough to bring him bread or water. That would be the best he could dare hope for. The worst: on another ship he had seen a struggling sailor, caught with his hand in the Captain's private rum stash, keel-hauled, strung up over the three-masts along the sail's rope-line, then drawn down into the deep, dark sea to the waiting rows of teeth of the deadly sharks who regularly swam along with ships, on the lookout for the occasional dinner bone, or better yet, the wayward, tipsy sailor who so unluckily falls o'erboard.

"CRACK!", the whippet smacks the sole of the thick English-made, highly shined, leather shoe. "Well, well, well. Yes, yes. We must not tell the Captain, must we? I have a feeling he would be most displeased to find one of his Cabin Boys riffling and sniffing the finer things of the prized passengers, would he not? Well, well. We shall see. We shall see what we shall see, shall we not?"

Pausing, then continuing his march around the luxurious First Class Cabin, 'top First Deck, with full porthole view' of course paid for by the account of His Royal Majesty's Great East Burma Trading and Manufacturing Company, Limited, of which the Englishman was traveling Vice-President and Director of the Line. Still menacingly snapping the whippet against his hand, then against his shoe, occasionally whisking it through the air with a hiss, he continues, "Now, then tell me Cabin Boy, do you like to wear fine clothing? Fine women's clothing, per chance? Lacy women's clothing, undergarments, perhaps? Fine lace brassiers from fine Italian hands? Petticoats of the most luxurious Egyptian cotton? Would you like to try on my late wife's beautiful silk blouses and skirts, hand sewn with the most delicately dyed Chinese silk, brought over on camel-back along the Marco Polo trade route? Dyed by hand tiny Chinese girls, aged 7, working from dawn 'til dusk in the dyeshops. You are lucky to be here rather than there, working your little fingers to the bone in some Chinese sweatshop."

The Cabin Boy, now throughly cowed and trembling, sits on the floor, sure that his fate is sealed, thinking, "I will never again see my poor mother in India, my six brothers and my four sisters, now probably sold to the Rajah as pleasure concubines for his harem anyway."

"Yes, yes. My late wife, bless her poor, departed soul. Lost in the sweltering jungles of Burma. Took the malaria, she did. Damnable mosquitoes. All the quinine water in the East could not save her. Yet, I cannot bear, of course, to toss her beautiful things to the wind. Her memory lingers so. Her delicate scent of lavender and poupourie still clings to the lacy brassiers and underthings, does it not? The jasmine scent of her Spanish lace pantalounes and petticoates. You do smell them, do you not?"

"Yea... yea...Yes, Memshahib. I do. Tha...tha...they are lovely, lovely," now trying to placate the tall Englishman, who so unfortunately holds his fate in his hands.

"Well, well. I understand this journey around the Horn of deepest, darkest Africa (he pronounces it 'Offrikia'), to our homeland in merry old England (he pronounces it 'Engalin-na') will take at least thirty days. Days filled mostly with the boredom of the sea, don't you think? Maybe we shall find some way to pass the time. Aye, my little Cabinlass?"

The Cabin Boy looks perplexed, thinking, "Lass. Lass? Why the hell does he keep using this word 'lass'? I'm no lass. Vot is this mad Englishman thinking?"

"Yes. You shall feel them, my new found, pathetic friend. You shall smell their delicate scent. You shall feel their sensuous drape around your shoulders and waist. You shall feel the satiny slide of the prized Oriental silk about your arms and legs. Just as my late, dearest wife did. She so loved them, you know. Their beautiful silkiness, the rustling sound they made when she walked, the trailing scent of the finest French parfumes. You shall feel the lacy underthings around your breasts and derriere."

Even more perplexed now, the Cabin Boy wonders to himself, "Breasts and derriere. I have no breasts and derriere. I have a boy's chest and rear. Well, yes, when I was growing up in Punjab, attending the English school, while his family toiled in the Maharajah's pleasure gardens, I did try on my sister's lovely silk sari now and then. Draping the winding cloth around and around 'til it hung low below my waist and rear, I would dance to the tinkling of the chimes in the Maharajah's private courtyard. Until one day, that is, when my oldest brother found me out. Yes, well, he didn't tell. No, but he did put his arms around me, and hold me tight with his hands on my chest, and nuzzle my neck, and press his...., but that's another story perhaps."

"How many cabins do you attend?, the Englishman asks, breaking the Cabin Boy's train of thought.

"Four, Memshahib," holding up four fingers.

"Well, I shouldn't worry too much about the others. They will be traveling with their upstairs maids, downstairs maids, butlers and manservants, anyway I would dare say. The lousy lot of them. They will not require much attention I would gainsay. Perhaps the daily cleaning and changing. But, allow their servants to attend to as much as they will. You will be attending to this cabin, my boy. Or, my lass. You will be my Cabin Lass, you see."

"Yes, yes, from now on, when you come into my cabin, you will dress in my late wife's most delicate things. You will wear only her clothing while attending to your duties in my cabin, not those obnoxious naval uniform pants and shirt. To my duties, mine and mine alone."

Then continuing, "And, I have some other things of hers which you may be interested in. Since I could not bear to part with her lovely clothing, I could likewise not part with her magnificent jewelry, nor her chest of parfumes and cosmetiques. Yes, she gathered the most delicate of scents from France and Persia, the near and far East, Algerian jasmine, and lotus blossom colognes from the islands of the South Pacific, picked by little girls, who are sent into the steaming jungles to gather the blossums day in and day out. They send them out at about age 5 to pick flower blossums with their tiny hands. You are lucky to be here rather than there, working your little fingers to the bone."

"The cosmetiques are ground by the chemists of Amsterdam and Constantinople. The powders and rouge from the diatomous earths of Turkey and Greece. Hand ground by the tiny hands of small children, who work from sunrise to sunset in the dark Turkish sweatshops, 'til their fingers are blunt. Yes, you are lucky to be here, rather than there, working your fingers to the bone."

"The lip colours come from the tints of Nile muds, dug by the Egyptians, who, of course, first used them thousands of years ago. These you may also use, my dear sweet lass, you will use... To pretty yourself for the things to come."

"Things to come", vot does he mean wonders the Cabin Boy. "Vot is coming?"

But the Englishman continues, "Then there's the jewelry, well, not her diamonds from darkest Offrika, nor the rubies rent from the jungle mines of Burma, dug from the hardest of rock by the little slave children, and of course not the emeralds cajoled from the mountains of South (he pronounces its 'Suutha') America by the teenaged Per-ruvian boys. Yes, they use the tiniest of boy children since their little fingers can pick out the smallest of gems from the tons of rock and dirt. As young and tiny as possible, they are put to the rock piles, 'til their fingers are blunt. You are lucky to be here rather than there, working your little fingers to the bone. Yes, sir."

"No, those gems and jewels are too valuable for our play. But, then, the dangling golden earrings you may place on your lovely ears,", the Englishman now close to the cowering Cabin Boy, begins pinching and twisting his ear, the Cabin Boy too frightened to even cry out or turn away. "Yes, the gold necklaces and bracelets you may, and will wear in my presence. The others, well, we shall see how your progress goes. Shall we not? Yes, we shall!"

"Oh, and by the by, did you notice the elegant hair wigs? Yes. Made from the finest and thinnest of natural hair from India, the black hair from China, the brown cut from the longest growth of the youngest of Spanish senoritas, and the long blonde hair wrenched from the brow of teenage Lapland girls. Hand sewn into wigs by the tiny fingers of the young lasses, 'til their fingers are blunted. Disgarded when they become older and their hair rougher. You are lucky to be here rather than there, working your little fingers to the bone."

"Vot is he saying?" the Cabin Boy thinks to himself. "Vot is this all about? Is he quite mad? I am no girl. I wear no perfumed scent, no face powder, no lip colour. I have no jewelry." Reaching up to touch the short black hair on his head, he thinks, "I have my own hair, I do not need a wig." He pleads, "But, Sir. I do not understand. I am a boy, the Cabin Boy for this deck. I, I, I cannot just, just do this kind of thing. The Deck Steward, ... er, the Captain..."

"Yes, well, we really do not have a choice, do we? We must do what we must do, musn't we?" And, then there are the things to come which are the most important anyway, aren't they? But, then, we shall get to that in due course. In due course. Now, then, my friend," again smacking his hand sharply and menacingly with the leather whippet. "Perhaps just the brassier and panties will be sufficient for the present. With the blonde wig. Yes, the blonde one. I did so love her in the blonde wig. Natural hair, you know. Cut from the thinest and finest of the hair from the most elegant heads of some poor blonde, blue-eyed child from the northern lands of Lapland or the Finnish Isles." The Englishman picks the wig from its hanger in the immense steamer trunk, and fingers it. "Yes, yes, you will be very pretty as a blonde, my little dark-eyed lass." He places the wig on the head of the Cabin Boy and adjusts it. Then takes it off, saying "Well, your head is a bit smaller. We will make an adjustment." Then, putting it back on the Cabin Boy's head, he says, "Fetch the hair brush from the make-up chest, and get out of that damnable uniform."

Opening a drawer in the steamer trunk, the Englishman pulls out one of the laciest of white brassiers and a beautiful, silky pair of tap pants, their waist and short pants legs trimmed in the most delicate of lace. "The lace is hand tied and tatted, no doubt, by the tiny fingers of little Irish girls, sold into seventeen years of bondage apprenticeship by their poor parents at age 5, who had no money to raise them, 'til their tiny fingers are blunted by the sewing. You are lucky to be here rather than in some Irish workshop, working your little fingers to the bone. Yes, these will do nicely."

The Cabin Boy returns with the brush and the Englishman hands the brassier and tap pants to the wide-eyed lad. "Well, get out of that uniform and into these. We will soon begin our lessons in the pleasuring of the male by the female, my dear Cabin Lass."

"Cabin Lass! I am no girl, I am no girl," again thinks the now downcast Cabin Boy, his fate sealed by the towering Englishman, who seems to hold sway over him in a manner unlike any other passenger.

"WELL!", yells the Englishman, "Get to it, or I'll think about opening that other padlocked trunk, and you do not want to know what is in that one, my uncompliant friend."

"Here?", the Cabin Boy asks. "Do I put them on here, now, Memshahib?"

"Yes. Here. And, NOW! We have no secrets. Or, we will soon have no secrets, that is."

Reluctantly, the Cabin Boy obeys the commands, kicks off his shoes, takes off his shirt, and reveals his smallish, hairless body, his young, spotless skin the colour of caramel, with the reddest of chest teats. Pulling off his pants, he is revealed to have no underclothes. Now naked, he couches to hide himself. "Whack!", the Englishman smacks his behind. "Hurry, to it lass. I am beginning to feel the pangs of unrequited love."

The Cabin Boy jumps, turns away to hide himself from the prying eyes of the Englishman, and stumbles while trying to put his leg through the leg of the tap pants. He sits down on the floor and quickly pulls the tap pants up to his waist, figuring that even a lady's panties are better than nothing to hide his nakedness. The tight tap pants hug his rear. He thinks, "This English lady must have been indeed tiny to wear such small, tight panties."

The Englishman hands him the lacy brassier. The Cabin Boy looks amazed, never having put a brassier on, he does not quite know what to do with it. He remembers the fleeting glance he caught of the beautiful German fraulien through the slightly open door of her bathquarters. How her magnificent breasts filled out the pink brassier, how she lovingly felt her breasts when she adjusted the cups, and then how she yelled at him in an un-understandable Germanic dialect for what seemed like hours for peeking in on her.

"Well, stand up and put it on. Here, my unknowledgeable friend. I will show you how." Turning the Cabin Boy around, the Englishman holds the brassier out by the overloops so that the still-frightened Cabin Boy can put his arms through. Then he pulls the brassier tight against the lad's chest, and goes to buttoning it in the back. "Well, you might have to sew another button on lass. It seems a bit too big. Nevermind that now however, we'll have to stuff the brassier cuppings anyway. What to use? What to use? Well, for now, these silk hosiery leggings will do." He balls up first one hose and stuffs it into the brassier cup, taking the liberty to pinch the Cabin Boys chest teat. Then the other, nipping the tit just a bit in the process. Twisting the Cabin Boy back around, the Englishman holds him tight from the rear around the brassier cups. "Yes, slightly soft, but they'll do in a pinch, so to speak. Aye, lass?" He again pinches the Cabin Boy's breast teats.

"OW!", thinks the still frightened Cabin Boy, "Vot does this crazy Englishman think he is doing?", smothering his pain, but too cowed to yell out. The Cabin Boy is still, quite obviously confused. He does not understand what this is all about. He does feel, however, the growing bulge in the Englishman's pants, now pressed against his rear which is itself encased in the tight, silky tap pants.

"Perhaps, we'll find some better method of filling the brassier cups later. We need to puff up your breasts. Perhaps a child's rubber ball, cut in half will do. Aye, lass? You will find a ball on your trips around the ship. Remember that, lass."

Opening up the encrusted walnut jewelry case, the Englishman picks out a pair of three inch golden, dangling earrings. The Cabin Boy's ears had long been pierced in the custom of his native Punjab, where the ears of all infant children are soon pierced and the holes stuffed with fake diamonds and rubies and smallish pearls, to adorn even the ears of the poorest of India's children. The Englishman bruskly pulls on one of the Cabin Boys ears, roughly pushes the gold pin through the rather too-smallish hole, then does the same with the other ear. "OW!, he yells out."

Though painful at first, the Cabin Boy has never had on dangling earrings, only the small buttons of pearl or nacre, and twists his head back and forth, letting the jangling gold chains tingle and ring in the quiet cabin. He remembers his beautiful sister, the youngest of the four, with her dangling earrings, and small budding breasts, and how he would quietly follow his older brother, who would carry her off to the rear of the Maharajah's palm garden and force himself on the young girl, compelling her to perform with her lips and tongue on his brother's burgeoning boyhood.

Breaking the Cabin Boy's revelry, "Oh, getting into it are we? Well, we will soon get into 'it'. However, I'll be the one getting into it, my little girlish compatriot. Now, let us find some of mi-lady's finest high-heeled shoes, shall we. Yes, here they are, in the bottom of the trunk." He pulls out a pair of glossy, red leather high-heeled shoes, with what the now open-mouth Cabin Boy thinks must be at least four-inch spiked heels.

"Sit. And, put these on and let's see if they fit. There are others if size is a problem."

The Cabin Boy takes the leathery shoes from the Englishman's hands and holds them close, looking at them as if for the first time, and sneaking a smell of their leathery scent, and the lingering scent of what must have been the exquisite toes of the Englishman's late wife. Of course, he had never held a pair of women's shoes with the intent of putting them on, only for his duties in the packing and unpacking of the passengers' trunks and clothing drawers. Well, there was that time when he was alone in that same German Fraulien's cabin, thinking that the fine German couple would be at the Captain's dinner table for hours. He had sat down on the cabin deck floor and started pulling on the Fraulien's knee-high black, leather boots, with the belts and straps and four-inch spiked heels. He'd had one of the intense leather-scented boots on, and was starting to pull on the other when Fraulien Messerschmidtt had barged into her cabin, and upon seeing him had started cursing and screaming in her un-understandable Germanic dialect. Herr Messerschmidtt, her husband, had swatted his rear and the rear of his thighs with a tightly wound leather riding crop for what seemed like an hour, all the while cursing him, again in the unfathomable Germanic dialect. His orgasm during the receiving of the whipping had been intense, as he was sure had been the orgasm of Herr Messerschmidtt, who was providing the whipping. Had Fraulien Messerschmidtt not insisted that he leave the cabin immediately, the Cabin Boy was sure that Herr Messerschmidtt would have continued to swat him mercilessly for another hour. Fortunately, nothing was said to the Deck Steward.

Now dressed in puffed blonde wig, stuffed, lace brassier, silky tap pants, and four-inch, striking red high-heeled pumps, the bewildered Cabin Boy looks down at his body, strangely attired in the Englishman's late wife's finest things, and wonders why. Looking up, he sees that the Englishman is now lying on the large, double-sized cabin bunk, his pants removed and his huge appendage poking out of his blue silk drawers, and which mandick the Englishman is slowly stroking. "Oh, sir, excuse me... I.. I... ."

"Yes, yes, you do make a fine looking cabin girl, perhaps the nicest I have seen. Come over here and meet your nice new boy-friend. But, first, perhaps you should strut around the cabin for my amusement. Yes, yes, go on, go on."

The Cabin Boy feels compelled to do what this strange Englishman commands. Taking the first step, he stumbles on the rich Persian carpet covering the oak decking. "Easy, there lass. That carpet came from the desert cities of Persia. Handtied by the hands of small Iranian children. They use the smallest of children, so the knots are the tightest. Yes, starting them out at 4 or 5, they work them from daybreak to dusk, until their little fingers are too blunt to continue. You are lucky to be here rather than there, working your little fingers to the bone in some Persian sweatshop."

"Well, anyway, you have to learn to walk in those magnificent heels. My beautiful wife, of course, learned when probably only your age at finishing school. Take it slow. Slow mincing steps are best, I would imagine. Yes, those heels makes one's legs so tight, shapely and feminine. You may well become a woman yet boy."

The Cabin Boy takes several slow, mincing steps around the cabin, his legs wobbling, but his 'tits' and tight ass slightly wiggling in the brassier and tap pants. "That's it wiggle that behind. It gets me going. Yes, Yes, I am going to put that delightful derriere to good use on this voyage, my newfound servant girl."

The Cabin Boy now sneaks another look at the Englishman's huge appendage now fully erect and poking through the hole in the bright blue underwear. "Vot is he doing?", thinks the still bewildered Cabin Boy. "Should I turn away? Should I run from the cabin. No, I dare not. He would be quick to complain to the Deck Steward and Captain, and I would be doomed."

While the Cabin Boy continues his halting march around the cabin, the Englishman continues to stroke what can only be deemed a monster compared to his own tiny button. A tiny button which is beginning its own trip toward arousal due to the rubbing of the silky tap pants against his front and rear. Soft, only an inch long, it may get to two. The brassier and silk stockings wadded up inside are likewise rubbing his now slightly aroused teats and he begins to feel the same first pangs of wonderment that a young girl must feel with the wearing of her first brassier. He thinks, "They are teats on a chest, not tits or breasts, as the Englishman referred to them. I must stand strong. This is all wrong. Why am I becoming aroused? And, vot does this strange Englishman intend? Is he going to whip me like that nasty German?"

"Now, my little cabinlass, come over here and meet your maker, so to speak. This will be your chief duty from now on, on this voyage. Attending to your steward's duties will be secondary to your attentions to your new found boy-friend's wants and needs."

Still watching the Englishman stroking the monster which is rising out from between the Englishman's legs, the Indian Cabin Boy cannot believe his eyes. "Vot does he want me to do?, wonders the lad. Mesmerized, he comes closer to the bunk, closer to the mad Englishman and his munificent tool, now gleaming in the morning sunlight streaming through the porthole. Clad in the blonde wig, lace brassier, silky tap pants, and high heels, the Cabin Boy is strangely propelled to the side of the bunk, when near his small arm grabbed and pulled by the huge hand of the Englishman toward the monstrous tool. The small boy cannot withstand the strength of the much larger man, who steadily pulls him closer and closer.

"Take it, my beautiful lass. Take it in your dainty hands, the fingers of which we will soon find polished with the deepest red lacquer my dear late wife left in her cosmetique case. Come closer and feel its muscular hardness. Come and wrap your dainty fingers around my aroused manhood. Come here, now!"

"No! No! This is unnaturale. I.. I.. cannot."

"Unnatural, indeed. My very cute lass. Me thinks you complain too much. You see, while in New Delhia, India, in the principality of Jodhpur, I stayed at the Grand Hotel King George, and happened to meet up with my dear friends, Herr Wilhelm Messerschmidtt and his lovely wife, Fraulien Helga Messerschmidtt. We play the Cribbage in the hotel salon. While discussing our business, I informed Herr Messerschmidtt that I was returning to Engalin-na on His Royal Majesty's newest Steamship, the HMS Viceroy Beddersham."

"Fraulien Messerschmidtt was quick to relate that she and Herr Messerschmidtt had taken the maiden voyage on His English Royal Majesty's very same Steamship from Great Europe to India. She related her problems with a certain Cabin Boy, whom she found riffling her delicate clothing and even wearing her riding boots! Fraulien Messerschmidtt felt that this particular Cabin Boy intended to try on her most intimate apparel, perhaps to parade around in her nightclothing, 'nachtclothings', is the term she used, I believe. You must excuse my German, it is weak. But, I digress. She believed that this wayward Cabin Boy wanted to dress himself in woman's accoutremoi. Can you imagine? I assured her that I had never in my entire days heard of such degenerate activity, and would, of course, have reported it to the ship's authorities immediately. And, would have expected quick action and attention to correct such depravity in ship's crew."

"Apparently, however, Herr Messerschmidtt was compelled to correct the wayward Cabin Boy himself, in the manner one would correct a wild bucking horse, with his riding crop." Pausing in his diatribe, the Englishman smirks, still stroking his monster appendage to even greater height and thicker circumference. "Well, my little Cabinlass, do you have any idea of just who that Cabin Boy might have been? Apparently, Herr Messerschmidtt did not want to relate his problems with the wayward Cabin Boy to the Deck Steward, or to the imminent English Ship's Captain Frederick Winston Hastings. Owing to the growing complications between the German Empire and His Royal Majesty's government, he did not want to risk further internationale intrigue, which would reflect unduly on his status as foreign national. However, Fraulien Messerschmidtt did warn me of the treatment I could expect on First Deck. I thanked her profusely, of course, for the fair warning."

The Cabin Boy now blushes underneath his caramel skin. He is now leaning against the wooden sideboard of the cabin bunkbed, the Englishman's hand on his rear, kneading his buttocks, his fingers spreading her ass cheeks. and making the lass quite dizzy. "I... I... must not. I can not."

"Oh, yes you must, you can, and you will." His left hand forces the now girlish boy even closer to the burgeoning mandick, its tip now slightly wet with precum. "Come now, touch it, hold it, play with it. It is your destiny to be its girlfriend."

The Englishman now grabs the Cabin Boy's hand with his much larger right hand and glides it to the huge mandick, folding the Indian boy's tiny fingers around its massive tumescence. Still lying on his back, his left hand continues to knead the lass' rear end, now boldly wandering underneath the silky tap pants to caress the tight buttocks, finally one finger delving around his tiny rubbery hole, his hand moist with petroleum jelly, retrieved from the bedstand. It passes through the Cabin Boy's head, "This liquid, this sly Englishman must have prepared for this in advance."

The Englishman's other hand enfolds the tiny girlboy's hand, holding it over the mandick, stroking it up and down its entire length, from his hair entwined beginnings to its purple head. The girlboy is now completely in the Englishman's control. Seemingly hypnotized, she continues the up and down stroking. The Englishman scoots over to the center of the bunk and push- pulls the girl up on to the bunk by her rear, his finger now slightly embedded in the young girl's tight rearend. Now kneeling on the bunk, she continues her stroking of the massive dick with both hands, up and down, the Englishman now throughly enjoying the pleasuring of his massive appendage and occasionally groaning with approval.

The Englishman is now fingering in and around the rubbery hole of the little girl. The girl is now well into her attentions to the huge cock, growing aware that somehow this might all end in a massive explosion from the purple dickhead, as she had seen her brother explode into the tiny mouth of his young sister, that evening seemingly so long ago in farthest India.

"Hmm. Hmm." She begins to appreciate the Englishman's attentions to her hitherto most private bunghole. His fingers massage around the lass' delicate, yet rubbery asshole, tingling its tender sensitivities. "Oh! Oh!" Now the Englishman's fingers have found their target and begin to enlarge it, pushing a wet, sensuous finger in and out. "Oh! Indeed. That is fabulous. Yes. Memsahib. That is vonderful! Vonderful. I have never felt such feelings. Oh." The Englishman keeps up his attentions to the virginal fuckhole, all the while enjoying the lass' attentions to his own massive mandick, now clearly ballooned to its thickest and hardest extent.

"Oh, yes, my dearest little girlfriend. You are learning your trade well. You will go far in your newly found occupation. An occupation I intend to keep you working at for this entire voyage, my lass. Yes, yes stroke it to even greater heights. Isn't it magnificent. My late wife thought so, you know. She likewise learned to attend to its wanton desires and needs. And, you will soon learn another of its wanton desires." His right hand now releases the Cabinlass' hand, but the girlboy continues handling the mandick all by herself. The Englishman pulls the blonde-headed girlboy closer to his dick. "Yes, now open up wide. And lick it with that tiny girltongue."

Once again the Indian Cabin Boy's eye widen. "Vot? I do not understand. I cannot do such a thing, it is unnaturale." Once again, the memory of his older brother and his youngest sister in the Maharajah's palm garden breaks over him, when he watched them secretly from behind the palm tree. The memory of his brother forcing his dear young sister to stroke and then suck his brother's burgeoning boyhood, to its ultimate splashing conclusion. "Well, unnaturale for a boy anyway," he thinks.

"Oh, yes you can. Now lick it, my sweet young thing. Use that tiny girltongue on this magnificent fuck tool. And, use your tongue well on it, my darling. It is to be your boyfriend. Treat it well and it will treat you well, indeed."

Remembering his brother's much smaller cock forced into his young sister's tiny mouth, he thinks to himself,"Vell, I suppose. Since I am dressed as a girl, and since girls are forced to suck the cocks of boys, and since this mad Englishman has me in his utter control, I guess I must." He tentatively kisses the huge, purple head.

"Go on. Kiss it, lick it." The Cabin girl sticks her tongue out and takes a small lick. "Now, lick around the head." The girl succumbs to the Englishman's pressure on his rear buttocks and fully extends his tongue, comes even closer and tentatively and slowly licks the massive dickhead. "Yes, lick around and around." The now compliant Cabin girl is fully into her new role as the Englishman's sucktool. "Now, up and down. Yes, down the front of the dick and around and back up the back." The Cabin girl gets into her job, her tiny tongue doing its best to pleasure the massive tool, which bobbles with the attentions. "Oh, make it jump. Um, that's good, you learn well. Now, you will learn to suck, my new found girlfriend. I want you to take the dickhead in your mouth and suck."

The Cabin Boy now wonders, "Vot am I to become. A suckgirl for foreigners? Is that my fate? I thought the beating by the mad German was bad enough, but this?" Pausing for a second, he continues his journey into womanhood by putting his small mouth over the Englishman's massive cockhead, only barely able to fit the huge monster in his mouth.

"Watch the teeth. Do not bite. Suck. Yes, suck. Suck hard. Now, swirl your tongue around the head. Around and around, that's the way." The Cabin girl complies, learning her new trade, she first wets the head with her saliva, then swirls her tongue around and around the massive dickhead, and then down under the hoodhead. "Now, around the front, up and down. Yes, back down the front, that's where the feelings are the greatest." The Cabin girl continues her tonguing, completely oblivious to everything except her attentions to the Englishman's dick. "Yes, yes, you are learning well. Keep going."

Now into her new duties as a suckgirl, the Cabin girl again becomes aware of the Englishman's finger probing her rear end. The massive finger is now following the actions of the girls tongue, as her mouth swirls around the dickhead, the finger swirls around the rubbery hole. As the lass sucks up and down, the finger enters and strokes in and out of her rear end. As she sucks his dick, he finger fucks her hole, as she swirls her tongue, he massages around her hole. The dick wet with saliva, her nether hole wet with petroleum jelly. The Cabin girl's little dick is now fully stiff itself, extended to its longest two-inch length. She feels the attentions to her asshole and accepts how great it feels. "This must be the feeling of a girl, who is being finger fucked by her boyfriend," she thinks.

"Now, now, suck hard."

The girl feels the massive toolhead grow even larger in her tiny mouth, "How is that possible," she thinks. The Englishman is now holding her head with his right hand, holding it tightly against his dick, while continuing the ministrations to the girl's rear with his left. The Englishman pumps his dick in and pulls out, the Cabin girl now along for the ride, while the dick journeys in and out of her mouth. She feels the engorged vein along the front of the dick, and feels it beginning its pumping action.

"Yes, that's it. I'm coming. I'm fucking your tight mouth. Hold on, don't stop sucking now for god's sake."

The Cabin girl feels the massive fucktool pump and jump in her mouth, in the throes of the culmination of its journey through the lips and mouth of the wide-eyed young lass. She feels the first squirt of cum as it spits into her mouth. "Ew, ugh," comes the muffled sound from her mouth, as the massive dick pumps and jumps. Her mouth fills with cum, but she cannot back off as the Englishman holds her head firmly to the now sloshingly wet dick. Her mouth filling, some spilling out, she can only swallow the rest.

Her own small dick has been rubbing inside the silk tap pants against the Englishman's hairy leg. Feeling the finger fucking of her rear, she feels her own small dick hit the climax of its own excitement. She feels herself pump and cum, squirting its tiny drops of girljuice into the tap pants, as the girl feels her dick rub against the silkiness. "Oh, that's nice. I've never cum with another person," she thinks.

"Oh, oh, keep sucking, keep sucking. Yes Um. Oh, that feels nice." The pumping slows as the Englishman's orgasm slows, now bucking once every second or so back into the Cabin girl's mouth with another shot of cum. Slowing down, the Englishman still holds her tightly against his dick, not letting the Cabin girl loose just yet. His dick turns slightly flaccid, now slick with man juice, the Cabin girl slightly gags and swallows again and again, to get the salty taste out of her mouth. She feels the finger still in her rear, now slowly spinning in and around. Her own dick, pumped of its own small quantity of cum into the silky woman's tap pants, recedes.

The Englishman releases the girl's head and takes his finger out of the girl's rear. The girl slides away off the bunk, and stumbles in the high heels she forgot she was wearing. Now standing, the Englishman looks over at her, his wilting dick now lying flaccid. "Well, you learn quickly and very well, my little girlfriend. My cock certainly appreciates the ministrations of your tight little mouth. And, I see that your own little girlcock wet itself in my late wife's silk panties. Yes, your lessons are coming along just fine."

The Cabin Boy is now amazed at the morning's events. Looking down, she sees herself in the brassier, now wet panties, and red woman's shoes, with a look of perplexity. "How did I get myself into this?" she wonders.

"Now, my Cabinlass. You may clean up this mess, straighten out that chest, and arrange the cabin. Wash those panties by hand mind you. You may then attend to your daily duties with the other Cabins, as we do not want the Deck Steward to miss you on your appointed rounds, do we?" Pausing, "After the Captain's dinner tonight, you will attend to your duties in putting the other cabins to rest. Then, you will come back here, strip out of that damnable uniform clothing, make yourself up with the cosmetique, dress in my late wife's clothing and jewelry which I shall lay out, and attend to your new duties in this Cabin. Yes, you will be introduced to an entirely new duty of a proper Cabin Lass. One, I am sure your will likewise learn to appreciate and one, I am sure, that my now satiated manhood will likewise appreciate to its fullest extent. Remember to find the rubber ball, and be back here on time. My unrequited love pangs cannot wait too long for their next fulfillment session."

"Oh, vot is next?" wonders the former Cabin Boy, now the Cabin Lass.

The End of Lesson One on Voyage Day One for the former Cabin Boy. Lesson Two for the Cabin Lass to follow.

  

  

  

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