Cabin Boy to Cabin Lass

by

Amanda Whipp

Day One on the Voyage - Lesson Two

   

"Click," the cabin door quietly closes at 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.

It is late in the evening and the Cabin Boy's other Cabins he must attend, have been settled down for the night, the eight-o'clock bell having just sounded. The Cabin Boy looks around and determines that his passenger, the mysterious Englishman has not returned from the Captain's Dinner. "Vot should I do?" he thinks. "Should I dress up as this crazy Englishman insists? And, these cosmetiques. I know nothing of such women's work. True, I have seen my young sisters apply the colours to their lips and skin, but I do not know how. And, that brassier. I do not remember how that mad Englishman got me into that contraption. It was slightly uncomfortable anyway. And those lace panties that hugged my rear and rubbed against my privates! Vot was that all about? That Englishman was rubbing my behind, and fingering my most private place. True, it was very exciting, especially when he fingered me in and out while I was going up and down on his huge appendage. Yes, that I remember very well. Up and down I stroked on his male member, while in and out he fingered me. Umm. Maybe it was not so bad."

"Bamb!" the cabin door slams shut, the Cabin Boy jumps, frightened and wide-eyed.

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 cabin doorway. Dressed in formal 'white tie and tails' for the Captain's Dinner, he is wearing the black sild top hat, has his white bow-tie, white silk vest coat, black waist coat with long tails, black pants with the silk stripe down the sides, and shiny black formal slippers, all made by the finest tailors of Harrolds, London, England, he stands with his black straight cane with sterling silver handle, tapping it on the cabin deck. The tall Englishment smirks. "Well, my delightful little friend, back for your second lesson, I see. Just as I instructed. Well, get out of that damnable naval uniform. Hurry! Have you not had time to apply the cosmetiques?"

"Uh... Uh, no Memsahib", the Cabin Boy stutters, still somewhat amazed and bewildered with the brisk Englishman. He turns and the Englishman smacks his rear with the cane.

"Be quick about it, my little Cabin Lass, we do not have all night do we? It is time for our lesson in the feminine wiles and ways. All the while, I will have my way, so to speak."

The Cabin Boy quickly complies, sitting on the chair, he removes his shoes and pants and then starts pulling off his shirt, when he feels the Englishman caressing his chest again, stopping now and then to pull and pinch his teats. "Oww."

"Hmm. You'll learn to like that in due course, my little friend. Now, on with the lace panties. That's it. Where's that lace and silk brassier my late wife so generously provided for our play? Oh, here we are. Stand up. Turn around, arms out. That's it. Button in the back. Now for the breasts. Oh, did you obtain a child's rubber ball as I instructed?"

"Yes, Memsahib. In my pocket. I will get it."

"Hmm. Not bad. Now, I'll get my sheath knife and cut it in two halves." He goes to his large steamer trunk, pulls out a drawer and then pulls out a huge, sheathed knife, with a massive Elk boned handle, and a nine-inch curved blade, shined to a mirror-like finish, extremely sharp, with a long curved and pointed end. He quickly unsheathes the blade and holds it by the bone handle, pointing it toward the cowering Cabin Boy.

"Uh. Memsahib?"

"Yes, quite an instrument, is it not? Made from the horn of a massive Elk, I hunted in the wilds of northern Candida on mountain hunt. Yes, carved by the small hands of native Eskimoe boys. They start them out at age 6, whittling and carving with their little hands, so the cuts on the bone are the finest and smallest, until their little fingers are blunted. You are lucky to be here, rather than there, my little friend, working your fingers to the bone."

"Give me the ball." He grabs the ball out of the wide-eyed Cabin Boy's hand, and quickly puts it down on the chest top and commences to slice through the soft rubber. "Hmm. Kind of squishy. This will do nicely for breasts. I like the feel already."

"Breasts? Vot breasts?" thinks the even more bewildered Cabin Boy. "I have no breasts. I am a boy, I have a chest, not breasts like my young sister. Is this mad Englishman even crazier than before?" He recalls following behind, unbeknownst to them, as his older brother lured his youngest sister into the Maharajah's palm garden. Hiding behind a large tree, he had seen his brother remove the young girl's sari and massage her budding breasts, before compelling her to kneel and attend to his burgeoning boyhood. The young Cabin Boy had been very intrigued by his young sister's carmel coloured, budding breasts with the strawberry tips, and had recalled the event many times while lying on his mat and stroking his own smallish boyhood to its ultimate conclusion. "Oh yes, that was nice," he thought.

"Well!" The Englishman breaks the Cabin Boy's revelry. He slips first one, then the other half of the rubber ball into the brassier cups, pausing each time to feel, twist, and pinch the breast teat on the little chest of the Cabin Boy.

"Ow. Ow."

"Quiet. It's not that bad. You will soon learn to enjoy a man's attentions to your neather regions. Now, let's try one of my-lady's finest silk dresses shall we?" He riffles through the large lady's steamer trunk, pulling out first one, then another billowing silk dress, rejecting it and pulling out another.

"There he goes again. Vot is this mad Englishman doing?", thinks the still bewildered Cabin Boy. "These lady's dressings. I cannot wear such apparel." Once again, his mind wanders back to the Maharajah's workers' quarters, when alone in his family's own small room, he pulled out one of his sister's silken sari. She was allowed to wear the delicate dress only when attending to official duties at the Maharajah's court, perhaps serving delicacies to visiting Potentates, or worse, attending to their late-night needs in their private quarters, generously provided by the Maharajah for his debauched friends, as they ate, drank and forced themselves on the harem girls. Wrapping one silken sari around his chest and shoulders, and another around his waist, rear and legs, he danced and spun around, around and around to the tinkling sounds of the bells swaying in the gentle wind. Dancing alone, until, that is, his older brother discovered his play and decided to treat him like he often treated his younger sister. Holding him tight from the rear, he rubbed the young boy-girls chest-breast, kissed his neck and ears, ran his hands over his belly and lower body. Then, continuing down, the older brother had removed the sari covering his lower body and pressed his now-growing appendage between the youngster's buttcheeks. Rubbing himself against the young boy, he had quickly climaxed, shooting his spunky liquid all over the youngster's rear. "Is that to be my fate with this mad Englishman also, debauched by his wanton desires, like the degenerate activities of my older brother?", he thinks.

"Well, this one will do," the Englishman finally says, pulling out a flowery yellow dress, with billowed skirt, puffy short arms, and low bodice. Separating the dress in the back, he holds the flowery dress out to the puzzled-looking Cabin Boy, "Now, step gently into the dress. Easy now, do not stretch it." The Cabin Boy tentatively puts one leg, then the other into the strange, silken woman's clothing. The Englishman pulls the skirt of the dress up to his waist. "Now, your arms, through the dress' arms." The Cabin Boy complies, reaching through the billowing dress' arms, he realizes the feeling of its silken loveliness and smiles. The Englishman pulls it tight against his chest, and commences to button the dozens of small, pearl buttons from his rear, up to the middle of his back. Finished, he spins the Cabin Boy around, and continues, "Yes, yes, very nice, my lovely little lass. This will do nicely to enhance your girly beauty, and to enhance my manhood."

He runs his hands over the Cabin Boy's body, encased in the silken dress, the scent of lavender and poupourie lingering in its delicate folds. He breathes deeply, "Oh, yes, just like the scent of my late, sainted wife. She did enjoy her expensive French parfumes. Here, lets add some." Reaching back into the steamer trunk, he opens a drawer and pulls out a box, from which he withdraws a violet glass vial, with a pointed glass stopper, wrapped in lavender paper. Pulling out the stopper, he dabs the scented liquid against the ears, cheeks, chest, and arms of the puzzled Cabin Boy. The scent rises to the Cabin Boys nose, enveloping him in a flowery, lavender cloud of scent.

"Vot is all this?, the Cabin Boy wonders. "Is there no end to this Englishman's madness?"

"Now, the shoes." He returns to the trunk and rummages around in the bottom, pulling out first one, then another pair of high-heeled lady's shoes. Finding a pair of glossy, black leather high-heeled shoes, with pointed toes, he says, "Aha, here we are. These will do nicely, don't you think?" He puts the shoes down and motions to the wide-eyed Cabin Boy to step into the leather shoes. The Cabin Boy, sits, pulls up the dress over his legs and picks up the shoes. "Oh, we forgot the hosiery." He returns to the chest, pulls out several drawers, and finding what he wants, says, "Oh, yes, lovely, lovely." He pulls out a lacy thing with straps hanging down. Turns it over and over, finally satisfied that he has it in the proper order, he motions the Cabin Boy over. "Pull up the dress." The Cabin Boy pulls the billowing dress up over his waist. The Englishman wraps the lacy garterbelt around the boy's waist. "The lace garterbelt was made by the tiny hands of a Venetzian girlchild. They start them out at age 5 you know, working them from daylight to daysend. Yes, the delicate laces 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 Venetzian laceshop."

"Sit." He hands the two legs of hose to the wondering Cabin Boy, "Well, put them on. One leg at a time. Gently, do not push your toes through the silken netting." The Cabin Boy tentatively pulls the strange stockings on, never having had such silky leggings on his bare young legs. The Englishman smoothes out the silky hosery up the boy's leg, pausing at the top to caress the boys tiny boyhood, then does the same with the other leg. "Oh", the Cabin Boy thinks, "these are so lovely around my legs."

At the top, he attaches the garterbelt strap to the hose on the front of both legs, tells the boy to get up, then pulls the dress up from the rear and attaches the garterbelt straps at the rear, finally rubbing his hand between the Cabin Boy's rear end, pushing the silky tap pants up between the boy's tight buttocks. Lingering there, he rubs the girly bottom, pushing his finger into the now feminized rearend, covered by the silky panties. "Yes, yes, I am going to enjoy this womanly bottom, as I enjoyed my late wife's tender bottom so many times."

"Oh," the young Cabin Boy thinks, "These are sensuous. I like this feeling." Smiling now, he stands, spins and looks at himself in the cabin mirror.

"The wig." The Englishman returns to the chest, pulls out drawers. "Which one this time, my little darling? How about the black one? Yes, cut from the tender heads of Balanese children. They take their hair at age 6, discarding them when the hair grows course. You are lucky to be here, rather than there, my little girly one."

Approaching the Cabin Boy from the rear, toward the mirror, he puts the black wig on the boy's head, pulls it down tight. He turns, gets a brush from the cabin table, and commences brushing the wig down and then flipping it up in the rear. Handing the brush to the now womanly apparition in the mirror, he says,"Here, you must learn to attend to your womanly duties, my little girlfriend. If you are going to be a woman, you must learn womanly things. And, my dear friend, I will teach you to be a woman, in all things. Yes, yes, you will make a fine woman." The Cabin Boy takes the brush and slowly brushes the lovely fine black hair, fluffing the bangs and ear strands.

"Um, not bad at all, but we need a bit of colour, don't you think. Yes, the cosmetiques. Come over here to the desk. My late wife did love her cosmetiques. Yes, powders and rouge from Turkey and Greece. Hand ground by the tiny hands of small children, who work from sunrise to sunset in the dark Turkish sweatshops grinding the fine mud to a whispy powder 'til their fingers are blunt. Yes, you are lucky to be here, rather than there, working your fingers to the bone. Yes, now follow my instructions to the letter, as I will expect you to be prettying yourself from now on. First, the rouges from the finest sands of Egypt. You brush the fine powder on your face and cheekbones like this." The still frightened Cabin Boy watched wide-eyed in the mirror, as the Englishman dabbed the brush into the tannish powder pot, then spread it on the Boy's face, neck and forehead. "Now, you take the darker reddish rouge, and dab it on the cheekbones, here and here. Now, blend it in with the tanner rouge. Yes, very feminine don't you think?" The bewildered Cabin Boy did not know what to think, but he could see that he was becoming quite feminine, in spite of himself. "Now, the eyes. First, this dark stick of eyebrow liner, highlights the long feminine brows, you see. From now on, you will shave off that hair from your brows. The liner will be the only thing you will need, do you hear?" The Cabin Boy could only nod, as if he did not understand, but he was beginning to understand all too well. "Now, we add the lighter, whitish colour below the brow and above the eyelid. See like this. Then, we add this bluish colour to the corners of the eyes. Blue from the ground Egyptian lapis. Yes, very nice. You must remember to blend, blend the colors in, so they look natural."

"Natural? What is natural about all these goings on?", ponders the now quite feminine Cabin Boy to himself. "I do not know if I can remember all these things. So many colours, so many things in this cosmetique box. It must take the ladies a lifetime to learn these techniques."

"All right, now that we are done with the eyes, we turn to the most sensuous feature of the feminine mystique, the lips. Yes, those lips which learned the feminine ways of pleasuring the male so well this morning. With this you must be most careful. These lip cosmetiques are perhaps the hardest to master. First, you must purse your lips like this." The Englishman squinching his lips into a kiss shape in the mirror. The Cabin Boy doing likewise into the mirror. "Yes, now this very waxy, very red substance, is the lip colour. You use this fine camel-hair tipped brush only for the lip colour, none other. Yes, these brushes are from deep, darkest Offrika. Picked from the softest underbelly of the wild boar, the llama and camel by the little children of Algers with their tiny fingers. Yes, they start them out at 8 years, picking, then tying the brushes, 'til their little fingers are blunt. Then discarded for children to come. Yes, you are lucky to be here, rather than there, working your fingers to the bone. Now you brush this waxy red colour onto the pursed lips like this, paying particular attention to staying within the defined line of the lip, so as not to smear the colour on your face. Now, see, you moved, and I strayed out of the line. You must then remove the red colour from the face with a cloth, and keep it on the lips only. Yes, now close the lips back and forth to spread the colour around, like this."

The Englishman purses his lips in the mirror, the Cabin Boy, now tasting the strange red cosmetique on his lips for the first time. "Hm, not a bad taste. The scents are overpowering, yes, Memsahib."

"Yes, the scents add so much to the illusion, do they not?"

The Cabin Boy now sees a quite feminine girl in the mirror and wonders who she is.

"Now to pretty you up even more, for the things to come. And, there are things to come, are there not, my pretty little lass? Perhaps earrings and a necklace will do the trick." Pulling out the gem encrusted jewelry box from the steamer trunk, he picks out a beautiful jewel-encrusted necklace, of the brightest eighteen-caret gold, dotted here and there with the reddest of rubies. "Yes, the ruby necklace. Made by the tiniest of fingers in the hellholes of Callycuttha, in your own native India. Yes, the tiny fingers can pick and place the jewels so precisely. They start them out at age 7, you know, working them from the dawn of the blazing Indian sun, til the dusk breaks over that barren soil. 'Til their little fingers become quite blunted, when they discard them for even tinier children. Yes, you are lucky to be here, rather than there, working your fingers to the bone."

"Now, the earrings." He roughly grabs the Cabin Boy's ear and jams the end of a dangling earring into first the right, then the left ear lobe holes. "Oww!" The Cabin Boy's ears have been long pierced in the custom of India, to pierce the ears of both male and female infants, prettying them up with nacre, and pearls, the tiny ears accept the dangling golden rings.

"There, rise my pretty and we shall dance." The Cabin Boy continues to look at himself in the mirror, amazed at the transformation. In the mirror, he sees a quite beautiful, young English girl, where before had sat a rather rough Indian boy. "Yes, you see the power of the feminine tools, how the dress transforms the shapeless boy into the curvaceous woman, how the high-heeled shoes define and shape the straight-boylegs into the most delightful thighs and calves of a woman, how the cosmetiques and jewelry transform the simplicity of the boy's face into the feminine intricacies of the woman's much more beautiful and appointed facial features. The lips glossy with their bright and sexy redness. The eyes defined and mysterious in their black brows, and highlighted eyelids."

The Cabin Boy, now quite transformed into the Cabin Lass, continues to eye himself in the large cabin mirrors, turning from the desk mirror to the full-length door mirror and back. Swaying her hips and turning around and around, as the dress billows out. "Yes, that's getting into the swing of it. You will learn to dance the dance of the full woman. And, all that entails, my dear little Cabin Lass, all that entails." "Your tail", the Englishman thinks to himself. Pausing, he allows the now pretty young girl to admire herself, while he admires her femininity himself. "Yes," the Englishman thinks, "this young beauty will make this boring sea voyage much more interesting. I will now commence to teach her the more feminine of wiles. While there is amusement in 'skirting' the lass, there is even more amusement in 'unskirting' the lass. I will plow this tender maiden and her lovely behind to a fair-the-well."

"Come, dance with me, my pretty." Taking the Cabin Lass' hand in his left, and holding her by the waist with the right, he starts a slow swing around the cabin to imaginary music. "Well, how do you like your new feminine personna? Quite taken with it, I would say." The Cabin Lass is obviously quite taken with her womanly appearance, glances once again at herself in the mirror, smiles, and looks the handsome Englishman in the eye. Still dancing the Indian girl around the spacious cabin, the Englishman leans over and kisses her ear.

"Oh," to herself, "that is quite nice," thinks the Cabin Lass, now beginning to think like the girl he has become. Then the Englishman boldly but lightly tongues her inner ear. "Oh!", now out loud. "Umm." The Englishman pulls her even closer, his leg entwined with hers. Between her legs, and through the billowing dress, she now feels his manhood rise and commence its inevitable journey toward its manly tumenescence. He now boldly kisses her, tasting the waxy lipgloss.

"Um, that certainly brings back memories of my late wife. That was her taste. So delicious, and so promising of things to come. And, things will come, my dear lass. Things will come." The Cabin Lass takes it all in, thinking, "Vot things are to come? Is there even more in this mad Englishman's head? Vot more could he do to me?"

His hands now wander to her rear, bringing her even closer, if that is possible. They are now entwined, man and lover swaying in the darkened cabin, the man now caressing his lover, preparing her for the inevitable conclusion to this love-tryst. He raises her billowing skirt with both hands, and kneads her womanly rearend, reaching up under the loose, lace tap pants to hold her feminine globes in his hand. His finger wanders into her rear aperture, round and round the rubbery hole, extracting an "Oh. Umm,", from the now captivated Cabin Lass. She feels the knob between his legs grow, protruding between her own legs, encased in the silky dress, silky hosiery, and silky tap pants. Her own tiny love button starts to grow, betraying her useless attempts to avoid the Englishman's attentions, by turning her head away from the probing kisses. He continues to force his kisses on her, now probing her tiny mouth with his tongue. She feels the sensuous French kisses and continues her own arousal, and obviously propelling his arousal, she feels his manhood enlargen, on its journey to her neathermost regions; a journey she is not yet aware just how will end.

He stops the swaying, "It is time, my pretty one, to consummate our love." He leads her to the massive cabin bunk, pausing to hold her tiny hand against the knob between his legs and rub it up and down against the burgeoning manhood. She thinks, "Oh, here it comes again, I am expected once again to suckle this mad Englishman like a woman, like my sister suckled my older brother. I am no woman, why does he treat me like one?" He turns her around and begins unbuttoning the many small buttons from the neck down to the rear of the silk dress encasing the feminine beauty. Stopping, he caresses her neck, kisses her ear, then whisks his tongue around the feminine ear. "Oh! she breathes.

"Yes, my dear, my lovely," he whispers, "you are so beautiful, so womanly, so perfect for our love." He feels her breasts, squeezes them, which she does not feel, of course, but it does him some benefit nonetheless, the illusion he has created for himself being that good. He pulls the dress from her shoulders, and runs his hands over her caramel colored shoulders, down her arms, and back up under the brassier, running his hands over her small chest-breast, not pinching this time, but only caressing the tiny buds.

She shivers, "Ooo, that is nice." Getting into the love-making, she is now enchanted, closes her eyes and allows the Englishman to continue his journey down her feminine body. He pulls the dress down around her waist, and it falls to the floor. He takes her hand and she steps out of the dress, now purely a woman about to be made love to in her wig, makeup, jewelry, brassier, garterbelt, silk hosery, and high heels.

He takes her hand, turns her around, and kisses her once again, probing her mouth, they are now into the thick of man-woman love-making. He caresses her back, now once again feeling her rear globes, raises her tap pants, and once again attacks the rubbery rear entry, preparing it for the much larger intruder to come. He turns, sits on the cabin bunk and pats the bed for her to sit. She sits and once again he kisses her, tonguing the red waxy lip gloss, they both enjoying its flowery taste. He leans her over and lays partly over her, caressing her tender belly, she giggles. "Um. You like that, yes?"

She giggles once again. He pulls the tap pants down. She raises her rear end up to allow him to strip her of her only protection. Her girlhood springs forth, the little male member protruding not much more than a woman's love-button. He runs his hand over the little boy-member tickling it, she feels the first touch of a man on her sex. "Uoo, that's nice." "Yes," she thinks, this love making may not be so bad after all," not realizing the what the huge Englishman has in mind for her.

He pauses, dips his finger in the pot of petroleum jelly, left for this specific purpose on the bedstand, then feels under her tiny nuts for the even tinier hole, the object of his intentions. Running his oily fingers around the rubbery hole, she wonders out loud, "Oh? Oh? Vaa..?" But the questions quickly turn to exclamations, "Oooo!", as the thick fingers now invade her heretofore virginal entrance. Her breaths now come in quick spurts, measure for measure as he fingers her hole, in and out, around the tingling nerve endings, then dipping back in for another in and out trip. He probes deeper, opening the love hole even wider for its intended purpose, or at least the purpose for which the Englishman intends. She is now quite obviously enjoying the attentions of the controlling master, clearly into her submissive role, powerless in any event to avoid his attentions. He continues his probing, now one, then two fingers spread her tiny opening for the massive male member, which will soon open this feminine love hole to its widest extent. He stops, withdraws, and she opens her eyes and looks up, disappointed that the probing finger-fucking love-making has stopped. He rises, flips off his shoes and socks, throws off his jacket, and quickly unbuttons his shirt, showing his love interest his massive, hairy chest, in the typical male manner of the Conquistadore cowering over the enslaved captive. He removes his pants, and the huge male member springs from between the bright red, silk underpants. She looks at it, wide-eyed, it seems even bigger than at their morning love-tryst. She knows what to do now. Reaching up, she caresses the huge male member with her tiny hands, up and down, stretching it to even greater length. He smiles, "Um. You seem to be getting into the womanly role quite nicely. This will be even more enjoyable that I thought."

He comes closer to the bed, taking her hand and pulling her toward the now huge mancock. She knows the drill. Now tentatively licking the head to make it wet, then licking it underneath and feeling the dick jump from the touch. She then envelopes the massive pole in her tiny mouth, "That's it suck hard. Suck. Yes, my lovely. Oh, that's good. Yes, suck it up, the harder and longer it is, the farther up your lovehole it will go." She continues sucking, still not quite understanding what the Englishman intends as the conclusion of this strange lovemaking. She sucks, licks, swirls her tongue around the dickhead, underneath, up and around, down the length of the huge mancock and then back into her mouth, wet with saliva. She sucks, licks, and attempts to tickle the massive manhood, clearly attempting to make it cum again, as it came that morning.

He pulls back and the dick plops out of her mouth. "Oh? she whines, clearly getting into her submissive role, she is disappointed that he stops before it spouts its love juice.

"Up on the bed," he commands. She scoots to the middle of the large bunk and he climbs on, covering her small feminine body with his massive maleness. He commences the kissing once again, probing her mouth with his tongue, feeling her all around, preparing her for the inevitable, as one would prepare his wife for marital coupling. Now, kissing down her breast, he pulls the brassier down, and kisses around each breast, licking and tonguing the little brown tips, he flicks them with his tongue. She giggles, never having had someone play so intimately with her breasts. He continues down her belly, he licks around her unfeminine part, and then raises her silk-encased legs up over his shoulders. Now lewdly splayed, she looks down wide-eyed and wonders what he is doing, slightly embarrassed to be so openly spread before another man. Dipping his finger back into the jar of petroleum jelly, he wets her now enlarged, heretofore virginal entrance. His oily fingers return to her rubbery lovehole, which yields much easier to the probing digits. She looks down and sees him spread the oily substance around the huge mandick.

"Vaa..Vot does he intend to do with that? Surely, that huge thing will not fit into my tight little bunghole!", she thinks.

"Yes, my little virgin, time for your deflowering. You are a virgin, are you not? That nasty German was not here before me, now, was he? No. I do not believe he was." He lifts her left leg again over his manly shoulder. Strokes the massive mandick up and down to its firmest engorgement, lifts the other leg, and then rubs the oily mandick around her rubbery hole. Widening it, preparing the love-hole for its entrance, the huge knob glistening with jelly, easily probes around its virginal love interest.

Wide-eyed, she looks down at the unfolding scene, the huge cock obviously intending to invade her tiny hole, never before used, and clearly not intended, for such purposes. "Well, yes, it does feel wonderful." Rubbing the excited nerve endings around her tiny bung hole, she feels the excitement of the first fuck, and thinks, "But surely it will not fit."

He stops the round and round motion and now flips the dickhead from the bottom of the tiny hole up into and out again, widening the tiny circle for the onslaught to come. It feels good to her, the opening now slightly stretched and the nerve endings tingling from the oily protruder. He pushes the dickhead into the opening, pauses while the head enjoys its conquest, withdraws, then enters to head depth, withdraws, then enters, over and over again. It plops in and out. She is now beginning to understand her role in this love play. The Cabin Boy now realizes that she is woman being fucked by man. A wave of embarrassment falls over her, unable to quite accept her new role, but powerless to avoid it. She reddens, even under the caramel skin and the makeup. An even stronger and longer thrust into her now seriously stretched bunghole breaks the revelry and she grunts, "Uhh!" It hurts slightly, but feels good at the same time. Now, he withdraws and thrusts again, and then again, and then again. She is panting now, breathing heavily with each stroke, the dick seeming to enter farther and farther into her bowels with each stroke, the bulbous head splitting her tender hole part with its massiveness.

The Englishman is clearly enjoying his role as the conqueror, the deflowering of her virgin maidenhead, the butt busting fucking of this young woman. He grunts, "Uhh, so good, so tight. Just like the rounded rear end of my wife." He remembers plowing his late wife's tender rear hole, as he also had plundered her lovely pussy so many times. Continuing his stroking, his dick seems to grow even larger. She feels its massiveness in her tiny bottom.

Looking down, "Uh. Uh. Gad, is that huge thing in me?", the boy wonders. "How is this possible?"

He keeps up the onslaught, feeling his approaching climax, he now fucks her with reckless abandonment, in and out; he grunts, she grunts, she ohs, he ohs, on and on, together in their illicit lovemaking, onward to their mutual conclusions. His huge, hairy male belly rubs against her tiny hairless womanhood, now itself engorged to its largest length, albeit only about two inches. Clearly enjoying the mad Englishman's tutoring her to womanhood, she raises her lower half to rub against his hairy underbelly. The fucking of her stretched girlhole, the rubbing of her heathertofore male member against him, she now understands her new feminine role, his woman, his love-interest, his pussy.

With a last, long, thrust, she feels his dick seemingly grow even harder, as does her own. Short thrusts now come quicker and she feels a warmness, a wetness grow between her ass cheeks. He is cumming, spurting his manjuice both deep into her bowels on the in-stroke, and at the entrance on the out-stroke. At about the same time, she feels her own little 'female' dick achieve its climax, squirting a few small drops of creamy liquid upon her belly and his belly. He grunts, "Uhh. Uhh. Yes, so nice, so nice. Umm, so tight."

Still hard, but softening slowing, he continues to stroke into and out of the now-tortured and stretched fuckhole of the tiny Indian girlboy. He jerks, spurts, and strokes again. Now slowing down, in and out. He finally stops and his dick plops out of the enlarged butthole.

Basking in the afterglow of good sex, he rolls off and lays on his back beside her. "Lovely, lovely, just like the tight, rear pussy hole of my late wife. And I did enjoy fucking her, as I enjoyed the fucking of your tight, rear pussyhole. Well, now do you understand your new role as my sex mistress, my little Cabin Lass? Yes, there is much more of that to come, and much more to come. I see you enjoyed yourself also. That's good, if you enjoy our love coupling, there won't be any hesitation to assume your womanly role, will there?"

"Umm?"

"Well, yes, there will be more, much more. Now, off with those things. And, in the morning be back here after you attend to your duties with the other Cabins on Deck One and prepare yourself for the activities on Day Two of this most interesting of voyages to merry old Engalin-na."

"Activities? Vot more activities could there be?", thinks the bewildered, yet satiated Cabin Lass, herself aglow with aftersex exhaustion.

 

The End of Voyage Day One for the former Cabin Boy. Voyage Day Two for the Cabin Lass begins at early daybreak.

  

  

  

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