Chapter 3

After a wholesome lunch, Nora Rugt eyed Hilda with disdain and told her husband about out hectic capers around the upper decks. Mr. Rugt paid no real attention to the trivial matter but agreed with his wife that it was disgraceful.

A heavy knock at the door brought Mr. Rugt to his feet as he carefully laid down his napkin in gentlemanly fashion. The door opened upon a giant of a man who had to lower his head in order to enter the dining cabin. Obviously this was Stevedore Jack Dill. If anyone were to resemble a stevedore with all the masculine power that the name engenders it certainly would be this man. Dill was well over 6 feet with hands like giant hairy spiders. His cast-iron jaw set off his jutting facial structure. He had a chock of black hair and his blue eyes deeply embedded in large sockets evoked a gaze profound and forceful. Jack Dill was a good-looking man. A boyish gait added to the charm of this Herculean specimen. His thick lips opened permitting his resonant voice to inform us:

"The ship's set for sailing. I checked fore and aft Ma'am and not a thing's amiss. The motors are being warmed up and all our stores should be aboard by four this afternoon."

"Thank you Jack," Mrs. Rugt smiled gently at the muscular intruder. "Please wait on deck and I'll join you in a few minutes. I have something to discuss here."

The door shut behind the sturdy back and we all turned to finish up our lukewarm coffee. I could not help noticing Hilda whimpering and wondered why this little Gretel should be so upset. Mrs. Rugt tapped Hilda's fingers with a spoon and warned.

"Enough out of you. Go to your room at once and wait for me."

Hilda got up from the table and with her lowered, troubled, head slithered to the door, turned and curtsied and faded from sight.

"I want you to come to Hilda's cabin this evening where we can have a little get together. You will be able to understand the words 'obedience' and 'devotion' much better."

I told Mrs. Rugt I would be there and excused myself from the table.

Up on deck, I helped lower stores down the main hatch. It seemed as though we were taking on food supplies that would last for months. My heart quickened beats as my imagination stirred. Exotic lands with their savage grace and beauty were painted in the great cine-scope of my mind.

While working at this menial task, I noticed a young woman speaking to Mr. Rugt. The young lady was dressed in gaudy colors. Her blouse was a heavy purple and her skirt which fastened itself to every one of her healthy curves was a brilliant yellow. The colors did not stop there, for her extremely high-heeled shoes were a polished green and her silk stockings were blackish-grey. These vivid colors were complemented by some thick facial make-up and brown, gleaming hair.

I could not help thinking that I had seen the woman or her like somewhere before. Then I remembered. Main Street glittered with women of this sort particularly on Saturday nights. Yes, she was one of the paid butterflies of the more vile districts of the city.

I gathered that this flamboyant female was the wife of our handsome sailor, Jack Dill. She was almost the complete opposite of Nora Rugt. There was superb vulgarity in Mrs. Dill which contrasted with the catlike refinement of Nora. I will have to admit that Mrs. Dill had all the physical qualities of Mrs. Rugt but lacked the discretion of displaying them in a more subtle manner.

As I asked for more slack on the heaving line, a few words of my fellow passengers conversation caught on the wind and came to my curious alert ear.

"Paul, allow me to make love to you as your wife has never done. I know this to be true. She will have all her passion for Jack or for our séances together. The only time she will submit to you is when she has her eyes on Jack. I don't want you to suffer for I know what it is like to play second fiddle. Look at me Paul. We're the dupes. Don't you understand?"

Paul was draped over the railing reflecting bitterly on what the garrulous woman had to say.

"You don't understand, Meg, my love for her is crippling me. I can only get back one and that is by possessing her most cherished object which is Hilda. Nora does not love Jack. She is in love with what Jack can do to her beloved Hilda. Tonight she will watch the lamb be brought to the slaughter. She loves Hilda in her own way. One which is complex, intriguing and tormented. I know what you're going to say. I've married a witch. And I can only say that I married one of the most fascinating woman any man could ever find. You will see. She is incredible."

"Would she dare have the simplicity and honest love to do what I am going to do for you?"

My ears perked up and I wondered what she meant by those words. I busily worked over the hatch or at least pretended to do so. All the while I would snatch a few glances at the little scene which began to surprise me and almost expose me as a peeping torn. However, it was done in broad daylight before my very eyes and I cannot take the blame for my curiosity or rather their indiscretion.

Mrs. Dill unzipped the immaculate white trousers of Mr. Rugt and slipped in her painted right hand. All the while Mr. Rugt dolefully looked over the side of the boat lost in the outer space beyond the horizon. The colorful lady named Meg was massaging the dick of the elegant proprietor and he wasn't even batting an eye. She slipped her hand down to scratch his ass at the same time. Through the trousers I could see her hand palpitate the rear end cheeks of the lean aristocrat. Her right hand was busy producing a slow methodical rhythm. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sturdy cock jump out of Mr. Rugt's pants, firmly wrapped in the lusty fingers of the sensual Mag. The left hand of the stevedore's wife was busy penetrating the ass-hole of the cool, unperturbed Paul Rugt.

Just watching this incongruous spectacle set me in a whirl. My own prick was as solid as a lead pipe and I wanted to ask the good lady if she would not mind taking care of me next. Of course I didn't dare demand this, but I should have liked to declare myself to them. Anyway it seemed to be unfair that a man so unconcerned and indifferent to this splendid treatment should only vaguely enjoy it. And there I was throbbing with delight and unable to take part.

Suddenly she noticed that I was aware of their feverish game. She did not try to conceal the joint action and with a wave of her head signaled me to come to where she and deadened Mr. Rugt were engaged in their daylight folly.

I put my forefinger to my chest in disbelief and my mouth formed 'Me.' She nodded impatiently and once again wagged her head inviting me to join her. I walked over slowly and quite innocently and even asked her if she was having any trouble. She observed my bulging denims and spoke frankly.

"I think you're the one that is having a bit of trouble. Lift my skirt and sink that bursting prick of yours in my pussy."

I looked around to see if anyone was coming.

"Come on now," she whispered. "We don't have all day."

I pulled out my stiff penis and let it wave in the air a few inches from the luscious arse of the daring Mag.

She arched a little showing me her brown wet nest.

"There it is, it can't be any clearer. Shove it in deep and good." Her hands were still manipulating the phlegmatic Mr. Rugt.

I slipped in my ardent young cock and for the first time felt the warmth and humidity of a female. And what a female.

She wriggled once. No, it was more than a wriggle it was a slow wind with a professional twist and wham. My load exploded in her hot wet snatch.

At the same time I heard a few drops of liquid spit into the water and I realized that Mr. Rugt had just dispersed his fluid elsewhere. The owner of the warm, moistened pussy turned to inform me.

"As a lover you have no patience. My pleasure has been just a slight one. And I thought I was in for a brilliant afternoon. I hope, for your sake, you will learn. Now go back to your chores little one and don't breathe a word."

I bashfully hustled back to my post zipping up my trousers. What did she expect? I helped her out the best I could. I didn't see any reason for her to complain. But down deep, I knew what she meant. I've heard my sister wail with pleasure when she slept in the next room with her boy friend. I knew then that the feminine joy in the act was as strong, if not stronger than the male's.

When I dared to look again and offered a gaze of sympathy to the amazing Mag Dill, she was gone. All that I saw was the limp figure of Mr. Rugt still contemplating the horizon and seemingly oblivious of what had happened. I knew that this could not be possible and then and there considered him a master of subterfuge.