Chapter 1
Joanna Grant gazed at the reflection of her breasts in the stateroom mirror. They were full, firm and high-set. Standing naked as she was in front of the make-up shelf, the thin strip of glass screwed to the paneled wall showed her only the image of her body from shoulder to waist. But the close-up view served to emphasize the taut, voluptuous outlines of her most photogenic feature and the wide separation between them. She stared a few seconds more at the twin mounds of ripely swelling flesh and the rose-pink nipples at their tips, and then she stepped across the cabin and opened the closet door beyond the bed.
In the full-length minor fixed to its inner side, she could see the whole of herself: the slender, tapering legs, the flat curve of her belly with its triangle of fair pubic hair, the soft hollow of her waist, her head with the blonde hair tumbling about her shoulders . . . and of course those breasts. Her face wasn't bad, she supposed, with its wide blue eyes, straight nose and generous mouth. But it wasn't for that that she was so much in demand by the advertising agencies in Southern California: it was the contours she gave to sweaters and shirts and swimsuits that made her one of the most popular photographic models in the state.
Joanna cupped her hands under her breasts and scrutinized them again. She was lucky --- no matter what she did, they never lost their firmness or their shape. People had tried to persuade her to pose for different kinds of pictures, of course. Girlie magazines and calendars for tired businessmen. But she wasn't going to allow her body to be lusted over by every lecher on the coast. Bob would never stand for it anyway.
They had only been married a year, and he was already getting uptight about her posing for photographers at all. But his salary as a commercial artist just wasn't enough to support them both. They were still a long way off the deposit they needed for that dream house in the plush Hollywood suburb they had decided on, So for the moment Joanna was still working. As soon as he was earning enough, though, her husband had warned her, it had to stop.
Bob was just great. He was tall, dark and athletic. He couldn't be more tender or considerate. Just occasionally though, she thought wistfully, running the palms of her hands over the swell of her hips -- she wished he was a little more . . . well, adventurous . . . in bed. Last night, for instance, if he had just gone on a little longer, or tried something a little different . . .
She sighed, her eyes looking still at the reflection in the mirror, noting the pink nipples that had suddenly become stiff and erect. Her fingers moved slowly across the smooth curve of her belly, brushing against the soft hairs mantling her pussy. As the familiar electric sensation tingled through her loins, she glanced momentarily over her shoulder at the bed. Could she do it now? Was there time before . . .?
No. She was due on deck in five minutes to partner Bob in the third round of the deck-tennis tournament. And Bob was a stickler for punctuality. It would be too awful if he came down to look for her and found her like that!
Closing the closet door, she pulled open a drawer and took out bikini panties, a white ribbed cotton shirt, and a pair of white leather hot-pants. But which brassiere should she wear? The thin shirt clung to her like a second skin: should she play safe and put on the boned lace one that held her so firmly, or dare she try the new lightweight sling brassiere she had bought in New York before the cruise -- the one with the points cut away so that her nipples poked through?
For a moment she hesitated. There were always rows of older passengers sitting in deck chairs watching the games. She knew the men among them watched with lustful eyes -- and the women tutted disapprovingly -- every time a girl appeared in anything remotely revealing.
And then suddenly she shrugged. What the hell! Why should she care what a lot of dirty old men thought . . . or their dried up, frustrated wives?
But supposing Bob thought the brassiere was -- what would he call it? -- immodest! He'd been excited enough when she tried it on in the hotel room, but he might not be so happy for other men to see the exciting effect.
She tossed d her head. He told her often enough that she had a lovely body: she was 22 years old, and if he expected her to hide it, that was just his bad luck!
Rummaging in the drawer, she found the new brassiere and shrugged into it, reaching up behind her back to snap the fastener and then pinching the tips of her breasts through the gaps in the cups so that the thin garment fitted snugly against her voluptuously swelling curves. The touch of her fingers erected the nipples again, and the twin points showed clearly against the ribbed material of the shirt when she pulled it on.
Never mind, she mused. If people wanted to think dirty thoughts, that was their business! Drawing the tight leather hot pants up over her shapely thighs and hips, she thrust her feet into a pair of sneakers and hurried out of the cabin.
On the games deck ten minutes later, Len Bonner turned to his wife and said softly: "Jeez, honey! Would you look at the tits on that kid!"
Harriet Bonner shifted her own well-upholstered body in the deck chair and stretched her long brown legs in the sun. She had known ever since the S. S. Arcadia had passed through the Straits of Gibraltar that Len was interested in Joanna Grant and her husband. The cruise had been her idea. Len was a big wheel in advertising back home in California, and the pressures of business were exhausting, but she had finally persuaded him that he must take a vacation or crack up. Now that they were in the Eastern Mediterranean and nearing the return leg of their voyage, however, he was becoming bored. The Bonnets were leading lights in a wife-swap syndicate in Beverly Hills and Len missed the excitement and the challenge that this provided.
Harriet shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun and squinted sideways at her husband. He was leaning forward in the low canvas chair, his eyes riveted on the nubile figure of Joanna Grant as she capered to and fro behind the shoulder-high deck-tennis net. "Just dig them bouncing tits, honey!" he breathed again. "Man, I wouldn't mind wading barefoot through that little lot!"
His wife smiled indulgently. "If you could only make first base, lover," she said teasingly, "I'm not saying I wouldn't play. The boy's got a good body: he could interest me if he wasn't so Goddamn square.
Len scowled as Bob Grant retrieved an impossible return and skimmed the quoit back over the net to win a point. "That punk!" he grunted. "Why, I bet he hasn't got two cents to rub together. If you ask me, his old man -- or hers -- coughed up the loot to pay for this trip. Yet he acts as though he knew it all! Toffee-nosed kids like that make me puke!"
Harriet smiled again. "That's my boy!" she said. She knew the sign's. Len was a self-made man. He had worked his way up from messenger boy through copywriter to account executive -- and now that he was director of one of the biggest advertising agencies on the Coast. He found it hard to swallow the airs and graces of these college boys who thought they could get in half way up the ladder. He had been angry when the Grants had cold-shouldered his back-slapping attempts to make friends at the beginning of the cruise, and so he was determined to break them down now, whatever the cost.
That was what she liked about her husband, Harriet reflected, eyeing his powerful shoulders and lean body: Len was a fighter and he never gave up. She let her gaze rove languidly over his intent figure . . . the outthrust head with its determined chin, the deep chest and muscled thighs stretching the thin material of his sharkskin pants, the strong, tanned hands with their blue-veined backs.
She was pretty lucky on the whole, she thought. They had been married nearly ten yearn. She was 32 and he was 37, and they had the perfect relationship. He was a boisterous drinking man, crude and ribald, coarse and sometimes brutal with his women, laying whoever he could get wherever he could get her -- a typical super-salesman, in fact. But he looked after her well. And if he had his own sexual adventures on the side, at least he allowed her to do the same. Nothing was barred providing each partner told the other all about it. It was probably this which made their marriage more exciting than anything else -- and since neither of them let their affairs progress beyond the physical stage, it drew them closer together than ever. Len was pretty good in bed, too. She shivered reminiscently, remembering his hands on her body the previous night.
The quoit landed on the deck near her feet, and Joanna Grant bent down to pick it up. A tiny curl of blonde pubic hair protruded from the legband of the leather hot pants stretched tightly over the rounded cheeks on her buttocks. "You know what," Len murmured as he watched her run back onto the court, "I'll bet she isn't even wearing a bra under that top!" He fingered a fat cigar from a crocodile case and stuck it between his lips, watching the gentle bouncing of Joanna's breasts under the light cotton as she spring-heeled back to the baseline, caught a hot serve low down, and lobbed the rubber ring gently back over the net to confound her opponents and win another point.
"Don't you believe it," Harriet said comfortably. "With tits that big she has to have a bra. Nobody's got a figure that good! She probably picked up one of those sexy sling affairs that leave the nipples free. Say -- maybe that's an idea at that! With one of those and no panties, I could have my fun without having to undress, even on a stuffy cruise ship like this!"
Len wasn't listening. He was staring fascinated at the moving network of creases wrinkling the taut leather of Joanna's hot pants where they plunged between the tight spheres of her buttocks. Man, he thought to himself again, I'd give a whole stack of greenbacks to get me a basinful of that stuff! And he was sure he could do it, if it wasn't for that punk of a husband. He'd gotten himself quite a friendly smile from the girl back in the bar at lunchtime, when he'd made some damn fool crack as he ordered his drinks. But the kid had cut him out, moved her coolly away down the bar to talk with some highfalutin' East Coast slickers who owned a place in Bermuda and drank nothing but sherry.
Sherry! he thought disgustedly, scowling at Bob Grant as the boy flicked his wrist and sent an ace service spinning over the net. That was all they were fit to drink, these college kids! Show `em a man's drink and they folded up after the third round!
He knew the type too well. He'd seen hundreds like this punk, fresh in the big, bad world of business and knowing it all. He could spot them a mile off, with their button-down shirts and their Ivy League suits, their carefully cultivated Boston accents and their hair just long enough to be fashionable. They hadn't had to fight to get ahead the way he had. Their parents had put them through school and then conned some business friend into giving them a break, and now they thought they could run the world. Well, he'd learned a thing or two about life and living that would make their longhair toes curl! They figured they'd change everything with their endless demonstrations against this and that setup that they hadn't enough experience to understand. Maybe he didn't understand these things too well either -- but he sure knew about people. And one of the things he knew best was that there was nothing people wouldn't do, given the right circumstances. By God, he'd make certain those circumstances were right for the couple he was watching now!
It would be a change from the old wife-swap routine they'd gotten into back home, a genuine seduction. It was always fun taking a couple, especially an innocent, prim young couple like this. You chatted them up and you fed them liquor; you played on their childish notions of freedom and you worked on their vanity, easing them into a social life that they thought was modern and liberal -- and then suddenly, before they knew what was happening, they were watching each other get screwed silly by someone they hardly knew!
This little doll in the white leather pants was really something, though; and apart from the fact that he really wanted to give it to her, he'd enjoy seeing the expression on that young punk's prissy face the first time he saw his wife getting a fuck thrown to her by some other man! It would be great to bring him down a peg or two. But it might take a little more work and planning than some of them did; things might need . . . well, fixing a little. Len grinned to himself in anticipation. He was a good fixer.
He turned and looked at his own wife. Harriet was staring out over the sea. Beyond the shimmering blue of the Mediterranean, a dark smudge on the horizon marked the coastline of Israel. In 24 hours the Arcadia would be stopping off at Iskenderun. After that it was Istanbul, Pieracus, Naples, and Cannes before they headed for the Atlantic and home. There was plenty of time and the weather was good. Len always found that helped.
He studied his wife's profile. She'd worn pretty well, he figured, since he'd picked her out of a nightclub in downtown San Francisco where she'd acted as a hat check girl and sold cigarettes from a tray slung around her naked shoulders. The wings of dark hair drawn back into the chignon at the nape of her slender neck were still glossy and soft. Her sensually full lips still held the promise of infinite delight. And the swelling mounds of her breasts thrusting up the thin flowered material of her blouse as she lay in the deck chair were as full and firm as they ever were. When it came to the crunch, Len thought, he didn't have much to complain of: really there was nobody like Harriet. Especially in bed.
He looked up suddenly as a patter of applause echoed around the games deck. Bob and Joanna Grant had won their match. As the couple, flushed and smiling, walked off the court with their arms around one another's shoulders, Len flashed them a friendly grin and called out: "Congratulations! You two sure showed them how it should be done!"
Joanna looked up into her husband's eyes and then smiled at Len. "Why thank you," she said. "We enjoyed the pine." Bob Grant nodded coolly and moved her away towards a group of passengers waiting for them near the companionway leading down to "B" Deck.
Harriet yawned and stretched her arms above her head, tilting her breasts provocatively as she stretched out in the deck chair. "I guess I'll go on down and get ready for dinner," she said. "you coming, lover?"
Her husband shook his head. "Think I'll stick around for awhile," he said. `There's - uh . . . a couple things I'd like to attend to, and there's still a half hour or so of sunlight, so maybe I should --"
"Okay, okay," Harriet interrupted with a conspiratorial smile. `I get it. Like gentlemen prefer blondes! Just play it cool, baby, that's all."
"Now see here Harriet . . ." Len began. But his wife had waved her hand and gone. He shrugged and strolled up towards the group of passengers clustered around the far end of the deck-tennis court, flicking a gold lighter and holding the flame to his still unlit cigar as he went.
The Grants were just breaking away from their admiring friends as the advertising man approached. Behind them a ventilator cast a long bar of shadow across the deck in the setting sun.
"Like I say, "Len Bonner opened breezily, "that was a great game you two played! In fact I think this calls for a celebration. How's about joining me for a drink down in the saloon?" He blew out a cloud of cigar smoke and fanned it away from his face with one hand.
"Well that's real kind of you . . ." Joanna Grant started to say, but her husband cut her short. "Nice of you, Bonner," he said curtly, "but I'm afraid we already promised to have an aperitif with someone else. Another time perhaps."
"Sure, Bob," Len said easily. "Some other time." But the muscles around his mouth and nose, as he turned away to flick the ash from his cigar, were pinched and white with anger.
Alfred Maddon soft-footed down the passageway on the starboard side of "B" Deck humming quietly to himself. There were twelve staterooms in his section to attend to, including the Bonners' and the Grants', and part of his duties as cabin steward was to turn down the beds before he retired to his galley to await the inevitable calls for drinks, fresh towels and soap, and other attentions demanded by the passengers as they dressed for dinner.
Maddon was a Cockney, a lithe, tanned man with a lined face and rogue's eyes glinting above the hairline mustache on his upper lip. He had been working the Arcadia for five years now, and there was little he didn't know about passengers and their wants -- or how to turn these to his own advantage.
He knew where the most risqu‚ nightclubs were at every port of call. He could advise on the best curio shops and souvenir stalls; he would give introductions to the floorwalkers at the better stores and he had an in with cab drivers and even customs men. Exotic restaurants and worthwhile sightseeing tours were his specialty . . . and he received a kickback from every one of them.
He radiated a cocky, confident assurance and there was a certain charm and animal virility about him that made him especially successful with unattached female passengers -- and sometimes attached ones as well. Maddon was a man, in fact, with fingers in many pies, most of them lucrative. Among other sidelines he smuggled contraband ashore and on board -- and he was not above a spot of gentle blackmail to swell his own private treasury if his conquests happened to have money.
He paused now outside the door of Stateroom 12 and straightened his white mess jacket. He had done half a dozen cabins and there were still six more to attend to before he was free to go back to the galley and watch for the call-lights flickering on his indicator board. This one wouldn't take him a minute: he had seen the Bonners sitting out on the games deck twenty minutes ago, and there was no point in turning over their stuff before they came back. Len Dormer was far too much of a tightwad to leave any dollar bills lying around in his dresser drawer. Maddon turned the handle and went in.
Walking straight across to the far side of the stateroom, he pulled the curtains across the porthole, turned around, and froze.
Mrs. Bonner was lying on the bed in a filmy negligee, an open book face downwards on the covers by her outstretched hand. Her dark hair was undone and spread around her head on the pillow in a soft cloud. Above the loosely tied belt the voluptuous swelling of her breasts showed through the opened "vee" of the garment. Maddon caught his breath. He could see that she was wearing nothing underneath it. Two dark circles of flesh around the upthrust nipples and a shadow of pubic hair below the smooth curve of her belly were clearly visible through the semi-transparent material.
"Oh," he stammered. "I . . . I . . . I beg pardon, ma'am. I didn't realize you was here. Sorry, I'm sure. I'll come back later."
"That's all right, Alfred," Harriet said lazily, looking up at him from under her long lashes. "Do you want to do the bed? Would you like me to move?" She shifted her body slightly on the wide bunk, causing the tantalizingly mounded breasts to quiver beneath the folds of diaphanous material. The open "vee" at the top of the robe gaped wider, revealing more of the tender curves swelling upwards and outwards towards Harriet's still-covered nipples. At one side, a half moon of darkly puckered skin slid lasciviously into view.
The steward swallowed. He seemed unable to take his eyes off the deep cleft between those seductively rounded mounds of flesh. "N-n-no thanks," he mumbled. "That's quite all right,
Mrs. Bonnet. I'll come back later when you're . . . when you're dressed."
Harriet smiled. "Would you rather see me dressed, Alfred?" she asked softly. "Or do you prefer me like this?" She moved one of her long tapered legs and the two halves of the flimsy garment fell apart below the waist, exposing a smoothly sculptured thigh.
Maddon didn't quite know what to say. He was familiar enough with the scene, it was no news to him to be alone in a cabin before dinner with a sex-starved woman. Why, only last night he'd stuffed it up that 20-year-old redhead in B-9 whose parents seemed to think she was still in third grade. A piece of cake, that had been! But there was usually a very good reason why his conquests didn't have a man: either they were old, or they were ugly, or they were inexperienced. A well-stacked dish like this brunette on the bunk -- that was something else! Sexy pieces like that -- and, God, she was a sexy looking bitch all right! -- didn't lie too thick on the pound in the world of Alfred Maddon.
This one was lying right here on the bed, though. And -- surely he couldn't be mistaken? -- she was giving him the old come-on as clearly ever he'd got the green light! He could see practically the whole of those luscious breasts. Every curve of her belly was visible through that filmy nightdress thing. And -- yes! -- there was a tiny curl of pubic hair showing where it had fallen open at the top of her thigh.
But what could her angle be? Why would a woman like that be propositioning him? Was that great bull of a husband a secret fairy? Or was it just that she was a nympho and he couldn't give her enough? Mentally, the steward shrugged. He should worry? If it was being offered to him on a plate, he'd take it -- with both hands!
"I think you're very beautiful, Mrs. Bonner," he said boldly. "Dressed or undressed."
"Why that's mighty nice of you, Alfred," Harriet said softly. "And mighty flattering too. But then of course you haven't seen me undressed, have you?"
Not yet I haven't, Maddon thought to himself. But it won't belong now, will it? Under the tight gabardine of his pants, he felt his penis flex and then jerk slightly as it lengthened and stiffened into erection. And I know where that's going to be in a few minutes too, he thought. But all he said aloud was: "No, ma'am, of course I haven't."
Harriet reached back over her head for a pack of cigarettes lying on a shelf behind the bunk. The movement lifted one of her breasts so that the tautly swelling mound thrust away the thin material of the negligee and now he could see, in the shadow under the edge of the garment, the whole dark circle of the aureole and the bud-like nipple at its center. The still little button of flesh was tantalizingly hard and erect.
The voluptuous brunette tapped a cigarette from the pack and put it between her lips. "Do you have a light on you?" she drawled.
Maddon fished a Ronson from the pocket of his white mess jacket and thumbed it into flame. As he leaned forward, Harriet rolled over onto one elbow and guided the hand holding the lighter towards the end of the cigarette with her fingertips. Her coolly exciting touch on his skin sent flickers of desire racing through the Cockney's veins. Deep down in his testicles he felt the familiar ache begin, and the pressure on his burgeoning cock was becoming unbearable.
"Thank you," Harriet said, blowing a lungfull of smoke towards him and watching him quizzically through its gently wreathing layers. "Tell me, Alfred," she went on conversationally . . . "would you like to see me undressed?" One of her breasts was completely naked now, lewdly and obscenely exposed to his lustful gaze.
"You know I would," the steward replied hoarsely.
Harriet smiled demurely and pulled the edges of the negligee together. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a most interesting face yourself?" she asked. She was staring deliberately and openly at the tightly bulging crotch of his dark mess pants. Beneath the hem of the white jacket, a spreading patch of moisture gleamed darker still against the out-thrust material.
Maddon said nothing. For a moment there was no sound in the cabin but the distant pounding of the Arcadia's engines as she steamed northwards into the gathering dusk.
"Well, have they?" the American girl insisted.
"Yes, ma'am . . . I mean no, ma `am."
Harriet laughed. "If they haven't, it's time they did! You're a very attractive man, Alfred"
"Thank you, ma'am."
She was still staring at the growing patch on his pants marking the progress of the wetly seeping head of his expanding penis. "My, you're well stacked in there!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you?"
"I don't know, ma'am" the steward said woodenly.
"You don't know?"
Maddon decided that the time was ripe. It was now or never. He'd take the risk and jump in with both feet. His manner became at once less deferential and more assured. "Well I mean, it's not for me to say, is it?" he replied.
Harriet transferred her gaze to his face and raised her eyebrows.
"I mean to say," the Cockney pursued, "it's the kind of thing you have to find out for yourself, isn't it?"
"Oh, it's the kind of thing I have to find out for myself, is it?" the brunette repeated, her sensuous lips twisting into a slow smile.
"Course it is. Matter of personal opinion. You want to find out for yourself? Would you like to have a look"" Maddon leered.
Harriet sat up suddenly on the bunk and swung her legs to the floor. "Yes," she said briskly. "I would. Take out your cock and let me have a look!"
For a fraction of a second the steward's eyes opened wide with astonishment. He hadn't expected it would be this easy. Then his hands dived for his pants. In a moment he had unzipped his fly and dragged aside his shirt and shorts.
Len Bonner's wife stifled a cry of surprise as Maddon's massively upstanding cock sprang free of the confining garments. She bad known from the size of the bulge at his crotch that he must be well endowed -- but she was not prepared for anything like this! The thick, fleshy rod stood out from the sparse and wiry hairs of his loins like the trunk of a giant tree. Above the pulsating veins marbling the sides of its quivering shaft, the purplish, blood-engorged head was emerging from the foreskin like a slavering animal in search of its prey. From the wetly glistening slit at its bulbous tip, a tiny thread of clear seminal fluid swayed downwards on its way to the carpet beneath the bed. Harriet licked her lips in lewd anticipation. "I said you were a good-looking man," she murmured breathlessly, reaching across and stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray on the shelf.
She leaned forward from her position at the edge of the bed, crooning softly with obscene pleasure as she stretched out her hands towards the steward's gently bobbing penis. Plunging her left hand into the gaping fly of his pants, she felt for the soft hair-covered pouch of his testicles and eased it out into the air as she seized his cock in the fingers of her other hand.
The steward was already grasping his rigidly extended rod of flesh between the fingers and thumb of his right hand. As Harriet's cool fingertips brushed seductively against his own over the blood-knotted veins on the shaft, he threw back his head and uttered a strangled cry.
He could feel her breath playing warmly over the sensitive cock-head. The moist tender flesh was pulsing wildly as though a separate heart beat within its blood-swollen tip. Grinding his teeth, Maddon arched his aching loins and thrust himself nearer her lewdly pursed lips.
Abruptly, the voluptuous brunette lowered her face a fraction and began to kiss the satiny skin of the huge bulbous head. The steward jerked involuntarily at the searing contact of her mouth. More blood surged into the iron-hard shaft, inflating it to even greater hardness as she sucked and nibbled moistly at the sensitive flesh.
She curled her fingers and thumb around the hotly pulsating member, massaging the loose foreskin up and down its rigid length until the warm droplets of male pre-cum seeping from its tip had moistened the whole of Maddon's throbbing cock.
"Ooooooooh!" he groaned, twitching convulsively beneath her expert touch. "That's so goooooood!"
For a moment Harriet withdrew her dark head and gazed in lewd fascination at the wetly gleaming rod she was holding. And then, cradling the steward's balls in one hand, she guided the pulsing tip with the other, and her honey-soft mouth came down over the smooth rubbery head, her ovalled lips enclosing the sensitive flesh with scalding moistness.
Maddon moaned in ecstasy. His cock jerked massively in her mouth and the tingling ache in his balls increased until it was almost unbearable. He took his own fingers away from his penis and put the palms of both trembling hands on the top of Harriet's head as she began to suck at his wildly throbbing rod.
Inside her mouth, she flicked her tongue, twirling it in licking circles around the madly pulsing glans, probing with the tip at the tiny slit that now gaped widely in the blood-engorged head.
The Cockney steward was in a trance of sensual enjoyment. The very thought of what this beautiful American passenger was doing to him, the lewd salaciousness of the act itself, aroused him erotically almost as much as the actual sensations she produced with her lips and tongue. Gasping aloud with the intensity of his emotion, he pressed his hands hard down on the crown of her head, forcing the thick pole of flesh forward into her slavering mouth.
Tensing his loins as he thrust, he could feel his cock plunge deeper and deeper into the back of her throat. As he looked down, he saw with rising excitement that almost the whole glistening length of it had disappeared between Harriet's tightly locked lips.
She could feel the bulbous cock-head sliding wetly along the length of her tongue now, the tiny droplets of seminal fluid oozing from the tip filling the warm cavern of her mouth with their pungent masculine taste. Slowly, she began a steady rhythmic movement of her head up and down on him. Maddon groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair to guide her slavishly bobbing head as it pistoned back and forth along his gleaming rod. In all of his experience he had never before enjoyed such intense sexual gratification as this, and he abandoned himself to the lewd ministrations of the brunette's voraciously sucking mouth.
He felt an increase in the speed of her moving head and in the pressure exerted on him by her lips, which seemed to make his pulsating cock expanded to an even greater hardness. Her tongue was still swirling in a caressing lick of his painfully sensitive cock-head on every outstroke.
Blimey! he thought to himself. This is it! This is the bleedin' works, this is! And aloud he moaned: "Go on . . . go on . . . faster! Suck it harder, darlin'. Oh, you darling . . . Ooooooh!"
Cradling his soft smooth testicles gently between her two hands, Harriet grazed her fingernails tantalizingly over the lust-inflated flesh.
Maddon squirmed with licentious desire and began a slow undulation of his hips beside the bed, his thick cock sliding in and out of her mouth with a lewd wet sluicing sound. His fingers clenched more tightly in her long dark hair as he forced her head down on him, and a triumphant grin spread over his artful face as he looked down again and saw the rigidly glistening shaft of his cock ramming brutally into her contorted face. As he thrust himself ever more forcefully into her mouth and throat, he watched in fascination as a little of the soft pink flesh from the inside of the brunette's lips was pulled out on each of the upstrokes and then stuffed back into her mouth as she absorbed him on the downstrokes. Her cheeks were hollowing in and out as she sucked hungrily on his now angry red rod of flesh -- Christ, but it was good! He wanted it to go on forever . . . but as the thought came to him he knew it wouldn't, couldn't; already he could feel the trembling, searing birth of his approaching orgasm.
Incoherent, strangling sounds forced themselves out from far down in his throat. He could feel the wave beginning to surge up from deep in his loins. Soon he would shoot his load, spurting his streaming white sperm full into Harriet Bonner's greedily working throat. The sweet agony of the pent-up sensations within him seemed to concentrate in the lust-bloated head of his rigid cock. He could feel it pulsing -- expanding and inflating even more with every throbbing jerk as her maddeningly expert tongue caressed it on every single stroke.
With lust-dimmed eyes, the ship steward stared at the face of the half naked woman working over him. She seemed to be in a sexual rapture all of her own, with her eyes closed and her breath laboring through flared nostrils. Then, as he looked beyond, down past the gaping edges of the negligee beneath which her firmly rounded breasts were dancing lewdly, he saw that one of her hands was now working rhythmically at the darkly hair-covered triangle of her own loins.
God! he thought. She's finger-fucking herself while she sucks me! If she's as crazy to cum as that, why don't we make a twosome of it? I'm only getting half the perishing fun standing here and I could do with a basinful of that hot little pussy she's got down there!
But it was now or never: if her lasciviously clinging lips continued their madly exciting travel up and down his bursting cock, he'd cum himself at any moment! He must stop himself . . . now . . . ! before it was too late and he spurted his scalding load into her throat. More than anything else in the world he wanted to go down on that seething pussy and stuff his tongue up into her cunt!
Clenching his teeth, the lust-inflamed steward acted. Pushing Harriet's head violently away from him, he drew back his hips with a sharp jerking motion and withdrew his huge, pulsating cock from between her lips.
The gleaming cudgel sprang free with an obscene wet sucking sound and stood thickly erect above his sperm-bloated balls, --still joined to her glistening lips with a swaying thread of saliva. For a moment she stared wide-eyed at its pulsating length, now scarlet and throbbing from the ministrations of her lips and tongue . . . and then, before she could utter a word, Maddon had seized her shoulders and thrust her roughly back on the bed.
With an inarticulate cry of passion, he ripped the flimsy negligee from her voluptuous body and threw himself face downwards across the swelling curves of softly pulsing female flesh on the cabin bunk.
Planting his knees on either side of her shoulders, he grasped the insides of her sensuously rounded thighs and wrenched them wide apart as he sank his head towards the dark triangle of curling pubic hair at her loins, and the layered pink edges of the moist vaginal slit at its center.
Almost instinctively, Harriet reached for the massive cock swaying obscenely above her passion-contorted face and guided its lust-bloated head back towards her mouth. As her lips closed hungrily over the seeping tip, Maddon groaned in ecstasy and ground his hips savagely down on her so that the whole rigid length of his throbbing shaft plunged straight into her throat.
Half suffocated by the stifling weight of his body, Harriet gave a muffled groan and squirmed frenziedly beneath him. His shoulders crushed her pelvis hard down onto the bunk, her stomach was squashed by his chest, her voluptuous breasts were pressed flat by his belly, and her nose was thrust up into the soft hairiness of his scrotal sac. Gasping for breath, she eased the palms of her hands under his hips and levered him slightly upwards so that the rough cloth of his pants was lifted from her face and the iron-hard shaft of his penis withdrew a little from her lewdly stretched lips. Even then, the thick rubbery cock-head was grinding against the back of her throat and her jaws were forced so widely apart that she could scarcely breathe. Straining to lift his weight still farther, she began trying to curl her tongue around the quivering rod of flesh that was filling her mouth.
At the same time, the Cockney steward raised himself slightly on his elbows and moved his hands to the swollen, hair-lined lips of her cunt. His fingers hooked into the desire-moistened folds of the hotly throbbing slit, splaying them wide apart to reveal the trembling inner flesh of Harriet's pussy and the swollen little bud of her clitoris nestling inside.
The American girl shivered, clasping her mouth more firmly still around the rigid mass of Maddon's cock. And then, with an animal-like groan of passion, he had buried his face between her legs.
She jerked and trembled as he flicked out his tongue, licking gently at the smooth wet flesh creased within the narrow slit of her vagina. Dropping his mouth to the wide-stretched entrance to her cunt, he sucked and nibbled at the hotly throbbing bud of her clitoris, pressing his thumbs up into her cuntal flesh and pulling his fingers farther apart so that the hair-fringed slit gaped wider still. Then he traced a lewd path with his tongue up and down the entire length of the hot moist furrow, probing obscenely the secret hidden crevice up between her thighs. Harriet gasped aloud around the gagging weight of his penis, a slave to the wild sensations whirling excitedly through her blood.
She arched her hips up off the bunk, crushing her softly trembling belly into his chest as he sucked furiously at her widespread cunt, spearing his tongue far down into the ridged and seeping depths of her vagina.
At that same time the lusty brunette began a steady rhythmic movement with her hands, forcing the steward's hips up and away from her, and then letting them down again so that the blood-engorged rod of flesh piercing his open fly plunged in and out of her slavering mouth and the mouth itself became a second hotly clinging cunt.
Maddon slid his hands around the outside of her thighs and cupped them under the smoothly rounded globes of her buttocks, pulling her seething joins tighter into his face. He nipped gently with his teeth into the soft fleshy folds surrounding her just-ravaged cunt, reveling in the muffled squeals it brought from under his thrashing pelvis. He was suddenly enjoying the power he possessed over the voluptuous brunette and redoubled his efforts to display his complete domination over her every breath. His tongue slavered on and on into the moistness of her loins, increasing little by little in speed and depth until he had brought her to the point of absolute subjugation to the whims of his madly sucking lips.
Faster and faster they flailed together on the bed -- the steward's pistoning cock fucking wildly into her contorted mouth as the girl's hips thrust frenziedly up against his face, skewering her cunt up onto his spearing tongue.
Suddenly Maddon's forehead was glistening with tiny droplets of perspiration. He could feel the remorseless pressure mounting deep in his sperm-bloated balls. He knew it couldn't be long now. His cock felt like a balloon blown up to its tightest stretch . . . and then inflated agonizingly still further, ready to explode at any moment and spew its life-giving contents to the ends of the universe. He hurled his loins savagely against Harriet's face, ignoring her protesting mumble as he strove for the final release of this unbearable tension that was mounting . . . mounting . . . mounting . . . and then abruptly every fiber of his being quivered and all his sensations drained away to his loins as he felt the white-hot current surge deep in his swollen testicles and race steam-like the length of his madly plunging cock.
He uttered a strangled cry into the hotly slavering lips of Harriet's pussy as his penis began a furious staccato jerking that flooded her avidly sucking mouth with squirt after scalding squirt of thick male cum, bloating her cheeks with each jack-hammer spurt until she had to swallow to keep from choking, gasping and mewling through gagged lips at his insanely thrusting loins.
And then suddenly, sucking frantically as he went on shooting his lust-incited sperm far back into her slender throat, the brunette tensed her body all over. The muscles of her belly began to quiver and the cords of her neck tightened in the unmistakable signs of a coming orgasm.
Wrenching her semen-filled mouth away from Maddon's now softening cock, she bared her teeth and gave a shuddering cry.
"Aaaaaaaagh! I'm going to cum! I'm going to cum! I'm . . . I'm cuuuuuming! Euuuugh!"
Her head thrashed wildly beneath his passive hips, and her eyes rolled in unseeing passion. Her loins arched up off the bed and began to quake convulsively as her hands darted to the ship steward's pumping head, forcing his mouth still harder down on her flaming cunt.
Pulling him in maniacal frenzy deeper and deeper into her obscenely splayed loins, she felt her orgasmic secretions flow wetly out around his still spearing tongue, streaming down the narrow crease of her buttocks and stickily flooding his fingers as they clenched in the trembling flesh of her writhing ass-cheeks.
The deep bray of the Arcadia's siren shivered the evening air as Harriet continued to groan out her soul-shattering climax, the juices still flowing in galvanic spurts down the full quivering cheeks of her buttocks.
And then, as Maddon slowly withdrew his head and laid it wetly on her thigh, the two spent bodies collapsed inertly on the bunk and for a time there was no sound in the cabin but the gasping of breath as they strove to recover from the shattering effects of their lust. Maddon stared unseeingly at the pearls of moisture threaded on the limp hairs fringing the inflamed pink flesh of Harriet's pussy. The girl lay with her eyes closed, her face upturned between his thighs, her softly mounded breasts rising and falling beneath the crushing weight of his hips. A lewd dribble of sperm oozed from the side of her mouth, coursed down her cheek, and fell with the tiniest of sounds to the coverlet below.
The silence was broken by the sound of solitary applause.
Clapping his hands together, Len Bonner sauntered out from behind the half-open bathroom door, an unlit cigar clamped between his ginning lips.
Dragging a chair out from beneath the make-up shelf, he straddled the seat and sat down with his arms folded across the back. "That was -- uh -- a most satisfying performance," he said amiably. "Maybe when you get your breath back we could talk About it a little . . . ."