Chapter 1
I need it bad, Cindy tells herself.
Much too badly for her finger-fucking of herself, here in the darkness and privacy of her own bedroom, to have any real impact on her.
Oh, she will get herself off all right, in a manner of speaking.
A short, mild series of twinges, the faintest shadow of the multiple orgasms she would like to invoke from deep within herself, the kind that send her to another world, a private sexual paradise.
The biggest high.
The ultimate pleasure.
That, she reminds herself, as though needing to reorient herself to her actual requirements, that is what she really needs.
But that is unavailable to her.
Not at this hour of the night.
Not with her parents asleep just down the hallway, here in this large house which has been her home lo these past eighteen years.
And such unavailability is indeed frustrating to her.
There's Brad and Steve and Tim and a couple of other studs from her high school graduating class who could more than satisfy this burning need, this imperative urge which is the constant companion of her leisure hours.
Especially now, in this magic time, this summer between high school and college, this time of absolute leisure, of unadulterated freedom.
Or so it was intended to be.
Until her parents had a better idea.
All excited, they were.
Not for themselves, but for her.
As these friends of theirs, mere acquaintances, actually, happened to mention at a cocktail party that they were taking a cruise to the Mediterranean this summer and would be only too happy to have Cindy accompany them.
Her parents were overwhelmed.
They jumped at the chance.
And killed Cindy's dream of a hot, steamy, writhing, squirming summer, with one muscle stud after another, the jocks of her choice, days, nights, weekends, engaged in one long orgy, giving her that feeling that was like no other, again and again.
One last, long party it was to be, before going off to college.
Where, her parents constantly reminded her, she would be expected to get top marks, would be required to really buckle down, to study, to work, to comprehend as she had never before studied, worked, comprehended.
And it was perhaps for this very reason, in order to compensate her for the stringent requirements, this burden they were putting on her spoiled brat shoulders, that they saw fit to reward her ahead of time with this fabulous cruise on the Steeles' motor yacht.
Because, wealthy as her parents are, there is no way they were in the Steeles' league.
A financial wizard, is Birmingham ("call me Brim") Steele.
And the motor yacht is partly for business, as he explained to Cindy's parents, for entertaining those with whom he intended to invest and such.
In some ingenious fashion, Brim actually made money with the fabulous ship, something to do with tax write-offs or depreciation, things parenthetically mentioned to Cindy by her father, lest she think her own old man some kind of underachiever.
Actually, Cindy could have cared less.
And secretly, she was horrified by the news that her summer was to be thus interfered with, quite possibly even ruined.
Because the Steeles are old, for heaven's sake!
That Brim is fifty if he's a day, and Samantha is in her early forties.
And probably their idea of a good time is merely sailing the high seas on their ocean-going vessel, where they dress for dinner every evening and live the elegant life.
Which is not at all where Cindy's interests lie.
She knows what she wants.
And certainly, she knows where to get it.
And she surely won't get it at sea with the stodgy old Steeles.
She has only met them once, at some charity black tie wing ding she was forced to attend with her parents last summer.
And sure this Brim Steele might have been a hell of a stud once, with his large frame, his deep tan, and thick, curly, steel-grey hair, but he had to be over the hill by now.
Besides, his wife was certainly amply equipped, almost too much so, to handle his remaining requirements in the sack.
With her cow-like udders swelling above the top of her low-cut evening gown, her décolletage almost the equal of Cindy's own.
Except, as Cindy recalls thinking, those balloons of hers had to be held in place by a chain hoist, whereas Cindy's own boobs were naturally high, all by themselves.
But that was her first and only meeting with the Steeles, who did not strike her as being particularly fun people, probably because they aren't.
And now, she is stuck with this moronic cruise.
And there was no reprieve.
Her parents went out of their way to ensure that there would be no last-minute hangups, and this to the point of getting her excused from the waning days of school for half a day in order to get her passport taken care of.
And it's really a bummer, Cindy thinks, as her body climaxes, vaginal convulsions milking two fingers of the meager pleasure they can afford for one, two ... there, three mild spasms.
All this really great cock she is going to be missing out on.
As her parents act like they have managed the greatest thing in the whole world just for her, and isn't she simply the luckiest girl alive to be off on this great adventure?
And wasn't it just super of the Steeles to invite her?
Yeah, right.
Cindy wipes her fingers on a tissue from the box on her night stand.
Get used to this, she tells herself. It's all the thrills you'll be getting for the next two months.
And then, she will have to return to face the mad scramble of preparation for college away from home.
The shopping, the trying on, the packing and then, the incarceration, the imprisonment behind a wall of books and lectures and study, study, study.
If only, she thinks.
If only they hadn't gone to that stupid cocktail party, her parents.
If only they hadn't run into the Steeles there.
If only Samantha Steele hadn't remembered their "charming and lovely" daughter.
And Cindy forces a resounding fart, there in the darkness.
How does that grab ya for charming and lovely, Samantha-baby? she thinks.
But that is mere impotent, childish defiance.
Because she is going on that fucking yacht.
No way she can get out of it.
No way she could have posted the least misgiving about it, either.
Because then she would have to explain why.
She would have to tell her parents some bullshit story.
Because she could never, never tell them the truth.
Which is that she really needs her steady supply of cock.
Because all other experience pales by comparison.
She gets no kick from champagne.
Mere alcohol doesn't thrill her at all.
But she gets a kick out of cock.
Yes, that is the only genuine thrill in her existence, if they must know.
Which they must not.
The truth is that that feeling, that is the ultimate, the only truth.
The rest of the world—its history, its artifacts, its sights to see, its knowledge—all that is empty bullshit.
Big deal, who did this, who built that.
Who gives a shit, all right?
The real thing, the only thing that counts in this life, in this world is that feeling.
Going for the multiple, as one of her girlfriends calls it.
Compared to that, what is all this other stuff, if not the flotsam and jetsam of reality, the excess, the waste from it?
Because the kernel, the core, the essence of meaningful existence, of the meaning of her being here at all, is right down there between her legs.
There, and in her mind when it is in its right mode, that is, appreciating, savoring, wallowing in the sensations the body is generating for its delectation.
A cruise.
What the fuck does she want with a mother-fucking cruise?
What is so great about an empty ocean?
What is so fantastic about the Mediterranean?
And, as for this fabulous ship, in plain words, who the fuck cares?
Okay, Brim, so you're a fucking financial genius.
So you got it made.
And the ship proves it, proves that you are head and shoulders, even torso and groin, above all the rest of us.
Big fucking deal, Brim!
You're still old, you're still boring.
And I will outlive you.
And Cindy is unabashed in her spite.
How dare this pompous ass inflict her with the evidence of his wealth?
How dare he foist his chosen lifestyle upon her, making her an involuntary part of it?
Live your life and let me live mine, dammit! she thinks.
But then, she thinks this quite often.
As when her parents attempt to force their outlook and values upon her.
So that, quite often, seated at the supper table, she looks at them and thinks, I don't wanna know these people!
Because, actually, what can they do for her?
Nothing.
That's the truth of it.
They could stay out of her way and not always be making suggestions or giving her orders or, as now, presenting her with unsolicited and sudden re-programming of part of her life.
And yet, she has known how to be careful, to proceed with caution, to be charming and tactful and even accepting all of the time.
With one major exception.
Decent girls don't need the pill, Mother?
Okay, fine.
But whatever happens, it'll be your fault.
Because I tried to be reasonable, to be realistic.
And that isn't working, obviously.
So fine.
You don't want to get me a doctor's prescription, to let me guarantee my own health and safety, fine.
Just be prepared to explain a big belly under my cocktail dress at one of those little soirees of yours down the line, okay?
And her mother backed down.
She understood just enough to know that she would have to allow Cindy to take care of at least this aspect of her own life.
And consoled herself with actual relief that her daughter should be thus concerned.
Because accidents happen, accidents in the form of moments of weakness, so why take chances?
Thus her mother reasoned, allowing Cindy to change her thinking on the subject, to cave in at least this much to the fact that her daughter is now a woman rather than a little girl.
But of course, her mother has no inkling of the fact that she is much, much more than merely preparing herself against a possible but unlikely eventuality.
Her parents have no idea of what a hot number she actually is. Or do they?
Not to get paranoid, here in the darkness, when she should be fast asleep, but could this cruise thing actually have, as its underlying, its real motivation, getting her away from her friends, separating, isolating her between now and college?
So that nothing can happen to upset their plans for her?
So that she will be absolutely guaranteed ready and in position for college?
If that is the case, then this trip is doubly a waste.
Because it was going to happen anyway, college.
She knows that she needs a college education.
She is no fool.
Her parents' fortune is not hers, after all.
And she will need to know how to do something to make her own way, to earn the money which is the only rescue device from concerns and preoccupation with mundane existence, a thing which is double bullshit.
Because she must be free, free, free to pursue her own lifestyle.
She must be absolutely unrestricted in her taking advantage of what the world has to offer to this fabulous, sexy body of hers.
Only thus can she know true happiness.
Or so she tells herself.
But it does make sense, at least to her.
And what is this, what is happening to her now, if not a prime example of financial dependency.
If she had a million dollars of her own, if she had an adequate, steady income, if she had a place of her own, would she have to put up with this stupid, fucking bullshit for one second?
Clearly, she would not.
Who knows?
Maybe something good will come out of this trip after all.
Maybe, at one of their formal candlelight dinners on deck in a calm sea, Brim will pontificate to her in a loud voice the secret of eternal wealth.
Yeah, right.
Fat chance.
She is not only not going to be able to do anything on this trip, she will not even learn anything from it.
Just enjoy yourself, dear, it's your last chance to relax.
Yeah, right on, Mom, Dad.
Because the only thing that she finds relaxing is a good, healthy fuck.
And the fun and games which precede it and the contentment of the aftermath which follows it.
And the promise of more, more, more.
Because, dammit, when all is said and done, that is, that has to be, what life—real life, and not life as some philosopher would have us believe—is all about.
And if her parents, if the rest of the world are too dumb to see that, tough shit.
But of course, she will have to play along, will have to go along with them for a while, for the next four years, at least.
But then, ah then!
She will live life as it was meant to be.
A continuous and delightful physical experience.
And she will be able to openly proclaim what she must now carry within herself as a secret but revealed truth.
The rest is bullshit.
Anything outside herself and her own physical pleasure is excess, is untrue, is garbage and is to be used in furtherance of her lifestyle or ignored as she sees fit.
And if the rest of the world doesn't like it, tough shit, is all she can say.
Assuming, that is, that she will be in a position of having to say anything.
Because she intends having as little contact as possible with losers.
Yes, she tells herself, my future looks great.
Even if my now happens to suck.
But there is nothing she is going to be able to do about this tonight.
And thus, her temporary impotence confirmed and accepted, she sleeps.
"Lovely party, Samantha!"
"Thank you so much Evelyn!"
"Oh, not at all!
"It is we who should thank you for inviting us, and above all for this absolutely fantastic thing you're doing for Cindy, taking her along and all."
"Brim and I are only too happy to do so.
"After all, we never had any children of our own.
"We've missed out on a lot, I imagine, and we'd just like to enjoy the company of a well turned out youngster.
"You know, one of those what might have been type things."
"Yes, well, I hope you won't be too terribly disappointed, Samantha.
"Lovely girl and all, don't get me wrong."
"And we're certainly very proud of her, Harold and I, let that be well understood."
"But. Up here," pointing to her head, "nothing, you know?"
"Well, it isn't exactly her fault.
"Or anyone else's for that matter, Evelyn.
"At that age, they haven't been anywhere, haven't seen anything, so of course they don't know what it's all about."
"My only regret is that this trip won't be more educational for her."
"Oh, don't worry. She has enough of that ahead of her before she returns."
"This is to be her one last fling before the reality of university life hits her."
"I'm sure she'll do just fine, Evelyn."
"Harold and I have every confidence, but thanks for your vote, anyway."
Cindy floats among the guests.
She is the youngest one here, she notes.
And she is to be the only passenger other than the Steeles on the voyage.
Truly amazing, she thinks, how she got herself roped into a deal like this.
If only, she thinks. If only this were the background, the window dressing to a truly wonderful affair with some handsome stud.
Then it would be perfect.
Because she can see this, she really can, for herself, for her hypothetical lover.
It's like a set for a James Bond movie, full of opulence and luxury, exotic and bespeaking untold wealth and nefarious, elaborate plots behind it, sustaining it.
Even though she knows that Brim Steele is no Ernst Stavro Blofeld.
Nor does she see anyone around who could possibly be the superhero superspy himself.
And that's what makes all this such bullshit.
Given one good stud, it would all make sense.
But she sees no real candidates even for that.
There is nobody about with whom she could sneak off, closeting herself with him in a secured cabin for a fast fuck.
And, in the process, giving the facilities real meaning.
That is what makes them bullshit, she tells herself, their lack of appropriate function for what really matters.
I am ready, dammit! she tells herself, smiling prettily at the guests as she sweeps through them in her lilac cocktail dress, champagne glass in hand.
As she carries it for appearance.
She does not care for champagne, really.
She does not appreciate its cidery taste, its sour aftermath in her mouth.
She would actually prefer beer and pizza.
But nothing could be farther from the spirit of this place, this happening.
Or rather, this non-happening, this non-event.
"Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?"
Brim Steele, looking massive in his white jacket with red carnation and cummerbund, is smiling down at her.
"Oh, very much so, Mr. Steele," she replies.
"Please. Call me Brim. Everyone does, and we shall be travelling together for a very long time, as two months must seem, at your age."
"They say time flies when you're enjoying yourself," Cindy observes.
"Ah, do I hear a challenge?"
"I didn't mean—"
"No, no, no, not at all, my dear."
"Permit me to accept it as such."
"And allow me the opportunity to rise to the occasion."
"I shall do my utmost to make your vacation memorable."
"Just being here is—"
"Is boring, tedious, frustrating.
"Is missing your friends and the things you were going to do together.
"Is the turning of what was to have been a magic time, a time apart, a time between, a time of utter freedom into a dead space, a void in your life."
Cindy is speechless.
What is he doing, reading her mind.
And the truth of his words must show in her eyes, because—
"I see I have hit the nail on the head."
"Please, it is not a trick of some kind."
"Your age, your attributes, your obvious capacity for the real, the physical side of life—all bespeak interests which must lie elsewhere."
"And that champagne must be quite flat by now."
"No, it's fine."
Said abstractly, her gaze affixed to his.
Because he has said it all.
Most of it, anyway.
And if he knows that much—no.
This yacht, the formal attire, the mature company, all militate against this.
Because his world is far, far from even that of her parents, let alone herself.
So that he couldn't possibly—never mind.
That is just her hominess leading her astray.
That is just her desire, her sense of loss at what might have been and now can never be, creating fantasies of the situation overcome, of fulfillment achieved.
And besides, far from being the solution to her needs, he is the author of their denial, of their frustration.
But for him and his money and his stupid boat here, she could even now be in some motel room, her own young, agile body writhing voluptuously in sweaty embrace with some young stud as his hips pound his stomach against the cheeks of her ass as his prick pistons wetly in and out of her hot, juicy, sucking cunt.
No, most likely, this is just more bullshit.
Perhaps the cook has developed a brandy and pepper sauce for the lobster to excite her palate.
Big fucking deal.
Or he will conduct her on a tour of this wondrous vessel.
Another big deal.
Being young and impressionable as she appears to be, Brim has every right to assume that she will be overwhelmed by his ostentatiousness and wealth, as symbolized by the ship.
Surely these are the devices he will use to attempt to combat her ennui.
Enough money, enough of the things that money can buy, and voil, thrilled young lady.
Except that she is no lady, she is a woman in the full, the biological sense, desiring, requiring only a woman's pleasure, the pleasure that lies within, the pleasure which is of and in and from and by the body.
And which can be obtained in only one way.
And they, all of them—her parents the Steeles, the world—have conspired to separate her from the source of her only true happiness.
And they will not get away with it.
No, retribution will surely seek them out.
If there's anything akin to justice in the world.