Chapter 5
"Pull!" Brim shouts, loudly.
And a clay pigeon appears suddenly on the horizon.
As Bill, operating the machine on the deck below, out of sight, obeys Brim's signal.
Pow!
And the clay pigeon disintegrates over the water.
"Here," Brim says, loading a shell into the chamber and closing the gun, "you try it, Cindy."
He hands her the gun.
"Remember, the butt firmly against your shoulder but your grip on the trigger light."
"Both eyes open, sighting down the barrel, pointing it as you would a finger, leading the pigeon by about ten yards."
"I'm supposed to remember all that?"
Brim laughs.
"Don't worry, you'll soon get the feel of it."
"That's right, that's the correct stance."
"You ready?"
"Can you do the yelling for me?"
"The what? Oh. Of course."
"Pull!"
Pow!
And the clay pigeon disintegrates, looking like shrapnel in an old war film.
"Bravo!" Brim says.
"Beginner's luck," Cindy replies.
"Right. And from the deck of a ship, too," Brim says. "You've a real talent for this, young lady, and don't put yourself down on that score."
"In fact—"
And he leans over the side. "Rig for doubles, Bill!"
"Aye aye, Mister Steele!"
"I'll show you how this works."
"You ready down there, Bill?"
"Whenever you are, sir!"
And Brim selects a different gun from the mobile gun rack, loading it carefully with two shells.
"Pull!"
Pow! Pow!
And both pigeons explode in the sky.
"This is called an over and under shotgun," Brim explains. "And you don't have to worry which barrel fires first.
"The gun is designed to deliver the load to the same spot at the same distance."
"The trick here is to catch the second bird before it starts dropping, the secret being to fire your second shot as though there had not been a first."
"The sequence to think is fire, ignore, fire."
"This is why I prefer the over and under to the double-barreled model."
"Let the gun worry about which load it's discharging."
"With a double-barreled gun, you have to switch triggers."
"Unless you fire fast enough."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, it wouldn't work at just any angle, I don't think, but the birds here aren't separating that quickly, because Bill has to launch them away from the ship, rather than across our field of vision."
"Load the double-barrel and I'll show you what I mean."
"Okay, but I hope you know what you're doing, Cindy."
He prepares the double barrel for her.
"Here you are, my dear."
Then, "Pull!"
Ka-blam!
And the two pigeons disintegrate as Cindy pulls both triggers at once.
"Brilliantly observed, my girl!" Brim says, applauding.
"Tell that to my shoulder," Cindy replies, handing him the gun and rubbing it where the double force of the recoil has exerted itself, even through the pad on the canvas shooting vest with which Brim provided her.
"Well done anyway," Brim says, chuckling.
And reloads the double-barreled shotgun.
"Pull!"
Ba-boom!
"That certainly works, all right," he concedes, turning his back on the still falling clay shards which pepper the surface of the water to ask, "Shoulder okay?"
"I think so."
"I was just so determined to prove my point that I forgot all about the double recoil."
"Stupid, really."
"Ah, but what a brilliant deductive mind you have, Cindy!"
"And a helluva lot less stupid than Ben Franklin and his kite during the lightning storm."
"I think that's quite enough of this."
"When the pupil starts teaching the master new tricks, it's time for both to move on to new and better things."
He leans over the side.
"That's all for now, Bill. Thanks."
"Oh, and uh, all three of the guns will have to be cleaned before you put them away."
"Yes sir!"
"Well. What say we get ready for supper, Annie Oakley?"
"Fine with me."
And she goes to her cabin.
Skeet shooting.
Expensive, ridiculous, meaningless.
That is how she would have thought of it before.
But no longer.
Because that too is a part of the ambiance of this world in which she finds herself, this world which, whether by chance or design, has been handed to her for her own use.
And she was good at it.
Meaning that she is able to interface with reality here, with a reality made possible by vast wealth being expended in an ostentatious manner.
Yes, the Steeles have the money and they are proud of it.
Not because it makes them rich, but because it allows them, in fact authorizes them, to live as they do.
The yacht.
It is the symbol of their world within the world.
Or rather, above it.
Yes, they are definitely above it all.
Because they are beyond where most people would like to be.
The practical, the realistic person will set his or her sights on an attainable goal.
And yes, some of her classmates could well end up being millionaires.
Why not?
In her own case, that would not be difficult; she will inherit enough to qualify.
Perhaps even two times over that much.
But.
We are probably talking billions here when we are looking at the Steeles, she reflects.
It is one of those fortunes which increases all by itself.
It is merely necessary to avoid taking unnecessary risks, as this Leon in Paris evidently did.
Other than that, it will take care of itself.
And they can do things like having this fabulous ship.
And on the fabulous ship, they can have their times out, their magic times, their times that don't count.
And Brim was right, is right.
This is the better way.
Because hers, as originally planned, happens only once.
A few short months, and then it's over.
Back to reality.
Back to one of several grindstones.
Not the worst of all possible fates, of course; far from it.
But what is that, compared to all this?
Nothing.
Less than nothing.
Life, not as it is lived, but rather as it is endured.
Before, she could not wait for this journey to end.
Now, she is not so sure but that she wants to end herself when it's over.
Bottom line: Why bother?
Why bother, if her best efforts will not begin to approach this?
Why bother, if the best she will be able to manage, to do for herself and for whoever happens to be her sex partner at the moment is to arrange for a few minutes of escape to her private sexual paradise, only to have to return to face the inevitable?
And her parents are rich and they treat her well and they even spoil her and she will never want for anything and she has never faced a more dismal future.
And the only thing she regrets about this voyage is ever having begun it in the first place.
Yes, she was really better off not knowing.
She knows this now.
Eighteen years old, and her life, other than her sex life, is over.
Still, she supposes, there is a kind of justice in this.
She always believed, indeed still believes that her only happiness lies in having sex.
And, if that were not true before, it is certainly true now.
Except.
Now she sees that there is more to sex than just sex.
Sex has to take place somewhere, with somebody, in some real world context, if it is to be real sex, and not a figment of the imagination, not some hot, floating image to masturbate by.
And here, in the case of the Steeles, that context has been luxuriously, extravagantly established.
Because, far from sex being merely a part of this scene, this whole thing is one big sex scene.
From the selection of the crew to the way the Steeles parade around ninety to one hundred percent naked in the sun whenever the occasion suits or the mood seizes them—that is all part of this sexy, their sexy lifestyle.
This ship has become their world where they reign supreme.
Cindy considers it a floating paradise, a floating sexual paradise, in fact.
While Samantha is genuinely displeased with certain limitations which Cindy would consider so minor as to be scarcely worth mentioning beyond simple explanation, let alone complaining about.
And a shocking possibility strikes Cindy.
What if?
What if Samantha is already exerting pressure on Brim to come up with something bigger, something better, more luxurious?
An Olympic-sized pool on the deck.
Fresh water systems full time, even if the ship must carry sea water conversion technology in order to guarantee an unlimited supply.
Indoor space sufficient for any activity.
And a lump of jealousy and frustration comes into Cindy's throat, as she realizes that Samantha is in fact pushing for bigger and better.
When Cindy can never hope to approach even this level of opulence.
Unless, like Samantha, she marries it.
Even then, what are the guarantees?
Who is to say if, given this stage of wealth, her husband's interests will lead him to see the importance of creating their own private magic kingdom?
No, wealth alone will not bring this to her.
There must be temperament, a predisposition, a sense of values similar to her own.
Because, otherwise, there will be only money.
Sitting around, growing as it feeds on itself, and not doing anybody any good.
Just another piece of the bullshit, it would be, in that case.
Useless, meaningless, as useless, as meaningless as Cindy thought this ship, this voyage, the Steeles were, when she started.
It's a problem, she thinks, to put it quite mildly.
Because now, suddenly, her own lifestyle is unacceptable, may even have become unlivable.
How can I? she asks herself. How can I possibly consider, even for a moment, returning home to face the whole scene of college, a job, the constant struggle?
And struggle for what, for heaven's sake?
For the right to go to bed with some fairly decent hunk every now and again, there to enjoy several hours of happiness out of context?
Marrying well is no guarantee that it—all that she sees here—will happen.
Not marrying well is a guarantee that it will not.
Lovely!
A puzzle for which there are no solutions, only dead ends, compromises, contradictions.
Such is the human condition.
Especially when one wishes to rise above humanity.
And to think, she tells herself, before I started this trip, all I wanted to do was get laid as much, as often as possible.
And now, that seems one step above masturbation.
This, this! is sex, dammit!
Anything less, well, that is only a pale imitation.
Of course, she says that having only recently experienced two completely satisfactory sessions with the Steeles, Mister and Mrs., consecutively.
So that her appetite, while always sharply honed, is picky.
Hunger remains the best sauce.
And her hunger is quiescent now, ever present, of course, but able to contain itself, reassured of an abundant supply, both in quantity and quality.
And something tells her that Brim is not about to let her appetite go unassuaged for very long.
After all, what is the point to all his scheming to get her aboard if he is not going to take full advantage of her?
Yes, Samantha, you're right, she thinks, taking a shower before getting dressed for supper, these salt water showers really suck.
Brim will definitely have to do something about it.
And soon, dammit!
How much longer do you expect us to float around on this fucking garbage scow?
Yes, Cindy chuckles to herself, that's how she can picture Samantha talking to Brim.
As Brim, realizing that she is correct, reaches for one of his ubiquitous telephones and places a call to some naval architect to get the ball rolling.
And suddenly, a wave of depression sweeps over Cindy.
Because, even if such plans are underway, what is that to her?
Unless—no.
That is thinking way, way too far ahead.
Although, certainly, she is not above devising some scheme to manipulate Brim or, for that matter, Samantha.
Still, the best she can probably manage is something for next summer.
And that is a very long time away.
And anything can happen in the interim.
No, best to play this present scene to the hilt, doing and being all that can possibly be expected of her.
And then, well, we'll see.
She cannot expect miracles, after all.
But now, as she puts on white slacks and a skimpy, dark halter and slips into white platform sandals, as she brushes her hair to a luster in the mirror, she thinks, Why not?
Why not expect a miracle, as one of those charlatans on TV is so fond of saying?
Because there is no justice, no discernible pattern of checks and balances, no system of equity or compensation in this world.
So that it is not a question of deserving, of earning, what happens to a person.
It happens because it happens.
The innocent may be punished, the evil, the guilty rewarded.
Thus is it written on the record of history.
Lately, the good guys have not been winning, even on the battlefield.
Not every time, anyway.
We lost Vietnam and barely handled Grenada.
And this with an arsenal that could destroy the world fifty times over.
Go figure.
So then, what's left, if not the individual, left to his or her fate?
So why not?
Why not try to influence it in some fashion favorable, or at least acceptable to herself?
Would it not, in fact, be wrong not to try?
She thinks so.
And, thinking thus, is more determined than ever to do something about cutting herself in on a piece of this action—somehow.
Later for this, she tells herself.
Because right now, it's time for supper with the Steeles, after which Brim or Samantha, or perhaps both, will have something on the program for this evening, no doubt.
"That was really delicious!" Cindy exclaims, when they have finished eating.
"You sound surprised, my dear," Samantha says.
"Well, it's just that, with the qualifications of the crew being what they are—"
"Ah, but the cook is the cook," Brim says. "I got that idea from the works of the Marquis de Sade, of all people."
And Cindy looks slightly alarmed.
"Oh, you need not worry, Cindy. That's the only idea I got from him."
"A sick, miserable, frustrated individual in real life, you know."
"He never had wealth, never had power, spent much of his life on the run, either in trouble with the authorities or actually in prison."
"Hell, it took the French Revolution to get his ass out of the slammer."
"No, the marquis is hardly an individual worthy of emulation, except in this one regard."
"In the midst of his villains' unspeakable acts, the cook alone remained unmolested, free to do his thing."
"And so it is with ours, a cordon bleu and chapeau noir and one whose only joys, for reasons incomprehensible to me, are culinary."
"Takes all kinds, I suppose."
And he lapses into silence as the three of them go to the rail, looking out at the calm depths, the moon reflecting brightly in the water, the stars twinkling in the infinity of the sky.
And Cindy knows, she just knows, that the view is not the same from, say, the Jersey shore.
The moon is not as bright, the stars not as scintillating, the whole scene not as calm, not as grand as this.
"Well, my dear," Samantha says, "Brim and I were thinking that perhaps you might not wish to spend yet another night alone in your cabin."
"So you're perfectly welcome to spend it with us in ours."
"We can assure you of a most interesting evening."
"I'd be delighted," she replies. "That, I can practically guarantee," Samantha states.
They laugh.
And retire to the Steeles' cabin.
Cindy lies between them as their hands lightly caress her body, up and down. It's all very casual.
At one point, Samantha, propping herself up on one elbow, runs a lacquered fingernail down the center line of Cindy's body and asks, "How do you feel about ass fucking, my dear?"
"Well," Cindy replies, "I've done it before, of course."
"But uh, with something that size—" referring to Brim's massive monster of a prong, "I'm not at all sure that I could handle it."
"All in the preparation, I assure you, Cindy," Samantha says. "Unless and until you're ready, Brim will do nothing.
"The farthest thing from our minds is to cause you even the slightest discomfort, let alone pain."
"Then in that case," Cindy replies, "I'm all yours."
And she promptly turns over, going at once to knees and elbows, ass thrust as high and as far back as it will go.
And it is Samantha rather than Brim who crouches behind her, spreading the cheeks of her ass still wider.
And wallowing in the crack of her ass, mouth opened.
And now, sucking her big, round bung into her mouth.
And chewing it gently between her teeth.
And continues sucking on it.
As her tongue goes round and round over the segments.
And now, Samantha pauses.
And, hands grasping the belled flare of Cindy's hips to hold her steady, stiffens her tongue.
And forces it in, in, into the center of Cindy's nether star.
So that Cindy can feel the live, wet, insistently probing appendage invading the heat of her rectum.
And touching the rectal walls which yield before it.
Even as the ring of muscle relaxes, welcoming it.
So that Samantha is able to go still deeper.
And she does.
And wiggles her powerful tongue back and forth, widening the entrance, stretching it still further than its natural, relaxed state.
And now, Brim takes over from her, his even larger, more powerful tongue rimming and stretching her, going still deeper into the moist, yielding heat of her interior.
And he lingers there, making a meal of her ass.
And now, he sticks two fingers into her ass hole.
And rotates them round and round, stretching her still more, making absolutely sure she will be big enough back there to accommodate him.
"You see, my dear, if one has patience, if one takes his time, there's no problem," Samantha explains, face to face with Cindy, watching her facial expression as she gets her finger wave.
Cindy says nothing, content to close her eyes, smiling faintly.
And now, satisfied, Brim pulls back from her, sitting on his heels as he rests on his knees, polishing his knob with a bit of saliva.
And now, he stands on his knees.
And, thumb and fingers of one hand encircling her ass hole, thus spreading the cheeks of her ass wider than ever, isolating her slackened, saliva-lubricated ass hole, turning it into a target, with his other hand, he guides his monster of an erection closer and closer—
And buttons his knob inside her ass hole, pausing there to allow her body to welcome its turgid visitor.
And it does, as Cindy feels the alien presence, stretching and filling the vestibule of her nether entrance.
And now, Brim places a hand on each of her hips, grasping them gently but firmly.
As he rotates his hips slowly, pushing forward a little at a time, drilling in, in, into the depths of her rectum, the battering ram of his cock head parting the channel before it, going deeper and deeper, the long, thick, hot hard, vibrant shaft behind it keeping Cindy stretched and filled.
As Samantha continues to watch her face closely, observing as it turns red with the heat of her mounting passion.
And now, Brim is fully seated within her.
And again, he pauses.
As Cindy, her ass stretched and filled completely, feels the tingling sexual excitement permeating the entire length of her rectum.