SS Subversive.
About three months ago I was out in Kings Cross with several friends, spending an obscene amount of money on booze and girls in a strip club.
At around four in the morning the night turned into a sort of photo album.
In the first snapshot I am on stage with the strippers.
In the next snapshot I am being roughly extricated from the club. My boys are waving goodbye. They have no intention of leaving.
In the next snapshot, an extremely cute girl in uniform is chatting me up.
In the final snapshot I am signing a document, whilst the woman is massaging my groin.
This is all that I remember.
When I open my eyes I realise I’m not at home. I am in a small cabin with eight sets of bunk beds – all empty, and tightly made up. The walls are metal, as is the floor and the ceiling.
There is a compelling silence.
I am extremely hung over.
A door opens and the woman from last night enters.
‘Stand to attention.’
I’m befuddled.
‘Where are my clothes?’
‘I am the Lieutenant of this Naval vessel. Accept my orders without question.’
I remove my blanket, get out of the bunk, and stand at the foot of it. She walks towards me. My tumescent member is twitching uncontrollably. She begins to take her clothing off. Her skin is flawless even under neon. She shows me her bottom. It is large, but tight, and the shape of a perfect apricot. I’m aroused but confused.
‘Where am I?’
She’s naked now and kisses me fully on the mouth. Her tongue flickers at mine, and her hand grabs my cock, hard, making me gasp. She pushes me down onto the bed.
‘What is going on?’
She straddles me.
‘You’re on a submarine.’
She gently places me inside her.
‘And we’re about to submerge.’
As she’s getting dressed, I notice her nametag; it says Beaumont.
‘Please explain what is going on.’
She is placing her hat upon her head.
‘You joined the Navy. You’re the official cook on Australia’s only WRAN submarine.’
‘WRAM?’
‘WRAN. The Women’s Royal Australian Navy.
She pats down her skirt.
‘An Officer will be in shortly. She will explain everything.’
‘Um … are we on a mission?’
This sounds idiotic coming out of my mouth.
‘I’m afraid that’s classified.’
‘But … I already have a job.’
‘Once signed up, you cannot leave the Navy. It is an offence to do so.’
Lieutenant Beaumont turns and exits. I frantically search the room for my clothes wondering how on earth one might escape from a submarine.
There is a knock.
‘Don’t come in. I’m not wearing anything.’
The door opens anyway, and a girl – barely twenty – enters. I hold the blanket around my waist. She plucks a tape measure from somewhere, and runs it through her fingers. I speak.
‘I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.’
She pulls the blanket from my hands, and tenderly yet forcefully measures my penis.
She runs the tape down my arm.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m taking measurements for your uniform.’
‘What’s my role exactly?’
She answers by kneeling in front of me. Although mentally, I’m sexually spent, my penis obviously isn’t done. It taps her chin that is positioned in front of my groin.
My measurements are taken orally.
I’m left to get into uniform and make my way down the slim halls of the sub. After passing through several empty cabins like mine, I open a door and am met with a crew of women entire, sitting at two long tables running down either side of a thin aisle. The chatter stops and they all look me up and down. There is an impossibly long silence. I see a spare seat and I walk to it. I am extremely nervous.
No one speaks during breakfast. This has me freaking out, and when we’re done I try to sneak back into my cabin. Lieutenant Beaumont stops me, and asks the crew who would like to take me on a tour of the sub. What happens next is crazy. They turn into schoolgirls, squealing ‘pick me’, waving their arms in the air. Beaumont picks four, two blondes, a brunette, and a cute tiny girl of Asian descent. They pull me out of my chair and I am ushered out of the mess.
They do unspeakable things to me in the torpedo room.
They tie me up in the manoeuvre room.
We all squeeze into one of the escape pods, meant to fit two.
I almost get away from them in the escape hatch, but they find me hiding under the table in the Sonar Room. I beg them to stop, but they don’t.
For the next two months this kind of stuff happens every day.
I am a sex slave trapped two thousand metres underwater. I’m allowed to sleep only when I’m not being screwed or sucked or tongued or groped or tied with rope. My duties are too much for a platoon to take care of. Lesser men would perish.
One morning I’m awoken by two lady soldiers in different uniforms at the foot of my bed. They point guns in my direction. The twin Medical Officers who are curled up next to me, rub their eyes in unison. The soldiers speak aggressively in French. The others in my cabin do not look as shocked as I feel. In fact, I’m definite I saw the girl with the glasses who sleeps next to me (and has been ordering me to aggressively spoon her for the last month) rub her hands together.
All I can think while I’m madly getting into uniform is how over the last couple of months I have spent most of my time in the dark … but at the same time, in the middle of everything.
When I am dressed I am traipsed out of the room by the soldiers. As I go through the mess, everyone is busy eating. Now they don’t want to look at me whereas before they couldn’t get enough of me. My sexual currency has hit an all time low, but although I am a red raw fuckslave, although I’ve spent what seems an eternity as a prong-with-legs and have been constantly pawed underwater against my will … I want my sexual predators back.
My armed entourage and I are met by Lieutenant Beaumont in the Control Room. When I salute her, she returns it half-heartedly. I can tell immediately that she’s no longer in to me.
‘What is going on?’
‘You’re being transferred.’
Beaumont waves to a ladder that she wants me to climb. This is the first time she hasn’t gone up a ladder first, and even if she isn’t wearing a skirt, the gesture hurts. I climb up, a hatch opens, and I see sunshine.
I am led down a pier that the sub has docked against on a beautiful day. French Guiana sits atop Venezuela in South America. The French colonised the region in 1667 and, in the 1790’s, during the French Revolution, they began sending their political prisoners there. In 1854 a formal prison system was established, and in 1945 when it was shut down, the remnants became an ideal multi-cultural society. The two lady soldiers escorting me are gorgeous examples. The one linking my arm on my right is half American Indian and half Lebanese, whilst the girl on my left is half Arabic and half Indochinese. I find it difficult to stop staring. I think this is okay because since we left the sub they have been fondling me around the thighs.
Now I’m standing in front of a desk in a military office. Sitting behind it is the cutest French girl I’ve ever seen. Next to her are the two beauties that brought me here, and on my right Lieutenant Beaumont stands as stiff as a board (sometimes I think she takes her job too seriously). A fan whirs overhead, and a small pot plant sitting atop a bookcase, adorned with books in strict regimented colour, droops in the humidity. I have been ordered to strip down completely. Two months ago this might have posed a timidity issue, but I’ve been broken in.
‘His cock is a little red.’
The new Lieutenant’s broken English is phenomenally sexy.
‘He’s the only one we’ve had, so …’
The new Lieutenant raises a single eyebrow. It kills me in a very sexual way.
‘You crossed the Indian Ocean with one man?’
Beaumont reiterates.
‘And the South Atlantic.’
The Lieutenant nods to the half Indochinese girl, who leaves the room. She returns with a naked South American guy. He looks smashed and is placed next to me. He babbles in what sounds like Portuguese. He’s introduced.
‘We found him in a bar down the road. He had spent half of his wages on lap dances.’
Beaumont looks impressed.
‘We’ll take him.’
‘Will you be okay with just one?’
‘It’s not far to Bermuda.’
The new Lieutenant nods at me.
‘I like ours.’
Beaumont pats my bottom.
‘I think you’ll find him useful.’
I am shocked.
‘Are you letting me go?’
She strokes the back of my head.
‘Don’t think you haven’t been appreciated, but the crew like to rotate our boys.’
I turn to the new Lieutenant who winks, and circles her nipple, that has erected under her blouse. Beaumont speaks.
‘Now if you don’t mind, we have to be off. There’s a storm coming that we need to beat.’
She kisses me gently on the lips. Her mouth caresses my ear and she speaks.
‘You’ve been my favourite.’
With that she takes the Portuguese guy by the hand, salutes the other Lieutenant and walks out of my life. I turn back from the door to face the three ladies and if I weren’t undressed already their eyes would’ve done the job by now.
End.
