Quickly, as the first week
gay nude male muscle ended, Matt and Jenn both found themselves busy for much of each
gay nude male muscle day, given dining room shifts at some of the meals, catering to individuals in the lounges, or being requested for the entertainment of one or more guests in a private cabin. If breakfast shift had been drawn, or a request for wake-up sex, then the keepers would get them up early, otherwise they usually stayed in bed – or at least in their rooms, until late morning. Into their second week on board, Jenn began to wonder if that was all. Her treatment was generally tame – civilized
gay nude male muscle. Where was the humiliation? The degradation? Although certainly not unsatisfied, Jenn felt just a bit disappointed. She could have stayed back at Celebration for this. Mind you, there was the aspect of being held for a year – no way out, and that fact, in itself, provided a sensual backdrop to the rest of it.
Sometimes, alone in her quarters, Jenn would wake from a late morning dream
gay nude male muscle with a start, suffering through an adrenaline rush; feeling decidedly disoriented. One recurring dream involved being subjected to the machinations of mechanical apparatus; being fastened down over a bolster or a padded horse, while a large thrashing machine mercilessly thrashed her backside. The machine was a big, slow moving wheel from the rim of which hung leather thongs in bunches. The wheel was positioned so that, as it turned, the
gay nude male muscle whips flogged her derriere inexorably, with a lash every two seconds or so. This went on, in the dream, for hours on end.
She also dreamt of huge mechanical fucking machines; great big steaming, snorting, hissing monstrosities with impossibly huge shiny metal cocks that rammed into her – in and out, in and out. There was never anyone else around in these dreams – these nightmares; never anyone to hear her pleas. And she always woke with a start, heart pounding, breath coming in gasps, vagina wet and tingling.
The organization of personnel on the ship was a complexly layered weave. Management – the executives
gay nude male muscle and administrators and the few powerful people to whom the enterprise belonged – was at the top. They were, however, virtually indistinguishable from the guests who were to be addressed – and only when appropriate – as milord or milady. There was service staff – stewards, cooks and orderlies who doubled as handlers and keepers; they were to be addressed as sir or maam. The cruise directors were trainers as well and were to be addressed as master or mistress. The ships operating crew – that is, officers and sailors – was like a fringe, surrounding the others but having little contact. Somewhere in the milieu were the employees like Matt and Jenn – the vassals.
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