index


Message-ID: <50193asstr$1105618202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Art West <artweststory@yahoo.co.uk>
Reply-To: artweststoryTAKE@OUTyahoo.co.uk
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Subject: {ASSM} A Pregnant Cruise -- Chapter 1: Joining the Crew (Slow start, forced exhib)
Lines: 528
Date: Thu, 13 Jan 2005 07:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

  
		
---------------------------------
 ALL-NEW Yahoo! Messenger - all new features - even more fun!  
<1st attachment, "PrgCru1.txt" begin>

A Pregnant Cruise
by
Art West (artweststory@SPAMGO.yahoo.co.uk)

Chapter 1: Joining the Crew (Slow start, forced exhib)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

OK, so I'll admit it!  I'm a smooth-talking salesman, 
but one whose fortunes have been bedevilled by a 
combination of an insatiable curiosity concerning the 
affairs of others, and an obsessive gambling nature 
which has won and lost me a number of fortunes.  I am 
now sharing a home with two very pregnant women, my wife 
Paula and my daughter Lara, neither of whom know who the 
fathers are ... all as the result of these two character 
traits of mine.
 
Let's go back to the beginning.  My name is Stu Collins, 
British by birth, but schooled in Cape Town, South 
Africa where my parents emigrated when I was 10.  

In 1987 when I graduated at age 22 with a business 
degree, this was still apartheid South Africa.  The laws 
prohibiting interracial sex were no longer rigidly 
enforced, but were still on the statute book.  For this 
reason, I found a particular thrill in dating "coloured" 
girls during my student days and breaking the law by 
getting into their pants.

Early in 1988 I met Paula, then just 17 and starting 11th 
grade.  She was also "coloured", but I really fell for 
her ... it was not just the illicit thrill.  She was tall; 
at 1.73m (or 5'8" if you like) she was slightly taller 
than me.  She was athletically built, broad-shouldered 
with C-cup tits that jutted out firmly.  She was not 
particularly dark, rather more olive-skinned; in fact, 
she was later often thought to be southern European or 
perhaps Arab. 

As I said, I'm a smooth-talking salesman, and within two 
months of our meeting had talked her out of her cherry. 
This was no mean feat, as she was active in a quite 
fundamentalist church.

Before long, we drifted into a social group of some six 
or seven senior schoolgirls dating older guys.  Within 
this group, there were continual rounds of dares to do 
outrageous things such as sex in ever more public 
places.  Then around September that year came the dare 
that really appealed to my gambler's instinct.  One of 
the guys had discovered that if you put a condom in a 
microwave oven at a particular combination of power and 
time, it still seemed OK when you put it on, but it 
easily ruptured.

The dare then was this.  Each girl had to state the day 
on which her period started.  Two weeks later, she and 
her boyfriend had to choose one condom from a box of 10 
condoms of which one had been sabotaged.  They had to 
strip down to underwear to show they had no other 
protection with them, and then go into a room and "do 
it".  

This went on for about 6 weeks with no one getting the 
dud, which was almost disappointing.  Then Paula and I 
came up for the second time, around the third week in 
October.  It was quite a thrill anyway, fucking with a 
group of friends outside the door making comments, but 
the risk really made it for me.  I didn't even feel the 
rubber burst; we had a marvellous fuck, and lay coupled 
in post-coital bliss for quite a few minutes after I 
came.  Only when I pulled out, "Oh, God", there were the 
remnants of the rubber around the base of my cock.  I 
had saturated Paula's womb with my seed. 

When we came out and showed the others, there was great 
cheering and giggling.  Three weeks later, there was no 
doubt that Paula's period was late.  Two weeks after 
that, a pregnancy test confirmed our fears.

We told both sets of parents (about the pregnancy, that 
is, and not about the stupid dare).  Mine were annoyed 
that I had not been more careful, and even hinted that 
Paula had trapped me.  Hers were devastated.

We still couldn't get married in South Africa.  So I 
took Paula back to England (with the help of a family 
friend at the consulate who smoothed out the paper work 
for Paula), and we got married.

Baby Lara arrived in July 1989.  For the next couple of 
years, I worked in a property development office, while 
Paula did a secretarial course, and once Lara was three 
and settled in a nursery school, Paula found work.

By this time I was getting bored with office life 
myself.  Through some contacts I had made, I set up on 
my own, borrowed large amounts of money, bought, 
modified and sold lots of properties.  Some worked out 
well.  Others ruined me and we had to start again.

This became the pattern for the next ten years as Lara 
grew into a beautiful teenager, very much like her 
mother.  At times we were nearly destitute, supported by 
Paula's regular but limited secretarial income; at other 
times I was a millionaire!

This brings us to early this year (2004).  Lara was 14, 
going on 15, and looked about 17. What worried me was 
her 17-year old motor-cycling boyfriend (Billy), as I 
remembered only too well how easily I had seduced her 
mother at 17!  

Paula was now 33, but looked hardly more than 25, and 
many mistook the two of them for sisters.  I had been 
urging Paula to have another baby, but she kept 
insisting that we should wait until we were sufficiently 
financially secure and settled, so that she could give 
up her job with the used car dealership where she had 
worked for past two years or more.  By May 2004, 
however, I had closed a deal that would give us more 
than I had ever made before, and Paula at last agreed to 
have the baby, but on one condition: that I make over 
all the money to her, into her private savings account.

I agreed, and the day I showed her the final signed 
contracts, she flushed her birth control pills down the 
toilet.

The money itself would only be paid out in August, so we 
were still short on funds.  But we agreed to have a 
cheap holiday in Europe for six weeks, all three of us 
using busses and trains and sleeping in youth hostels.  
Paula would quite her job at the end of June, and we 
would set off as soon as Lara finished school, just a 
week or so before her 15th birthday.

I was a little disappointed that Paula was not yet 
pregnant by the time we left.  The problem was that 
there had been so much rushing around that we hardly had 
any sex during June and July.  And then once on our 
trip, Lara usually shared a room with us, so that we had 
little opportunity then.

We took a ferry to the north of Spain, and then over a 
couple of weeks meandered across Spain, along the French 
Riviera and into Italy.  

The trouble started in early August in Naples.  We had 
agreed to stay there for a week or more, exploring the 
area.  But both Paula and Lara were pre-menstrual at the 
same time, and rather bitchy.  So I escaped to the yacht 
basin, where I got involved with a poker school.  Even 
after the girls' periods came, for the next 3 or 4 days, 
I still slipped away at times to play poker, as at first 
I had been doing so well.

And then I started losing, and losing, and losing!  
Suddenly I realized that I had blown almost all our 
funds.  This was a disaster!  I was technically 
bankrupt, and had no bank account.  Paula had her 
savings account, but with an ATM card that only worked 
in the UK.  We had taken travellers cheques, but now I 
had used them all.

Paula was furious when I confessed.  She, accompanied by 
Lara, marched me back to the yacht basin to find my 
poker mates.  She threatened, she cajoled, she flirted, 
she cried, trying to get my money back, but to no avail. 
But then two of the guys, two young but rather upper-
class Brits, suggested one possible way out.

"We are part of the crew of an ocean-going yacht that's 
doing some business around the Mediterranean", one of 
them told us.  "The boss has said we don't have enough 
cleaning and kitchen staff.  Perhaps he'll sign you on. 
We are supposed to be back in England in about 3 weeks".

This seemed our only hope.  We agreed that the two guys 
would bring their boss to meet us a couple of hours 
later.

The "boss" turned out to be an aristocratic Englishman 
in his early 50s. He gave us the once-over; or at least 
he gave Paula and Lara the once over, largely ignoring 
me.  I remember thinking that it was fortunate both of 
them had worn gypsy-style tops with low scooped 
bustlines, as the boss (we never did get to hear his 
name) leered at their tits most of the time.  He did 
also question us on families, when we'd be expected 
home, and on who might miss us if we were late.

"OK", he said, "I'm satisfied.  You can work your way 
home with us by cleaning, helping in the galley etc.  
But remember that once on board, you obey orders without 
question!  And another thing - - Keep your noses out of 
our business at all times or you'll be in trouble.  Do 
you understand?"

We agreed.

"Right", the boss continued.  "Meet us back here at 7pm 
sharp, with all your bags".

Over the next couple of hours, Paula warned me 
repeatedly not to blow this last chance by any other 
stupid actions, such as "poking my nose" into their 
business.

We were met by the two younger guys (Mark and Quinton 
were their names), who escorted us without offering to 
carry anything to the "yacht".  To my eyes it looked 
like a small ocean liner.

The "boss" met us at the top of the gangplank, 
accompanied by a little cockney guy, Sid, who appeared 
to be in his mid-forties, and two huge very black West 
Indian men, whom he referred to as Andy and Aaron.  The 
boss explained that Sid was his right-hand man, and that 
we should take orders from him.  Andy and Aaron were "in 
charge of security", he told us.

Sid told us to follow him.  He led us through a lounge 
area (with a number of tables and a fancy bar), down a 
passage, at the end of which he opened a door to show us 
into a huge stateroom with its own en suite bathroom.

"This is normally a VIP guest cabin, but it's not being 
used, and is our only spare cabin at this stage".

None of us commented on the fact that there was only one 
kingsized bed, so that presumably Lara would need to 
share the bed with us.  Somehow, this generated a bit of 
a tingle in my groin, for reasons I would have found 
hard to articulate.

We left our backpacks (which was all we had) on the bed, 
and followed Sid as he showed us round the rest of boat. 
 Apart from the six guys we had already met, he also 
introduced us to a tall fifty-year old Hollander, Henk, 
and to two Algerians (Moussa and Zohra).  It turned out 
that Henk basically captained the boat, assisted by Mark 
and Quinton.  At this stage the roles of Moussa and 
Zohra were not clear.

After the tour, we settled down in the lounge, and had 
drinks.  Nothing had yet been said about our duties, but 
everyone was friendly and the ambience was fantastic.

We had just finished the drinks when we heard some 
sounds outside.  Andy came in and told the boss that 
"your guests are here".

Sid gestured to us, and escorted us to our stateroom.  
"Stay here", he instructed us, "until I say you may come 
out".

He left closing the door, but not locking it.

I peeped through a porthole.  It was starting to get 
dark, but I could make out a group of men bringing 
suitcases and boxes on board from cars on the dockside. 
 There seemed to be some urgency to get finished, and I 
saw that some were nervously looking up the road as if 
they expected someone else to come.

Suddenly it struck me! I turned to Paula and told her: 
"I know what their line of business is!  I'm sure 
they're fences for stolen goods, probably things like 
art and jewellery.  If I can just hear what they're 
saying I'll be sure of it!"

"Don't be an idiot Stu", hissed Paula.  "You heard what 
they said: keep your nose out of their business.  Don't 
get us into even more trouble!"

But I was hardly listening to her.  I cracked the cabin 
door open - - there was no one around.  So I slipped out 
into the passage even as Paula whispered urgently at me 
to get back.  But there's no stopping my curiosity once 
aroused. I crept right down to the door of the lounge, 
and heard enough to confirm my suspicions.  With a smile 
on my face, I was just about to slip back to our cabin, 
when the door next to me opened and Aaron came out.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he yelled at me, 
which quickly brought the boss and Sid out to see what 
was happening.

They looked really mad.  "It looks like you can't obey 
orders . . . well on this ship you'd better learn fast", 
the boss spat out at me.

"Take him back to their cabin and bolt the door", he 
told Aaron, who more or less lifted me bodily and 
threw me inside.  The door was slammed shut and this 
time a key was turned.

"Now you've blown it, you fool" Paula raged at me. "Who 
knows what they'll do to us now, but they won't want us 
blabbering to anyone else".

For some time we sat in tense silence.  We heard the 
visitors' cars go, and a short while later the yacht's 
engines started up and we moved away from the pier.

We must have been at sea for about an hour, and the 
shore line was just a misty line of light on the 
horizon, before there was a sound at our door.

The door opened, and the boss, Sid, Mark, Andy and Aaron 
all trooped in looking grim.  They looked at us in 
silence for what seemed an age.  Then the boss spoke.

"So what do we do with you people?  Some of the crew 
think we should dump you overboard in our rubber dinghy, 
and let you fend for yourselves".

My stomach went cold, as we were not sailors in any 
way!!  It was Paula who spoke first.

"Please, don't.  We'll get lost and drown.  It's Stu 
who's the idiot.  But we'll keep him quiet and Lara and 
I will never say anything".

"Mmmmmm" mused the boss.  "I'm inclined to be 
sympathetic, but we have to be absolutely sure you don't 
jump ship at one of our ports of call".

"I swear to God", promised Paula, "we'll stay out of 
sight in port and we'll keep Stu under control.  We'll 
behave, and we'll work hard to make our presence on 
board worth your while."

The boss looked at our three backpacks lying on the bed. 
"Is that all the luggage you have, and are all your 
papers in there?"

When we nodded, he said: "Open them!"

He took our toilet bags and passports out.  The 
passports were handed to Sid who left the room for a few 
minutes.  The boss then told us: "The toilet bags are 
all you are keeping out; everything else will be locked 
away in the front hold.  In that way we'll be sure you 
stay where you are."

I was about to ask about clean clothing when he went on: 
"So take off the clothes you are wearing, and put them 
in your bags."

"Wh-a-a-a-a-t?" Paula and I screamed simultaneously.

"You heard me" he said.

"But - but - but . . ." I stammered.

Sid, who had just re-entered, made it clear: "You have 
two choices, mate.  Do as you're told or overboard you 
go".

Paula gestured to Lara that we had no choice, and they 
kicked off their sandals.  Then, with a combination of 
defiance and coquettishness, they started to pull their 
tops off.  Their skirts quickly followed, leaving them 
in bra and panties only before I had got further than 
taking off my shoes and socks.

"You too, mate", Sid poked me in the ribs.

If the truth be known, I felt more embarrassed at 
stripping in front of these men that either of the girls 
seemed to be.  They seemed almost to be flirting!  I am 
quite small boned, but a bit flabby around the middle, 
with a rather pasty white skin, whereas all the other 
men on board seemed pretty athletic and tanned if not 
black.  But my greatest embarrassment was my cock.  
Never huge even when erect, it shrank to near 
invisibility in my pubic hair when I was cold, 
frightened or embarrassed, and I could imagine them 
laughing at me.

But I pulled my shirt off in tandem with the girls 
shedding their bras, to expose their breasts proudly to 
the circle of men around them.  Even I was fascinated by 
Lara, whom I had not seen topless since she was about 
11.  Her tits were almost as large as her mother's, but 
perhaps more conical, with the nipples pointing up, in 
contrast to Paula's luscious roundness (not sagging, but 
still showing that she had nursed an infant).  Like 
Paula, Lara also had an overall olive complexion and 
large dark-coloured aureolae.

Paula and Lara slowly worked their panties over their 
hips, and their substantial black bushes came into sight 
to the accompaniment of whistles from a couple of the 
men.  I took a deep breath and stripped off my trousers 
and underpants, but I think the men were too entranced 
with Paula and Lara to pay me much attention.

We placed our clothes in our backpacks, at which point 
Sid sealed the zips closed with one of those security 
strapping instruments used by airlines.  At a gesture 
from the boss, Andy and Aaron picked up our bags and 
disappeared.

At that moment, the engines stopped.

"Ah, good", said the boss. "We must have reached our 
over-night mooring.  Let's go through to the lounge to 
discuss what we now do with these three."

Quickly the entire crew gathered, and sat around as we 
were left to stand next to the bar.

The boss looked us up and down.  "Well, I guess Stu can 
still do general cleaning and help in the galley, but it 
seems a shame to use the two pretty ladies in that way, 
don't you agree?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Naked, nubile women are so much better employed in 
satisfying more personal needs of a male crew".

"What do you mean?" Paula and I asked almost 
simultaneously.

"Surely, I don't have to spell it out?" laughed the 
boss.

"Do you mean you're going to gang-rape us?" asked Paula 
softly, nervously and yet somehow without the total fear 
I would have expected.

"Rape is an ugly word.  You have voluntarily agreed to 
stay on board in your naked condition.  You could have 
selected the option to go on the dinghy.  You must know 
that an all-male crew will want to take advantage of 
this offer".

Paula moved slightly forward, as if to shield Lara. 
"Look do to me what you like, but leave my daughter.  
She's only an underaged child".

"She doesn't look much of a child to me, with those tits 
and that bush" commented Sid with a sneer. 

"How old are you, darling?" asked the boss.

"Four- -, no I mean fifteen" replied Lara.

"There you are then.  Although some Anglo-Saxon 
traditions look on 16 as the 'age of consent', many 
other cultures put it at 12 or 13.  In fact, in many 
countries, a woman of 15 is married already, and proving 
her fertility".  

Then turning back to Lara, he asked: "Are you still a 
virgin?"

"Ye- er - No" she replied, blushing slightly, and not 
looking Paula or myself in the eye.

"But", Paula went on anxiously, "your guys will at least 
use protection?"

"Why?" asked the boss, "Do you have some diseases?  My 
guys were all medically checked at the start of the 
cruise, and were clean.  And they have used condoms when 
visiting brothels, but here on board I see no reason to 
bother."

"It's pregnancy I'm worried about" explained Paula.

"Aren't you on the pill?"

"No".

"How come?  Were you wanting to fall pregnant".

"Stu and I were thinking of a child", she admitted.

"Oh dear, and he hasn't yet succeeded. It's probably 
that little willy of his --- it's too small! [to 
laughter from the others] You should be glad of our help 
then.  And if you become mother and grandmother at the 
same time it will help cement a bond with your daughter 
to avoid her getting jealous of a new sibling."

"But look, it's getting late", the boss continued.  "We 
need to clarify arrangements to avoid arguments amongst 
the crew. During daytime, you two will have to service 
any of the crew not on duty on a first-come first-served 
basis.  Since I am always on duty during the day, and am 
the boss, I shall get first call for the night.  One of 
the ladies will join me in my bed for the night, and I 
shall alternate between them.  The other of the ladies 
will have the bed in the guest stateroom, and there's 
enough room for two guys to share it with her.  I 
suggest you draw cards each night, with the two highest 
cards winning."

The assembled crew expressed satisfaction with the 
arrangement.  I was not consulted!

(Cont in Chapter 2)


********************************************************
Other stories by Art West can be found at 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ArtWest

*******************************************************
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+