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Now why the fuck did I go and say that? I might as well go into a little detail about exactly what dying of dehydration entails. I didn’t look up because I might have made her start crying again.
“You don’t think we’ll be found?” Her voice was quiet, but at least it was steady.
“Hard to say,” I answered noncommittally. “If we find one of the other lifeboats, we’ll probably be all right.”
“Where are they?”
I looked over at her and raised my eyebrows.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked her. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘there aren’t any stupid questions?’”
“Yes.”
“Well, there are. That was one of them.”
I drank a mouthful of water, and we sat in silence for a while. Looking out the opening at the dark blue water, I was still really agitated. Our only real hope was someone seeing the flare and getting to us before we drifted too far. I reopened the survival kit and verified all the contents again.
“What happened to your head?”
“I got knocked around on the ship a bit,” I said. I had forgotten about the cut over my eye, and now that she brought it up, it started hurting. “Actually, I’m gonna need your help with it.”
“With what?” She sounded all nervous.
“I need you to stitch it up,” I said bluntly.
“You need me to what?” she gasped, panic in her voice.
“I need stitches,” I reiterated. “Considering keeping me alive is the only thing that’s going to save your ass, I think you might want to do it.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I responded. I took the mini suture kit out along with some more gauze and an alcohol wipe. “You’re a girl, so you ought to be able to do a simple fucking stitch. In and out, just like getting fucked.”
I was again amazed at how well her blush showed up at the top of her cheeks. It wasn’t exactly red, but her tanned skin deepened significantly in color. Her big, beautiful eyes went wide, much to the chagrin of my cock. Just what I needed, to get a hard on from a chick putting fucking stitches in my head.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” she said softly. “I tend to get a little sick at the sight of blood.”
I looked at her in sheer disbelief. She was squeamish, which was not what I needed, and I simply didn’t have time for that bullshit.
“You are going to have to get over that,” I told her. “Get over it right now, because if you puke, you’re going to lose fluids. If you lose fluids, you’re going to die.”
“You’re scaring me, you know.”
“Just stating the facts,” I retorted. “Now get over here and stitch me up.”
I wasn’t going to give her any time to think about it. I needed it done now before it started to fucking bleed again. She took a deep breath, like she was trying to prepare herself, and then came over close to me. I tied the end of the suture thread in a knot and then handed her both the thread and the surgical needle. I took the bloody gauze off my forehead and she gasped, holding her hand over her mouth.
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I growled, staring her in the eye. She looked into my eyes for a moment and then nodded her head slowly. “Just put it out of your mind. You’re playing seamstress on one of your dolls, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
I sat cross-legged in front of her while she got up on her knees to reach my head. Even then she was just barely tall enough. I took a couple of deep breaths myself, mentally preparing for the pain and trying to not be too obvious about staring at the milk mounds right in front of my face. I could only see the tops of them, but her tits looked pretty fucking perfect.
She stabbed into my skin and I tried to force myself not to flinch. It didn’t work completely but definitely got my mind off her boobs.
“Ow!”
“I’m sorry!” she cried.
