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Curious, but after finally passing through, Sergeant Kelly relieved me of my purse... all identification included.
At the airport we meet this Wadsworth Danforth McBride character. He looks at me as if I am a cupcake to be devoured, stepping forth to closely examine my attire and complimenting with gusto. Handsome, six foot, dark hair, there is masculinity, but also something foppish about him.
Sergeant Kelly introduces him as an old friend. I refrain from offering the six words I am ingrained to utter whenever Sergeant introduces me of late. After all we are in an airport... with much security.
Before departing, Sergeant Kelly suggests a visit to the lady’s room, always a mental challenge. For the flight, in order to breeze through the metal detector, my penis clasp and attached chimes were stowed in Sergeant Kelly’s purse, inspected, but not confiscated as a potential weapon.
But the three hours of airport waiting time and flight time were all the time she is going to allow my penis to be freed.
To the ladies room... to a stall... I know to bend. She flips up my pleated skirt at the back, left hand pulls back my tiny appendage, and right hand clasps the penis ring to the guiche. I once again chime with every step. And perhaps it is imaginary, but I do believe the hollow tubes dangling between my thighs extend below the hem of my skirt.
The ringing attracts much attention. It is what Sergeant Kelly desires for me. The humiliation intense, I feel the twinge. I begin to ooze... I know the drool will follow.
Please, I need to exit the airport quickly.
To the claim area, our luggage comes. Very li
ttle for me. A heavy suitcase for Sergeant Kelly. I am to later learn of the contents. She has used her credentials and specially arranged to check through some weapons.
***
The yacht of this Wadsworth Danforth McBride proves to be ideally suited for a very private voyage in the idyllic sunny waters of the West Indies – large but capable of being sailed with two... plus a cabin girl... me.
Within minutes of exiting Fort Lauderdale harbor a smiling Sergeant Kelly steps proximate and unhitches my skirt. Accustomed to being naked in her company... but not outdoors... and not with ‘Waddy’... there comes concern. Of more dismay, she tosses the garment overboard. Waddy turns and observes from the cockpit as next my blouse is removed... then my shoes... leaving me completely exposed. There also come splashes as my cheap platform shoes are tossed. My blouse is launched skyward, fluttering about in the ocean breezes to settle into the wake of the Crosser D.
“I suspect you’ll not be feeling the luxury of clothing again, my little one,” Sergeant Kelly ominously proclaims, tweaking a nipple.
I smile and blush... at first. Then I recall the limited packing done on my behalf. It would seem my only covering is now among the fishes. How will I return to New York?
Then my purse is tossed as well, all identification within bobs then sinks. It seems I shall not be returning anywhere.
Well out of the busy port, Waddy also disrobes. I am shocked though, when he playfully dons a grass hula skirt.
Sergeant Kelly disappears into the cabin then returns within moments.
“Time for my crew to be properly outfitted.”
As Waddy navigates, Sergeant Kelly lifts the front of the grass skirt. I now note that Waddy keeps himself neat down below, his pubes shorn. I recall from college days some of the more lecherous guys so shaving... claiming it facilitated more oral attention from otherwise squeamish and reluctant girls.
“What are you doing, Sarge?” Waddy having to keep his eyes and hands tending to navigation.
“Just a little something to enforce discipline amongst the crew.”
It is apparent that though this Waddy owns the craft, Sergeant Kelly is assuming control. For he docilely lets her have her way, as her hands rummage about under his skirt.
Finally I hear a click and Sergeant Kelly gestures for me to approach.
“Boys like Waddy here need a little extra support in walking the straight and narrow,” Sergeant explains, her hands parting the many strands of the grass skirt.
I look to see Waddy’s male package encumbered in plastic, his member caged, attached by way of a lock to a large ring encircling his penis and scrotum.
“A CB-3000. Not the most thorough of chastity devices, but good enough for our little excursion about the Caribbean. And Renee, feel free to lick his scrotum any time. It will deliciously build his frustration.”
Waddy appears distraught. I assume he was inveigled into this ocean jaunt with visions of sun filled days of debauchery... my reputation amongst Sergeant Kelly’s band of sexual deviants spreading rapidly. Instead he is placed in chastity... with the intractable Sergeant Kelly Rogers holding the key.
“Come, little girl. I have something for you as well.”
Down into the cabin, Sergeant Kelly opens her luggage. Amongst guns and ammunition there is an odd contraption of shiny stainless steel and rugged looking curved rods... rubber coated metal.
