Naval Retribution



Captain Grant Richardson, the 37-year-old commander of the U.S.S. Monterey, sat behind his immense, neatly polished executive desk in his luxuriously-appointed, totally soundproofed cabin, discussing the solution with his subordinate, 27-year-old Military Policeman (M.P.) Duke Bradley, who was in charge of the ship's military police, to what they considered to be a serious problem on their ship, the apparent presence of a handful of homosexual, "gay" or whatever they called themselves, sailors on their ship.

Captain Grant Richardson and M.P. Duke Bradley had been tipped off that one sailor in particular, Scott Price, a 22-year-old enlistee, was suspected of being one of "those goddamned faggots" and Captain Richardson and M.P. Bradley were discussing ways of entrapping Scott Price so that he could be thrown out of the Navy.

The U.S.S. Monterey, based in sunny San Diego, California, was currently anchored at a pier in Naples, Italy, and Captain Richardson's spacious cabin had an excellent view of the Bay of Naples and the blue Mediterranean Sea beyond.

Captain Richardson stretched his 6' 4" frame in his expensive leather executive chair, idly scratching his dark, neatly trimmed mustache, and running one of his strong suntanned hands through his thick dark hair, avidly listening to M.P. Duke Bradley's scheme to entrap the hapless Scott Price, as M.P. Bradley thoughtfully fiddled with his M.P. helmet which he had removed from the top of his head revealing his buzz-cut thick dirty blond hair.

M.P. Duke Bradley noted to Captain Richardson that the word was that this Scott Price had exhibited a tendency to "eye" none other than Lieutenant Kent Powell, III, one of the ship's best officers, and known to be one of the most studly dudes on the ship, whose detailed exploits with the most beautiful women in every port was legendary and well verified. The thought that this pervert Scott Price might be himself attracted to Lt. Powell should Lt. Powell indicate any interest in Price, disgusted Capt. Richardson, M.P. Bradley, and Lt. Powell himself, but when Capt. Richardson and M.P. Bradley proposed their scheme to Lt. Powell, Lt. Powell agreed to go along with the scheme in order to rid their fine ship of vermin like Price.

Lieutenant Kent Powell III was 26 years old, and from a moneyed and privileged background with dark, buff, bronzed muscular movie-star good looks. The young and handsome Kent Powell III was the coddled and pampered heir to the Powell fortune who had recently married prominent socialite Cecilia "CeeCee" Powell, and had only enlisted in the U.S. Navy as a prestigious officer to further develop his leadership abilities so that he could confidently assume taking over Powell Industries, which was soon slated to occur, on his 27th birthday per the terms of his generous trust fund.

Capt. Richardson and M.P. Duke Bradley laughed uproariously as they reminisced about their "fun" times a few years ago in Las Vegas when they, along with Lt. Kent Powell III, had freely groped, assaulted and totally harassed and humiliated scores of unsuspecting women in the minor incident the media had come to call the "Tailhook Incident." Capt. Richardson and M.P. Duke Bradley howled at the thought of how the randy trio had had the time of their lives "letting off steam" as they saw it.

Turning back to the matter at hand, the case of this little perverted faggot, Scott Price, Capt. Richardson and M. P. Duke Bradley called Lt. Kent Powell III into Capt. Richardson's cabin to discuss the final plans for Price's entrapment and expulsion from the Navy.

It was agreed among Capt. Richardson, M.P. Bradley and Lt. Kent Powell, III, that Lt. Kent Powell, III, would draw on the reported perverse attraction of the faggot, Scott Price, for Lt. Powell by suddenly feigning an interest in sailor Price, Lt. Powell "enlisting" Scott Price's help as on an "orderly" of sorts for the officers' exclusive on-board health club, an area strictly off limits to non-officers, ordinarily including the likes of even M.P. Duke Bradley, who was technically not even an officer.

The evil trio's scheme was for the movie-star-handsome Lt. Kent Powell, III, to entice the unwary pervert Scott Price to purportedly "massage" Lt. Powell's partially nude hunky body in a specially designated remote massage room area of the exclusive on-board officers' health club, until the jaded pervert Price would, they assumed, eventually "make a move" on the hunky aristocratic officer, whereupon M.P. Duke Bradley, who would be secretly videotaping the faggot's shenanigans, would burst in from his nearby secret videotaping location, before Price could actually "queer" Lt. Powell, and M.P. Duke Bradley and Lt. Kent Powell, III, would thereafter personally bust the sicko and confront him with the videotaped evidence of Price's debauchery so that Price's court-martial would be a foregone conclusion.


All went as planned, to the evil trio's complete satisfaction, Lt. Kent Powell, III, managing in the intervening days to broadly wink at, chat up, and generally flatter sailor Scott Price, single-handedly yet rather mysteriously and secretly letting Scott Price know (or think) that Lt. Powell was sexually interested in Price, Lt. Powell setting up a purportedly "secret" rendezvous in a remote massage room of the exclusive officers' on-board health club.

Lt. Powell, dressed in his sexy workout gear of body-hugging, sweat-lined neon blue bicycle shorts through which no one could mistake the outline of his bulging jockstrap, and a red tank-top t-shirt, emerged sweating from the exclusive officers' workout room, and, after surreptitiously checking with the secreted M.P. Duke Bradley, who was holed up in a specially-rigged broom closet to capture on living videotape Price's attempted assault on the coddled and pampered aristocratic Lt. Powell, Lt. Powell entered the massage room to find an obviously lusting Scott Price ready to begin the "massage" session. Lt. Powell suggestively locked the door to the massage room with a broad wink at Price.

Sailor Scott Price suggested that Lt. Powell make himself comfortable for his "massage" by removing his gym clothes and wrapping one of the white U.S. Navy logo fluffy cotton towels around his midsection.

Resigned to doing his all to see the fucking pervert out on his ass and out of the proud U.S. Navy, Lieutenant Kent Powell, III, went along with the charade, at least to the point of stripping off his sweat-drenched red tank-top t-shirt, revealing his perfectly-toned, bronzed body, his abdomen ridged with a ladder of rippling muscles, split by a line of jet-black hair which rose upward out of his body-hugging blue bicycle shorts to fan out from the center of his flaring chest to curve across his arching pectorals, capped by his perfect, pointed tits, and further revealing the hairy dark recesses of the blueblood aristocrat Lt. Kent Powell, III's, armpits.

Realizing that the evil trio's scheme required Lt. Powell to go at least a bit further in his entrapment of the faggot Scott Price, Lt. Kent Powell, III, proceeded to also strip down out of his form-fitting blue bicycle shorts, to reveal his trusty, bulging, piss-stained jockstrap, also denuding Lt. Powell's tight white buns, in total contrast to his deeply-tanned hunky body, the buns lightly flecked with dark hair, above his strong, dark, hirsute legs.

Lt. Powell was slightly embarrassed about revealing his aristocratic body, however briefly it was to be, before the likes of low-lifes like this pervert Scott Price and even the low-class M.P. Duke Bradley, but sacrifices had to be made to rid the ship of persons like the sicko Scott Price.

Lt. Powell accordingly quickly wrapped the white cotton towel over his jock-strap-clad body, and positioned himself on the deeply-padded black leather massage table and ordered the set-up sicko, Scott Price to begin massaging Lt. Powell's hunky body.

Sailor Scott Price gladly obliged, still not believing his luck in landing such a hot number as no one other than Lt. Kent Powell, III, no less, but, vigorously applying himself to the task at hand, Scott Price gave Lt. Powell's hunky body a thorough massage with heated, scented oils, kneading Lt. Powell's uptight, deeply bronzed, muscular shoulders, back and darkly hirsute, bronzed legs and wriggling feet, until the aristocrat was moaning with unbidden pleasure and Lt. Powell had to admit to himself that the pervert could give one hell of a massage.

Inspired, Scott Price proceeded to "accidentally" "spill" a goodly quantity of the hot, scented oil onto Lt. Powell's skimpy, protective white towel, noting that he did not want to stain the expensive cotton towel any more than necessary, and would it be okay to remove it?

Lt. Powell, sensing victory, tersely nodded acquiescence to this request, hoping to drive the sicko wild at the sight of his nearly denuded hairy and hunky body.

Scott Price accordingly whipped the white cotton towel off of Lt. Powell's bronzed, buff body, again revealing his dark-hair-flecked perfectly rounded naked asscheeks, which Scott Price also began to sensuously rub, tease, roughly knead and generally claw and maul, rubbing the hot scented oil all over Lt. Powell's virgin butt, to the accompaniment of Lt. Powell's uncontrollable mewls and sighs of pleasure, much to Lt. Powell's embarrassment. Scott Price even wildly kneaded his slippery, strong fingers into and throughout the stuck-up aristocratic scion's darkly-haired rancid asscrack, sliding his hot, scented-oiled hands all down the hairy crevasse, provoking further ecstatic moans and sighs from Lt. Powell, as Price deliberately goosed and yanked at the couthly profuse hairs throughout Powell's private undercarriage, even gently circling Lt. Powell's most private orifice, his hair-haloed virgin asshole, provoking further mewls and sighs of unbidden lust.

Lt. Powell writhed in involuntary ecstasy at Price's somewhat unwelcome attentions, realizing that the Navy had to get the goods on this shameless faggot, but secretly admitting to himself that it sure felt damned good and that he hadn't gotten his rocks off in a month of Sundays, as a result of the ship's leisurely voyage across the desolate Atlantic.

Accordingly, Lt. Powell let Price sensuously knead his uptight, pent-up hunky body, as long as he didn't go too far, of course, and the now totally relaxed and virtually out-of-it Lt. Kent Powell, III, allowed himself to be gently rolled over onto his fully massaged backside so that Price could direct his attention to servicing his hairy torso and the front of his hairy legs, his privates still encased in their protective jockstrap covering, where Lt. Powell intended them to stay!

Price proceeded to lavishly massage Lt. Powell's hairy chest, tits, armpits and hirsute legs with the hot, scented oil, to the further accompaniment of Lt. Powell's ooo's and ahhhh's, as Lt. Powell's mind jelled in incredible contentment and a Zen-like peace as soft, classical music began to play in the background and, unnoticed by the half-lidded rolling eyes of the blissed-out Lt. Powell, the lights had been deftly lowered by Price as well.

As Price re-directed his lithe, strong, hot-oiled fingers to Lt. Powell's hairy chest, tits and armpits, Price drawing sensuous circles all around Lt. Powell's most sensitive areas (all but his privates which remained covered by Lt. Powell's manly jock) Lt. Powell raised his strong, bronzed arms high over his head on the deeply padded, black leather massage table, to give Price total access to his hunky body, whereupon Price, tiring of Powell's little game of tease, proceeded to suddenly tightly secure Lt. Powell's suntanned hands over his head so that he lay now strapped soundly to the massage table.

Lieutenant Kent Powell, III, protested this latest maneuver rather loudly once he came out of the ether enough to realize that his movement had been considerably restricted, and ordered the lowly sailor to unstrap his hands immediately!

Scott Price had no intention of doing so, and surmising, correctly he thought, that Lt. Powell, who had given him every indication of his willingness to get it on with Price, was a little new to this sort of action and was the sort who could only justify it by convincing himself that he had been "forced" to do it, proceeded to also use the handy massage table straps which were designed to loosely contain the massage recipient to prevent him or her from sliding off the massage table, but which could also be tightly secured, to also tightly bind Lt. Powell's wriggling, naked feet.

M.P. Duke Bradley, videotaping all this in his nearby secret hiding place for use in Price's court-martial, was intrigued by this turn of events; strictly speaking, up until now Price had yet to overtly assault Lt. Powell, and had not yet really made a "move" on Lt. Powell's jockstrapped privates such that he could scarcely call a halt to the proceedings just yet.

Moreover, M.P. Duke Bradley secretly despised Lt. Kent Powell, III, and envied his money, movie-star-good-looks, and resented his haughty elitist aristocratic attitude, such that M.P. Duke Bradley decided to allow the faggot Scott Price more leeway, and would only burst in to confront Price once he had unequivocally given their snot-nosed superior officer, Lieutenant Kent Powell, III, at least a forced humiliating blow-job or the like, all caught on videotape to be used by M.P. Bradley not only against Price but also against the stuck-up Lt. Powell!

Accordingly, Scott Price went to work on Lt. Powell's nearly nude, writhing, bound hairy to-die-for body with gusto, first suddenly ripping Lt. Powell's manly jockstrap right off of Lt. Powell's hunky body to an outraged yelp of surprise and indignation from Lt. Powell. Scott Price, fearing that Lt. Powell's rather loud yelp of surprise might be audible as far away as the workout room, decided discretion would be the greater part of valor, and proceeded to stuff one of Lt. Powell's discarded, sweaty gym socks down his throat to stifle his now would-be loud yells. In fact, Lt. Powell was on the verge of yelping for M.P. Duke Bradley to call the whole thing off at exactly the point in time that Price had foreclosed that possibility by silencing, or at least muffling, Lt. Powell by ramming the gym sock down his protesting, aristocratic throat.

Lt. Powell was now securely bound to the massage table, completely denuded, the lush tangle of Powell's blue-black curling pubes and his enormous, yet still flaccid cock and hairy balls completely exposed, humiliated and seething with impotent fury, his hairy chest panting with rage and a little fear as a result of his totally vulnerable and helpless position. "Where the hell is that goddamned low-life M.P. Duke Bradley, and why wasn't the M.P. putting a stop to this?" silently wondered the bound heir to the Powell Industries fortune as he lay in his helpless nakedness.

Meanwhile, an enervated Scott Price began to tickle Lt. Powell's hunky body from head to toe and all Lt. Powell could do was writhe on the massage table and take whatever his lowly subordinate sailor Price wanted to dish out.

The maddening part about it was that it actually felt good, really good, to be teased this way, Price's incredibly sensuous feathers secretly turning the horny aristocratic officer on to beat the band.

Embarrassingly, Lt. Powell's rising arousal could no longer be kept secret, as his exposed cock began to engorge with blood and rising sex-heat. Lt. Powell's aristocratic pecker pulsated with quivering lust as Price continued to tease every square inch of Powell's exposed body.

Price continued his tickling of the writhing, now muffled mewling, Powell, as Price kept tickling his superior officer's hairy body, making relentlessly tickling swipes of the feathers, delving deeply into Powell's odiferous darkly haired sweaty armpits one-by-one, simultaneously idly tickling him with Price's educated fingers, tickling Powell's exposed vulnerable armpits, then proceeding lower down Lt. Powell's naked, hairy body, teasing his hairy tits while idly tickling and yanking on Powell's body hair, tracing his way down the hairy ridged ladder of Powell's superbly developed abdominals, pausing to defuzz his hairy navel, only to plunge lower into the depths of Lt. Powell's lush rainforest of manly pubes, and onto Lt. Powell's fully tumescent cock, teasing the smug, superior officer with practiced ease, while Powell made further muffling mewling and yelping sounds, wildly shaking his head "NOOOO!!" and desperately searching for evidence of M.P. Duke Bradley coming to rescue the humiliated denuded officer from the "unwanted" attentions of this low-life faggot, Scott Price!

Price further teased each of Powell's hairy balls, further driving the trussed-up aristocrat totally up the wall with a lust born of more than a week at sea with no sex.

Price slowly feather tickled each of Price's muscular, hairy legs, only to then concentrate his attention to the soles and ten twitching toes of the superior officer's bound, naked and totally vulnerable sensitive feet.

Further muffled squeals then emanated from the gymsock gag, as Price tickled, Lt. Powell's ultrasensitive feet for several minutes, till Powell nearly passed out, Powell's cock pounding all the more with uncontrollable lust, his hair-flecked asscheeks involuntarily pounding the massage table in a fury for his long pent-up release, Powell making little figure-8's in the air in a futile effort to get his rocks off.

Pulling out all the stops, sailor Scott Price temporarily surprisingly released Lt. Powell's bound feet, but before the shocked stud realized he had been partially freed, Scott Price had Lt. Powell's strong, hairy legs over Price's shoulders, Powell's hairy ankles and calves now held securely aloft by Scott Price's surprisingly strong arms and hands, totally revealing his superior officer's naked, hair-flecked asscheeks, which Price proceeded to maul, scratch, tickle and before finally re-directing his attention to Lt. Powell's pulsating boner, which Price began to tease with renewed vigor, also simultaneously raking and/or sensuously trailing his strong lithe fingers down through the hairy crevasse of Lt. Powell's virgin asscrack, only to circle and then, without warning, plunging two strong, drilling fingers right up the smug, superior officer's hair-haloed virgin shitchute, to Powell's (and finally M.P. Duke Bradley's) complete horror.

Before M.P. Bradley was able to act, however, Scott Price continued to bring the horny, lust-crazed aristocrat along, pumping his throbbing boner, tickling his balls and drilling his hot-oil-and sweat-lubricated fingers into Lt. Powell's hairy virgin asshole, to the accompaniment of Powell's further muffled moans and rolling of blissed-out eyes, all of this being caught on M.P. Duke Bradley's trusty video camera.

Price's strong, bronzed hand began to slide along the length of Lt. Powell's cock with a slow, tantalizing movement, stroking the smug, superior aristocratic officer to new heights of unbidden pleasure, stroking up along the shaft then down, with mesmerizing effect.

Moaning behind his muffling gag, Lt. Powell, going wild with the sliding up-and-down motion of Price's practiced hand, felt his traitorous prick swell to gargantuan proportions, the shaft of it iron-hard, dripping precum.

"Getting to you, huh?" teased Price.

"Don't deny it, man, you're about to blast your nuts!!!

"Almost there, Lieutenant?

"Ready to shoot, huh?

"Gonna give me a load?

"Time to cum, now, Lieutenant, you know you want to blow those fine, aristocratic nuts of yours, don't you?

"You know you want to blow your wad really bad, and it feels so good, so damned fucking good, doesn't it?

"Yeah! Yeah!!"

"AHHHH!!!!" cried the out-of-it superior officer, thrashing in involuntary ecstasy and rolling his head from side to side, his baby-blue eyeballs rolling up under his fluttering eyelids, as he was consumed with uncontrollable lust.

Now Price had Lt. Powell's pulsating prick between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and squeezing it in a funky rhythm, all the while pistoning two fingers savagely into the oil-and-sweat-lubricated depths of Lt. Powell's virgin asshole, until Lt. Powell erupted with:

"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!" as a low scream welled up in Lt. Powell's gagged throat, every muscle in his buff, muscular hairy body taut and straining for release.

Finally, Lt. Powell's aristocratic prick exploded in sailor Scott Price's hand, spewing the superior officer's steaming, pent-up cum against his will, as it arced high over Lt. Powell's itchy, twitchy hunky body, bolt after bolt of steaming cum landing all over Lt. Powell's hairy chest and even his face and hair.

"There, now, my superior officer, doesn't that feel better? Isn't that a huge relief? crowed Price.

At this point, M.P. Duke Bradley suddenly appeared, apparently from nowhere, trusty video camera in hand, and confronted the shocked, flabbergasted Scott Price, denouncing him as a goddamned faggot and announcing that Scott Price would be court-martialed and thrown out of the U.S. Navy as soon as they returned to San Diego, and that M.P. Bradley had it all on video tape, so Price was dead meat. M.P. Bradley ordered Scott Price to appear at Captain Richardson's cabin at 1700 hours, one hour from now, for further discipline and details. M.P. Bradley removed Lt. Powell's sock gag long enough for Lt. Powell to rant and rave at M.P. Bradley for not having come to his aid sooner as part of their plan, all of which was overheard by the shocked and enraged Scott Price.

Scott Price slinked out of the massage room, appalled at the fact that he had obviously been set up by the scheming Lt. Powell and M.P. Bradley, if not Capt. Richardson as well, and plotting a defense and sweet revenge.

Meanwhile, after the chastised Scott Price had left the exclusive officers-only, on-board health club, M.P. Duke Bradley stood over his superior officer's still-bound hunky, hairy body and pointed out that the M.P. had a very incriminating videotape which could be used against Lt. Kent Powell, III's, smug, superior, stuck-up self, I mean, what would Cecilia "CeeCee" Powell say, let alone her family if they saw that tape, not to mention what the Navy brass might say or do?

Lt. Powell erupted with a stream of curses for the low-life low-class M.P. Duke Bradley having left him to be queered by the goddamned faggot Price rather than coming to the aristocratic scion Powell's rescue before such a thing happened, which was the original plan, and threatening a court-martial of Bradley's own should he even think of making the portion of the tape showing Powell getting off on Price's ministrations public, to no avail, as M.P. Bradley informed the hapless Lt. Powell that he knew someone who could edit the tape to show Price only apparently "queering" an anonymous faceless male, while editing another version of the same tape to clearly show Lt. Powell in the throes of enjoying a gay tryst.

Totally defeated for the time being, and still securely bound to the massage table, Lt. Powell's position could not be overlooked by M.P. Duke Bradley, who could not resist adding insult to injury by suddenly informing his bound, hairy superior officer that he did not care what the stuck-up aristocrat said, that for once Lt. Powell, III, was not in control and he would have to listen to and take orders from a so-called "inferior" for a change, suddenly re-activating his trusty video camera to record the further proceedings, and delving his strong, sun-bronzed lithe fingers into both of Lt. Kent Powell, III's, hairy, sweat-filled armpits, provoking Lt. Powell, who insisted he was not the least bit ticklish, to suddenly make sounds like, "Heh-heh-heh. Cut it out!...heh-heh-heh-heh!"


M.P. Bradley laughingly noted that "Ah-hah! I knew I'd find a weak spot on your tied-up vulnerable body!!!


M.P. Bradley responded by saying that he would be happy to stop tickle-torturing his bound superior officer, but first Lt. Powell needed a further "dressing-down" by getting his smug, superior totally denuded, hair-flecked ass spanked soundly for his smug superior attitude.

Lt. Powell had no choice but to allow his subordinate, M.P. Bradley to untie his bound legs, raise them high in the air and proceed to viciously spank Lt. Kent Powell, III's, upraised vulnerable and totally unprotected bare ass until it was flaming fire-engine-red.

M.P. Bradley then pulled his regulation 38-caliber revolver and pointed it at Lt. Powell, freeing his superior officer's bound right arm and ordering him to jack off his traitorous prick which had again become aroused. Lt. Powell did so, to his undying humiliation, all of these further proceedings having been captured on M.P. Bradley's video camera.

M.P. Bradley finally let the totally defeated Lt. Powell free to shower off the dried up cum covering his denuded body and reminding him of his power over him now that he had video-taped evidence of purported homosexual activity "on" Lt. Powell, should his superior officer ever cross him or give him less-than-desirable assignments.


An hour or so later, a dejected sailor Scott Price reported to Captain Grant Richardson's spacious, soundproofed cabin at 1700 hours as ordered, to accept whatever punishment he and M.P. Duke Bradley had devised.

Scott Price entered Capt. Richardson's cabin to find the formally-uniformed duo hell-bent for revenge on "this faggot Price" for getting up to his perverted activities on "their" ship, ignoring Price's protests that he had been set up by them as well as Lt. Powell.

M.P. Duke Bradley ordered Price to strip completely out of his uniform, revealing his perfectly toned, bronzed body, his abdomen ridged with a ladder of rippling muscles, his hunky body smooth save for his luxuriant, dirty blond pubic bush, couthly-haired armpits and lightly blond-haired muscular legs, his totally exposed smooth white ass in total contrast to the rest of his deeply bronzed body.

Capt. Richardson and M.P. Duke Bradley ordered sailor Scott Price to crawl up on all fours on top of Capt. Richardson's highly polished desk, Price's smooth, white ass upturned and totally exposed.

Capt. Richardson ordered M.P. Bradley to spank sailor Scott Price soundly on his bare ass to teach him that his homosexual conduct was not acceptable in the Navy, although both secretly feared that the pervert might actually enjoy being spanked by the two uniformed officers.

Capt. Richardson, a devoted macho horseman, even produced a leather riding crop which he authoritatively smacked against the palm of one of his strong, sun-bronzed hands for emphasis, noting that "Perhaps we could turn you into an obedient, straight seaman (pardon the pun) after all!"

With a savage look on his face, Capt. Richardson joined M.P. Bradley in the punishment of the lowly faggot sailor, Scott Price, Capt. Richardson suddenly raising the riding crop high above his head and bringing it down with a brutal vengeance against the unprotected cheeks of Price's velvet-skinned ass, provoking screams of pain from the helpless Price, whose asscheeks quickly reddened with deep red lines which would soon turn to serious welts caused by the savage riding crop.

Over and over Capt. Richardson savagely brought the riding crop down on Price's defenseless naked body, M.P. Bradley getting his in as well, not to mention the hand slaps both officers delivered to the helpless Price. Soon, Price's body was covered with deep red lines and welts until Price was reduced to tears and was begging them to stop.

In fact, Capt. Richardson and M.P. Bradley did soon tire of their torture of the faggot sicko Scott Price, irrationally fearing that the pervert might actually become aroused by his beating, as they were sure they all did.

Accordingly, the remainder of the session was devoted to Capt. Richardson and M.P. Bradley solemnly informing sailor Scott Price of how he would be kicked out of the Navy upon their return to San Diego, what a sicko he was to assault Lt. Powell, of all people, who was an important officer with powerful connections, and how Price would live to regret his actions for the rest of his life. Thereafter, sailor Price was ordered to slink his disgusting self out of Richardson's luxurious cabin and reflect on his grievous wrongdoings.


Disgusted with Capt. Richardson and M.P. Bradley's frame-up of him, sailor Scott Price secretly confided to his so-far-platonic buddy, Ensign Brett Thompson, a 26-year-old former Navy diver and highly regarded and decorated macho Navy man, about what Richardson and Bradley had done to him. Ensign Brett Thompson happened to be discreetly gay, such that very few shipmates were aware of it, including Capt. Richardson and M.P. Duke Bradley, Ensign Brett Thompson somewhat foolishly allowing the top brass and shipmates in general to surmise that Ensign Thompson was a true heterosexual stud, since he was always known to return from every port with a broad smile on his handsome face, hinting at having had wild sexual romps, which the dumbfuck grunts assumed meant he had gotten his rocks off with women rather than men. Ensign Thompson also met and befriended a fair number of women in most ports, often female relatives of his male conquests, who the other seamen also incorrectly assumed were his airhead bimbo lovers.

At any rate, Ensign Brett Thompson was appalled at Capt. Richardson M.P. Duke Bradley and Lt. Kent Powell, III's, set-up of the naive Scott Price, and vowed to get revenge against each of them in turn.

Ensign Thompson proposed a scheme of his own, starting with the muscular, but not too bright, lustful M.P. Duke Bradley. It seemed that Ensign Thompson technically owed the dumb-fuck M.P. Bradley a favor for not getting Thompson officially reprimanded for returning after hours the other night, and Ensign Thompson proposed that Thompson use that as an excuse to tell M.P. Bradley that he would therefore sneak, with the help of M.P. Bradley's military police force as well, of course, a high-class to-die-for-beautiful Italian call girl onto the ship, where M.P. Bradley could arrange an out-of-the-way place on the ship, preferably totally soundproofed, where M.P. Bradley would be treated to the sexually charged time of his worthless life. What was to happen after that was accomplished was the cause of uproarious laughter on the part of Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price.

All went according to plan, M.P. Duke Bradley falling for the idea proposed to him by the purportedly grateful Ensign Brett Thompson, hook, line and sinker, M.P. Bradley secretly lusting at the idea of having a high-class expensive beautiful Italian call girl to do his sexual bidding, especially since M.P. Duke Bradley literally had not had an opportunity to get his cum-churned rocks off in nearly a fortnight, and was aching to do so.

Accordingly, Ensign Brett Thompson duly arranged for one voluptuous Italian call girl, Gina Puttanesca, to be secretly escorted onto the U.S.S. Monterey, literally in a raincoat and a floppy hat, which, once she was safely aboard ship and secretly hustled to the appointed place, (a secluded, soundproofed part of the hold where a bed had been specially installed beneath the exposed pipes which led to the engine room), she deftly removed, revealing a skimpy, sequined dress, her upthrust enormous tits wiggling suggestively at the drooling, fully-M.P.-uniformed Duke Bradley.

Unbeknownst to M.P. Duke Bradley, his superior officer, Ensign Brett Thompson, had secreted himself, along with the vengeful Scott Price, in a smallish storage room adjacent to the appointed place of Bradley's assignation, where they intended to videotape the action, for reasons of their own, as part of their own scheme.

M.P Duke Bradley, once he knew (wrong again) that he was alone with the voluptuous Gina Puttanesca, began to ostentatiously swagger around in his full M.P. uniform, his 38-caliber revolver, nightstick and handcuffs dangling from his trusty M.P. utility belt, and his highly polished black leather boots gleaming in the light of the secluded, soundproofed room.

M.P. Duke Bradley, seeking, as ever, to prove that he was in control of the situation, ordered this whore to get down on her fucking knees and crawl over to him and give his boots a spit shine.

Gina Puttanesca considered calling the whole thing off at this point, but remembering the plot of Messrs. Thompson and Price, she decided to go along with it for now, knowing that M.P. Bradley would pay, and pay dearly, for his arrogance.

Accordingly, Gina, her big brown eyes wide with feigned fear and "respect" for the big, tall brawny blond American military policeman, dutifully crawled over to the arrogant, butch M.P. Duke Bradley, and proceeded to give his polished black leather boots a spit shine, feigning rapturous mewls at the taste of the leather, indicating that she loved a bit of kink and Bradley was the macho man of her dreams who could put her in her place.

M.P. Bradley ate all this up in a big way, dumb-fuck that he was, further ordering the whore to remove his black leather boots, then, with her teeth, to remove M.P. Bradley's sweat-soaked socks and kiss and caress his bare feet. After he tired of Gina's rapt attention to the tongue-bath of his stinky feet, M.P. Duke Bradley ordered the whore to unzip the fly of his impressive uniform pants and give him head.

Gina Puttanesca began to do so, massaging M.P. Duke Bradley's bulging crotch through his uniform pants, and placing her hand on the top of his zipper, as M.P. Bradley momentarily rolled his head back in rising lust, his eyes also rolling up under his fluttering eyelids for a second or two. This was all the distraction the practiced Gina Puttanesca needed to fulfill her first part of the plan, which was to suddenly and totally unexpectedly grab M.P. Duke "The Stud" Bradley's 38-caliber revolver from its holster, and lunge back pointing the hapless macho blond American military policeman's own gun at his suddenly terrified and incredulous face.

"OK, Mr. Macho Blond American Military Policeman," teased Gina Puttanesca, "I have you by the balls now, and you will do everything I say without question, do you capeesh?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, you fucking Dago Guinea whore? Do you realize who I am? That I am a Military Police Officer, in charge of all the Military Police Officers on this entire ship, that I can, with the snap of my fingers, have your ass whipped and thrown overboard, you low-class Eye-talian bitch?" replied M.P. Bradley.

"That may be true, little man, but you unwisely sent them all far away, didn't you, and, as you informed me yourself, this room is entirely soundproofed and isolated. No one would even hear a gun shot from in here, would they, and I would not hesitate to blow you away, you little shithead!" retorted Gina Puttanesca.

"So, shit-for-brains, STRIP!!! NOW!!!" ordered the now empowered Gina Puttanesca.

M.P. Bradley could not believe his ears, nor could he fully comprehend this latest turn of events. M.P. Bradley began to try to reason now with the fucking bitch whore, that "Aw, C'mon, I didn't mean anything by that lick-my-boots stuff, and you know and I know that you want my hot bod and that Ensign Thompson paid for you to service me, for Christ's sake, so, C'mon, whattaya say we just get it on the regular way?"

"Hell, no" replied Gina Puttanesca. "I do have some surprises in store for you, however, and I assure you that you will get your rocks off as promised, but on my terms." So, as I said before, "STRIP!! NOW!!!"

Slowly, reluctantly, and blushing all the way, and seething with anger, M.P. Bradley decided to go along with the charade since the bitch said she'd get him off, slowly removing his Military Policeman's uniform completely, eventually blushingly stepping out of his white jockey shorts until he was totally, embarrassingly naked in front of the still fully, if scantily and provocatively, dressed Gina Puttanesca, her gun pointed at the humiliated lawman.

Gina scooped up all of M.P. Bradley's discarded clothes, bundling up the uniform and underwear and threw them in a heap down a nearby trash chute, to M.P. Bradley's abject horror, I mean, now how was he supposed to get back to his quarters, pad down all the public corridors in his totally bareass condition?

M.P. Duke Bradley's studly body was totally revealed, his perfectly toned, bronzed, buff body a sea of rippling muscles under smooth brown skin, his abdomen ridged with a ladder of rippling muscles split by a line of dirty-blond hair which fanned out from his luxuriant dirty-blond pubic bush to fan out over his arching pectorals capped by his perfect pointed tits, and revealing his hairy, sweaty armpits.

Surprisingly, Gina Puttanesca began to laugh derisively, pointing at M.P. Duke Bradley's privates and claiming that she'd never seen anything so small, so pathetic, how could anyone find it? (In actuality, M.P. Bradley's cock was good-sized, even in its flaccid state, but Gina knew what she was doing).

M.P. Duke Bradley, totally enraged at this insult to his macho manhood, protested that "Whattaya mean, small?? My cock is huge you blind whore!"

"Oh, yeah?" replied Gina Puttanesca, "I've seen bigger tassels on a piece of limp, stunted asparagus!" "If it gets so big, why don't you show me? Go on, play with yourself, little man!"

Out to prove his manhood, M.P. Bradley was forced to jack himself off in front of the pistol-packing whore, working away furiously and seething with impotent fury at the degradation and humiliation, flailing away at his exposed cock until it finally got hard, despite Gina's ball-busting laughter, that she doubted he could get any life out that worn out piece of spaghetti, as the hapless, denuded military policeman was forced to pleasure himself for her entertainment, and that of the secretly videotaping Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price.

M.P. Bradley was ordered by Gina to stop jacking himself off, and M.P. Bradley stood in his embarrassed nakedness with a raging hard-on, his now huge prick pulsating with unfulfilled lust.

M.P. Bradley was then ordered by Gina to lie naked on top of the bed on which he thought he was going to hump the shit out of the Italian whore, and to fasten his own handcuffs to the stout pipe behind the bed, so that M.P. Bradley's tattooed bronzed muscular arms were raised incredibly far back and high behind his head, totally revealing his hairy, sweaty dirty-blond armpits, which were vulnerably stretched open to the limit revealing the small white area underneath his hairy pits, the ultrasensitive part between the tufts where no hair grew, and where the sun never shined.

Gina further secured M.P. Duke Bradley's feet to the foot of the bed, so that he was completely, totally bound and in her control, struggling wildly, and demanding to know when he was going to get to fuck her, that this shit had gone on long enough.

Gina assured him that he would soon be experiencing the height of pleasure, the likes of which he had never known, totally reassuring and calming him, informing him that she even had a "surprise" for him, that she had secretly smuggled an "assistant" or two on board, so he would in fact be enjoying a "two-way" or even a "three-way" beyond his wildest dreams.

Totally turned on and trying to reassert his accustomed authority, M.P. Bradley demanded that the festivities begin, that he begin to get his money's (really Ensign Thompson's) worth, NOW!!

Gina replied by suddenly slipping an excellent blindfold over M.P. Duke Bradley's suddenly blinded baby blues, slipping it over his close-cropped blond butch haircutted head.

M.P. Bradley protested this loudly, but Gina claimed he would enjoy it, and announced that in fact, one of Gina's "assistants" had entered the room unseen to the blindfolded naked and securely bound M.P. Bradley, one who was into "rubber" that this assistant usually liked to be encased in rubber as foreplay to fucking, that it turned the "assistant" on. "Well tell your "assistant" she had better hurry the fuck up and service me, bitch!" ordered M.P. Bradley.

In fact, unbeknownst to M.P. Bradley, none-other-than Ensign Brett Thompson had entered the room, wearing one of his old rubber diver uniforms used when he was a Navy SEAL, so that the dumbfuck M.P. Bradley would not realize that this "assistant" was his macho self and not the female whore M.P. Duke Bradley supposed him to be, especially since the rubber diver uniform was made of thick rubber through which one could not really discern the body's bumps and bulges.

Gina's "assistant", Ensign Brett Thompson, went to work on M.P. Duke Bradley with a vengeance, the dumb-fuck blindfolded M.P. Duke Bradley stupidly assuming he was being serviced by some kinky, sexy whore who was a friend of the voluptuous Gina Puttanesca, as Ensign Thompson proceeded to tickle M.P. Duke Bradley's writhing, bound, helpless and naked bronzed buff hairy body, from head to toe, M.P. Bradley thrashing about wildly, drooling and ordering this other whore to service him all the more, his pulsating boner stretched to the limit.

Ensign Brett Thompson's rubber-clad Navy SEAL-diver-uniformed body slid sensuously over that of the naked military policeman, the lawman's own smelly sweat lubricating them both as Thompson straddled over Bradley's helpless, denuded form. Thompson's feathers madly turning the hapless military policeman on, Bradley's exposed cock engorging with blood and rising sex-heat, until it quivered with unresolved lust, as Thompson continued to tease every square inch of the lawman's exposed hairy body.

Inspired, Ensign Brett Thompson kept teasing M.P. Duke Bradley's hairy body, cleaning off his sweat with swipes of the descending feathers, delving deeply into the depths of M.P. Bradley's sweaty, odiferous armpits, one-by-one, devilishly tickling the bound military policeman with Thompson's practiced fingers, tickling M.P. Bradley's exposed vulnerable armpits, then proceeding lower down M.P. Bradley's naked, hairy body, savagely yanking on his hairy tits, then tracing his diabolical way down the ridged ladder of the lawman's abdominals, only to plunge lower into the luxuriant pubic bush of the blissed-out hetero Navy stud, and over M.P. Bradley's rampant cock, teasing the bound dude, while M.P. Bradley mewled with abandoned pleasure at what he thought were the ministrations of Gina's whorish "assistant".

"YEAHHH!!!" "That's the way, you fucking whore, show me a good time, like I (yeah, right) paid for, yeah, work it, you little Eye-talian bitch-whore!!"

Thompson then teased each of M.P. Bradley's hairy balls, to the accompaniment of Bradley's further mewls and sighs, teasing his cum-churned balls to the limit.

Ensign Thompson then tickled the lengths of each of M.P. Bradley's hairy legs, only to focus on attacked M.P. Bradley's naked, exposed, bound and totally helpless bare feet, alternately tickling them until M.P. Bradley was shrieking and begging for mercy.

Ensign Thompson then proceeded to suddenly release M.P. Bradley's feet so that before Bradley knew it, Bradley's strong hirsute legs had been raised high up in the air, revealing the military policeman's, naked hair-flecked asscheeks.

Ensign Thompson proceeded to tease the bound lawman's hairy crevasse, driving the bound policeman up the wall with uncontrollable lust, M.P. Bradley's asscrack and virgin asshole never even having been the least bit toyed with before, driving Duke Bradley up the wall, as he yelped and squealed with deep-seated animal lust, going out of his mind with his need for his pent-up release.

Thompson then proceeded to concentrate on making maddening concentric circles with the feathers right on and over M.P. Duke Bradley's most private orifice, his studly hairy virgin asshole!

M.P. Bradley began to howl uncontrollably with the wild, unbidden pleasure which this other whore was giving him, urging "her" to delve deeper and go wilder, that he had never been so turned on in his entire life, that never in his wildest dreams would he ever have been able to conceive of the pleasure "she" was giving him, which resulted in Ensign Thompson doing just that, drilling his feather straight up M.P. Bradley's virgin shitter, provoking further mewls and sighs and yelps of pleasure from the lips of the bound, hairy hunky military policeman.

Ensign Thompson by a secret sign to sailor Scott Price, who had, of course, been videotaping all of these proceedings, indicated that Scott Price should join them in the room proper, Scott Price turning over the rest of the videotaping to the more-than-willing Gina Puttanesca, Gina noting to the bound, blindfolded M.P. Duke Bradley that, surprise, surprise, here was another "assistant" to join in the festivities.

M.P. Bradley husked out in gasping breaths that that was fine, but that he wanted to fuck each and every one of them, that this was enough teasing foreplay, it was time to get on to the fucking, so "LET ME UP! LET ME GO! NOW!!!"

All this fell on the rest of the occupants of the room's "deaf" ears, Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price conspiring to further sexually torment the sexually frustrated M. P. Duke Bradley to the limits of his endurance, the devilish duo commencing to torment the hapless, bound Bradley further, sailor Scott Price diabolically delving into the depths underneath M.P. Bradley's tattooed bronzed muscular arms, deep into Bradley's sweaty dirty-blond armpits, into even the small, ultrasensitive white area between the hirsute tufts where no hair grew and where the sun doesn't shine, driving his superior officer into squeals of sexual laughter, M.P. Bradley erupting in a series of sexual squeals fit to raise the dead, Bradley "ordering" that:


Again, no one paid any attention to M.P. Duke Bradley's pathetic pleas, Ensign Thompson merely joining in the tickling torture of the denuded, deserving military policeman, Ensign Thompson simultaneously wildly tickling M.P. Duke Bradley's naked, bound feet, totally driving M.P. Bradley to near dementia, as he writhed, gasped and begged for mercy, to no avail.


Again, no one paid any attention to the pathetic asshole, M.P. Duke Bradley, Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price merely redirecting their attention to pulling out all the stops, aiming their educated fingers, and hot breath at all of M.P. Bradley's most sensitive places on his hopelessly exposed hunky body, especially his feet, crotch, ribs and armpits, Gina cooing from nearby to "Ride with it, fuckface, feels nice, real nice, doesn't it?"

The devilish duo then proceeded to swirl Bradley's body hair in sweat-drenched concentric circles, driving the bronzed, buff military policeman further up the wall with uncontrollable passion. Inspired, Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price freed M.P. Duke Bradley's sun-bronzed legs while leaving his incredibly muscled tattooed arms securely bound, and raised his hairy legs high into the air while securing them with their own strong arms, so that they could wickedly concentrate on tormenting M.P. Duke Bradley, Ensign Thompson maddeningly tickling and teasing the entire length of Bradley's dirty-blond-haired asscrack, while sailor Scott Price traced teasing circles in Bradley's hairy armpits and his hair-circled tits, driving the arrogant military policeman to near dementia.

Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price then directed their attention to driving the still-unsatisfied and totally pent-up M.P. Bradley to distraction by repeatedly tickling, goosing and totally devastating Bradley to the point of near-orgasm, only to back off, again and again, and over and over again, always at the precise moment that the pent-up would-be-stud Bradley was about to blow his lust-crazed nuts, to no avail.

Totally frustrated, M.P. Duke Bradley found himself making involuntary figure-8's in the air, his sweat-drenched hair-flecked asscheeks pounding against the bed in a hopeless attempt to bring himself off.

Gina teased the bound, writhing M.P. Duke Bradley by saying "You wanna cum, don't you, you scumbag blond American cop, don't you?" "Well, my 'assistants' are not gonna let you cum just yet, fuckface, not until they say when and we can all take our own sweet fucking time!"


After several minutes more of complete, all-out tickle torture, combined with both Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price simultaneously teasing each of M.P. Duke Bradley's cum-churned hairy balls and all along his hairy, virgin asscrack, not to mention M.P. Bradley's wildly pulsating manly prick, the out-of-it M.P. Duke Bradley's body jerked as if bolted by jolts of electricity, as Bradley yowled uncontrollably, "OHHHH!!!! YEAAHHHHH!!!! UH-UH-UH-UH-UH-UH-UH-UHHHH!!!!" and with a whoosh, Bradley came like wildfire, shooting Old Faithful geysers to the ceiling which dripped back down onto his bound, writhing body, as further gigantic missiles fired out of his pulsating prick, splattering all over the trio's bodies and Bradley's own face, hairy chest and crotch.

Ensign Thompson deviously scooped up a goodly portion of M.P. Bradley's own cum, Ensign Thompson spreading M.P. Bradley's copious cum all over his outraged faces and then spreading additional amounts of M. P. Bradley's cum which Ensign Thompson scooped up off of Bradley's hunky body, all over M.P. Bradley's blindfolded, sun-bronzed face, much to M. P. Bradley's vociferous protest, all to no avail.

After M.P. Bradley was able to catch his breath as he lay in his denuded, bound and completely helpless state, Ensign Thompson, with a rakish flourish, suddenly removed M.P. Bradley's blindfold, putting his own devilish face close to M.P. Bradley's and saying "Welcome to hell, you fucking gay-bashing M.P. Duke Bradley!!!"

M.P. Duke Bradley took a while to take all of this in, but when he finally realized that he had been tricked and tricked severely, he began to howl in profane indignity at the fact that he had been queered by Thompson and Price, impotently vowing revenge of all sorts against each of them, all of this again falling on deaf ears.

Instead, sailor Scott Price began to wield M.P. Bradley's own nightstick and 38-caliber revolver in a threatening fashion, while Ensign Thompson merely began to strip off his diving suit to reveal his perfectly toned sunbronzed body, his abdomen ridged with a ladder of rippling muscles, split by a line of jet-black hair, which rose upward to fan out from the center of his flaring chest to curve across his sculpted pectorals, capped by his perfect, pointed tits, Ensign Thompson raising his strong, bronzed arms to remove his wetsuit top, revealing the hairy dark recesses of his sweaty, recently-rubber-encased body.

Ensign Thompson further stripped off the bottom of his wetsuit, revealing his own raging hardon popping out from his luxuriant sweaty jet-black pubic bush, and revealing Ensign Thompson's naked black-hair-flecked rounded assglobes, split by his hairy crevasse, their whiteness in total contrast to the rest of his hunky sunbronzed body, and his hairy, muscular legs.

M.P. Bradley was horrified to realize that Gina Puttanesca was videotaping all this and that the entire proceeding had been videotaped to be used as blackmail.

Sailor Scott Price contented himself by approaching M.P. Bradley with the 38-caliber revolver, to M.P. Bradley's utter horror, Price maliciously tracing the cold steel gunbarrel along M.P. Bradley's hairy asscrack, M.P. Bradley jumping as if jolted by electricity rather than the shock of the ice-cold gunbarrel, M.P. Bradley pleading for mercy, wrongly (as usual) believing that the gun was still loaded.

Price deftly tickled M.P. Bradley's entire asscrack, and hairy virgin asshole, provoking screams and pleas for mercy to no avail, the contact goosing and tickling him wildly, as the contact actually began to arouse him yet again, M.P. Bradley's re-establishing boner beginning to pulsate with life yet again, to M.P. Bradley's further embarrassment and humiliation.

Price next slid M.P. Bradley's own nightstick all over his sweaty body and through Bradley's hairy asscrack, bringing further pleas to stop, as Bradley feared that they might actually intend to screw him with the enormous truncheon.

Using the threat of nightstick-fucking M.P. Bradley's hairy virgin asshole, Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price got M.P. Bradley to reveal where in his quarters he kept all versions of the blackmail tapes of Price and Lt. Powell, and Price left the room to return shortly with M.P. Bradley's only evidence to use against Price and/or Lt. Powell, much to M.P. Bradley's disgust.

Instead of letting M.P. Bradley go, however, Ensign Thompson and sailor Price merely re-doubled their efforts, Ensign Thompson suddenly straddling the bound M.P. Bradley and sitting down on M.P. Bradley's chest before Bradley's shocked, flushed face, and ordering Bradley to "Kiss my ass, you gay-bashing fucker!!! Do it, you fucker!!!," as M.P. Bradley was forced to kiss Ensign Thompson, his superior officer's, ass, sailor Price grabbing M.P. Bradley by his close-cropped blond hair to force Bradley to make wet, juicy swipes all over Ensign Thompson's bare buns, Ensign Thompson luxuriantly stretching his sunbronzed body at his conquest of the strutting, hyper-macho M.P. Bradley, sailor Price admiring the rippling muscles of Ensign Thompson's strong back as he stretched his muscular arms up over his head to grab onto an overhead pipe with both hands, settling himself further down onto M.P. Bradley's pathetic face, Ensign Thompson being in a totally blissed-out state.

Sailor Price, acting on an impulse, decided to have some fun with his so-far-platonic superior officer friend, impulsively grabbing M.P. Bradley's extra set of heavy-duty handcuffs from M.P. Bradley's discarded utility belt, and suddenly snapping them over Ensign Thompson's strong, bronzed hands, which were still grabbing the overhead pipe for support, Ensign Thompson suddenly snapping open his blissed-out eyes, realizing that his buddy, sailor Price, was up to some kinky tricks of his own!

Ensign Thompson, while known by Price to be gay, was also known to be "strictly" a "topman"; he was always the aggressor in his sexual relationships, and carefully guarded his more-or-less virgin asshole to all but a very select few.

Accordingly, sailor Price was all the more inspired to be able to "top" his hairy, hunky superior officer, who was now himself trussed up like the Christmas goose and available for whatever fun and/or "abuse" Price could dream up, all of this being caught by Gina with the trusty video camera.

Therefore, sailor Price began by suddenly bringing his strong hands down hard against the exposed flesh of his superior officer, Ensign Thompson's, denuded asscheeks, leaving bright red handprints. Again and again, Price slapped his buddy's tight ass, yanking and pulling on the hair-flecked cheeks, tickling Ensign Thompson's hairy armpits till he was nearly demented with laughter and curses, yet secretly getting off on all this, and holding his friend Price in even higher regard. This guy Price was some stud!

All of Price's spanking of Ensign Thompson also slapped the face of the groveling gay basher M.P. Bradley as well, Ensign Thompson being "forced" to slam his ass and crotch down harder on M. P. Bradley's heaving chest, M.P. Bradley also being ordered to kiss Ensign Thompson's now-fire-engine-red assglobes.

Sailor Scott Price then tickle Ensign Thompson all over including his Thompson's semi-virgin asshole, Ensign Thompson now totally turned on to the idea, the net result being Price having the orgasm of his life, Price spraying cum all over his sunbronzed back before directing the dregs into M.P. Bradley's horrified mouth.

Ensign Thompson also blasted off, jettisons of steaming-hot cum blasting from the superior officer's hairy nuts, Ensign Thompson screaming with lust as he writhed and pulled on his restraining handcuffs as he stretched his muscular bound body as he dangled from the pipe he had been bound to.

Sailor Price then decided to free his superior officer so that Price and Thompson would be free to further torment M.P. Duke Bradley, Ensign Thompson laughing heartily and good-naturedly at sailor Price's cunning trick on him, as the duo directed their attention to the mewling, spluttering, begging and sobbing form of the despicable M.P. Bradley.

The "big baby" M.P. Bradley's sobbing pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, Ensign Thompson suddenly releasing M.P. Bradley's strong, muscular hairy legs, and raising them high in the air until, before M.P. Bradley realized it, Thompson had securely bound M.P. Bradley's hairy ankles to the same pipe behind M.P. Bradley's blushing, flushed and livid face, that M.P. Bradley's strong hands were bound to, so that the bound, gay-bashing military policeman's bare, hairy ass and asscrack were widely and totally exposed and spread wide, M.P. Bradley being further humiliated and feeling all the more vulnerable as the damp, clammy air of the room teasingly blew against his totally unprotected backside, sending shivers down his spine, M.P. Bradley futilely attempting in his writhing bondage to force his spread legs together or down so that his winking, hairy virgin asshole, which was totally exposed for all the world to see (as Gina zoomed in for a close-up view with the video camera) might be less brazenly exposed.

Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price laughed derisively at the bound lawman's naked embarrassment (and em-bare-ass-ment) spanking him furiously with their bare hands and clawing at his bare asscheeks, yanking the hair out of his hairy crevasse, and off of his hair-flecked assglobes, as M.P. Bradley yelped loudly, until the military policeman's rounded asscheeks were fire-engine-red and blazingly hot and stinging, as M.P. Bradley begged for mercy, to no avail.

Once the bound military policeman's bare ass was "warmed up" Ensign Thompson approached M.P. Bradley with M.P. Bradley's own 38-caliber revolver once again, teasing Bradley's hairy virgin asshole with its icy cold steel surface, as Bradley begged them not to shoot him, that he would do anything, but not to shoot him. Thompson and Price laughed all the more as they began to drill the unloaded gun's cold steel barrel directly into the sadistic gay basher's hairy virgin asshole, pistoning it in and out, lubricated by M.P. Bradley's fear-induced sweat, until Bradley's prostate began to get hit, causing him unbidden and embarrassing pleasure, his massive boner re-establishing itself with a vengeance.

Ensign Thompson and Sailor Price could no longer contain themselves and, consumed with undeniable lust, they simultaneously orgasmed, Ensign Thompson unloading jet after jet of steaming cum all over M.P. Bradley's heaving hairy chest, and Price discharging his tremendous load all over Ensign Thompson's sun-bronzed back and hair-flecked ass.

After the rightfully avenging duo recovered themselves, they began to direct their attention on the yet-again-rampant M.P. Bradley, whose own further sexual release had yet to have been triggered, Ensign Thompson and sailor Price proceeding to maul, scratch, tickle and torment the out-of-it M.P. Bradley, directing their attention to M.P. Bradley's pulsating boner, which they began to attack with renewed vigor, jacking off the bound lawman as well, simultaneously raking and/or sensuously trailing strong lithe fingers down through the hairy crevasse of M.P. Bradley's no-longer-so-virgin asscrack, only to circle and then, without warning, plunging strong, drilling fingers right up the smug military policeman's hair-haloed shitchute, to Bradley's renewed horror.

Ensign Thompson and sailor Price continued to bring the horny lust-crazed military cop along, pumping his throbbing boner, tickling his hairy balls and drilling their fingers into M.P. Bradley's hairy asshole, to the accompaniment of Bradley's further moans and the rolling of his blissed-out eyes, all of this being caught on Gina's trusty video camera.

Price's strong, bronzed hand began to slide along the length of M.P. Bradley's cock with a slow, tantalizing movement, stroking the smug, arrogant military policeman to new heights of unbidden pleasure, stroking up along the shaft then down, with mesmerizing effect.

M.P. Bradley, moaning wildly and going bonkers with the sliding up-and-down motion of Price's practiced hand, felt his traitorous prick swell to gargantuan proportions, the shaft of it iron-hard, dripping precum.

"Getting to you, huh?" teased Price. "Don't deny it, Duke-baby, you're about to blast your nuts!!"

"Almost there, Duke-baby?" "Ready to shoot, huh?" "Gonna give us your hot load??" "Time to cum, now, you know you want to blow those fine, cum-churning nuts of yours, don't you?" "You know you want to blow your wad of baby-makers really bad, oh-so-bad, and it feels so good, so damned fucking good, doesn't it??" "Yeah!" "Yeah!"

"AHHHH!!!" cried the out-of-it bound military policeman, thrashing in involuntary ecstasy and rolling his head from side to side, his tongue hanging out and drooling with lust..

After several minutes of bringing M.P. Bradley up to the edge of a climax only to be denied one at the last minute, Ensign Thompson and sailor Price finally pushed the babbling M.P. Bradley over the top, Duke Bradley screaming as his pulsating boner exploded with hot steaming cum all over the room, splattering Ensign Thompson and sailor Price, only to also splatter down all over M.P. Duke Bradley's hairy denuded body and onto his heaving hairy chest.

Ensign Thompson, sailor Price and Gina Puttanesca soon thereafter left the denuded, demoralized, ruined M.P. Duke Bradley sobbing hysterically, leaving only one of Duke Bradley's hands bound to the pipe so that he could eventually free himself, which he eventually did, sobbing and slinking down the halls of the ship in fear of being seen naked and dripping with cum as he crawled back to his quarters thoroughly defeated and humiliated, knowing that Ensign Thompson and sailor Price had videotaped blackmail material on him now and he no longer had any on them!


Three days later, as "arranged" by and through the thoroughly humbled M.P.

Duke Bradley, as the result of Thompson and Price's threat to expose M.P. Bradley's award-winning performance on their blackmailing videotape, Ensign Thompson and sailor Price were secretly installed in a closet of Captain Grant Richardson's spacious cabin secretly videotaping the next chapter in their tale of revenge and retribution, getting even with the homophobic Captain of the ship, Captain Grant Richardson.

The videotape began to roll as M.P. Duke Bradley entered Captain Richardson's cabin, strutting with renewed assurance into the spacious quarters in his full M.P. uniform, the picture of manly machismo personified, suitable for a recruiting poster. (M.P. Bradley's gun had yet to be returned to him, but other than that he had been thoroughly outfitted.)

Captain Grant Richardson welcomed his crony M.P. Duke Bradley warmly and the conversation soon predictably got round to their relish in setting "that faggot Price" up and arranging to get him kicked out of the Navy. Captain Richardson laughed scornfully at the memory of seeing the one version of the disgusting videotape he had seen showing sailor Price "making a move" on that staunch, stalwart aristocrat, Lieutenant Kent Powell, III. Little did Captain Richardson know that the bumbling M.P. Duke Bradley had been forced to relinquish all of the tapes they had to Thompson and Price long ago, such that neither had anything "on" Price or anyone else.

After several minutes in this vein, Captain Richardson gleefully noted to M.P. Bradley that the blueprints had arrived for the captain's soon-to-be-remodeled private bathroom complete with jacuzzi and sauna, to be paid for at taxpayers' expense, of course, and Captain Richardson stretched his 6' 4" frame down over his highly polished desk to take another closer look at the details, inadvertently thrusting his formal captain-uniformed-panted ass out and upraised, revealing the clear outline of Captain Grant Richardson's jockey shorts beneath.

As arranged, M.P. Bradley suddenly and unexpectedly grabbed Captain Grant Richardson's own trusty riding crop the captain used to discipline unruly recruits, and suddenly and without warning began to raise it high over his butch, buzz-cut blond head, only to bring the slicing riding crop with all of his considerable might across Captain Richardson's upthrust ass with an ear-splitting crack, as Captain Richardson yelped in shocked, outraged surprise, as the riding crop landed with such fury and force as to actually partially rip through the lower bottom of the captain's immaculately-pressed uniform pants, and even through the bottom of his white jockey shorts, now partially visible underneath, also revealing a fine line of the captain's bare flesh of the back of his hairy muscular thighs, the top of his sunbronzed hairy legs with the white contrasting edge of the rounded bottom of his buttocks peeking through, as an angry welt began to rise.

The incredible force of the military policeman's blow on the ass of the captain of the entire ship was so great that the outraged, spluttering Captain Richardson's 6' 4" frame was forced forward till he sprawled inelegantly on his flat, washboard stomach right onto the blueprints he had been pouring over, the blueprints sliding wildly on the surface of his highly polished desk, Captain Richardson's handsome, pompous, sunbronzed face being embarrassingly squashed down as well, by the force of his own off-balance weight, till his perfectly formed nose and mustache slid way forward across the polished surface causing him to grind painfully into the surface of his desk, knocking his captain-rank hat off his thickly dark-haired head and knocking his important executive phone and emergency call intercom off his desk, unplugging them as they flew across the room and broke to pieces, along with Captain Richardson's formerly impressive desk nameplate and one or two irreplaceable trophies of Capt. Richardson's past glories and triumphs, now totally ruined on the floor.

Before Captain Richardson could even take stock of what on earth was happening here, the chief of his entire military police, M.P. Duke Bradley, suddenly rose the riding crop over his head yet again and landed another ferocious blow directly on Capt. Richardson's upper ass, again leaving a tiny rip right through his fancy formal uniform pants and even his white jockeys, again teasingly revealing a minute line of completely white and lightly jet-black-haired section of Capt. Richardson's still-mostly-covered ass.

Starting to gather his wits, Captain Richardson managed to spin round on his highly polished desk and over onto his now stinging buttocks, raising up his long-sleeved-shirted formal uniform shirt with his captain-rank silver bars on his shoulders, in an effort to ward off further blows, only to gape in horror as yet another swiping blow was delivered by his underling, M.P. Bradley, this time right across Captain Richardson's heaving chest and across his upraised armpit area, again with such force that a tiny rip stretched across his heaving chest revealing a goodly section of Capt. Richardson's manly, hairy barrel-chest, popping open two middle range buttons in the center of his uniform shirt, and even chopping his formal dress tie in two, leaving only the short, remaining little stub of his tie remaining tied to the collar of his uniform shirt, which made the arrogant, pompous, spluttering captain of the entire ship look even more ridiculous and humbled.

M.P. Bradley's latest blow also landed squarely up through the armpit of Capt. Richardson's uniform shirt with such force that the cloth ripped widely there, totally exposing one of Capt. Richardson's incredibly hairy, now sweating, jet-black-haired armpits, Capt. Richardson grabbing in total shock at the hanging cloth which had previously covered his torso and hairy underarm.

Explosive with fury now, adrenaline pumping wildly, Capt. Richardson heaved himself rather unsteadily up off of his desk, with as much dignity and hauteur as he could muster under the embarrassing circumstances, and lunged bodily at M.P. Bradley, ready to strangle him with his bare hands.

Captain Richardson thought of calling in the rest of his crew to help, but aside from the embarrassment of admitting he could use some, there was the difficulty that he himself had knocked his communication system out and the minor problem that the cabin was totally soundproofed and isolated and the fact that the ridi ng-crop-wielding M.P. Bradley stood between him and the locked exit to his cabin.

Accordingly, Captain Richardson, his formerly impressive captain's uniform now partly in tatters, rushed at the riding-crop-wielding M.P. Bradley, threatening court-martial for this mutiny and screaming at Bradley, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?? Are you out of your fucking mind?? Do you realize who I am, that I have the power to get your ass thrown in the brig, thrown off the ship, thrown out of the Navy??? Why are you doing this??"

All of this fell on deaf ears, M.P. Bradley merely side-stepping from the lunging, livid-with-fury Captain Richardson, whose careening, out-of-control body missed its target, Richardson tripping over one of his chairs for visitors and sprawling inelegantly on the expensive carpet of his cabin, carpet-burning his handsome face as he sailed across the deep pile carpet.

M.P. Bradley began re-directing his riding crop blows all over Capt. Richardson's body, Capt. Richardson being reduced to shrieking and running all over his office with M.P. Bradley in hot pursuit, M.P. Bradley succeeding in further horsewhipping and shredding Capt. Richardson's uniform and raising welts all over his body as Capt. Richardson fumed and spluttered with impotent rage.

At this point, Ensign Thompson and sailor Scott Price suddenly appeared armed with sub-machine guns and M. P. Bradley's 38-caliber revolver at the ready, to Capt. Richardson's further horror, especially when he saw that they had been videotaping the whole incident and now were continuing to do so with the aid of a tripod.

Then, as arranged, Ensign Thompson, Scott Price, and M.P. Bradley all pounced on the outraged Captain Richardson, ripping and tearing his high-ranking uniform right off of his hairy, hunky body, revealing his sculpted torso and ladder-ridged abdomen split by a line of jet-black hair which rose upward over his sculpted pectorals to fan out over his chest and perfectly pointed tits, the ripping and tearing reducing his formal captain's uniform to rags as Capt. Richardson wildly flailed his strong, sunbronzed arms, exposing his incredibly hairy, jet-black rainforests of manly armpit hair.

The trio then proceeded to shred the remains of Capt. Richardson's fancy uniform pants and his white cotton jockeys, until the great, omnipotent, Captain Richardson, captain of the entire ship, who ruled it with an iron hand, was reduced to a state of totally embarrassing nudity, his massive cock and balls surrounded by an incredibly luxuriant bush of thickly-knitted, jet-black pubes totally exposed, as well as his jet-black-hair-flecked, perfectly rounded, bare white assglobes, in total contrast to the rest of his hunky sunbronzed body, and the thickly coarse black hair which covered his sunbronzed, muscular legs.

Capt. Richardson pathetically attempted to gather the remnants of his shredded uniform in order to try to cover his embarrassing nakedness, then realizing the futility of doing so, reverted to cursing and swearing to beat the band, threatening court-martials for them all for this mutiny, and demanding from M.P. Bradley what the fuck he thought he was doing, and why was he conspiring with the faggot Price and what was the highly regarded Ensign Thompson doing being mixed up in all this? What was it, were they all a bunch of fucking faggots? If so, he would see to it that they paid and paid dearly for their crimes against him.

Ensign Thompson replied that "Yeah, Price and he were there, they were gay and proud of it, did Richardson have a problem with that?"

Flabbergasted, the denuded Capt. Richardson was reduced to an uneasy silence.

M.P. Bradley mumbled that Thompson and Price "made him do it" that they had blackmailed him with a videotape after forcing him to perform perverse acts on them.

Capt. Richardson didn't believe this for a minute, and jumped to the conclusion (as usual) that his ship had become a hotbed of these goddamned homos, and that he would soon put a stop to all this.

Rising in renewed fury, Capt. Richardson surprisingly lunged at M.P. Bradley and managed to wrestle his riding crop out of M.P. Bradley's hand, suddenly raising it over Capt. Richardson's own thickly dark-haired head, revealing yet again his incredibly hairy, sweaty armpits, only to bring the riding crop down with incredible force on M.P. Bradley's fully-M.P.-uniformed body, Capt. Richardson's hairy, manly sexual equipment hilariously and ridiculously flopping around, and his own bare ass wriggling with his efforts, much to Thompson and Price's amusement.

Capt. Richardson then proceeded to horsewhip the mealy-mouthed bastard, M.P. Bradley, shredding M.P. Bradley's military policeman uniform to pieces, and raising welts all over Bradley's body.

Capt. Richardson went after the cringing M.P. Bradley with a vengeance when Capt. Richardson suddenly felt the icy-cold steel barrel of Ensign Thompson's (formerly M.P. Bradley's) 38-caliber revolver pressing against Capt. Richardson's bronzed, muscular back, forcing Capt. Richardson to freeze, as Ensign Thompson ordered Capt. Richardson to cease and desist, ordering Capt. Richardson to proceed over to the separate bedroom area of the cabin where Capt. Richardson also kept his Soloflex workout equipment, and fixtures such as a pull-up bar securely suspended from the ceiling of the cabin.

At gunpoint held by Sailor Price and the riding crop being wielded by Ensign Brett Thompson, Ensign Thompson started to lightly swat the outraged naked Capt. Richardson forcing the denuded captain of the entire ship to back up to the highly polished surface of his impressive executive desk whereupon Ensign Thompson suddenly ordered the proud, arrogant butch captain to jack himself while Ensign Thompson, Sailor Price and M. P. Bradley laughed and watched derisively. Captain Richardson's initial vociferous protests fell on deaf ears and a further brandishing of the machine guns by Ensign Thompson and Sailor Price convinced Capt. Richardson to comply, the blushing beet red captain being forced to pull his big pud in front of his junior officers, and even in front of that lowly faggot Sailor Price. As Capt. Richardson's huge cock began to lengthen and harden in spite of his embarrassment, to the hoots of derisive laughter of the others, Ensign Thompson began to alternately flog, then sensuously trail Capt. Richardson's own black leather riding crop the captain had used on many occasions to humiliate sailors, Ensign Thompson sensuously tracing the riding crop over Capt. Richardson's hardening and eraser-tip-pointed sensitive hairy tits, his sweaty hair-filled armpits, hairy balls. cock, long muscular hairy sun-bronzed legs and hairy, sensitive thighs. Ensign Thompson sensuously rubbed the riding crop over the arrogant captain's handsome sun-bronzed face only to then force the imperious Capt. Richardson to suck his own riding crop, forcing the hotshot captain to suck and slurp and worship the damned thing, only to finally pull it out with a plop to return to severely flogging him with it, as the captain was forced to continue beating himself off.

When Captain Richardson's huge cock was rock-hard, Ensign Thompson ordered him to stop jerking himself off, only to sensuously retrace the riding crop over Capt. Richardson's throbbing rock-hard cock and hairy high-riding pent-up superior officer balls, and into the proud captain's carefully guarded incredibly hairy asscrack, only to alternately lightly slap his cock and hairy balls with the riding crop, eliciting yelps of outraged pain alternating with mewls of uncontrollable pleasure from the denuded, humiliated captain.

Ensign Thompson then ordered the proud arrogant Capt. Richardson to get up on all fours on his highly polished executive desk whereupon the bare-assed superior officer's hair-flecked ass was severely flogged with the riding crop raising welts on his now flaming fire engine red ass, Ensign Thompson also sensuously rubbing the riding crop through Capt. Richardson's jet-black-haired asscrack and onto and into his hairy virgin, almost invisible due to body hair, spread wide open hairy asshole.

At gunpoint, Capt. Richardson was then forced to allow the "faggot" Scott Price to bind him to his own pull-up bar, Capt. Richardson's, strong, muscular sunbronzed arms pulled way up above his head, so that Capt. Richardson was stretched to the limit over his Soloflex machine workout bench, Capt. Richardson's hairy, muscular legs on either side of the workout bench, his toes barely scraping the expensive carpet to allow him to somewhat relieve the pressure on his outstretched arms, Capt. Richardson's sweating, thickly-haired jet-black armpits totally exposed, as his arms were nearly being pulled from their sockets, by gravity pulling on Capt. Richardson's hunky body weight.

Price then grabbed Capt. Richardson's hairy ankles and slapped a pair of ankle cuffs on Capt. Richardson (the ankle cuffs being supplied by the brig), the ankle cuffs having a fairly wide chain between the ankle cuffs so that the chain of the ankle cuffs ran below the base of the entire Soloflex machine, under the bench, so that Capt. Richardson's bristling, hairy thighs brushed the edges of the bench.

Ensign Thompson and Scott Price then proceeded to attack the suspended hunky, hairy body of Captain Grant Richardson, Ensign Thompson seizing the riding crop and bringing it down with renewed fury onto Captain Richardson's exposed and totally vulnerable bouncing backside, leaving long red welts, only for Thompson and Price to double-spank each of Capt. Richardson's reddened globes with Capt. Richardson's own stiff-bristled military hairbrushes retrieved from his bathroom, until Capt. Richardson's bare ass was flaming, fire-engine-red, and bleeding a little where the stiff bristles had driven through the sensitive skin of his bare ass, until the proud captain was begging for mercy and begging them to stop beating his stinging, red-hot ass, as he sobbed openly.

Ensign Thompson and Scott Price then proceeded to obtain toothbrushes from Capt. Richardson's deluxe bathroom, only to seriously tickle-torture the babbling Capt. Richardson both with their strong lithe fingers, feathers and with the making-the-skin-crawl toothbrushes, wildly delving into the hairy recesses of Capt. Richardson's incredibly hairy armpits, ribs, tits, cock, balls, hairy asscrack and onto then into his hairy virgin asshole, as Capt. Richardson went totally apeshit and nearly delirious, mewling and giggling uncontrollably as his flesh crawled from the contact, his cock still rock-hard and twitching with renewed never-before-known excitement, as he begged them to STOPPPPP!!! that he would do anything if they would please just STOPPPP!!!!!

Ensign Thompson devilishly announced that OK, they would stop, in fact they were going to make Capt. Richardson feel good, really good, weren't they? Ensign Thompson proceeded to blindfold Capt. Richardson only to proceed to feel up the bound Capt. Richardson shamelessly, Ensign Thompson tweaking Capt. Richardson's hairy tits while he idly yanked out clumps of the captain's sweaty armpit and chest hair, as Capt. Richardson pretended to cringe in disgust and husked to "Don't queer me, you fucking faggots, I'll have you court-martialed yet!!" Capt. Richardson's body betrayed him, however, his traitorous prick throbbing and bonerizing to new heights and threatening to burst at any moment.

This was all the more the case since Sailor Scott Price was simultaneously sensuously tickling Capt. Richardson's hairy sweaty armpits with feathers, then his hardened eraser-point hairy tits, his hairy washboard abdominals, only to tease Capt. Richardson's huge cock and hairy balls.

Thus inspired, Ensign Thompson altered his assault on Capt. Richardson to spank and slap at Capt. Richardson's hair-flecked fire engine red ass as Ensign Thompson began to tickle Capt. Richardson's hairy virgin asshole with a feather to the accompaniment of Capt. Richardson's out-of-it never-before-experienced thrill and mewls of lust at having his ass stimulated, as Ensign Thompson began tickling the captain's asshole as Sailor Price tickled Capt. Richardson's huge cock.

At this point, Capt. Richardson suddenly realized to his horror that all of this "queering" of his hunky body was conspiring to force him to blow his hotshot captain load, Captain Richardson comically grunting and groaning with undisguised lust, and with an "Uhuhuhuhuh!!! Oh my God!!! you're doing it, you faggot bastards, you're actually making me cum, Ohhhh, noooooo, AHHHHHRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" as Capt. Richardson suddenly blasted bolt after bolt of steaming pent-up Naval Officer cum, to the howls of laughter of Ensign Thompson and Sailor Price.

Ensign Thompson next ordered the panting, humiliated Capt. Richardson to be bound naked on his back to one of his own black-leather-topped padded massage tables whereupon Ensign Thompson and Sailor Price proceeded to tickle torture him again with their lithe fingers, tickling his ribs, feet, armpits, tits, cock and balls, to squeals of wild giggling laughter, and shrieks of jerking horror as they again relentlessly drove the arrogant captain to near dementia.

Thereafter, Ensign Thompson and Sailor Price proceeded to shave Capt. Richardson and M. P. Bradley completely, shaving their heads, armpits, hairy chests, washboard abdomens, pubies, balls, asscracks, and hairy muscular legs, only to proceed to apply outrageous make-up to their protesting handsome manly faces with make-up obtained from Gina Puttanesca, only to plop bad blonde wigs obtained from the same source onto their now-bald heads as well as to strap false boobs onto them and dress them as women.

Capt. Richardson and M.P. Bradley struggled wildly in their bonds in their outrageous outfits which only resulted in their being found the next day, their wigs haven fallen off of their bald heads, mascara having run and smeared all over, as they were found bound in some kinky gay transvestite encounter, the news spreading like wildfire.


Capt. Richardson and M. P. Bradley were unceremoniously discharged from the Navy, and were last heard to be running a gay leather bar in Key West.

Ensign Thompson was promoted to Captain and Sailor Price to Ensign Price, and together totally reformed their ship so that sexual orientation was not an issue.

Gina Puttanesca fully reclined in her First Class Alitalia sleeper seat, glancing admiringly at her new husband, a hunky American millionaire who liked a little kink. Perhaps she would share him one day soon with Captain Thompson and Ensign Price, mused the ever practical Gina Puttanesca.