The three of them rolled to the floor and assumed a new position. Crouching over him, Magda stretched her mouth wide to encompass the brute’s outsized organ. Her black hair cascaded over his furry belly. The blonde faced Magda in a sitting position, her flexed thighs clutching the man’s ears, her honeybox puckering around his moustache, her hands reaching around Magda’s protruding rear, squeezing, slapping, probing. Meanwhile, both Magda and the man played with the blonde’s boomerang-shaped nipples, flicking them, tickling them, twanging their bright red-arced erectness.
“North Carolina . . . South Carolina . . . West Carolina . .
West Carolina? No, that wasn’t right.
“West Virginia . . . East Virginia . . .”
Hell!
They shifted again. The Derriere impaled itself on the man with Magda facing forward. The blonde sat on his thighs, breast-to-breast with Magda, and contrived to rub her clitty against that of the dark-haired girl. Their nipples rubbed together as Magda rode up and down.
“Iowa . . . Idaho . . . I dunno...”
I gave up on the states and switched to Presidents;
“George Washington . . . Thomas Jefferson . . . John Adams . . . John Quim Adams . . . Andrew Jackoff . .
Whip Woman got to her feet and bent over an armchair. The man rammed it into her from behind. Magda knelt and licked his scrotum as he pounded away. She played with herself with both hands as her tongue lapped.
“Rutherford B. Lays . . . Ulysses S. Pant . . . William Howard Shaft . . .”
The sweat poured off me as I tried desperately to fight my growing lust. It was less than an inch away from the fatal electrical plate above me now. Rotating slowly, I was forced to view the erotic screen from every angle. And every angle sent a new thrill shooting groin-wards, a thrill that had to be fought off before it killed me.
Magda was on her back in a jackknife position, her ankles parallel to her ears. The blonde was sitting on Magda’s calves, holding the ankles in position, her oscillating cavity grinding down on Magda’s mouth in an efffort to swallow up the length of the brunette’s plunging tongue. The satanic-looking man was balanced on Magda’s cushiony buttocks, stretched horizontally, his clawlike hands holding the blonde’s shoulders for support, his mouth fastened to one of her long, upcurved nipples, his massively erect tool plunging deeper and deeper into Magda as he set up the rhythm for all three of them to follow.
“Warren Hard-on . . . Arthur Garfield Lays . . . Flipa-canoe and Fuck ’er too . . .”
It was no use! My lust had reached the bursting point. I couldn’t hold back the erection. My whang was about to twang the deadly plate over it, and I couldn’t stop the reaction!
A violent tremor seized the three in the movie. The blonde rose up, came down hard on Magda’s mouth, and climaxed. The Derriere pushed up violently against the man’s hairy balls, and Magda went into the throes of orgasm. He strained to the hilt, and his rear end twirled in a screwing motion as he released his passion into Magda. It mingled with her own juices and overflowed as he kept pumping to the last drop.
That did it! I couldn’t stop myself! The only question was whether I’d come first, or my stiff penis would make the contact which would kill me first!
A sudden, sharp pain seized my testicles. It was the most intense agony I had ever known. So this was what it felt like to die by electrocution! That was the split-second thought I had before everything went black.
When I came to, I was no longer revolving on the electric plate. I was stretched out at the floor, staring at the ceiling. There was no movie showing there. My crotch was as sore as a fresh-lanced boil, my testicles swollen to double their normal size.
I focused my eyes on Mario Brandino. “What happened?” I groaned.
“I pistol-whipped your marbles,” he told me.
“And you’re supposed to be my friend!”
“I am. I didn’t have time to think of anything else. I had to turn you off before you electrocuted yourself.”
“If it ever stops hurting, maybe I’ll get around to thanking you.” I struggled to my feet and looked around.
The projector, turned off now, was on a workbench set against one wall. Four large reels of film had been arranged in sequence to feed into it. I examined them. The first one was blank, which explained why there had been no picture during the first half-hour after Magda’s departure. The second one had not quite run out. The third and fourth were still on their original spools.
I appreciated that Mayday hadn’t been taking any chances. Just in case the initial sequence hadn’t turned the trick, there was at least another hour of porno film to prod me to erection. Given my recent experience, even if I’d been able to limpen the immediate danger, I’d never have lasted the distance.
“How did you happen to find me?” I asked Brandino.
“I’ve been looking for you for three days, ever since they grabbed you. I’ve been searching the ship. I owed you one. Remember?”
“I remember. Thanks,” I added sincerely.
“I’d just about given up. If I hadn’t found you in the next ten minutes or so, I would have written you off. Which reminds me, let’s get going. I’ve heard there’s a bomb set to explode on this ship. Just about everybody has already left, including the Captain and the crew. The only ones on board beside us are the First Mate and the Chief Engineer. They’re trying to find the damn thing.”
“I know all about the bomb,” I told him. “It won’t go off now. Let’s go find them and I’ll show them where it is.”
We left then, and returned about twenty minutes later with Mister Jewish and Gorilla in tow. I showed the two officers where the bomb was stashed. Gorilla examined it and heaved a sigh of relief.
“It’s a dud,” he said. “It would never have exploded.
“There’s no connection for the current.”
“That’s what you think!” I explained to him how the connection was supposed to have been made.
After Gorilla took care of the bomb, Mister Jewish went ashore to inform the Captain that the emergency was over. He also consulted with the local Ceylonese authorities. The result of this consultation was that shortly before we sailed out of Colombo, Ensign Mayday, Zelda Poppins, and Magda were all apprehended.
More good news followed. A wireless message was intercepted from the Queen William. One of her engines had conked out. Instead of proceeding to Cape town, South Africa, which was her next port-of-call, she was putting into Mauritius, an island off the coast of Africa, to make repairs.
With luck, we’d make Mombasa, Kenya, our next destination, before the Queen William could sail again. This meant that we each had roughly the same sailing distance left to cover on our cruises.
We’d caught up with her! The Lascivia was back in the race! And with the saboteurs out of our hair, we stood a damn good chance of winning it!
I was feeling pretty good about that a few days later as the Lascivia started down the African coast toward Kenya. It was a relief not having to worry about where the sex saboteurs might strike again. All I had to do was relax for the next three weeks or so, and leave the driving to Maldemerde. There was nothing to be anxious about now until we arrived back in New York. That’s what I thought.
I stopped thinking it when I went into the bathroom of my cabin that night. There was a message neatly hand-lettered in lipstick on the mirror over the fancy Washbasin:
“SIN WILL SINK THE SODOM OF THE SEAS!”
Nice alliteration.
What the hell?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN