"Listen," she said, sounding patient, "I've got all these guys dying to make love to me, demanding that I give it to them, a dozen hook ups just panting to drive me crazy, every single cock stiff and dripping. And I've never done it. I can't let one of them deflower me and go around saying he got my cherry. I've put them off with blow-jobs, which I hate, hate, hate." Why me?" I asked, my voice cracking.She laughed. "You've got a cock, don't you?"I nodded. "But I don't know anything. I've never done it. I've hardly even touched a girl. Why don't you use a banana or something?"She sighed. "Oh," she said, scratching her head. "OK. I didn't think of that. Google it and then go down and buy some rubbers, some condoms, thin ones, hear? We'll do it Saturday when the folks go out shopping. That gives you two days to get ready." She turned and left, leaving me aching, my cock bent double in my pants. I was dying to bounce on her round, pink belly.I took a handful of tissues to bed with me and. With a good-looking enemy like her, they'd expect a spectacular show. I had to make sure that they got it. But that was still a few days away. Right then, I had just taken over her case.The Navy had taken her. Her ship had been blown South by a heavy storm, unusual for the season, and blown her right into our hands. Or that was the story they told. I didn't buy it. The crew had been all female. Lower ranks, who didn't know anything. They died at the hands of the Navy officers, within a few days. Days of agony, I suppose, but the reports didn't bother to go into details, they were too unimportant. An all female crew. Whatever the Navy said, that wouldn't have been a military patrol, or expedition. And there were no indications that they were priestesses, on a ritual mission to one of their island sanctuaries. No, knowing their customs, this all female crew could only mean one thing: their mission had been diplomatic. They hadn't been blown off their course, they had meant to come to.
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