Voyage of Self Discovery Ch. 07

Copyright © January 2020 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

Foreword #1: All sexually active characters in this story are over 18.

Foreword #2: This is a story and intended purely for pleasure.

Foreword #3: This is a seventh chapter in the Voyage of Self Discovery series. Although there is a little recap at the start of the story, you may want to read the earlier parts to get up to speed with the journey so far.

Foreword #4: This story was inspired from a suggestion from a fellow reader, Bablee, whose name I have used in the story but for no other purpose than having a name for a character.

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It was my darling husband who bought me this notebook, leather bound with gold trimmings, as an homage to my fifty years. It was my darling husband who also suggested I put it to good use. He even bought the pen that I have been using to write my memoirs. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to remember that it is a real story and one in which I was the centre of all attention.

So now my love life is better than it's ever been — okay, now that I am a little over fifty it is more about the quality than the quantity, but it is still better than ever. In my time away, I learnt much about myself and even more about my relationship with my darling husband.

My introduction to this new world had been tentative to say the least. It started with a stranger on the top deck of a cruise ship. As I watched his wife getting ravaged by another's cock, he sat unperturbed and pleasured me past the point of no return. Even his explanation took me by surprise at the time, although now I can fully connect with what he said.

"That's what makes our love so much stronger. It is a matter of trust and freedom. We love each other so intimately, but sometimes in a relationship you just need a little bit more. That's where the freedom comes into it. We are both free to be ourselves, together or apart, yet we know we will come back to each other happier and stronger."

It was one of the crew who really set the wheels in motion, becoming my tutor on this journey. Her name was Melodee and the lessons had already begun, first in her cabin and then a wonderful evening in the company of her and a guest by the name of John. Had it answered all my questions? For sure some had been answered, but others had risen to the surface taking their place.

An evening with Paul, the stranger who started the whole affair, did answer many of the remaining questions. Most importantly, I felt just what it was like to be ravaged by another. So, was that the end of the journey? Far from it. I had now tasted my new life and couldn't wait to taste it once more. Over the last few days I had both lost and gained in search of my new-found goal; gained a black shirt and lost . . . well suffice to say I was now bare down below.

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To say I was impatient was an understatement. I was like the child at Christmas time, trying each day to peep inside the paper wrapping up the presents under the tree. I guess I already had my present, in the form of a new black-shirted uniform, yet still I could not be patient enough to wait the few days before I could get started.

Every day, without fail, I would run my fingers across my newly shaven mound. I just couldn't resist it. That feeling of silky-smooth skin, where only days before a bushy jungle had been, was just so delightful. Any initial tenderness was soon forgotten, and before long I could feel every gentle caress, as if a thousand silk sheets were wafting across my nakedness. As I said, I just couldn't help myself but explore every inch of newly shaven skin. Oh, and yes, I wouldn't stop their either. I guess in the midst of good old middle-age, this Bablee had learnt all about playing with herself.

Then there was the shirt. You know what it is like. You buy something for a special occasion and you just have to keep trying it on. Well, I guess that was me. I'd sort of lost count as to how many times I had donned that black shirt and miniskirt before staring endlessly into the mirror. Yes, it was truly me, that normal middle-aged mother about to embark on a new chapter in her life. And, yes, I was truly excited about it.

There must have been a touch of irony in it all. These few days I had lost count with how many times I had put the shirt on, whereas in the near future I would be losing count with how many times I took it off, or at least that's what I hoped for. I still kept my job at the child club, at least for now, but I guessed there would come a time when my day time and night time activities made life a bit uncomfortable. For now, at least, the black shirt was my little secret. I must say though, that I had formed an unhealthy habit of eyeing up each and every passenger who dropped their kids off for the day. My mind was rife with wondering just what floated their boat, so to say.

Wednesday morning did finally arrive — it seemed to have taken an eternity rather than a few days — and with it came the expected note under the door. I didn't need to read it to know that Melodee was the writer; the sweet scent on the paper itself was her signature fragrance. There were just four words and a time.

'Meet me at Swingers, 10:00' it read.

Luckily for me, or maybe through just a bit of useful advance planning, I had already made arrangements not to be working that day. I had no idea what Melodee had in mind, other than to show me how things worked, but I thought it better not to have twenty questions about my whereabouts if I disappeared for a while. It was exciting for me, but I had no idea how a black shirt would be judged by my co-workers. I had to assume that they knew the carnal side of Liberation Cruises, but knowing, accepting and approving of are quite different.

I glanced at my watch; there were just under two hours to go. For no reason at all, my heart was now pounding inside. There was a sort of finality about the proceedings. Was I really having second thoughts? Surely it was a bit late by now. It was what I wanted and what I had asked for, time after time. Why then was I now so scared to take the next step? After all, it wasn't going to be my first time. There'd been two encounters already, three if you included that very first meeting which set me off on this journey. I guess though that they were all sort of controlled. They were my little secrets and now I was about make myself visible to all and sundry. What if I didn't like my new life? Or more to the point, what if they didn't like me?

I glanced back at the note, then once more at my watch, then in the mirror. I was a middle-aged mother who'd had a little too much excitement in the last few days and, yes, I had enjoyed every minute. Maybe you could say that too much sun and sea had gone to my head. Was this why I was now so scared to take the next step? Was it nothing more than human nature, realising my place in the world as a wife and mother? I remembered feeling the same many years ago as I was about to walk down the aisle, and that worked out more than successfully. Then again, before I left Javed to embark on my life on the cruise ships. Once more, that had been fully rewarding so far.

There was only one thing for it. I downed a little Dutch Courage, swallowed hard and told the reflection in the mirror to knock 'em dead. I could swear she winked back at me, a seductive pout across her lips.

Once more I glanced at the note. It was a bit of an obsession, given how few words were written on it. Maybe that was the problem. It told me where and when, but not what.

"Damn," I thought to myself, "how could she have left off the what?"

It was obvious wasn't it. I would need to know what to wear as well as where to go. Should I don the black shirt now? It would show willingness and desire, but would it be inappropriate. Then, what if I got spotted in it? I knew it was inevitable, but something inside told me to hold off at least until I knew how things worked around here. Decision made, I went for a very understated denim skirt and tee-shirt.

Swingers was empty, and I mean empty. I walked past the 'Opens at Eleven' sign and into the familiar yet desolate bar area. I glanced around looking for anybody, even a cleaner, but I was alone. Suddenly my mind was filled with déjà vu moments. It was like a newsreel, flashing up images of the people I had met here and, more so, the outcomes of those encounters.

It was here that I had allowed Melodee to lead me off the straight and narrow, enjoying myself with her and one of the guests. She had been late then, just as she was today, but we soon made up for lost time. I felt that subtle warmth inside, remembering how we came together, a cock up my pussy and my tongue up hers. Then — I stopped as I fixed my eyes on the curved seats in the shadows at the back of the bar — there was the time that I took matters into my own hands and met with Paul and his wife. This time I almost shivered with the excitement of remembering that night of fervent passion. I was so taken in by the memories that the voice behind me didn't even register.

"Closed," it said for a second time. "We don't open until eleven."

I spun around quickly, broken out of my trance like state of desire, to look at a familiar face.

"I know you, don't I?" the barman continued. "You're Babble, Mistress Melodee's friend. Not working today?"

I looked at Dave with an element of discontent written right across my face. Yes, I did remember names and even the right faces to match them to. He'd called me that last time and I was rather non-plussed then.

"No, not working today Dave. At least not in my normal job."

"Well, you're a bit early for a drink. We don't open until eleven and I'll lose my licence if I start serving now."

"Oh, it's not a drink I'm looking for."

I saw the look in his eye change. I'd teased him the last time I was in here, making out that I was after a tall, dark and handsome fellow before letting him down a little less than gently. This time there were only the two of us. Was Dave feeling that it might finally be his lucky day? If it wasn't for the fact that I had my mind on that meeting with Melodee, I might even have gone as far as making his day for him.

"Someone tall, dark and handsome?" he asked in sarcastic hope.

"Oh, yes, Dave. I'm always on the lookout for somebody tall, dark and handsome . . . but not for today. It was that mistress of yours that I was after."

"Mistress?"

"Melodee!" I exclaimed, both in answer to Dave's question and in response to seeing tell-tale blonde locks emerge from a room behind the bar. I made to head off around the back.

"Sorry, Babble. You can't go back there. That room is only for our black . . ."

". . . shirts," Melodee butted in, finishing his statement. "Didn't you hear there was a new kid on the block, Dave?"

"What? . . . you? . . . the little Babble has a black shirt?"

"Sure does," Melodee responded, — I in turn just stood there giving him the sweetest seductive smile I could — "and what's more, she's gonna be one of the best. Just mark my words, Dave."

"Consider them marked, Melodee. So, welcome to the team, Babble."

"And," continued Melodee, "maybe one day you'll find out just how good she is, but I think you'd better get a bit better with names first. Now, come on Bablee, so much to do and so little time to do it in."

I followed my blonde-haired teacher around the back of the bar. There were a couple of doorways tucked away from most prying eyes. One was labelled BLACK and the other WHITE. It seemed obvious by now, but the name related to the shirt colour that you owned; WHITE for those who worked the bars, and BLACK . . . well, BLACK was for my life in waiting. It was no surprise as to which door Melodee opened.

It was a large room, much larger than I had expected, with the only sign of life being a faint glow somewhere in the distance and the sound of cascading water. Other than that, we walked into darkness. It didn't take more than a couple of steps before motion-sensitive lights sprung to life, illuminating what seemed to be more like a homely version of a gym club changing room. I glanced around. There was a kitchen come office type area just after we walked through the door. You know the sort of thing; drinks machines, pigeonholes for mail, message boards and a couple of standalone computers. It was the functional end of what was more importantly a changing/relaxation area.

My attention was pulled into the distance, drawn towards that initial faint glow. I was looking into something between chill out area and functional changing room. There were lockers aplenty, soft chairs and even bean bags to relax on, and right at the back was a shower area — obvious now, given the faint sound of cascading water. Already I wondered who was inside.

"Grab a seat, Bablee," Melodee's sweet voice brought me back to earth.

I chose a nearby bean bag. The gush of air emanating from inside, as I sank back into the soft padding, could well have been my own apprehension dissipating from within. In that moment, as the plump cushion sort of folded around me, I relaxed once more. I was no longer on show. It was just me and Melodee . . . oh, and whoever was in the shower but out of sight was out of mind.

Melodee pulled up her own chair and sat opposite me. She was already dressed in her black shirt and matching miniskirt. Oh, how the latter ran up high as she sat down, crossing one leg over the other. The elegance of naked thigh, a tempting view almost all the way to her pert ass, had me deep in gaze. I wondered to myself. Had she gone the whole way? I could still hear Melodee's words from the day she had given me my black shirt.

"Black shirt, short skirt and nothing else," she had said.

It was almost as if Melodee could read minds, or more likely could see exactly where my eyes were focussed. In the longest of seconds — yes it was only a second or two but seemed to be in absolute slow motion — Melodee uncrossed then crossed again her legs the other way around. A flash of pale shaven skin and the upright dark line of her bare snatch told me everything I needed to know. When Melodee had said 'nothing else' she meant exactly that.

"So, are we here for you to stare up my skirt or do you want to know how this whole thing works?"

I giggled slightly, enthused by Melodee's suddenly stern reaction and the thought that I didn't know how my sex worked.

"Sorry," I apologised. "I'm just sort of . . ."

"Nervous?" came Melodee's conclusion to my explanation.

"Yes, something like that."

"I know. I was the same when I first started, but that was so long ago. I hate to tell you, but you'll get to the point where one naked body becomes just like another, becomes the norm. Don't get me wrong, some are much nicer than others, but this is as much a job as it is personal so you have to treat everyone with the same respect and sensitivity. At the end of the day, it is those you please who make or break you in this line of work. Do you get me?"

"Yes, yes," I replied, now taken back to a sense of seriousness.

I barely reacted to the change in sounds in the distance. No longer was there a cascade of water providing the faint backdrop to Melodee's words. That had been replaced by the soft footsteps of a person approaching.

"Hey, Melodee," came a soft-spoken deep voice. "Who do we have here?"

There was something in that voice. Something most recognisable, but I really could not put my finger on where I had heard it before. I turned to look back towards the showers and there, standing totally naked, was a face I knew. It was Anthony, the receptionist from the spa a few days back.

God he was impressive when fully clothed, but undressed . . . well, suffice to say that young Anthony could have been chiselled out of a block of dark marble. Every muscle, every sinew, every curve was so well defined.

"Don't worry, we've already met, haven't we Bablee?"

I glanced at his beaming smile. Yes, we had already met, but not quite like this. As if drawn by an invisible magnetism I ran my eyes downwards, across his twelve pack and over his limp monster of a cock. Sorry if that was a bit of a non sequitur, but even in this flaccid state it was plainly obvious that Anthony was more than well endowed. Funny how certain things stick in your mind. In that instant, having glanced at his dangling manhood, it was the way in which he had described Tanya to me which shot to the fore. No, it wasn't 'you won't be disappointed with our Tanya' nor 'she is one of our best' — the words which suddenly flashed up inside were 'she should be dressed by now.' I could almost imagine the petite young beautician bouncing up and down atop this giant ramrod. No wonder Tanya had seemed like she had dressed in a bit of a rush that morning. I bet it was more than a bit of a rush.

I smiled back.

"Anthony, isn't it? We met down at the spa the other day."

"Really is a pleasure to meet you again Bablee, but if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

"Don't worry Anthony, the pleasure was all mine. Maybe we'll meet again soon, get to know each other a little better."

"You bet on it, Bablee."

With that, Anthony was gone. I watched from a distance as he quickly dressed then left the two of us alone. I could swear he winked at Melodee as he left, or maybe it was directed at me, or even both of us. One day I would love to meet the young Anthony again.

"Shit," I said to myself under my breath, most probably slightly too loud as Melodee picked up on my outburst?

"Shit?" she asked. "Is something wrong, Bablee?"

"No, no . . . well, maybe."

"What is it? We don't have to go through with this?"

"It's nothing," I replied. "It's just that . . . well . . . it's . . ."

"It's just that you can't resist having a little look, and then wondering . . ."

". . . wondering just what it would be like to get off with him . . . or her . . . or them," I agreed, finishing off what Melodee had started to say. "Is it wrong of me?"

"Well, that is a very subjective question. Some will obviously say yes, others most definitely no. Me, well to me you're just excited by the chance to experience all that you might have missed before. Whether right or wrong is more of a question as to where you take yourself outside of this fantasy world. That one I will leave to you. Now, would you like me to explain a little more about what it means to be a black shirt . . . how the whole thing works?"

"Yes, please," I responded, sitting up and attentive to all my teacher had to tell me.

"So, where to start. You already know what this is all about. We, as black shirts, are the personal side of what you may call passenger relations. The passenger is always right and whatever he, she or they desire, we provide . . . whatever it takes . . . no questions asked."

"Whatever?"

"Okay, so there are some no-go areas but I've never seen them called upon, and each individual can set their own boundaries as to what they will and won't get involved in, but otherwise anything and everything goes. Happy passengers bring plenty of welcome rewards."

My mind was wandering again, imagining lapping tongues, huge cocks, and the most earth-splitting of orgasms. Oh, yes, I'd been rewarded by one happy passenger already.

"Opportunities, recognition and most of all, welcome bonuses," continued Melodee. "I guess you could say that the more you please, the more popular you become, and the more popular you become, the more you get rewarded. Your success is in your own hands . . . mouth . . . pussy . . . and, oh yes, I nearly forgot, ass! Am I shocking you?"