Chapter 6: A Turn For The Worse

And so the Wrens and Leading Recruits settled into a routine. They knew that if they just spent their days jollying, drinking, having sex, and carousing that HMS Chelmsford would soon deteriorate into a shitfight, so they agreed to apply some discipline and stick to strict routines.

The Royal Navy has run on routines from time immemorial; the day is divided into watches separated by the sounding of the bells, the routines of colours and sunset, and determining which rig is to worn, dress of the day or night clothing, and so forth.

As much as the Wrens loved wearing silky knickers, sussies, and high-heels they were impractical to work in, and they decided that dress of the day would be Number Threes, navy blue skirts and jackets, white blouses, ties, full-cut panties, tights and black shoes. Makeup would be minimal but still worn. This rig was more practical while they went about their daily routines of inspecting, cleaning, and making minor repairs to the Establishment and even though Doris could wear cook’s whites in the galley if she wanted to; she seldom bothered to change and cooked in her Number Threes.

The four men were a little disappointed but soon realised the practicality of Michele’s mandate, the Wrens still looked femme but not as alluring as they did after dinner when they relaxed the dress rules and wore heavy makeup, stockings, heels and silky lingerie. If the girls dressed like that during the day nothing would get done!

Another unwritten law was that they never spent the night together. As Michele advised her three charges, men loved going to bed with a sexy effeminate transvestite, but waking up next to her with her wig askew, makeup dissipated, and needing a shave (despite the fact none of them really had much more that light fuzz for facial hair) did not bode well. Best to keep up the fantasy. Michele helped her three protégé’s as much as she could, teaching them makeup tips, borrowing lingerie and nightwear from the Wrens block, always carefully noting where she had taken it from so that it could be returned before the ROP ended. She even taught them the unpleasant but necessary procedure for douching.

By mutual agreement Spike even promoted Michele to Leading Recruit Wren as she was the obvious leader of the four ‘Wrens’.

And so a routine was enacted, the Wrens were just ‘grommets’ during working hours, keeping the depot ticking over with the begrudging assistance of the Leading Recruits. But after dinner the girls and guys met up in the wets and paired off, drinking and laughing until eventually lust got the better of them and they went their separate ways to sate their desires.

This all worked well and the four couples bonded and got closer as they spent more time with each other.

But all good things must come to an end.

Five days before Christmas, Petty Officer Knocker White woke up hungover, sweaty, dirty and hungry. He’d been living in the Duty Instructor’s cabin at the recruit school now for two weeks living on Newcastle Brown Ale, Captain Morgan Rum and the odd Pussers scran.

Spike had made sure that his Barrack Room Bettys remained a secret. One of the Leading Recruits bought Knocker his meals and took away the crockery when he had finished, although often the meals were hardly touched; left outside the door of the cabin in a congealed mess of gravy and mashed potato.

Knocker was not even sober enough to realise that a Leading Recruit was bringing him his meals when it was obvious that the bullies should just detail off a ‘grommet’ to do such a menial task.

And so on that fateful day PO White staggered out of his cabin, hungry and unwashed, reeking of stale beer, he made his way to the galley to raid the fridge. Jason and Michele should have heard the cabin door open and close, as it was just down from the Regulating Office but they were out and about conducting rounds, making sure the depot was being maintained.

Dressed only in his greatcoat, filthy underwear and boots without socks, Knocker staggered across the snow-strewn partition between the buildings with the intention to raid the galley fridge and scurry back to his cabin with whatever food was available.

He crashed through the back door to the galley, a snow flurry following him though the door. Doris, her back to the door preparing lunch, felt the icy blast.

“Close the fucking door will you; that cold air is blowing right up me skirt!” she squeaked in the falsetto she had developed since she had started crossdressing.

Knocker was stunned. What was this plump young Wren doing in the galley? They were supposed to be on leave.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?” Knocker growled.

Doris spun on her heels, her pretty face a mask of shock and horror.

“Oh my god! It’s Petty Officer White!” Doris whimpered.

Knocker strode across the galley and roughly grabbed the Wren cook, gawking at her with disbelief, breathing a fetid odour of stale beer and halitosis into her startled face. He stared at her intently for a beat until the penny dropped.

“Oh my fucking god you’re a tranny! A fucking Kai Tai Wren! Those fucking conniving kellicks have turned one of the grommets into a barrack room Betty!” he laughed.

He held Doris out at arm’s length and surveyed her.

“And a decent fucking job they’ve done of it too! You ain’t half bad.”

“I might have had a chequered career but I’m no sea dodger and I’ve been to South East Asia a few times and fucked my share of Kai Tais and lady boys. I’ve also been to Pink Pussycats in town and picked up the odd tranny there too.”

Doris was too shocked to move; she was aware that Knocker had her in a vice-like grip and took in some of what he was saying; they’d all heard tales of sailors fucking ‘Kai Tai’ transvestites when deployed to South East Asia. She was also vaguely aware that ‘Pink Pussycats’ was a club in Chelmsford frequented by crossdressers and their admirers.

“Yes you’re quite the pretty little chubette aren’t you girly? What’s your name?”

“Doris,” she whimpered.

“Well Doris; why don’t you leave making scran for a while and take care of this instead,” Knocker grinned through his rotten teeth.

To Doris’ horror Knocker pulled her close to him and drew her hand inside his greatcoat and placed it on his gnarled cock whilst lowering his scraggy face and closing his lips to hers. Doris shuddered but was helpless. Knocker plunged his tongue into her mouth and she gagged on his fetid breath. His free hand went to her ample buttocks and squeezed them cruelly as he pulled her against him.

His thickening penis protruded from his putrid underpants and rubbed against Doris’ slack fingers as he ground against her.

“Come on Doris put a bit of effort into it!” Knocker closed her fingers on his phallus and thrust against her.

His face closed on hers again and he forced his tongue into her mouth but Doris was still too traumatised to respond.

“Oh you’re fucking hopeless!” he growled

Knocker shook Doris who was as limp as a rag doll in his arms.

“I’ll fucking-well wake you up!”

Knocker dragged Doris over to the counter, bent her over and hiked up her skirt exposing the dark gusset of her tights and her white full-cut knickers.

Doris began to struggle and flail around; her generous buttocks wriggling and gyrating as she tried to squirm free of his grip. Knocker’s free hand scrambled around the counter, then he grinned evilly as his fingers closed on a wooden spoon.

He flailed the wooden spoon against Doris buxom bottom.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Oh fuck that hurts!” Doris wailed.

“Shut up Doris!” Knocker leered as he paddled her bum.

Doris was sobbing with pain and humiliation and then to her horror she felt Knocker pull down her tights and knickers, exposing her creamy white globes, which were now glowing red where he had spanked her.

He tossed the wooden spoon and spanked her plump bottom with his bare hand, cruelly scrunching his fingers into her tender flesh after every few strokes. His cock was now throbbing and dribbling clear pre-seminal fluid, he was so excited he thought he might climax in his underpants if he didn’t do something soon.

“I’m going to put me cock between your pink cheeks and fuck your fat arse but first I’m going to get some head!” Knocker snarled.

He pulled Doris off the bench and pushed her to her knees, sobbing and tremulous, her skirt around her waist and her knickers and tights bunched around her thighs.

Knocker grabbed Doris by the ears and forced her face towards his groin; his repulsive phallus poking from his underwear, his greatcoat opened wide.

Doris was sobbing, tears running down her cheeks, absolutely disgusted and full of dread as the rancid member wobbled inches from her face.