Part 2

"What are we going to do about all these men, Creamy?"

"Do about them, Captain?"

"They've all come from different ships, different navies, even. The ordinary sailors aren't a problem; we're so short-handed they'll just have to muck in as best they can. It's the officers I'm worried about. What are their names again?"

Creamy consulted her clipboard. "Smith, Jones ... and ... Mouse, Captain."

"Do you think those are their real names?"

"Does it matter, Captain?"

"I suppose not. But we've only got a couple of hours to shake down before we get within range of this Malvolian cruiser. Before I call the officers together for a final briefing, I need to work out what they're all going to be doing. Damn it, if they were women, there'd be no problem. I'm the captain for obvious reasons, and you're my second in command for even more obvious reasons. Ptarmigan - where is the woman, by the way?"

"Counting ammunition, Captain. She's good at counting things."

"She's got a what, forty-five, forty-six inch bust?"

"Forty-four. Then there's young Shagmore, forty-twos, and Clittinger, forties. A clear heirarchy. But how do we fit these three men into the structure? They're possibly more experienced than Shagmore and Clittinger, but they're completely flat-chested."

"We could look at their ... other features, Captain."

Belinda's eyes narrowed. "You mean... ? But that would only be part of the solution. We'd be able to compare them with each other, but how would they fit in with the ladies?"

"It would have to be done on averages, Captain. We know that the average bust measurement of all Brilliantine Navy officers is 38 inches. The average bra size supplied by our ships' foundation stores is 34D. Fortunately, then, our three officers are rated above average. We'll simply measure these three men and compare them with the average cock size in the navies of the world."

"How do we find that out?"

"There must be records somewhere, Captain."

"I'll leave it all to you, Creamy. I've got two hours to study the battle tactics employed at every naval battle since the days of the Phoenicians."

"Message coming in, Petal." Leading MAN Lucian Uranus said, ripping the message from the machine and handing it to his partner, MAN Felix Cummings. "Just decode it while I have a pee. My bladder's simply bursting."

"Can't I come with you?"

"You can't, silly, she's watching. Besides, you're heaps better at decoding than me."

"I shan't enjoy it," Cummings promised, pursing his lips and studying the slip of paper. With the tip of his tongue sticking out he began tapping at the keys. After a few seconds he gave a sharp little cry and half rose in his seat. He rapped the final keys really hard, stood up, and scribbled the message on his pad. Blushing deeply and chewing his full lower lip, he minced away to find Lieutenant Archibald.

"What's all this?" She read the brief note and glowered at Cummings. "Is this your weird queer idea of a joke?"

"It isn't funny, ma'am."

"You'll find out how funny it isn't when I've shown this to the admiral. Where's your friend?"

"In the loo."

"Both of you stay in here and don't dare run away. Understand?"

The admiral was looking down through the quadruple-glazed window, wiping a tear from her eye. She looked up as the door opened. "Yes, Archibald? What's this?"

"A piece of paper, Admiral. A message from Insufferable."

The admiral studied the message, turning it over to see the other side. "Is this all it says?"

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

ESSENTIAL DETERMINE SOONEST AVERAGE RPT AVERAGE PENIS LENGTH ALL RPT ALL OFFICERS ALL RPT ALL WORLD NAVIES. PSE ADVISE

ENDS

"Hmmm. Not like Belinda to need to know this. 2245 Zulu? Ten minutes ago. No chance of it being a fake message, is there, Archibald? It was received in code?"

"Primrose Three, Admiral."

"I see. We'll have to assume it's genuine. Essential soonest. That means it's urgent. What's this Bitter Chocolate business?"

"No idea, Admiral."

"And what about Primrose Three?"

"Search me, Admiral."

"Good. Need to know, you know. Now, Insufferable's only got less than a couple of hours before he's in battle. So in this case Urgent means precisely that. Urgent. Get me everything you have on naval officers' penis length?"

"In our navy, ma'am?"

"Of course not, you damned fool! The navies of the world. Are there any penises in Jane's?"

"I very much doubt it, Admiral. Not while we're at WILD CHERRY. But I'll ask Jane if you insist..."

"No time. We need figures on average penis length. We'll have to generate our own data. Get on to it and let me have the figures by midnight. Zulu. Remember, Archibald, the clock's ticking!"

"Ah, Miss Ptarmigan, can you spare a moment, please?"

"Certainly ... ma'am."

"As a little change from counting the shells, I've got a job for you. It involves the three male officers we have on board. It will need a little tact and a bit of organisation, but as you're the only officer in the Insufferable who's not doing anything important, the captain says you'll have to do it."

"Yes, ma'am. I mean aye-aye, ma'am." Creamy lowered the eyebrow she had raised a second or so earlier. Ptarmigan adjusted her bra straps nervously. "What do you want me to do?"

"Measure their cocks."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We need to find how theirs compare to the average size for all officers in all the navies of the entire world. Measure them and find out, will you? I think individually would be better, to avoid taking them away from essential duties. What are they doing at the moment?"

"Smith is organising the cleaning squad, polishing up the brasswork and whitening the ropes all along the left hand side of the ship. They're in a shocking state. I nearly died when that huge crowd of people arrived just before we left port. I just know they were looking at all that dirt. Jones is doing the right hand side in case we park the other way round when we come back."

"Good, what about Mouse?"

"I saw him with a bunch of giggling seawomen tidying up the sickbay. I've no idea why, nobody's going to be sick tonight, it's calm as a millpond out there."

"Bring them in one at a time. Measure them for length and write it all down. And don't forget to ask them how they compare with the average. Bring the figures to the bridge as soon as you've finished."

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

Creamy hurried away, nodding politely to the blushing sailors who shrank away from her approach, their nipples hardening instantly with respect.

She rapped respectfully on the captain's open door. "All in hand, Captain."

"You've measured them already?"

"Ptarmigan's doing it."

"Ptarmigan? Do you think that's wise?"

"It's what she does best, counting and measuring things. She's going to bring the figures to you as soon as she's done."

"Good. I just wonder if ... if perhaps it might be better if you were to measure them as well. We don't want any slip-ups..."

"If you insist, Captain. Although it's only a quick measuring job..."

"It's all about good Order and Discipline, Creamy. When we go into battle, we want to know we have the right people in positions of trust."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

"Good work, Archibald. You finished half an hour ahead of schedule. Are these the figures?"

"All there, Admiral. A sample of ten MANs from our staff. One refused on religious grounds. But we think the ten who volunteered are a good cross section of males. Of course, none of them are officers, but that shouldn't make any difference to the size of their genitalia.

Bottomley

Brownhatter

Cummings

Everard

Jollibottom

Shorthouse

Stiffgusset

Uranus

Wrecktham

Wright-Upham

Average

2¼"

3"

5½"

2½"

4½"

5"

13¾"

3¾"

4"

4½"

The admiral studied the figures for some time. "What's the story with this Shorthouse?"

"Not long enough to measure, ma'am. My clit's longer than his cock."

"Really, Archibald?" The admiral moved on down the list. "Uranus certainly makes up for him, anyway. You'd better send him to me when this is all over. So, we can safely say that the average penis length of the human male is four and a half inches. Get that figure encoded and sent out to all ships; action Insufferable."

"Aye-aye, Admiral."

"Were you ever married, Archibald?"

"No, ma'am."

"Still waiting for Mister Right to come along?"

"Sort of, ma'am."

"Not Mister Wright-Upham, though."

"Preferably not, Admiral."

"Although they say size doesn't matter. Run along, Cynthia. You don't mind if I call you Cynthia, do you?"

"Not at all, Admiral," Lt Archibald admitted. "Cynthia's a very nice name. But my name's Cordelia."

"Just checking, Archibald. Security is vital."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Smith. You may get dressed now." The lieutenant swiftly reached for his trousers. He fervently wished he was back in his own ship. When the chance had come to return to sea, he had grasped it with both hands. The last thing he'd expected was to find himself on a ship run by women, including this forbidding harridan who had ordered him to take his pants off in the ship's office. Mercifully, she'd done nothing more than measure him, but he was ashamed and alarmed to find that he couldn't even get an erection. Six months since he'd seen a woman, and this creature with a splendid pair of firm, jutting whoppers failed completely to get a rise out of him. True, she had a face like a bag of chisels, but those massive breasts thrusting out only six inches from his face ought to have had some effect on him.

"It's usually bigger than that, you know," he ventured.

"How much bigger?" asked Ptarmigan sharply. "And why?"

"Oh, about this much," said Smith with due modesty. "And for all the usual reasons."

Ptarmigan frowned. "What are those? What on earth could possibly make flesh grow as much as that?"

"Well ... like ... a pretty girl, perhaps? Something like that?"

"A pretty girl?" Ptarmigan thought of all the pretty girls she knew. "Pretty?"

"Well, pretty. A nice face ... big breasts ... that kind of thing."

"Big breasts? How can big breasts make a penis grow?"

Smith was silent. After all, he'd just had it demonstrated clearly to him that big breasts didn't always make a penis grow.

"Mine are big," Ptarmigan persisted. "Mine didn't make it grow. Is there something wrong with it?"

There was a knock on the door. "Nearly finished, Miss Ptarmigan?" said Creamy, coming in and looking Lt Smith up and down. "Is this the last one?"

"No, he's only the first. I think there's something wrong with him."

Creamy looked at her watch. "You've really got to get a move on, Miss Ptarmigan. We need to be finished with this exercise in another twenty minutes. I'll take this one into the wardroom pantry and interview him. Captain's orders. You'd better call the others in. When you've done with them, pass them on to me. I suppose you have measured this one?"

"Aye-aye, ma'am," said Ptarmigan through gritted teeth. She handed a piece of paper to the commander, who tucked it into her shirt pocket, where her left nipple threatened to punch a one inch diameter hole in it.

"Come on, you," said Creamy to the dysfunctional lieutenant. "This won't take long." She led the way into the pantry and closed the door. "Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

"Erm ... nothing. That is, there was a problem, but it seems to have got better all by itself."

"What do you mean?"

"This." Smith indicated the bulge in his trousers.

"It's no use to anyone in there, is it, man. Get it out!"

"Ma'am?"

"Out with it." It was a direct and presumably lawful order. Smith complied. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with this," said Creamy. "Nothing at all."

Smith could only agree. It lay on the commander's palm, twitching and throbbing with every appearance of excellent health. She closed her fist gently and moved it up and down in a tentative way.

"Ma'am... !"

"Yes, Smith?"

"It can't stand much more of this, ma'am. It's going to blow any second now."

"You're not a chief engineer by any chance, are you?" said Creamy with a hint of a smile.

"No, ma'am. Guided missiles. Offensive ones."

"That's a pretty offensive missile you've got there, yourself, Smith!"

"This? It's only average, ma'am."

"Is it, by George?" She produced a small ruler from her top pocket. "Hmmm. Thank you. Pull your pants up."

"Aren't you going to finish what you started, ma'am?"

"Sorry?" Absently she took the thing in her hand again. "Strange, it's so hard, yet somehow it's soft at the same time. Fascinating."

"I wouldn't get too close to it, ma'am..."

"It's getting harder."

"Please, ma'am! Ma'am... ooops! Sorry, ma'am. I tried to warn you."

"Dismiss, Lieutenant. That will be all."

"Aye-aye, ma'am. You're probably right."

Creamy remembered the piece of paper and pulled it out of her shirt pocket. Frowning, she compared the figure written on it with the dimension she had recorded for herself. There was a discrepancy all right. She wrote her own number below Ptarmigan's backward-sloping pencil and added the word 'Smith' alongside before tucking the paper out of sight again. "Damn," she said, wiping at the array of sticky marks on her bodice. "This is my last clean shirt. What is this stuff, anyway?" She tasted it cautiously, then shook her head. There was a knock on the door. "Come!" she cried, wondering why the word sounded vaguely familiar.

Whereas the recent Lt Smith had been tall, dark and not altogether unhandsome, the slim and boyish figure which entered the pantry was several inches shorter than the commander. He looked up at her with apprehension. "Sub Lieutenant Jones reporting, ma'am." He handed her a folded slip of paper which Creamy opened and glanced at briefly. Her eyes widened.

"Drop your trousers, please, Mr Jones."

"Aye-aye, ma'am. Er ... ma'am?"

"Yes, Mr Jones? You haven't dropped them."

"It's ... I'm not usually like this, ma'am." And he lowered his trousers to half-mast, along with a pair of what appeared to be wild silk boxer shorts. They were certainly purple, which made a striking contrast to Jones' pale bluish white matchstick legs. Creamy's eyes widened still further.

"That's a nice average one," she said, flicking her steel ruler out of its hiding place. "Just make it hard while I measure it, will you?"

"Make ... that's what I'm trying to ... it won't go hard. This is as big as it will go."

"I can't measure it dangling down there. It gets even longer than this, doesn't it?"

"Usually, ma'am. But not today, ma'am."

Creamy glowered at the diminutive officer. He was quaking in his little shoes and his knees were actually knocking with a faint bony sound. Trying to keep a safe distance, the commander grasped the cold, clammy, flaccid appendage and raised it to the horizontal. "This isn't as long as when Miss Ptarmigan measured it! It's getting smaller."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

It had become smaller still. With a sorrowful shake of her head, Creamy wrote down the latest figure, noting that even at its smallest it was still bigger than Smith's. "It's quite a big one, despite everything," she remarked lightly, letting it drop with a thud against the little officer's thigh. It seemed to have lost another half an inch in the process.

"It's only average, ma'am."

"Pull them up and dismiss, Mr Jones. We've got a war to fight. I'll give you your assignment shortly."

"Aye-aye, ma'am." He wheeled round and marched out like a parade ground recruit, almost colliding in the doorway with a rugged outdoor type; rangy, tanned and craggy-featured. He grinned at the pale-faced Jones and saluted casually.

"Evening, ma'am." He handed over his slip of paper.

"Mickey Mouse, I presume?"

"Not my real name, ma'am. It seems I've upset one of your officers. The old battleaxe out there in the wardroom."

"Miss Ptarmigan is not a battleaxe, Mister! Stand up straight, stop lolling around, stand to attention and drop your trousers."

"Not necessarily all in that order, ma'am," Mouse drawled. "You sure you're ready for this? Ol' Ptarmigan sure as hell wasn't, I can tell you!"

"Just do it, Mr Mouse." She read the slip of paper for the first time and her eyes boggled. It read the same the other way up as well. But mere figures didn't tell half the story.

Mouse's eyes never left hers as he worked his pants with some difficulty down his footballer's thighs, revealing something undoubtedly larger than average. Was there no end to it?

"You seen enough yet?" He grinned at her. "There's plenty more."

"Drop them completely and stop playing silly games."

"Aye-aye, ma'am. You've got a load of cum on your shirt, ma'am, by the way. You ought to get it in to soak. Cold water's best. Leave it in to soak overnight. In fact, that's what I like to do best of all."

Why did everything this young man said seem to sound like a double entendre? "Mr Mouse, if you would kindly lower your trousers all the way down, please. Th-thank you. Oh, my God!"

"It seems pleased to see you, ma'am. Amazing, but you may need to update that figure old Ptarmigan wrote down. Luckily, you can easily change a one to a four."

"Thank you, I am quite capable of measuring it for myself."

"Not with a twelve inch ruler you're not! Tell you what, I'll put my thumb at the twelve inch mark, and you can measure the rest of it."

"I'll do it myself, thank you. All of it. Pass me that grease pencil, please."

"Suit yourself, ma'am." Mouse handed over the black Chinagraph pencil, then placed his hands on his head. "Look, ma'am, no hands."

Creamy tried to apply her ruler. "I can't do anything while it's leaping around like that, can I?"

"Sorry, ma'am." He shrugged his rugged shoulders. "Just a suggestion, ma'am. You need to be able to hold the end of it still while you use both hands to do the measuring, right? The best thing you can do is to..." And he whispered in the commander's ear.

It certainly made things easier.

An urgent pounding on the pantry door.

"Come in," drawled Mouse.

"Signal for the commander, ma'am..." It was the small sailor with the pointed nipples who had earlier spoken to the commander. "Beg your pardon, ma'am."

"The commander's got her hands full at the moment, sailor," said Mouse.

"And her mouth, too, sir!"

"Just leave the signal with me."

"It was for her personal attention, sir. Can you make sure she gets it?"

"Oh, yes, sailor. I'll make sure she gets it all right."

The captain strode from one wing of the bridge to the other. She knew her pacing was making the sailors nervous, but she had to keep moving. This bra was impossibly tight. And it was her biggest, too. This was all she needed; having to go into battle in a bra like a safety harness. Where was Creamy when she needed her? Ah, she remembered, checking out those three male officers. Surely it didn't take that long to measure three men's penes? But then Creamy was always most thorough and conscientious. She wouldn't leave a job undone. Creamy wouldn't go off half-cock.

But Belinda really needed to get this bra off. Even if it meant going bra-less into battle. That was the solution! Show the crew she was a woman of action. She stripped off the admiral's shirt and dumped it on twin handles of the engine-room telegraphs. "Sailor, come here, please."

"Captain?"

"What's your name, sailor?"

"Ramsbottom, Captain."

"Unhook my bra, Ramsbottom."

"Aye-aye, captain." The sailor disappeared behind her captain and busied herself. In the distance, bright flashes lit the sky above the horizon ahead of the Insufferable. A thunderstorm, or... ?

"Make it quick, Ramsbottom. It's going to get even tighter in there soon."

"It's shrinking, Captain! My fingers are trapped ... under the ... straps! There!"

"It's off. Good girl. Take it away, it's no use to me now." As Ramsbottom retired into the shadows with her still-warm prize, every eye on the bridge turned to the captain as she wriggled her way into the admiral's shirt and fastened the first five buttons, leaving the top three undone. Six inches of gleaming cleavage glistened in the pale green glow of the radar repeater. It was scarcely believable. The young captain's bust must have increased by at least three cup sizes in half an hour. And her nipples!

"Watch your course, dammit! You're falling off to port. Pilot, how long now?"

"Estimating six-one minutes to contact, Captain."

"Thank you." The most vital question; would this shirt stand the strain of another hour, followed by a battle to the death? Belinda could almost feel herself swelling by the minute. Yet it was important for the morale of the crew that she remain visible on the bridge. It would be so easy to go below and change into a pair of those shapeless khakis. But that would be the coward's way out. The white shirt would become a focus for her girls, a beacon of rampant feminity to inspire them through the coming ordeal. The skirt, too, was vital. Tighter and far shorter than allowed by Naval Regulations, it showed off her legs in their gleaming black stockings. She wished she had a pair of higher heels than these. Could she risk sending a sailor down to her quarters to fetch something? No, she remembered in time, all her sexiest things were in her wardrobe back on dry land. All she had in her cabin were a few changes of underwear. She simply couldn't send a sailor to fetch those. If the captain wasn't yet pee-ing herself, the crew could take heart, no matter how extreme the danger. In fact, the crew was hugely encouraged to see that their captain was sufficiently relaxed about the situation to touch herself intimately through the front of her skirt, a sight which made their hearts swell, to say nothing of their nipples. There was not a soul on the bridge who would not have gone down on the captain at this moment.

"Signal, Captain." A small voice at her elbow, and a message flimsy was thrust into her hand. "From the admiral, ma'am."

YR 2245 REFERS. AVERAGE PENIS LENGTH DETERMINED EMPIRICALLY FROM DIRECT OBSERVATION HQ OPS STANDS AT FIGURES 4.50, FOUR DECIMAL FIVE ZERO INCHES. GOOD HUNTING.

ENDS

"Have you read this, sailor?"

"Aye-aye, Captain." The sailor's blushing young face appeared puzzled. "Is it in some kind of code, captain?"

"Code, sailor?"

"My Darren's is ten inches long, Captain. And as thick as my leg."

Her pale narrow face bore what seemed to be a permanently bewildered expression; she wore thick glasses, her mousy hair was greasy and stringy, she had no breasts or hips at all. Truly, nature had her ways of adding variety to the gene pool.

"Then you've got something worth fighting for, haven't you? Back to the radio shack, sailor!"

There were sounds of disturbance, and footsteps clattering up the ladder to the bridge. Belinda's spirits soared when she saw her executive officer come on to the bridge, accompanied by three males in officers' uniforms. Stripes of rank had been hastily attached to their shoulders. Two of them seemed most aggrieved, the other one, smiling foxily to himself, found a convenient surface and leaned negligently against it. He wore the stripes of a lieutenant commander. An extremely young lieutenant commander. Belinda could imagine girls swooning over his craggy features.

"Sorry it took so long, Captain," Creamy saluted. "Lieutenants Smith and Jones, and Lieutenant Commander Mouse."

"Mouse?"

"Mickey Mouse, Captain."

Belinda lowered her voice. "All measurements completed, Creamy?"

"All done, Captain. All apparently average, captain, but I've given them their new ranks according to their size."

"How big's that one?" Belinda inclined her head towards the smirking Mouse.

"Just over fourteen inches, ma'am."

"Four ... fourteen? My God, he ought to be an admiral! What's all that stuff on your shirt?"

"Apparently it's called cum. I managed to swallow most of it. Permission to change into something a little drier, captain?"

"No time. Get these two away to their duties. You get away to the front of the boat, up forrard, and Mr Mouse can stay here with me."

"As you wish, Captain. Your tits look enormous, Captain. No bra?"

"I had a sailor take it off for me. I can't see this shirt making it through the night. It's the excitement. It always makes me swollen, but this is something else entirely."

"I want to suck your nipples, Captain."

"Later, Creamy. When all this is over."

"Well, Mouse? What's your speciality?"

"Nothing really, Captain. I'm learning the ropes, as it were, and how to shoot guns and things, but mostly I fuck girls."

"You do? All the time?"

"Only on shore, Captain, until now, at least. Our navy doesn't have girls in ships. I don't do it with men, although I've been asked on occasion."

"You've been what, Mouse?"

"Asked, Captain. A-s-k-e-d, with a 'k', ma'am."

"I hope you haven't been getting up to any funny business in Insufferable, Mouse."

"I've only had six of the girls, Captain. About twenty fucks altogether. And one blow-job, but that was with the commander. You can see why she's commander, ma'am. She did things with her mouth and tongue, captain ... I can still feel her down there." Mouse's voice tailed off. He appeared to be staring. "Erm, Captain..."

"What is it, Mouse?"

"Your ... bust, Captain. It's extremely large..."

"Of course it is. I'm the captain of this ship. I have to have the biggest bust of all the officers. The commander's bust is actually bigger than mine, but..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's because of the emergency, and one or two other factors. Commander Crea ... I mean ... Coffey has a larger bust measurement, but my breasts themselves are bigger, hence the fact that I am in command."

"It's not, you know!"

"Not what?"

"The commander's bust isn't as big as yours. Believe me, I am a connoisseur, and I have seen both of you from very close-up in the past few minutes. I'd say hers was fifty-eight inches, right?"

Belinda felt a flush in her cheeks. "Exactly right, but mine's only fifty-six."

"Rubbish, ma'am! You're well over sixty inches!"

"Sixty? Don't be silly!" Belinda ran her hands down the swollen mounds of her bosom. Even without her aching nipples, they did look extremely full this evening. And she'd had to take her bra off. But sixty! That would qualify her for command of a fleet destroyer, if Brilliantina had any. "Do you really think so?" she said, lowering her gaze modestly and fluttering her eyelashes.

"Well over sixty. Creamy told you how big they looked just now, didn't she?"

"You mustn't call her Creamy. She's the commander. Anyway, how did you hear that? She was whispering."

"She said she wanted to suck your nipples, didn't she, Captain?"

"So what if she did?" Belinda raged, and a number of faces on the bridge turned anxiously.

"I've got the same problem, Captain, if it's any consolation," said Mouse quietly.

"What problem's that?" Belinda asked, curious despite herself.

"Going into action, your breasts become bigger, don't they?"

"I wouldn't know," Belinda said haughtily. "I've never been in action before."

"You've seen the guns fired. What happened to your breasts?"

"My nipples got bigger. So what? It was a cold day, and..."

"And they stayed bigger, didn't they?"

"As it happens, yes. But my breasts are still growing anyway, so there's nothing unusual in that."

"You mean there's nothing unusual in them growing two, three, four inches in an hour?"

"They haven't grown that much. Have they?"

"At least. But as I say, I have the same problem. When I get excited ... I don't mean sexually, that happens all the time ... when I'm about to see action, I get ... bigger, too."

"What, all of you?" Belinda stared, then her eyes fell to the officer's groin. "You don't mean... ?"