Judy's Story
I took a step back all the better to admire myself in the full-length mirror on the back of our cabin door. I say cabin because it sounds better than cupboard barely large enough for two bunks and two lockers, however as it was on 'Lady Ygraine,' a superyacht based out of Athens and I was being paid to be there it was more than acceptable. I deemed the reflection to be acceptable, my blonde hair was just peeking out from under my peaked cap, the white shirt was tight in the right places accentuating my boobs which were peeping out in a cleavage above the regulation third undone button. I loved the gold epaulettes that denoted my rank as being junior cabin staff, and the black pencil skirt went well with the black court shoes.
I was surprised when I got kitted out that the heels were quite low and wide, until I was told by the bursar that pointed heels made a serious mess of the wooden floors. I was then told in quite direct terms that they were decks not floors, the walls were bulkheads, the front was the bow, the back was the stern, and I was working on port and starboard. You didn't go downstairs you went below; it wasn't a bathroom it was the heads; it wasn't the kitchen it was the galley and it wasn't the steering room it was the bridge, but I'd never be allowed up there.
"What d'you think Tilly? Can I get away with these knickers or do they show?" I asked my roommate, sorry, cabin-mate.
A tousled blonde head poked out of the top bunk. "I can see the line, maybe something smaller or none?" Tilly shared the tiny cabin with me, she had the top bunk which gave her the tiny sliver of window, no porthole, but as the view was only six inched off the surface of the sea it was hardly worthy of the name. I had the bottom bunk which made getting in and out easier.
Feeling very daring and grown up I reached up inside my own skirt and shed my offending underwear, dropping them onto my bed. Bunk.
"Right, I'm on duty in ten so I'm off to see Andrea. You coming?" Tilly jumped down, landing with a heavy thump, a straw-coloured birds nest bounced around her face. Tilly was tall and slim with a tight bum and mid-sized boobs, although she claimed to be average height for a Dutch girl, at around five seven her head was still above me and I had two-inch heels. I'm only five three so quite liked the extra height they gave me.
She ran a brush across her head, miraculously forcing her wild hair into submission, tucked in her shirt with the single bar on her epaulettes denoting her status as one step up from me, and slipped on her shoes. "Yeah, come on don't be late."
We stepped into the corridor, double checked our door was locked and set off to meet Andrea, the assistant Boatswain, pronounced 'Bosun.' She was our immediate manager and was generally responsible for dishing out our tasks. It was about a five-minute journey from our home in the bowels of the boat to her office on the lower guest deck.
There were another eight junior cabin staff, five cabin staff and three senior cabin staff, all of us blonde, although like me not all were natural. I'd turned up with mousey brown hair and was 'encouraged' to bleach it, to be fair I got the free use of the on-board beauticians to do it properly, so it looked natural. The encouragement came in the form of being offered work in the galley or cleaning if I chose to keep my own brown hair colour. I wasn't massively concerned as this was my first summer away on my own at nineteen and felt empowered making my own decisions.
We had a five-day hire starting that afternoon, a French footballer and his family were taking a cruise around the islands before three weeks in a villa on Santorini. His family consisted of his wife, a twenty-three-year-old supermodel, his brother, his personal trainer, his manager, and four or five other hangers on most of whom seemed to be aspiring models, the type that these days would be Instagram Influencers or reality TV stars.
Andrea assigned me and Tilly to the pool deck with five of the other girls, the rest got sent off to other parts of the boat to ensure the guests were never more than thirty seconds from a cocktail or a health drink.
Mrs footballer was lovely, she had been talent scouted from a corporate hostess job in trade shows a few years earlier and still remembered what a crap job the service industry can be, she learned everyone's names in the first or second day, tipped well and actually said 'please' and 'thank you' like she meant it. The footballer was OK, a bit entitled but generally nice enough. The hangers on and footballers brother were the only really unpleasant ones, treating the cabin staff with contempt whenever the senior members of their group weren't around.
The worst situation I experienced personally was one afternoon about three days into the trip when the brother and the PR man called on the ship wide intercom for more Krug to be brought to one of the suites. I was on duty in that section of the boat at the time and collected two bottles, even then it was around £300 worth of champagne, the sommelier sniffed "You could give these idiots lemonade and they wouldn't know the difference," as he handed it over. He wasn't a huge fan after they had rejected a Petrus as being "too sour," The good thing being we all got to try a bit and I agreed entirely, they were idiots, but idiots with deep pockets. Or access to the deep pockets of the French footballer.
I took the bottles on a silver tray up to the suite, knocked and waited. A few seconds later I heard "Entrez, vite." I hurried in, turning to my right as I entered to lay the bottles on a table just inside. I was greeted with a shout of, "No, over here where we can reach". On the opposite side from where I'd come in there was a full height sliding glass door leading onto the private deck space where I saw a steel and glass table with three flutes next to a bag of white powder.
Across from the table was a sun lounger, at one end of the cushion the PR man was leaning against the back rest, at the other the brother was draining the final drops from an empty Krug bottle that he then pitched over the side into the azure waters below. Kneeling between them one of the aspiring models had the PR man's cock buried in her throat while the brother was fucking her from behind, he didn't pause while he beckoned me over.
"Come here, open the booze and give me and Eriq one each."
I was beyond uncomfortable but was operating on auto pilot, so I cracked the two bottles and handed them across. The aspiring model seemed almost unaware of my presence; the bag of white powder probably had something to do with that. I was young enough at the time that I could still count the number of blowjobs I'd given and I found myself watching as she worked her mouth up and down, using one hand to grip and twist as she moved back and forth and the other hand to caress underneath his balls, a fingertip teasing behind them. I could tell just by looking that her technique was far superior to my own.
The brother spotted me watching and laughed, "Hey, you want to join in? You'll get a nice tip."
I blushed, mumbled something about not being allowed to mix with the guests and ran out, almost smack into Tilly, who was carrying in a fruit smoothie. Fortunately, no spillage occurred, and I gasped out a warning about what I'd seen. I was slightly shocked when she asked if they'd mentioned how big a tip would be forthcoming and when I couldn't answer just said "never mind, I'll find out," and went in.
I waited outside wondering whether I should send for help when she reappeared. "Fucking cheapskates, they wanted to charge the tip to the booking, so when the boss pays the bill and asks what the three-hundred-dollar special service was all about I get kicked off the boat and don't even get the tip."
