Exams over, we had a few frantic days in London buying up what we thought that we would need for the Summer. This included one more dancing costume each. We asked the shop owner where we could get these adjusted, and had both bra tops cut down to only a support under the breasts. Our short experience of topless dancing had led Lisa to the realisation that she needed support so as not to have to either hold her boobs when dancing, or have them each do an independent dance of their own. I needed some lift and had “chicken fillets” sewn into mine, inside the inner lining so that they would not be visible if, or rather when, I would take it off.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the marina, staring at what looked like a small ocean liner compared to Aristotle’s yacht. We approached the security man standing at the foot of the gangplank and informed him that we were joining the yacht. He had obviously been told to expect us; he just nodded and spoke in French into a Motorola hand-held radio that he carried. We waited; eventually a man dressed in a khaki military style shirt and similar slacks came down the gangplank. He checked our passports looked at us and nodded. We both had two suitcases; Jeremy had informed us that space would not be an issue to the same extent as on Aristotle’s yacht and it was important that we had a reasonable range of gear to wear onboard. Danny, as he later introduced himself, just picked up two of these, said “follow me”, and bounded back up the gangplank. We struggled after him with our single case each.

Jeremy had told us back in London that the on-board security were ex-British Army. I had expected that we would meet two goons similar to those in the UK, short-haired ex-para types with a bad attitude to women. Danny seemed quite a gentleman. He led us to a door on the lower deck, close to the gangplank, marked SECURITY NO ENTRY, punched in a code, stood back to let us in, then followed. I hadn’t managed to see the code as he covered the panel with his body as he was entering it. We went into a small cabin. There was another man inside, similarly dressed, sitting at a table and cleaning a rifle which I recognised as an SLR, basically an FN rifle without an automatic function, as used by the British Army at the time. We waited as he quickly reassembled the rifle, opened a cabinet and put the rifle away. I saw at least one other SLR and two unmistakable Bren guns; quite a lot of firepower. He introduced himself as Clive.

“OK girls, we want you to stand over here while we look through your cases.”

Clive indicated a place just inside the door. We backed up against the door and he reached over and locked it. I thought that rather pointless as a security code was needed to open the door from the outside. They each took a case lifted them up onto the table and started to go through them. They were thorough, obviously practised, and professional, no waving of our underwear, sneering at our condoms or examining my dilators! They did one case each, then the other, with the occasional question or remark put to us. They even returned everything tidily into our cases; I went to step forward to help, but Danny just held up a hand for me to remain where I was standing.

Cases searched, they turned to us. I had warned Lisa; no matter what, don’t fight with the Security. We need them to be on our side as much as possible and I remembered her resentment of our treatment by the two goons in London. Before being asked, I reached my hands up as if to unbutton my dress, paused and gave that open-eyed, head-tilted, questioning look. Danny nodded. If you’re going to do it, do it right, I thought to myself. I unbuttoned my dress, and threw it over to him. He grinned, and draped it over his arm. I unhooked my bra, swung it around over my head, and did the same. I turned my rear to them, and inched my knickers down, swinging my tail from side to side, slipped them off over each foot in turn, then turned around and threw them to Danny as well. I then stood in my high heeled sandals, legs slightly apart, one knee slightly bent, hip pushed out to the side with one hand on it, and reached over to unzip Lisa’s dress with the other hand. She took my cue, and slid the dress down slowly, took one foot out, and, using her other foot, kicked the dress into the air over to Clive. She also threw over her bra, and used her toe again to flick her knickers over to him. She mirrored my stance. The two lads went through our clothes to see that there was nothing sewn into them. Clive pantomimed lifting breasts and we both did this, the idea was to see if we had anything taped into the fold just under them. For me, this was hardly necessary as my boobs were still small. For Lisa, definitely necessary, and I suppose it would have seemed ungentlemanly to have asked only her!

I had hoped that that would be the end if it, maybe a foot and hair check, and was a bit unhappy when Clive opened a drawer on the table, took out a box, and pulled out surgical-type gloves. He passed the box over to Danny. They pulled the gloves on and left a small jar of what I guessed was Vaseline on the table. Danny beckoned me over to the table and I kept up the act. I kind of sashayed over, stood facing the table as indicated and cooperated when he gently pushed my back for me to bend over. Now face-down on the table, he put a hand on the inside of my knee and a foot inside my foot and pushed my leg out. I did the same with the other leg without being asked. I tried not to jump when he put one hand on the small of my back, his other hand between my legs, then, after a few seconds, inserted what I guessed was two fingers. The Vaseline worked as he didn’t hurt me, but I did let out an involuntary grunt as he rotated his fingers inside me. Fingers out slowly, hand still on my back, then into my ass, then out slowly again. He caught my arm to help me up from the table and brought me to face the door. As I was moving over, Clive was bringing Lisa to the table; I was hoping that she’d behave! I couldn’t see her being searched, just hear the odd grunt like I had made. Danny had me stand with palms on the door while he lifted each foot, took off my sandals, examined them, then the soles of my feet, even between my toes. I then had to stand in my feet as he went through my hair and eventually, and I guessed a bit reluctantly, he stood back and nodded.

“OK”

“You sure?” I asked, little coy look again, head slightly down and to the side, eyes looking up into his face. I made no move to get dressed.

“Unfortunately, yes!” He had a pleasant smile.

I didn’t get dressed until Clive had finished searching Lisa, and didn’t rush the process even then. Knickers on, then sandals, stand up, dress my hair a little as it was all tousled after being searched, only then put on my bra and dress.

“Come on; we’ll bring you to your cabin.”

The two lads picked up our suitcases and we followed them out of the security room, and down one flight into the hull section. I had expected to keep going down, but we were led through the guest area, past the staterooms, to a door at the very end. The smallest of the staterooms had been converted into a cabin for the boat’s entertainers as it both ensured that we would be close to the guest staterooms and we didn’t occupy crew quarters which were needed for the sailing and normal service personnel.

“Here we are; the crew call this the Birdcage.” Clive wasn’t being overly tactful. He knocked on the door and went in without waiting for a reply. A girl with long black hair was sitting at a vanity unit, her back to the door. She was only wearing silk, or silk-effect French knickers. She turned around without making any attempt to cover up.

“Ah! Our new roommates”. She had addressed the comment to another girl, lying in one of two smallish double beds in the cabin. Her accent was very French, very sexy!

“We’ll leave you to look after them”, Danny said. The two lads deposited our cases on the floor and headed off.

“I am Annette, this is Angeline”. The sitting girl was indicating to her companion in the bed.

“Lisa”, “Jasmine”. Introductions over, we looked around: There were only two beds, Angeline was in one, the other had clearly been slept in.

“We share when we’re all here”. Annette had spotted us looking around. “We’re not often all here together. Here, you have space to hang your clothes and the steward will take your cases when you’re ready.” She opened the sliding door of a wardrobe,

“Can we share together?”, Lisa asked, pointing from me to her. “We’re old friends.”

“No problem; I’ll sleep with Angeline.”

“We need to clean up.” I was looking at a door which I guessed led to an ensuite.

“Ah! They’ve been searching you. They like to do that to new girls.” Annette indicated the door that I was looking at. We went in together, used the bidet in turn, washed our hands, sorted our hair.

We started to unpack. Annette and Angeline were fascinated by our dancing costumes, including our thong knickers, not so with the rest of our underwear and clothes. They would bring us shopping tomorrow.

We were discovering that we occupied a somewhat intermediate position on the boat. We were not regarded as stewardesses, and could order food and general service from them. The housekeeping staff looked after our room. We didn’t eat with the crew; when not eating with the guests we ordered food be brought to our stateroom by the stewards. There were no stewardesses, all stewards, the housekeeping staff were all female. There was a Purser, with whom we would liaise, but he did not direct us. Two other girls had left the boat a few days before; they had been engaged on a short term gig while we finished our exams.

We four girls ate together that evening on the SuperYacht. Annette and Angeline had been with the boat since it was brought into the Mediterranean in April. They were on their second year doing a summer season. With almost six months of pay and presents, they had taken the winter off and had travelled to Australia and New Zealand. They weren’t sure of plans for the coming winter. We were all within a year or so in age and they were surprised to hear that we were in college. As both Lisa and I had studied French in school, we conversed in a mix of French and English which suited me fine as now I was getting some practice in a fifth language, along with Greek, Arabic, English and Irish. Eventually we had our dinner service cleared away and got ready for bed. Neither Lisa and I were entirely comfortable at first with them using the loo while we were washing out teeth or removing our makeup, but at least we had two, presumably originally “his and her”, washbasins. We’d just have to get used to it!

Shopping the next day was an eye, and wallet, opener. Cannes was incredibly expensive, but neither Annette nor Angeline appeared to see the prices as they looked at more “suitable” clothing for hostesses. The dresses were mostly short, smart and sexy, but we also ended up with a “smart tart” dress each. They majored on lingerie, open breasted bras, French knickers, suspender belts, and nightwear. Bikinis as well, although they joked that we wouldn’t need the tops! By the time we had finished, we had knocked a large hole in the initial funds that Jeremy had supplied.

Back on board, we settled into a routine. Even sex-work can become routine, but just don’t let the client/guest feel that. There were no specific schedules or change-over dates. People came and went constantly, joining the SuperYacht here, leaving it there, maybe rejoining somewhere else. The sailing plan appeared to be random and we only tended to know where we were going after we had put to sea. We travelled mostly along the coasts of France and Italy and wandered around the Greek islands and coast. We even ended up in Tunis once. The coasts of Lebanon and Israel were strictly avoided, as was the coast of Libya.

The Purser let us know who was coming and going. When a new guest joined, assuming that it was an unaccompanied man, one of the hostesses would meet him as he boarded and escort him to his state room, show him around, ask if he would like to shower, or have a drink, or whatever. If he opted for a shower, we would start to help him undress and take it from there. Generally the one hostess tried to stay with the guest when he was on board; otherwise it could get too complicated if all the other hostesses were busy. Sometimes the guests voluntarily exchanged us.

It could be more tricky if a man came on board with a partner, almost exclusively Mistresses. We would meet them as they came on board as usual, escort them to the stateroom, show them around and ask the woman if there was anything else that they wanted. It wasn’t always “No” although few were as direct as the woman who said,

“Honey, can you sort him out for a few days; I’m on my period”!

We worked the dancing bit in, generally before dinner, without letting the guests know what was about to happen. Lisa and I would excuse ourselves, get changed in the Birdcage, and either Annette or Angeline would put the music on low on the entertainment system, and slowly increase the volume until Lisa and I would suddenly dance into the lounge and start our routine. It was invariably well received. If we had an allocated partner, we would end up by dropping into his lap, normally to his great delight. We would generally stay in our dancing gear for dinner, but if we had worn our open-breasted dancing tops, we changed these before eating. Whether to wear them or not for the dance depended on the tone of the evening to date; some evenings were more eventful than others. We would try to escape from our charges for breakfast, not always possible, and eat together in the birdcage. There was a lot of lounging around the pool, almost invariably topless, which didn’t really suit my white skin and reddish hair, but judicious use of sunblock prevented any sunburn.

The Prince’s son, whom I had ‘met’ in London came on board. This time looking after him fell to Lisa who showed up with rope marks at the pool each morning while he was on board. I slightly envied her; I had enjoyed that session and, though some of the guests liked to ‘pin down’ their hostess, none had gone down the bondage route with me so far. Also, the Princling – as Lisa and I dubbed him – was younger than our usual fare, a considerable number of whom were old enough to be our fathers! They could be hard work and we developed Oscar-level acting skills, but the good point was that they were most likely to fall asleep after Round 1.

The ‘presents’ were good, mostly cash, sometimes jewellery – real stuff. We each had a small safe with a combination lock built into one of the closets in the Birdcage. As hostesses, we rarely left the SuperYacht unless brought out by a guest. Sometimes, maybe even mostly, this was more for our older guests to display us as their property in restaurants along the seafront, beach or marina. Maybe they thought that it made them look good; I thought that it made them look like what they often were, sad old lechers. Who cares as long as the presents are good!

And the Prince came on board in Greece; I remembered his face vaguely from the time that we danced for him in the private gig at the restaurant in London. The flurry of attention to prepare for his visit was astonishing, as was the fawning attention he received once on board. All the hostesses were present to meet him, Lisa and I in our dancing gear, Annette and Angeline wore long, sarong-type skirts with cropped tops, such as an Indian woman would wear under a sari. He looked us over rather as one would examine a harem; which of us would he choose! He stayed for about two weeks; Lisa and I did our routine each night before dinner. We had plenty of time to prepare as all hostesses were reserved for him when he was on board and he chose a different one each night. This was an easier time for us girls as the ones not selected would be able to retire to the Birdcage and have a good night’s sleep.

We were sailing along one day during the Prince’s sojourn between the islands of Paros and Naxos. Lisa and I were “off duty” and idly sitting by the pool, watching the coast slip by when I spotted a familiar looking yacht cruising on a similar course, but much slower than ours. I slipped up to the bridge, borrowed a set of binoculars, came back down to Lisa, focussed the glasses… yes, it was, as I had guessed, Aristotle’s yacht. I passed the glasses to Lisa, she looked and smiled. We kept an eye on the yacht as we outstripped it and, as we passed, I could clearly recognise George in the bridge. We resisted the urge to wave. We had no idea how the Prince might react if he saw us, and, to be honest, we didn’t really want our erstwhile friends to know how we were passing the summer.

The Prince left the Yacht at Heraklion, one of his flunkies having delivered four nice envelopes to the Birdcage on the morning of his departure. Seeing Heraklion again brought back happy memories for both of us. Actually cruising these waters had evoked a series of happy memories but now, with the Prince gone, normal service had to be resumed and we became busy again. Regardless of being busy, I, and at my instigation Lisa, always had a beaming smile for our two Security men. We, and they, were strictly forbidden to ‘get together’ and we all valued our earnings, it didn’t stop me coming very close or brushing off them as we passed by. They gave us early information about the next destination, generally knowing before most of the crew as they would have to organise additional security when we arrived. I had kind of resolved to give them a ‘going away’ present if possible when we left the SuperYacht and intended to broach the matter with Lisa. I felt it would be important to keep them on side as they could protect us if required. Not that I felt that we would need protection; this SuperYacht dwarfed Aristotle’s and we rarely left it.

We left Heraklion heading East for Rhodes. The next morning, when I looked out the porthole of the stateroom that I had ‘entertained’ in that night and my charge lay snoring off the champagne that he had imbibed the night before, I was a bit puzzled. The stateroom was on the port side and I could see the sun was coming up. I kissed my sleeping beauty and said that I’d see him at the pool, slid into my dress, and knocked gently on the door of the security cabin. Danny opened the door.

“Good morning Doll”.

“Good morning Ken”. Whenever he called me Doll, I called him Ken, as in Ken and Barbie. “Are we still going to Rhodes?”

“Why do you ask?”

“The sun is in the wrong place!”

“You’re on the ball this morning!” he laughed. “Actually no, we’ve been asked to divert to Alexandria, then Suez and back to… Hey! Are you …?”

He told me afterwards that he had caught me just before my head hit the deck.