Trying to maintain his composure before the First Officer, the Captain set his lips and climbed down out of the little cart. Without looking at the dais whose emptiness gnawed at him so, he came around to the front of the vehicle, where the seven wenches who had drawn them stood breathless and sweaty, flushed both with their effort and with their restless excitation. “We must make sure that these pretty little beasts are well cared for,” he told his friend, trying to rally his own spirits as much as those of his First Officer. “‘Tis the only humane thing to do.”
“Of course, sir,” said the First Officer, watching uncertainly.
“Tell me, thou cunts,” the Captain demanded, addressing the leather-harnessed sluts who stood warm and damp before him, “which of you has been able to milk a climax
