A storm from a clear sky

Drew gave him an annoyed glare. He was going to be a continual problem for her, she could tell. Delivering a message by shoving the narrow glass tube into her was the sort of cheek an officer could accept from a long-time friend and colleague but this was the guy's first day and he ought to be acting ingratiating and trying to impress. There must've been at least three dozen women on board this ship besides herself, was he taking it personal that she hadn't wanted to service him right then and there?

As the Lieutenant-Commander stood up and retrieved the now-slippery message tube she rolled her eyes and Pearson and rudely shrugged her shoulder to him, rather than bending over and pulling down her panties, which would have been the submissive, ingratiating thing to do. Even though Gillian had definitely gotten her off, Drew wasn't feeling especially open or friendly at the moment - having it done so quickly, and so strangely, to her in front of her entire command on the first day was not how she'd hoped for this to go.

"Aw, nuts." she muttered with a sigh when she managed to extricate the message. One of the officers who'd been urging Ensign Vallee to take both his testicles into her mouth while his buddy railed the curvy tan woman from behind looked up in surprise, as did Vallee herself, but Drew took no notice of the misleading turn of phrase, focused on the bad news.

Bad, but not unexpected, to those who have come to expect the ocean's malicious sense of timing. As of 1100 hours, they'd begun sea trials. It was now 1135 hours, and the radio room had just picked up a message from the Coast Guard's radar installations that a huge stormfront was blowing in, and would be on top of them in less than an hour.

"Bad news ladies and fellas." McKnight announced, loud enough to be heard over the slapping sounds of the other two women still being fucked. "We're about to get pounded, all of us. And I don't mean in the good way that shows dedication to the national cause - I mean the kind where Mother Nature breaks out the paddle with holes drilled in it. We're talking driving rain, 40 foot waves, the whole shebang, and that's not even getting into the iron tide."

Those men not currently being comforted by one of their shipmates' orifices exchanged a worried murmur among themselves. The sea, as well as the land, had been ravaged by the endless war, and although the Pacific could swallow all that **** and destruction and not show it, the turbulent Atlantic was ever-haunted by the wreckage of past battles. Many modern warship hulls contained layers of buoyant aerogels, and some compartments were so damnably sturdy that even a ship being blown to bits around them didn't stop them from being watertight. Strong weather churned up bits of wreckage that were light enough to be carried by the current. Sometimes it was just sheets of scrap. Sometimes it was more eerie and disturbing, with large visible chunks of fallen warships and transports temporarily being churned to the surface before sinking again or being washed up on rust-choked beaches. For smaller ships like destroyers and frigates, they were a navigation hazard. Rare, but not unheard of, was live munitions and sea mines broken free from their moorings being swept against hulls and sinking more ships, which superstitious sailors considered not unlike the dead dragging the living down to join them in Davey Jones' locker.

Drew briskly stepped over to a typewriter and turned the letter over before dropping it in to send her response. 'GUNS NEED TO BE PLUGGED, SUGGEST DELAYING GUNNERY TRIALS UNTIL TOMORROW' she typed before dropping it back into the message tube. Cranking a heavy dial above the pneumatic system with a click, she directed it to the bridge, dropped it in and sent it on its way.

A few minutes later a reply came - since Lt. Pearson had worked his courage up to starting to massage Drew's thighs under the hem of her latex skirt, she was glad to have an excuse to report somewhere else. '3XO MCKNIGHT - PLEASE REPORT TO CONNING TOWER ABOVE DECKS, THE CREW ARE POORLY TRAINED AND MAY NEED OVERSIGHT TO PREPARE THE GUNS FOR ROUGH WEATHER'. She sighed but departed fire control immediately, sparing one last sympathetic glance to Vallee and the low-ranked crewwoman who'd now be the target for all those guys in there to get a quick lay before having to hunker down for the storm.

There was a proverbial 'calm before the storm' in the destroyer's winding hallways. Within the first hour of manning their stations for the first time most of the seamen aboard would have taken abundant advantage of the modern inversion of the historic sexual deprivation and repression characteristic of shipboard life. Quite simply they'd taken the very first opportunity they could get to get their hands on one of the girls flouncing around in alluring uniforms (or, taking advantage of the distraction to feel out some more... homogenous company, if that was what they went in for) and now they would all be smiling, satisfied, and going about their duties with a spring in their step.

Indeed, the only sexual thing that Drew came across before reaching abovedecks was a skinny, wavy-haired blonde girl in an enlisted minidress who'd just finished mopping up some spilled cum. The sailor was taken by surprise, her eyes angled down and not seeing Drew until the lieutenant-commander rounded a corner. With a sympathetic chuckle Drew noticed that the athletic young blonde woman (who couldn't have been older than 19 by the looks of her) was squatting down over her own mop bucket, positioning her hindquarters over the dirty receptacle and visibly tensing up. The enlisted woman's eyes had a hint of guilt in them when they snapped up to meet Drew's, and the former gulped while giving her requisite salute.

Drew nodded sympathetically. "At ease." she said simply. "If one of your previous commanders told you that, uh, position wasn't allowed, they were wrong. I wish you luck." The blonde smiled awkwardly and nodded as Drew kept on walking, going back to fingering the messy, dripping lips of her flower and squeeze out what she'd been given. When a woman was used by someone (or someones) she didn't care for, or just wanted to put off an awkward and uncomfortable experience for as long as possible, it was commonplace (and legal under a technicality and as an acknowledgement of the futility of attempting enforcement) to try and squeeze out the semen that had been left inside her. Any method of contraception that didn't involve any sort of physical barrier or **** was beyond the scope of the Unified Military Code.

Of course, as Drew remembered with a wince while walking away, part of the lack of attention paid to such acts was because of the relative lack of effectiveness. In private, ladies in the Brass, Dames, and Grease Girls alike all gossiped about methods to prevent conception with unwanted 'suitors'; back in the Navy School, Drew's fellow female officer candidates had shared that it was supposedly much less likely that you would get pregnant if you were on top when you were fucking a man. She herself would rather find something equally discrete but more reliable than that, or the method that enlisted woman was using. All the more reason to get her crew and officers to accept her as soon as possible.

Out on the ship's deck, heavy grey stormclouds could be seen rolling in from the distance already. A big naval cruiser had been finished and launched at the same time as Sidney Story and her sister ships, and they were in formation with it now. Looking out over the horizon, Drew could spot a few other friendly ships in relatively close formation. One of them was a battleship - curiously, Drew tried to make out any details that she could of it while on her way over to the main forward turret. All classes of ships had gotten bigger over the years but it was the battleships that had undergone the most dramatic hypertrophy. They were like small floating cities, now - three, four, even five times the size of their equivalents from the first World War. The one Drew was currently looking at was one of the newest, and thus the biggest. U.S. Navy warships were famous in comparison to their British, Stadti and Imperial counterparts for having an array of gimmicky special-purpose shells that could theoretically smash any target - sea, air, or land within five miles of a coast - with maximal efficiency.

But that was the trick - the only time that the Navy would ever get to bring the full weight of its firepower to bear on the enemy was at a time and place of Stadti high command's choosing. The sheer volume of convoys needed to keep the U.K., Ireland, and the other surviving European allies in the war meant that magnificent battlewagons like the one Drew beheld off in the distance there were unavoidably spread thin, unable to do anything save ensure that their particular assigned convoy or patch of ocean remained clear.

To their credit, when Drew reached the main gun, most of the crew working on securing it were going slow due to genuine inexperience... mostly. It did seem that being dressed in a shapeless rain slicker wasn't enough to disqualify the crewwomen there from being a target for use. The Lieutenant-Commander couldn't even see the woman's face with the hood up, as it was - but she could certainly see the girl's bare ass as she was bent over the railing at the edge of the deck. And thanks to the height of the crewman bending her over said railing - forcing him to thrust down slightly as he gave it to the raincoated girl from behind - Drew got a good look at that glistening wet black cock pistoning in and out of her. The towering dark-skinned sailor who was using the enlisted girl withdrew from her pussy just long enough to turn and salute his superior officer before turning back and plunging it into the girl's ass, drawing a sharp squeal.

Amazingly, there were a couple more girls working on getting the gun barrels plugged up and the edges of the turret track battened down with tarps without their fellows laying a hand on them. Most likely, the rest of the crew was already drained of their lust for the moment.

"Lieutenant-Commander McKnight, I presume!" a voice came to Drew, making her turn curiously. Slouched in the doorway of a hatch leading into the destroyer's superstructure was a short man with almond-shaped eyes, fine black close-cropped hair and a sallow skin tone, scribbling on a notepad. He smiled ingratiatingly at her, and Drew, at a loss, returned it. Once she saw the insignia on the man's immaculately pressed uniform, Drew belatedly snapped her hand up to her forehead in a salute. "Sir!" she barked.

The commander - one rank above McKnight's - returned her salute and drew himself up to a standing position. "At ease. If you've not looked at the manifest yet, I am Commander Howard Yang, navigational officer. I must confess, from your names I thought both you and the captain would be men. I'm sure you will perform your duties well and make the Navy proud, all the same. I'm plotting the course now, and I came up here to ensure that these sailors have the guns angled in the right direction so they'll be covering our course and ready for defensive fire at a moment's notice. One can never be too cautious in war."

By the furrowing of the commander's brow, Drew could tell that he noticed the odd look she was giving him. "Ah." the commander spoke with a calm, rather intellectual tone. "You must be noticing my... ahhh, features. Now you know why they reassigned me from the Pacific Fleet... misunderstandings and tensions tend to follow me around. Rest assured, Lieutenant-Commander, I am no enemy alien. I came to this great country of ours as a boy, and I am proud to say that my parents originate from a proud and cultured land, NOT from that island of barbarians and pirates who now seek to enslave the East with their so-called empire the same way Berlinstadt plans to do to Europe."

"A-ah, yes, of course! Sir!" Drew blushed and saluted again, quite unnecessarily. Being from the Midwest she was still getting used to the idea of serving alongside non-whites. Apparently the Navy was getting more integrated than she'd thought. Hoping to defuse any tension and prove that she was giving her new XO the proper respect, she swished her hips from side to side, drawing attention to her lower body and running a finger over her latex-clad abdomen. "Since you've been working on this tedious calculation up here for a while, sir, would you like me to, um..." she smiled and hefted up the hem of her skirt a few inches.

Casually, the Chinese-American navigator reached out and rubbed two fingers up and down the cleft in the middle of Drew McKnight's now-soaked panties. He rubbed back and forth slowly, forcing the fabric up against her sensitive lower lips, and nodded faintly in satisfaction. "Ah. You have a lovely pussy. Although you have a bit of a tomboy-ish look to you, I expect that you will be making the men on this destroyer very happy whenever you are around."

Navigator Yang then withdrew his hand and looked back down to his notes. "Ah, but perhaps another time. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm holding some numbers in my head, and I'm worried I'll lose them if I take a break to use you... and I need to get the necessary course corrections made as soon as possible, every minute delay now will cost us five in backtracking once the storm blows in."

Drew smiled brightly and nodded. Well, she thought to herself, this fellow certainly seemed nice. She couldn't help but notice that it was funny that as it turned out her female superior officer's overactive libido would be weighing on her mind more heavily than the male executive officer. Indeed, the way that he had casually teased her and brushed her off made Drew feel a sudden strange, surprising attraction to him, allowing her eyes to linger on him as he lowered his gaze back to his chart. Usually, if a man was attracted to her, they felt entitled to demand she satisfy them right then and there... and if they weren't, they didn't mind telling her so and brushing her off rudely. The worst was, like that brute Mangano down in the magazine compartment, the ones who insulted and belittled her for a bit of cruel fun and then used her anyways. She hadn't spent any time with anyone she would remotely think of as a 'gentleman' since Navy School.

But then her thoughts were wrenched away by a sharp, piercing "AHHHH FUCK!" that made both her and Yang wince. Whipping her head around, Drew noticed that it was the woman who'd been bent over the railing. Drew looked down and chuckled sympathetically. That tone of panicked surprise and discomfort was usually from an unfortunate woman having an inconsiderate partner do something wrong, which was a lamentably common occurrence in any public place. Usually it took one of three forms: insertion into the girl's ass without proper lubrication, having her pussy cummed inside of when she'd gently implied she'd prefer the man cum outside, or giving too hard of a slap or pinch.

However, a sudden chorus of shouts of alarm from the other crew, who paused in their duties, told Drew that something was more seriously wrong than that. Looking out in the distance, the horrifying realization slowly dawned on Drew that the distant rumbles she was hearing were not the sound of thunder, but distant explosions carrying to her over the water. Heart thumping, she looked out into the distance, trying to spot the battleship she'd been idly gazing at before. Her worst suspicions were confirmed almost immediately - she could see the twinkle of fires and a cloud of smoke beginning to rise. Mere seconds later, a shrieking klaxon alarm began to sound.

Her mind raced, as the crew stood there transfixed like deer staring at a jet-engine-powered roadster coming at them down a highway back in the Farmland. An attack, right here on the Virginia coast? An accident, or a collision with a rogue sea mine? And now the storm was coming in... that massive battleship that had seemed so invincible a minute ago now faced a grim predicament, as did the thousands of souls aboard. What should she do? What COULD she do? Commander Yang and the other crew abovedecks were all just as stunned into silence as she was.