Under Water - Part Three

Aug 31, 2018
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I had to fight the battle of time compression, trying to squeeze a week aboard Natalya's yacht into a few chapters. A couple of re-writes later, we resume:

Part Three - Chapter 1

Leviathan! Kraken! Hydra! Jörmungandr! No, the great beast looming ahead in the dark
water is far greater than any of those. It's eyes light up the night, bathing its enormous
body in a snow shrouded glow. It's arms reach up and out, eager to pull what it needs from
the sea. I have once been in the belly of such a beast, inserted and extracted by
helicopter, but tonight I approach from the sea. The Zodiac bobs up and down in the waves,
my view constantly changing, exposing light and shadow, odd angles, and the oil rig, our
target for tonight.

Natalya warned Ilse and I that we are not wearing full survival suits capable of extended
survival in the icy water. Dismissed as too restrictive, our suits sacrifice survival time
for easier movement. I remember Natalya's instructions, 'If you fall out of the Zodiac, pull
this cord which will inflate your life vest and activate a flashing beacon. Then start
praying, because we only have a few minutes to pull your arse out of the water before you
turn into an ice cube'.

I remember reading about people surviving near-death experiences, claiming that their "life
flashed before their eyes". Scientists say that such images are not displayed in any
chronological order, but rather as multiple events throughout different stages of someone's
life. Sitting in a bobbing Zodiac amidst icy waves much taller than my comfort level might
not be near-death, but it is quite adequate to show me flashes of my last seven days aboard
Natalya's yacht.

The First Day

We had left the dock in Amsterdam and headed out the IJ Canal toward the North Sea. Cappy
let most of the regular crew off the yacht in Amsterdam, leaving a much reduced complement of
only three female crew members. With this skeleton crew, Natalya, Ilse and I were assigned
various tasks. From her work on the insertion and extraction teams, Natalya used her
navigation and communications skills to back up Cappy on the bridge. Ilse helped the other
three crewmembers using her seamanship skills. Lacking any useful nautical skills, and
prohibited from going up to the main deck in order to prevent any attempt at escape, I was
assigned duties below deck.

Even though I let Cappy know that I had good mechanical skills and could help in the engine
room, she reminded me of Cappy's Rule Number 1, "Touch anything on my ship, I kill you."
'You not allowed in engine room', she said, 'It is good you have mechanical skill. Toilets
on ship are mechanical. Clean them! Laundry machines mechanical too. You do laundry'. It
wasn't the worst assignment I could think of as it ensured that I would have free access to
all areas of the middle deck to plan my escape.

Cappy took charge of the galley, but I was told that everyone more or less grabs something
quick for breakfast and lunch when they have time available. The only meal that required any
real effort was the evening meal. Cappy made her famous "Fish Stew" the first night and I
was introduced to the crew. When I complained about the over-salted stew full of undercooked
vegetables and overcooked "mystery" fish, Cappy said, "Kitchen is mechanical. You now cook.
Dishwasher is mechanical, You wash dishes too'. By the end of my first day on the yacht, I
had been turned into a steward, housekeeper, laundress, caretaker, chef, and dishwasher for
six women.


At last, the Zodiac approaches the small dock at the base of the oil rig, used by supply
ships to unload equipment and transfer crew. Right at sea level, we are much too low to use
the dock, designed to mate with the much higher deck of re-supply ships. If we were at that
level, we could have used Swing Ropes to board like a regular crew change. It is impossible
for anyone to board this oil rig from a small boat, at least that is what Natalya was told.
Two years ago, Natalya had spent a week on this very same oil rig, watching, studying, and
talking with the crew, producing a security report detailing 10 risks and vulnerabilities.
The oil rig managers and their security team immediately dismissed 9 of those as "impossible"
or "not cost effective". Natalya blamed the reluctance of this all-male group on "male
arrogance", unwilling to accept critique from a woman. She is now ready to show them that
Risk Number 5 is quite real.

Escape Attempt

When I first boarded the yacht, Natalya decided that it was not necessary to lock me in my
cabin. I was prohibited from the main deck, which included the large salon, a dance studio,
a spa, Natalya's suite, Cappy's cabin, and the pilothouse. While the engine room was off
limits, the middle deck gave me free run of the crew's quarters, guest cabins, main galley,
laundry and storage areas.

By observing the angle of the sun as it shone through the portholes, I was able to determine
our direction, North. We were too far from shore for me to swim, even with a flotation
device. Any realistic chance for escape required a boat, and a few casual questions to the
crewmembers yielded the result. In the lower rear section of the yacht was a Zodiac capable
of being launched while the ship was underway. Confident of reaching this area without being
seen, I had no way to quietly defeat the locked door, unless I had the key. I assumed both
Natalya and Cappy had such a key, but doubted they carried it on them, creating the need for
me to search their cabins. But to do that I had to reach the upper deck without being seen.
The companionway steps were too exposed, however, the answer came to me in the laundry room.

In the left corner of the laundry room was a cloth sided cart, commonly used in hotels and
hospital for gathering large quantities of dirty clothes and bedding. Above the cart was an
opening in the ceiling. I moved the cart aside, slid a table over in its place, and climbed
up onto the table. A laundry chute? As I peered up into the darkness, I saw light coming
through a thin seam on what must be an access door. But to where? I guessed that it was
either the owner's cabin, where Natalya was staying, or the main salon, for collecting used
table linens. Either way, this looked like my secret passage to the upper deck.

Standing on the table I was able to get my head into the bottom of the laundry chute, but
there were no handholds on the smooth sides. If I could get further up into it I might
attempt the climb, and after adding a chair, the laundry chute swallowed me from the waist
up. I pressed my back against one side of the chute, kept my elbows at my side, and reached
straight out with my hands to the opposite wall. The chute was narrow enough for me to brace
myself against all four sides, and after lifting my legs off the chair, I was able to hold my
position inside the chute. I alternately slid my hands upward, balancing the opposite force
with a snake like slither of my back. Once my knees entered the chute, I was able to use
both my knees and hips to hold my position, allowing me to rest my upper torso.

The extra appendages made the rest of the ascent much faster and I was only a meter away when
suddenly, the chute above me was bathed in light. I looked up to see a hand enter the chute,
holding, holding, what? What else? Clothes! I watched as the clothes slid along the side
of the laundry chute, falling toward my face. Closing my eyes, the soft impact against my
face was followed by a faint musky odor. I opened my eyes. My right eye was obscured by
dark fabric, but my left eye traced the thin strip of fabric laying across my face. Unable
to focus on the closest part, I followed the seam outward and the lacy fabric came into view,
then a small pink bow. A thong? I am staring at a thong?

The chute overhead darkened and the swish of more clothes was confirmed a moment later with a
more substantial impact against my face and arms. The sound of the access door closing above
me sealed me in complete darkness. Remaining still, not wanting to make any noise, the
weight of the clothes pressed down on me. I could feel dampness from the clothes laying
against the bare skin of my arms and in the confined space I detected a familiar smell.
Natalya's sweat! A smell I knew well from our sparring matches, I inhaled deeply, fondly
remembering the many times my face was squeezed between Natalya's legs, buried in her
armpits, or pressed tightly against these same sweat-dampened clothes.

My mind returned from this temporary holiday, needing no other proof that the laundry chute
led to Natalya's suite. But if she were in her suite, there was no choice but to retreat and
return at a later time, I slowly and quietly worked my way down the chute, unable to see
anything below due to the clothes covering my head. After my knees cleared the bottom of the
chute, I moved down a little further then reached out my legs to feel for the chair. It's
gone! Where is it?

Hands! Hands reached up and undid my trousers, sliding them down. Unsure of who they
belonged to or what they were doing, I froze. I could see nothng below me, so I made a
muffled attempt to speak, 'I saw some clothes stuck up in the chute'. No response. The
hands continued their work and my underwear was pulled down. Wrapping themselves around my
exposd cock, the hands rubbed back and forth, stroking me to an erection. Then, softer flesh
pressed against the head of my cock, slowly parting to let my cock slide between. A hand
firmly grasped the base of my cock, while teeth gently raked against the remainder. My
excitement was intensified by the situation, not knowing who was working below me. I was not
going to last long, but then, OUCH! I felt a pinch againt my ball sack. Then another. And
another. Then more against the shaft of my penis. Some were sharp, others less so. What
was happening? I had to end this.

Uncertain of what I would land upon, I worked my way downward in the chute and the pinching
stopped. I risked the final drop, landing with a loud THUNK, fortunately finding the table
still there even if the chair was not. As I cleared the chute Natalya's clothes spread out
and fell to my sides, allowing me a view of my cock. Looking down there were at least a
dozen clothes pegs pinned to it, with more hanging from my ball sack. No one else was in the
room but the door had been left open. Further down the companionway, I heard a cabin door
close.

I immediately thought of Ilse, and carefully climbed off the table. Bending over to grab my
trousers with my right hand, I slowly waddled down the companionway and knocked on her door.
It opened a moment later and Ilse's head peered around the edge. I stuck out my left arm and
forced my way into her cabin, still holding my trousers partway up. Ilse backed away from
the door and stood there, completely naked. Her clothes were nearby on the floor, but my
attention was captivated by her hair, her face, her breasts, her legs, and everything in
between. Her body defined perfection. Ilse tipped her head slightly and smiled as she
looked down at the laundry pegs still clinging to my crotch.

Behind me I heard a GASP! Turning I saw Natalya in the doorway with a pained expression on
her face. She said, 'I'm sorry. I heard a loud noise down here and I wanted to, but,
but...'. Her eyes seemed to water, just shy of tears. I dropped my trousers with my right
hand and reached my hands out toward her, 'Natalya, it's not what it looks like'. But I was
uncertain of exactly what it looked like to Natalya. I was alone with a completed naked Ilse
in her cabin, trousers at my feet, with an erect cock studded with clothes pegs. There was
no believable explanation. Even an alien abduction would sound more likely than the truth.
Natalya turned away, closing the cabin door behind her. I bent over and reached down to pull
up my trousers so I could go after her, but as I grabbed them with my hand a bare foot came
from behind and pinned them to the floor.

'Not so fast', said Ilse, 'I know what you were doing. You were trying to escape through the
laundry chute. If Natalya knew, she would throw you into the sea or turn you over to
Interpol. I just saved your life'. Pressing her bare hips against my bum, she continued,
'But my silence has a price, one you must pay every day. Now turn around so I can finish'.
As I turned around to face Ilse, I wondered if my escape attempt from the yacht has instead
wrapped me tighter in the spider's web.