Free Agents In Harms Way by Don Winslow

about the room.
    After the dishes had been cleared, the Captain called for cigars and a round of Cognac. Mallory had been ignoring the drunken louts, and watching the Captain throughout the dinner. She was repulsed by him; thoroughly detested that swaggering demeanor of the smug male, but still she remained intrigued by the measured sense of command, the self-controlled will she saw in those impassive blue eyes. He was a man who was used to being obeyed! She noticed, with a surge of interest, that his gaze, even when engaged in conversation with the others, drifted back to her again and again, and she felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl under his attention.
    And now, Mallory and Kip, each armed with a bottle of Brandy, came to the table. When Mallory stepped up to serve the Captain, he curved an arm around her legs and ran his hand up to the back of her knee. She froze, stockinged legs set close together, her head tilted down, the bottle in her hands, and held herself perfectly still while the man enjoyed her body, running his curved hand up the sinuous contours of an elegantly sculpted leg while she stood obediently at his side. He savored the silky smoothness of that tightly packed nylon. The masculine hand fitted itself to the curve of the back of her thigh and moving leisurely, inexorably upward until the out- stretched fingers closed to encompass a choice, nylon-encased rear mound. The hand that clamped her plump cheek lavishly fondled her, gave her a squeeze, and, with a light pat on the butt, she was dismissed to take her place beside the other two.
    By now all the men were half-drunk, and in a jovial mood. They pushed back their chairs, and while Meghan made the circuit, lighting cigars, the talk turned to the women. The sailors were laughing and joking about the prisoners as though they weren’t there - treating them as nothing more than sex objects — the thought went through Mallory’s head. It was raucously agreed that the each of the prisoners had certain pleasing feminine attributes. And it was unanimously decided that the girls should put on a little show, posing so their male audience was better able to compare and judge their unique charms.
    The women were made to stand at attention, hip to hip, exposed bosoms proudy displayed, served up for the inevitable comparisons. On the far left, the magnificent brunette stood with head thrown back and turned to one side. The dim contours of Mallory’s lithe chest suggested youthful breasts; but for the maturity of those protruding nipples, the slight curves might have been the maidenly nascent bosom of a pubescent girl.
    Next to her, small-breasted Kip stood with shoulders back, as ordered, her eyes locked on some distant horizon, letting the grinning men look with contemptuous indifference. Her frisky tits were high set, taut and firm; two pertly curved, sloping breasts, each one a neat handful. The dusky nipples were precisely defined, stiff nubbins peeking out from pebbly disks of dusky brown aureole.
    To her right, Meghan stood with eyes lowered, feeling the gaze of leering men. She was used to such men ogling her prominent breasts. It had been that way since high school. The choice pair she sported would cause any man to stiffen in instant arousal — firm mounds curving out in a comely display of feminine pulchritude. Large, though not excessively so, the firm jellied wobble of those delightful breasts, their generous nipples and silky texture simply enticed the masculine hand. And indeed each man in the mess had had the chance to thoroughly enjoy them, hefting their weight, stroking and lavishly fondling Meghan’s tits, delighting in the firm silky feel of those lush, pliant breasts, while the big blonde twisted and moaned in helpless passion. It was no contest: Cunt 8 was voted the girl with the best tits!
    Next, the male inspection turned to the three pair of attractive legs. The lines of Mallory’s lanky figure tapered down to elongated hips, sleek