chapter 2 - in which everything is awkward.

The Cetocean Cruises warehouse at Tokyo Airport was alive with activity. Kara sat just inside the door clutching her bags against her like a shield. People were running back and forth with documents; two muscular men were sitting nearby chatting over coffee; boxes were being put into and taken out of storage; executives wandered by in the middle of heated phone calls; at one point two electricians walked by carrying a chandelier between them. It looked like it should be too heavy for them to hold, but they walked on easily.

“I’ll be back, Charles! You mark my words!” the door of one of the offices had been flung open and a large woman in a sun hat and tight-fitting summer dress had stormed out. She slammed the door, and stood there red in the face as her impressive décolletage wobbled to a stop.
Kara was transfixed. Talk about body confidence! She’d never seen someone so big in something so figure-hugging. The figure turned away from the door, momentarily giving her a full profile view of a pair of huge breasts, a perfectly round belly, and an arse that jutted out to counterweight and stop her falling over. The dress made it completely clear that there were no straps, bands, levers, cups, or supports involved: this expanse of cleavage was supported solely by resting atop that sphere of a gut. Then she stamped one of her boots in rage, sending a ripple up through one heavy thigh and into a bottom that would fill two of the seats that Kara was hiding in and stomped off.

“What’s going on with Joanne today?” said one of the coffee drinkers to the other.

“Didn’t you hear? She finally hit the limit.”

“Huh.” He took a sip of his coffee “I was wondering when that was going to happen. Una bella liberazione!”

“Hey now, she wasn’t so bad!”

The office door opened again and a beleaguered-looking man in braces stepped out into the chaos.

“Kara Suesse?”

Kara nodded. He beckoned her inside.

“Have you brought the forms or do I need to…” he started clearing documents off his printer.

The completed forms were dropped on the desk. The pair went over them. He laid out pay. She stood there. He explained the length of the probationary cruise performance period. He explained the various cancellation clauses. She stood there. His eyes were all over her, but there was no lust behind them. Kara got the strangest feeling from the man. As if she was being fitted by a tailor. Or a casketer. Finally, he stopped talking.

“Well then, welcome aboard! Do you have any questions?”

“Just one. Why is your office at an airport?”
The man stared at her.


***********Tour 1. Orient night 1***********


Kara stood in front of the mirror in her cabin. This was never going to work.

It hadn’t seemed so absurd earlier, when she stood next to the lounge’s full-height panoramic windows as The Whale gained altitude and anything had seemed possible. Below her had been a taxiway, and then a city, and then a forest, and finally she had watched a coastline slide by at 100kmh. She had shivered a little thrill of primal terror as her mammalian brain understood no barrier between her and that distant water.

Jean-Marie Massaud’s vision of the manned cloud, with a little branding and some incredibly high-end clientele, had created the ultimate in flying experiences. A sleek and beautiful hotel in the clouds. A Flying cruise ship that could cover 1000km a night and touch you down in a new city every day. For 9, 15, or 21 days, if you could afford it, you could have everything provided to you and watch the world turn underneath your feet. You could explore the sights, sounds, tastes of whichever sparkling new city the ship had touched down at today, or you could stay onboard and be pampered with massages, treatments, drinks, whatever you desired.

And, to be sure that the super wealthy wouldn’t suffer any of the disadvantages of those going on an ‘ordinary’ cruise, they even had a way that guests could enjoy food to their hearts’ contents without gaining a gramme. The Goddess.

The man in the office has laid it all out. Kara’s performance role was to be that of ship’s figurehead or Goddess. For 6 hours every evening, she had been employed to embody the spirit of hedonism itself. Guests who found themselves tempted by gluttony while out paying thousands of Euros for mouthwatering delights were encouraged to redirect that urge and to bring the food back to her to have it enjoyed *to* them. The lower lounge could even be converted into a Grecian-style temple at 20:00 each evening for people to bring ‘offerings’, and have their contained pleasure unlocked. Kara had been able to see it working. Possibly. If you had the right performer. Apparently Joanne had been a star. Guests had booked again just to watch her perform. Big shoes to fill then.

But now, standing in her cabin, wearing the costume, it all felt ridiculous. She couldn’t eat posh food and enjoy it *to* someone. And this costume was ridiculous too. The whole set up was stupid. A gold cloak with a gold fur trim? Come on.

She walked down the stairs from the crew quarters, through various hatches, to the rear lounge. Ok. To be fair. This place looked fantastic. Convincing fake fire burned in two hanging cauldrons, the horseshoe-shaped seating had been faced away from the rear-facing windows and wrapped in some sort of gold throw, and the air was thick with incense. The room feedback buttons on the door still glowed red and green, but a harpist (Hey! Is that one of the girls from the audition? Annabelle? Amelie?) was dressed in a white toga and concentrating on repairing the tone.
She felt hands on her and jumped forwards with a shout.

“Sorry!” It was the two coffee drinkers from the airport. Gone were the tight black turtlenecks. The two men before her wore nothing but gold briefs and small wreaths of golden leaves in their hair. And muscles and oil. Lots of muscles and oil. “Joanne always gave us hell if we didn’t take the cloak off her. Bit of a habit there. Sorry! Are you ok? First night must be a bit awkward?”

“I’ll…” Yeah it’s awkward. Why are these two dressed like Frank-n-furter’s Rocky? What is that accent? Is that…Sicilian? What the hell are we meant to do? There’s nobody here. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? This get-up is stupid too. Especially what’s under the cloak. “…keep the cloak for now…er…thank you.”

“Sure kid. No problem. I’m Marcelo, this is Dante. Did they tell you about us?”

“No. I mean…they said I wouldn’t be performing by myself.”

“Yeah, that’s us!” Dante stepped in front “We are here to help you…help them. Use us any way you want!”

“Hey!” chided Marcelo. From behind he ran his hands across Dante’s abs and cupped one over the other on-top of very little gold fabric. He pulled the other statuesque physic towards his own. Kara heard oiled muscle collide with oiled muscle. “Not *any* way she wants! Not without asking my permission.”

Dante smiled as Marcelo kissed the back of his head and then walked off to take up his position.

“Look, we’ve been doing this a while. Ask for help if you need us!” The two men lay at opposite ends of the couch pretending to eat grapes and occasionally throwing jokes at one another in Italian.

Kara sat at the bar for what felt like hours. The centre of the sofa was clearly meant for her, but…it was too big. Too open. Eventually, a young man walked through the double doors carrying a box. Dante was on his feet instantly.

“O, Goddess!” he bowed before her theatrically.

“A worshipper brings you an offering so that you may revel in it!” He dropped his voice to a whisper “and you need to lose the cloak.”

Show time. It’s one guy. How embarrassing can it be?

She turned away from the bar and strode towards the man. In gold heels she was easily 15cm taller than him.

“Hi…er…what’s your name?” Fuck. That’s not how gods talk to people. Come on. Kara puffed up her chest and tried again “I mean…what is your offering?”

The man looked around.

“Is the other goddess not here anymore?”
Kara deflated.

“No. It’s me now.”

“Cloak!” hissed a whisper from behind her. Kara unclasped the cloak at her neck and went to throw it off, but it hooked on the points of her ornate gold headdress and both pieces fell to the floor leaving her standing in little more than a gold bikini and heels.

Smooth, Kara. Good work. Come on girl. Rescue this. “And I demand an offering in my temple!”

The man appeared to perk up a little at the tone. Maybe baby-Sheik here has never been told what to do? Maybe we’re channeling a bit of Joanne. Who knows? Use it!

“Come with me!” Kara grabbed the young man’s jacket lapels and dragged him over to the couch. She gracefully sat. “What’s in the box?”

“Chocolate cake” The full breadth of Japanese cuisine available down there and he brings me chocolate cake? Meh. Could be worse. Not a massive piece though. Whatever. Are we meant to talk to him while we eat it?

Kara took the spoon out of the box and ate the cake. She tried to concentrate on the sensations and communicate her pleasure with the morsel. There were a number of moans and some lip smacking. She made a point of licking the spoon. Where the hell do we go from here?

“Does the offering satisfy the Goddess?” chirped Marcelo, breaking the deadlock. He gave her a pointed look.

“Oh…er…yes! A great offering! Go forth and…er…have a great night!” Kara tried.

Marcelo sank his face into his hands. The young man looked a bit uncertain, but got up and left the lounge. He paused at the door. The feedback pad beeped as it registered him pressing the red ‘dissatisfied’ button.

Bastard! That sucked and I put myself through it anyw