Katherine wandered the expanses of the web, looking at a variety of sadomasochistic sites. This activity had already quite bored her after the long past hours of useless and senseless searching, it was close to midnight and each minute she became more and more sleepy. She was just going to turn off the computer and go to bed (it's so nice that she lived alone, she thought, as you can do anything you wish), when her eyes came across one of the headers of another infinite listing issued by the spider. "Galley slaves wanted", she read. Swearing and promising to herself that it would be the last site for the evening's protracted on-line walk, she fixed her mouse over the bold letters "Galley" and snapped. Then there followed a standard warning that this resource is intended for adults only and an invitation to make the simple choice either to go on virtually visiting the Disneyland or continue at your own risk. Catherine made one click more. The picture which had appeared before her eyes right after the click immediately drove the slightest spell of sleep from her body and mind.

On the screen was a huge long room. At its sides, near the walls, she saw rough wooden benches where pairs of totally naked girls with shaved heads were located, each of them was chained by both wrists to an oar just in front of her and by both ankles - to a parapet. Around their necks they wore thick shiny metal collars. The oars went into wide openings in the walls containing, apparently, some mechanisms that imitated the resistance of water. All the female rowers were extremely exhausted, many of them in tears. Horrified, Kathryn noticed that several slaves' chests were branded with large purple letters G A L, just between the breasts and the collarbones. As well as many other prisoners sitting on the benches, on their shoulders they were also branded with a S (seemingly standing for SLAVE) followed by a three-digit number. Kathryn bit her lip: two poor rowers, very well-muscled, wore a humiliating stigma "PIG" burnt right on their foreheads and mostly occupying freshly shaved head areas. Between the slave rows, in a passage about five feet wide, a pretty girl in a paramilitary uniform stood, she was dressed in a bright brown jacket and skirt, white naval cap with a dark blue anchor and black leather boots. On the left side of her jacket, on the chest, she had a large white label with strict red letters: OVERSEER. The same tags adorned both sleeves. In her right hand the warden held a thick coiled whip with a long handle. The photograph was taken, apparently, in the very middle of a rowing motion, when a number of the female rowers had almost completely bent over the oars, showing their heavily scourged working backs that were covered with sweat and mostly pretty muscled, while others were still straight upright so that one could see their huge biceps well-swollen from excessive monotone work. Some of those ball-like biceps were quite comparable to the classic male ones. The two oar-mates sitting at the forefront, with eyes full of a whole range of violent emotions -- from fear to hatred and from melancholy to despair, gazed into the camera lens as though appealing to the free world with an unclear call. The whip lady also frankly viewed a potential audience, semi-coquettishly smiling and full of either irony or a sinister invitation to visit this "hold" as a free guest or ...

Catherine's eyelids had automatically clapped and the accumulated moisture ran down the cheeks. She sniffed a bit and looked a little lower at the inscription under the picture. The comment stated that each slave girl shown there at last fulfilled her dream. Those females, she continued to slide the text with tearful eyes, applied to this company to be enrolled as a rower, but the company's medical board had to deny some applications because of an insufficient physical status and endurance. Instead, the non-admitted prisoners were offered a home galley-training with a special bench apparatus having an oar and a whipping machine. The apparatus can be programmed for any regime of rowing and strength of whipping for not fulfilling the regime. It's also provided with electronically controlled and programmable chains (for wrists, ankles, belly, and some other parts of body if needed) and a chastity belt, oven for cooking porridge, water machine, stock and wooden pony, and even bio- toilet. All the system is designed to provide a BDSM slave with an opportunity to totally autonomously serve any desired term in her own apartment and includes various safety options like the permanent monitoring of the rower's pulse and blood pressure with giving her an extra rest when needed for medical reasons. Besides, each slave rower was allowed to watch (via the Skype) the "regular" galley rowing performed at the company's "hold" (just to get them extremely and permanently horny while they were not able to masturbate because of chastity belts and other restraints). And it was up to her to make her own video-image available for the company's use, including possible Skype-overseeing. By the way, those who agreed to be Skype-overseed by the company's whip-girls were able to choose a special program permitting to move (still nude and heavily shackled) within the apartment. Eventually, after some periods of home rowing (that varied a lot due to their initial physical conditions), they had strengthened their bodies enough to be admitted to the Hold for the terms mentioned in the contracts they signed. The brands so well notable on their toiling bodies are mostly imitations (either tattooed or specially painted). Clicking on the picture, OMG, it was possible to see the whole action (free of charge!) in the REAL TIME, as long as the web stranger wanted! It's a non-stop show, the company has quite a number of cameras showing the Hold from very different tangles so that the life of the oar-slaves may be viewed in its full extension and depth, with absolutely all the exiting details!     

Katherine stopped reading as she felt that her right hand irresistibly tried to reach her vagina. It was hot, hot, hot... She was just ready to nearly explode, all her body became just one horny peace of flesh, all her skin turned into one erogenous zone. The temptation to masturbate was so great that only the thought of not being able to continue with the site afterwards, while losing any sexual appetite for some time after an unbelievable orgasm that was to come if she just slightly touched her burning cunt, prevented her from wanking. She had to know everything about the galley! She wanted to be a proud galley slave!

With a great effort she removed her hand from the vagina and, after a deep gasp, made another decisive click on the incredible photo that immediately came into action and produced a cacophony of screams, moans, squeals, curses together with squeaks, clanging, steps, characteristic sonorous slaps of whip-leather against bare flesh, and many other sounds she was not able to identify. The smiling warden walked in the aisle, watching fiercely the bent slaves who, in a moment, had synchronously straightened with their thick heavy oars and then almost fully lied down, stretching the bodies glistening with sweat and possessing incredibly sculptured abdominals. She saw two more overseers behind the one, young girls in the same uniforms too. All the mistresses mercilessly worked with the whips on their tormented "subordinates", generously giving out lashes onto both sides. And now she clearly heard a heavy drum that, though not seen on the screen, apparently was the chief musical instrument in this mad performance.       

Katherine immediately felt that, unless certain special measures are taken, she still would not be able to abstain from masturbating and hence will inevitably cum, so she ran to get her chastity belt kept in her BDSM-closet. In a minute the belt was in place and she didn't have to worry any more that her hand again (as though against her own will!) began to caress her pussy. 

Thus she watched the terrible and exciting rowing, hour after hour, waiting for the break. Her eyes were closing, she unbearably wanted to lie down and sleep, but she clearly recognized that she watched all the labor-torture in real time what meant that the poor slave girls experienced a million times harder torments -- and she was somewhat obliged to wait at least until their exhausted bodies were given a blessed rest and relax and their souls were allowed to forget their slavery in a bitter dream.  

Finally she heard a long-awaited command: "Put the oars!" However, against her expectations, it was just a meal break. Several slave-girls, naked, shaved and heavily shackled as well, wheeled carts with huge metal containers (obviously full of a porridge) and iron bowls, starting handing out food. In a few seconds she heard a choral champ, with no signs of any etiquette. Many slave-girls unhappily puckered while swallowing the porridge, the bowls were huge and the food looked absolutely non-delicious, just to say nothing. However, all the girls were eating in extreme haste, stuffing, through force, spoonfuls of the terribly looking porridge into their dirty mouthes. In about quarter an hour, Kate saw with surprise that the two rowers with branded foreheads had already emptied their deep bowls and asked for a second helping, having stood up for this purpose and shouting with all the strength of their lungs: "Mistress, have a mercy, please some more for these pigs, Mistress". The warden in the foreground turned to them and silently, with disgust nodded to the nursing slaves to put some additional stuff into the two's dishes after what they started to chew even faster, apparently fearing to have no time to fully consume their disgusting food. They obviously were so hungry from their inhumane over-exhausting labor that the quality and taste of meal meant already nothing to them, their only motives were to satisfy their infernal hunger and supply their working bodies, these beasts of burden, with a sufficient energy for the next shift. Kate suddenly realized that she extremely wished to try this gruel, she felt that it's not only disgusting, healthy and nutritious at the same time, but also sexually arousing. All the world cuisines and delicacies at this moment she was ready to exchange for that semi-fluid paste-like substance of an indeterminate color.

A girl sitting next to the pig-branded workers unexpectedly spat towards the unfortunate women, having hit the closest one right in the face, and hissed: "You're just real animals, your foreheads tell the truth! Does any human pride remain in your piggy heads? Is it too tasty, the shit we're fed?" The "pigs" didn't answer, though, preoccupied with the greedy swallowing, but, instead, the proud slave, so full yet of dignity, received a half-dozen of ringing lashes from the Mistress who, in turn, then lavishly, with relish, spat into her eyes and mouth quite a number of times: "Ah, had you, fucking slut, got angry with your delicious meal? Do you consider yourself much better than the other bitches? Well, darling, after the lights-out I'll feed you two bowls more, on a wooden horse, so that you would be able to get fond of our cook! And if you don't eat fast enough and with a thankful mug, I'll help you a bit with a hot red iron stick. Make sure, tomorrow you'll beg me for a second helping even before the pig-heads!" The poor thing sobbed, having obsequiously filled her mouth with the cursed feed and rigorously chewing it, choking and washing her face with plentiful tears.   

Katrina's eyes also began to shine with tears again... At this moment the tormentor stopped lecturing and held her nose. From behind her back appeared a service girl with a big bucket covered by a lid. Her tortured face expressed an incredible disgust and she seemed to try to suppress vomiting. With an emetic facial gesture, desperately holding her nose by the free hand, she removed a mug and put it near the pig-heads' bench. Instantly both of them had joyfully stood up and the porter advanced the bucket to the pig-rower sitting at the wall, after what the latter had immediately sat down on it, without ceasing to vigorously chew and shamelessly showing her shaved vagina between widely spaced legs with powerful spherical muscles.

Katrine turned away. She had a slight nausea, but the resolve to become a slave galley only intensified. She abruptly stopped watching the video and began to study the site. A few minutes later she found what she was looking for - a phone. She dialed the number and asked about a rowing machine's price and how quickly they can deliver it. The answer, uttered with a soft but fairly official female voice, was somewhat unexpected: the price and rapidity of delivery depend on her agreement to offer her own rowing video for the company's disposal, and, in case if she agreed, her look. Having heard Katrina's consent, the company girl asked to immediately send, without hanging up, a few photos, preferably nude and, if possible, in diverse positions. In response, Katrina proposed just to connect by Skype so that her companion could see her in motion. After getting a Skype address, Catherine hung up the phone, quickly undressed and a minute later was standing before the girl in a strict position of a slave auction. The girl was a same-type Lady that she saw in the hold, in the same uniform. She sat in an absolutely ordinary office room at a table with a computer. Seeing the stretched Katherine, the Mistress asked her to bend over, show the crotch, then turn and push out the buttocks. Forcing Katrina to straighten up, she scrutinized her back and told to alternately show the thighs, shoulders, arms, stomach and chest, each time ordering to strain the considered part of the body. Finally, Katherine was told to do 200 push-ups. After receiving the task, first she even wanted to clarify if she heard the correct number, but, fearing that it could ruin everything and create a mistrust to her physical endurance, she lied on the floor and began to fulfill the order, not sparing herself. After fifty push-ups the exercise turned into a torture, but Katrina, gritting her teeth, continued. However, when it exceeded one hundred, with a moan she stretched out on the floor, exhausted, and, looking at the screen, begged for a five minute break. In response, she was asked about her age. "35" - she told the truth and added that she regularly visits a fitness club.

-- Not too bad for your age, - with a sinister smile, noticed the Lady on the screen. - It seems your body is pretty strong, you're quite hardy and, I think, already fit to work in the hold. You may certainly count on my recommendation and, I hope, our medical commission may well support me in that ... Do you have any diseases, girl? 

Katrina wearily shook the head, all her thoughts yet were about the forthcoming hundred of push-ups. 

-- So would you agree to sign now a contract for, say, three months of galley slavery in our fine hold? I promise, tonight you'll already be sobbing and rolling on the floor from pain after twenty-five bull-whips in suspension, that's my regular initiation of brand new girls. 

-- No, thank you, Mistress, -- murmured Katrine, while growing cold deep inside from a sweet horror, she felt something like an orgasm approach, a remote echo of a coming inflow.

-- It's a pity, darling, nevertheless you can continue with your fucking push-ups while I try to figure out what your price is going to be.

Katerina resumed the awful work, her bicepses became stiff and the stamina was tortured by spasms, but she only groaned, trying not to reduce the temp. She counted aloud, trying not to miscount, and on the 54th press-up again powerlessly failed on the floor, only to rise again in some seconds. Each following time resembled a whip-blow or even cauterization by iron, she shouted with all the lungs and still stubbornly continued. She never felt so well, her body never reacted so perfectly to an unbearable exhaustion. The last two dozens passed as in a fog, she loudly and continuously sobbed, all her face was covered with tears mixed with thick sweat, at each press-up an excruciating ache pierced the hands, shoulders, stamina, chest, all the body and, she deemed, the very soul,  she just heart-breakingly yelled, wheezing. The woman on the screen looked at her tortures with absolutely no emotions. At last, when Katharine, having inarticulately wailed the long-awaited blessed "two hundred", had almost unconsciously fell onto the floor as though after really receiving several dozens of two-meter whips, she told in a regular voice as if her tone assumed nothing special occurred here: 

 -- Your price is $ 3,000. Do you buy it, rower?

-- Yes, Mistress, -- concentrating all the remaining energy, answered Katrina.

-- Good, so tell me the address.

 .

Katrina obediently informed about her location. After realizing that she lives in New-York too and even not so far from the company's residence, the Lady joyfully exclaimed:

-- Oh, darling, we'll deliver it in half-an-hour, at most, so better prepare your slavish muscles for a real work as I'm nearly totally sure you won't resist the temptation to start your chained involuntary rowing right this night. Wait for us, we'll be so soon!

She switched off, and Katrina turned over on the back just to lie with the closed eyes for some minutes, trying to recover the breath and come to the senses after the sport-suffer she virtually inflicted on herself when obeying an Internet-person she saw for the first time in her life...

       

But, as soon as she felt able to move again, she, without rising, reached to the mouse and switched on the hold. The work was already so intense over there, the drum palpitation, the sounds of lashes that were impossible to confuse with any other sound in the world, and cries of various loudness and tonality were well-heard. Immediately a new wave of excitement had captured her, even more strengthened, seemingly, by the muscle aches. Straining all her will, she rose and decided that she's to expect the enslavement device in some extremely inconvenient position allowing to somehow feel solidary with the oarswomen and involved in their madly erotic forced labor what at least reduced a little bit the itch to cum and an unbearable lust that filled all her body like a drug, the most mighty and healthy drug in the Universe... After a moment's reflection, she rushed back to the closet, grabbed the handcuffs, leg irons and a gag. First, of course, she put the gag into the mouth and fastened its belt on her neck, then put on the shackles, and, at last, crossing the trembling wrists behind her buttocks, snapped the handcuffs. And now, chained as a genuine oar-slave waiting to be sent to work has to be, had stood up on the legs bent at the angle of 90 degrees.

The minutes which had passed in expectation made her legs to ache and spasm almost as hellishly as her body's upper part still suffered. When, finally, the bell rang, all the inside of her was burning with a monstrous fire, especially the vagina, she was about to faint from her excitement, fatigue and nervous tension.

Catherine's heart had become a tank engine, making beats resembling artillery shots with a machine-gun speed. Sharply she had straightened her stiff, cruelly bent legs (that immediately reacted with a new powerful wave of dull ache) and, her leg iron wildly clanging, ran (if one still could call it a run) towards the door. Having somehow managed to cope with the door lock, she pushed the door slightly open, thus forming a narrow gap between it and the jamb, and then stepped back, frozen in a ridiculous pose, as if demonstrating a calm indifference and self-esteem, as far as it yet was possible for a completely naked young woman with a gag in her mouth, leg shackles on her ankles and handcuffs on the wrists, meekly folded on the buttocks.

The door immediately swung open, and in the doorway she saw her on-line acquaintance, followed by three girls wearing identical t-shirts and shorts of an extreme skin color (so naturally skin-like that first she even deemed the three were just nude) and no less skin-colored caps and sandals. Various well-developed muscles were clearly visible from the edges of their unpretentious clothes, and huge breasts, framed by some complex compositions of developed shoulder and chest muscles and noticeably having underneath the rolling waves of prelums accustomed to endless work, were nearly going to tear the fabric. 

This time the Madame wasn't in her frightening and exciting brown uniform, but in a strict blue dress instead, her long blond curly hair fluttering freely on her shoulders, their silky jets washing the pretty face of a classic blonde of around thirty y. old (by the standards of the twenty-first century, although, generally speaking, it was just the face of a cute country girl of twenty or, at the very most, twenty-five years old, from the point of view of older generations). Her amazing 'vanilla' transformation confused Katrina perhaps stronger than anything else she saw in this wonderful night.

- So may we come in? -  glaring at Katrina who stared at the four "guests" with surprised clapping eyes, asked the Mistress with a subtle smile (just in the very corners of the lips).

Katrine widely stepped back and nearly fell, foolishly forgetting about the shackles that hurt her ankles so painfully. Only now she noticed that on the floor, just in front of the three female slaves (as for her understanding these almost naked girls could be nothing else), were large cardboard boxes with strange (especially to those uninitiated) labels "HOME BENCH". With a simultaneous, quiet but deep, groan, the slaves lifted their luggage (seemingly quite heavy even for such trained bodies) and dragged it into the apartment, led by their beautiful owner who already silently went beside Katherine, the latter mincing and dragging her shackles' chains on the floor.

- I see, honey, you're prepared a little bit for your new erotic life in the bench apparatus,  -- said the Lady sitting down in a leather chair located in the center of the room all the five came in. Katherine obediently stood in front of her.

- Yes, Madam, -- said Katrina and, turning her ass to the Lady, handed her the $ 3,000 that she had quickly taken from one of the table's boxes at the very moment she heard the bell. She now held the money in her cuffed sweaty palms, nervously rumpling it and feeling a special humiliation to pay for humiliation and pain. This was virtually all of the cash available in the house and she, though still cursing herself for her own girlish carelessness (to invite people she got to know on the Internet an hour ago, while being alone, shackled and naked, in the night time!) didn't have to bother at least about the ugly, but nevertheless realistic option to be primitively robbed, instead of any magic of BDSM. "I'm just so curious, -- she thought, -- if they start torturing me while asking for my cards' codes, will it be erotic and shall I break so fast or just experience a cosmic orgasm, had, say, this sadist bitch gone on cauterizing my breasts?"   

In response, sharply interrupting her so unpleasant and, actually, pretty non-exiting thoughts, she received a light slap that caused almost no pain, but well-made her turn scarlet with humiliation and her eyes fill with a renewed moisture.

-- Money are NOT given anyone in such a fucking sickening manner, bitch, right from a dirty ass -- and all the more so, I am NOT going to receive it in this way either, you, piggy slut! -- The Lady quickly became noticeably furious, her face turning red quite a bit. Katrina started to tremble, unable to stay calm any more. The mistress was even more beautiful in her rage, and Katrina just subconsciously wanted, contrarily to the growing fear, to enrage her a little bit more to see her in the full might of her evil beauty.

A funny thing, though, was the simple fact that her chief guest was absolutely right, from any point of view. Katrina, quietly sobbing, fell on her knees and rose her hands as high as she could, until a crunch in the shoulder joints, and, while burying the head in her pussy, offered her payment for the wonderful machine again. Feeling that the dollars were taken out from her wet trembling palms, she stood up and asked for a permission to sit down.

-- No, --heard she a definitive answer that actually quite suited her and, moreover, excited. She began to feel another person's power over her, a maddening power, a maddening erotic and cruel person, was it erotic cruelty or cruel eroticism?  

Meanwhile, the three female-slaves quickly undressed (even without asking the hostess's opinion), showing ideally built athletic bodies with quite numerous scarlet and dark blue welts from floggings. All the three, to Katrina's horror, were really head-shaved, and on their  chests, above the breasts, (Katrina nearly cried from horror!) reddened the huge (still skillfully covered by the t-shirts) letters of monstrous, brutal, barbaric brands G A L that were just impossible to imagine applied to women in reality.

-- My dear victim, -- continued the Lady in a quiet still assuring tone, -- the nature created sado-masochism as the highest form of the matter's development, for this incredible phenomenon the Universe was born and life inevitably appeared as the pinnacle of its evolution, eventually giving birth to intelligence, and, at last, to SM. Besides, it's the only available way of real self-improvement for our bodies which are so extremely influenced by the merciless time. Oh, darling, those sexy bodies, they're just test-tubes with hormones, our whole life is just one continuous, madly complex hormonal process. When a sadist watches, being so excited, a masochist's torments, she/he undergoes a hormonal change whose role's to prepare his/her own body to such an ordeal too! Yes, my sweet girl, it's so simple! A masochist, when going through a suffer that brings joy, does harden and strengthen the own body, thus fighting aging! This works only for the human, the highest living being! It's a great folly to ignore it or just chuckle about, merely considering it as an aspect of our sex life, just a strange deviation. The true science, the genuine medicine must concentrate all the efforts on SM as THE key to understanding the human being.  What, of course, no one is going to do. Those professors, those self-declared geniuses whose inertness of thought exceeds the most heinous minds of the Inquisition! Are they able to help you to win over growing old? No, no, no...  and do you fully realize why? THEY JUST DON'T WANT ÒÎ, my little foolish rower!         

Occasionally glancing around, Katrina managed to notice what the slaves were doing just beside. They unpacked the brought boxes, taking out from there some planks, sticks, units and appliances and connecting them together in one strange knot. On the right shoulders of the poor things she had now seen the infamous S-brands with three small digits designating, probably, their prison numbers. By their gloomy activity they somehow resembled executioners preparing a scaffold.  

-- What do you think how old I am, baby? - thoughtfully asked the Lady and, not waiting for an answer, almost whispered, -- I am 61.

Katherine almost choked. Were all the four beauties just madwomen who pretty could do with her what they fucking wanted?

- No, - she said gently. - No ... How ... is it possible?

-- You know, darling, we, the humans, are very complex creatures... If you go on forced chained rowing (or just a labor of that type) as a real oar-slave, still infinitely enjoying it with all your masochistic sub-soul being in the very maso-paradise, amazing things gradually happen with your toiling organism, absolutely unlike, let you just trust me, those truly barbaric galleons where some poor miserable human-beasts were overworked to death by other human-beasts... First, of course, you get plenty of muscles, a mighty athletic stature, no fat, no weakness, no addition, no civilization bullshit that fill our bodies... You just turn into a rowing machine, perfect and tireless, ready to eat every food just for energy, not pleasure, and having no other pleasure but endless work, the longer the work, the stronger the pleasure is to be, the more monotone it, the more exited you become, with a stable infinite excitement deprived of any regular senseless discharges instantly reducing its collected integral energy to zero. Cumming only as often as needed for medical reasons, to preserve your natural health (we, the females, fortunately don't need it that often, unlike the opposite gender)... So your body reaches a state of total stability and working perfectness, but your hormones continue to play their secret game, they somewhat start feeling what your life goal is to be... just self-perfection, narcissism... And a non-changing youth as the most appropriate state for a prisoner whose term is just eternity...  

Katrina always hated any kind of brainwashing, it definitely wasn't one of her turn-ons, and now she felt intensely brainwashed. She wanted whipping, rowing, humiliation, eating a disgusting stinking porridge, sitting on a sharp wooden horse, even branding ... but not brainwashing, not endless theories instead of endless slave-work, it was her back that should be scourged and bathed in sweat, not brain!  

-- But you don't look too muscled, -- dared she to interrupt her lecturer. -- You look just feminine.

-- Right, -- suddenly laughed the Lady, --- we call it a hormonal Renaissance. When you stop being a rowing machine and start again being a female, still not losing your addiction to permanent endurance and physical exhaustion, you choose a slighter sport, not that severe, not that sadistic, just to keep you in shape... Then the nature itself helps you a lot as you already got a great instinct what to do for self-preservation, to stay perfectly fit, ready to be sent to a galley once more. Sorry, darling, I can't educate you right now in so many fields like physical biology or biological informatics... It's an equation, with so many variables to be found, so many parameters. But mind you, your fucking fantasy's one of the variables, one of the parameters... Your fantasy and your infernal lust generated by your looking at perfect muscled slaves toiling and tormented, in chains and stocks, shaved and branded, deprived of any womens' and even human dignity, and imprisoned together in a hold, one hundred of slaves together, two hundreds, three hundreds... Such fantastic pictures produce hormones in your fucking flesh!

Katrina felt a new wave of excitement when hearing about hundreds of slaves. She imagined her pseudo-fear and pseudo-disgust (as it was what she now dreamed about with no limit) if she were to be led, chained like she was now, between long rows of benches with naked, shaved, exhausted , heavily whipped, branded and monstrously swearing females, to her own working place, first to eat a huge (she imagined how huge it could be, bestially huge) bowl of the most disgusting (still healthy and energetic) food in the world, to be forced (by the open threat of mercilessly applying a whip) to consume it and get prepared for a hellish 5-hour shift, seated beside a dirty, heavily muscled female oar-mate with mad evil eyes looking at her with an undisguised sexual appetite due to not having sex and not seeing men for years. Not being lesbian, just deep masochist, she shivered in a sweet disgust, becoming as horny as she never was.