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Your Day in the Barrel
A Seamen's Tale
by Marty Z. Abell
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[ Originally posted to Reddit, where 5 more parts are already available. I'll be putting them here over the next few days depending on the feedback, but you can find them yourselves if interested. ]
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The ship drifted over the open Atlantic, the wide universe visible above. A crescent moon lit the long path westwards, towards the seaboard, and everything was calm. It seemed that just as the right time arrived, the turbulence had broken, the waves dying down to give the greatest comfort to Alan and the lads on their way down to the warehouse room deep inside the hull.
The first mate waited behind the cylinder of wood, stretched out face first on a pair of planks, his feet pointing into the cavern of the boat's stern. Bare-chested, Alan wore the shabby, white britches that were a standard part of the uniform. As he stretched his face towards the barrel's front oak panel, his eye caught a glimpse of the participants shuffling in. Three fresh and strapping young lads, including one whom he had never met. He couldn't see their faces, but the shapes of their well-built bodies could not have been clearer.
Alan felt a powerful ache in his genitals. Unable to get off tonight, he was going to be left blue-balled. He was used to that, on Thursdays. But seeing these guys, the urge was just so strong.
He sighed and took position, moistening his lips, shaping them into a kiss, and smacking them behind the hole in the damp oak. No longer seeing through the hole, Alan heard the familiar sound effects as the men got ready, and in no time, he was making his wet, happy motions, the motions he went through every week.
Mikey had proclaimed it a few months ago, in the mess hall.
"Thursday," he said, "is your day in the barrel."
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The first guy that Alan heard was the new guy. The beautiful new guy.
"Am I doing this wrong?" he was spluttering. "Should I - should I just go? I should just go..."
Bastien. He was 21, the youngest person on the ship, a big black man from Marseille, brought aboard to lift the heavy cargo of the voyage in and out of port. His limbs and abs were incredibly muscular, and he had a tough-looking jawline. But right now, he was sweating hard, seemingly about to pass out from fear.
"No," said Mikey. "Nothing wrong at all."
"Nothing that you could possibly do in here tonight is wrong," added Sam, thumping Bastien on his sleeveless shoulder. With the three of them inside, he pulled the door shut. "Everyone is shy the first time."
"I'm so happy you could join us, Bastien," said Mikey. "There's no pressure to do anything you don't want to do."
"Yes - I'm incredibly blue-balled - and I need help somewhere," he said, finally sitting down on a crate in the back of the room while Sam joined him on another.
The other guys didn't blame him. The senior crew stood watch all night in the bunks, and they would give the sailors a hard time if they had been masturbating. There was just too much history of smells and fluids getting into the wooden living quarters.
Some sailors waited until they docked and then found girls to sleep with, but others preferred the company of their fellow men. Mikey the chef and Sam the ship's mechanic, along with Alan, had started the group a few months ago. And it was no secret to the captain or anyone else. The oppressive laws of the governments, of the preachers, didn't apply out here on the high seas.
And no one could insult the chef, because they definitely needed a chef, and so Mikey was the gayest and most rebellious of all. He had his own style. A hissing lisp, wrists that he let dangle at his sides when he walked, and the stories, so many stories, speeches in the mess hall about the handsome lads he'd loved, on this ship and in foreign ports around the globe.
"I'm blue-balled too," said Mikey. "This doesn't have to be difficult. Just watch me." With a wave of his hand, he stepped up to the side of the barrel. Taking his hat off his golden hair, he pulled his sleeveless shirt over his head, then untied his britches, letting them drop to his ankles, exhibiting himself to his friends.
He was pale and slim, with bright red nipples and a respectable cock that was already semi-hard, straight and narrowish with a rosy head. Aside from his blond pubes and armpits, his skin was smooth. In the dim warehouse it almost looked like he was shining. He lined himself up and buried his semi in the hole, and right away Alan was upon him.
On the tip of his cock head, the chef felt a soft kiss. That was always how Alan began. The mate spat and slobbered on his dick, helping him get wet. His tongue curled over one side, then the other, lubricating the leathery skin of his head and exposed shaft.
His lips captured Mikey down to his base, and then he began his rhythmic suction. The blond man thrusted his hips back and forth in time with Alan's blowjob, and the others intently stared at his beautiful pink buttocks. Bastien had excitement in his face, but he was still muttering to himself.
"Hmmm... I - I don't know if I should be here..."
"Please relax," said the mechanic, getting up and sitting gently on Bastien's lap, rubbing the legs of his friend's britches. "So many people are queer on this ship."
"I'm not ashamed to be queer," said Bastien. "It's just - on this boat, it's just -"
"Nnngaaah..." A sharp groan came from Mikey. Alan had just wrapped his tongue around the groove behind his cock head, another dimension of pleasure. Sam's cock snapped to attention while he looked on, and he started to rub at his pitched tent - he couldn't help it anymore.
"It - it's just what?" he asked.
"Reemus," said Bastien finally, under his breath. "Old Blind Reemus."
"The deck swabber?"
"Yeah. He was a captain once. Some of us used to be on his boat, and they say he beats sailors up if he hears they've been a 'sissy'. And - and the door to this room - I saw it, and it doesn't lock -"
"Valerie is on deck duty tonight," said Sam. "Not Reemus. It's Valerie."
Pacified, Bastien took a few deep breaths, and his terrified sweat and heart rate calmed down slightly, and they both turned their attention back to the barrel, watching Mikey climb. From time to time he spun around, swaying his engorged shaft at Sam and Bastien, the purple shade of the head getting brighter and brighter each minute. Each time he thrusted back inward, Alan covered his penis with licks and kisses again.
"That'sss it - ssssir -" Mikey lisped, between sharp breaths. Sweat was pouring off him all over.
"Yes - sir - yeah - I - I - I'm - I'm gonna cum!!"
Pulling out fast, he spun himself into clear view. He clasped his pecker in his hand, aiming it straight at the ceiling, Mikey's balls pulled up, and then he was screaming in happiness, clenching his teeth and shaking his knees back and forth as the sensation thundered up and out through his cock. His sperm was light, watery, and clear, and it arched across his belly, chest and neck with the force of a cannon, some splattering back into his pubic hair.
Bastien stared with wide eyes as Mikey massaged his cum-coated chest with both hands, rubbing his wet palms into his own skin, then brought his hand to his mouth, sniffed it, licked it, smiled as he savored the taste of his own seed. This was a true gay sailor, totally at peace with himself.
"That was amazing to watch," said Sam.
"I feel much better," remarked Mikey, rubbing his soft, lightened balls. He felt one more orgasmic shiver, then pulled up his pants and moved backstage again. "Thank you, Alan."
"It did look... fun," said Bastien.
Now the mechanic stood up, that huge hard shape projecting from his britches.
"My turn."
------------------------
[ To be continued... ]
Your Day in the Barrel
A Seamen's Tale
by Marty Z. Abell
------------------------
[ Originally posted to Reddit, where 5 more parts are already available. I'll be putting them here over the next few days depending on the feedback, but you can find them yourselves if interested. ]
------------------------
The ship drifted over the open Atlantic, the wide universe visible above. A crescent moon lit the long path westwards, towards the seaboard, and everything was calm. It seemed that just as the right time arrived, the turbulence had broken, the waves dying down to give the greatest comfort to Alan and the lads on their way down to the warehouse room deep inside the hull.
The first mate waited behind the cylinder of wood, stretched out face first on a pair of planks, his feet pointing into the cavern of the boat's stern. Bare-chested, Alan wore the shabby, white britches that were a standard part of the uniform. As he stretched his face towards the barrel's front oak panel, his eye caught a glimpse of the participants shuffling in. Three fresh and strapping young lads, including one whom he had never met. He couldn't see their faces, but the shapes of their well-built bodies could not have been clearer.
Alan felt a powerful ache in his genitals. Unable to get off tonight, he was going to be left blue-balled. He was used to that, on Thursdays. But seeing these guys, the urge was just so strong.
He sighed and took position, moistening his lips, shaping them into a kiss, and smacking them behind the hole in the damp oak. No longer seeing through the hole, Alan heard the familiar sound effects as the men got ready, and in no time, he was making his wet, happy motions, the motions he went through every week.
Mikey had proclaimed it a few months ago, in the mess hall.
"Thursday," he said, "is your day in the barrel."
------------------------
The first guy that Alan heard was the new guy. The beautiful new guy.
"Am I doing this wrong?" he was spluttering. "Should I - should I just go? I should just go..."
Bastien. He was 21, the youngest person on the ship, a big black man from Marseille, brought aboard to lift the heavy cargo of the voyage in and out of port. His limbs and abs were incredibly muscular, and he had a tough-looking jawline. But right now, he was sweating hard, seemingly about to pass out from fear.
"No," said Mikey. "Nothing wrong at all."
"Nothing that you could possibly do in here tonight is wrong," added Sam, thumping Bastien on his sleeveless shoulder. With the three of them inside, he pulled the door shut. "Everyone is shy the first time."
"I'm so happy you could join us, Bastien," said Mikey. "There's no pressure to do anything you don't want to do."
"Yes - I'm incredibly blue-balled - and I need help somewhere," he said, finally sitting down on a crate in the back of the room while Sam joined him on another.
The other guys didn't blame him. The senior crew stood watch all night in the bunks, and they would give the sailors a hard time if they had been masturbating. There was just too much history of smells and fluids getting into the wooden living quarters.
Some sailors waited until they docked and then found girls to sleep with, but others preferred the company of their fellow men. Mikey the chef and Sam the ship's mechanic, along with Alan, had started the group a few months ago. And it was no secret to the captain or anyone else. The oppressive laws of the governments, of the preachers, didn't apply out here on the high seas.
And no one could insult the chef, because they definitely needed a chef, and so Mikey was the gayest and most rebellious of all. He had his own style. A hissing lisp, wrists that he let dangle at his sides when he walked, and the stories, so many stories, speeches in the mess hall about the handsome lads he'd loved, on this ship and in foreign ports around the globe.
"I'm blue-balled too," said Mikey. "This doesn't have to be difficult. Just watch me." With a wave of his hand, he stepped up to the side of the barrel. Taking his hat off his golden hair, he pulled his sleeveless shirt over his head, then untied his britches, letting them drop to his ankles, exhibiting himself to his friends.
He was pale and slim, with bright red nipples and a respectable cock that was already semi-hard, straight and narrowish with a rosy head. Aside from his blond pubes and armpits, his skin was smooth. In the dim warehouse it almost looked like he was shining. He lined himself up and buried his semi in the hole, and right away Alan was upon him.
On the tip of his cock head, the chef felt a soft kiss. That was always how Alan began. The mate spat and slobbered on his dick, helping him get wet. His tongue curled over one side, then the other, lubricating the leathery skin of his head and exposed shaft.
His lips captured Mikey down to his base, and then he began his rhythmic suction. The blond man thrusted his hips back and forth in time with Alan's blowjob, and the others intently stared at his beautiful pink buttocks. Bastien had excitement in his face, but he was still muttering to himself.
"Hmmm... I - I don't know if I should be here..."
"Please relax," said the mechanic, getting up and sitting gently on Bastien's lap, rubbing the legs of his friend's britches. "So many people are queer on this ship."
"I'm not ashamed to be queer," said Bastien. "It's just - on this boat, it's just -"
"Nnngaaah..." A sharp groan came from Mikey. Alan had just wrapped his tongue around the groove behind his cock head, another dimension of pleasure. Sam's cock snapped to attention while he looked on, and he started to rub at his pitched tent - he couldn't help it anymore.
"It - it's just what?" he asked.
"Reemus," said Bastien finally, under his breath. "Old Blind Reemus."
"The deck swabber?"
"Yeah. He was a captain once. Some of us used to be on his boat, and they say he beats sailors up if he hears they've been a 'sissy'. And - and the door to this room - I saw it, and it doesn't lock -"
"Valerie is on deck duty tonight," said Sam. "Not Reemus. It's Valerie."
Pacified, Bastien took a few deep breaths, and his terrified sweat and heart rate calmed down slightly, and they both turned their attention back to the barrel, watching Mikey climb. From time to time he spun around, swaying his engorged shaft at Sam and Bastien, the purple shade of the head getting brighter and brighter each minute. Each time he thrusted back inward, Alan covered his penis with licks and kisses again.
"That'sss it - ssssir -" Mikey lisped, between sharp breaths. Sweat was pouring off him all over.
"Yes - sir - yeah - I - I - I'm - I'm gonna cum!!"
Pulling out fast, he spun himself into clear view. He clasped his pecker in his hand, aiming it straight at the ceiling, Mikey's balls pulled up, and then he was screaming in happiness, clenching his teeth and shaking his knees back and forth as the sensation thundered up and out through his cock. His sperm was light, watery, and clear, and it arched across his belly, chest and neck with the force of a cannon, some splattering back into his pubic hair.
Bastien stared with wide eyes as Mikey massaged his cum-coated chest with both hands, rubbing his wet palms into his own skin, then brought his hand to his mouth, sniffed it, licked it, smiled as he savored the taste of his own seed. This was a true gay sailor, totally at peace with himself.
"That was amazing to watch," said Sam.
"I feel much better," remarked Mikey, rubbing his soft, lightened balls. He felt one more orgasmic shiver, then pulled up his pants and moved backstage again. "Thank you, Alan."
"It did look... fun," said Bastien.
Now the mechanic stood up, that huge hard shape projecting from his britches.
"My turn."
------------------------
[ To be continued... ]
