Stormy Sea

He has come to me in the darkness of night in a stormy sea,
riding me on the crest of the waves.

I have had to raise the side rails to stay in the berth
as the ship struggles through the squall,
rolling and churning through the stormy sea.

He comes down heavily on my back
as I’m stretched out in the berth on my belly.
He is heavy with undulating,
insistent muscle, invading, consuming.

* * *

Unable to sleep in the tossing sea,
I had come to the rail and watched the deckhands
moving like dancers, tightening the ropes, securing the cargo.

I watched him, the burly White Russian, for hours
as the ship raced toward the twilight horizon,
just ahead of the storm,
losing the race by the minute,
inevitably being enfolded from behind in consuming embrace.

Stripped to the waist,
he worked hard with ropes at the bow of the ship,
letting his muscles and hands work
as they knew so masterfully to do.

Beauty in motion.
Sensual. Arousing.
No longer watching what he was doing,
because he was watching me.

“What was that you said?”
I called out over tumult.
“Your cabin number?” he called back.
“I can come soon. I want to fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” I cried out in shock.
“Your cabin number,” He called back.
No longer a question.
I wonder if he would have come anyway
even if I had not told him the number.

* * *

Heavy, stretched out, covering me.
Wet and salty, just come from the sea.
Too strong for me,
even if I had wanted to struggle.

He gives me no choice, however.
His strong arms lace under my armpits
and back over my shoulders
and make a fist with his hands at the nape of my neck.

His knees are forcing my thighs apart.
His club of a dick is at my channel,
pushing, pushing, pushing.
Entering and rising up inside me.

And he just holds me there,
letting the rolling and lurching
of the tossing, storm-cast sea
move him deeper, deeper inside me.

Rolling this way and that,
the hot bulb of his cock
kissing and assaulting my sensitive inner walls
at all angles in the rhythm of the tossing sea.
Ahhhhhhh.