This story is the third in a series of events that have actually taken place over the last two years. Although most names are fictitious to protect the ‘not-so-innocent’, places and events are factual. I have put ‘pen to paper’ for three reasons: i) to preserve the images and memories in our minds; ii) to share the images with you. Had I not experienced these events first hand, I would not have believed what is written, and probably treated these words as fiction; and iii) what has happened over that last couple of years has injected even more excitement into our sex lives – so much so, that even as I trace back over the images and transpose to text, I have to periodically stop and relieve myself – with the help if my lovely wife, Tanya, of course.
So, read and enjoy in the knowledge that the words are relating true events; and when you feel stirring in your loins, feel free to relieve yourselves of any stress that may be swelling up.
How does a woman’s mind work? It’s a question men have been asking since the beginning of time. Even Adam couldn’t work it out when Eve made him taste the forbidden fruit.
Tanya and I had a fantastic monogamous sex life, except when we let our inhibitions loose whilst holidaying in Tenerife, and then again when we visited some old friends in South Wales. But during the weeks between, although we spoke of our adventures and fantasies, she was more than happy to stick with the conjugal bed, not wanting to stray or experiment, but at the same time, relived our sexploits to the full.
Our lovemaking was no longer the sensitive, soft petting and slow, sweet opulent lovemaking it had once been. We’d begin with foreplay all right, but as soon as she felt my cock at her vaginal lips, Tanya would flip out and become a whore. Then, after a night’s sleep, she’d be the perfect wife, an angel. I couldn’t ask for more really, but I couldn’t fathom out her true desires either.
It was that time of year again, and we had lifted several holiday brochures from the local travel agent. Spain, Southern France and Morocco, all were likely destinations, until: “One of the girls at work says you can get a cheep cruise holiday with ‘Container Holidays’,” Tanya announced as she flicked past St Tropez and Nice.
“’Container Holidays’?” I quizzed.
“Yeah, they have these big cargo vessels that ship things all over the world, and they’ve converted part of the vessel into luxury cabins, pool, even a bar with live entertainment on some ships,” Tanya explained.
We searched the Internet and came across a Southampton company that specialised in ‘Container Holidays’.
“This looks about right,” I said as I scanned the web page. A large picture of a cargo ship with areas highlighted, that when you clicked on them with the mouse, opened up another set of pictures showing the browser how comfortable and luxurious the vessel was. And to cap it off, the price of the holiday was a fraction of one on an ocean-going cruise ship.
There was a caveat however; ‘be prepared to wash the dishes’ was a heading that explained that guests were encouraged to help out and, as a reward, would receive bonus points that could be cashed in at the casino ‘that was next to the elegant and fully stocked bar and discotheque’.
We filled in the booking form and with a click of a button, our luxury cruise was confirmed: fourteen nights, flying from London Heathrow to Cairo where we’d pick up the vessel on the banks of the Suez Canal, then sail to the Arabian Gulf and onto India, Singapore and arriving twelve days later in Darwin, Australia where we’d fly to Bangkok and pick up a British Airways flight back to the UK.
The flight to Cairo was almost six hours but felt more like twelve. We arrived in the early summer heat and as soon as we left the air-conditioned luxury of the aircraft, the sun and heat ensured we perspired enough to wet us through.
A transfer bus from the airport took us to a small quayside hotel where we stayed overnight.
The following morning, we found ourselves climbing a long thin wooden and metal gangplank onto the Container Ship ‘Vancouver’.
The ‘Vancouver’ was over 300 metres in length and about 30 wide. From the shore, she would have looked like any other container ship on the sea, small, dirty and boring. But, far from it, the ‘Vancouver’ was spotlessly clean, brightly painted in cream and green and looked extremely large whilst standing at the starboard handrail, watching the pyramids slip by as the vessel headed south along the Suez Canal.
Our cabin was spacious with a queen-sized bed, two three-seater sofas, a coffee table, drinks cabinet and an entertainment centre with hi-fi, large colour TV and VCR.
There were chocolates on our pillows, freshly cut flowers on the table and two large portholes that allowed us a fantastic view of the banks of the Seuz on the port side of the vessel.
Dinner was at eight, and ten holidaying guests were invited to sit at the Captain’s Table.
Silver service, fine wine and food, and splendid company confirmed our expectations that we were going to enjoy another, extraordinary holiday.
We explored the vessel, finding new things and places of interest with every turn. As a guide to passengers, there was a thin blue line that ran along the edge of the corridors, telling the guest that you were in ‘safe areas’. A red line indicated that you were in ‘restricted access areas’.
We found the pool. An enclosed converted cargo hold held a large rectangular pool with a whirlpool and Jacuzzi at one end and lounges at the other, with an area segregated for sun-tanning beds. The place looked like a regular hotel’s indoor pool, and if it wasn’t for the occasional movement of the deck, you wouldn’t have known we were onboard a ship. Between the whirlpool and the bulkhead was a small, help yourself, bar. A sign above the bar gave instructions on making cocktails, how to pour a pint of beer and lots of other information on general bar etiquette.
In the hold next to the pool was the entertainment suite. A larger bar, dance floor, and a slightly raised area with stage lighting and a set of musical instruments. At the opposite end of the stage was the casino. Opening times were ‘9pm ‘til late’.
Next to the entertainment suite was a smaller room, with dark curtained walls and large speakers either side of a large screen. The cinema house about fifty large comfortable seats. Viewing times were flexible and there was a large selection of new and classic films to choose from.
The restaurant was on the deck below. Another large area, decorated in whites and creams made the room appear larger. The silverware was polished and laid out on a long table that sat next to the galley.
Food was exquisite, and after our first dinner at the Captain’s Table, we were told that we could sit anywhere we liked, and that the Captain would invite us to his table again next week as he ate with guests once a week only.
We met a couple, Wilhelm and Margo, from Amsterdam who were on their second ‘Container Holiday’. They were a beautiful couple; Wilhelm, stood an even six feet and weighed in at about 190lbs, had long, shoulder length black hair and almost black eyes (they were very dark brown and at first I thought he might be wearing contact lenses).
Margo was a redhead, her hair almost down to her 26” waist. She had brown/green eyes that smiled even when she was serious. Her 5’6” supported a 34” bust that were probably B-cup. She was bubbly and enjoyed the company of men as she openly teased with her husband from time to time, wiggling her charms, causing her nipples to stand erect under her thin silky blouses.
“Don’t worry love,” I comforted Tanya, “Your assets are nicer.” Tanya’s large nipples, on her 36F breasts, would stand erect at the hint of sexual pleasure, and as I whispered in her ear, I could see them push against her summer dress forming small mounds on already large mountains. She had never complained about the size, and she certainly needed no help from silicone implants – they were all hers, and mine.
Wilhelm and Margo confirmed our initial presumption. They were from Amsterdam and had an apartment in the centre of the city, not a hundred yards from the red-light district.
After several beers, Wilhelm began to relate various stories of what young men on stag nights could get up to, how women on hen nights were worse still, and finally, how Margo had been released from a sex life that once consisted solely of the missionary position and hand-jobs.
Wilhelm told us, and neither he nor Margo were in any way shy or embarrassed, of the first night he and Margo had popped into a local café-bar and stumbled into a stag party of drunken lads.
The lads insisted on buying the pair drinks and feeding them the occasional joint. A couple of hours later, they were drunker than they had ever been.
The groom was a twenty year old from a local village on the outskirts of the city. And, unknown to him, his mates had clubbed together for a high-class prostitute for one last night of ‘free love’. She turned up and soon had the groom half undressed in the corner of the bar, her hand inside his trousers, stroking his cock to stiffness. She dropped her head onto his lap and swiftly brought him to climax as his mates clapped and cheered.
Margo whispered to Wilhelm that she wanted to go home. As soon as the door was closed, she re-enacted the prostitute’s performance. This was the first time Margo had given head, and since that night, their love life had blossomed.
I could tell he wanted to tell us more, but Margo squeezed his hand and they left us at the bar. “What a nice couple,” Tanya commented.
“Yes,” I agreed, “they are rather attractive, and their story was excellent. Perhaps I’ll tell one or two of ours over a beer tomorrow.” I sniggered as Tanya gave a wry smile. “I bet they’ve done a lot more than oral sex. Can you imagine what we’d get up to if we were living just down the road from the sexiest place in the world?”
“Yeah, you’d be drained of fluids and suffering from dehydration all of the time,” joked Tanya. We drank up and headed for the viewing area on deck.
On the horizon we could see a small patch of lights. Not knowing where we were, I asked a steward who was just passing by. It was Qatar, not sure of the city, but we’d not be stopping there. Our next port of call was Bombay, two days away.
The clear night sky presented its bountiful stars, and the sounds of the waves gently lapping the bow of the ship made us feel great to be alive. “So far, this is turning out to be one of the most relaxing holidays we’ve had so far,” Tanya said as she kissed my cheek and squeezed my arm.
We kissed passionately and soon found ourselves back in our cabin.
Laid on the bed, Tanya lifted her arms above her head and allowed me to remove her dress. Her breasts looked golden in the little light that spilled in from the sodium lamp just outside our porthole. A shadow passed over Tanya’s firm body as someone walk by our room, blanking out the golden hue for a second or two.
I teased Tanya’s nipples, letting my right hand slip slowly down to her shaven mound. She was wet, and my fingers slipped into her folds without any resistance. Tanya moaned gently and increased the passion of her kisses as I slowly probed with two fingers, my thumb occasionally fleeting over her clitoris, pulling gently on her piercing.
I knelt above her, letting her undo my shorts and ease them down allowing my stiff cock to spring forward, almost slapping her cheek. She licked away the pre-cum and engulfed me, taking almost my entire length of eight inches.
I slowly lay down and Tanya moved over me without once letting my cock escape her hot mouth. She straddled my face, and in a 69 position, we made each other cum, my semen gushing into her mouth and over her face, as her juices cascaded into my mouth and onto my chin.
We cuddled and fell asleep on top of the bed sheets, the golden glow of the sodium light contrasting with that feeling of satisfaction fulfilment.
I slipped an extra ice cube into Tanya’s cocktail; my beer frosted the glass as I placed them on a low table next to our lounges on the sun deck.
The sun deck, at the stern of the ship, was a small area where twenty or so lounges spread out, interspersed with low tables. A small bar housed a large variety of drinks to which you helped yourself.
Occasionally, a steward would come by and collect glasses and clean tables.
The ship’s crew were a mixture of Indian and Indonesian, with a spattering of Chinese. The officers were European, British and French mainly. We were asked not to patronise the Asian crew, as ‘their habits were not in keeping with our guests’. I couldn’t see why we were not supposed to socialise, as most of the stewards, chefs and waiters appeared to be quite friendly. Although their language contained few English words, they knew enough to make sure we understood what they were trying to inform us, and us them.
Tanya and I had kept up our tan from Tenerife with regular visits to sun-beds and plenty of nude sand dune sun bathing. We had been on the sun deck for an hour when Wilhelm and Margo appeared.
”Do you mind?” asked Margo, as she indicated their intent of pulling up a couple of lounges to join us.
“Please do,” replied Tanya.
“Drink anyone?” I made up a round of drinks as we sat in the sun, sipping, joking and telling stories of friends and our more and less embarrassing moments.
“Well, I couldn’t believe what happened next,” Tanya explained as she described an embarrassing moment she shared with a shop assistant when she was trying on a swimsuit. “I stood there, naked, just about to pull up the bikini briefs, when the sales assistant pulled open the curtain, thinking there was no-one in the changing booth. I stood there, mouth wide open as he stared in shock at my breasts and private area. He began to apologise profusely, but still continued to stare. ‘Do you mind!’ I said to him. He quickly realised what he was doing and pulled the curtain back.” We all let out a roar of laughter as Tanya retold her story. I could just imagine what the assistant must have thought as he gazed at Tanya’s body. He probably slipped into the toilet and masturbated there and then.
Margo told of her compromising position when she was sunbathing on a nudist beach. She hadn’t given it a thought as she stripped off her clothes, removing her bikini top and briefs in front of several other holidaymakers, none of which were totally naked. As she lay on her stomach, tanning her back, she felt a soft tap on the shoulder as a policeman asked her to accompany him to the local station. It turned out that Margo had gone to the wrong part of the beach and someone, taking offence to her nudity, had complained and called the police.
Another fit of laughter, and soon, we were chatting like old friends.
That evening, after we had dined, Wilhelm and I sat at the craps table, whilst Tanya and Margo watched some of the other holidaymakers sing along to the karaoke machine.
“This is painful,” I commented on the woman in her fifties, as she shouted into a microphone.
“If sir is wanting a more relaxed atmosphere and a more serious gaming, then perhaps sir would like to join some of the crew for poker. But please, do no be saying this to the officers or they will not pay us wages for two days,” offered our Indian steward who dealt us another set of cards. I looked at Wilhelm, he at me and we both nodded. We folded our cards, took directions on how to get to the card game, and then told the girls we’d meet them in an hour or so. The girls were quite happy to stay and watch the instant pop-stars make fools of themselves.
Following a red line on deck 2, we came across cabin 225. Three light taps on the door were answered by an Indian steward who quickly looked us over, then opened the door fully, inviting us in.
We began with a winning streak, taking the first three out of four deals. But our luck was soon to turn bad.
I had gambled away almost all of the contents of my wallet; Wilhelm was in a similar situation. “I’ll take one card,” I told the dealer as I added a ten of diamonds to my two pair of aces and tens. At last, a good hand, not the best, not the worse.
Wilhelm took a card and added an eight of spades to four, five, six and seven of spades to make a straight flush. He thought he had the winning hand too. I had no option but to pack, I couldn’t see these guys allowing me to write an IOU, but it was worth a try.
They accepted and I wrote the sum of £500 on a slip of paper and signed it.
Wilhelm looked at me, then again at his cards, he too wrote £500 on a slip and dropped it into the pot.
“See you,” announced the player to my left.
I turned over my cards with a big smile on my face. It was short lived. The player to my left displayed a royal flush. Wilhelm threw his cards onto the table, and the player to my right packed his.
The winner cheered as he scooped his spoils making more in the one game than he would in a month. He waved the IOUs in our faces.
“Shit!” I shouted in frustration and anger, then ‘fuck, what am I going to tell Tanya?’ I thought.
Wilhelm must have had similar thoughts as I could read his face across the smoke-filled room.
We stood and left the cheering stewards and headed back to the bar. That night, I had lost all of my money, all of my liking for poker and all of my courage as I thought about what I was going to say to Tanya. Within minutes of hearing the news, Tanya had stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
The following morning I met Wilhelm on deck. He too had received the wrath of a woman, but at least he wasn’t short of cash and had brought along a little more cash than I. We discussed what we were going to do about the IOUs. He had a bundle of notes in his pocket and we tracked down the steward. He greedily accepted the £500 from Wilhelm, but I tried to get out of paying up.
“How about we try our chances and cut the cards,” I suggested. “If you win, I give you £1000, if I win, we’re even.” The steward thought about it for a couple of moments, then nodded okay.
We went to his cabin, Wilhelm in tow, and the steward gave the pack of cards to Wilhelm to shuffle. The steward offered me the first cut… a Queen of Hearts… “Yes!” The steward rubbed his chin, then cut his card… King of Clubs. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The steward shrugged his shoulders in commiseration, Wilhelm grimaced in sympathy, I almost cried in despair.
“We could be coming to some arrangement if you will be preferring,” the steward proposed in his strong Indian accent. “If you will be letting me have your wife for one evening, I will be willing to rip up the IOU and give you back your £1000.”
I was outraged. But reasoning began to make me reconsider his offer. “Let me think a while. I will let you know,” I told him as we left his cabin.
“You must be fucking mad,” announced Wilhelm. I shrugged my shoulder in reply.
“There’s no way Tanya will accept the offer anyway,” I retorted. “I think I’m fucked!”
Wilhelm leaned on a railing and looked out to sea. After a few minutes of silence, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse:
“How about I pay your £1000 debt off, then you’ll owe me. When you get home, you can send me the money. You look an honest enough guy. I trust you. What do you think?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The stranger whom I’d met only a handful of days before, was prepared to loan me a grand and trusted me enough to pay him back, no questions asked. “It’s a deal.” I shook his hand and hugged him. We both laughed aloud as I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
“There is a small point to get clear though,” Wilhelm broke off. “I will be looking for some form of interest repayment on this loan.”