Cruising Cruise

And although Tony said we wouldn't be in play that first afternoon and night, we were to walk around the ship to feed the passenger's fantasies and encourage them to buy later.

The man was muscular, in good shape, and not bad looking, at least in the body. His face was angular, a bit on the craggy side, and he was bald. From what I could see he also was full-body tattooed. What I could see on his chest and forearms, though, had been skillfully done and appeared to be in a coordinated pattern of swirls and colors. He said his name was Kirk, which coordinated with the name on the passenger badge he wore. The color of the badge identified him as a premium passenger. He made clear he'd seen my gold choker and the cock charm by touching it and giving me a smile after I'd taken the drink from him. That's when I noticed, the lighting hitting his face just right, that there was a scar going from the top of his right ear down to his lower lip.

The man now had an aura of danger about him.

We chatted for a few minutes between the tunes being played on the piano about the drinks—too sweet and girly—the cruise boat—nice enough for the size and more dumpy-looking passengers than he'd like to see; he'd thought the cruise would be more for young swingers—the places the cruise was going to—the system for hooking up they had here—and that he wanted to fuck me. He was straightforward about that want, which I found refreshing.

It was then that he took the silver poker chips from a pocket and plunked them down on the top of the piano beside the coaster I'd put my half-drunk "whatever" tropical drink on. The poker chips were bought by passengers from Tony Castilain to be presented to the male prostitutes and appropriate crew members for sexual services. Gold ones were for BDSM sex; silver ones for regular anal sex; blue ones for blow jobs; red ones for massages; and white ones just for conversation, meals together, and "walk around." The prostitute's accounting was accomplished simply by turning his collected chips back to Tony.

When I entered his cabin, I was facing an X-frame that had been set against the wall next to the glass door leading out onto his balcony. I had been told that selected cabins had outfitted with these, and other sexual torture devices. My first thought was that he'd bought a silver chip but meant to have a gold chip's services. I trembled as, closing the door behind us, He embraced me, both of us standing, from behind, buried his lips in the hollow of my throat, and slowly disrobed me. I turned my face to his and we kissed deeply as his hands roamed all over my body.

When he came around in front of me, he'd taken his shirt off and I saw the pockmarks—healed bullet wounds?—marking his lower torso. My first man on the ship and I was afraid. Was he going to demand more than he paid for? There wasn't a chance in hell I could fight him off from taking whatever he wanted. Then what would he do to me. We were on a closed container. The only way out was over the side and into the water. He was muscular and strong. The tattooing, covering the left side of his body, across his pecs and down his arm, was of an oriental vessel on a restless sea. The pock marks had been incorporated into waves, so the wounds came before the tatting.

He went on his knees in front of me, grasped my buttocks in his strong, separating, and squeezing hands, and gave me head while holding me under his control, me rocking against him and moaning. He stood, possessed my mouth with his, and frotted our cocks together. He had lost his trousers and briefs. He was bigger than I was and uncut. He docked the cocks, pulling his foreskin over my bulb, and stroked us together as he became more insistent, controlling in the mouth work.

When he picked me up in his arms, I was afraid he'd move to the X-frame, but he didn't. He carried me to the bed, where, over the next two hours he was a lover. He was an expert, fucking me in several exotic positions. The positions were athletic but not overly taxing—more different from the norm. Most I was familiar with, but they were coming in review at a good time—at the beginning of a two-cruise orgy.

The more active ones included the Crab, with Kirk on his back and me on top of him, supported by both my hands and feet buried in the mattress on either side of him, me facing the ceiling as he thrust up and I rode him; the Jockey, with me stretched out on my belly, tail lifted, and Kirk on top of me, supported by his hands and knees, and riding me like I was his horse; and the Bumper Cars, with me face down and stretched out, my back arched, supported by my elbows digging into the mattress, and Kirk mounted of me, reversed, his legs hugging my sides, his fists buried in the mattress, and riding my tail in reverse.

The more intimate positions—and the one we finished in—the Lotus, had Kirk sitting on the bed, legs folded in front of me, and me sitting in his lap, on his cock, facing him, and in his close embrace, as we kissed and rocked against each other, both of us enjoying the in-and-out movement of his shaft inside me, and undulating of the muscles of my passage walls over his thick and long cock.

To the extent that there was anything of the thug about Kirk, it was not displayed on this first night of the cruise. In the early hours of the morning, I woke, showered, and left him sleeping on the bed, softly snoring.

Returning to my own small cabin—I had been assigned one so that there would always be someplace I could take a paying passenger if we wanted privacy and couldn't find it anywhere else—I thought that, if the whole cruise went this way, it would be smooth sailing.

But, of course, the whole cruise wasn't going to go that way.

* * * *

The sun was still high when The King Neptune eased out of harbor at Nassau, in the Bahamas, and headed southeast toward the next port call, the Turks and Caicos, so the swimming pool area at the top of the ship had become the gathering place of choice. Delmonte and I were there, on strategically located lounge beds poolside, and were being ogled by a multitude of men. Delmonte, big, black, a bull, was rubbing sun screen on my skimpy Speedo-clad body as I stretched out on my belly on the lounge bed. He was making it as much a massage as a sun screen lather, and we were very much aware that most of the eyes at the crowded pool were following every glide of his beefy, brown hands and fingers.

We were doing our jobs.

"There must be hundreds of men here," I murmured to Delmonte. "Are the two of us expected to lay down for all of them?"

Delmonte laughed. "Maybe only fifty apiece, although you have to take on more than I do. Most of these guys look like they want to top. They look more scared of me than horny to fuck me. It's you most of them want to fuck."

"Well, that's certainly reassuring," I said. That, of course, was a sarcastic response. At the moment, though, I felt I'd have no trouble handling this. The Kirk of last night had looked like a thug, but he'd been a lover. And today, in Nassau, it was just a couple of older guys happy just to have a young looker to walk around with.

"But seriously," Delmonte continued. "I've been told on the sly that there are far fewer paying passengers on the cruise than advertised—maybe only about 450. But they're paying through the nose, so the cruise is still a profitable venture. And it isn't just the twenty rent-boys Tony is herding around here who they can feed on. Most of the crew is available to the passengers too. The contracts of those who come into direct contact with the passengers includes sexual servicing clauses. It's not just us. We're just the icing on the cake. And, speaking of which, now that we have their attention, we'd better separate and earn our keep."

With that, Delmonte left me, performed an excellent dive into the pool, a maneuver that was watched by nearly everyone at the pool and caused an audible sigh, and did some laps across the lap of the pool, with, even as crowded as it was, a lane always being cleared for him to pass by. After several laps, he ended up backed against the wall of the pool on the opposite side from where I was lounging. He fanned his arms out from his body on the lip of the pool and smiled and chatted at a gathering group of ogling men.

Not long after he left, two big bruisers—maybe early forties muscle-bound teamsters on the most expensive vacation of their lives, moved in on me, each perching on the lounge bed on either side of me, turned toward me in the confined space they were making even more confining for me.

"Hi, I'm Frank," said the one to the right of me. "I think your black friend missed a couple of spots on your back with the sunscreen. Maybe I could—"

"Sure, why not," I answered. "I'm Jason."

"I thought your name was 'Sweet Piece of Ass,'" he said. He already was pulling my Speedo down and off my legs, letting me know what part of my body he thought Delmonte had neglected applying sunscreen to. A silver poker chip was dropped by my face too, letting me know that he'd paid to be very familiar with me. And very familiar he got, as well. Most of what he was applying sunscreen to were my buttocks orbs, which he more massaged than patted. I raised my pelvis for him as a thumb entered my ass.

Not to be ignored, the beefy guy on my left dropped a blue poker chip in front of my face. "I'm Jake," he said. "I'm badly in need of a blow job." To prove that, he pulled an erection out of his bathing suit and stroked it. His other hand had snaked under my belly and was playing with my cock, squeezing the head of it and worrying my piss slit with his pinky.

They were going to do me here at the pool, with over a hundred other guys here—and not just here. They were going to watch me get fucked. They were going to get their jollies without having to invest with Tony in any chips. It occurred to me that there should be a fee and poker chip for voyeurs.

But before Jake got his cock stuffed in my mouth and Frank mounted me, I saw that not all of the other men at the pool were watching this action. Somehow a guy across the pool had come up with a blue chip as well, and Delmonte was now sitting up on the lip of the pool, his spread legs dangling in the water, and an old guy was crouched between Delmonte's thighs, hovering in the water, and was sucking the black bull's cock. Delmonte was guiding the guy's head with his hands. A multitude of men were gathered around, in the pool and on the terracing around the pool and were watching that action.

This initiated action all around the pool, much of it between passengers rather than with a designated male prostitute. I gathered that this was just what the cruise directors wanted to happen—that young men like Delmonte and me weren't all of the entertainment—we were meant to be the catalyst for the passengers entertaining each other.

Before I could sink into these thoughts, though, I became occupied with the pain-pleasure of being fully used. I was gagging on Jake's shaft stuffed into my throat, and Frank was up on the lounge bed, on top of me, crouched over my raised hips, clutching them between strong, calloused hands, his shaft deep inside my ass channel, and pumping me hard and fast to a chorus of "Spike him" and "Fuck him hard" and the rise and fall of collective sighs as he did just that. He came and left. Another silver chip was dropped in front of my face, and another guy was on top of me, mounting, penetrating, and fucking me. And then another.

Afterward, I lay there, stretched out on my back on the lounge bed, panting and moaning. The pool area was clearing out. Clouds had come across the sun. I looked at the pool. Delmonte was gone, no doubt in some cabin somewhere, collecting a silver poker chip.

No more chips were being invested in me. They were expensive and it was early in the cruise. Men were only beginning to learn what they meant, what they bought, and where to get them. Delmonte and I had just demonstrated to them at the pool what they bought. Those who were interested and not yet in the no were off finding out what they cost and where to get them. Many others had use the orgy Delmonte and I caused to hook up with each other.

This was how it was done on the cruise and it was done for the afternoon—or so I thought.

As I lay there, two figures loomed between me and whatever light from the sun was getting through the clouds. Two men stood there. Mean-looking muscle men, not older than their mid-thirties. They looked like tattooed thugs. They were tattooed thugs.

They both were holding gold poker chips.

They manhandled me down into the bowels of the ship, to one of the smaller double cabins with a porthole but no balcony. There was both a X-frame and a padded bench there, with restraints at the base of the four legs. The equipment took up nearly all of the available space in the small cabin. Harvey and Clem didn't use the X-frame, but they did use the bench and the bed, repeatedly. They bound me to the bench, wrists and ankles restrained, and they took turns paddling my buttocks and doggy fucking me. They took me in several positions on the bed, both individually and in a double penetration.

The dinner hour on the ship stretched to 9:00 p.m. All three of us missed dinner that night.

* * * *

The King Neptune's departure from Kingston, Jamaica, was a late one, and darkness was falling and lights were flickering on across the city as the cruise ship moved out to sea. I went to one of the bars for a drink and took it out onto the deck to watch the island slip away. It was the first time I'd been out of the cabin for over a day and a half. After being used and abused by Harvey and Clem, Tony had told me to take a day off to recover and to rest in my cabin.

"You earned enough for three days," he said—probably to let me know that such days off only came when one of his guys had been overachieving. "You do know that accepting a gold chip is your option? The contract doesn't obligate you to go that far if you don't want to."

No, I didn't know that. But that was a very good thing to know. I sort of wondered why he's held off on telling me that.

I bellied up to the ship's rail and watched the city of Kingston recede in the distance. I would have liked to get off the ship and explore the city, but I had, in fact, needed the day for recovery in my cabin. There would always be the next cruise—if there was a next cruise.

As I stood there, a man came in close behind me and put his arms around me. I turned my head to see that it was Kirk, the mysterious one—the thuggish man with healed bullet and slash wounds who, nonetheless, had been a lover in bed. That was OK. I could manage what he had wanted in sex.

He nuzzled his face into my throat and kissed me. One of his hands glided into the gap in my shirt and fingers went to the bar in my right nipple and played with it. The other hand showed me a poker chit—it was too dark to see what color it was, which he then slipped into my pocket—and then moved down my belly to my crotch, where he unzipped me, extracted my cock, and stroked it. I rocked back into his embrace, moaning and sighing.

This was good. This was what I needed to get back into the saddle on this job.

"I looked for you today," he whispered into my ear. I felt the hard need of him at the small of my back, he was rising and falling slightly on his toes, rubbing his erection against me. "I wanted to explore Kingston with you—to explore you—but I couldn't find you."

"It was a day of rest," I answered. "Sorry. I would have enjoyed the . . . exploring . . . as well."

"There's this evening. We can have dinner together, and then we can go to my cabin again and I'll fuck the hell out of you."

"Yes," I murmured. His kind of fucking would be a balm for the tasking Harvey and Clem had subjected me to the previous day. But little did I know.

Dinner was very nice. He was very attentive to me and kept drinks coming. After dinner, though, he took me, half drunk, to his cabin, stripped me, hung me on the X-frame, gagged me with a ball gag, and whipped and fucked the hell out of me bound to the X-frame—just like he said he was going to do but that I didn't focus on.

Later in the night, when I got away from him, and stumbled back to my cabin, I found the poker chip in my pocket. It was a gold one.

Never again on those cruises would I make assumptions about how a guy looked or acted or had treated me before the next time he fucked me.

* * * *

It wasn't a cruise liner, but it seemed almost as big as The King Neptune when I and a couple of the other guys with the gold collars and cock charms were shuttled from our ship out to the sleek white mega yacht floating just beyond whatever territorial waters the Cayman Islands tried to control. The man—maybe early thirties, toned, tanned, in command, and arrogant—standing at the top of the ladder and inspecting us as we climbed up out of the shuttle was introduced as Oleg. He brazenly ogled each of us as he went by him at the top of the ladder and touched us where and how he wanted. He wasn't a Russian oligarch. He was the son of a Russian oligarch, which was probably even more dangerous to be playing with.

Tony hadn't coerced us. We'd volunteered after he told us what the deal was. Delmonte opted out, but they were more interested in submissives than tops.

"They'll supply the tops," Tony said, "and I won't lie to you. They'll be power tops who are demanding, and once you're over there, you're in their control to demand what they want."

But the money being offered was great—more than for a gold chit, which should have told me something right there—and I already was of the mind to make as much as I could off this one cruise, doing whatever it paid top dollar for, and not doing the second cruise. Sign on for anything and everything, make a killing while hoping I didn't get killed, and pull out with as much as I could get. Kirk had taught me I wasn't in control here and I wasn't likely ever to be.

We played with Oleg and his friends all day on his mega yacht, while the passengers from The King Neptune were spending the day on the island, in George Town. Tony had arranged the play date for us. He also supplied the drugs, which kept the other prostitutes and me happy, high, and dancing on the tables and writhing on the benches and beds. We weren't confined to the ship, but were sent out on a small fleet of jet skis to race and play dodge-em. I learned you could fuck on a jet ski. I was reminded that you could fuck in a bathtub and on a sofa and on top of a bar, taking more than one man. I learned that Oleg grew to like me best and that Oleg played rough, including oversized dildos, restraints, whips, the ever-favorite X-frame, and a revolver that may or may not have had any live bullets in it.

Throughout it all the drugs and liquor kept coming, making it all fun, bearable, and floating in a haze.

When the prostitutes from The King Neptune were gathering at the top of the ladder to return to the shuttle to take them back to the cruise ship, leaving at 4:00 the next day, Oleg had me held back, spirited down to the master cabin, held down and fucked by the two thugs restraining me while Oleg waved off the rest.

When Oleg appeared, he said, "How would you like to go cruising with me for a while rather than on that cruise ship?" And then he answered for me too. "Well, of course you would."

And then he fucked me again.

* * * *

I had taken control, turning him, only now coming fully awake, onto his back, and, after sucking his cock into his full wakefulness, moved up his body, positioned myself saddled on his pelvis, descended down the length of the erection I had caused, and rode him. I rode him in reverse, facing his feet and grasping his knees in my hands.