I Waited Twenty Years Ch. 08

"Look at this Kirsten," Joan said, laughing, as she grabbed the bulging cock in my pants.

"It always turns guys on to watch a black guy butt-fuck a white woman. Even your loving Lars enjoyed watching you take that thick one. If you had pretended it was hurting you, he'd probably have cum in his pants!"

Shit! I thought, remembering how I'd turned on several days ago when Kirsten had pretended I hurt her. Why the hell are guys like that? We just are, I guess. Kirsten is gonna be just like Joan -- understanding what turns guys on, using that knowledge to get fucked, and then laughing about what bastards guys really are.

I went back to the Nun's suite. I was so horny from watching Kirsten get butt-fucked that I took the Nun to bed and fucked her twice, with the memory in my head of Roger's thick creamy cum dripping out of Kirsten's asshole. The Nun might be a gray haired old bitch with floppy tits, but when she lathered up that pussy with estrogen cream is was soft and wet and very user-friendly.

We enjoyed the afternoon drinking white wine and watching the ocean pass us by. The Nun was sad because she had to fly back to Miami from Barbados, before the cruise was over -- like Joan's hubby she had business that couldn't wait.

We docked in Barbados early the next morning and two fancy limousines were waiting for two very important people. I watched the Nun's limo load her luggage. We had said goodbye in her suite earlier. She asked me not to be there when she went ashore. The other limo was for Joan's hubby. Joan kissed him a fond farewell.

I wondered what it would feel like to leave your wife on a ship where she was fucking a well-hung black steward on a daily basis. Poor bastard! I guess I would never know how it felt to be impotent and still love your wife enough to let her fuck other guys. He was a willing cuckold, but I was sure he didn't enjoy it the way some cuckolds do.

I had a full morning of work because Commander Ward provided a neat list of all the things he had left undone. He had assumed my duties by the Captain's order so I could devote my full attentions being at the Nun's service and servicing her had indeed been a full time job.

On my way to lunch I saw Roger.

"Good morning Roger," I said.

"Good morning Cap'n."

"You have plans for tonight, I hear," I said.

"Yes sir," he said with a smile. "I'm gonna do Miss Kirsten for four young studs to watch and she's gonna scream and squirm just like Miss Joan taught her. Then she's gonna pretend she likes it and beg for more. And when the studs get turned on they're gonna fuck Miss Joan and Miss Kirsten -- most of the night I'll bet. Those guys are young and strong and horny as hell."

"They're gonna pay you?"

"Yes sir. My usual $400 to do a bitch for studs to watch."

"That's a pretty good fee for one butt-fuck," I said.

"Yes sir, but I been doing a lot of butt-fuckin free getting Miss Kirsten ready for when they watch her bend over and take it."

"Is she ready?"

"She's ready Cap'n. You saw me butt-fuck her yesterday. She took it real well. I'm gonna do her again this afternoon, a little rougher when I shove it in, to make sure her asshole is nice and loose for tonight. I been doin a lot of butt fuckin on those ladies. Of course they're both real tight and I always cum," he said with a chuckle.

"Well, you do your part," I said smiling. "Don't let the studs know it's all an act. They want to think you're hurting a bitch when you stretch her out."

"I'll do my part, Cap'n," he said.

As Roger and I were talking a very attractive young redhead, arm in arm with a gentleman, walked by us. As they passed us, she giggled and gave Roger a big smile.

"Good morning Roger," she said with more giggles. "I'm looking forward to seeing you this afternoon."

"Yes mam, Miss Trish," Roger replied. "I'll be there."

The gentleman, I presumed he was her husband, seemed very embarrassed. He avoided eye contact with me and nodded briefly to Roger and then he looked down at the deck -- embarrassed and ashamed.

I put the situation together immediately -- a cuckold and his wife. We had at least one cuck on almost every cruise and Roger, as the best looking black man on board, was often the choice to service the wife. He made more money, fucking passengers, than the cruise line paid him in salary. Most of the gals he did were horny old broads, but a few were young, attractive wives of cuckolds.

"One of your satisfied customers Roger?" I said with a chuckle.

"Yes sir," said Roger. "I been doing her for him to watch every afternoon since the cruise started. She's very satisfied and so is her husband. They're in one of the big expensive suites forward and she rolls the dice for him in the casino. He says she brings him good luck."

"What is he paying you to do her?" I asked.

"My usual $300," said Roger, "plus $100 if I bring her off."

"And you always bring her off?"

"Yes sir. Always. I do her missionary and it only takes a few minutes with her a-gruntin and a-goanin while she pumps her ass real hard. She makes a hell of a lot of noise. But she's got a beautiful young body and she likes it played with. So before I fuck her I play with her body while her hubby plays with his dick. She giggles and laughs the whole time, but she gets real serious when she fucks. Closes her eyes tight and works up a sweat pumping."

"While we're fuckin, her hubby sits on a stool at the foot of the bed looking up between her legs and jacking off. He gets close enough to smell it. He says he likes to hear the wet, squishy sounds a happy pussy makes when it's getting what it needs."

"Does he eat that happy pussy when you're finished with it Roger?"

"Yes sir, he does," said Roger. "His face is between her legs the minute I pull my dick out. Hubby chows down and enjoys a happy meal while I'm getting dressed. She giggles and smiles and winks at me while hubby is having his lunch. She waves goodbye when I leave -- with him still down there sucking out that creamy juice.

"You like red heads Roger?"

"Yes sir. Her beaver is real hairy and just as red as the hair on her head. That's the first red haired pussy I ever fucked. Let me ask you something Cap'n. Are red headed women hornier than blonds?"

"I don't know, Roger, I never gave it much thought. Why do you ask?"

"Because that's the horniest white woman I ever fucked. She asked about me doing her twice a day. Maybe it was just talk but it sure turned on her husband. He got a big hard on when his wife told me how much she enjoyed fucking me and asked me to fuck her more often."

"Why don't you do her twice?"

"I got other ... how do you say it sir ... other responsibilities - Miss Kirsten and Miss Joan. You want to do her?" Roger asked.

"What's her name and how old is she?" I said with a laugh.

"Her name is Trish Faulkner. She said she's twenty-four and her husband is thirty-something," Roger replied.

"That's a little young for me," I said.

"It's real good pussy Cap'n -- young and tight. And her body is real nice," Roger said shaking his head and smiling.

Then he added with a sly chuckle, "And I know you're not gonna be busy tonight."

Roger was right. The Nun was gone and the other two women I was enjoying on this cruise were busy with young studs half their age. Why not? And besides, I hadn't fucked a twenty-four year old since ... since ... well, since I was twenty-four!

"All right Roger you persuaded me, but I don't want her husband to watch. Tell her I'll meet her in the bar tonight after dinner," I said.

"Yes sir," Roger said with a big smile. "It's quality pussy, Cap'n. You won't be disappointed, sir."

Roger walked off toward the stern and I stood at the rail looking out at the port of Barbados and remembering my adventures with the Nun. Several minutes later, looking astern, I saw Roger talking to Trish and her husband.

Trish was nodding her head and giggling. Her husband was listening to what Roger was saying. Then he turned and looked directly at me and then he dropped his head and stared at the deck.

Jesus, I thought, that poor helpless bastard! Here's this black steward telling his wife that the officer a few feet away wants to fuck her. And his wife is nodding her head and saying that she wants to fuck. Shit! No wonder that poor, humiliated cuckold is staring at the deck.

Oh my God, they're leaving Roger and walking toward me! She's walking this way smiling and giggling and holding out her hand.

"Good morning Captain Bach," she said. "I'm Trish Faulkner and this is my husband Brian. Roger tells me you'd like to buy me a drink and take me dancing this evening and show me ... well, you know ... show me a little ... shall we say ... hospitality."

"Call me Lars," I said.

Brian said nothing, put out his hand, and I shook it. He had a weak handshake -- no surprise. In my head I was trying to figure out what made this poor cuckold husband tick. That was gonna be hard since I didn't know what made ANY cuckold tick!

"Brian likes the casino, so he'll be there all evening -- at least till midnight. Right Brian?" She said and looked at Brian who was staring at the deck.

Brian said nothing.

Trish repeated in a strong voice, "In the casino until midnight! Right Brian?"

This time Brian looked up, stared briefly at my face, then turned to his wife and said, very weakly, "Of course dear. Till midnight." Then he looked back at the deck.

Jesus I thought, she just told her voyeur-cuckold husband that she was gonna fuck this officer that she had just met and hubby was not gonna get to watch. She would be fucking until midnight and hubby would have to stay in the casino. And the poor bastard just says, "Of course dear."

Then she rubbed salt in his wound.

"I usually roll the dice for my husband in the casino," she said brightly. "He says it brings him luck. But it looks like I'm the one who's gonna get lucky tonight!"

Then she giggled, punched her husband with her elbow, and said, "Doesn't it Dear?"

Her husband looked up from the deck, nodded and said, softly, "Yes Dear."

Jesus! The poor bastard! It was like she was kicking him in the balls for the fun of it. Humiliating him right in front of the guy he knew she was gonna fuck. But she wasn't finished with him yet.

"You don't mind if I get lucky tonight, do you dear?" She said in a sweet voice with another giggle.

Her husband said nothing and kept staring at the deck.

"Do you dear?" She said in a firmer, louder voice with no giggle.

Hubby mumbled something, still staring at the deck.

"I didn't hear you darling. Speak up!" Trish said in a voice like a mother to a misbehaving child.

Her poor husband looked up from the deck and stammered, "I ... I don't mind if you get ... get ... lucky tonight ... dear."

"Then thank the Captain for offering me his hospitality."

It was a command, not a request. The bitch had hubby by the balls and she was squeezing hard -- making him thank the guy who was gonna be fuckin his wife.

He looked at me with the expression of a thoroughly defeated and humiliated man and spoke in a very soft voice.

"Thank you Captain. Thank you for ... for ... taking care ... of ... of my wife."

Trish gave a satisfied smile and turning to me she asked, "How should I dress?"

"I won't be in uniform. I'll dress very casual," I replied.

"Do you have any preferences for what you want me to wear?" She asked, with a coy expression and a giggle.

Her husband having been properly disciplined she was giggling again. Well, play her game, I thought. Kick hubby in the balls! Maybe he likes it.

"I like spikes, the taller the better. I like miniskirts, the shorter the better. I like cleavage, the more the better. And I HATE pantyhose!" I answered.

I could see her husband tremble. It was the tremble of sexual arousal. Any cuck would delight in watching a stud take that outfit off his wife's body as he stripped her down to fuck her. I realized that Trish was talking to her husband this way to increase his arousal. She was teasing him in front of a man she was going to fuck and it was turning him on.

Trish giggled and nudged her hubby with her elbow. "You can watch me put those things on honey, before you go to the casino."

And then with another giggle she rubbed more salt into his wound.

"Of course," she said with a coy smile, "I won't be wearing that outfit when you get back."

I looked again at her husband who was staring at the deck. His wife had just told him that he could watch her don a sexy outfit but the officer standing next to him was gonna take it off of her as he stripped her down before he fucked her. I looked at his crotch -- the poor bastard had a bulging erection! Thinking about me fucking his wife had turned him on!

Trish looked down very obviously at her husband's crotch and then smiled at me and winked. Clearly she knew how to do what he needed. She put her hand gently on his arm.

"I'll be in the lounge, darling," she said sweetly. "It looks like you need to go back to our room for a few minutes to ... well ... to take care of yourself."

Then she looked at me, giggled, and winked again.

"Lars," she said, "will you join me in the lounge for some coffee, while my husband does ... well ... while he goes back to our room and does what he needs to do?"

Then she laughed loudly as her husband walked away, humiliated by his own sexual arousal, which she was openly joking about with a man he knew she was going to fuck. I had no doubt that hubby was going back to their room to masturbate and his wife was laughing at him because she had gotten him so aroused he had to do it.

"It's fun to tease him," Trish said to me as we headed for the lounge. "He gets so turned on he simply loses control."

After coffee I headed for the bridge. I had to resume my regular duties since the Nun had left the ship. I was sure Commander Wade was immensely relieved that I would be working again.

I walked into the bar at 2000 hours and found Trish sitting at a corner table, smiling at me as her eyes followed me the whole way. She had a drink in front of her.

"It's good to get that uniform off," I said, sighing with relief.

"You looked so handsome in it," she said and giggled.

I surveyed her outfit. Spikes as requested -- at least four inches. Cleavage as requested -- a lot. Miniskirt as requested -- most of each firm young thigh was showing. The clip of her garter belt to her hose was barely, but tantalizingly, visible on her left inner thigh. She showed the merchandise to perfection -- and it was quality merchandise.

She was watching my eyes look her over and when I got to her tits she bent over just a little, but enough to show me a rim of nipple on each breast peeking out of her bra. Her breasts were large and firm -- quite a change from the floppy tits of the mature women I was accustomed to. Her waist was narrow and her hips luscious. But what caught my eye every time I looked at her was that flaming red hair.

I undressed her in my mind and the red beaver was the thing that I wanted to see the most. Twenty-four years old! And this morning I had said a fond goodbye to a sixty-five year old woman with gray hair in her beaver. The life of a sailor was sometimes -- not always -- but sometimes very exciting.

I signaled the waiter who recognized me and nodded his head.

"Tell me about yourself," she said.

I gave her the short version of my life story and she nodded with interest, as I told her how I had joined Seabourn shortly after it was founded in Norway in 1987. What had been a giggling bimbo asked several perceptive questions as she learned more about me.

"So neither you nor your wife have any ... well ... expectations for the three months you are apart?" She asked. It was a very unusual question for a bimbo.

"We simply don't talk about it. I have no idea whether she gets laid or not and she probably thinks that I get laid if the need arises," I said simply.

She nodded and looked over at the usual collection of well-dressed blonds nursing their drinks at the bar. Then she chuckled.

"There seems to be ample opportunity to satisfy any need that might arise during your long months at sea," she said.

"Ample and always eager, but they're not twenty-four years old," I replied, with a chuckle. "It's my turn. Tell me about yourself."

I was starting to think that the bimbo appearance was just that -- an appearance. This gal was young, but certainly no bimbo.

"Well," she said, "where do I start? High school in a tiny suburb of Boston, that you never heard of, and then to Smith where I got my BS from the Picker program."

My brain almost exploded! Smith was a top women's college and Picker was one of the top engineering programs for women in the United States -- famous around the world for the women who trained there.

"Engineering?" I asked weakly, with the sound of disbelief in my voice.

"Oh you've heard of Picker!" Trish said smiling. "That's right, of course, you must have done engineering in Norway to get you naval commission. Where did you do it? Let's see, you grew up in Bergen. Did you go to Trondheim?"

Shit! I was thinking I was about to fuck a sexy, young, giggling bimbo and suddenly I find an engineer who figured out where I went to engineering school by knowing where I grew up. And she's married to a voyeur cuckold and she's fucking a big black steward! Jesus I need to know more about this gal. What the hell gives?

I was almost stuttering, "Yes at ... at Trondheim. But how did you get from Picker to ... to ... well to ..."

"Let me finish that for you," she said with a chuckle, "to being married to a rich cuckold and fucking a big black guy for the cuckold's entertainment. That's what you really want to ask isn't it?"

"Well," I said haltingly, "how ... how did you get to where you are?"

Trish smiled, then, turned somber, and asked, "When a man drops to the bottom, if it's not drugs or booze it has to be ..."

She paused and I answered, "A woman!"

"And," she continued, "When a woman drops to the bottom, if it's not drugs or booze it has to be ..."

"A man," I said. "So it was a man?"

"Not just any man," she said. "It was a man much too painful for me to think about, a man I'm working very hard to forget, and a man I choose not to talk about. Make up the worst story you can imagine and mine is even worse."

She paused and sipped her drink, looking off into space, sadly.

Then she continued brightly, "So I decided to get away from everyone I knew for a while and make a little money in the bargain. I decided to forget who I was and wanted to be for three or four years. So a year and a half ago I married Brian Faulkner -- no relation, by the way to ... well that doesn't matter."

Then she laughed and said, "Brian Faulkner! I'm the fourth wife. I'll last three years tops. I will leave him like the others with three million dollars -- guaranteed by the pre-nup if I stay with him for three years. That works out to a million a year if you can still do your math."

"And every once in a while, rarely," she continued, "I meet a man like you and enjoy a brief vacation from my present life."

I just sat there numb. Not knowing what to say. My expression must have conveyed something to her.

She quickly said, "But don't worry. I still want to fuck! Actually I need to get fucked every now and then without that perverted little son of a bitch staring up between my legs. Get me another drink, please."

I signaled the waiter and drinks appeared almost instantaneously. Seabourn was famous for its service.

She sat silently for a minute and then asked softly, "I can be the bimbo or I can be me. Which do you prefer?"

"Does it affect the way you fuck?" I asked.

She laughed loud and long. "I'm always a bimbo when I fuck!"