Mutiny Release

Terrific.

At the door, he told the sailor keeping records that he didn't think I was up to any more visitors that afternoon. He was so right.

* * * *

I entertained several of the men on the ship, an average of twenty a week, I would guess, which wasn't a heavy load for me. But I did not lie under the only man I had thought about being fucked by during the voyage—Lieutenant Owen Smythe. It didn't take long at all for me to decide that fucking men wasn't his preference. That was a tragedy, as he did it so well. I knew within days of being at sea that he had come to my room and ridden me all night at Entworthy because Lord Dinwiddie observed that I was interested in the lieutenant. Dinwiddie had instructed Smythe to lay me out totally to win over my acceptance of going to India. I thought I was going to India with Smythe, but I wasn't. In fairness, Dinwiddie had more or less admitted to that when I had challenged him.

We were sailing a passenger ship. England, thanks to the East India Company, had a strong presence in India, and the continent was being populated with a large colony of semipermanent English colonialists who required much support from their own. Among the passengers returning to India from an extended home leave in England were a wealthy doctor, Henry Ratcliff, and his comely daughter, Mercy. Dr. Ratcliff was a leading surgeon in India and chief of the teaching hospital in Bombay. He had considerable standing in the colony, and his daughter was highly eligible. She not only would come with an excellent dowry, but also with high standing in the colony. In addition, she was beautiful, nineteen, and saucy.

Nineteen was fairly old for marriage in 1856. Unfortunately, Mercy had gained somewhat of a reputation for being easy in England during their home leave there, which they had been taking primarily to get her well married. They were leaving England because she'd let two eligible and well-placed prospects taste the goods without making an offer to buy them and word had gotten around.

It was a frustrated doctor and a rebellious daughter who boarded the ship in Southampton to return to Bombay, mission not accomplished. Fortuitously for them, though, there was a divinely eligible prospect sailing with them. Mercy not only melted at sight of a fine figure of a man, handsome features, spiffy uniform, and winning smile, but Lieutenant Smythe had also been warned by Colonel Franklin when they boarded that he had reached the point of advancement up the ladder in the British Army in India that he should have an appropriate wife.

A long ocean sailing in 1856 could be very tedious. If all of the stars aligned, as they seemed to in the needs of Mercy Ratcliff and Owen Smyth, there was no reason the two should not be betrothed before the ship reached Bombay.

Mercy was a rebellious and forward young woman—and already damaged goods—and as I well knew Owen was a randy and virile boy.

Owen had been avoiding me, I thought, for days of the voyage. He always seemed to be in attendance with Mercy Ratcliff. His cabin adjoined Lord Dinwiddie's and mine and had a connecting door, as required because Owen was Dinwiddie's adjutant.

On the afternoon I discovered why Owen was avoiding me and how far the circumstances had gotten with Mercy Ratcliff, I was alone in my cabin and I heard strange, but familiar noises from the adjoining cabin. Owen had locked the door to the deck, but not to the attached cabin. I opened the door, saw what was transpiring, and closed it nearly all of the way but leaving enough of an opening so that I could watch Owen fucking Mercy for a while.

She was bent over the bed, still mostly in her many-petticoated dress. Owen was covering her on top. He was bare-chested—so was she for that matter, her bodice having been unhooked and allowed to fall to her waist—and his trousers, held up by suspenders were on his legs, but his fly was unbuttoned and flared. Her petticoats were pushed up to her waist in back, her panties nowhere to be seen. She was wearing cotton stockings held up by a garter belt, but other than that her buttocks and cunt were bare. Owen was squeezing her breasts with his hands and his thick cock was buried in her cunt. He was fucking her good and she was loving it.

I gave him a wide berth for the rest of the trip, which most certainly wasn't what I thought would be happening on this voyage or later, when we got to India. I had let myself believe that no matter who else I had to fuck for Lord Dinwiddie, there always would be Owen to take care of my own needs.

Quite apparently not.

* * * *

We were off the west coast of Africa. We'd had three rough days straight of sailing in a storm, with the crew being challenged to keep the ship afloat and the passengers being sick as dogs. Most of us, that was. Somehow, I hadn't been affected, and the crew and some of the other passengers had kept their sea legs. But my services had been closed down for four days and neither Lord Dinwiddie nor Colonel Franklin had been in the condition to think about having sex—or, in the colonel's case, tying me to the bedposts and strapping me and then fucking me.

All day on this day, though, the weather had been perfect. The sea had been quiet but not so quiet as to impede our progress. The salon that night was crowded with passengers and off-duty ship's officers. The conversation was boisterous and free flowing, as was the drink. Smoke from pipes and cigars filled the salon. I was keyed up. I wasn't shy about admitting that I was a satyrist, that I needed frequent sex. I hadn't gotten any in four days.

I needed to be laid. I scanned the room and my eyes stopped at the sight of the ship's first officer, jawing and laughing with some of the men passengers, swigging beer, and looking magnificent in his white uniform. I caught his eye. He smiled and winked at me. I smiled back and inclined my head toward a door out to the deck. After a moment, with him continuing to steal looks my way, I slowly moved toward the door and went out on deck. I moved down the rail toward the bow. When I was sure he had come out on deck, I moved further down into the shadows, near the bow.

The hunk followed me. I was standing at the rail, in the darkness, my arms stretched out, my hands grasping the rail, when he came up behind me. He covered me close from behind and embraced me, one arm encircling my chest, the hand of the other cupping my basket. I was his, under his control. I wanted him to master me, to fuck me. He kissed me in the hollow of my throat, and I emitted a low moan. I reached back and rubbed his crotch with my hand. A low growl came up from the depths of me. Fuck me, fuck me, raced through my mind. I didn't care that he lacked that one inch that would send us into the fireworks zone.

"Are you lonely for a man tonight?" he whispered in my ear. He was undoing my belt, unbuttoning my fly. He knew I was.

"Not just anyone," I murmured. "I need a real stud—a real man. A man who can reach up deep in me and pull my guts out." He hadn't quite done that the first time, but he was as close as I was likely to get tonight.

"I can be your man. Do you want me to fuck you here or take you back to my cabin.?"

"Yes. I want you inside me. Here. Now." He pulled my cock out and stroked it, and I groaned for him.

"You told me before that—"

"I don't want to be your whore tonight. I want to be your lover. We won't speak of money. Just be good, very good to me."

I heard him undoing his belt.

"Here, though, this will help," I said, dipping into my pocket and pulling out one of the small, India drug cigars that Horace Walpole had used with me. I really wanted the extra inch of reach from this magnificent, muscular and virile seaman. I had stolen a couple of the cigars from Horace. He had more than enough to last us until we got to Bombay. I had planned to use one with Owen just to see how wild a total fuck could be. But Owen was out of the picture now.

The ship's officer accepted the cigar and took a match box out of his pocket and lit the cigar. He took a puff and then handed it to me. I took a puff as well.

He laughed. "I know what this is. Where in the fuck did you get this? You let me use this and I'm going to fuck the stuffing out of you. We'll have a ball of me balling you. You won't be able to walk for a week."

"That's the plan," I answered.

He did just that. He pulled me deeper into the shadows, to the very bow of the ship, where the rigging jutted out like a spear and the carved wooden figurehead in the shape of a buxom woman, naked, nestled under the bow spar.

We became naked too, taking time out to take puffs on the thin cigar. We fondled each other. We stood close to each other and stroked each other's shafts. The drug worked. We were both massively erect. There were two steps up from the deck to the spar and there was a conveniently placed padded hole carved into the spar where the first officer could lay me on top of the spar and my cock would fit. He thoughtfully wrapped my smalls around the rim of the hole as well so that I wouldn't chaff my cock in the hole.

"This is—" I started to say about the hole, which was suspiciously sized for a thick cock.

"Yes, the crew uses this just this way, for our amusement. On long voyages, the crew has mostly each other to sport with. I fuck you and you fuck the hole. When one of the crew be randy for a cock, he goes to the stud of choice and invites him to fuck the lady. They come here to do it. When we do it here, it's called fucking the lady."

We took a couple of more puffs and then I wrapped my arms around the spar and cupped the breasts of the wooden figurehead. The position had been carved to perfectly fit a submissive for hours of comfortable fucking, which is fortunate, as the first mate fucked me for what seemed to be hours. Hollows had been carved in which a man's balls could nestle, there was a rise at belly level to raise the submissive's tail at a good angle for the slide of the dominant's cock, and there were footholds at the base of the spar on either side, where, with legs bent, the submissive could leverage his feet to raise and lower his hips and join in the sway of the ride, which I did heartily.

He stood on the steps down to the deck behind me. This was so conveniently configured that we made full and long use of the position for the purpose it was intended. I screamed to the wind hitting us in our faces as the ship cut through the water and he thrust inside me again and again until he was in to the root. Thanks to the drug, he now was fully long enough to reach into my soft core, which went spongy for him. As my passage muscles started working his cock, pulling him in to me, rippling over his throbbing shaft, rhythmically squeezing and milking him, he was yodeling in ecstasy as well and got the fuck of his life.

"Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!" he cried into the wind as he fucked me deep, grabbing my hips and setting up a vigorous stroke.

"Yes, yes! Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!" I cried back, the two of us able to hear each other, but the whistling of the wind blotting out the rest of the world around us.

Lifting my buttocks and stroking the padded hole in the spar with my own erection and being caressed and worked deep by his now-enormous cock, I got the fuck—the release—I needed too. Fuck and release; fuck and release; fuck and release. We each came innumerable times; he slathering my insides until his cum was flowing out of me and down my thighs; I contributing my manly juices to the ocean below. I couldn't get enough of him; he couldn't give enough to me. The drug continued working. It kept us hard through ejaculation after ejaculation as he fucked me there nearly until dawn, the breaks shorter than the frenzied fuck periods.

I was to find that the configuration worked the other way too. If you lay on your back on the spar above the figurehead, the same bump that raised your pelvis to a good angle of thrust when you were on your belly, raised your pelvis when you on your back. And there were handholds and shackles, depending on your preference toward the end of the spar that the submissive could raise his arms to, and rope straps in the rigging on either side of where the spar jutted out, where the submissive could put his feet when he raised and spread his legs for the dominant to crouch between his thighs and fuck him.

Before the first watch of the day came out on deck, the first officer pulled me down off the spar, draped, first my clothes, and then me over his shoulder. He wore only his trousers. He took me back to my cabin. He missed it by one. He opened the door to Lieutenant Smythe's cabin. Owen and Mercy were naked, on the bed, Mercy on her back with her legs spread. She was holding Owen's face to her breasts and he was fucking her in long slides.

The first officer quietly shut the door and moved on to the cabin Lord Dinwiddie and I occupied. Dinwiddie came off the bed as I was brought in. He had a dressing gown on, but it was open in front, hiding nothing. He was in erection and quite obviously had been entertaining himself.

"Where the fuck did you find him?" he said as the first officer dropped me on the bed on my back. I spread my legs and pushed my pelvis up. Dinwiddie could clearly see that I was gaping open and dribbling cum.

"I gave him a tour of the ship," the first officer said to Dinwiddie, a smirk on his face.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I continued murmuring. I had a silly grin on my face and was blowing bubbles.

"Did you have a good time?" Dinwiddie asked.

"We surely did. That boy of yours is a first-class lay."

Dinwiddie went to the bureau and came back with some banknotes.

"I didn't—"

"I want him to have a good time," Dinwiddie said. "You obviously gave him a good time."

The first officer took the money, grinned, and left the cabin.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I murmured, half dozing.

He leaned over me and said, "Haven't you had enough? He fucked you all night, didn't he? You've been using Walpole's drugs, haven't you?"

"Yes, but no to having enough. I can never have enough cock. I can never have enough of your cock. Fuck me. You fuck me too. Slam it in and never take it out."

"I've been wanting you all night. I've been hard for you all night," Dinwiddie growled. "I sat and listened to Smythe fucking that girl in the next cabin, and I've needed you. Are you sure? You've been at it all night."

"Fuck me, fuck me," I murmured, still floating along on the effects of the magic cigar. I raised and lowered my pelvis, daring him to thrust inside me.

Dinwiddie shucked off his dressing gown, bent over me between my legs, and did just that. He went deep into my soft core without the need for an aiding drug and soon was groaning as my passage muscles proved that they were still awake and functioning.

"God, I've wanted you all night," he growled.

I reached for his shoulder blades, digging my claws it, but he grabbed my wrists, forcing them over my head. I was his, open and vulnerable, fully under his control. He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.

An hour later he was still fucking me. We'd both come twice but we both quickly regained our erections and he continued fucking me. I looked over to the door between the two cabins to see that Owen was standing in the open doorway, naked and leaning against the side of the doorframe. He was smoking a cigar, arms folded, and watching Dinwiddie fucking me. His body was that of a god, and I ached for him. After a few minutes, he turned, and shut the door behind him.

Only later did I realize that he had been in erection. I wished that it had been for me.

* * * *

The drapes were open on the windows in our cabin when we returned from dinner. All of the talk in the dining room had been of the projected landing in two days' time in the busy port of Bombay. From there, Lord Dinwiddie's mission would set off north, immediately, for the clutch of satraps northwest of Delhi. News from there wasn't good. Dinwiddie wanted to get there as soon as possible. All of us were getting anxious to get on land and off the ship. I was being especially bothered by nervous energy. Dinwiddie's attentions had been satisfactory, but I hadn't been fucked spectacularly since the surprise sessions with Horace Walpole and then with the dusky, muscular first officer. Walpole had run out of his drugged cigars, so there was no repeated supercocking from him. And the first officer hadn't been able to get back to me. The transit of the Horn of Africa had been a difficult one, and after that he'd had his hands full helping to keep the ship afloat.

The seas had been calm for two days now, and I had seen him more frequently. In fact, he had passed the windows into our cabin three times since we'd returned from dinner, each time looking in and sharing looks of want with me. I had certainly noticed he was stalking me. So had Dinwiddie.

"You want to go with him, don't you?" Lord Dinwiddie asked me.

"I had thought of spending the evening with you," I answered.

"And the night too? You have been pacing around like a caged cat. I think what you need is a good fucking."

"And the night with you too, of course," I answered. We both knew he could give me a good fucking.

"I think you are aching for variety. I am not jealous. I know that we cock well together. But I think you want to spend the evening and night under the first officer."

I couldn't deny that I was aching for that.

"There. He's gone by the cabin again. He has no business here other than to draw you out. Go to him. We have very little time left on the ship. Have your pleasure."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. And here, here's my gift of approval. I was saving it for us, but there will be more to be acquired in a couple of days." He handed me one of Walpole's drugged cigars.

"The magic cigar," I exclaimed, my eyes lighting up.

He was out there at the deck railing when I came out on deck, watching the sun drop into the ocean. It had fallen dark between the time I left the doorway of our cabin and when I reached him at the railing. All I had to do was to show him the drugged cigar and he knew how the evening and night would transpire.

"Shall we go to my cabin?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"I think we should go to the salon and enjoy ourselves with drink for a couple of hours . . ."

"I'm not sure I can wait," he interjected.

" . . . and get a start sharing the cigar there, perhaps. Then I'd like you to take me forward, back to the bow, tie me to the bow spar, and fuck me mercilessly."

He did just that. Both of us reeling and massively erect and randy, he put me on my back on the spar, tied my wrists to the handholds above my head on the spar and then raised and spread my legs and tied my ankles into the rigging above the gunwale at the bow. Coming in between my spread thighs, he worked hard getting what was now an enormous phallus into my channel, forcing himself deep into my soft core. My passage muscles went into overdrive on making love to his cock, and for hours we fucked and shot our loads and fucked and shot loads again, fireworks going on all around us thanks to the magic of the drugged cigar.

As the drug started wearing off, he carried me to his cabin and fucked me again. We dozed off and I woke to him fucking me yet again. He had taken up permanent residence in my soft, spongy core and both of us were exhausted by continued rolling sexual pleasure.

We lay there, stretched out against each other, sensing the room was getting lighter. As Lord Dinwiddie had prescribed, we had fucked through the night. And Dinwiddie had been right that this was exactly what I needed. This was respect for what each of us brought to the cocking bed, but we both knew this was just a pleasant conclusion to our voyage and time together.