Something to Declare

As soon as we cleared the harbor, Kitten went forward to raise the mainsail. I watched and wondered how I could still feel that everything she did, no matter how menial a task, seemed sexy to me. Her movements, her body, her skin, and when she was close, her sweet scent, they all mingled in my mind with memories of our sweating, groaning and grunting bodies grinding against each other, or sometimes just sweet images of us lying together somewhere naked in a field drinking daiquiris. We had been together now for 7 years, and at any moment, doing any task, she could simply look back over her shoulder at me in such a way that made my dick twitch with lust.

As she raised the large white sail, it was like she was fluffing the sheets to this boat, which would be our fuck bed on this cruise to Cuba. We picked Cuba because it was different, exotic, and frowned upon by the government. We always liked living on the edge of what was allowed, or proper. We found that out the first time we met, at an art reception at an restaurant with a formal garden out back where we ended up after flirting. We were walking and chatting through the sunset, into dusk, with our drinks in hand, and finally fucking, with others close by, my zipper down and the back of her short skirt hiked up, me hugging her from behind, we almost looked like a romantic couple silhouetted against the dark orange-blue sky, except she was bent forward just a little more than normal, hands on the gothic rail, and if someone had looked over just then, they would have known. But we were quiet and stealthy in our first fucking. Yes, we pushed the limit from day one.

We had heard that the travel restrictions to Cuba had recently gotten even stricter. It used to be that US sailors could visit Cuba but not spend money there. Recently, even sailing close to Cuba was prohibited by the US, and in the name of Homeland Security, US agents could board your boat anytime, conduct searches and even seize your boat. But we figured the risk of such an event was small and the promise of seeing perfectly restored 1950s cars, mamba dances and fiestas were high enough stakes to play the game of "We didn't know," if we were to get caught. "Daddy," Kitten said, "Just think, we can dance in a plaza and I can rub your cock through your pants and tease you."

I calculated the voyage to take about four days, and the first three were a sailor's delight. The sun warmed our bodies. Kitten tanned her delicious curves on deck. The winds fanned our sweaty bodies while we fucked in all kinds of crazy ways. One time, she tied me spread eagle to the deck and kept her cunt just out of my tongue's licking range and she taunted me, calling me fuck toy, and sailor boy, and a constant slew of other nasty names, while she pinched my nipples, and said, "I know where sailor boys liked to get fucked." And she threatened to piss in my mouth unless I said the words she wanted to hear. Finally, with my cock hard and in agony to feel her pussy, I gave in and said, "My cock is yours. It belongs to you. Yours to use. Yours to abuse. Hurt me. My face is yours. Yours to ride. Yours to fuck. My body is yours."

And another time, after Kitten's kitty was all slick from having my tongue and fingers rape her pussy, she giggled with glee and said, "Daddy, watch!" and she stood with the long, varnished tiller pole pointing right to her gorgeous behind. She bent over forward, reached her hands back to pull her kitty's lips apart and began to slowly impale herself on the tiller. "Oh Daddy!" she moaned as she fucked herself on the tiller. I stroked my cock and came while watching her; my come shooting up onto my chest.

On the fourth day, we saw land. And that's when we also saw a patrol boat heading in our direction. As the boat closed in, I saw that it was a Cuban military or police patrol boat. I had almost hoped it would have been the US Coast Guard since I would have relished a run-in with the US's silly law, but welcomed the fact that after some formalities with the Mexican authorities, showing our passports and boat documents, we would be in harbor within an hour or so, enjoying our first drinks.

Kitten went below to cloth her near naked body, and came back up just a few more scraps on her body than before: mini-short cut-off jeans, and a skin-tight, white, muscle shirt that showed off her tits like buoys guiding a wayward sailor to a safe port. I sighed looking at her.

On the boat, there were six Cubans. They wore military fatigues. Two stood on the bow, one was the helm, smoking a cigar, and three were in the stern and carrying rifles pointing up in the air. One at the bow raised a bullhorn and ordered us to lower sails and prepared to be boarded.

"Daddy," Kitten whispered, "Wouldn't you like to see me gang raped by a bunch of Cuban soldiers? Ooooo, I think I wouldn't be able to stop cumming!" And she rolled her lower lip into her mouth and bit down on it. Her hips swayed in a movement that made my cock take notice.

After our boats were lashed together, the Commandant boarded our boat. "Papers por favor," he said without removing his cigar. I produced my passport and the boat's documents. "Kitten, get your passport please," I said. "Passport?" She asked looking at me, "I only have a driver's license." I looked at her in disbelief, thinking she was toying with me. But she shook her head and said, "You never said anything. I've never had a passport."

I looked at the Commandant. "What is?" he asked a bit irritated, opening his hands upward, as if expecting the answer to be delivered into his arms. "This some kind of game? You in Cuban waters. Identification now!"

Kitten slipped her fingers into her tight mini-shorts and pulled out her driver's license. "Please Sir, please take a look at this. This identifies me." The Commandant snatched the card and examined it while scratching his scruffy, rubble-studded face. Abruptly, he turned to me and handed me the card. "This not passport. I ask for passport," he said. He turned to his men and shouted something in Spanish. They began to board my boat. The Commandant turned back to me and announced: "My men search your boat. You have something to declare for customs?" No, I answered.

I looked toward Kitten to see if she was okay, and to my surprise, she was standing there against the mast with her legs crossed and one hand hanging casually by her crotch. Her eyes were wide and quickly darting from soldier to soldier. I knew what she was doing with the crossed legged stance: it helped her grind her clit with her thighs. I couldn't believe it. She was actually turned on by this whole situation, which was beginning to get serious. As she watched the men move about the boat, her breathing got heavier and I could tell that she was off in her fantasy. When she thought that no one was looking I saw her hand squeeze her crotch and rub her clit through her jeans. I was stunned and excited. She was masturbating while the soldiers were searching our boat! In her mind, the soldiers weren't rummaging the boat, they were rummaging her body.

The men were searching the cabin, turning up cushions, looking into lockers and pawing through our bags. I could see the dreamy look in Kitten's eyes. They were pawing her, roughly pulling her shirt away from her tits and stuffing their hands down her shirt, grabbing her tits, feeling them, squeezing them, laughing at her embarrassment and excitement, shouting in Spanish at each other and to their commandant, "Nice tits, this puta has. I bet she has shaved pussy." And adrenaline shot through her body, oozing slick wet excitement between her legs.

The men brought our bags on deck, and suddenly one man laughed loudly, called to the others and pulled out, dangling on one finger, a pair of Kitten's thongs. He uttered something long and questioning and before he could even finish, the rest of the gang roared in laughter, each shouting their answer, each – in Kitten's demented mind – accusing her of being a slut, shouting in her face so closely, she could smell tequila on their breaths, she could see their pock-marked pores, as they groped her and humiliated her, and tore her shirt from her body, exposing her tits to the gang. And she knew that next they would grab her head by her hair and force her to her knees in front of their camouflage pants.

They would fumble nervously with their flies and finally have their cocks aimed, like their rifles, straight at her face, with her orders clear. Allow her face to be raped by all the cocks, suck them as the willing and wanton whore she was being accused of being, or face a worse fate.... who knows, being dragged naked in the water for the sharks to nibble on. Cock, two cocks, three, shoved into her face, her hands grabbing two of the hard dicks, and then her head grabbed by hands and forced onto the pulsing cock in front of her, down her throat, gagging her, chocking her, and... oh fuck... loving it... loving it... grinding on her thighs, squeezing her clit, fuck yes, and then her mouth pulled away and her body wrangled while a knife flashed and her pants are cut off, and her legs splayed.

Embarrassed, horrified, knowing I am forced to watch, excited knowing it is the ultimate punishment to make me watch while cocks are fucking her tits, men are raping her, using her, playing with her body and her fright like a pack of wolves playing with a soft frightened bunny. I looked at Kitten and she looked at me just as if she had a cock stretching her cunt, and her hair was being pulled back to take another dick down her throat, and there was that look in her eyes that she told me about in so many of her fantasies: Her being taken and enjoying it and torturing me with the enjoyment of cocks while I was forced to watch.

And her looking at me, taunting me, mocking me, telling me, "Watch! Watch me being fucked by these cocks, while your dick suffers. While you can't do anything but stroke your meat, while this pussy and mouth and ass are raped right in front of you... and I like it! I like it, and I like that your dick is suffering! Oh fuck, yes! I love it. Watch me make them cum inside me. Watch me give him head until he explodes in my mouth, and watch while I spit in my hand and stroke this other dick until it erupts on my tits, and then they will all laugh when I make you lick his cum off my body and out of my pussy!"

I looked at Kitten and saw her eyes roll back into her head. Her hand dug deep into her crotch and pressed and held for a moment, and then she shuddered and relaxed.

The men had been continuing their search and didn't appear to notice.

I turned to the Commandant. "Senior, we are sorry about forgetting the passport. We are on a pleasure cruise and we are big fans of Cuba and just want to visit and have some fun for a few days and enjoy your hospitality and culture." I took a one hundred dollar bill from my pocket that I had stashed for this very possibility. Putting the small, folded bill into the middle of my palm and pressing it into the Commandant's hand which I was now shaking, I said, "Please accept our apologies, and our promise we will never enter your waters again without proper identification."

"And you have nothing to declare?" he gruffed and took the cigar from his mouth.

"Nothing."

"Well, you do. I watch your woman. Such women illegal everywhere. But I let you smuggle her. Enjoy your trip." He smiled, shouted his men to return to the patrol boat. Then he licked his cigar before he sucked it back into his mouth, and deboarded.

As we sailed away, Kitten lay down in the cockpit and began to fall asleep. Just as she was dozing off, I kneeled close to her ear and whispered, "Daddy will make you pay for torturing him like that."