Cock Sucker Around The World Ch 01

Around The World With Nothing On...

*****

Part 1: Voyage Of Discovery

Me, I'd always been the quiet geeky kid. The Johnny No-Mates with bad acne and National Health glasses. My passion was all directed into electronics from being at primary school. Sex never figured very importantly in my life. I studied. I stayed home nights and worked on my projects, short-wave radio and circuitry. I got good grades at college, naturally, I had few distractions. All I did was work. But, introspective, self-analytical, I gained a fascination with all that's spontaneous, like Jazz, which seems to me to be the perfect fusion of the cerebral with the intuitive. I favour horns, John Surman and Miles Davis.

Then - once I'd turned twenty-years-old, and I'd graduated, I needed hands-on work-experience, and signed on with 'The Argo' as 'sparks'. Sure, I was a little nervous. It's not the kind of vessel I'd hoped for. A small trader, little more than a tramp-steamer. But it will get me the qualifying sea-time I need, and it will take me around the world, which is a bonus for a repressed kid like me.

The taxi drops me off. It's late evening. Outside, on the harbour-edge, the cars still pass and the drunks still pass and the sky is clear and bright with stars and moon and a light breeze is blowing and you can hear the tugs in the harbour chugging and the deep OOOO from their whistles floating across the bay and rolling down the streets of the old town, and even the ferry's mooring winch can be heard, when it was quiet and still, clanging a ferry into the slip.

The first day, the day of departure, is one of immediate changes. I familiarise myself with the radio-shack where I'll work. Not cutting-edge electronics by any stretch of the imagination, but it will suffice, at least it presents me with no real problems. Then there's the cabin I will share with a big engineer called Ivan. Although we're briefly introduced earlier in the day, it's not until the first evening that it begins, when we're alone together.

"You know why zey put us together, in the same cabin, boy?" Ivan sits on his bed, he continues reading his thick volume of Herman Melville, as I busy myself with final preparations for turning in.

"No, I don't know." They call him 'the Bear'. He's maybe Polish, I'm not sure. A big guy with gold rings in his ears, and tattoos that writhe across his shoulders and down his arms. I fold my shirt carefully over the chair-back and stoop to pull off my socks, bare feel slapping cool on the canvas.

"We are friends, you and I. I look after you. You have problems, you tell me and I fix those problems for you. Some guy is leaning on you. No worries, I sort it for you. It's a good arrangement. I be good to you. You be good to me. That's the way it works." Something in the tone of his voice makes me turn. He's put his book aside, and he's eyeing me up and down in a strangely unsettling way. I feel suddenly embarrassed in front of him. Naked, despite my y-fronts.

"W-what do you mean, Ivan? I don't follow you."

"All I ask is that you reciprocate, with a little sexual gratification. I mean zat we make fuck together, you and I. We can do it one of two ways, but we do it. First way is best. You come to me, and I be kind, gentle, you suck Ivan and we be friends, yes? You get to like it soon, you get to like to suck Ivan. Second way is less good, you not like it so much. I come and get your ass. I might come in the night when you're asleep, you'll not know. But I'm strong and you have no choice and I make fuck up your bottom and make you squeal. But either way Ivan gets to fuck you, so it's OK. You decide. Today, tomorrow. I give you time."

I half smile. My blood runs cold. I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is this some kind of cruel joke? Testing me out, seeing how I'll react? I laugh nervously. "No way, Ivan, I don't do that for anyone."

He stands up slowly and crosses the floor, pacing, to stand beside me, towering above me. He's a big guy. I flinch involuntarily, afraid of what he's going to do. "Ivan is very strong." He extends his tattooed biceps, inviting my appraisal, "feel, go on."

Stupidly I touch the iron-hard muscle and make what I consider to be a suitably impressed noise of approval. Hoping that will satisfy him. But no, bear-like his left hand comes around my shoulders, pinioning my arms to my side in a vice-like grip. I writhe and struggle, but the more I resist the greater his amusement, he emits a loud guffawing laugh.

"You know how they say 'in space, no-one can hear you scream'?" he hisses in my ears. "What is true of a spaceship lost in the ocean of space, the same is true of this ocean." Then, incredibly, he lifts me bodily off the floor, helpless as a trapped insect. He ignores my protests, his right hand ruffling my hair affectionately, then touches me under the chin. Then, inexorably, his fingers begin to spider down my chest, over the bare skin of my ribcage, and the softness of my stomach.

"No" I moan despairingly, inhaling desperately as he traces the oval indentation of my navel and the first wispy protruding strands of pubic hair. But his laughter softens as he toys with the elasticated waistband of my shorts, and his fingers crawl beneath. In agony I can feel his strong rough fingers in my pubic hair, and the excruciating contact of his nails along the sensitive length of my penis, then the intimate pressure of his hand curling around it.

"Oh yes, you're a big boy, Ivan likes boys with big cocks."

Inexplicably I'm erect. He releases my penis and irritably begins tugging at the restricting material of my y-fronts as I whimper and moan in helpless protest. I'm dangling absurdly as he holds me. My y-fronts are gone, flipped away to the floor. My bare cock waving stupidly. His big fist closes in around it, with long slow masturbatory strokes that cause my ball-sac to sway.

Eventually he releases me unexpectedly so that I fall into a nude heap on the floor, hot and flustered in a storm of confused arousal. As I look up I see him unbuckling his pants, and as they fall away, what is revealed is heart-stoppingly enormous...

This is the precise moment when everything changes. When my life tilts over from what it had been, to what it became. I wasn't scared. I wasn't intimidated. A voice at the back of my mind is screaming at me to get the hell out of there. I could have got up, grabbed my clothes, and got out of the door. Ivan is deliberately standing back, making no move to stop me. I can go. He's allowing me time and opportunity.

But I don't, instead, I drown out that voice and stay exactly where I am, sitting there on the floor, waiting for him. It's as though he's counting out the moments. Expecting me to do something, to stand up, to protest, to leave. Eventually he shrugs. Steps out of the pants that are in a heap around his feet, and takes the few paces across the floor towards me.

Despite his encouraging compliment about the size of my own sexual endowment, it feels stubby and inadequate in comparison to what is now hanging in a menacingly lazy curve an inch from my nose. An animal, a thing somehow apart from the man, but thrusting out of his hairy groin. Intimidating. Not yet fully erect, the tight foreskin drawn back from the fleshy glans, a single bead of swelling fluid glistening at its slit-mouth. Demanding. Then it nudges up against my lips, with a soft smeary rubbery insistent pressure.

I've never been a street-wise kid, but although unworldly in so many ways, there's no mistaking what he wants. My mouth opens and it slides in, and keeps going further in, inch by inch. I can smell its stale aroma. Feel its firm pulsing heat up against the roof of my mouth. Taste its foulness flooding me. It's as though my head is being invaded. I've taken around a half of it. The outer wisps of his pubic hair tickle my nose. His fat swollen scrotal sack hangs just below my chin. A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead. I sit mesmerised. Amazed by it all.

When he says "Don't fight me on this, open your throat" I try to do as he says. When he says "suck", I suck. It seems to be the natural thing to do. I suck until the foul taste is gone, and keep on sucking, afraid that if I stop he'll be unhappy.

There's a crick in my neck. I'm not sitting in the most comfortable position, but I'm scared to move in case it incurs his displeasure. I meekly do everything he wants me to. Let him do whatever he wants to do to me without a murmur of protest. Following his instructions obediently. Passively showing no sign of resistance or reluctance. I feel breathless. There's a burning red haze in front of my eyes. The strangest of sensations radiating up from my groin, where leaks of clear liquid are making my own cock-head glisten.

His big rough hands, in a tight spread of fingers, are resting on the back and sides of my head, cupping me in to him, not forcefully, just guiding me. When he undulates his hips so that the fat erection in my mouth slips a little further in, his balls sway and knock up against my chin, so that I'm on the point of gagging, my eyes filled with tears of effort at controlling it, fighting it down. He hisses down at me to use my tongue. So I use my tongue to explore up and around the bloated contours of the meat filling my mouth. He says "good, good," and I feel oddly encouraged by this indication of his approval.

There's a still silence, other than the moist squelchy sound of my sucking. I can hear the clock ticking away the moments. I can hear his breath rasping. His stomach, the skin hairy and dark-complexioned, flexing, so that when he inhales the muscles tense and the hard ridge of his lower ribs stand out. I feel smothered in him, stifled and enveloped by him.

He says "I'm going to cum soon, are you ready?"

I'm in no position to respond. Rationally, I know what's impending. But this is not rational. None of this is rational. I swear I can see it swell, its fecund animal girth expanding. When he ejaculates with a speechless animal sound, the gush of spunk fills my mouth, cloying and richly salty, it jerks and twitches tight up against my lips, pulsing against my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Then a second and third spasm.

I hear little whimpery-gasping sounds, and realise it's me making them, as convulsive shocks hit the base of my spine, and I lose control. My swaying cock-head tingling. No-no-no-no, like I've been kicked in the gonads, a spurting trickling wetness spraying up my stomach, a dribbling slithery crawl of blobs spattering across my legs. Muffled sobbing noises, not too loud, in case it spoils it for him. His climax seems to go on for a long while in my mouth, each shock slightly less than the preceding one, until it's done. A moment's calm.

He grunts "Swallow." I swallow... and it's nowhere near as bad as I'd feared it would be. My life will never again be the same after this. He is everything I am not. He projects a powerful masculine physical presence that's impossible to deny. Was I mesmerised by him? Fascinated by his power? I was certainly hypnotised. Like a snake hypnotising its victim. Even when I close my eyes the vision of what we've done stays burned on my mind as an after-image.

I have sinned. I am a sinner. How surreal is that? The next day, I numbly make my way to the radio shack. I can no longer believe the weirdness of the night. It seems unreal. What right did he have to force himself on me? What right to do those terrible things to me? The shame and humiliation still burns. I can't explain it.

A couple of crewmen greet me on the companionway. "Hey, everything OK?"

I nod stupidly. How can I explain to them? What can I possibly say that won't turn around and make me seem bad? In the privacy of the radio shack I turn over the strange events of the night. And stupidly I'm erect as the memories wash around my head.

No, this isn't right. This can't be. I try to deny the persistent stiffness in my pants, and the insistent repetition of the intimate feel of his fingers on me. The first breathtaking glimpse of his penis. I replay it all in vivid detail, as if memory is a magnifying glass recording every cell of that mighty cock's surface. Then the feel of it pressed up against my lips as I attempt to fight it... I force my attention elsewhere. Scan the dials. Recalibrate as the radio rustles and squeals.

The ship is navigating down through the English Channel towards open seas. Everything that is safe and familiar is receding way behind its churning wake. I watch the sky, the whirling gulls, the dark swell of the tide. But suddenly, uninvited, the thought is there again, of his cock-length slithering deep into my mouth, the warm taste of it, the vibrant energy of it. Even the thought has me breathless, with a stomachful of vomiting butterflies churning my gut, the pressure in my pants is almost painful, a slight damp patch in the crotch of my jeans where I'm leaking. There's that giddy intoxicating swirl at the back of my head as though I'm going to spontaneously ejaculate now - with just the memory of how I ejaculated last night, so overwhelming.

I remember how I'd stood shakily, nude, after sucking him, and my bare toes step into a blobby puddle of semen, my spunk, where I had spurted. Looking down, it is oozing moist and sticky over my toes. What's this man done to me? What Pandora's Box has he opened up in the unsuspected depths of my psyche. I've never felt so obsessively hyped-up before, never. I grip the brass wall-rail and concentrate hard, willing the sensations away, and gradually it subsides. Only to return within the hour... I resist the crawling insinuations. Fight it. Fight it. But as much as I fight, it returns in vivid sensual flashes that rock me.

That evening I sit demurely on the bed. It's warm. I wear my y-fronts. Nothing else. Earlier I'd felt scared, jittery-nervous, my heart thudding in a healthily excited manner. But when I hear his footsteps approaching the cabin I am calm, accepting. My brain must be secreting the fuck-me-now molecule.

He says "Are you ready boy?"

I stand up. "Yes Ivan, I'm ready." And decisively shove my pants down and off, my cock flipping erect for his appraisal.

"The penis is a wise organ, it's the only thing that - lacking bone, needs blood to stand up, yet it knows the deepest secrets of our souls, things that we don't even knows about ourselves" he says, noting my eager hard-on with approval as he shucks his own pants down and off. I see the dark shape hanging threateningly between his legs as he sits back on the bunk, his legs parted so that me, already down on my knees, can shuffle in between them.

I'm enclosed by the reassuring strength of his legs, and my willing lips seek out and meet the hot flesh of his lazily half-hard cock. I see the round urethral opening, that is where the spunk will gush from, into my mouth. How can I act like such a vulgar slut? It comes surprisingly easy. Dipping my head in to slaver-lick and capture the glans between my lips, its heat and smooth texture strangely exciting, a forceful presence in my mouth. Drawing the smooth length deeper, pulse-sucking all the while. Absorbing its firmness into my head.

Yes, I'd resisted, I'd fought against it. Although something in the back of my mind knew I wanted to surrender, I was afraid of what would happen if I do, or even of admitting it to myself. But once I stop the struggle, and let go completely, allowing instinct to take over, don't think, don't premeditate, just follow my body's own urging, it knows what to do, once my gay-gene allows me to want to suck him, as a matter of fact, it feels incredibly good in a disturbing kind of way. Ivan had been right all along.

Now I'm sucking deliriously. And I do like it. I'm making disgusting lubricious slurpy-glurgly sounds, but I no longer care. Glowing with excited pleasure myself, while lavishing as much pleasure as I can on him. Having this dick in my mouth feels right. My actions seem to come so naturally. Not only am I his cocksucker, but, judging by the sounds he's making, it seems I'm good at it. The thought that I'm the cause of those hoarse sexy sounds only intensifies the eerie passion flooding me. With a strange sense of pride at my ability to please this big man. Whatever fears and uncertainty are left, ebb away as I feel the sensations my sucking are causing.

My own cock, jiggling up and down between my legs is on fire, I make no attempt to staunch it, even if that was possible, and begin gasping and moaning as best I can with a full mouth as I start spunking off. He knows what's happening and smoothes the back of my head encouragingly. I feel totally possessed by this man, a mouth to be used for his pleasure.

Slow down. Make it last. But all too soon I feel something like a deep shudder pass through the length of his body, and a tell-tale pulse in my mouth. It kicks hard up against my tongue. I can longer see his glans, it's embedded in my throat, but I can visualise that uretha opening, as the deluge erupts. And I'm drinking him. Slurp, gulp, slurp, gulp, until the storm passes. He relaxes back, all the tension gone from his body, as I remain exactly where I am, reluctant to allow it to leave the moistness of my sated mouth, sucking gently, more for my benefit than his, he slowly coming down from the heights of pleasure, me more than a little enraptured by my act of total cock supplication...

Waking next morning with a hard-on and a headful of mixed-up confusion is strange. The sheets reek of sweat. The air smells of sex. I'm no longer the same person I'd been before. There's something new in the world. Something that had not existed before last night. Once I was normal. Or at least as normal as any other adolescent with raging hormones. But twenty-four hours can turn everything around. Twenty-four hours can change your life.

In some inexplicable way I was no longer the solitary uptight kid I'd been. I've passed over, I'm a man who had sex with another man. Me, the awkward geeky kid who could never find or keep a girlfriend - no wonder, I should have been trying to meet and keep a boyfriend instead! I've never shared this degree of naked intimacy with any other human being. He's already awake. I can't meet his eyes without blushing like a bashful schoolgirl. I'm reluctant to dress, it feels right to be naked. I feel safe with him, protected in a bond of special intimacy I've never known before. I watch him approach me.

"I like freshly-squeezed orange-juice first thing in the morning" he tells me, "with my own special recipe. I got the orange in the chiller cabinet. You want I show you, then you can get it for me each morning, OK?"

I nod. He goes to the chiller, gets out the carton of orange, and half-fills a tumbler. "See...?"

"Yes," wondering where this is leading. He reaches down and seizes my cock, caressing my balls, smoothly stimulating. As he squeezes the urethra gapes like a small mouth, then like a fish-mouth opening and closing as he wanks up and down my growing length. It's rare that he actually fondles me, but he knows what he's doing, it doesn't take long, I can feel the sensations starting in my gonads. He knows too.

He levers my cock down, into the tumbler, until my glans is submerged in the thick orange juice. He squeezes and coaxes, until I ejaculate in long white strands that bubble and float. He allows it to subside, using my cock to stir the liquid around the glass several times, then raises my cock free, shakes it slightly until the last drops of orange and sperm have dripped into the glass.

"Good" he smiles at me, swirls the contents of the glass around a few times, lifts it to his lips and drinks it down. "Think you can do that for me each morning...?"

I grin shyly, "Sure I can."

"Good" he says, draining the glass. "It's a maritime secret, sex between men, furtive, secret, exciting" he explains afterwards. "One that's as old as time. As old as Odysseus. When voyages take a long time, two, three months. Young men get bored, get frustrated. And the crew, they know that Ivan he likes boys. I make them happy. In return, they make me happy. Ivan stops them getting bored. He stops their frustration. So zey give me each new boy, and I teach him. Break him in..."