Coc-Sucer: Around the World

Sexual Pleasures Of The Harbour

The evening began in a bar off Las Ramblas in the sullen Catalonian night heat. Carlos is so charming, so persistently persuasive. His attentions so urgent, and so flattering. Looking into his curiously thoughtful eyes, I find deep erotic promises there. We are drawn by mutual sexual magnetism, more blatant and urgent than it had been with Michel. This time I'm fully aware what's going to happen, there's no mistaking what we both have in mind.

Sure, I was alone, and up for a little action. He was forceful, and that in itself is attractive. Sex was definitely on the agenda. I was up for some serious fondle-ation, some mouth-action blow-jobbery. Already, back on the ship, I must be considered missing, presumed involved. He takes me outside. The night is warm. I was a little uncertain when Juan & Mario join us in the alley as we skirt around the harbour edge beneath those startling-bright Mediterranean stars. But they're so obviously a couple. So into each other I quickly forget my uncertainty, and we arrive in Carlos' low-rent apartment in the Barrio district together. The four of us.

It's a typical bachelor pad for a world-soiled twenty-year-old. A faint wet-dog musk. Soiled clothes draped across the floor. Pizza boxes. I was so hot for him it doesn't even seem strange when Juan & Mario join us in the bedroom. There's wine, fat cigarettes of doubt, and it's so humid-warm we're down to underwear simply for comfort. Then Carlos is naked, and that's all I can see. He's a dirty dream come true. My thoughts so kaleidoscopic surely they must be audible to people in the street outside? I tense up a little as he moves to draw my shorts down, but that's only the normal kind of nerves you always get at first-reveal to a new lover, and when my cock flicks out so smoothly into the tight caress of his fist my head goes back in sensations of joy.

He smiles at me, then his head goes in, I feel his warm breath on my cock-head, then the moist pressure of his lips on my shaft, and when a guy is down there giving you the best blow-job you've ever had you'll promise him anything just so long as he doesn't stop. Just so long as he keeps sucking at your erection lodged somewhere deep in his throat. There's no sweeter surrender. Jeez but he was good. He was practised. He was experienced. He knows all the most exquisite ways to please your pleasure centres.

We tumble back onto the bed, bodies entwined, me on my back, my cock still firmly in his mouth. The fingers of his right hand ripple around the curve of my bare bottom, his nails slightly tracing the cleft between, each touch sparking electric sensations, while his left hand cups, gently squeezes and massages my scrotum, all the time never allowing my cock to leave the pulsating liquid-fire suction of his warm moist mouth. The combination is overwhelming...

I was feeling drunk. Carlos was sucking my cock, the combination of sensations is ecstatic. On the other side of the bed Juan & Mario are kissing, their hands fumbling in each other's bulging y-fronts. I look down, catch Carlos' eyes looking up, his face looks flushed, screwed up around a thick mouthful of my cock which is juicy with his saliva. Nodding to his task, his black hair flopping back and forward, he looks delightfully debauched. As I watch Carlos runs his lips up the length of my cock, holding it erect with thumb and forefinger so just the tip of the bulb is in his mouth. He releases a dribble of spit that trickles down the shaft, and opens his mouth, running his lower lip over the leaking glans as he speaks...

"You know what I'd like?" He looks down at my cock, bites it gently in such a way that a bead of pre-cum semen wells up from it.

"Yes, you want your slut's throat fucking, you randy whore" I gasp out.

He licks the bead of spunk deliberately. "Yes, but I'd like to tie you to this bed, then I'll suck you dry until you howl." As he utters the last word he sinks my cock so deliciously deep into his throat, sucking at it so powerfully that my toes curl in pleasure. Then his head comes up again, leaving my glistening cock swaying ludicrously, flopping wetly across my gut.

Carlos squats there between my splayed legs, poised like an animal, then he starts moving up my naked body, inching his way. Kisses the tip of my cock, then the indentation of my navel, then my left and right nipples. By now he's sitting on my thighs, his bare bottom gently crushing my aroused genitals with his warmth, then the round curves of his arse are sitting on my stomach, then my chest with his own long stiff cock quivering, his fat brown balls dangling. He thrusts his thighs teasingly so his cock jabs into my face.

"You know what you have to do?" he demands.

"Yes, anything you want me to" I smile.

"Say you'd like this." I lie still. Carlos kneels up over my shoulders now, and teases the tip of his cock along my lips, but as my lips part to accept it he draws back. "Say it." He inched the cock back into range. "Say it."

My mouth forms a round vulgar 'O' and comes up to meet the fat dick-head. But he draws back again. My expression must look confused and hurt.

"Say it, say you'll let me tie you up."

Whoever won an argument with a hard-on? No-one. "Ok, do it, do it."

And this time as he lowers his thighs he rams it all the way in, my waiting lips say yes to its caress as the plum-shaped cock-head plunges forcefully through, slides easily into my mouth, pressing my tongue down and aside, feeding inexorably into my hungry throat.

"Don't try and squirm away from it, take it" to me. Then "Juan, Mario, watch this queer swallow dick."

And the two lovers disentangle to do as he says. Carlos gradually inches more and more into my mouth. My eyes are wide open, looking up over the fat wedge of cock-meat, over the heaving stomach and the smooth hairless chest at Carlos' taunting face. I suck at the cock and watch the reaction, feel the warmth of pubic hair, then the softness of testicles crushing up against my chin. My eyes clam shut involuntarily as the glans comes tight up against the restrictions of my throat. I can feel the hard line of his pelvic bone.

"The slut wants tying up" said Carlos. "Fancies of bit of bondage she does. Shall we oblige?"

Juan watches with perverted interest, his dark lips creased into a smile. He reaches out and takes my right hand, levering it up to the bedhead and, moving around for ease of access, begins to secure it there with a belt from a discarded pair of pants. Mario catches his intention and moves down to one of my legs with a striped tie, tugging it impatiently into place. I begin to squirm and writhe, making what's intended to be nervous laughter, but the protesting noises are muffled by the cock rammed firmly in my mouth, garbled to moist gurgling noises in my throat.

"Keep still" snaps Carlos. He's angling his thighs around, so he's almost down on all fours over my impaled head, warped out of the perpendicular, the better positioned to ram more cock down my defenceless throat as he does so, face-fucking me so I can't move, back and forward, reaching out for my wildly waving free hand and lashing it to the bedhead too, moving up and down so his balls swing to and fro, banging against my throat and chin, his cock squelching around in its moist socket.

My other leg is bucking and thrashing wildly, but Juan & Mario work together to pinion it down, and soon I'm securely spread-eagled to the bed. Only then does Carlos draw back, extracting his phallic gag inch by inch until it sops loose dribbling spittle messily over my face as I cough and retch, eyes wet with tears. But they've only just begun. Mario's pants have gone. He's naked, as he begins shoving pillows awkwardly under my buttocks so my thighs are raised and my legs splayed apart grotesquely, my stiff and glistening cock wobbling precariously...

These sweaty antics are not what I'd come here expecting. My heart is thundering at double speed, my mouth dry, I was strangely afraid. I'd never felt so vulnerable or exposed. I tug at the bonds securing me, they're crudely improvised but effective. I'm unable to move. A cold knot in the pit of my stomach will not relax.

Now Juan is crouched beside me, his groin level with my face. Mario reaches down to fondle his friend's dangerously uncut erection, squeezing it gently, then runs its moist tip up and down the side of my face. It leaves a trail of wetness. Mario moves its moist head around, tracing the circle of my brow with its blunt tip, then down the length of my nose. Carlos is watching with a broad grin of undisguised pleasure. I'm trying to pretend it's a game. Trying to pretend that I'm going along with it. The cock touches my lips.

I say one word. I say "Carlos."

He says "These are my friends. I share everything with my friends. Love me, love my friends. Suck me, suck my friends."

My lips part, my tongue gingerly exploring as it slides in, inch by incredible inch. I have no choice. They say if rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it. This isn't rape. I'd wanted sex. This is just a little more than I'd anticipated. Their three lithe naked bodies are toned and physically fit, glistening olive skin and sparse jet-black body-hair. Their dark bodies contrasting with the relative paleness of my own. They're young and up for it with a fierce passion. Delightfully hung, intimidatingly erect. Three lusty late-teen boys with healthy voracious appetities. But so am I. There's no reason at all why I wouldn't want to have sex with any of them. They're sexy as hell. But all three...?

Juan is suction-locked deep in my mouth, I can't move my head, so I suck at it, gingerly at first but with increasing enthusiasm, as I feel intimate fingers playing with my exposed and vulnerable balls. Fingers running up and down the length of my cock. Then smoothing lubrication around my anus, dipping into the puckered orifice. And I know what's coming next, forcing my body to relax as I feel the movement between my legs, the shuffling and nuzzling for position, the sniggering, then the warm persistent pressure of a cock-head forcing its way in. I don't even know who it is sliding smoothly into my bum - Carlos or Mario, but it takes my breath away.

As Juan vacates my mouth, I can see Mario is poised ready to replace him, balls hung - as they say in the porno's, like a stallion. So it's Carlos now fucking my bum! He speaks to me. Something in Catalan. I don't understand, and say so. He doesn't understand me either. But I've taken two cocks. I've taken Carlos and Juan into my mouth. What difference will a third make? Except that a brutal mouth-fuck goes beyond language, communicating somewhere at the most primal level of dominance and submission.

Mario holds my head to fuck his cock into my mouth, not pausing as I gag, laughing and inviting the others to watch as he works my throat... it's a weird and panicky sensation to be double-penetrated, especially when I have no control over what's being done to me. What do they intend doing? What kind of scary situation have I got myself into? But I'm burning erect, quivering on the brink of my own orgasm, moaning like a whore in a dirty pulp novel, encouraged by probing squeezing manipulating fingers, and the rhythmic pressure now emanating from my bottom as a solid heat slides in. It's like being shagged by a science-fictional orgasmatron.

What follows is a confusing sequence of ins-and-outs, orally and anally. I barely have time to draw breath between alternating mouthfuls of cock. Then there are two fat cock-heads squeezed together as they joust for access to my mouth, my lips straining to surround them both. The rich spicy aroma of intimate aroused maleness assailing my nostrils. The sound of moist bodies slithering together, and into me, panting like dogs. An anonymous mouth on my erection as a third cock nudges its way into my aching anal orifice. I can't recall the exact order of who does what, who ejaculates first, or even who cums where. Except I wind up with sperm on the cleavage of my anus, another in my mouth, my own across my gut, and sticky strands of a fourth cum-load slithering down my face.

Much later it's half-light. I feel sticky-dirty in the Catalonian night-warmth, my body moist with sweat and drying body-fluids, mine, and theirs. My bottom pulses, not entirely unpleasantly. Have I been gang-banged? It that what has just happened? I've taken three cocks into my mouth, and those same three cocks up my ass.

Does three guys constitute a gang-bang? Two would not, four probably would. But three cocks... is that a gang-bang? It feels to me that it was. They were nice cocks. Although it was a little scary at the time, looking back now it was exciting. It's only scary when you don't know what's going to happen, and you're apprehensive about what they're going to do. As it is, I've now lived out another of those fantasy-scenarios I'd only ever seen on video. Whatever that means for my sense of sexual self-identity, which is in a state of total all-over confusion.

Later it comes to me that they've been working this together. That probably they do this all the time, picking up lonely Gay tourists with the lure of sex, bringing them back here, and mugging them. Taking their euros, mobiles, cameras, whatever they can lift. Tonight, has been a slow night. I've obviously got nothing worse stealing. So they just play shag-bandit sex-games with me instead. Perhaps, at some point in their past, they'd been subjected to this kind of humiliation themselves. Now they're using me to exact their revenge, using me as a convenient target?

Now Carlos has released me from the improvised bondage, and I'm sat there massaging some feeling back into my wrists. Looking across I can see Mario and Juan sixty-nining slowly and lovingly, they've lost all interest in me and are totally absorbed in each other once again, the curve of their smoothly-rounded buttocks undulating gently in response to the mutual oral attentions. It's odd to think I've had both of those cocks in my mouth.

Carlos has been there too, he was the instigator. Now he's watching my reactions. He's dangerous. That makes him all the more exciting. I look away sulkily. He reaches out and ruffles my hair, maybe affectionately, maybe apologetically. I turn away sharply intending to swear and rage at him, but his eyes meet mine, gazing deep into my soul. Blue, Spanish eyes.

He shrugs, "Hey...?"

How can I stay mad when he's so maddeningly sexy? I can't help myself, I find myself laughing. We're both laughing. He sits beside me on the bed. Drapes his arm casually around my bare shoulder. Despite myself I feel my body reacting to his naked closeness. It's impossible to hide that reaction, it's pretty obvious, so I make no attempt at concealment. He reaches down and envelopes my growing erection in his cool fingers. I've a feeling that more sperm will flow, that there's going to be more sex before dawnlight parts us forever. But this time, as we roll together, its more how I'd imagined it would be, one-on-one, with some gentle tenderness and soft reciprocal pleasure.

As we part the following morning, with wonderful sad-eyed longing Carlos gives me his mobile number. I board up the gangplank.

Ivan 'The Bear' is waiting. "Hey, did you find yourself a bum-chum?"

I smile shyly and say nothing. Although details will inevitably emerge. As the ship pulls away from the berth and heads for open sea I look back at the receding shoreline. I shred the phone number and drop the strips down into the churning wake in the sure and certain knowledge that I'll never return. I turn away. Look to the future. Looking forward to whatever tomorrows this strange voyage holds, this voyage of discovery with no safe harbor...

-- 0 --

The voyage extends, beyond the horizon, settling into routine. Each new morning begins with me preparing Ivan's fortified 'special' orange juice, which - as he says, provides him with fresh boy-protein, while also helping to relieve my raging 'morning glory'. I begin to appreciate how fortunate I am to have been placed with him. He tells wonderful tales of his adventures in many foreign ports, and guides my reading taste by recommending books from his library for me, which we talk through afterwards, developing my appreciation of good literature.

I stand at the starboard rail, drinking in the sharp morning air after a night in the musty cabin suffused with the stale odours of sex and bodies, watching the sky where a lone gull flaps lazily alongside us, one opportunistic eye hunting any edible trash we jettison. Still banded with red to the east, the sun lifts its rim above the near-cloudless horizon into a vast blue bowl resting over the heaving plain of ocean. The deep turquoise waves breaking against the bow, streaming away, hissing along the sides of the ship, breaking into mats of foam sweeping astern.

The ocean is a metaphor for so many things, life's journey, voyages of exploration, new beginnings, pioneering mariners, new unexplored continents, and I'm living them all. The surface of the ocean heaving like the respirating chest of a sleeping sea-god. The endless lunar-drawn waves that have been lapping since the beginning of time, and will still be there as all time draws to an end. Its vast depths containing all the lost memories of the world, a metaphor for the subconscious where deep submerged and near-forgotten urges and primal instincts we scarce dare admit to lurk and slumber nudged by swirling ocean currents.

The ocean is the place where life began, where the first single-celled organisms bifurcated into two, inventing sexual reproduction, and where everything ultimately returns. Water is endlessly renewed. This ocean seethes with the recycled molecular memories of dinosaur-piss, the toilet-waste sluiced from Roman aqueducts, the rain that fell on Napoleonic armies, the organic tissue of shipwreck victims, Buccaneers' mouldering skeletons fused into coral-reefs... as all of the old certainties of my life dissolve, running as formlessly fluid as water. Nothing is real.

Now Bear is slumped back on his bunk wearing his grubby T-shirt. Nothing else. Me, I'm crouched nude between his splayed legs, face buried in his groin, the rich taste of his cum still fresh in my mouth, as I rhythmically pull at my own erection. It's been a long day. He lies on his back on his bunk, I crouch over him, still more than a little in awe of his cock's virile power. There are long streaks of his spunk up my face, on my forehead, across my nose and cheeks, between my lips and teeth, dripping from my chin. He'd cum earlier than I expected. Too soon for my needs.

He'd come straight off-shift. I'd been waiting, ready for him, mind already gooey with anticipation. In the cabin we share I wear only my 'T'-shirt because I know that's how he prefers me, so he can reach out and pat my bare bottom or tweak my cock as and when the whim takes him. They're his by right of ownership. It seems only natural now. I'd always been unsure about my body. I'd always lacked self-confidence. But I know that each time I move, he's watching me, the way my cock and balls sway, the way my bottom undulates, and I know he likes what he sees. He looks as me as though I'm a sex-object - me! When he's eyeing me up and down, he desires what he sees, he's predatory for my body. It makes me smugly satisfied. How could I not understand...? There's nothing he can do to me that I don't want him to do.

"Did you do your Captain's interview today?" he asks.

"Mmm" is all I can manage around a mouthful of his softening cock.

"He ask if you're OK with the cabin arrangements?"

"Mmmm."

"So what did you tell him?"

Lifting my head only slightly, "I told him I was fine with the cabin arrangements as they are."