Come Me Mr. Sax Man

Trent woke to the morning light coming through the porthole. It took him several moments to remember where he was. He lifted his bunched fists to his eyes to rub out the morning dirt.

"Awake?"

He ran through his index of men to determine whose voice it was. It certainly was someone he knew. He turned his head toward where the sound had come from. The stage director. Now Trent remembered the previous night, even though it wasn't a particularly memorable one once he started back to his cabin. Oh, well, he'd already decided it was time to give the director more attention.

"Uh, uhm." He started to roll toward the side of the bed, away from the stage director's body stretched out beside him. But a hairy arm came down over his torso and started to turn him back to the center of the bed.

"Um, Erick. It's morning. Or afternoon, or whatever."

"So what? You know what I like in the morning. It hasn't been that long that you should have forgotten."

"Gotta go. We should be anchored at Coco Cay."

"So?"

"I have a tour. Over on the island."

"Forget about it." The stage director had a tight hold on Trent, and as he was turned toward the older man, Trent could feel that the man was hard. "We'll be back next week—and the week after that. You can take the tour later."

"I've paid for it, Erick. And I've gotta get off the ship for a while or I'll explode."

"When is the tour?"

"1:00 p.m. Over on the island. And I'll have to tender in."

"It's only nine. We have plenty of time."

Trent had managed to struggle out of the stage director's arms, though, and sat up on the side of the berth. In one fluid motion from there he stood up beside the bed. He immediately felt wobbly, though, and almost collapsed back on the bed before he could get his balance. Erick reached out for him, but Trent moved away from the bed.

"Spoil sport. Tease," Erick murmured. But he wasn't scowling, so Trent decided he hadn't pushed not doing as the stage director wanted too far.

He pulled on his jeans and gathered up the briefs, T-shirt, and loafers he'd been wearing the previous evening.

"God, you're beautiful," the stage director muttered. "Just like you'd strutted out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Come on back to daddy, you sexy thing."

"Catch you later," Trent said with a forced smile as he moved to the cabin door.

"You'll want a favor sooner than later and you'll be back," the stage director groused.

Trent exited the cabin and padded across the hall and down the interior corridor that led to his own cabin. He could hear his roommate snoring through the door as he quietly inserted his sea pass card in the lock slot and opened the door.

Shit, he thought as he entered the dark interior cabin. The light from the corridor washed over his roommate's berth, where the man lay, snoring. But he wasn't alone. Draped over him was a nude, sleeping woman. Natalie, one of the dancers, Trent thought. His roommate had picked a hell of a time to score with a woman.

As quietly as he could, Trent moved to the built-in bureau and closet and gathered a pair of shorts, fresh briefs, a clean T-shirt, and a pair of deck shoes. As silently as he'd entered the cabin, he left it and padded back to the door of Erick's cabin. He hadn't closed the door tight, and it opened inward as he moved to knock on the door.

Erick was still in bed, propped up against pillows against his headboard and smoking a cigarette.

"You're back. Changed your mind on a morning fuck?"

"No. Can I use your shower? Dennis has someone in our cabin. I don't want to wake them."

"Dennis has someone?"

"Yes, as surprising as that is. But before you get excited, it's a woman. So, can I use your shower."

"That would be asking a favor, wouldn't it?" As he said that, he sat up on the side of the berth and spread his legs. Trent knew what he wanted. He knew just what Erick always wanted in the morning. With a sigh, he placed his clean clothes on a chair, stripped off his jeans, sank between the stage director's legs on his knees, cupped Erick's balls in one hand, and, holding the man's cock at the root with his other hand, slid his lips down over Erick's cock head.

As the night before—as every time Erick had fucked him—the stage director fucked Trent missionary style, with Trent laying on his back on the edge of the berth, with his head turned and staring off at the cabin wall and his ankles resting on Erick's shoulders, while, having raised Trent's pelvis with pillows under the small of his back, the older man fucked Trent's channel slow and deep. Erick didn't seem to realize—or care—that he was the only one doing any work.

Only after he'd ejaculated did the stage director tell Trent he could use his shower. Not having been brought to come himself because he hadn't been satiated by the stage director's technique, Trent masturbated himself to an ejaculation in the miniscule shower stall.

* * * *

Trent had signed up for a small-boat tour from Coco Cay, the cruise line's Disneyesque "adventure" land island it anchored near for a day to give the passengers a beach and theme-park experience during the cruise, not only out of curiosity but also because he felt he simply had to get away from the ship for at least a brief time. He recognized that he had been mistaken not to get off the ship at either the Cape Canaveral or Nassau stops just to walk around on his own. Of course, he'd had rehearsals to attend during those stops, which would have made any off-ship excursion a short one. But the troupe had given its last performances for this cruise now, so he could take a tender to Coco Cay for much of the day if he wanted. The ship didn't sail again until 5:00 p.m.

He could have taken various water sports excursions, but the tour he'd chosen was one that would just cruise around a nearby cay, informally called Drug Island. All of the sex in recent days had tired him, so he wasn't looking for an energetic experience.

Drug Island's formal name was Norman's Cay. All of the land on it had slowly been acquired by a drug lord of the Colombian Medillín cartel in the late 1970s and, for four years, it had been run as a major cocaine transshipment point between Colombia and nearby Miami. In 1982 the Bahamian police and U.S. drug enforcement officers had finally descended on the island and closed down the operation and arrested everyone left on the island in a single night's raid. The boat tour from Coco Cay circumnavigated the island, showing that it had been abandoned totally and that everything there on the night of the raid remained and was deteriorating.

For Trent the tour was just to be a mindless time of rest away from the ship.

And there was every reason to believe that it might be that until right before the boat cast off from the Coco Cay pier and was flagged down by six late-arriving passengers—Clint and his five fraternity brothers.

The boat, with benches along the rails and a canopy over the deck, was crowded enough with vacationers that Clint and his crew made no overt moves on Trent. But they sat across from him in the boat and eyed him as much, if not more, than the sites the tour operator was pointing out.

Clint placed his hand on his crotch and tilted his head to one side, signaling a question, probably wondering if Trent was angry about the gangbanging the previous night. But that had been fine with—and profitable to—Trent, and he smiled back and spread his legs and, although he didn't touch his crotch, he let a hand drop between his legs. Clint blew him a kiss. Digging around in his pocket, Trent came up with a few of the fifty-dollar bills from the previous night and rubbed them together in his hand where Clint and his friends could see them. Clint smiled and nodded his head, establishing a future tryst. Clint spread his arms, indicating his friends, and inclined his head—and Trent nodded a yes.

All would have been fine if it had stopped there, but the signaling continued and became darker in tone. When Clint next caught Trent's eye, he made a production of unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops in his shorts, doubling it upon itself, slapping it against his forearm and thighs, and, more suggestively, wrapping it around his wrists. One of his fraternity brothers did the same. Trent shook his head, and Clint frowned. He slapped the belt against his forearm again. Trent now figured he might be in a bit of a bind when the tour boat docked.

And he was right—just as soon as the tour was over and returned to the Coco Cay pier. As the boat hit the dock, Trent hopped off and headed toward the well-populated beach area on the other side of the cay. He managed to reach almost to the fringe of the beach when Clint and his friends caught up with him.

Trent caught sight of Buzz, the saxophonist, in bathing trunks, sitting on the side of a chaise lounge under a palm tree three rows of lounges up from the waterline. He was hunched over a woman posed daintily in a reclining position on the lounge next to his. They both had tall glasses of a drink in tropical colors and the woman was laughing a tinkling laugh.

Buzz looked up and saw him, and Trent almost called out to the saxophonist—until he saw that the musician was with a woman—again.

At that moment, though, he felt the strong pressure of hands grabbing his wrists from either side, and he was being frog-marched off to the side, toward more dense plant growth at the center of the islet and away from the populated beach area.

"You gonna make a fuss?" Clint growled.

"Not if you don't go all sadomasochistic on me," Trent answered.

As he was being hustled into the scrub, Trent saw that they were entering an area marked as a nature trail, with the trail starting between two wooden poles. A chain cascaded down the side of one—which evidently was used to close off the trail near the end of the time on the island so that passengers wouldn't be enticed to move away from the beach area right before the last tender boat left for the ship.

Clint fucked him first with one of the other young men straddling Trent's chest and feeding his cock into Trent's mouth. Trent was on his back on the sandy soil in a small depression between trees that was sealed off visually from the nature trail by heavy-growth underbrush. They were close enough to a beach area, though, that Trent could hear the lapping of the waves on the beach and could occasionally hear calls of children on the beach.

The belt Clint had been flicking his arms and thighs with had been used to tie off Trent's wrists over his head and around the trunk of a palm tree. Trent had acquiesced in this with the stipulation that that sort of stuff went no further—but after he was bound, he realized that he now couldn't stop it if it did. One of the other young men was snapping at Trent's thighs and belly with the other belt and muttering for Clint to hurry up, that he was next.

After Trent had been fucked by two of the young men, the second time turned onto his stomach and his ass being ridden as the man straddled his hips, Clint came up with the idea that two of the guys might want to double Trent. They were game to do so. Trent set his teeth, refusing to beg them to stop either what they were doing or what they said they planned to do. So far they'd kept it toned down. One of the guys had suggested that they hog tie him with the belts and see if they could fuck him that way, but Clint had said no.

Trent wasn't that afraid of double penetration. He had taken two cocks at once before on occasion. Not very often, but the prospect didn't terrify him. The frat brothers were young and virile and had great bodies. Other than the indignity of having the sex imposed on him and having had more than enough of it during the past couple of days, Trent was not frightened or averse to what was happening. He was just a little worried that it was on the edge of turning nasty.

Two of the frat brothers were arranging themselves on the ground, on their backs and their legs overlapping, with their cocks being held together and the other men manhandling Trent toward them, when all froze at the sound of a maniacal roar. Their heads snapped up as if in unison, as a man charged into the clearing from the underbrush. He was twirling a metal chain over his head—evidently having been pulled off the stake at the entrance of the nature trail.

The fraternity brothers scramble up and staggered in four different directions into the brush in an effort to avoid coming in contact with the swinging chain. Within seconds, Trent, collapsed on his back, was alone in the clearing—with Buzz Abrams.

Buzz went down on his knees beside Trent's prone, panting body. He first reached around the tree trunk and released Trent's wrists from the binding of the belt and then he put an arm under Trent's neck and lifted his head a bit.

"Are you OK? Did those guys hurt you?"

"I'll be OK." Trent murmured. "Nothing happened that hasn't happened before. Don't want to make a stink about it. They are paying passengers. I know you know we're to bend over backward to the passengers. It was just a little intense. But thanks for breaking it up." Trent was thrilling to the attention and touch of Buzz. He didn't want to acknowledge that "intense" wasn't something he really minded. He thought it might be getting a bit too much to move into being doubled, but the two guys selected didn't have particularly thick cocks, so he could have managed even that—and with some pleasure.

But Buzz was here—at least—concerned for him and giving him attention. And the man was built, in the age bracket Trent liked best, and was making Trent, naked and lying under him, go hard.

"They assaulted you. We'll get you back to the ship and report—"

"They paid me for it," Trent said. "I agreed to it."

"Oh," Buzz responded.

"They're passengers. I'm staff. What good would it do to pursue it? I let men fuck me."

"Well . . . hurt anyplace?" Buzz asked again. He was moving his hand over Trent's body, but as Trent gave a deep moan, the touch changed, turning into a search for something other than wounds. Trent grabbed the wrist of Buzz's free hand with one of his hands and moved it down to his groin. With his other hand, he pulled Buzz's mouth down to his.

Buzz immediately opened his lips to Trent's. His response was tentative, confused, at first, but as Trent pressed on and snaked his hand up and sought out Buzz's taut nipples on his muscle-hard bare chest, the kiss turned to insatiable hunger and Buzz pushed his tongue inside and possessed Trent fully. When Trent took the hand away that he'd use to move Buzz's hand to his genitals, Buzz hadn't withdrawn his hand. Instead, after cupping and squeezing Trent's balls, he'd fisted Trent's cock and was slow pumping him. And, while the kiss lingered, Trent began moving his hips, with Buzz's response being to open his fist more to permit Trent to stroke his cock within the created cylinder.

Trent's emotions were soaring. He hadn't been wrong. Those looks the saxophonist had given him weren't false. The man had wanted him. He was instantly in high heat at having come into intimate contact with Trent.

Pulling away from the kiss, Trent cried out, "Fuck me. I want you to. Fuck me. Fuck me hard! I want you inside me!"

Buzz didn't need to be convinced. He raised his torso from Trent's long enough to pull his bathing trunks off his legs and then he rolled on top of Trent's stretched-out body and lowered his lips to Trent's and possessed them again. He grabbed Trent's wrists and forced the young man's arms above his head. Buzz was supporting his weight on his knees, his hairy chest was barely brushing Trent's, and his now-hardened dick was stroking up and down on Trent's belly. The sensation was of something more than just a cock, and, a chill going up his spine, Trent wondered . . .

In high heat himself, the dancer writhed under Buzz, trembling and shuddering. Breaking away from the kiss and freeing one of his arms, Trent cried out again, "Fuck me now. I can't wait." He moved his free hand down Buzz's heaving belly and grabbed the man's cock. Trent gasped and began to pant hard. Buzz was as long and thick and rock hard as Trent had imagined him to be. And that wasn't all. The image of the Brazilian and that thick PA cock ring floated through his brain. Buzz's cock was pierced too, but with him it was a bar through the cockhead with big balls on either end.

Oh, jesuuus, the way that would feel, preceding an already overthick cockhead up a stretching channel. Almost bitterly, flooded with pangs of jealousy, Trent thought that Buzz's women must go wild with this plowing up into them—as it would with him. As he had to have. "Oh, jesuus," he cried out. "Give this to me. Now! Gotta have this now!"

But Buzz's ardor was beginning to flag and Trent felt the man shrinking from him.

"I can't. We have to wait. I don't have—"

"I can't wait. I don't care," Trent cried out. With the dexterity accorded to him as a dancer, he rolled his hips up, encased Buzz's back with his legs, and, fisting Buzz's cock, moved it to his hole—well opened and lubricated by Clint and his crew already—and with Buzz crying out in ecstasy this time as Trent revolved the head of the cock around his rim and then pressed down and pulled the bulb inside his channel.

The feel of the two balls to the sides of the bar, stretching and punishing him. Hyperventilating from anticipation and want, whimpered repeatedly, "Give it to me, give it to me," his channel drawing the cock inside him. Shuddering, digging his fingernails into Buzz's biceps, grinding his hips against Buzz's pelvis. The muscles of his channel walls rippling over Buzz's cock as it sank up into him, the gold balls stretching and rubbing hard, trumpeting the progress of the magnificent cock to follow.

Giving the cry of an animal in high heat, Buzz rammed his unsheathed cock up higher into the channel and began to pump hard and deep, while Trent arched his back and cried out for the man to fuck him silly.

All opportunity for propriety by the boards now, Buzz gave himself up to unfettered lust. He also took full control. Reaching over and gathering up his bathing suit and the open sports shirt he'd been wearing when he entered the clearing, but that had fallen away in his attack on the fraternity men, and Trent's T-shirt, shorts, and Speedo as well, he stuffed these under the small of Trent's back. He raised Trent's pelvis to him, grabbed Trent's legs from encircling his back and forced them in a wide, bent-knees stance. This made the slide of a cock of his proportions easier. He then grabbed Trent's wrists again and forced the young man's arms above his head. Kneeling between Trent's spread thighs, he pushed his own thighs under Trent's buttocks, raising Trent's pelvis even further to accommodate the long, straight slide of his cock in and out of the channel. Panting heavily and mewing his surrender, Trent turned his head to the side, and with gasps and murmurs of, "Oh, fuck, oh shit, yes, oh, shit yes," shuddered at the long journey until Buzz's balls were nestled against Trent's.

"The cock barbell, the cock bar, the cock bar," Trent cried out in appreciation of what the balls at the end of the bar were doing to him inside. Buzz was rotating his hips, punishing Trent's walls, deep, with the metal balls.

Buzz leaned his torso over Trent's, took on an intense stare down into Trent's eyes—and began to plow him in earnest. One long slide nearly all of the way out, while Trent arched his back and gasped and then a quick slide in, punctuated by a sharp cry from Trent. And then again . . . and again . . . and againandagainandAGAINANDAGAIN.

Trent writhed under him, crying out "Yes, yes, oh, god, YES!" as Buzz pistoned him hard, deep, and fast—for an eternity.

They began to shudder in unison and Trent ached for them to come together in unison as well. Feeling the end coming near, Buzz leaned down and took possession of Trent's mouth. Using the muscles of his channel as much experience had taught him to, Trent began contracting and releasing on the plowing, throbbing cock.