Dylan Thomas Merriweather Iii

This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance between the places and persons described below to actual places or persons is coincidental. All individuals who engage in sexual activity (male to male) are over 18—as should be any reader. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. BD

This is the second of a three chapter story about Dylan's "coming of age"—at age 34. Dylan is an entrepreneur—and heir to a a mining fortune due to the death of a grandfather and a father. He loves sailing—and sailors. Chapter 01 describes his most recent hooks with a midshipman and a Russian émigré student in Annapolis. I recommend you read Chapter 01 before this.

Dylan and Sandy have a different kind of cruise

During their next few hours in the sun, Dylan had probed Sandy about his background. His mother and father were both Russian, sponsored by a sister for immigration after Glasnost fell apart and their small entrepreneuring venture also collapsed. If you were connected and bribing the Politburo, the end of Glasnost was a non-event. In fact, it accelerated the takeover of state wealth by the oligarchs—with not much impact on the "proletariat." But if you were small time and had used Glasnost to "go private enterprise," it was time to leave.

His father had been a dentist with a small elite private practice and was destined to become a low-paid employee of the state, assuming he wasn't accused of raping the proletariat by charging for dentistry. Even with a dentistry degree and more than ten years of practice, he couldn't get licensed in the US—the monopolistic ADS saw to that. So he and his wife both became dental assistants. They soon had saved enough to purchase a small house (with a large mortgage), a decent car, then a second, and finally an RV. Sandy had one sister, much younger. Both he and his sister had been born in the US and attended Pennsylvania public schools in a suburb of Pittsburgh where many Slavic families had settled.

Sandy played football (not a surprise given his physique), but didn't qualify for an athletic scholarship so he had decided to live at home and attend a community college. His only athletic activities now (in addition to very physical sex) were at the gym. In fact, he was a part time trainer. He hadn't decided on a career path, but at St John's that was easy—it was strictly liberal arts with a wide open curriculum, designed to prepare students for graduate study. It was very different from the community college (technical and job oriented) and Sandy loved the academic challenge. He thought that perhaps a gym/therapy franchise might be a possibility, but wasn't yet career-committed. He was not out to his family, but many of his clients expected (and got) full service. He was still wandering and wondering as so many his age at that time.

Lunch had been served by a steward on the aft deck. He had then buzzed Dylan's phone with a text since he assumed they were nude on the sun loungers on the prow, perhaps still playing, not wanting to be disturbed. Then he disappeared. Evermay was by then in the middle of the Bay, well-south of Bloody Point on Kent Island. Traffic had eased and there was little wind, so they were mostly drifting with minimum turbo power to maintain control. No sails had been deployed.

The others (Greg and his twinks, picked up at the Pink Pelican the previous night) weren't joining them—although the auto-controls would have permitted—and the "real" first mate was aboard. Dylan thought Greg might be a little embarrassed that he had brought two toys on board, and that neither was an adult in any reasonable meaning of that word! They were so into gaming that they spoke of little else. Dylan was beginning to wonder about Greg as the time for his departure to return to Greece approached. Why had he chosen two toys?

Dylan had checked at the bridge before joining Sandy on the loungers late in the morning. He found all three guys naked—no surprise. He spotted Greg's skimpy red posing strap linked over the handle of the wheel. Apparently that was the most he intended to wear for the cruise. Clearly he had fucked both Tom and Jerry (again, probably more than once, and recently). The two little nude guys, who looked like limp marionettes were perched, one on his massive thighs, hanging on to the wheel—and fortunately not steering because Evermay was on auto-pilot and the other on his monstrous cock. Greg seemed to be pleasuring each simultaneously—Tom (?) was on one thigh while Greg fondled his dick and balls with his large left hand as Tim whimpered his pleasure, and Jerry (?) was bouncing loudly on Greg's dick guided by Greg's other large hand. Greg turned around, winked at Dylan (it came off more as an apologetic grimace), and said, "I'm teaching these two young boys how to handle a loaded torpedo. They're quick learners."

"I can see that. And I know you're a quick loader. Carry on, gentlemen. I'll have lunch sent in here. You need to keep up your strength. Greg, we need to be back at the river dock by no later than 5."

"Yes, sir. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon. We'll be there on time."

After lunch, since he had had enough sun for the day, Dylan brought Sandy back to the cabin—which the staff had straightened—and left a chilling bottle of bubbly. Dylan motioned him to the bed. "On your knees, Sandy. I intend some payback for that monumental fucking you gave me this morning."

"Aye, aye, captain. But, please be gentle. I'm a virgin."

"You're kidding me. I love it. And you're going to love it. I love breaking boys in. And I particularly love breaking big muscular top boys in. I think we're going to try a few toys. You'll be begging me to let you cum soon. You're in for a first class initiation. Just say NO and I will stop."

Dylan went to the toy drawer and grabbed a medium-sized cock cage of silicon and stainless. He intended to put on his "full dom" persona for this event. "We start by putting this on. It will help you to obey me and remember your place." He obviously wasn't full-hard—yet. So Dylan lubed the shaft, pulled the cage over and locked the first ring at the base of the shaft. Then, he pushed his balls into the rounded sacs and locked the larger ring at the base of all his jewels. There was some room, but not much. The locks were electronic—and only Dylan knew the code.

Sandy got off the bed and looked down at the cage which pulled his dick and balls very low on his anatomy—obviously a first for him. "I guess I'm really trusting you now. It's pretty heavy. I've never felt so vulnerable or dependent before." Sandy was thinking that for a bottom, Dylan was almost always in total control—except when he was being pleasured to orgasm.

"That's what makes it better. You're a top, an absolute, confirmed masculine top. You've proven that. But, when I make you my bottom, you're going to have a whole new perspective—and a whole new experience. I've learned that the most dominant tops enjoy the hell out of bottoming once in a while—particularly when they are helpless to do otherwise. And that precisely describes your situation right now. It'll make you a better top. When power understands its limits, power is more powerful."

Then Dylan pushed him back onto the bed into a doggie position, lubed and inserted a cone-shaped plug with a small handle. He took it easily—too easily. So Dylan removed it and went to the next larger size, lubed it and pushed it in. This time he saw a bit of moisture in one eye—but Sandy wasn't going to give him satisfaction of showing pain. He definitely was a tough guy. Okay, have it your way. So Dylan waited a minute, pulled it out and lubed and pushed a still larger one in. This time he protested. "It feels like you just pushed your fist in."

"Quiet, babe. A big boy like you can handle it. It's only a size four, on a scale of one to ten. And, it's still smaller than my dick. And I think you actually like it. Your entrance sure sucked it in with a quivering welcome. I think you've done this before."

"Oh, fuck." Sandy dropped down to the mattress, but when he hit the cage, he popped up immediately. He wouldn't try that again. Just in case, Dylan pushed a large bolster under his gut and pushed his shoulders to the mattress. Then he got out some lotion, rested his chest on Sandy's back, molded his gut to Sandy's ass, and started massaging— pecs (including the hardening nibs), abs, inner thighs, glutes—raising Sandy's general arousal and anticipation. Dylan's dick slid over the lotioned crack and his balls kept tapping Sandy's, trapped in the cage. He was getting into the pleasurable part of the exercise. Sandy was enjoying the massage and purring like a kitten. As Dylan hit the glutes, he began to twist the plug, moving it closer to and nudging his prostate. Sandy moaned—this time in satisfaction.

"Hasn't anyone taught you the pleasures of the prostate?"

"I've had some fingers and some toys, but nothing like this. I do some of my customers, but so far, I've limited myself to blow jobs and fucking them. I don't do anal as a bottom with customers—it makes me feel too much like a whore."

"Then, you are in for a real treat—or treatment. I can make you cum with just this dildo, or better yet, my dick in your chute. We—and that includes you—won't touch your dick. And I guaranty that the orgasm will be longer and harder."

"You gotta prove that. But, I'm ready."

"Well, we'll see." Dylan grabbed the handle of the plug, moved it around a bit and then used a light pull to see if it would slide out easily. It did with a loud pop.

So Dylan lubed himself, rolled down the magnum, lubed himself again and then Sandy's rim and opening. He pushed a lubed finger to plant it deeply, just touching the prostate and hearing a hiss from Sandy. Then Dylan knelt behind Sandy, batted his thighs apart and again pushed his shoulders to the mattress—placing his hole at the perfect penetration angle. A few fingers were inserted, scissored, and then Dylan began to push his sheathed head against the sphincter. Sandy resisted. "Breathe and push out—or this will hurt more." He did and Dylan popped in. Sandy let out a whelp, like a pup that had just been whacked—or a bitch that had just been stuck.

"I'm in. I'll rest for a few minutes to let you get used to me. I really am quite a bit bigger than most dicks that you will take. And I do think you will take dick, maybe a lot of dick, after this."

Sandy began to relax. Dylan saw his arm and thigh muscles give just a little. So, he pushed harder and started the rocking that moves the shaft along the widening chute. Then, he found and scraped the prostate. Sandy nearly levitated off the bed. "Oh, god. That was good. What was that?"

"My cock just found the center of your pleasure, my dear boy—your p-spot. It's what makes your asshole as much a sex organ as a pussy. Now I'm going to show you what you have been missing." Within just a few seconds, Dylan was pumping and Sandy was arching and pushing his ass into Sandy's gut as the sensitive love nut's neurons sent the shocks of pleasure to his brain. He wanted more. His ass was hungry for stimulus. He was receiving, yielding, being pleasured—and he loved it.

"The cage is really getting painful."

"I'll take it off when you're ready. You're not yet."

Dylan continued to stroke, long hard strokes which bottomed every time and massaged the prostate with each pass. Sandy began to writhe in pleasure. He couldn't get enough cock in his ass. He kept pushing back and arching his back to prolong the prostate contact. He was leaking and sweating, as their bodies molded. Then, he started reciting a poem in Russian. It sounded like lover's words (although Dylan thought no Russian ever sounded romantic)—or maybe a formula to distract an imminent climax. Dylan would ask for the translation—but not now.

So Dylan reached under and pushed several buttons in sequence and the rings popped open. He removed the cage and tossed it on the pillow in front of Sandy's face. Sandy's cock immediately lengthened to its full 9" potential and he began to flip—maybe even trying to take control of the exercise. "No you don't," Dylan whispered as he gripped Sandy's shaft tightly and scooped his balls up with the other hand. "We're going to do this at my pace. You are mine. This ass is mine; these balls are mine; and, this dick is mine." Dylan was carefully using the same words that Sandy had used on him a few hours earlier. Dylan ringed the shaft and pulled the balls down toward the bed and froze. Soon he felt Sandy's breathing return to near normal. And so he released Sandy's dick.

After several more minutes, Dylan sensed he had to end this soon. Sandy had been edged for almost a half hour, brought to the precipice a half dozen times, then denied release. Several times he had palmed the sensitive head while he used his other hand to pull Sandy's neck around and sucked just below his ear. Sandy was in near ecstasy—his eyes were mere slits; his nostrils were flared; his abs were drawn tightly into his body. So he sat back, pulling on Sandy's abs to seat him hard on his lap and dick. Then he reached up and clamped two fingers hard on Sandy's nipples. Sandy shouted and shot, accompanied by the automatic anal contractions that would milk Dylan. Dylan slammed in a few times and when he felt Sandy's spasms easing, pulled out, ripped off the condom and coated Sandy's muscular back with ropes of his white cream—all the way up to where his neck met his longish hair. Breeding would come later. For the first time, he preferred to cum on Sandy's muscular back.

Dylan fell on Sandy and squirmed around in his own cum. He was pleased. His big, muscular dom had become his sub. Dylan had him. He'd certainly want an encore. And when next he got a chance to be the top, perhaps he will have learned even more technique. Dylan subscribed to the gay motto: "Until you bottom, you don't know how to top."

"Fuck, Dylan. Here I thought I was doing you. And now you've done me. That was the best experience of my life and maybe the biggest orgasm. I'm ready to sign up—for whatever you have in mind."

Both guys got up to shower, and Sandy did the honors, carefully soaping, scrubbing, caressing and handling Dylan's smaller frame. But Sandy wasn't the macho Russian dom. He was limp, staring hungrily at Dylan with hooded bedroom eyes, wanting more, almost intoxicated with Dylan's ability to give him pleasure, and ready to say yes to anything. With one fuck, Dylan had changed Sandy. Sandy cold easily become Dylan's "pet dom." Dylan chuckled at the incongruity of that image. He loved showing his tops what he was capable of—but deep down Dylan wanted them to bring him to the edge of Eden, the passion of servitude. For Dylan knew from experience that being the bottom could mean control. Denying the ability of a top to get off—or to get off only on the bottom's terms--was the real power.

Soon they were at the dock. The afternoon was over. Dylan asked Greg to take the guys home—but not until he had traded phone numbers with Sandy. "We must do this again, soon. You said you were a trainer. I haven't contacted mine since we returned from Greece. Do you want to give it a try? How about Tuesday afternoon? I usually get a massage after—do you do that too? I have a full gym and a table at the house."

"Sure. I could do something around 4. All my classes are over by then. I do have massage training, but not certification. I'd love to see you again. When you called me over last night at the Pelican, I never dreamed that we'd have such a good time. I was expecting a beer and maybe a stall-blow. There is nothing like this in Pittsburgh. I'm yours—although I thought you were going to be mine—anytime. Just call or text. Meanwhile, I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Tell Greg where to pick you up. I'll look forward to seeing you then."

*******

Dylan quickly showered and dressed—in business attire: dark slacks, white shirt; no tie, shoes or socks (it was Sunday, after all). He then went to the office, read a few emails and then speed-dialed into his Singapore video conference call. Everyone was waiting. "Good morning, gentlemen—and lady. We have two special pieces of intelligence which will likely hit the US press tomorrow morning—perhaps we will even see an announcement in a few hours before the New York market opens. The boards of Consolidated Minerals and Rockport have agreed to merge. It appears that this is really another Consolidated acquisition. You guys know that we've been in merger discussions with Rockport—until only two weeks ago when they suddenly recessed "to consult their board." And now we can guess that Consolidated made them a better offer. Those perfidious bastards. At any rate, this will further concentrate the uranium market. In fact, they will have the largest position in the world, save for the Russian state-owned monopoly. This really pisses me off. They could at least have rejected our last offer before opening discussions with someone else. They have no morals, no honor. I'm gonna really screw them to the wall over this. Obviously we'll sue for breach of contract. We'll make their lives miserable for the next year or so."

Weather's EVP for Asia, Wong Lee, spoke next, "We have heard the same thing, but thought they were rumors. However, we've already positioned our trades—we started doing so when they broke off the negotiations. We expect uranium futures will rise significantly in the next few days. Then your Justice Department will announce its opposition and investigation. And then, we announce our suit. Consolidated is controlled by Asian (mostly Chinese) interests now—and Rockport is one of the few free world suppliers of enrichable uranium still in Western hands. Justice has to act. It can't have most of the enrichable uranium ore in the world controlled by its enemies, China and Russia. With Justice acting and our suit, the prices will plummet. We should make quite a bit on this. Perhaps enough to justify a higher offer for Rockport when Justice destroys the announced deal."

"Good work, guys. Don't assume Justice will have enough leverage over the deal to stop it, but maybe the French will cooperate. I think we should talk to EDF about a possible joint position vis a vis Rockport. After this stunt, Jameson and Rockport are going to be totally fucked. We will get them and end up paying less. And Jameson is going to regret this very much. You have my word. Let's follow this closely for the next few days. No amateurs on those accounts. Let's raise our net trading exposure on uranium futures to $20 MM at the end of each trading day."

"Done, Dylan."

"The second item is more difficult to analyze—at least its short and long term impact on us and the markets. Our guy in Beijing has heard from reliable sources that the PRC is going to let China Development Bank call a default on its loan to the port in Tanzania. The loan was for US$150 Billion."

"We've heard the same from our friend at Singapore Port Authority—which has a contract to operate the port. If the Chinese foreclose on the port, it automatically terminates the Sing Operating Agreement. Presumably, the Chinese are ready to take over. We're not sure what that means for the export of cobalt. But we must assume prices will rise."

"However, we also know that the CDB loan is secured by Tanzania's royalty cobalt from the largest two mines—mines which we operate and for which we have exclusive distribution rights—even their 20% share royalty product. We have always advised the Tanzanian Government against borrowing to build infrastructure and using security from natural resources, not the infrastructure itself. Infrastructure loans are notoriously unstable and frequently default. Why would you want to offer security from the country's patrimony? I'm guessing there were major payoffs and that a few top officials now have fat accounts in Switzerland."