Your Day in the Barrel

The largest conference room of the Klump building was laid out with red tablecloths and blazing candles. Alan, George, Otto, and a man none of them knew were seated on plush chairs near the front of the room, passing around a pitcher of beer and filling their steins. The sound of conversation was a deep manly blur around everyone. There were easily two hundred people here tonight.

Herr Klump took the podium. "Ahem," he said in his high voice, and there was instant silence.

"Welcome, one and all, to our start-of-year banquet! Let it be known that I am graced by the presence of all of you tonight. But first and foremost, I'd like to salute our cadets as they embark on their first season at sea. Please stand up for us, class!"

Otto got to his feet, still in the grey trainee vest that highlighted his thick neck and beefy physique. The other employees clapped for him and the young lads standing all around.

"It has been a joyous experience to train you this year, and I do hope to see you all blossom into captains - or perhaps even millionaires! To our noble fleet - Triton, Nereid, Larissa, and Proteus -, the staff of the Klump Shipping Company wish fair winds and smooth commerce."

Another wave of applause.

"I also must extend special congratulations to the Triton," Klump continued, "which has yet again set a company-wide record. A thousand and forty deliveries! Almost three a day, on average! First mate, please kindly accept this award on behalf of your crew, whose success is on a new level."

Alan stood up and shook hands with the businessman, who draped a medal around his neck.

"Now, cheers to you all! Prost!" Klump shouted.

"Prost!" the crowd echoed, steins clinking everywhere, and the conversation roared up again.

"Three deliveries a day?" remarked the stranger, as the food began to arrive. "The Proteus is lucky to get three a week. What's your secret, lads?"

"Well, what does your crew do after supper?" asked Alan. "When it's time to relax and unwind?"

"Nothing much," he responded. "Mostly lying around reading. And playing cards. Oh, and we have a pastor on board. He leads us all in some prayers before we go to bed..."

The three men of the Triton all looked in each other's eyes, exchanging sly grins. But they didn't say a word.

----------------------

George left the room while most people were still eating dessert. As the Triton's night engineer, he had to turn the hydraulics on before the cadets started coming back. That banquet was just his big, early breakfast.

He opened the hatch and made a beeline for the engine room, opening the hydraulic valves one by one until he heard the hisses of steam. George inspected the mechanisms again, slowly, leaving time for Alan to get to the barrel and settle in.

He was sure he'd been slow enough when he reached the room and moved into position in front of the hole. Despite being handsome and above six feet tall, George was not proud of the way he looked. As he removed his britches, he avoided looking at his flabby stomach, his several birthmarks, and the patchy hair on his crotch and legs.

His penis was respectably large, but sometimes awkward due to its shape - uncut and fully curved into an arch that ran from base to head. He pulled his skin back, spreading the little smear of precum around and adding a few drops of lube. George was just walking up to the hole when the first mate walked into the room, smelling of beer.

"Oh, hi, Alan!"

George shrank back, covering his lap with his hand. But Alan's eyes were already on the familiar curved cock. And he had no idea why George wasn't proud.

"Y'ello," said Alan.

"I - I'm sorry," George stammered. "I thought you were already..."

"Screw the barrel," Alan replied. "Let's just do this right here."

He was buzzed, but not too drunk to clearly want what he was doing. Laying his medal on the shelf beside him, his left hand dived straight into action on George's manhood, pulling his sleeve of skin up and down with a perfectly curled hand. Alan heard panting starting up deep inside his chest.

"Do you - do you mind playing with my nips?" asked George, blushing. And Alan's other hand went right to work, pinching the large brown spots. The currents rocked through him right away, sweeping his voice into a moan.

"Thannnnk... aaahhhhhhh..."

For the next five minutes, Alan's two hands rubbed at George's nipples and navel. He stared at his pink penis, which was fully hard and slowly mottling into purple. Suddenly, from above came the clang of footsteps. They had no problem putting on a show, but both of them froze when they saw who it was.

"Mr. -"

"Mr. Klump?!"

"It is all right," said the businessman. "I have seen this all many times before."

"I'm second in command on your flagship, sir," said Alan in disbelief. "How could I of all people not know that you were - one of us?"

The businessman's eyes met theirs, and he grinned wickedly.

"Why do you think I never married?"

Chuckling, he watched them for a minute or two, and then he stripped down, standing behind the mate. At five-foot-five, which had included the hat, he was not a large man, but he packed a punch, with a burly chest, a prominent belly, and legs like stout tree trunks, which he raised in the air as he sat low. While Alan continued to edge George, he turned his head back for a second to see Klump's pink bellend aimed straight at his face.

"No mouth tonight, please," he said, almost inaudibly. "I like the hands."

"Aye, sir," Alan replied.

Lifting his right hand off George, he clasped it around Herr Klump's shaft. His turtleneck of skin was quite tight, and he winced with pain at first. But after Alan rubbed the mineral oil around his flare, it moved much more easily. Klump's shrill voice was grunting, sweat streaming off his round, red face. The first mate had an enormous grin on his, each of his hands pleasuring a different dick.

While Alan bated the businessman, George turned his attention further behind, cupping Klump's fat balls, then moving his hand over the smooth white ridge between his balls and his anus. The businessman carried a lot of stress in his taint, and when George pressed in, a powerful throb went through the core of his body. His eyes popped, and he puffed out air. George rubbed lightly on the sweet spot, and he got back more puffs.

Klump's shaft was getting hot from the friction, and bulking up even more. Alan moved his grip downward, starting to feel up the businessman's muscular root and ballsack to find the pressure points, while behind it George's hand discovered many of his own. The smells of heated flesh and mineral oil were thick in the air as the CEO muttered on and on.

"Oh, yes... oh, yes... I am close... I am close... I am...!"

Drizzling on one more splash of lube, Alan tugged the businessman's tight skin back and forth over his sensitive flare, and just then George drove his thumb into the soft spot on his perineum, and he went berserk. As Klump climaxed, Alan leaned over George's nipples, moving his face in close, and then he dropped the secret weapon. He licked the right nipple, and kissed it, and then the left, and the fireworks flew.

"FuuuUUUUCK!"

The engineer was kicking his legs, and the businessman's eyes were rolling around, and Alan listened to their screams of pleasure ringing through the room, the high voice and the low blending in a perfect harmony. Simultaneously, they shot their loads across Alan's forearms and bared shoulders, light, watery, and smelling remarkably similar. The mate savored the big volumes of seed, rubbing them into his chest, cheeks, and arms.

"Well done, lads," said the mate, as they finally drained themselves. "I had fun with you both." George smiled back. This was just what he looked for here. Validation.

"Oh... by the way. George?" said Herr Klump, as they put their clothes back on.

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to tell you this earlier in the visit," he said tensely. "But there was no time that was right."

Klump furrowed his brow. "The port's got a letter from your wife, George. A 'Dear John' letter. Oh, George... oh, your wife has filed for divorce, George... You don't have a family or anything, do you, George?"

"No," George replied. Klump consoled him with an arm, but it was so strange - he wasn't sad, or even really bitter. He felt... nothing. He just didn't have a wife anymore, and he was fine.

Over shots of whiskey that night, he told Mikey the news.

"Not a bad place to find that out," said Mikey.