Your Day in the Barrel

There were no days off for the senior crew. While Shmuel slept peacefully upstairs, and some of the cadets enjoyed a leisurely Saturday, Captain Blackheart steered into the shipyard and anchored, and the officers and dockers were on the move again, fast as ever.

Blackheart and Bjørn said their farewells, and then the Norwegian marched away to the far side of the port, gone to throw crates on and off a dozen other freighters. Lunch was over, and Mikey had an hour or two to himself.

He was leaning against the guardrail, still in his red hat and apron. Happily he sniffed the air, watching the seagulls circling overhead. The Dutch were laid-back people, so different from those strait-laced Germans, who were efficient but at the price of missing fun things. The metallic shipping containers swung on and off deck from the stacked pyramids in the port. He was waiting to see the blue one.

The blue cheese is in the blue container, Steven's letter had said. Nobody uses blue containers. You can't miss us.

Steven was the son of a prominent cheesemaker, based near here in Groningen. They were taking on a few shipments here to be delivered down the coast, and along with them, Steven was coming aboard. He was a university graduate and a former short-order cook, looking for work. Herr Klump was a good friend of his upper-class family, and had agreed to let him apprentice under Mikey for the next leg of their journey.

They had shared a few rounds of correspondence during the previous weeks, Mikey raving about their state-of-the-art electric ovens and refrigerators. He never mentioned the barrel, or asked if it was something Steven would enjoy.

But the lad was speaking for himself. He said he had no girlfriend at home. And he liked to read Oscar Wilde...

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The blue container showed up soon after, but for quite a while Steven was preoccupied, filling out paperwork for the voyage, getting his physical from Dr. David, and being shown around the kitchen facilities by the cleaning staff.

Only late in the afternoon did Mikey get to even see him, washing dishes in the far back, and they locked eyes, and he was raptured.

Although Steven was shorter than Mikey, he was also more athletic, carrying a bit of muscular meat on his bones. He also had a wide smile and dimpled cheeks, making him look youthful and optimistic despite being only four years younger. His mother was born in the Caribbean colonies, and from her family he got his dense black hair and the silky, shiny texture of his caramel skin. Under the dim oil lamps his neck glowed, and his dark brown eyes shone with a sharp glitter.

"You are lovely," said Mikey.

"So are you," Steven replied.

It was clear someone had told Steven about the barrel already, because once they met, he immediately made for the back of the kitchen and descended the ladder. The lad's eyes passed very carefully over the male nude art that was hung around the room. He praised it, said it stirred him.

A dreamy smile came over the chef. Something was happening between them - organically, right now. They stripped off their shirts, comparing their physiques. Steven stroked Mikey's porcelain skin, while the blond took in the sight of the strong pectorals beneath Steven's own wide, substantial nipples.

And now the lad was rolling up the legs of his britches, showing off his powerful calves. He wore metal studs in both earlobes, and he also had a tattoo on his shoulder, a circle with a crescent moon rotated against the top to form a pair of horns. Mikey's eyes noticed it for a split second, but then he was distracted. Steven homed his face inward and projected his lips and tongue into the blond's mouth, sucking and angling them around with impressive precision.

Mikey ducked his head over Steven's neck, licking a raw trail around the front and back. While Steven returned the favor, the twink amorously licked his nipples, radiating energy through their nerves, then he shifted downward over his navel and beckoning black happy-trail.

The apprentice brought his hand to the waistband of his britches, and began to remove them. Mikey just loved a self-starter. He and Steven folded their clothes loosely and placed them aside, and then they pounced into each other's arms, kissing and exploring each other for sweet spots.

The sound of wheels rattled outside. Hamish was passing in the hallway, rolling crates back and forth from the pantry in a wagon. He curved around a support beam and was suddenly met with this pair of handsome men rolling around on the floorboards, slobbering around each other's faces.

On a normal day, he lived and let live when he saw this kind of thing. But the docker liked to edge all week, and he was on the brink. That bitter ache was in his ballsack and cock root, driving him mad whenever he thought of it. He let his eyes linger, passing over the two men, over the two cocks. He wasn't going to miss this.

The docker parked the cargo and cleared his throat, making himself known. Mikey welcomed him. Calmly he and Steven made their introductions, and then he immediately shed his clothes and stood tall and proud before them in only his cap and boots. His pale skin was spread with several layers of tan freckles, and his chest, back, and lower belly were roughed up with little morsels of thick, curly red hair, which spilled down over his pubic region, highlighting his fiery pink manhood.

"Handjob? Like usual?"

"Aye..." said Hamish, in an inhale.

"It helps to learn everyone's preferences," Mikey commented to Steven. "Just like in the kitchen."

Hamish liked lube, but he didn't need much. His precum was clear, thick, and viscous. It built up on the skin of his big tip, keeping it moist and aromatic, and giving it incredible sensation at the slightest touch.

"Just imagine what this felt like last night in my pyjamas," the docker sighed.

The chef patted his friend's cock sympathetically. From a metal can, he poured a small stream of lube on the friction zone all around the sides of its head, and another little dribble on the piss slit. Already the loud groans were rising from the bear, and they grew as Mikey's hand sprang into action, focused way up high around the glans.

The lusty sweat was forming all over Steven's skin while he took in the scene, and he began to masturbate. He stared at the big phallus and the light, limber hand, and he copied their motions, and before long a new set of happy grunts was filling the room. The head chef turned, getting the third man into his line of sight.

"Ohhh, splendid, Steven," he was saying, almost in a trance. "Jerk off for us. Make yourself happy..."

When he stroked, Steven preferred to keep his foreskin extended, feeling his round tip sliding around inside the cylinder of skin. A high whining moan came into his breaths while he rubbed himself faster, surveying Mikey's butt and the bear's balls, which bounced slightly in his sack. Mikey curled his fingers tighter, striking them in and out across different parts of Hamish's cock head.

The redhead's mouth was hanging open, muttering what must have been "fuck, fuck, fuck...", and then it was constricting, leaking spit while the blond shifted harder into his frenulum, pressing at the peaked ridges of muscle behind.

Without delay, the bear cried out ecstatically, and his tip tensed up, squeezing and turning brighter purple. There was no mistake. He was about to cum. Mikey aligned his hand.

"I want him to do it," blurted the docker suddenly, nodding at Steven.

While the recruit shuffled over, Mikey moved his attention to the base of Hamish's penis, massaging around the curly hairs and wrinkled skin. Like a man on a roller coaster, he was whining quietly, feeling the tension.

And then he turned the corner. Hamish howled as Steven delivered the master-stroke, twisting his palm around his slippery glans under just a little bit of pressure, rotating back and forth, and rubbing his thumb on the piss slit. The big man was thrown into an orgasm so hard that he flailed, pitched up and down on his feet as if lifted by a tidal wave. Steven aimed his cock straight up at the ceiling while it blasted off, launching all that accumulated, backed-up seed into the air. The fountain of cum showered back down, most of it landing on the bear's groin and belly, but Mikey also made sure to catch some for himself.

The bear's hair and armpits were mussed up with sweat, his cap threatening to fall. He rubbed his palm gently around his lightened balls, wheezing with relief while a few clear drops continued to leak out on his hand.

He wiped it off with a spare rag. Then he picked up the tin of lube.

"Now, me pretty boys," said Hamish, "why don't I get you off?"