Your Day in the Barrel

In the brown study upstairs, the tall, spiky-haired cadet pounded the table. Alan looked him over calmly.

"What do you mean, I am not the navigator, sir?" Rolf demanded.

"I'm afraid I've decided to give the position to Shmuel instead," said the mate, sipping his coffee. "No hard feelings. Please do try again next year."

"I missed one question, sir!" he roared. "Out of fifty!"

"You see, that one was kind of the issue, Rolf," Alan responded. "Shmuel wrote 'I don't know' for that question. And you wrote 'I don't know either' -"

Just then the telephone rang on the wall, and Rolf walked away grumbling. Alan picked the large instrument up from its cradle.

"Hello?" he said into the receiver. And then immediately he lowered his voice, answering furtively.

"Oh, hello, lads.... Very well, thank you.... Aye, he's on board now. Came on yesterday.... Mm-hmm?... Mm-hmm?... Yes, I've put him right next door to her. To them.... Wondrous. Keep us posted."

The mate clacked the phone up, breathing a strong sigh of satisfaction. It was going to be business as usual around here, at least for the time being.

Well, except for the fact that he was about to be the captain.

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​For the rest of the week, the Triton hopped down the Dutch coast, offloading its goods to a dozen shipyards, large and small. Alan sat in the snug wooden cabin beside the wheelhouse for most of the trip, Shmuel in his new dedicated chair by his side, reading the compasses and dials.

It would be a while yet before the captain said goodbye. Mrs. Blackheart had moved into a stately villa she'd seen as a young adventurer, somewhere down near the French Riviera. The man would be staying at his job until they sailed up, and then he would disembark.

Which would leave Alan as the new captain, and the prospect was starting to make him uneasy already. Was he really cut out for captain? Was he good enough? Would he really be capable of deciding to go down with the ship, if needed? On top of that, the process involved weeks of paperwork, relying on the speed of the mail. He'd already had to get started.

"Excuse me, sir," said Shmuel when he walked into the cabin one morning.

"Yes?"

"I've noticed you've seemed very preoccupied these past few days."

"Have I? Oh - ye may be right," Alan commented, still preoccupied as ever. "Just so much to do getting ready for my new job."

"Ah, becoming the captain," said Shmuel. "Congratulations again."

The mate nodded, gruffly.

"So - you're not withdrawn or sad because of - us?"

"Us?" Alan asked, confused.

"You're not - regretting - blowing me last week, sir, are you?"

"Oh, heavens, no," said Alan, stroking his shoulder. "I loved that experience. And Klump makes clear he has no problem with us fraternizing. Did you have fun?"

"Well, you helped calm my nerves and you may have saved my career," said Shmuel. "I'd say I had fun."

Alan beamed.

"And - and you know," said Shmuel, "I was thinking it would only be right if I returned the favor."

"Pardon me?" asked Alan.

"Oh, shit," thought Shmuel. He shouldn't have asked.

"I-I-I was thinking - you might - you might want me to b-blow you back at some point?" he stammered.

Much to his surprise, Alan stood up from his chair and moved into the middle of the floor, as if he was ready for some kind of physical exertion.

"Bridge should be closed now," he said. "I locked it this morning. So we're on our own, if you want to try -"

"I'd be happy to, sir," nodded the navigator. "Let me get you ready." He guided Alan's arms out of his sleeves, lifting his shirt and vest straight over his head, then opening the knot on his britches and pulling them down around his ankles. The mate's hairy chest was moussed with night sweat, his manhood still standing semi-hard from his morning wood.

While this was not Shmuel's first blowjob, it was very much the first one that mattered. He hesitated as he stuck out his tongue and moved it over Alan's pink tip. Precum was streaming out of it like ink from a fountain pen, and the navigator licked it clean. Alan's face flushed, and he took a deep gasp of air.

"A good start," thought Shmuel. Inch by inch he leaned his mouth further over the bear's shaft, until it was completely encapsulated, and then he began to blow Alan, rocking his neck back and forth in a rhythmic motion.

While he continued giving head to Alan, the young man fondled his nuts with both hands, feeling them bounce and squeeze against his chin, a plump pair inside a broad, hairy sack. He also had a powerful cremaster - the muscle behind the balls which raised and lowered them. When Shmuel rubbed his fingers lightly on the inner surfaces of the bear's thighs, it made his cremaster clench up, tightening his sack and firing a spark of lust through his brain.

His face was raised to the ceiling, his commanding voice breaking down into lustful swearing. Shmuel kept up his steady pulses of suction, moving his mouth left and right while the mate's legs curled and vibrated. Each minute or two he popped his mouth off for a break, manoeuvring it downwards to lick Alan's balls and the sensitive bands of skin on his inner thighs.

"Aye, matey - fuck - this is so intense -"

Alan was climbing fast. Shmuel's hand stroked his sack while he blew him, and he could feel the tension building up within the muscles. The bear was letting out loud moans between closed lips.

"Hmm - hmmmm - hmmmMMMM -"

"Yes, sir," said Shmuel, patting his balls. "Cum for me, sir."

Just then, they heard a thud. The door of the cabin had just opened. Alan's eyes looked to it for a split second, just becoming aware of a man's presence in the room, before the feeling seized him and his mouth flew open, howling. Shmuel pulled off, strategically aiming Alan's shaft into position.

"Ahh! Ahh! Ahhhh - I - I'm - I'm cummiiiii -"

And the visitor looked on while the bear, the alpha bear, the captain-to-be, blew his load straight into Shmuel's face. Across his chin, mouth, and cheeks, Alan shot pulse after pulse, and the navigator's tongue began to lick around on his skin, savoring the hot, pearly juices.

Finally Alan's moans broke into purring breaths, and they both figured out who was here.

"Hi, Alberto," said Shmuel, between loud licking sounds.

Alberto was the ship's launderer, a position that worked some of the longest hours on board for the least rewards. He usually got stuck with the most isolated corner in the mess hall, where Shmuel, too, ended up. They ate together often, sharing stories and sympathies. He had started his career in the Pacific, but moved across to this side when the Panama Canal opened, aspiring to more money. He'd always known that he loved men, but he just wasn't capable of admitting it to anyone - even himself.

But Shmuel figured it out, and he carried on dropping hints. Just the other day, the navigator had lowered his voice after supper and told Alberto about the secret pleasure he'd received from the bear. While he narrated, he actually saw his friend's face getting flushed and his heart racing.

This morning, that same look was on the launderer, and Alan picked up on it too. He must have come up here to ask him for this exact thing before his work shift began.

"I - I heard that you gave head," said the shy guy. "But it seems - it seems you receive it as well?"

"I don't discriminate," Alan responded, with a shrug. "I'll suck you, if that's what yer after."

"C'mon, Alberto," the navigator urged. "Drop your pants and get blown. It feels amazing. I'll help you out, if I can."

He stood there uncertain for just one more second, and then he grinned with determination, reaching for his waistband. As Alberto stripped down, he blushed and turned, facing sideways toward the window. He had what could only be described as a micropenis, not much more than a cut bell-shaped head sitting on a hairy stump. And yet the two others were paying his penis no mind. They were grinning, looking over him from head to toe.

"You are gorgeous, Alberto," said Shmuel, and he meant it. The grey morning light was streaking in through the portholes across the launderer's fit body, throwing its texture into view, furred all over by little coarse mats of black hair. He had a light, curly beard of pubes, matching the one on his chin. A beam of morning sunlight came through the window, highlighting the sweaty beads breaking out all over his hair and dark bronze skin.

"You don't mind my -?" asked Alberto, pointing downwards.

Alan jumped in immediately. "Be proud of your body, Alberto," he said, putting his arm around him. "I love it so much."

Alberto smiled and arched his hips, aiming his penis straight forward. Alan pursed his lips and kissed the spot just behind his piss slit, where the nerve endings all came together. The lad's body jolted, and his voice rose into high, ringing moans, which carried on while the bear captured him. Meanwhile Shmuel stood behind his friend, giving deep, calming rubs to his shoulders, neck, and back. Minute by minute, the hard lines of his muscles loosened while his stress melted away.

"Unnnngh..." grunted Alberto.

"Yes," whispered Shmuel, massaging his buttocks. "Oh, yessss. Just relax and get sucked."

For Alan, a small size was a benefit. He slurped, and widened his jaws, and he was able to take in the balls almost completely, resting his bottom lip under them and sucking at them from below. His lips squeezed the base of Alberto's shaft, and his tongue fluttered up it to his glans, tracing the veins, wrapping around the flare and licking across the sharp, pitted line of the frenulum.

Spots of light were flashing in Alberto's eyes. He had never felt anything like this. His knees were bent back, buckled, while the hot sensations continued to sweep through him. Shmuel looked into his eyes. Seeing that raptured look on his shy friend's face warmed his heart. He pinched simultaneously on both of his nipples, and just at the same time Alan gave his balls a lick, and he was thrown to the next level. Higher and still higher his voice climbed, turning into a squeal. They massaged faster, and they licked faster, and then he was snarling, drooling like an animal -

"I'm gonna - I'm gonna - hnnnnngh!"

Just as the bear drew his suction off, his cock tremored and erupted through the air, spraying Alan's beard and cheeks with hot seminal blasts. He extended his tongue, cleaning the warm manseed off his brown hairs.

A great shiver of satisfaction passed through Alberto, and he shook. "Ahhhhhh..." he sighed, just as another sunbeam came in, glinting off his hot, sweaty skin. He looked down at his body, and his face lit up. He had never contemplated his identity before, questioned exactly who he was. But whatever he was, this was part of him. He loved to be sucked, and he would love to suck someday.

He wished he could play longer, but his shift was started, and he hastily threw his clothes on, heading out of the cabin. Shmuel sat back down, turning to his boss.

"You know," he said, "I think you might have actually forgotten to lock the bridge."