Your Day in the Barrel

​Bastien was woken up before dawn by a knock on the door of his cabin. Shirtless and in his pyjama leggings, he scrambled to the door and creaked it open. He didn't always sleep well on board. The bed wasn't tall enough.

Lina's buxom figure stepped in, holding a thick, hot-pink envelope.

"Package for you."

"Ugh... what the hell time is it, Lina?" he grumbled. "I was fast asleep."

"It looks important," stressed Lina, looking at the fancy cardboard. "Says it's from someone called -" she squinted at it - "Bear-on-Samedi?"

He stood bolt upright. His mouth actually expanded for a moment.

"Gilles," he said under a gasp.

Calmly Lina handed him the envelope and he broke into amazed laughs as he scanned it. This was real. Typewritten, Gilles's return address on the front, three streets away from the house where Bastien was born.

A typed sheet of paper sat inside.

%%%%%%%

I, Bear-on-Samedi, hereby invite you to

The Pretty Boys' Ball of Marseille.

Please find enclosed six (6) tickets.

Dress code: Violate every dress code on Earth.

This letter is extremely confidential.

Discard after reading.

%%%%%%%

Below the party's address was the image of a skull wearing a bandana, crudely formed in typewriter characters. Bastien yanked the tickets into his hand, putting them on his nightstand, and then he opened the small handwritten note also in the envelope.

//////////////

Hi Bastien -

I saw your ship will be in town just about in time for my big shindig. Take these and bring some mates along if you can - they positively flip for sailing lads.

In case you're skeptical that Klump will give you time off for this - I should inform you that he has already confirmed his own entry.

See you soon!

- G

P.S.: I see this is on your birthday too - happy 22nd, if we don't talk.

//////////////

At the bottom of the envelope sat a couple grainy photos of hotels and ballrooms. Always Gilles was in the middle of the stage, belting into a microphone in the skull makeup and flamboyant costume of his persona, Bear-on-Samedi, one or two dancers on the stage behind dressed as skeletons.

Bastien crumpled the letter and pictures into a wad, tossing them in the trash. This letter could never, ever get leaked. This was the securest event on the calendar - more secure than many of the world leaders' meetings. An annual masquerade ball for gay men only. Gilles had founded it back in the 1890s, and so many of the people that Bastien admired growing up had got to go, the ones who were unashamed to be different, to be colorful. But he'd written a dozen fawning letters to him and never heard back - until now.

He ran a hand over his almost bald scalp, and then opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. Inside sat his wig, a little dusty feather boa still attached, neatly folded. Oh, was he ever glad that he hadn't thrown out the wig...

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

None of the cadets got their own bathroom. On each of the lower decks the Triton had just one, featuring a cramped row of urinals, a single sink and toilet, and a wide, trough-like stall for bathing, a half-dozen iron showerheads lined up behind a single curtain.

If the seas got too rough, you were out of luck. If you were shy or prudish, same thing. But of course, for the patrons of the barrel, the arrangement ended up only being a positive. Old Blind Reemus cleaned the bathrooms each night, and so they were an ideal cruising spot in the mornings, spotlessly shiny and full of seamen looking to blow and be blown.

In front of a urinal on deck three, Sam the mechanic and George the night engineer stood naked, side by side, clean towels draped over their shoulders and bitter-smelling hydraulic fluids staining their bodies. George yawned as he pissed. After freshening up, it was going to feel so amazing to slide under that bedspread.

The mechanic was holding his chubby dick, flicking its side with his finger, but nothing was coming out.

"Boned up?" George asked him.

"Whooof... aye," Sam replied. "Missed probably three, four barrel nights now. Alan's always been telling me I've gotta realign the bulkheads right after supper -"

"He's the boss of all the barrel business, mate," said George. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he's just trying to get you hard."

Sam chuckled. He rubbed his hand gently on his sensitive taint, and took a few deep, calming breaths. His penis spurted, and then finally his stream came out, pressurized like a hose.

Just as he finished up and drew the shower curtain open, Bastien danced through the door behind him, beaming with the news of the day. On impulse, he offered the first two tickets to George and Sam, and they accepted. He was still chattering while he hung his night clothes up on the hooks and headed into the shower with his bar of fine green Marseillais soap, made from olive oil and seaweed ashes.

"Wow," commented Sam. "Klump's going?"

"Please don't tell him where I am," said George. "I don't want a surprise performance evaluation in the middle of the show..."

While they waited, George shaved and Sam clipped his beard. The shower's splashing came to a stop at last.

"Can I come in?" asked George.

"Go ahead," came Bastien's voice, and the engineer pulled back the curtain to reveal the young ebony hunk standing there with his hands on his hips, surrounded by the fragrance of soap and the welcoming heat of the steam. As Sam scanned over him, his rigid dick leapt even higher. The docker saw it, and chimed in.

"Unless there's something else you lads want to do first..."

Tiny nods from them. Just big enough. Slyly, rebelliously, Bastien picked up Reemus's sign from the corner and positioned it outside the door of the bathroom.

Caution. Floor Slippery. Do Not Enter.

"I mean, it's not wrong," George smirked, as he threw the shower curtain wide and lowered himself onto the soapy floor, lying sidelong. Bastien approached, turning his back to face the showerheads while he too flopped down. Pushing his long legs against the tiled wall, he pressed his semi-hard cock and balls against George's handsome, clean-shaven face. Straight away the engineer's tongue began to lap at them, the two tall bodies forming the shape of a V.

Stretching his arm up, George motioned Sam over. "There's room for one more, matey -" he began to say, and then he gagged as the docker jammed his blossoming hard-on against the roof of his mouth. George drooled, and slobber trickled down his chin and the front of his neck, bathing Bastien's big balls in a lubricant, warm and slick.

"Ouaaaiiii -" cried Bastien, and the first fireworks launched across his soul as Sam lay down.

Carefully he slithered into the open spot at the front of the shower stall, positioning his bearded face in front of George's curved boner. As he did so, Bastien arched his neck and shoulders forth, placing Sam's genitals at the mercy of both his hands and face. Manly pheromones were flowing out of the three lads' skin folds, released by the heat and steam, and instantly they were all sniffing and licking each other, locked together in this perfect triangle of lust.

Sweat was pouring off Bastien's almost bald scalp while he moaned continuously, for George's approach was highly pleasurable, pushing his jaw and lips up between the muscleman's balls and flicking his tongue left, right, and then backwards into his sensitive taint.

In record time Bastien grunted and his sack drew up tight. Just as it did, Sam thrust his arm out across the triangle and fingered his leathery, mocha-pink prick head, sending him hurtling over the edge, into the skies. The fresh and robust seed of the young muscleman sprayed across George's face, some trickling down into his mouth. Bastien's cum smelled a bit like fish, but its flavor was multilayered, full of salty and sweet tones. George licked his face clean, savoring the tastes with a warm purr.

"Feel better?" asked George, patting the large black balls, which were now as limp as paper.

"Ahhhh, yes..." Bastien sighed.

But just then George felt a thunderbolt come through his penis, and he hiccuped. So far, Sam had just been teasing him with foreplay, kissing the surface of his foreskin and flopping it around in his thick, salt-and-pepper beard. But now, he was ready. The mechanic firmly grasped his lips around the engineer's foreskin, and ever so delicately he pulled it back. Sparks of friction shot through the sides of his glans, and more and more flew as Sam licked the piss slit, spreading George's scanty but thick precum smear down over his mushroom head.

Still coated in climactic sweat, Bastien flew into action. His thumbs and index fingers came to George's nipples, and he began to pinch and prod at them, then massaged across the breast areas in tight, circular motions. George yelped. All over his body the feelings amplified fivefold. Meanwhile, Bastien also put his mouth to good use, kissing around Sam's balls and the hypersensitive folds of his groin. The two Englishmen's breaths panted in rhythm, saying words of thanks.

"Oh, Bass - fffffuuuuck -"

"Just like that - oh - oh, yes, yessss -"

With one more nuzzle of his beard fur, Sam opened his throat wide and thrust forth, sucking George's long curve into his reliable mouth. He slurped hard, and started giving him wet, passionate head. Stiff beard hairs pressed into his balls and semi-hairless crotch, making him gasp and pop his eyes. Drool flew from his mouth until his breath seized, caught on the brink of his climax.

Bastien was all set for the masterstroke. He licked his fingers, and gave George firm, moist pinches on both nipples, as at the same moment Sam's soft palate and tongue squeezed in around him, slurping, doubling the efforts of their deep-throat. Letting out one more mighty yelp, George sprayed his plentiful, steaming load down into the bear's belly, five blasts, six blasts, until he could cum no more.

The engineer's face relaxed, and yet again, he was yawning, swept by a calming wave of post-orgasmic relief. But one man still remained. The hunky cadet eyed Sam's thick purple boner, and he licked his lips.

Wait. Did Sam like to be sucked? Or did he prefer a handjob? Bastien racked his brains. And then the correct memory came to him - the memory of his very first time in the barrel room, watching lustfully as that same man got off.

"Flip over," said Bastien, swivelling his finger. The bear bit his tongue, and rolled himself sideways and upside down. Now facing out of the shower stall, Sam lay back, resting his hairy backside against the docker's forehead. He murmured with pleasure as Bastien bounced the cheeks under his hands and tenderly worked them apart.

Another powerful whiff of Sam's hormone-filled sweat passed over his nose, the sweat of a few days' manual labor, and then he leaned his face in and began to grind it up and down on his perineum, just deeply enough to fire up all the nerves. His plump, moist lips kissed the back of the bear's balls, before mounting again up into his crack, delivering columns of smooches going up and licks going down.

The cadet ground his knuckles around the wet, furry bridge of flesh, and now Sam was hissing, waving his ass, anticipating his big finish. He growled higher, more intensely, as George jumped in, reaching his hand under his delicate balls and squeezing them from the sides, then from above and below. As Bastien kissed at his nuts, George wrapped his hand around the desperate purple shaft and began to jack it, and Sam climbed, climbed -

"I'm almost there - almossst - therrrre - hrrrrrrrrmph!!"

A spasm ripped through the back of the bear's fat ballsack, and his whole body trembled as if caught by an earthquake. Bastien's hand swept down across him and found the thick dick, and he angled it back towards his own face just as it let out pulse after pulse of Sam's cream, thick and white and bleachy, bound up inside his balls for too long. Most of the load trailed across his side, and some splashed over the docker's sweaty face and neck, but he managed to land a few drops in his mouth, and Bastien smacked his lips, enjoying that robust, perfect flavor.

Wrung out, the three men lay locked in their triangle for a minute longer, eyes closed and letting out labored sighs like beached animals. Then George stood up and activated the showerhead again. With his premium soap, Bastien lathered up his own body, then the two others'. Standing arm in arm, they all scrubbed themselves off with smiles on their faces and left the bathroom, fresh and happy.

So now there were three tickets left. Who else would get to go to the Pretty Boys' Ball? How would he decide?

Bastien smiled.

He could make them prove themselves.