Your Day in the Barrel

"And who might you be?" Alan demanded.

"Please just cooperate and answer the question," said the officer, brandishing a nightstick.

"I am not obligated to disclose details about Miss Warnock - or indeed, any member of my crew - without cause," said the first mate flatly. After that incredible climax, he was feeling hale and hearty. This man would not get the better of him.

"There is an arrest warrant for Miss Warnock, monsieur. We must know right now where she is. We must isolate her. If you do not cooperate, you may be charged with harboring -"

"Hey, wait a minute, lads!" interrupted Bastien. "He's got the wrong uniform on!"

"What?" asked the vested man. "No, sir, this is my National Gendarmerie uniform."

"We're on a ship, in a port," explained the docker, also naked. "Arrests here are all done by the Maritime Gendarmerie. Not the National ones -"

"Silence!" snarled the man, waving his nightstick. Alan rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full, commanding six-foot-two. His arms were folded. Out of his cock dribbled a pearl of sperm.

"Please show me your badge," he told the man, in a voice of utmost command.

He scrambled in his pocket. "I - I must have left it in my briefcase -"

"Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you are impersonating a police officer?"

"We are police officers, messieurs. Indeed, we are much greater than police officers. We police natural law - the laws of our Creator and the good order of society. Tell me where Valerie is!"

"I don't know," said Alan. It was true.

Bastien was watching the man with the eyes of an eagle, and just then, he saw him raising his fist to Alan's face. Immediately the muscular docker dived at him, tackling him out of the way and binding his wrists together in the powerful vise grip of his hands.

Tying a towel around himself, Alan secured the imposter's ankles as, in a nearby crate, he found a firm rope to cuff them. The man still fumed all the way to the brig, demanding Valerie.

It didn't matter, regardless. She had left hours ago. She was gazing out the electrically glowing window of a train compartment a country away. Lina's amazon arms spooned her on the bed where she sat, her eyes dreamy, reflecting on how far their relationship had come. They were a real couple now.

She was going to the cottage.

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

While the chaos had been unfolding, Sam had finished washing and drying the copper toy, and again it sat gleaming on the table under the dim lamps. Bastien cleared his throat, silencing the chatter.

"We apologize for that interruption, folks. The contest shall carry forth. Round 2 milkers, you may take your places," said Bastien. "Good luck."

Hamish leapt up from his chair in the back row, almost knocking over a seat on his way into center stage. The docker's boner was rock-hard and throbbing. His nutsack was swollen to the size of a large apple, and on its skin were dark spots, turned blue by all that hot blood chambered up inside them.

As he lubed up and prepared, Terry and Walt were shifting into position at his sides, but the crowd's attention was on him alone. This orgasm would be truly stunning.

"Grrrraaaargh!" Hamish roared, and the roar never stopped as he started to jack, bringing his other hand under his sack to cup and squeeze at his big blue glands. He flicked his fingers against the back of his large, hemispherical helmet, rubbing on the frenulum and flare, and mighty sensations tore up through his nerves, and still he flicked faster and harder. Hamish's eyes were glazed over, his brain totally disconnected. He was aware of nothing but his cock, pulsing, spouting, propelling out great white ropes, and his throat erupting into the ear-splitting screams of his orgasm until he coughed, hoarse.

Bastien had timed it in his mind. Thirty-seven seconds. And a load that was undoubtedly the largest of them all. The only trouble was, almost none of it had gone anywhere near the cup.

The host came over with a rag, and Hamish took it. As he wiped off his balls, a cloud of his manly musk flew into the air, and it multiplied as Terry got down to business next to him. The machinist's Hispanic heritage blessed him with abundant black curls of body hair, which captured lots of his sweat and hormones.

When Terry couldn't satisfy himself, he got that persistent kind of boner that was long, dark, and swung around everywhere. His balls were large, and set closely side by side in a hairy scrotum that looked like the bulb of a plant, sitting at the base of a thick, fertile stem.

He clamped his fist around his root and began to stroke heartily, rubbing on the veins that bulged out from the pressure. When it was his day in the barrel, the Latin otter used this same technique on all of them, and everyone knew how amazing it could feel.

Coming to his plateau, Terry slowed down into a steady goon while Walt picked up the contraption. The toy was truly unique for him, because it gave him the sensation of its hairs stroking back and forth across the pearly papules on his flare. In the past, Walt was sometimes self-conscious that his parts looked different. But after coming aboard this ship and seeing the varied equipment of so many other sailors, he'd learned to embrace the way he was made. Standing facing the crowd, the nurse posed proudly. His penis was beautiful. And when he used this toy, it was functional as well.

The finer bristles sank in between Walt's fleshy studs, delivering sharp, moist feelings at random spots. He gasped, then broke into streams of swears and puffs while he started pumping, flickering his mouth and eyes rapidly between closed and open.

Dr. David surveyed Walt from the back corner of the crowd. Self-awareness was a weakness of his own. He'd have to be naked in front of this man - the man he saw at work almost all day, almost every day. Would he be able to go through with it? He bit his fingernail nervously. But from the seat beside him, his boyfriend Harold offered a soothing arm, and he soon calmed down.

"Just keep looking," Harold whispered, and they focused closer in on him, reclining on the bench of crates, pumping his wrist back and forth while he thrusted himself into the toy's fleshlight. He could tell David was watching, and he did not care. The Asian man's eyes were popped, his heels kicking in the air, and soon enough, the tell-tale string of syllables started up from him.

"I'm... cumming... I'm-cumming-I'm-cumming-I'mcummingI'mcummingI'm-!"

A clatter rang out as Walt dropped the toy on the bench and stood up, ramrod straight, like some colossus statue. Then the spasm tore through his privates, and his dick flipped up and backwards onto his abdomen just as he blew. Each shot was a small dribble, but there must have been over a dozen of them, and Walt wheezed through his smiling lips while his climax rocked him on and on.

With a spare rag, Walt carefully wiped off the last bits of his seminal material. It was Terry's cue. He tightened that clamping fist of his, slurring out the sides of his jaws while he sped his strokes into a maddened rhythm, the rhythm of a beast in heat. One more minute passed, and then -

"Phrrraaaaaah!"

As his wailing broke out, Terry held his glass a few inches away from his sack, and his plentiful load flew, arching out the slit of his glans in robust, white strings.

The round was over. Sam the mechanic scanned the lines on the three freshly filled beakers, and held up one to Bastien.

"Congratulations, Terry," said the host. "Round 2, and the next dance ticket, are yours." Now cloaked in shimmering sweat, the machinist shuffled over, claiming his prize. A wave of applause broke out as he returned to his seat.

Another hard scrub of the contraption, and Sam returned it to the table covered in suds while the Round 3 players took their positions around it. Mikey hopped out of his chair and across the floorboards, seizing the copper box. The chef immediately slicked up the opening and slid inside, and high, mad panting was the next thing the sailors all heard. As Mikey plunged in, he turned his face down to peek at Bernd's massive mushroom head. It was salmon-pink, and wrinkled with vertical creases around the flare. Bernd leaned forward and spat on it, then started to rub in revolutions around the walls of his dick, tracing the edge of his drawn-back skin.

The cadet's plump belly and semi-hairy crotch were heaving as he took in deep lungfuls. He could smell Mikey's aroma on the air, a mixture of mineral oil, ball sweat, and hints of fine, fresh garlic and herbs. And the chef's own breaths were now taking in Bernd's fragrance, and his manhood was responding, standing up inside the viewport in the box, as hard as hard could be.

Dr. David still stood in his britches at the side of the stage, a reserved look behind his salt-and-pepper moustache.

"I'm not sure if I can - in front of all of you, if I can -"

"Just take your pants off first, babe," said Harold affectionately. The physician finally drew a deep breath and removed his pants, and the problem was clear straight away. Although respectably well-hung, he was as limp as a rag. While he applied a spot of lube, his cock just kept dangling.

"You see?" stammered the doctor instantly. "I - maybe I should just go back -"

"I get the same way," Alberto piped up. "Just relax. Take a few deep breaths."

"Ignore us," said Mikey. "Focus on yourself."

Dr. David stabilized his breathing and gazed down, mooning over his navel. Focus on yourself? What the fuck did that mean? Find some special magic tantric points and, abracadabra, you'd get hard?

By his side, a groan came out of Bernd. He was getting more aroused, sweat pouring off his face and neck. Small rosy spots were lighting up in his cheeks, as well as in the centers of his breasts. He pinched his nipple, setting off a spark inside it that made him suck his teeth. David listened to the chub as he continued to beat off, breathing in continuous moans while he moistened his nips with saliva and teased them with his left hand.

The doctor couldn't resist. He licked a finger and brought it to his own chest, spreading the shiny wetness on his two purplish spots, which proved to be highly sensitive. He stimulated his nipples between his fingers, and his breath quickened, and he smiled. Shmuel's eyes were fixed to David's dick as it stirred, then curved up into a semi, swaying up and down out of his coarse pubic bush.

"Ohhh, yes," George affirmed. "I love your body, David."

"Play with it," encouraged Mikey. "Play with yourself. Find your spots."

David hesitated, then swiftly began to plumb both hands around his hairy body, searching for sensations. And he found many. He was soon fondling his navel, and his armpits, and the bottom of his scrotum, and then coming back round to his nips, and with every rub, his uncut dick leapt higher, until it was a mighty, six-inch ramrod. The audience stared happily at it while he smeared some lube on, then grasped it in his fist and started to bate.

Mikey purred with contentment at the sight of the doctor. It was always so satisfying to see someone just... click. He let his moans ring out loud and strong while he twisted his wrist in circles, pressing different curves of his circumcised tip up into the wet layers of bristles.

And he had a lot to watch. Bernd's eyes met David's as they masturbated, and they moved in, standing face to face. They braced their hands onto each other's crotches, and soon they were kissing and stroking each other with fierce passion. The chub sniffed around the doctor's body, savoring his strong, mature smell and hint of cologne. His mouth lapped at his armpits. David returned the favors with his own nose and tongue, throwing him into even more brand-new dimensions of sensation. Harold looked almost jealous.

Almost at the same moment, they began their climbs. The two friendly voices unfocused, turning into animal grunts of desire.

"Is there anything - that makes it feel - good for you?" vocalized Dr. David.

"Stretch my balls," Bernd replied. "Pull 'em all the way down -"

As the chub's hand pumped, the doctor picked up the beaker that had the B, and lined it up in front of the slit of the huge mushroom. His other hand closed around Bernd's balls and dragged tightly downward, giving them a slow but stimulating stretch. Bernd's teeth grimaced, his mouth narrowed into a tiny circle, and he shot his load into the cup, fast and reliable.

There was no time for the crowd to cheer yet. Dr. David was on the brink. Keeping his cup positioned at the end of his foreskin, he beat his throbbing meat one-handed. Bernd approached him, and started to poke and prod at the sensitive flesh of his nipples with a moist helping hand. He moved to David's navel, then under his balls, and with a final series of piercing cries, the doctor blasted, catching every last drop of his deeply sealed love juice.

These scenes were too much for Mikey. His panting was giving way to desperate grunts. From a chair in the middle row, Steven still cheered him on.

"C'mere -" said Mikey, motioning him over.

The dark-haired man climbed down out of his chair and crawled towards the blond, who put the toy aside and got down on all fours, rear end pointed to the spectators. Mikey brought his shoulders low against the floorboards, spreading his pasty white perineum out before the nose of the apprentice, who began to prod and press on the strip of skin.

"Hnnnngh..."

"Oh, come on!" shouted Harold from the audience. "Why is Steven here again? This has to be violating the rules somehow..."

"The rules said masturbation only, no insertion," replied the junior chef. "There was no rule that you had to masturbate just yourself."

Harold looked to Bastien, outraged, but then he just shrugged. Steven was right. And what he was about to perform was worth watching.

"Calm down, Mike," said the trainee. "Relax your ass. This isn't going to hurt."

Tapping his finger, he rested it on the spot just beneath Mikey's anus, and slowly the twink loosened his clench. Then Steven began to press his finger in, and as he did, he vibrated it minutely, back and forth and around in circles.

"Gah!" Mikey suddenly shrieked, high and sharp. At exactly the spot where he'd been when he shrieked, Steven locked in with the precision of a laser, and his boss gasped and puffed air through his cheeks while Steven pushed against his prostate with his finger pad, as hard as he could, once, then again, bringing off its high-pressure juice into Mikey's spermatic tubes, ready to fly free.

Not a sound was coming from the audience as the final milker picked up his cup. He seemed on the edge of dropping it. Shivers were shaking him from deep inside his core, tossing his shoulders and legs about at random. The twink let out a long, wailing cry, and the floodgates opened in his dick at last, spilling pearly, liquid seed into the beaker.

This round was the closest of all. Bernd's volume was large. Dr. David's was just about the same size. But it was Mikey who carried the prize, his milk topped off by that little bit of prostatic cream.

Flushed, sweaty, and drained, Mikey and Steven and Terry all wandered upstairs together, dreaming pleasantly of the possibilities that might await them in Marseille.

But until then, their itinerary was packed, and the Triton could waste no time. Within hours of the contest, the steamship was once again rolling south on the open waves. And nine freshly satisfied men were drifting off to sleep, and over the Bay of Biscay shimmered the moon and boundless stars.

This story ends fairly well.