Your Day in the Barrel

Torrents of rain were falling as the Triton sailed up to the docks of Bergen. Its foghorn sounded, announcing the ship's arrival. Mikey was thrilled. It was Tuesday morning, and he had won.

The ship had come through a maelstrom to get over here, lost in miles-thick fog banks for hours on end. They hadn't known when they would arrive - Monday? Tuesday? Wednesday? - but they were here now, and Tuesday was Mikey's day in the barrel.

And that meant he had a shot at the captain.

Not their own. Bjørn would be assisting them today - the freighter skipper from way up north in Hammerfest. He was a beast of a man, almost six-foot-seven, with a forest of curls on his back, chest and arms, and a commanding bearded jaw like a Viking statue's.

Bjørn had been stationed in Bergen for a few months. He hauled almost all the cargo with his own hands, tossing full crates gently between the stacks. Now he was coming aboard for the ride, headed across the North Sea on his next assignment.

"I've heard he may... prefer both teams," a cadet whispered to Mikey at breakfast.

"Bjørn does?" asked Mikey, stacking bacon onto his plate.

"Yep. My granddad used to say the higher up you go, the easier... that... is to get away with."

"You are correct!" replied Mikey. "Try all you can to be a chef."

The cadet smirked, thudding the chef on the leg. As Mikey walked away, he crunched on his bacon and looked through the porthole on the opposite side of the ship. He grinned from ear to ear as he looked out toward the rain-drenched expanse of the sea, where there was no law but the captain's, and where anyone could be anyone they wanted to be.

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

Finally, Mikey was here. From the bottom of the ladder, he walked across the hold to the far end, and then he pulled his shirt over his head, shucked his britches, and folded them onto a makeshift shelf of crates. The chef always liked to strip down, even when he was the giver.

Along with the droning of the rain outside, there was a chill to the night air, which made his little red nipples harden and stand out. Mikey squeezed his nip in his hand, and the pleasurable sensation hit him. He shivered, and he smiled. He appreciated himself.

He crouched down, lowering himself through the entrance behind the barrel, beginning to line up his neck and his jaw. Just then, there was a loud thud from the hatch leading below deck, and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the ladder.

Now? It was only quarter after eight. Every cadet and ensign and lieutenant had duty in Bergen until nine.

So it was Alan.

Unless - Could it be -?

His semi stirred. The footsteps approached, thuds from a powerful figure taking low and mighty breaths.

"I am a captain, and I am desperately in need of this service," Bjørn commanded. "Blow me."

Mikey was not intimidated. He waved his tongue behind the hole, slurping. Shuffling came from outside as the enormous bear stripped down to his fur, laying his uniform and britches on the shelf as well. Mikey heard him spit, and then the slippery sound of his hand lubing up for entry. He humped against the barrel, twice, three times, then he strained and gritted his teeth.

"What's the matter?"

Bjørn lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I can't fit in this," he said, sheepishly. The twink's eyes turned to the hole, and he saw the pucker of flesh wedged in it, the tip of a colossal cock head. He laughed quietly.

"That's not going to be a problem."

Scooting backwards, Mikey crawled out of the barrel and climbed back onto the boards on deck, stark naked. Bjørn stared at the figure walking toward him, a perfect sculpture of gold and rose stone. The captain felt himself getting it up, and right away, both their eyes were on the same things.

Mikey hadn't thought the tales of the captains were true - the tales from the dozens of drunk gay shipmen he had met all over the globe - but the Norwegian really did have the biggest cock he had seen in his lifetime. Barely short of ten inches long, it was thick and muscular, with curved ridges underneath, and a generous flap of foreskin around a head as big as - as - well, too big for the barrel.

And this cock was an experience to watch. As the captain hardened, the ridges on the underside stirred, and the skin pulled itself back perfectly, settling into the sharp flare behind his bellend. The head was moist, and the chef watched it darken from creamy white to purplish-pink, filling up with lusty blood. He also had a bush that was only mildly trimmed back, like Mikey's own.

"Fuck, yes," Mikey uttered. "Oh, fuck, yessss. I am ready to blow you, Captain."

Bjørn paused.

"Actually," he admitted, "ever since I saw you in - in the barrack shower today, I've - I've sort of wanted to - perhaps blow - you."

Mikey smiled charmingly.

"So why don't we both blow each other right now?"

Roaring with laughter, and without delay, Mikey flopped over on his left side, and Bjørn on his right. The chef adjusted himself inwards right away, ferreting his face into Bjørn's pubic hair, caressing the thick tan curls and the base of his manhood. As he inhaled, Mikey's nose flared, smelling sea salt, bilge water, and a tiny bit of fresh sweat, the pheromones of the alpha male.

He wrapped his lips around the captain's head and licked it, sending a blazing thunderbolt up his cock, and at exactly the same moment he felt the pulse came through his, as Bjørn stretched out his tongue and wrapped it around Mikey, moistening his hard purple shaft. They moved their mouths in on each other in quakes, back and forth, panting like a pair of bitches in heat. The captain aimed himself strategically down Mikey's throat, and he gulped, having to draw breath to avoid choking.

"I'm sorry," Mikey panted. "I have just never had one this big."

"I do hear that a lot," whispered Bjørn, and then he sighed, breathing in the scent of the twink's balls and blond bush, fresh sweat, and raging hormones, with just a whiff of hair mousse.

"You have a very fine manhood yourself, sir."

And gaping his mouth, he thrusted Mikey's entire hard-on into his throat in one shot. The twink's eyes popped, and then his spine shivered while the captain's tongue and cheeks covered it with wet suction. Mikey was circumcised, and so every square inch of his dick was wet, the sensitive nerve endings firing, and he was biting his own lips and lapping his tongue with ecstasy as he searched for what he'd do with them next.

He held Bjørn's balls in his left hand, pulling them downward and squeezing them, a hairless pair almost the size of whole walnuts. The captain was moaning. Stretching at his balls, Mikey massaged the wrinkly skin of his cock root in his other hand, and on its underside, he hit his sweet spot.

"Yahhhh! Right there!"

Charged into action, the chef clenched his fist around the captain, feeling at the hairy base and bull-like balls. He moved his mouth in, the cheeks perfectly fitting the skin left in front of the fist. His tongue caressed the captain's humongous head, stimulating the pressure points on its backside.

"Yahhhhrrrrrr..." moaned Bjørn.

Fireworks were erupting in front of Bjørn's eyes, every one of Mikey's motions filling them with white light. Thirty, maybe forty seconds, he was just about to figure out the best angle, and then -

"Aaahhhhh, fuck, I-I-I think I'm gonna cuuuummmmmmm..."

His balls compressed. Mikey drove his left hand straight into one G-spot, and rubbed his tongue on the other, and he climaxed. He was squeezing his eyes and lips tight, kicking his legs against the wooden flooring, puffing while he shot a giant spermatic blast straight down Mikey's neck, and then a second against his teeth and tongue.

The chef pulled off him briefly, satisfied, and then the show of his orgasm resumed, and several more pulses blew out, the last almost as big as the first, coating his face with thick, potent, hearty-smelling cum. The cum of a captain.

The twink was getting close. As Bjørn came back down to earth, his purple tip throbbed, ready for the favor to be returned, and the captain resumed his deepthroat. Gasps of pleasure were coming from the twink while Bjørn drew his tongue up, and down, and up again on the top of the shaft, rhythmically sucking on each side.

Meanwhile, Mikey sniffed deeply and licked his own face, tasting and smelling the sweat, the seawater, and the magical aphrodisiac of Bjørn's cum. The captain's lips circulated as he gave Mikey head, and his breath seized in a hiccup when Bjørn hit the narrow groove behind the rim. The high-pitched howls started up from Mikey.

And he was flailing and kicking, spraying his spunk down the throat of the bear. Bjørn never actually tasted Mikey's load, but he felt its heat splash deep down inside him. It had been barely three minutes since they first lay down.

As their libidos subsided, both sailors lay grunting on their sides from the force. Then they turned around to face each other and got up, giving each other smooches and bear hugs.

"I will definitely be happy to do that again," said the captain.

"Next Tuesday, or any day of the week," Mikey panted, "with someone else."

Bjørn made his way back toward the ladder, and Mikey spoke again.

"You are going to be fairly popular."