Your Day in the Barrel

"Grrrrrah..."

Stanley, the old mariner, woke up as the blinding pain hit him yet again, and he let out a loud grunt. He sat up. The winter sun was high in the sky, or at least as high as it would get. The thousand sounds of the Hamburg port, sailors and workers and metal and cranes, rolled in through the closed window.

This was Thursday - the day of the awards assembly, the yearly orientation, and then the big banquet that bid farewell to the new crewmen. Pretty much everyone on the Triton was asked to attend. Except him, because he wasn't in the condition.

Stanley was born in San Francisco, back in the heady days of the gold rush. As a young man he'd had a promising career in the Navy, and then as a lieutenant on steamships that criss-crossed the Pacific. But right then and there, he'd been struck with polio, hamstringing his motion. He'd had to leave for a position as the Triton's cadet supervisor, the bitter old gym teacher who barked orders from a chair.

Most of the crew didn't care for him much. However, they couldn't deny he was handsome. The flesh on his body was loose and weather-beaten, but he still had the air of a commanding alpha bear, with dark-chocolate hair only a little thinner than it had been, and a dense bush of a moustache that had only grown since his military days.

And now, in his old age, severe gout was setting in too, paralyzing his joints this week so badly that he could hardly get out of bed. Reluctantly he pushed his bare foot down on the ground, and he yelped. As he struggled across the room into his slippers and made his bed, the pains vibrated in his feet and ankles, forcing him to lie down again. For ten minutes he was shifting around on the bedclothes, searching for some comfortable position, moaning loudly all along.

Today, there was only one person on the ship to hear him.

The mariner heard thumps in the hallway nearby. Then a wet squelch, more thumps, and the sound of the door creaking open.

"How d'you do, Stanley?"

Standing in the hall was Old Blind Reemus.

"D'you want this cleaned?" he asked, in his usual gravelly voice.

"Aye..." he grunted back. "Please go ahead."

The janitor aimed his mop across the room, feeling out its angles and its corners, and then he flawlessly scrubbed Stanley's dresser, chairs, table, and steamer trunks, stopping a few times to dip the mop back in the soapy bucket outside. Speaking no words, Stanley looked at Reemus as he moved around, at his smooth, bald head and overbitten jaw, which was continuously chewing on something.

He swept a dry towel around the room, wrapping up, and was just about to make for the door again when Stanley spoke.

"Can ye please stay with me for a moment, lad?"

The question caught Reemus by surprise. The bear's prickly bitterness was suddenly gone. He sounded vulnerable - almost friendly.

"Sure," intoned the janitor. He propped his mop against the dresser and sat on the bed, hip to hip with Stanley.

"Thanks, Reemus. I'm lonely," he growled, almost a whisper. The bear stiffened his shoulder to hug his friend, but the pain took him, and Reemus was the one to offer the bear hug. His smooth right arm massaged Stanley's neck, then made his way down his undershirt-clad chest, over his muscular stomach, and into his lap.

"You're hard as a rock," he said, impressed. He swept his palm back, feeling that large pitched tent again.

"Mmmmph... don't remind me," Stanley whined. "Haven't been able to go downstairs since... Norway? Shit, might have even been back during the whirlpool."

A long pause.

"I would feel so much better if I came," barked the bear.

Yep. This is how it was going to be. On the one hand, the janitor wanted to help this poor pained old man. But he was wracked with guilt. All those years that he'd been a captain and he'd given the "sissies" a hard time, and now this?

"Well, I do hope you heal up soon," said Reemus, prepared to get going. "The barrel's available every night. I'd better -"

Stanley seized his arm. "Yer not getting away from me that easily, mate. You know exactly what I want."

"An... extra sweeping?" he dodged.

"A blowjob!" Stanley bellowed. "Suck my dick, Reemus! Get me off! Is that something ye want or not?"

"Hmm... well... yes," said Reemus, unable to help himself. "But I don't know how to - I don't know..."

"What the fuck is there to 'not know'?" snapped Stanley. "I have a dick, you have a mouth, no further questions."

"Sorry..."

Stanley cringed with guilt. Probably best not to be too much of a dom yet.

"C'mere," he said, and nudged the blind man forward, squishing his face against his own. They locked lips, and then they hesitantly began to bump their tongues together. Then they sped up and moved deeper, suctioning each other's mouths and cheeks.

When Reemus lost his sight, all his other senses had amplified tenfold, and his touch was turning on at full blast. It was a brand-new experience for him to kiss a man, to feel the furry friction of a moustache against his skin. They broke apart, and he was drooling.

"So yes," Stanley panted. "What you do is pretty much that same thing, but on the dick."

The blind man's sleeveless, freckled left arm unwrapped from his friend and began to move around on him, feeling for the buttoned flap in his britches. He spread it open, and Stanley's cock sprang free. With his scarred hand Reemus felt it up, fingering its cut, mushroom-like head with its large wet patch of precum. The shaft was girthy, and six inches long or so, but at least two were covered under a massive bushy carpet of pubes.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, oh, fuck, yeah..." they were both repeating at different speeds.

The last bits of inhibition were leaving Reemus. This was too good to be ashamed about. He stuck his nose inside the mariner's pants and began to sniff around his hairy skin, breathing in the hot sweat and testosterone. His mouth watered. There were fireworks going off in his blind eyes.

"Lick my balls," barked Stanley suddenly, and Reemus did, slopping his hot drooling tongue around his sack, feeling its deep creases and wrinkled seam, and drilling it into the small hard nuts sliding around inside. Next he moved his attention upwards across the cock root and along the shaft. He reached the top, and his mouth went to town, passionately kissing the mariner's fat prick head. He licked it, and suctioned it, and just like that he was giving his very first blowjob, the first of many.

He had no training. When he moved in deeper on the hairy shaft, he quickly choked. But most of Stanley's sensation was in his glans, and he concentrated his strokes there, fastening his lips around the middle of the rod and sucking on the area above it with a wet, moving tongue.

"Aye," said Stanley. "You've got it now..."

Every minute or two he circled up and around and down the bear's head, giving him a loop of soft kisses. And now it was his hearing that was turning him on, the sounds of Stanley's growls and grunts of bliss.

Reemus knew he was getting close. Both men were stock-still on the bed, since shifting positions would hurt both of them. What changed was the voice. Stanley's grunts were turning wild and nasal, catching in the back of his throat as he held his breath. It was time.

Reemus stretched his lips down his shaft an inch further, capturing a little bit of his hair. Then he descended his wet, floppy tongue, snaking it across the head and down the side of his cock like a waterfall. He lapped it around, and the sensations tore through the bear, and his mouth opened -

"Daaaaaahhhhhh!"

His head spasmed, and into Reemus's mouth it blew, two forceful and very hot pulses with a few drips leaking out behind. The janitor's fourth amplified sense kicked in without fail, and he moaned contentedly as the taste of Stanley's cum hit him, a heavy creaminess with an aftertaste almost like honey. He kept it in his mouth. Stanley's entire body was vibrating with currents. His balls were drained, but his roars were going on and on.

"Daaaahhhh! Daaaaahhhhhhhhh..."

Finally, he sighed softly. Reemus spat a couple of pubes out of his mouth, and then he wrapped his arms around Stanley and kissed him again, letting him savor his seed. The mariner's eyes were closed, and behind his moustache was a smile, and for one second he dreamed of the happy old age that might have been.

Packaging him up into his pants again, the janitor grabbed his mop and shuffled on down the hall. But then he stuck his head back into the cabin.

"Now you owe me one."