Copyright 2010 corvus. All Rights Reserved.
Riggs 2
The deck was in full swing again. It'd only been four or five hours since Riggs had shot his load in my ass, but I'd spent every minute of that as horny as a bitch in heat. I had masturbated myself back in my cabin to the edge three or four times -- but stopped before cumming. Riggs hadn't said I could, and implicitly I knew I could only cum with his permission, with his cock in my ass to get the most pleasure possible out of the milking action of my anal ring. To calm myself I'd gone to dinner. The waiter had lingered a hand on my shoulder. Normally I'd have responded and spent the afternoon lying on my side, the waiter's tattooed body behind me and his good-sized cock running in and out of my ass. But no, not this time. I was Riggs's bitch. I lusted for Riggs.
Riggs wasn't there though. I made sure. I'd gone several circuits around the deck, looked everywhere. I contemplated going down to his cabin, but I'm sure that was a breach of protocol. The slave never goes knocking on the master's door. The master took his pleasure from the bitch.
But I was bored, and the sailor who'd taken his pleasure from me several nights ago was eying me again. I tried to ignore him, of course. I kept my attention at a middle-aged man fucking a twink's ass on one of the sunchairs, getting hard despite myself.
"Hey, want to split this with me?"
It was the sailor. I hesitated; if I said yes, I couldn't say no when his finger was probing me open. But what the hell, I thought. I was horny, and the weed would calm me down, I thought. "Sure."
We split the joint. "I'm a sailor. I'm from Italy," he said.
Did he think I wanted to do small talk? "I'm an investment banker," I said, humoring him. "I'm from the US."
He leaned closer. I was wearing a loose, comfortable pair of shorts. I felt his finger playing at the hem, tracing over my hips to where my buttocks rose from my back. "I like to fuck men," he said, low and gravelly, in my ear.
"Mm," I moaned. His finger had run down my asscrack expertly and was now probing my anus, making small, coaxing circles that belied a more urgent and uncaring urge. "I'm supposed to meet someone... ahh..." Sensing my resistance, he'd breached me with a violent thrust.
"Yes, but you can meet him after this, no?"
I found my resistance crumbling. The sailor was no Riggs, but I was horny and craving cock. I needed someone's cock -- anyone's cock, the bigger and harder and rougher the better -- thrusting into my ass.
"Come," the sailor whispered. "You like it."
I did like it. And he knew it, chuckling with victory, when I spread my legs ever so slightly. "Yes, you love it," he said. There was an element of scorn in his voice. "You're just like every bitch boy. You say you don't want it, but deep down you do. There is nothing like my big" -- he grabbed my wrist -- "Italian" -- he put my hand on his crotch -- "dick in your bitch boi ass."
"No," I moaned. But you're no Riggs, I thought. But that thought dissolved as one finger became two, and I rocked back and forth on his hand. Some time while that was happening, the sailor's fly had opened, and his eight inches of throbbing Italian meat was in my hands.
"Suck it, yes," he whispered. "Suck it good. Now I'm going to fuck you. You like, hmm? You like my eight fat inches spreading your bitch hole? Yes..."
The fingers had left my hole, and, one hand on my hip, the other on my back, I was now bent over a conveniently placed chair. It wasn't very steady, though, and it nearly tilted over when he thrust his cock all at once into my ass.
"Oh," I moaned. The feeling was too good. Why was I waiting for Riggs? I needed cock, more cock. I spread my legs wider, and felt the jism that Riggs had fucked into my leak out with each outstroke of the Italian's bareback cock, and slowly seep down until it covered my balls.
"Yeah, you like that don't you?" the sailor was panting. "I can see you've been well fucked, bitch boi. Well I'm going to leave a load in you too tonight. But not so soon." He grunted and I moaned. "I'm going to enjoy your tight little ass."
"Excuse me. This is my bitch for tonight."
It was Riggs. He was there, in front of me, wearing sunglasses and pants that were open at the fly. And his glorious, glorious nine inch cock was hanging out. My mouth wet. This was the cock I wanted. This was the piece of meat that belonged in my hole. The washboard abs, the broad chest with their eraser-nub nipples. The thick, strong neck. The thin yet sensuous and slightly contemptuous lips against a powerful, stubbled jaw.
The sailor didn't stop fucking me. But instantly his cock felt inadequate. It didn't get deep enough; it was not thick enough. And his heavy breathing seemed a little pathetic.
"Who, yours? You're the one who left that big load in his ass?"
Riggs stepped closer. I felt the disturbance it made in my fucker's rhythm. I didn't care, though; I was still rock hard, and I knew that, soon, the thick piece of meat already in my willing ass would be replaced by an even larger piece.
"You can have him later, but not tonight."
The sailor protested. But then I felt his cock violently leave my ass. When I turned around, I saw that Riggs had the sailor's neck wedged in the crook of his elbow. And his other hand was behind the sailor's ass, fucking it with his fingers. The sailor's eyes widened, and then rolled back in reluctant pleasure; his cock throbbed. So did Riggs's -- larger, harder, meatier.
The sailor stumbled away. Moments later, I felt Riggs's fingers tighten around my hair. He turned me around, and I came face to face with his manhood. Riggs held the base of it with his index and thumb, and then turned his meaty hips so that his cock slapped me across the face. A trail of precum remained on my cheek. "Slut," Riggs growled. Again, on the other side. "Whore. Open your mouth."
I did. And he thrust it all in one stroke down my throat. I gagged, tried to retch, but his hands -- the size of my head -- were keeping my face planted against his pelvis. "Bitch," Riggs said finally.
I don't know how long he brutally skull fucked me. But it was glorious. The only thing in the world was his cock. It was as though I had a clit or a prostate in my throat; I was so hard for him, and every time he cut off my breathing, I found that my toes were curled in the presage of an orgasm. Riggs could fuck me to death and I would want him to.
Then he threw me off his cock. "Turn around," he commanded. I obeyed, of course, and cried in pain and ecstasy when he rammed nine inches into my throbbing ass. But that wasn't the end of it. He felt him crouch ever so slightly so that his arms were hooked under my shoulders, and then he stood up straight. My legs, which had been spread on either side, knees bent, left the ground.
"Aaggh," I cried. His cock was finding places I hadn't thought possible, that he hadn't reached that afternoon as he'd fucked me three times to orgasm. "No, it's too much, it's... oh God..." My eyes rolled back in my skull. Here I was, left off the ground, supported completely by this muscle god of a man's arms and thick cock. I was like Riggs's blow up doll, made just for fucking.
"Yes..." I cried, "yess... that's... oh that perfect, oh fuck me... fuck me master!"
"Slave," Riggs said, voice full of contempt. Then, "Bitch." I groaned and my head dropped forward from where it had been leaned against his shoulder. I was nearing an orgasm. Riggs was mechanically fucking one out of me, and I was helpless to slow it or accelerate it. I looked up, my eyes clouded with lust. People were looking at us, tops and other bottoms like me. Of course. It hit me just as the orgasm boiled up from the soles of my feet and began the rhythmic clenches around my prostate and around Riggs's powerful cock. Riggs was putting on a show and gauging who else, like me, was lusting after him. Riggs was using me as bait. And after he was done with me, he would work his way through his next conquest. I could see one already. You're next, I thought as Riggs fucked me into an orgasm and I groaned and shot ropes of cum over the deck.
I was in more or less complete bliss. Riggs had slowed and was now easing me up and down, each passage of his still-throbbing cock over my prostate sending tingles through my body. I lay limply against him. As far as I was concerned, I had died and gone to heaven.
But Riggs was far from done. I thought I was taking the entire length of his dick, but he dropped a muscled arm across my hips and pressed me against his body so that his manhood went even deeper into my anal cavity. "Unnh!" I groaned, and my dick, half-hard, began pulsing again, slave to my master's wants.
"Shall we go under the deck, hmm?" Riggs asked in my ear.
"Yes," I said weakly.
He pulled me off his dick. It was as though a train had exited my ass. It felt so suddenly empty, cold even. I longed for Riggs's cock. But he must have sensed it, or he was amused with his slave's slutty hole, because he flung me over his shoulder and, as we went into the bowels of the ship, he kept a finger in my hole, teasing me, stretching me, alternating the number of fingers.
"No," I gasped as he prodded my opening with his thumb, "that's too much, no, I can't... unnhh..." My eyes rolled back as he turned his hand and found my prostate. "Unnh... it feels so good..."
"Of course it does, bitch," Riggs said and flung me onto the mattress. He came two or three times that night. He took me in every position, and then some. When he was tired of my ass, he would fuck my throat; when he was tired of my throat, he would ream out my ass. Riggs was inexhaustible. Towards the end, I became nothing more than a blow-up doll for his pleasure. When Riggs saw the look on my face, he laughed.
"How's my bitch boi doing?" he said mockingly. Then he thrust forward.
I only moaned.