Whore and Order continues.
Disclaimer: This is a fictional soap that contains tales of graphic homoerotic control and authoritarian domination. These may not be legal in your area or you may be under age. If so or if the material is likely to offend you please leave now. Unsafe sexual practices can be undertaken with impunity only in fiction. In reality, play safe.
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Chapter two: Perfidious
As I head back to my house I am thinking of the shareholder's words: "You can imagine how embarrassing it all is. I might leave it at as a good night in except they stole my best sex toys and leather gear. I want revenge." I smile as I think this was just after he told me about how he had to shit his phone out of his arse so he could use his tongue to ring me. I will get Renal on to it, he surfs. The sun is rising by the time I get back home. Convict 101 brought my coffee and fruit. I dress myself in my uniform in front of a full length mirror. I am in my fifties, grey speckled beard and hair edged my head. I still out lift most of my staff. I wear the uniform black shirt but my pants are tight, leather trimmed, my boots are made for kicking arse. 101 brings me my leather cap.
This crim has been my house boy now for three years and knows his place. He is as tall as me but lithe. All he is wearing this morning is leather straps that run from the front of his prison issue collar down across his sides to come together across his bum's buns, under his pelvic floor to separate again to support his prick cage, then V up his flat tummy to the metal rings installed in his slight, square pecs, his nipples not being big enough. I think his sentence is coming for review. Must figure out how to sabotage that. Most of the prisoners I use as my house-bitch make me bored after a time but I like 101 being available. I start to harden just thinking about a sadistic joke I could perpetrate on the youth to thwart his parole. Exposure dressed much like he is now near a school would work. 101 is trained, seeing my priapic bulge he kneels to release it from my pants but I back hand him across the ear. I have not got the time to use him. I have to get to work.
I hate working on Sunday but a PRIC(Private Regional Institution for Correction) cannot close and as director I need to check in most days.
It is often an onerous task running a small establishment like mine and today is to prove especially so. We have a small lock up, only handling arrests, remand and short-term incrassation. With hard times there are thousands of itinerants, on the road, looking for work or spoils. We also deal with illegal immigrants till the federal authorities bother to get involved. We are the frontline in the general law and order sweep that keeps our towns and highways `safe' and our prisons full. They call me the Judge because I not only manager the centre but I am a magistrate. I determine the immediate future (up to five years) of anyone arrested by PRIC Officers.
I arrive at my large office, operations area to find a place in chaos. "Officer Hemming has two prisoners and is on the way in." I am told by Officer Jones who rings up to me soon after I arrive. "Jesus another two prisoners, the way this weekend is shaping up I am going to be paying you bludgers triple time," I yell at the mouth piece but Officer Jones laughs. My superiors will not be laughing if they have to borrow because of my cash flow criticalities. I check the half dozen monitors I have that can show the two dozen remote cams that give me coverage of the PRIC. My penitentiary is a small affair, a couple of induction/interrogation rooms, four cells and my office that doubles as a court room.
"Hemming has just called in, he is bringing three not two. He picked up another refo by the looks of things," Jones rings up, "shit aye, we've got ourselves a crime wave. Ya realize I aint slept for a day."
I hang up and reach for the statement from another illegal immigrant who had good English.
Confessions of a sea-bitch.
I was not an indolent adolescent but there is no work at in my home in Timor so I ended up on Flores. I think I might work on a fishing boat out of Endeh. I knew it would be dirty work but there is also the dirty men. I am drawn to the men who smelt of fish. Many are tall, muscular and gangly for Indonesians, no doubt because they have a ready source of protein and physical work. I am not likely to work as part of the traditional fishing fleet but I begin to think maybe I can get aboard a boat when I meet Phil by the quay. Phil is much taller and more muscular than me. His hair and beard has natural curly sun/salt bleached blond braids. He sees me staring and comes across to me. We converse in a mixture of English and Indonesian "What ya eyeballing." "Your face hair is like the marble colored curls I have seen in pictures of ancient Greek sculpture," I explain to him, showing I have studied some.
This pleases him greatly, "I'm an Aussie but I have a Greek heritage," he informs me. "Maybe I could work on the boat you work on," I suggest. "Ya such a little bloke. Ya ever been to sea or done a real hard days work?" "I would be willing to do anything, Phil," I assure him. "Ya can be our sea-bitch," he mocks me. The ribbing is carried on when I meet Drift, his Javanese captain. Though his Moslem we meet in a bar. "We can always do with a cabinboy to do women's work onboard," he says scratching his crotch as he assessing me. I am the butt of more jokes about being a butt-boy slave. I am bristling with some indignation but mostly I am absorbed by their hunky presence, captivated by their fishy-pheromones, my hormones. I laugh along as they shout me drinks.
The same afternoon I am one of a crew of three onboard a small boat heading south to Australian waters. Phil spends the rest of the day telling me my duties, I cook dinner while he supervises. The captain ate his meal in the wheel cabin while Phil and I ate in the lower deck. After, we drank beer, talked about girls. Phil's comedy became more crude innuendo as jokes are made about `semen' needs at sea. "Like I've heard about Alexander the Great. Greeks are predisposed to such activities," I show off cockily. At first I thought I had gone too far but Phil's scowl turned to a sneer. "No doubt ya know this from experience with ya pretty looks and willing manner," Phil mocks me.
"I have to have a, a slash," I say nervously escaping up on deck. The moonless night has set in black. I piss over the side shivering for the chill of the night air and my sexual tension. The captain is upfront in the wheel house. The lights are out, except for the green tinged instrument dash, so I have too peer into the room. I try to make out what I am looking at. The captain is dressed, standing at the large wheel but his pelvis is rhythmically pumping. He is masturbating as he stands at the wheel. Suddenly the there is a flash of phosphorescence from the ocean. It turns the bridges wind-shield into a momentary mirror. The image in the window is not Drift but a darkness, a negative form writhing to the ship's masters pulsations. The writhing demon's eyes go wide with white when they spy me. I am in the corner of the mirroring window, goggling.
I am not sure whether there is a four person or a strange entity is aboard or did I imagined the whole thing. I am spooked enough to head straight back into the lower cabin. I am shaking with strange expectations. Phil is at the table where I left him. He immediately breaks into a broad smile amongst the tight curls of his beard and he stands. He is staring at my crouch and when I look down I see why. I had failed to put my prick away after my piss and, after what I just witnessed, it is as hard as it gets. I nervously try to pants it but it is unbending. Phil is releasing his cock as he walks towards me. It is a long cock with an upward bending head, a Cyclops's slit leaks. I undo my belt to make it easier for me to hide my stiffy but a tug at their back has my jeans around my thighs. I am still in the doorway, hemmed in by a bench to one side, the captain and or demon on the outside and Phil within.
I am an erotic mess, barely able to breathe with confused anticipation. I hope it is the captain handling my buttocks. My underpants with my jeans are dragged down to my calves. I have not turned to confirm if it is the boat's master because I am watching Phil's hook strengthen, before me. Phil grabs my prick and my knees bucked but my rear attacker holds hard to my balls. While this supports me it induces me to bend forward to receive my rear admiral's cock, still hard form the fuck I interrupted. I am bent and must look like I am begging for it at both ends. My body's stern is first to take aboard chockers of cock cargo. I scream allowing my bow to receive its own choke of cock consignment. Both are deep into my bod before my nervous system catches up with the pain of the rapid delivery. "Well bitch –boy, ya taking big dirty dicks like the nasty-little-sea-slut you are," observes Phil while my captain behind me growls a laugh of ecstatic satisfaction.
The two men control me utterly. Phil understood how to get his twisted cock down my throat. He pulled my hair to bent my head to get his cock at an angle choking my thorax, he took me by hook. The captain held my pelvis so my body could not move forward as my rectum stretches to take his length. I cannot dislodge them. I am no virgin but my brief experiences with peace keepers in my home land had not prepared me for this, cock trauma deep into my guts from both ends, big, hard and quick. My arse hole is just getting over the pain and into the intense power of my captain's jib when a growl from him accompanies a brief pause followed by half-a-dozen rapid deep thrusts.
My mouth is occupied so I can not verbally respond to the jabs that become a succulent squelch as my captain's jizt floods my bilges. He disengages just as I am hopping for more.
Phil drags my head off his horn though he is yet to blow it. "You take second watch," he is commanded by his captain. "Get to bed" is directed to me. With this order my skipper places a foot on the jumble of clothing at my feet making me pull off shoes with my undies and jeans as lift my legs in response. My undressing except for sox is finish by Phil who roughly removes my T-shirt that rips. "Hay I need them," I point out "I say what ya need to wear like everything ya will do from now on ya galley-mole," the skipper tells me with a hard slap on my buttocks. It is odd I only now see that there is only one bunk in the cabin and as the captain leaves us Phil pushes me towards it.
He has stripped himself naked when he joins me. He manhandles me, fucking me first on the edge of the bed then in various positions. When he allows me to sit on his meat it is best. The bend of his cock meant I could bounce on my knees and it slid in and out of me in a parabolic curve. He add his jizt to the captain's. and is snoring asleep as I wank my pent up load with him still up me. We do not cuddle but the bed is too small not to be entwined. I drift off feeling my arse fulfilled like I never though possible. I am dreaming Moby Dicks when an alarm wakes us both early morning. Phil, half asleep, turns me to my side so he can drive a morning boner up me. This time spunk delivery is perfunctory, then he turns me so I am prone though my arse is raised. He empties the contents of his bladder up my rectum. Given the spunk already up me my bowls are near exploding when he pulls out. My sphincter barely contains the reservoir. I dash to the loo while he dresses for his watch.
I have just finished empting my nether region when the captain arrives from up on deck. "Come on bitch we ain't got all morning," he states as he pulls his limp cock from his pants and I go down on one knee to help it expand. I am convinced that the mysterious fourth member of the crew does exist from the smell of our captain's dick. When it is hard he orders me to the bunk. There are hand straps above the mattress, no doubt for use in rough weather. The boat's master slips my wrists in these, twisting them so they hold my arms in place. I am facing the wall, kneeling on the mattress. "Squat," I am told. I bring my feet under me. My arse is flotsam ready to be grappled by my captain's pole.
After the past few hours I did not expect problems accommodating my captains cock again but the pounding my arse-hole had already received is compounded by the urine douche I just had. It has left my battered dirt hole squeaky clean. Apart from a well aimed spit he used the strength of his mast to board me again. I cry out. "If ya open ya mouth it better be to beg for it slut." He controls me as before by grabbing my ball sack that hangs under my arse like the knob on a gear-shift. "Ya gunna make a real ship's mole arn't ya" he says laughing as he feels how hard my prick is. My ball sack is tight but he stretches it painfully, I cry out then remember, "Bugger me please captain," I beg as he churns up my anal canal pushing me to my knees. His pulls out straight out, paining me and delivers a hard slap on my butt's buns that slaps my balls too. "Did I tell you to kneel?" "Sorry sir," I whimper, fighting not to cry out. I am back on the balls of my feet.
My thighs are paining me, I buttress my knees to the wall as he propeller starts to screw me again. "Be grateful for what I give ya." "I am sir!" I gasp. He laughs and starts slapping the flank of my pelvis as his fuck rhythm settles in and he has use of my fuck juices once deep in my man-hole. He is not in a hurry, he twists my nipples, pulls my head back hard to observe my teary face: "more master" are my stifled cries. I smell his tobacco breath as he used his stubble to sandpaper my neck and shoulders. My legs are numb by the time his petard blasts deep in my rigging. This eases the anal torment of his cock which is still making love to my prostrate. It is a surprise to me when my prick explodes in masochistic satisfaction. The ship's master realizes I have blown over the bed only as he ran his coarse hands over my still squatting form. "Fucking bitch," he cries as he yanks out of me. "Sorry sir." I say about to collapse, still shaking on my haunches.
I turn to see him stand beside the bunk, his receding dick is still hanging from his fly. He removes his belt. He proceeds to swing it vigorously on my back and buttocks as he obscenely berates my inadequacies as a sea-bitch. I am sobbing when he releases me from the straps. My body is stiff, my legs are pins & needles I collapse when I try and stand. "Change the bed," as he continues to swing the belt, this time hitting my head and chest. I get the sheets from under the bunk and am relieved to be on my knees as I change it. He continued to occasionally lash me with his tongue and belt. "Ya sleep on the floor slut," he orders as he falls on the bunk, still clothed. I wrap myself in the dirty sheet and after a quite weep, sleep.
I am woken by my captain's foot to my bum. "Up and get to work, it's a long swim back to Endeh." I stand, the captain pulls the sheet I slept in off me, "Here ya weed, cover up." He bends under a bench and throws me clothes. They are a sort of sailor uniform. The captain watches as I realize that the bellbottomed pants are mean to have their Velcro flap to the back so my arse is readily available. The top has blue square collar. I am surprised I do not have to wear a sailor cap. Phil joins us as I dress and the boat's master leaves. I make breakfast. I take two portions to the wheel room and see my demon in the daylight.
He is attached to the wheel. I say attached because he is hanging from it via an elaborate leather body harness that starts at his ankles and finished around his neck. On the head is an afro. About a fifth of his body is criss-crossed in some dull metal and black leather, the color of his skin. Otherwise he is naked. His lean body rippled with muscles like bubbles in pitch. Both men face front, the fourth crewmember almost parallel to the floor so his arse is a convenient height for the ship's master's piston. The captain at the wheel has his jeans below his pumping buttocks. He is steering with his cock, his hands otherwise occupied. The man on the wheel worked his arms and legs insect like. "Tell Phil to prepare. We rendezvous in half an hour," the captain ordered. Neither of them look at me, nor break their fucking stride while this is said.
I leave the food and go down to give Phil the message. I am cleaning up the breakfast when Phil comes to me and bends me over the sink. The only resistance he gets is from the Velcro of my bum flap. I am shocked though because instead of the stab of his cock up my arse chute I receive the jab of a needle in one of my butt buns. "What ya..." my cry is stopped by an open hander to my face. "From now on ya will only talk when ya spoken to if ya know what's good for ya bitch." I have a thick lip, taste of blood in my mouth, hurt feelings, beginning to worry about what is in store for me. I do not feel all that bad once the injection kicks in after about ten minutes.
I learn my fate when the captain brings the man we rendezvoused with down to the galley. "This is Hans your new master," the captain told me. "For twenty more, I'll throw in the sailor suit," he addresses Hans who nods. Hans is very tall, European. His head is broad at its top with Neanderthal eye ridges, wide cheek bones. His face then hollows at the cheeks to a long prominent jaw. The chin is creased with a deep cleft. His body is the same shape, very wide shoulders and chest halving at the waist to long legs. I am thinking of what is in his pants, I am sure it is a fat headed, long cock. Another bloke from the other boat is in the door, Phil is here watching. Hans pulls my pants down with one hand as he opened my mouth with the other. He looks at my teeth.
He sticks two fingers deep down my throat. I suck them without reaching. He turns me. The same two moist fingers penetrate my arse, he takes them out and smells them. He wipes the fingers on my top as he pulls it up. He lets it fall. By now I am accepting and horny, content to let this man give me a future. He slaps my stiffy, gently, smiling. "Fine, he's a natural, Ritco." As Ritco comes to get me he gives Hans a plastic shopping bag that Han hands to my former captain who checks it. Ritco is probably Latin American, my height but Inca short, real tuff. Ritco slips a chocker chain around my neck and pulls me out of the cabin while I am still pulling my pants up. We get into a dinky and are soon joined by Hans. Ritco starts the engine. Phil waves good bye. As we pull away I see the name of the boat I had been on the last couple of days: the `Perfidious'