Come Me Mr. Sax Man

by Habu

17 Feb 2017 1209 readers Score 9.1 (37 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


It was Monday morning, the ship had just nosed up to the pier in Baltimore, and an announcement had sounded that it would be another half hour or so before the vessel cleared customs and the departing passengers could start leaving in an orderly and highly orchestrated manner. This didn’t cover the crew and staff, though. Those among the crew and staff who weren’t staying on for the next trip back to the Bahamas, leaving later that afternoon, and working like mad to prepare for the next round of cruisers, were on their own for dragging their luggage off and could leave as soon as their duties were over. Handling their own luggage meant the crew and other staffers had mostly learned to travel light. Buzz had a problem with this, though. He had a saxophone case to carry as well as his suitcase. Buzz was off this route now and not scheduled with the cruise line for a few more months, when he’d be sailing out of Tampa, Florida.

He and Trent were sitting, eating breakfast in the Windjammer café. They had no schedule on when they were to get off the ship--it just had to be before the next round of passengers started coming through the processing to get on. Buzz was drinking the last of his coffee. Trent, a bit morose and still not sure that this was what he wanted, was gazing around the café, where others, with late departure times, were letting the cruise line pay for their breakfasts.

“When I’m done here, it’s down to the Schooner Bar to pick up the saxophone,” Buzz said. “It will take me extra time to clear that through customs. You can finish packing and come off the ship after me. You sure you can manage alone?”

Trent felt a jab of irritation. He wasn’t a child, and this wasn’t his first voyage with this cruise line. Of course he could manage on his own. But he knew that wasn’t what Buzz meant. Trent had been under intense surveillance by Buzz since the previous Saturday night, when he had come back from the Brazilian’s suite to an empty cabin and had eventually fallen asleep in an empty bed.

* * * *

He had been awakened in the early morning hours feeling Buzz’s hands intimately moving on his body. While he was still half asleep, Buzz had run an arm under Trent’s belly, pulled him up on all fours, mounted his hips, and doggie fucked him hard, fast, and deep. It was done brutally and with a sense of anger. But Trent had loved it anyway, managing a prodigious creaming in the sheets long before Buzz had finished him. Trent collapsed to the surface of the bed and Buzz came down heavily on top of him.

“I came twice to check on you yesterday afternoon and you weren’t here,” Buzz hissed in his ear.

Between your fuckings of middle-aged cows, and when I came back, you weren’t here either, Trent thought to himself, but he dared not say that. “I went to the pool. And to dinner. Am I supposed to stay in the cabin while you’re gone, lying here with my legs open, waiting for you to have time for me?”

“Don’t be snappy with me,” Buzz had growled. “You’re with me now. Yes, I want you here when I come for you. When I come, I want you. Can’t you understand and appreciate that? You should be happy I want you that badly.”

“Yes, yes, I guess so,” Trent had answered. He didn’t want to fight with Buzz, and he felt the same way when Buzz came to him. He wanted Buzz inside him immediately. And he wanted to be controlled, didn’t he? He wanted Buzz to dominate him . . . didn’t he?

Trent was fully awake for the customary second taking, and now fully under Buzz’s control. Buzz was raised on his knees, kneeling between Trent’s bent knees, pulling Trent’s pelvis up into his crotch with hands clutching and spreading his buttocks for maximum penetration. Trent’s torso cascaded down to the surface of the bed, where his shoulder blades were taking his weight. Trent was bunching and rebunching the sheeting on the bed with the hands of his outstretched arms, and his head was lolling from side to side, every fiber of him concentrating on whether or not the two punishing balls at the sides of the pioneering cock barbell could reach new territory inside his channel that Buzz had not previously explored--and finding that, in this position, they could.

The long slide and then in, and Trent shuddered and gasped.

“It’s all arranged. I’m off the ships until the summer and then I’ll do the run to the Western Caribbean out of Tampa. You’ll stay with me in Baltimore and we’ll go down to Tampa together.”

“But, I’m signed on for the next seven cruises here. I . . . oh shit, of fuck, do that again.”

Deep inside Trent’s channel, Buzz had rotated the cock head, dragging the balls around the channel walls, which were shimmering at the attention. A long, slow slide out, and, with Trent holding his breath and trying not to cry out, the long, slow slide back deep, if anything, deeper than before.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Trent murmured as he let his breath out.

“I’ve talked to the cruise director down there. They’ll be delighted to have you in that dance troupe. He knew of you. We’ll go down a month earlier and I’ll get us an apartment in Tampa so you can practice for the Western Caribbean performances.”

“But Erick. The troupe here . . . oh, god, oh, god, OH GAWD!” More deep golden ball work before the slow slide out and then back in.

“It’s all arranged. You’re coming with me. Isn’t that great?”

In, out. Innnnn, ouuut.

“Yes, Daddy. Oh, Daddy, Daddy!”

In, rotate, out. Innn then (gasp!) further innn and the long slide out.

“But, while we’re in Baltimore. I could--”

“While we’re in Baltimore, I’m taking care of you. You can just be in the apartment, waiting for me to come home. Right?”

Trent panting heavily, struggling to speak, and when he did, “God, you’re in me like never before. The cock barbell. Oh shit, the balls. I’m gonna--”

“I said right? It was a question.” Holding completely still, not letting Trent move a muscle.

“Yes, Daddy, Whatever you say. I want to come. Oh, god, let me come.”

The stroking resuming, quickening, brutal, deep strokes, and with a long “Ahhhhhh,” Trent felt the spurts of cum deep inside him and found almost simultaneous release at the same time.

When Buzz had showered and changed and was ready to leave for his breakfast and his first gig in the Schooner Bar Sunday morning, he left Trent on his back on the bed, his legs spread open, moaning.

“When I check on you today, you’ll be here, right?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

And so Trent had remained all day Sunday. At 2:00 p.m. Buzz returned and asked Trent if he’d had anything to eat yet. He hadn’t, and so they went to the Windjammer Café buffet. On the way back, Buzz asked Trent if he’d transferred all of his clothes and his suitcase to Buzz’s cabin. Trent hadn’t. He hadn’t left the cabin. Buzz had made clear that he wasn’t to leave the cabin. So Buzz stood in the corridor outside Trent’s double-occupancy cabin while Trent, grateful that neither his roommate nor the stage director were there, packed up the rest of his belongings.

Back in Buzz’s cabin, Trent asked if they were going to fuck again before Buzz went to his predinner hour gig in the Schooner Bar.

“I don’t have time. I have an assignation.”

“Another middle-aged divorcee?” Trent asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“It’s part of the contract. I’ve told you that,” Buzz answered.

At 8:00 p.m. Trent was so bored and feeling so needy that he reached into his carryon bag and took out one of the Tenga Eggs the Brazilian had given him Friday night to take away with him. It was the ribbed one. Trent opened the egg and his legs and laid back and masturbated himself with the plastic membrane-filled wavy gel.

When he had finally despaired of Buzz coming back and feeling very, very sorry for himself, Trent turned out the light and turned his face to the wall and drifted off to sleep.

At 1:00 a.m. Buzz was mounting him in the bed in the dark and fucking him to heaven--and once more Trent would agree with anything that Buzz wanted.

* * * *

Trent was trying to be agreeable as he looked out of the window and down onto the Baltimore cruise line pier while Buzz was taking his time with his coffee. But they weren’t in bed now. Buzz and that marvelous cock toy weren’t inside of him now. He wasn’t at all sure about wanting to do what Buzz had told him he wanted to do. Trent didn’t give a fuck what port he sailed out of and what troupe he danced with, but this complete control of his life thing . . .

He heard a baby cry and looked over to a nearby table, where a hunky young man and his sleek, fully satisfied-looking wife sat with four young children, not more than a year between their ages, at one of the bigger tables. Trent looked hard at the man and fantasized. A woman that self-satisfied who popped a baby out for this young man every year. He looked great. Trent mentally undressed him, imagined a cock that kept the woman happily pinned to the bed. Imagined it was him, Trent, being so well fucked by this man.

He shook his head, which changed his field of vision to another big table, around which sat Clint and his fraternity brothers. They were laughing and punching at each other. Full of vinegar and testosterone. Thinking back on the two gang bangs, Trent knew he should have been angry with them. But he couldn’t be. He had enjoyed being gang fucked. It was just him. It was how he naturally was.

Would he ever be able to curb these cravings? Could he do it with Buzz’s help--or at Buzz’s insistence? And did he even want to?

What was that that the Brazilian had said to him? “That is the whore in you that attracts me--the freedom and exuberance to be as one with me, a fully committed lover, and yet to fuck other men too.” And the tolerance and honesty with which he had gone on to say, “It’s what I want for myself, so I would not deny it for you.”

And speaking of the Brazilian, there he was, across the café at some distance. A young, good-looking, well-muscled black man sitting with him. The young man rising and leaning down. The Brazilian and the black man kissing each other on the lips--right there in the busy café--not caring who saw them or who might be upset. It evidently was a farewell kiss. The young man was picking up a carryon bag, voicing his last good-byes, and leaving the café. This obviously was someone the Brazilian had found after Trent hadn’t come back to him yesterday. Trent couldn’t be angry. He couldn’t deny the Brazilian his pleasure. The Brazilian had made an offer to Trent. But Trent was leaving the ship with Buzz. Now the Brazilian was standing up from the table as well and then slowly exiting the café. Trent knew he wouldn’t be in any hurry. He was staying with the ship for the next cruise.

“Come with me down to the Schooner Bar,” Buzz said as he rose from the table, his coffee finished. “I’ll get the saxophone case and leave the ship. I want you to go directly to the cabin, finish packing, and join me on the pier.”

“Yes, of course,” Trent answered.

Buzz reached out and took Trent’s arm and guided him toward the entrance to the café.

Once in the Schooner Bar, Trent watched Buzz check over his precious saxophone and put it to bed in its case. Then he stood and turned to Trent.

“You’ll pack and come right off the ship? You’ll be OK?”

“Sure,” Trent answered, trying not to clench his teeth. What Buzz meant was could he trust Trent out of his sight? Trent suppressed a flash of irritation as he watched Buzz haul his roll-on luggage and the saxophone case out of the bar entrance.

A motion in the corner of Trent’s eye attracted his attention. The barman was coming out of the kitchenette behind the bar. The same barman who had fucked Trent roughly in that kitchenette what seemed to be an age ago.

Upon seeing Trent, the barman’s eyes lit up and he began unbuttoning his white shirt and revealing the swirls of colorful tattooing on his chest and belly.

“Didn’t see you around again after I spiked you,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“No,” Trent said in a small voice.

“No, what? I haven’t seen you or you don’t want me to nail you again, right here and now?”

There was a long pause. Trent wasn’t even sure what he was going to say next. But he was trembling, and there was a fight between Buzz and the Brazilian--two men who didn’t even know each other--going on in his head.

“No, you haven’t seen me since you fucked me.”

“Come back into the kitchen,” the barman growled.

He had his shirt and trousers off and was leaning against the sink counter when Trent entered the kitchenette. He reached out with a hand and Trent walked into reach. As the barman brought Trent into his chest, he stripped off Trent’s T-shirt.

They clinched in a frenzied, possessing kiss as they each ran their hands over the torso of the other and the barman moved his hands down to unbuckle and unzip Trent’s shorts and then to fish both cocks out and stroke them together.

“Suck it,” he growled, and Trent moved his lips and tongue down along the swirls of the tattoos on the chest and belly and slowly knelt in front of the barman and took the man’s cock in his mouth. When the man was satisfied that he was hard enough, he reached down, grabbed Trent under his armpits, and lifted and swiveled him around to where, as before, Trent was sitting on the counter with his head wedged under the overhead cupboard. Trent palmed the barman’s pecs and thumbed his nipples and watched the waves created by the moving muscles of the man’s chest and belly as, forcing one of Trent’s ankles onto a shoulder and holding Trent’s other leg out wide to the side, the barman brutally and mercilessly pumped Trent’s channel with a cock that he somehow had been able to put a condom on.

As before, Trent was left in a moaning--but satiated--heap at the base of the counter, while the barman adjusted his clothing, hummed a little tune, and asked in a low voice, “We gonna do this again? Signed on for the next cruise?”

With a whimper, Trent responded. “I don’t know.”

“To which question?” the barman asked.

“To both, I guess.” Why hadn’t he answered truthfully, Trent wondered. He was leaving the ship. He was going to live in Buzz’s apartment in Baltimore, waiting each night for Buzz to come home, until they moved to an apartment Buzz would rent in Tampa and go out together on the Western Caribbean cruises--where Trent would live in Buzz’s cabin and wait for him to come back from fulfilling his contract with blowsy middle-aged cougars every night. It was an easy scenario to take when it was being laid out for him while Buzz’s cock was inside him. But now? Why hadn’t he just said no, he wouldn’t be on the next Bahamas cruise out of Baltimore? Which left in what? Seven hours from now.

“Well, you stay on this cruise and you need an itch scratched, I’ll be right here in the Schooner Bar.” He laughed then and pushed his way through the kitchenette door and back out into the lounge area.

When Trent could gather himself up, he hurried down the deck levels to the first level. It hadn’t been all that long. The barman had scratched his itch in under fifteen minutes. And he had scratched the itch. Trent did a quick check through his mind, looking for the shame or the guilt that he assumed would be there in view of his new arrangement with Buzz. Nothing. What he dredged up was the question of whose arrangement this was--and who was committing him to it: Trent or Buzz?

Trent hurriedly packed and took the elevator back up to deck four, where the departure door was. He made it all of the way out to the glass tube tunnel that wound its way down to the street level. At the first bend he stopped and looked out onto the pier. His eyes caught sight of Buzz, with his luggage and the saxophone case. He was standing next to a black Cadillac--talking with the blonde divorcee Trent had first seen him with in the Schooner Bar.

It took less than a minute for Trent’s mind to snap. He turned and pushed his way back on board, apologizing for pushing against the tide. He took the elevator to the eighth deck. As he was walking down the corridor, pulling his suitcase behind him, he was struck with an extraordinary thought.

He had loved Buzz. Of that he was sure. He’d never loved anyone like he had loved Buzz. But it just wouldn’t work. Buzz would realize that himself. Then he laughed, deciding that it was all OK. But, still, it probably was the shortest love affair anyone had ever had.

What about his job? That shouldn’t matter. Erick would be delighted he wouldn’t be leaving this troupe. He wouldn’t have been able to find another male dancer to replace him on notice this short anyway.

As he approached the Brazilian’s suite door, he paused again, struck by another thought. What if the Brazilian already had found another young man to play with and was in the cabin now, fucking him on the bed or the floor or the balcony? How embarrassing would that be for Trent to be at the door, seeking entrance? Where was the cabin steward? He’d been in the photos in the Brazilian’s camera. Would he be too busy getting set up for the next cruise to be lying under the Brazilian in there and sheathing the man’s cock?

But then Trent thought, what the hell? He didn’t see anything wrong with threesomes. And it was the Brazilian who had given him dispensation and courage not to care.

He lifted his hand and rapped smartly on the cabin door.

- FINI -

by Habu

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