Pressed into Service

I’d been assigned orderly duty in sickbay on the old Dot (HMAS Dorothy to those not as familiar with the old girl as I am), the regular holder of that position having been granted shore leave to visit a “sick relative” while we were berthed in Melbourne. At least that’s what he put down on the leave application, whereas as I knew for a fact that he had a “boy” in every port, and the one in Melbourne was a real beauty, 6’3” of solid, tradie manhood. Well worth using up a bit of leave for!

I, on the other hand, had selflessly sacrificed my own leave to stay onboard and help tend to the single occupant of the sickbay, an “old sea-dog” who everybody knew as Trader (as in Trader Horn, if you get my drift….), but whose real name was Douglas Blake. Truth to tell, he was probably no more than in his late 40s, and was the Leading Seaman on The Dot, and a right good sort to boot. He was also extremely pleasant on the eye if you have a fondness for experience over youth, which just about sums me up.

Trader had dislocated one shoulder and wrenched a muscle in the other when one of the less experienced seamen in his Division had come headfirst down a steep set of steps from the deck during a particularly rough passage in Bass Strait. He’d managed to break his fall by landing on Trader, who had seen the whole thing about to happen and had positioned himself as well as he could to stop the lad from breaking his neck. This he had done, but not without injuries to himself, while the sailor wound up with nothing more than a few bruises and a sore head, not to mention a new nickname, “Headfirst Harry”, which he would probably live with for the rest of his life.

Trader blamed himself for the accident, telling one and all that it wouldn’t have happened if he’d trained the lad better for rough weather conduct, which was a measure of the man and why we all held him in such high regard.  And so it was a pleasure to stay onboard and help out while the ship all but emptied of non-essential personnel, and it also gave me the opportunity to get that bit closer to Trader, which was something I’d wanted for some time. Not entirely selfless then, but I like to think my heart was more or less in the right place.

My plan was aided in no small way by Trader’s helplessness while his arms were bandaged and strapped, leaving him reliant on my all too willing assistance. A good deed which comes with a few of its own rewards is still a good deed. It is in my book anyway. 

Which is how I ended up fucking him in the sickbay shower.

But that comes a little later. To begin with, I managed to convince the Medical Officer that I should move my kit into the sickbay, being on hand to help the patient with whatever major or minor requirements he might have, at any time of the day or night. After all, the man couldn’t even blow his nose without a helping hand, let alone anything more complicated, and this arrangement would also allow the officer to spend his time elsewhere on other duties. Trader seemed all too happy to support this suggestion, and the doc had to mask his enthusiasm for such a sacrifice on my part. I could feel my stocks rising, although that was far from my thoughts, naturally.

My first night “on duty” was relatively uneventful. I took over late in the evening and settled myself into my new living arrangement. Trader was already asleep and snoring in his cot, lying uncovered on top of the sheet wearing nothing but a pair of navy-issue boxers. A fan hummed and creaked overhead, moving the warm air in a lazy way, just enough to make some kind of difference. I stripped off and fell onto my bed, falling asleep almost immediately, comfortable in the knowledge that my sailor instincts would wake me if they sensed even the slightest disturbance.

Fortunately the night remained calm, and I woke up at 5:30am (normal for me), craving a piss and a smoko. I looked across at Trader and he was still snoring happily, my attention drawn to what was possibly the hardest erect cock I had ever seen in my entire life sticking straight out of his boxers. 

I instantly forgot about pissing and smoking and just stared at one of the most beautiful uncut cocks I had ever seen; and I’m not forgetting the one that almost saw me beheaded in Shanghai either! Trader’s penis was not too large, not too small, not too thick, not too thin, not too this, not too that, simply perfect. I stared at it as if it was the Mona Lisa, or Michelangelo’s David, or the guy’s I’d met in Sydney which I'd sucked on for about 4  and 1/2 hours. A work of art.

What to do? I was genuinely at odds with myself, trying to reconcile my lustful self with the sailor performing his duty, staring at a man I both admired and felt a deeper attraction for. Suddenly he moved and groaned, still asleep but on the edge of waking. I quickly rolled over, pretending to be asleep as he dragged himself to wakefulness, hoping that the pretence would pass muster. He coughed and cleared his throat, and I started as if just waking, rolling over to ask if he was okay. He’d drawn the loose sheet over his waist, attempting to hide his hard cock, not altogether successfully. 

I threw my legs over the side of my cot, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and trying as hard as I could to look like someone freshly woken from a deep slumber. I’d forgotten, of course, that I was totally naked, and furthermore had an erect penis that was making its presence all too apparent. Trader noticed, naturally, and the slight grin on his face alerted me to my predicament.

I grabbed my pillow and stuffed it between my legs, suddenly acting like a halfwit schoolgirl, at which Trader laughed loudly as he pulled the sheet off his own predicament. “Don’t worry sailor”, he said in an amused voice, “me too, every single morning!” I chuckled, and tried not to ogle his todger too much, none too successfully I must admit. “Makes the morning piss a bit difficult” he continued, “but needs must. If you can just help me up I’ll do it over the side, shouldn’t have an audience at this time of the morning.”

I leapt up and helped him onto his feet, modesty completely forgotten as I opened the door onto the deck and checked to see if the coast was clear. My own need to piss was upon me again, and we positioned ourselves up close to the railing and let it flow, our streams arcing up and over like two yellow fountains. It felt good being beside him, bare arsed and boned up, and I wondered where else this intimacy might lead.

But first things first, and once our morning piss was done we hurried back into the privacy of the cabin and I pulled on my uniform, figuring I’d have a shower after I’d seen to my patient’s needs. Trader’s beautiful pole had finally gone down and he asked me to help him on with the light dressing gown that had been supplied, which I did, stealing a fond final look at his now limp cock before it disappeared into the folds. 

I volunteered to go down to the galley and grab us both some breakfast, returning a while later with two trays laden with eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato, toast, butter, jam, and two steaming mugs of the worst coffee this side of China. But it all tasted great, and Trader didn’t seem the least put out by my having to feed him every single mouthful. I rather enjoyed the experience myself.

I knew that the medical officer would be along in about one hour, and thought it best to have Trader scrubbed and ship-shape in time for the visit; after all, I didn’t want the arrangement to come unstuck just when it was getting interesting. Trader must have read my mind, as he announced that he would need to go to the bog, and then have a shower immediately afterwards, both activities requiring my assistance. 

Now I’m not squeamish about bodily functions of any variety, and it just took a few words of negotiation to figure out how Trader wished to proceed. I helped him off with his dressing gown and his shorts, getting an eyeful of the entire glorious package, and helped him into the toilet where he spent a few minutes having a very efficient dump. He called when he was finished and without even the faintest blush from either of us, I efficiently cleaned up his backside, noting happily that there was very little to attend to. Then on to the shower.

By this stage I’d had more than enough time to survey Trader’s body, and he more than lived up to my lustful thoughts. He was thin, almost wiry, and on first seeing him I’d thought he was hairless, but his chest and stomach were infact covered by a soft, smooth ginger fur, almost like a cat’s. His pubes (always a focus for my attention) were slightly darker, thick and unruly, and I looked forward to running my fingers through them, in the name of duty. His cock, so impressive when erect, was equally handsome in its flaccid state, the head now covered by a foreskin with more than enough surplus to get my teeth, and tongue, into, should the opportunity arise. His balls looked as if they’d feel just right in the hand, maybe not quite as large as mine but still hanging heavy in their smooth sack. His long legs were similarly covered in that fine ginger fur, and all in all he was a sight for a poor sailor’s tired eyes.

Fortunately the sickbay had a couple of relatively generous shower stalls, necessary for coping with patients who needed assistance, and it quickly became apparent that to be of any help at all I’d need to get in with him; a happy thought. I was out of my uniform in no time, glad to be naked again with my charge, and Trader seemed happy as well, the smile on his face as he looked me up and down surprisingly bold and suggestive. This, I thought, could get interesting.

I got in first and and adjusted the water until it was just right, and then I beckoned Trader to come in, making room under the flow. He turned his back to me, perhaps modestly, and I started soaping him up, enjoying the feel of his smooth, taut muscles under my fingers. After a bit of this I could feel his tense body relax, and I asked him if he’d like me to clean up his bum a bit, which he answered by opening his legs and leaning slightly forward, a definite yes. 

Sliding the cake of soap between his buttocks I worked up a good lather and let my fingers gently massage his crack, wondering just how far I should go. The thought must have crossed his mind as well, as he told me in a matter-of-fact voice not to be shy and to make sure that his arsehole was good and clean as well. I didn’t need to be told twice and my fingers had no trouble locating his smooth, tight ring, massaging it gently but firmly. Was that a soft moan that escaped his lips? Did I imagine that he pushed himself back slightly against my probing hand?

“I can take more of that finger sailor, if you’re so inclined.” He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows teasingly, leaving me in no doubt as to his meaning. 

“Yes Sir!” I responded, always eager to obey orders. I pushed my slippery finger harder against his ring and felt it slide in smoothly, his sphincter closing around it possessively. A definite moan this time as he leant back against me, his head resting on my shoulder as he gave in to the pleasure, allowing a second finger to stretch his hole even further.

My right hand being busy, I wrapped my left arm around him and felt for his cock, having no trouble finding it in its rapidly hardening state. I slid his foreskin back and forth over the engorged knob, already slimey with juice, and he groaned again, apparently more than satisfied with my attention to duty. My own stiff dick was now sliding against his bum and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before we both passed the point of no return. 

“You can fuck me now sailor” he said, as if he was asking me to pass the soap, and once again I leapt into action; King and country would expect no less! My stiff cock slipped easily between his buttocks and found his lathered hole, I didn’t even need to guide it in as he pushed back, his anus sucking me in.

I admit I was perilously close by this stage, his sphincter working my tool as if it was in charge, which indeed it was. He was sliding his rock-hard cock in my fist with increasing urgency as well, telling me that he too was about to cross that line.

I was bush-deep inside him, my tool massaged by his warm, wet passage, the merest movement guaranteed to release me. I wanted us to go together so I drew his foreskin back fully to expose his swollen knob, working it in my hand, making sure that my fingers massaged that electric spot just below the piss-slit; a trick that always worked with me.

And so it did with him. He gasped as a stream of cum shot from his cock, a shudder running through his body which, in turn, was all I needed to send me over the edge, my cock pumping a torrent of thick cream into his warm passage. 

I struggled to keep my attention on jerking him as the sensations I was experiencing inside his body were almost overpowering, but I kept my hand firmly around his shaft, letting him control the movement and intensity as his orgasm slowly exhausted itself. At the same time I could feel my own spasms lessening and started to move my cock slowly in and out of his hole, squeezing every last moment of pleasure from his tightness, and that wonderful sphincter.

In what seemed like both a moment and an eternity we were spent, his penis slowly softening in my hand, my cock slowly softening in his arse, our breath coming in great gasps as we collapsed against each other, the water from the shower cooling the heat from our skin, bringing us back to reality. 

I reluctantly let go of his now soft penis as my spent tool slipped from his hole. There was a moment of silence between us before I reached for the cake of soap and gently washed away the telltale signs from between his buttocks. He turned around and I lathered up his cock, cleaning mine as well before asking if that would be all.

“A job well done sailor, many thanks.” A slightly wry smile appeared as I gave him a mock salute and stepped out of the stall, reaching for the towel to help him dry off. “Same time tomorrow I think, give me an opportunity to return the favour.”

I felt my arsehole twitch in anticipation as the doctor poked his head around the door and asked how everything was going.

“Ship shape, Sir” we chorused.