The Low Road (14 page)

Strong hands gripped the waistband of the trousers and hauled me up on to the deck; several voices raised an ironic cheer.

‘Here's our new recruit! Make him welcome, boys!' Dessert held
me up for inspection, then dropped me and shoved a scrubbing brush into my hands. He motioned with his foot to a wooden bucket of filthy suds.

‘That's your work for the morning, my lad. Get down on all fours and scrub the deck.'

I was not used to this kind of address, and something in my expression must have betrayed my contempt for his orders. Seizing my ear, Dessert dragged me down to the ground and forced me to kneel at his feet. ‘Come now, Mister Gordon, is this mutiny?' I hung my head and said nothing. Resistance was futile. I dipped my brush in the pail and began to scrub.

It was then that I realised that my decision to wear the trousers with the hole at the back had been a foolish one. Forced as I was to work on hands and knees, my arse was open to inspection by the entire crew, none of whom seemed to have anything better to do than stand around watching me work and passing comments on my performance. I tried to ignore their comments, but certain words - particularly the oft-repeated syllable ‘fuck' - kept jumping out from the babble.

After a solo performance of perhaps five minutes, during which I had kept my head down and looked at nobody (partly to hide the shame burning in my cheeks), I heard Dessert blow a whistle, and the crew jumped into action. Bales were loaded into the hold, ropes wound and unwound, the sails hoisted into position. For all that they were a ragged-looking crew, they lacked nothing in discipline when it came to work, and within half an hour the ship was ready to sail.

I tried to keep out of the way, hoping that they would forget my presence in the business of embarkation, but no. Every time one of the crew crossed my path he would either pass comment on my arse, or make some lewd suggestion as to what I should do to his prick. Some of them were not content with words alone, and aimed sharp swipes of foot or hand at my bare bum. One of the
sailors, a huge black man - the first I had ever seen - inserted one thick, dark finger a few inches into my hole. The shock made me gasp and sit up, flushed with embarrassment. He wiggled his finger around inside me, whispered a few obscenities in my ear and let me go.

After that I was spared no indignity. Dessert, finding fault with my work, subjected me to six strokes of his thick leather belt while the crew looked on and counted, cheering when he showed them the red marks that shone out on my lily-white arse. Then, with the assistance of the black man and another brutish-looking creature, I was hauled to my feet and bent over a barrel. Dessert pulled my cock and balls down so that they hung between my legs, and invited the sailors to take turns pulling and yanking on them, promising an extra tot of rum to the man who could give me an erection. There was little to excite me in the situation, and I remained obdurately limp until the black sailor, who seemed to enjoy a privileged position on the ship, knelt between my legs and started lapping at my arsehole with his tongue. The sensation was so soothing on my poor, abused posterior that I sprung a stiff rod immediately. The black sailor stood back to show the results of his handiwork, and I was just beginning to feel a little happier about my position when I was doused with the filthy contents of the pail I had been using to clean the deck. The sailors roared with laughter.

‘That's enough now, men! Back to work!' Dessert lifted me off the barrel with surprising gentleness. My legs almost gave way; he held me up with an arm around the shoulders.

‘Don't be afraid, little one,' he said. ‘We won't really hurt you. We have to deliver you in one piece, after all. The men must have their entertainment - and on this voyage, it is you.' His large golden hands pulled the vest over my head, then tore the trousers off me; both garments were dripping and foul from my drenching. We stood face to face, his powerful torso with its ridged stomach and prominent nipples opposite my own smooth white flesh, streaked with muck and
covered in goosepimples. Looking over Dessert's shoulder I saw a face watching us through the cabin window - the face of an older man, smiling. This, I assumed, must be the captain.

I had little time for reflection. Dessert took a length of rope, made a loop in one end and passed it over my hands, tightening it at the wrists. The other end he tied around my ankles. Thus hobbled I was led to the foot of the mast and tethered like a goat. Beside me were three rough-hewn wooden troughs with outlets leading into a runnel cut into the deck that directed their contents over the side. I could tell from the pervading smell that these were the ‘heads' - the ship's latrines. My degradation was complete.

We set sail as the sun was rising in the sky, and by the time we'd cleared the mainland it must have been full noon. A misty morning had given way to an unseasonably warm day, and the heat was beating down on my naked body with some force. I was warm and comfortable enough at first, but soon I became aware that my pale flesh was burning.

The black sailor was the first to visit me.

‘All right, pretty boy? Comfortable?'

‘I'm too hot,' I said, and immediately regretted it. He hauled out his cock - even blacker than the rest of him - and weighed it for a moment in his palm. Bending his knees, he let loose a thick jet of piss into the nearest trough and then, when it had gathered its full momentum, directed it straight on to my chest and stomach.

‘There you go, boy, better now?' I was drenched from chest to legs again; the smell of his piss on my hot flesh was overpowering. Choking back my anger and disgust, I had to admit that it was, indeed, very soothing.

The next visitor was a wiry Highlander, a handsome-looking redhead with a gold tooth and a great quantity of red fur visible at the neck of his shirt. Without preamble he dropped his trousers and exposed a pair of massive thighs and a big, white cock dangling down from its red wiry bush. This time there was no pretence of
aiming for the trough; he simply stationed himself in front of me, pulled my head back by the hair and pissed straight in my face. I closed my eyes tight shut and tried to close my mouth. There seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of piss in the man; finally, however, he flicked the last drops in my face and I opened my eyes. Instead of walking away, however, he stayed where he was, pulling on his foreskin until his cock had fattened and lengthened. Taking me again by my wet hair he pulled my face towards him. I did not need to be told what to do. I opened my mouth and let him in. I thought that he would simply use me as a convenient hole in which to dump his sperm, but he wanted more than that. I was obliged to do all the work, sucking and slurping on his now rigid tool until he was almost ready to come. I had always been accustomed, when pleasuring a man's cock in my mouth, to use my hands for extra stimulation; now, however, with my wrists bound behind my back, I was obliged to do everything with lips and tongue.

At length he pulled out of my mouth and sprayed my face with his sperm. It ran over my lips and down my chin; there was nothing I could do to wipe it away. I cleaned myself as best I could with my tongue.

My cock, of course, was painfully stiff by now, and there was nothing I could do to relieve it. I could only hope that one of the sailors would take pity on me and help me out as one by one they soaked me with their hot, yellow piss, dumped a load of come on me or in my mouth, occasionally stuck a couple of fingers up my twitching arsehole. But not one of them would touch my cock.

This ordeal lasted the best part of the day. Mercifully, as the ship turned south I was spared the full glare of the sun and was able to doze in between ‘entertaining' the crew. They were an insatiable rabble; there could not have been more than fifteen of them, but I must have received double that number of visits during the course of the day. The black sailor, whose name was
George, returned and pissed out another hefty load. Dessert came by every couple of hours to give me water and bread, but he too relieved himself on me. By the time the sun was sinking on the starboard side of the vessel, the decks around me were awash with piss.

To my surprise, we dropped anchor at sunset. We can't have been far from the English coast; it seemed that we had found a good soft mooring for the night. The crew furled the sails and placed lamps in the rigging. Dessert came and cut my ties with a knife, tossed me a cloth and allowed me to clean myself up a little. Then I was led to the prow of the ship where the crew were lounging in readiness - for what?

‘Now, Mister Gordon,' said Dessert, ‘you've acquitted yourself honourably today, I think we'd all agree. Any complaints, gentlemen? ' There was a good-natured cheer. ‘You see? A happy crew, thanks to you. And as a token of our gratitude we will allow you to serve the evening tot of rum.' He pointed to a stone bottle with a little tin cup attached to the neck by a chain. ‘Come on, Mister. Let's see if you can do it without spilling a drop.'

Still naked, I took the bottle and poured out a measure with a steady hand and passed it to Dessert. He tossed it off, smacked his lips and motioned me to continue. Thus I served all the crew - and at each stop I was subjected to more coarse physical familiarities until my cock was once again straining out in front of me.

‘Double rations!' shouted Dessert, to the delight of the assembled sailors. I passed around again; this time, the liberties taken with my person were even greater, as the alcohol emboldened the already shameless crew. When I reached the end of my round, all hell broke loose. George grabbed me, held my arms and sat me on his lap; I could feel his huge black cock, still mercifully inside his clothes, pressing against my buttocks. Dessert dropped to his knees in front of me and took my cock in his mouth; another of the sailors joined him, chewing on my balls. George's fingers penetrated my arse; a throng of cocks were waving around in my face
as one, then another, was pushed towards my lips. Dessert, dropping his trousers, knelt down and turned his arse towards me; George took my penis (now slick from its recent sucking) and guided it into the Midshipman's anus, while the rest of the crew cheered. I gripped his hips and fucked him as hard as I could. It was too much; I gritted my teeth and came inside him. Stars burst before my eyes.

Nothing seemed to satisfy the sailors, however, who were now passing the rum bottle freely between them. As I lay on the floor, I saw George standing over me, coaxing his massive cock to its maximum hardness. Another of the sailors was licking my arse, evidently in readiness for a fresh assault. I squirmed and wriggled with pleasure, and hands pinned me down on all sides. My knees were lifted into the air, and George positioned the head of his cock at my hole. I held my breath and waited for the pain.

Suddenly, from somewhere above my head, came the blast of a whistle. George's prick, which had just started to ease into my complaining sphincter, twitched once and pulled out, leaving my hole gaping in the air. The hands that had held suddenly let go, and I was dropped on to the deck like a rag doll. The sailors, as a man, stood to attention. Many of them, including Dessert and George, had erect cocks standing to attention as well. Silence fell.

‘At ease.' A cultured voice. From my position on the deck I could see the captain closing his cabin door behind him and standing on the bridge, looking down on the orgy beneath him.

‘Dessert.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Your men appear to be getting a little rowdy.'

‘Sir.'

‘What's going on down there, Dessert?'

‘We're fucking the boy, sir.'

The captain sighed. ‘I can see that, Dessert.' There was silence; I wondered whether the crew was about to be disciplined. Instead
the captain came a few steps down from the bridge and leaned an elbow on George's massive black shoulder.

‘And what's he like, George?'

The black sailor grinned. ‘Very nice, sir.'

‘So I see. Bring him up to the cabin, please. I don't want him split in two on that thing.' He indicated George's still-stiff prick with his cane; it bounced and throbbed, a sticky thread hanging from the head.

The Highlander picked me up off the floor and threw me over his shoulder; my bare feet made contact with his burning cock, and I was unable to resist grasping it between my soles and wanking it that way a few times. He laughed and whispered a few crude endearments in my ear before ducking down and delivering me to the captain's cabin. I could hear from the deck that the orgy was in full swing. One last glimpse over my shoulder and I saw Dessert in my place, the rum bottle being held to his lips, ready to take George's prick up his arse.

I lay for a moment unable to feel anything but relief. I had been dumped on the captain's bed; the softness of the mattress was a blessing to my bruised, aching limbs. I knew, dimly, that my filthy body was soiling his clean cotton sheets, but for the moment that didn't concern me. I cared only that the assault had stopped, and I had a chance to recover.