Date: Sun, 19 Apr 2009 15:18:45 +0800
From: mike lynch <lynch.um@gmail.com>
Subject: Whore and order: Chapter two

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.

Comments, ideas are welcome, feel free to contact me.

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'