Trust

by Alice May Ball

  Sam’s hand came around to grip the front of Gary’s briefs. He held the shaft of Gary’s cock at the base, through the soft cotton. The tip of Gary’s tongue pressed up against his teeth and he shifted his feet farther apart as Sam slid his cock slowly in. Sweat beaded on Gary’s lip and both of them gasped. He was in.

  “You ready, sailor?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, I’m ready. Get that great cock in me. Give me your weapon of ass destruction.”

  Sam slid farther in.

  Both sailors were groaning. The muscles and veins stood out from their necks. Each stroke, Sam pressed deeper. Each time, Gary exclaimed. A wordless sound. At each sawing push, they groaned more. Sweat more. Pushed harder.

  Gary leaned forward. Sam’s hand was stroking Gary’s cock inside his Calvins, pulling it hard from the base. Each pumping push took Sam’s hips closer to Gary’s cheeks. Their faces twisted.

  Then they were pounding. Gary’s eyes clamped shut, popped wide, clamped shut again. Sam’s tongue lolled and flicked around his open lips. Sprays of sweat arced from both sailors’ brows. Sam was in a rhythm, beating into Gary. Harder. Faster. Gary gasped. Clenched his teeth. Gasped and shouted. His cock, ever bigger and harder in Sam’s big fist.

  Sam’s thighs slapped into Gary’s reddening butt. Gary leaned farther over, putting his hands on the bed either side of my hips. The dark tang of male scent was intoxicating. I ran my fingers through Gary’s hair. It was drenched. Maybe as drenched as my hot pussy was from watching these two fabulous sailors stoking hard just inches away.

  Gary’s breath made hot blasts on my stomach and the look on his scrunched-up face was making me super-horny. As Sam piled into Gary’s ass, I slid down and got level with Gary’s cock. My nails dragged down his thighs, which twitched and staggered.

  In from the legs of his briefs I slid my fingers. Sam still had hold of his cock, so I cupped his balls. Gary’s knees shook as I played with his sack. I slipped my hand up behind, between his cheeks and felt the girth of Sam’s torpedo slamming up Gary’s tube.

  Sam’s hand, and the cotton of Gary’s briefs were just about level with my face now, so I pulled the waistband over his cock. Sam kept on pulling it from the base, and I finally got my lips on some male meat. I plunged my mouth greedily onto Gary’s cock, which was a decent size. Big, really. Only, compared to Sam’s missile, it looked about the size of my clit.

  Taking Gary filled my mouth. The underside pressed on my tongue as I slid the length of it along the roof of my mouth, although we all three shook from the accelerating pounding that Sam’s cock was giving to Gary. I held on to Gary’s fine, strong hips, and I sucked him in. I stretched up to push him into my throat, but he was pulsing hard and I heard him crying out.

  I felt him beat and swell on my tongue. I sucked and slurped, and he shoved it in. He pumped. My mouth was awash with saliva and precum, then Gary began to burst into me with a force. Into my throat and onto my tongue, pulsing squirts of hot, salty, sticky sweet cum.

  Sucking for all I was worth, I got most of his slick jizz, but some eked out around my lips, dribbled down my chin and splashed around my face.

  Gary gasped and almost collapsed. He practically fell off Sam’s cock and rolled half onto the bed, and then onto the floor. Sam’s cock meanwhile was pointed right at me. I didn’t know whether I should try to swallow it, which I was fairly certain I couldn’t, or have him fuck me with it. The choice seemed to be what speed did I want to die? Choking slowly or eviscerated, more or less right away.

  I heaved myself onto the corner of the bed, and leaned up on my elbows. “Okay, sailor boy. Kill me now.” And I dragged as much of Sam into my hot, wet puss as I could. It was like a sea monster that I had almost died giving birth to, deciding that it would be happier back in the womb after all. Every stroke made my spine flex, my nipples were raw. My clit was sore in no time. The insides of my thighs strained.

  But I endured. What I’ll do for the boys in service. Sam slammed into me. I dug my heels into his butt and scraped his back with my nails. I yanked his hair and I shouted as I squirted copiously and came. Sam pulled out and brought the beast up to my face. By then I was incoherent. Having it pulled out of me, I was ecstatic and bereft in equal measure.

  My mouth docked onto it. It was so hot and so hard. I think I got about a third of it in, and then it was pumping like a fire-tug, blasting hot spunk at the back of my throat. Sam pushed and pumped and I sucked and swallowed.

  Sam’s spunk ran down my already sticky neck and onto my wet breasts, and splashed on my face, which was also sticky already. Gary roused himself to lick at my breasts. Sam held me and stroked me, and he stroked my hair, making that sticky, too. We nuzzled and cuddled like that for a long, lovely, sticky while.

  Reviving, I declared, “I want a clean navy.” Showering earlier, after I checked in, the tiled shower room seemed to be large and luxurious. With two sailors, it shrank surprisingly. Which only added to the joy of our shower-time. We got soapy. We soaped each other. Gary soaped Sam, spending a particularly long time soaping and stroking every inch of that monster man-tool. I took a special delight in washing both of their wonderfully sculpted backs at the same time. Paying very careful attention to the cheeks, cleavage and crevices of their butts.

  We washed each other’s faces, necks, chests. Stomachs. Sam was kissing Gary. Then he turned to kiss me. So long and so tenderly. And, as he did, I could feel the heat in my groin. And the considerable stirring in his. Gary stroked and washed my breasts, and I kissed him. His butt, especially slick with soap, was so tight and round, it made me sigh. And he was getting hard, too.

  The water splashed and cascaded over the two sailors and me, the sound of it somehow making the whole world recede.

  I was brimming with emotion. I jumped to wrap my legs around Sam’s waist. His cock was pressing at my petals immediately. Feeling him there was divine. I held on and squeezed my arms and legs as tightly as I could around him as he kissed me, soft and deep. Then I decided. Pulling my head back, I watched his mouth as I said, “You plunged in the lagoon,” Sam smiled, “you assailed the promontory,” he chuckled, “and you ran the ravine.” The tip of Sam’s tongue slipped out between his pressed lips.

  He said, “Mm. Yeah, okay. And?” I twinkled at him.

  “There’s still… the cave.” Both men stared at me. “If Gary can do it, I can do it. Ready that torpedo for my tube, Seaman.”

  “OK, Mrs. Harper, if you’re sure. You climb on to Gary. Seaman, can you take the strain?”

  Gary lifted me. As I turned to face him, he said, “Aye, ready, Seaman.”

  My arms around Gary’s neck, I hung off his shoulders and crossed my feet over his butt. He held my buttocks and Sam began to soap and lube my little ass. He squeezed and massaged my cheeks, slipped a few fingers forward to tour the island again, and slowly worked my ass open enough to slip first one, then two, then three fingers inside. I chewed and sucked on my lip. I pressed my puss against Gary, whose cock seemed eager to join in.

  When Sam had gently worked my ass open, impossibly wide, it seemed to me, I felt the tip of his cock pulsing under my hot pussy. Gary’s cock was bouncing up between my thighs, too. Two gorgeous naval weapons in the shower, what had I done to deserve this? Then, Sam’s huge head, slick with precum and lube, docked at my cave mouth. I felt elation and fear, but I pressed gamely down on it.

  Sam held me under my thighs, taking my weight and guiding my soft little ass down onto his massive throbbing cock. I gasped at each press that brought him deeper into me. My head shook. Gary squeezed and stroked my breasts and stroked and kissed my face, my mouth, soothing and exciting me at the same time. My hot, buzzing pussy lips rubbed against the firm ridges of the underside of his cock. He pressed his fat cock back to graze my aching clit.

  I reached back to stroke the velvety flesh of Sam’s beautiful ass, and thrilled at the wonderful rolling and rotation of muscles, like great steel cables, sheathed in soft rubber, choreographed to move
in oil. Sam pulled my thighs farther apart to get more opening as he pressed his cock in and drew it back, pushed and then dragged, and my ass was adapting. Turns out, it’s a fast little learner. It was feeling the ridges and gliding over the humps in that hard shaft of flesh as it sawed in and out, plowing deeper each time.

  Gary’s cock was too delicious to leave at the gates. My fingers found it. Stroked it. Rubbed and squeezed its hot, thrumming length. Selfishly, I used it to grind against my clit, and I moaned and squealed as the waves of thrill rippled through me. And then I took it inside.

  My inward gasp felt endless. I felt as though I would suffocate from the sheer shock of excitement. The sensation of those two cocks, both of them huge, truly, but the one in my ass just impossibly huge, literally blew all my breath away.

  The two sailors immediately coordinated their rhythm. Like they’d trained and drilled for it. They don’t, do they? One in, one out, one in, one out. First stroke faster, second stroke slower. They’d speed up, slow down, go harder, go softer. It was a dance, and I was easily led. I kissed and licked Gary’s face and lips, my sensations bubbling and brimming.

  Then the two men changed course. Their throats groaned like turbines kicking in. They both plunged in and pulled out together. My eyes and my mouth popped wide open. My hands clawed whatever was near. Gary’s hair. Gary’s ass. His shoulders. His balls. My thighs stretched, my toes curled. My back arched and I shouted, “Yes, Yes, YES!”

  Both cocks were driving, pounding, pummeling into me. Both of them pulsing. Then they both pumped. And pumped. Hot blasts of silky semen splashed inside me. Sloshed and filled me. Oozed and dribbled out. We all became a collapsing, sighing, panting, many-limbed hug under the cascade of the shower.

  We lay in a pile under the showerhead, just touching and kissing for god knows how long, until the hours of clubbing began.

  San Francisco, there’s just no place like it.

  Gary and Sam. A life on the ocean waves. Maybe it was the uniforms, but of all the men I’d encountered so far in this strange adventure, they were the ones who made my eyes misty and my throat dry when I thought of them. They were the ones who first made me think, However wonderful this is, and it is wonderful, I can’t be content as an emotional vagabond forever. There will have to be a change before too long. Otherwise, I knew I would lose what remained of the innocent joy. I would become worn and weary.

  It was a fantastic day, and night, but like high-school pranks and student high-jinks are fantastic. Superficial, thrilling at the time but meaningless afterward, and usually quite dangerous. I needed to take my life in hand and steer it in another direction.

  How and what direction, I didn’t know, but I knew that I couldn’t go on like this forever.

  Although, perhaps just a little longer.

  Chapter 8 *

  ONDON WAS SOMEWHERE I HAD visited with my husband some time ago, and I remembered the city fondly. When an issue over some UK holdings arose, I gladly took the opportunity to come in person to attend to it. Royston Quinn had been the senior partner and I was hoping I would see the courtly, old-school English gent.

  It turned out that Royston had withdrawn from the practice and his nephew, Marston Quinn, had taken over his role. “I’ll be looking after your affairs from now on.” His dark voice on the phone stirred and unsettled me. On hearing him, I knew for certain this was the man whose watery gray eyes had stayed in my memory.

  When I called to say that I would come to London, the debonair and smooth English attorney told me over the phone, “Well, Mrs. Harper there’s really no need,” and I shook inside when he said, “Although it would be the greatest of pleasures to see you.”

  The thought of actually coming face to face with him again set a dark thudding in the pit of my stomach. What was it about this man, we had barely even spoken, how could he make me feel such dread?

  I booked a suite for two weeks in a gorgeous hotel that I remembered by the big park. It was spring, the birds sang, I was going to have a wonderful visit.

  The attorney’s smart and spacious chambers were near St James’ Palace. All very gracious with a reassuringly olde world style and polished brass signs saying, Harden, Quinn, Quiggley. A neat blonde receptionist invited me to sit. Her professional smile was impeccable.

  Quinn himself was a senior partner, and he came out to greet me personally in the plush reception area.

  Tall, in a beautifully cut suit, he didn’t seem old enough to be a senior partner. My dread turned to something else altogether when he took my hand and bowed his head, as he fluttered a kiss on my fingers.

  He said, “It’s marvelous to see you, Mrs. Harper. I hope you don’t mind me saying that you bring a breath of spring into our fusty old offices,” and I saw the receptionist’s lips tighten.

  I thought she probably had it bad for our Mr. Quinn, and she may have been peeved that he hadn’t already enjoyed the spring fragrance from her fresh little self. And who would blame her?

  During our meeting, a smart young man in a gorgeous suit breezed in with a file. As well as the warming glow of his easy smile, I couldn’t fail to notice the way that his eyes caressed Quinn’s face. When he delivered the documents, his fingers lingered on the table by Marston’s arm. The scene touched me, but I couldn’t tell whether Marston was even aware of it.

  Marston Quinn had invited a principal from one of the major holdings to join us, and the business of our meeting was as straightforward as Marston had predicted and as dull as I feared. Still, he and I concocted an excuse for one more meeting before I returned to the States. Just for the look of the thing. Well, maybe not only that. We’d see.

  As he showed me out, Mr. Quinn was positively courtly. He told me, “I’m sure you know that we are ethically prohibited from having personal relationships with clients, Mrs. Harper. For that reason alone, I heartily wish that your legal business was elsewhere.”

  “But if it were, Mr. Quinn,” I said, “then we wouldn’t have met, would we?”

  His perfect teeth gleamed as he said, “Frustrating, isn’t it?” And he made a courteous little bow, exactly as the elevator ding’ed its arrival. He had given me something to think about.

  I spent the rest of the day shopping, and I finished up with afternoon tea and scones in a pretty little cafe on Piccadilly. In the evening, I was back at my hotel and relaxing at the bar.

  Next to me sat a fine young specimen of an English gentleman. Strong and well-built, with deep sapphire blue eyes and impeccable manners. He wore a red tunic with gold buttons, just like the soldiers outside Buckingham and St. James’ Palaces.

  I asked him, “Excuse me, but are you one of the palace guards?”

  His eyes tilted up at me. He said, “I have that honor, Miss,” and his look set something inside me rolling like a bowling ball. “Lance Corporal Adrian Balcombe-Smythe, at your service,” and he made a little bow.

  I love how they do that here. Then when I introduced myself, and corrected him about the ’Miss,’ he lifted my fingers to his lips. I was thinking about canceling my flight home.

  These gorgeous men are thrillingly polite and courtly, I told myself, Enjoy, but it’s no more than that. Marston Quinn had been paying me compliments, but that was probably all. Brits are just brought up polite. I was sure that this was only the young guardsman’s way of being civil. No doubt he was humoring me. They aren’t going to be interested in a mature, experienced woman, they’re just like any men. All they want is tight, fuzzy young flesh. Like their own.

  I asked him, “That uniform is bound to get you draped in girls. Are you in here hiding from the crowds?”

  His eyes flickered down to his drink, “I do get the odd one or two, but I’m never sure what to say to them.”

  “You’re probably nervous because you know what you want to say, but maybe you don’t know quite how to say it. Could it be something like that?”

  “I know what you mean, Mrs. Harper, but I really don’t know what I want to say.” The turmo
il in his sad young eyes said that he meant what he was telling me. I rested my hand gently on his to reassure him.