Come Me Mr. Sax Man Ch. 02

The marked quarter-mile walking path around the swimming pool complex on deck nine turned at the stern before the section where Trent was camped out, but it wasn't long before Trent realized that one man, who evidently was walking the laps, wasn't turning there but was making his turn at the very back of the ship, around the rock-climb tower.

On the man's third pass, Trent was giving him attention, watching him come up the side of the deck and then following him with his eyes around the curve of the ship's stern. What had caught Trent's attention first was the nipple ring. It took a certain level of confidence for a man to leave one of those in while promenading the swimming pool deck of a crowded cruise liner—especially an older man.

The man was on the older end of middle aged, but he was still very well put together. He appeared to be European or South American and either was olive-skinned or had been tanned to perfection, and he walked with notable confidence. With each aspect of him being pleasing to Trent, the young dancer honed in on the details.

The hair on his head was salt and pepper at the crown, with gray at the temples. His chest, forearms, and legs, were hairy, also salt-and-pepper in color and curly in context. He was barrel-chested, more of a Zeus than an Apollo, but very-well cared for and carrying himself with grace and the assurance of great wealth. He was wearing a luminescent blue Speedo, showing a pronounced bulge at the crotch, and—setting Trent into slight trembles—more than a hint of a thick Prince Albert cock ring. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, but not dangling like some mafia mobster, shorter. The thought ran through Trent's mind that it was a length that he could happily suck on during sex but wouldn't slap painfully against his body while the man was pumping him.

Trent, in his need, was already fantasizing writhing under the man's body. This wasn't necessarily a rare occurrence for Trent. He pretty much assessed all men he met or looked at a second time in terms of being fucked by them.

The man wore dark designer sunglasses that hid what, exactly, he was looking at, but he turned his head toward where Trent was stretched out during each pass. He didn't seem to want to hide that he was ogling Trent. On the third pass, the man slowed down as he reached Trent's chair, and he lifted his glasses and made quite clear that he was drinking Trent in with his eyes.

On the fourth pass, Trent made sure he was on his back; legs parted; knees bent; an arm stretched out behind his neck, pulling his perfectly muscled chest taut, and a hand laying gently on his basket as the man approached. The signaling from the man had been clear. Trent was being equally clear in his response. He'd been through this hundreds of time before, and it almost always ended up with money in his wallet.

The man slowly passed him by again, but then, after disappearing around the stern of the ship, he reversed direction and came back and stood at the foot of Trent's lounge, lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head, and smiled down at Trent. He placed his hands on his waist and projected his hips slightly, making sure that Trent could make out the circle of the PA cock ring straining at the material of the Speedo.

Both of them looked to either side of them. The only other lounges within sight supported a snoring fat man in one direction and a matron turned away from them and reading a Romance novel in the other direction.

"This is lounge taken?" The man asked, gesturing to the lounge next to Trent's. He spoke in a rich baritone and had a slight, interesting accent. Trent estimated that he was probably either Brazilian or an Argentine.

"No, be my guest," Trent answered.

"Or perhaps I'm being too forward," the man politely said. "Perhaps you don't want to have company."

"No, that's fine," Trent responded. "Please, yes, do sit. You speak English very well, but it doesn't seem to be your native language. Are you—?"

"Brazilian. I'm a very rich and bored Brazilian, I am on this cruise alone, and I am, what do you call it, a dominant homosexual. Am I still welcome to sit with you?"

"Yes, of course. But you say you are bored—"

"Is it true that you are one of the dancers I saw on stage last night? You do look like one of them. A very sexy and sensual dancer. I couldn't keep my eyes off you."

"Yes I am a dancer. Thank you for the compliment."

"And you do not shrink away when I pronounce that I am a seeking dominant homosexual?"

"No, not at all."

The man sat down on the lounge, but he did so at the side of it, turned toward Trent, who was still stretched out on his back.

"You danced like you were making love. And I fancied that you were making love to me."

"Thank you, I guess. It must just be something natural. It's just the way I dance, I guess."

"You had me—how do I say it?—in erection and wanting to make love to you—to make sex with you." He pressed the tips of his fingers into Trent's thigh. "But excuse me, perhaps I am being too forward? Have I misjudged? Please tell me if I have been."

Trent trembled a bit at his touch but didn't object. They both knew what was being proposed—and what wasn't being rejected. Both looked down the line of Trent's body. He was hardening up and there was nothing the skimpy Speedo could do to camouflage that.

"Is it true about male dancers? Are they all homosexual?" the man continued.

Trent looked into his eyes as he said that. They were gray and fully confident. Commanding. The younger man shuddered, already fantasizing writhing underneath the man, being commanded what to do, and doing it without question.

Trent laughed a low laugh. "I guess most of them are."

"And you, perhaps? Perhaps you are a homosexual as well? You are so sexy and beautiful. Do you mind? Are you upset by the image of me making love to you—penetrating you? Perhaps I am using the wrong words. I don't speak English well."

The man had laid one of his hands on Trent's basket and ran the other one into the hair at the back of Trent's head, cupping his skull.

"No I don't mind; not I'm not upset by that image," Trent said, giving the man a steady look, "and you speak English beautifully—and directly to the point."

"Then I will be quite direct. I would like to fuck you," the man said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I don't like to dance around on such an offer. I think maybe you will accept money, No? I'll give you $100 to let me fuck you. If you aren't interested, I will resume my walk, and we can both just have an interesting story to tell at the supper table."

"Right here? Fuck me right here?" Trent asked, amused by the directness of the man—and not put off by the promise of him. If he had to go much longer without sex, he thought he might go back to the Schooner Bar and let the barman hump him on the floor right behind the bar.

"If that would arouse you more, of course. I have no reason to care what others might think. Or we can go to my cabin. I have a big cock. You might make some noise that would attract considerable attention here. Have you noticed the Prince Albert?"

"Yes, I noticed," Trent murmured in a thick voice.

"Have you been fucked with a PA cock ring before?"

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

"Because if you don't, I could take it out."

"No, that wouldn't be necessary."

The man had moved his hand under the waistband of the Speedo and was holding Trent's cock and Trent was breathing heavily.

"You will make love with me well? You won't just lay there and do nothing? For the money I would pay, you would need to ride the cock, not make me do all of the work."

"Yes, if you will be good to me, I'll be good with you."

"Good then. Nice cock; plump balls. Everything about you is perfection. Should I suck the cock here?"

"No, not here. Is your cabin nearby?" The man was rhythmically squeezing Trent's cock and Trent was close to hyperventilating. This. This was exactly what he needed today.

The Brazilian's cabin turned out to be one of the grand suites on the deck just below where they had hooked up.

The Brazilian, who proved to be as well hung as Trent thought he might be, laid on his back on the bed, his buttocks at the edge of the bed and his feet on the floor. Facing away from him, his feet also on the floor, cantilevered back over the Brazilian's prone body, his arms stiff at the side with the bodies of both men between them and his fists buried in the surface of the bed, Trent fucked himself on the Brazilian's thick, sheathed cock. The Brazilian was palming Trent's pecs and thumbing his nipples as both men used the leverage of their feet to establish a rhythm of the fuck that forced the older man's cock deep inside Trent's channel again and again.

The Brazilian, with Trent's help, was using the penis ring to the greatest advantage, punishing Trent's prostate with it, bringing Trent to a quick ejaculation, and then making love to Trent's walls and then deep down inside him, while Trent moaned and groaned and cried out his ecstasy, not caring who heard him, slowly building to a second coming.

The Brazilian was good and lasted for some time. From time to time Trent turned his eyes to the nightstand next to the bed, assuring himself that the folded wad of five $20 bills was still there. The bills rested in front of a box of Trojan Magnums. The money was necessary for his pride, but he had been so keyed up, and the Brazilian was so sexy and his straightforward propositioning so arousing, that Trent would have gone with him for nothing. He, of course, wanted Buzz, but this was quite satisfying if he couldn't have Buzz.

At first Trent had thought the middle-aged Brazilian was being ambitious or was indulging in an act of bravado with the condoms. He had taken four packets out of the box, opened them all, extracted the disks, and piled them neatly on top of each other beside the money. There were two cans of lubricant. Trent had to revisit that thought with embarrassment, though, when, much later, the Brazilian had to reach into the box again.

"Oh shit, oh god, deep fuck me," Trent muttered, as the Brazilian started to rotate his hips and to bring the bulb of the cock up to Trent's prostate again and made Trent moan and tremble with the working of the penis ring through the thin skin of the Magnum.

The Brazilian came and then pulled Trent down on top of him and reached around and, still encased in Trent's channel, masturbated Trent to his second ejaculation.

"You are as good as I expected," the Brazilian said. "I'll give you $200 more if you will spend the evening and afternoon with me—and another $50 for each time I come."

The Brazilian took Trent like a dog from behind on the floor on all fours on the way to the shower and then, after Trent had sucked the man's cock back to life in the shower, the Brazilian took him again against the shower wall under the cascading water.

There was no limit to the man's virility—or to Trent's need.

Afterward, they slept on the king-sized bed, arms entwined, until Trent felt the Brazilian stir and reach for the fourth open condom. Trent rode the cock in the dark of the night, facing the Brazilian's head, with the heels of his hands pressed into the older man's nipples and rubbing them in the rhythm of the fuck. The stroking alternated between Trent doing the rising and falling and the Brazilian, grabbing Trent's waist with his hands, slamming Trent's channel down hard his hard shaft, again and again, driving the thick metal PA cock ring ever deeper into Trent's channel. At length, the Brazilian bent his legs up, bringing his feet close to Trent's rump, and pitched Trent's torso forward so that Trent's forehead touched the Brazilian's, enabling them, even in the dark, eyes locked, to enjoy what the eyes told about the enjoyment the other was getting in the fuck. Showing shocking vigor for a man his age, the Brazilian pistoned Trent's channel deep with his plunging cock, until, with a cry and a sigh, both came almost simultaneously.

Turning an exhausted Trent onto his back on the surface of the bed, the Brazilian changed his position in a fluid motion and tongued his way down Trent's torso to his cock, which the Brazilian cleaned with his tongue before he swallowed Trent's aching balls, completely drained of all ejaculate and rolled them inside his cheeks. Moaning, Trent closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. He regained only enough consciousness before sinking into to sleep to realize that the penis ring was sliding across the rim of his hole and that the Brazilian, whose lips now were sucking on one of Trent's nipples, was entering him again. Hard, thick, long.

Afterward, Trent mumbled, "I don't know how you do it—your stamina."

The man just shrugged and said, "I'm Brazilian."

As the ship slowly maneuvered past the Atlantis resort hotel and into the tight cruise ship harbor at Nassau the next morning, Trent was sitting in a chair with his legs draped over the arms and the Brazilian was hunched over him, facing the approaching harbor, and vigorously fucking Trent's ass.

After they had docked, an exhausted Trent begged off another day in the suite, declaring that the Brazilian had just too much stamina and too big a cock for him in view of his need to practice that afternoon and be in a stage performance that night.

"There's always the two days on the ocean going back to Baltimore from Coco Cay," the Brazilian said at the door of the cabin.

"Yes, there's always that," Trent acknowledged. And then he groaned. But it was a contented groaned. The Brazilian had given him just what he needed—and $500 on top of that.

As he returned to his interior cabin seven decks down to change into his practice costume, Trent reminded himself to never underestimate the staying power and vigor of an older man—or a Brazilian.