One Derpus

It's like a Doofus... only derpier. 

So. There's all the story part that I just posted on my Facebook, and that part of it is gonna get left out. I feel like I want that line of separation, although "Oh, you're the guy with the Wunderpus tattoo" is gonna be a little hard to dodge. Butanyway... we'll pick up with the picture of me in red, for the party I have mostly missed because I've been in getting my tattoo done. I want to go out and show off my tattoo - and also, there's a boy I've been trying to hunt down, and he messages me that he's in the club and having fun and I should stop by the club and say hey. 

I decide that no, that's not how this is going to go down. I have already poked my head into the still-jumping nightclub on the ship, and everybody's jumping up and down with a slightly frenzied vibe - but it's REALLY loud, and I want a place where it's nice and quiet, and Daddy's in charge, and a beautiful good boy is gonna lick some Jameson off Daddy's penis, to start with. 

I am waiting on him to come online on WhatsApp. I may end up typing this across to him, and I may end up using some Scruff screens of text, although it won't let me copy from the app or screenshot anything. 

Now... I had seen, and begun flirting with, this hottie on the first day - because, holy fuck, look at him (if he OK's any of the pictures... if not, you'll just have to imagine - a TIGHT, lean-muscled body - rippling abs, a muscular butt, thick solid thighs. I need to ask him if he's got a sport - it looks sculpted, but he probably runs and does yoga when he's not lifting weights. The pictures include a beautiful hairy chest and a furry butt - which I got plenty of my own pictures of, and with his OK there will be a bunch of those in there. 

But, one thing and another, here with family and some friends, they know he's no angel, but he can't really whore around... so we try to meet up with him, and he can't. We try again, and before he can respond, our dinner time arrives. I've still never met him in person. He looks very swarthily Latino, or maybe Greek - thick mustache, full head of blackish-brown hair, hairy body. He's a total stone hottie, and really looks more like someone used to getting what he wants. Which is fine. He wants me to get my way, all night long. I can SO do this. 

So I send him a quick bit of video with me sitting in a little alcove talking - both so that he'll know what I'm wearing and where I'm located in the ship (this can be surprisingly complicated), and so that he'll feel more horny and inclined to make it this time. After not too much longer, he shows up. He's stopped on his way to pick up a cocktail; I've got my Jameson and my soda, always separated so I don't drink liquor trying to satisfy my thirst.  

I still haven't met him in person at this point. From the pictures, I almost expect a strong South American accent, but he's all-American sounding and very, very keen to be a good boy. We sit in the alcove and kiss for a minute; I take a sip of my neat Jameson and squirt it into his mouth like piss through my pursed lips. I tell him I'm ready to go find a convenient place; a hottie on the crew had said that there were some good restrooms for shenanigans, and it turns out this Bestest Good Boy has scouted multiple good options on the ship, in preparation for just such an occasion as now, when he needs to suck a dick in a private place without disturbing his family. We see a man and a woman walking across the middle of the atrium - it's his sister and her husband, and he freezes and turns away toward me hiding his face. I wrap my arms around him like we're still in mid-snog, pressing his face into the un-tattoo'd side of my chest. 

I suggest we walk the opposite direction from the way his sister went, and find that shenanigans-friendly space he mentioned. I tell him to lead the way, and we walk down a couple of floors, through the night club, and into an area where the club's restrooms include a separate, gender-neutral space, with a huge single stall and a door that locks with a push of a two-inch wide soft button, and opens with a wave of the hand except when locked by the occupant. It's really pretty ingenious, clearly designed by someone who truly understands that the point of compliant architecture is to make things easy and access effortless.

He turns to me and we kiss. His broad strong tongue licks over my chin, my beard, my mustache, and then back to probing my mouth. I run my hands over his firm furry body. I put my hands down his pants and finger his hole; I rub it along my mustache because he smells delicious. He asks me to spit in his mouth, and I do, and then tell him he's a good boy. He's very, and demonstrably, turned on by that phrase. Thank you, Sir, he says again and again.

He's a very enthusiastic kisser. I'm really looking forward to possibly sharing him with Husband, who REALLY loves to kiss and I think would find this boy's style pleasing. Not to mention, his tight obedient muscled body. Woof. But I'm getting ahead of myself. (I used to be able to get head FROM myself... it's really not all it's cracked up to be. This is both a bad joke, and the truth. Lilas, Yoga, and You. PBS.) I keep getting distracted. Back to the beautiful obedient boy. I sip some more whiskey, and pull some into my mouth and then spit it into his. I dip a finger into my glass and run it down the length of my dick and then along under my foreskin, and he kneels down and enthusiastically licks and sucks my cock clean. I do this a few times. I spit another big sip into his mouth, and fuck into his mouth while it's warm from the whiskey. 

I ask if I can spank him. He says yes. I clarify, asking if I can spank him hard. He says yes, and doesn't argue at all when I turn him to hold the grip bar and pull down his elastic red pants so that his firm full ass is on prominent display. I spank him about as hard as I've ever spanked an ass with my hands; the tight muscularity of his butt makes it like punishing a sirloin roast. He doesn't ripple; he bounces. It's fucking amazing. He marks up beautifully, and I enjoy spending the rest of the night swinging on his ass from time to time. He gets redder and redder as the night goes on. 

I take a few shots of the beginning of his journey. He pulls my pants down over my thighs so that they clump around my calves, and begins to kiss and lick my cock from the head to the base. He worships it, rubbing it against his face, the stubble and the bushy mustache. He takes it most of the way into his throat, and I push until he gags hard. I explain to him that I'm not trying to make him puke - he looks up at me with these beautiful brown puppy dog eyes, and quite confidently says, "Oh, I won't." 

I laugh with delight, and tell him that we're going to get along JUST fine, with the amount of confidence he uses for that simple declaration. It's not a promise, or a hope; it's a statement of fact. I sit down on the toilet as he kneels with his knees just to the sides of my feet, so that his arms can reach up to play with my chest - where I have a brand new, still-bleeding tattoo. It's covered in the Second Skin stuff that keeps bacteria and baddies out, but it's still sensitive like a bad sunburn, and doesn't want touching. I keep having to block his hands as he instinctively keeps reaching up to complement his cocksucking with other stimulations, and normally I LOVE that initiative, but this time I'm playing Wax On/Wax Off, curving my hand around to block him every time he reaches for my left tit. I start slapping his hand good and hard; I'm not sure if this discourages or encourages him. I grab him by the skull and push into his throat, first in an exploratory fashion, then with more vigorous thrusts. 

He lodges himself more and more deeply on my cock, but he's still closed up at the back. I push him down and tell him to swallow... SWALLOW... and finally he gets it, he swallows, and gags hard. We do that again. I move his larynx with my thumb, like how you stroke it when you're pilling a dog. Works on the Waggy-Tailed Good Boys of all kinds. Handle the hyoid bone with care, but if you stroke like that, his throat will do the thing. Every time, he sounds like he's JUST about to puke. He never pukes. Every time he sounds like he's about to puke, his tonsils and his soft palate are doing this intense squeezing right behind the head of my cock, so that the cockhead is massaged both by reverse peristalsis and by the vibration of his larynx as he makes the puking noise. It's SO fucking hot. I keep pushing. I put my thumbs on his carotids and ask if he's aware of what this does, and he says yes. Just to be sure, I explain to him that it's changing the blood pressure in his brain, causing syncopy. I tell him what that means, how it's like standing up quickly from a hot bath, how you feel faint and then pass out. He nods at the end, I double-check for a verbal yes, and then I push. And press my face against his. I take some armpit funk and rub it deep into his nostrils, then shove his face into the center of my sweaty right pit. I showered in the morning, but then we got onto the boat and went to the glacier and saw bears and wolves (except my beloved Husband didn't see the bear, it didn't hang around and he couldn't focus in the right spot. I really wanted to find one for him. He got a beautiful bear tattoo with some relationship code. The Wunderpus is FULL of relationship code.) And then I lay in the hammock and fell beautifully asleep after playing with my penis in the golden sunshine for a while - there are some video bits of that sprinkled through. I got horny and aroused, and rubbed my own pit funk onto the backs of my hands and then groomed it into my mustache and beard. 

Then I went for my first tattoo ever, sitting for three hours, and between the nerves ABOUT the tattoo, and the actual experience of the tattooing, which I explain in the same technical language I use about sex... how it stimulates the epinephrine and the acetylcholine, followed by the endorphins and the endocannabinoids... and I can distinctly feel those different chemicals starting to act, because all that I'm allowed to do here, is lie quietly and be very still. So... the point here is, after all this adventure, I STINK. I'm fucking DELICIOUS. You can smell me walk past. My musk is potent. And, as I was saying, I rub his face in it and he rolls in my armpit like a happy Golden Retriever, getting funk all over his mustache and beard. I spit all over his face, rubbing it in.

There will be a lot of gratuitous video of my penis.

Someone rattles the door, but after it becomes obvious that it's locked, the noise goes away. We get back to business after a momentary freakout about the button, because he bumps against it for a second when the boat sways, but we figure it out. I just want to make sure we're not summoning a medical team. I tell him that he's been SUCH a good boy for me  - the goodest boy. I hold him up against me so that my thighs are gripping on either side beneath his shoulders, and he tightens himself so that he's firmly pressed against my thighs and pulling himself tight using his hands wrapped around my hips. I press on his carotids, and we make out. We make out. And he drops. 

Sorry, there was a lot of text there about the way I smell, and the thing is, it's important throughout the rest of this. But he drops, and slumps into me just a little - his head lolling forward onto my belly, his arms going limp. He's still so tight against me that he can't fall any further than a sway. I grip him tightly as he reboots, his lithe strong body flexing like a bow. I can feel the muscular reintegration happening across his body. I tell him I've got him, that he's safe, that we're on the ship in the bathroom and he's being a Good Boy for me. He looks up at me, and well, we throatfuck a lot more. I fuck into him, and with all the excitement, I feel the first orgasm coming like a tsunami. It hits me, and I thrust into him, spurt after spurt going directly down his throat, and he stays on my cock until he's nearly unconscious from lack of air. Finally I let him breathe, his breath coming in great sucking gasps as he shudders against me. 

I ask him about making video that I can post up here... me talking, plus us fucking around. I tell him that I'd like to do some really scary role play, but that for me, this is entirely within the realm of roleplay. I promise him that I won't ever deliberately hurt him for real, that I will protect him from things like slumping into a wall or waking up in a position where he can bang his head... 

And he's into it. 

I explain to him that some of this play, comes with really dark fantasies. The hottest and scariest and most honest one... is where the guy doesn't wake up. And I talk about how there are the versions that you think up that are HOT, and that you can do through roleplay and scary talk, combined with the hot sex. So that's the brief, here... you'll hear us talking (well, you hear ME talking, you hear him making glurping noises) and you hear every time he gags, and it sound like he's throwing up, but he doesn't. It's fucking exquisite.

I cum again (the first time is what I was referring to at the beginning of this sound file, when I say "I wish we had earlier, that was hot." I wish I had asked him about recording the sound only. Anyway... I fuck him so vigorously in the mouth, that he loses a contact lens. It's sitting on his cheek. He picks it up and rinses it off, licks it and puts it back in... and then some more throat-railing knocks it back out. At this point, he says they're disposables anyway, and so I take the head of my cock and (asking first) rub it on his eyeball. I've thought that was kinky hot since seeing it in some ThisVid porn, and hadn't gotten the chance to give it a try. He looks so beautifully submissive, my cock lifting up his eyelid, his other eye gazing up at me adoringly. He opens his mouth imploringly, and I spit in his open mouth with my cock rubbing on his eye. The string of drool connects us for a while before it breaks.

Another rattle at the door - and this one's followed by the clinking of the keys they use to get the door to open if somebody's stuck inside. WOOPS. So, I pull up my pants, instruct him to do the same, and tell him he can sort out his contact lens and I'll wait down the hall toward the elevators. The keys clink again, and a key is knocked against the door, the universal signal for "Hey, I'm coming in there, ready or not," and I call out, "Give me a minute, he's trying to sort out his contact lens." I'm dressed and ready, my cock back in my britches and my shirt on and at least one button joined to hold my shirt closed - so I open the door and walk out, and tell the two guys standing there with the mop and the cleaning spray cart, that the guy inside really is trying to figure out his contact, so please give him a second. They look at one another, and one of them asks me, "There's....  another person in there?" 

The smoking hot Nordic blond bartender at the bar just diagonally across from the door, hops over his tiny bar, and hisses in a loud whisper through his teeth, "PRIVACY!" like there's some rule that the other guys are ignoring, such as, say, if you're running a cruise line where people have upside-down pineapples on their room doors, there are likely to be shenanigans, and if you encounter two or more consenting adults having adult consensual experiences -  let them put their pants on and you never saw them there. 

The handsome bartender apologizes for our tryst being disrupted. I ask if he's still serving liquor; he's not, he's got all his glassware stowed and is doing final cleaning on the bar. But, he gestures to an inside doorway that's not for passengers, and takes us through a secret passageway across to another bar that's still open. He tells us to look for his girlfriend who tends the late bar, giving us her name. I get myself another Jameson, and I get Mister Good Boy a whatever he's drinking; it's something and soda, but I don't remember the name. Simple; the bartenders can usually do it even if they've put away all their shakers and strainers. It's a totally unfussy drink for somebody who enjoys the experience but doesn't want it interrupted by lack of ingredients. I approve, sipping my neat whiskey. I tell him that I really do need to piss, which is NOT a turn-on for him, so no play around that. We stand at urinals next to one another, pissing companionably until we're done, and I wash my hands and my glasses because they've gotten dirty. He washes his hands, but leaves all my musk in his facial hair like a good boy. Then we wander around, and find a space on one of the upper decks where I can get some good well-lit shots of his spanked-up ass. He's glowing red by this point, and while I've got his britches down, I add some more imprints. He really is remarkable to spank; I'm hitting him pretty much as hard as I can, and he just yields to it. I end up with deep bruises in my left palm. TOTALLY worth it. I finish up the little photoshoot, and we find another sweet out of the way restroom. As we pass the area with the hot tubs, a woman calls out "Hercules!" and he flexes. There's a comedy magic show where one audience member gets picked to be the strong man who rips an aluminum can in half for part of a trick. It makes it extra hot, knowing that I'm dominating Hercules. I tell him so as we walk onward. 

I've picked up a couple of towels from the big shelf by the pool, and I drop one on the floor for him to kneel on and drape the other one over the grip bar. I ask him if he likes getting his own dick sucked; he does indeed, and so I sit down and have him stand up, and I work on his cock some. He gets mostly hard, and I can tell that although he looks like a shower, he's one of those surprising growers who starts out with a soft medium-looking dick, but it gets quite a bit bigger once it's down your throat. I show him what I'm trying to get him to do, the swallowing motion that hardens my cock and milks the semen out of me so pleasantly. I fuck into his throat a lot more. I threaten him again with death, phrases like "You've been such a good boy for me - it's a shame I'm going to have to delete you at the end of the evening." And then every time he taps, I let him off and we are friends again. It's the Dominant's Pendulum all over again. He sucks, and sucks, and eventually I feel the fire coming up another time. I don't have a lot of fluid left, but I hold my cock buried in his throat as it pulses and I tremble, then a little longer until he is right near the edge of consciousness, and I say, "And THIS is where you die." 

And then I pull out, and we shake a little with the intensity, and I sit there with him wrapped around me, regulating his breathing by holding him tight and telling him when to breathe in and out. 

Because, I would NEVER fuck you to death and bury you in a shallow grave in the desert. Only a genuine monster would do that. Monsters like Epstein, and Maxwell, and all of those "possible co-conspirators" that are redacted because they're "politically exposed" individuals. Damn right, they're exposed. 

At this point, I'm genuinely exhausted. I left the tattoo parlor keyed up, like I'd had a bunch of coffee and was over-clocked. I not only had a lot of built up emotional energy, I had five days worth of pent-up semen --- but three rounds of shaking orgasms have definitely taken that edge off. I tell him he's been such an awesome boy... we make out with huge amounts of spit, and I'm not just spitting in his mouth, I'm glazing his face with slobber and running it through his hair with my fingers. I ask if I can slap him hard once on the cheek; he says yes, and I pull my hand back and give him a ringing slap. We make out some more. I instruct him to very gently, no tongue, kiss the bandaged tattoo. I lift his face back up to mine and we kiss some more. He smells so much like me and like sex. 

He wants to walk me home - what he WANTS, the horny little drunken slut puppy, is to go back to my room and wake my husband up and get his furry round butt fucked. Which I would totally be fine with, but my Husband has gone to bed an hour ago after three stiff drinks, and I know he's going to be grumpy if wakened. I go in as quietly as I can with the way those doors move, and he wakes up just a little. I tell him I've had fun with that hot boy we've been trying to get to connect with, and he tells me that if I want the room he can go somewhere - but like I thought, he's been deeply asleep and needs rest. This boat parties hard. I go and open the door just a bit, and the sweet waggly boy just starts to flow into the room, helped by a sway of the ship -- but I explain that, not tonight, and, maybe we can tomorrow. Then, I lock the door, take my night medicine, shower the rank scent of armpit off me so that I won't be gross in the bed with my Husband, and go to sleep. 

Part 2 will have to wait - he does indeed make it back, the next day. The three of us catch up on all the boxes we hadn't yet ticked. But Daddy's tired now and has to masturbate and get to bed.