Troy Tamed Ch. 03: Malta Surrender

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Troy lashed to ship's wheel, taken by Spaniard off Malta.
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Part 3 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 01/04/2017
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sr71plt
sr71plt
3,017 Followers

I would perhaps not have been quite so enthusiastic about accepting Klaus Gehler's invitation for a temporary appointment if I had known that his retreat was on a remote island of the Cape Verde chain, off the coast of east Africa and well within the tropical zone. The saving grace was that before we were going there, we were making a stop in Malta. That island had always intrigued me. Little did I know, however, that I'd see nothing of that island but the harbor of its capital, Valletta, from the railing of Gehler's yacht.

My second guessing of coming on this adventure all started from the time we boarded the launch in France's Nice harbor to motor out to Gehler's quite large yacht. It was just the two of us, Gehler and me, in the launch other than a silent and somewhat sullen Spaniard who, Gehler told me, was in charge of the crew of the larger yacht. He was dark to the point of being swarthy, with jet-black curly hair in profusion on his chest, arms, and legs in addition to his head. He was perhaps something around thirty and what I would call sinewy. Not hulking, but tall and so muscle hard that the veins popped out on the surface of his arms and torso because they had no fat to travel through. He had large, strong, long-fingered hands. He was brown as a berry and moved in the rigging of the yacht with the grace and dexterity of a monkey. He must have been a brawler, because he had perpetual bruises and stripe marks on his torso and arms and legs. I later found that the other crew members seemed anxious to stay clear of him, although there was no question that they jumped when he said to jump.

Thus it was with some trepidation when, the yacht moored off the entrance to the harbor of Malta's Valletta, I watched Gehler being motored into the island's capital city for what he said was an afternoon business meeting. Gehler took several of the crew members with him, leaving me with the brawny Spaniard, who I now knew was named Estaban, and with a few of the older crew members who stayed well away from me—and from Estaban, for that matter. Estaban hadn't been staying well away from me, however. Whenever he could he brushed by me in the corridor, or leaned down and whispered suggestive things in my ear while serving Gehler and me at meals, or performed spectacular athletic stunts in the rigging where I could watch. And I did watch. I have to admit that I found him arousing in a curious, dangerous sort of way.

Gehler must have noticed with those piercing, assessing blue eyes of his, as the evening before we reached Malta and were taking brandy in the fantail of the yacht, he leaned over and said, "So, you fancy Estaban, do you?"

"No, of course not," I shot back, shocked that he would have gotten that impression, and immediately starting to review my encounters with Estaban while Gehler was present to determine how he could have gotten that idea.

"I rather think you do," Gehler said, with a smile. "And I know he fancies you. It's quite all right, of course . . . whatever would bring you pleasure. I'm quite sure that Stefan told you that I would have no trouble with one man having a sexual attraction to another one. And Estaban does have a brutish sensuality, doesn't he? Many young men would seek that out—young men who wanted to be controlled and used by a demanding man such as Estaban."

"I'm sure I don't know what you could mean," I responded, blushing. But it already was past twilight, so I felt safe that Gehler couldn't see the blush. I actually was surprised that Gehler hadn't made any moves on me himself. I'd already decided that I would just go with it if he did. But thus far, although the attentive employer—because I already was spending a couple of hours a day taking dictation from him—Gehler was also being the perfect hands-off host. I did know, though, that he was fucking some of the younger sailors—the ones he later took into Valletta with him for the afternoon. I was wondering what sort of balance of business and pleasure Gehler had in mind for the Malta stop.

So, when Estaban did what he did with me while Gehler was ashore in Valletta and said it would not come as either a surprise or an outrage to Gehler, I believed him.

Having a premonition of what Estaban had in mind because of the looks he gave me while Gehler and the young sailors were climbing down into the launch, I tried to make myself scarce. It wasn't just that I was afraid of Estaban and what he might be planning but also because I was afraid of my own arousal for Estaban.

He found me in the radio room off the bridge and fucked me first there.

"Estaban, no. I don't—" was as much as I got out when he entered the room, already stripped down to his shorts. I melted to the sight of him, dark and hirsute and well-muscled and with a determined, hungry look in his dark, flashing eyes. Gehler had asked me if I fancied him. Yes, dammit, I did. When he cut off what I was going to say by taking two strides to me and spinning me around, facing the wall, and half bent over the radio operator's table, I thought maybe he was a mind reader. He had my chest trapped by his forearm and his hand was clamped over my mouth and nose. His other hand was fumbling around with the belt and zipper to my shorts, which, along with my briefs, where soon down around my ankles.

"Captain said you fancied me and we could have a go while he was gone. And he said your friend who introduced you said you liked it hard and rough."

Damn Stefan, damn Stefan, roared through my head as he stripped me down, bent me over the table, and with nothing more than his spit as lube, penetrated me from behind and moved his cock a few inches up inside me. I struggled, but I could barely breathe with his hand over my mouth and nose—and then only when he let me do so—and he was much too strong for me. My moaning and my own engorgement also betrayed me.

"Fuck it, I'm in," he growled. "Needn't pretend the violated virgin any more. You've take cock before, haven't you?"

I couldn't say no, and not just because he was cutting off my ability to speak. I wasn't a virgin. I had been fucked like this before—by Coach Jacoby—and had wanted it. It had just been that once, bent over the massage table in the locker room. But he wouldn't care.

"Relax and take it," he said. "I feel you relax and ready to give it to me, I'll let you breathe."

I relaxed. He was right. He already was in me. And when he felt me relax, he released my mouth and nose, grabbed both of my wrists in his hands, held my arms out wide on the table, and pushed my chest down on the table top with his chest and my cheek against the table. His cock moved deeper inside me.

"Relax more; open to me."

I did what I could to accommodate him, and, with me grunting and moaning, he started pumping me, putting his mouth close to my ear and telling me how tight I was, how much he liked that, and what a sweet fuck I was.

Gehler and the young sailors were gone for a long time. Amused by my half-hearted objections and the betrayal of my body in reacting to his fucking and informing me that he'd enjoying fucking me all day—and that I'd enjoy it too—Estaban next lashed me to the wheel in the bridge. I wasn't in danger of driving us anywhere as the engines were shut down and we were well anchored. The ship's wheel was set at a deep angle, and Estaban pushed me onto my back on it and, using rope, lassoed my ankles and ran the ropes through hooks in the ceiling of the bridge, spreading and raising my legs. He did the same with my wrists.

I told him I didn't like be trussed up like this and fucked, but he didn't believe me. I didn't believe myself either, and I can understand how unconvincing my objections were, especially when, while he was standing between my legs and pumping me, I was begging him to pump faster and deeper. I had never . . . never . . . thought that I'd want it this much. If I'd known that back when I was playing soccer for Coach Jacoby, he wouldn't have had to hold me down to fuck me in the locker room. I would have crawled after him on the soccer field to be able to ride his cock.

At twilight, when we heard the motor of the launch as it was returning to the ship from Valletta, Estaban put his lips to my ear again. We were in my berth, with my back cuddled into his chest and pelvis and he had just creamed me deep inside again.

"Captain is back, and I must go topside. When I want you again, you will take me, yes?"

"Yes," I murmured, completely undone now and not giving a shit that I was. I lay there and watched him pull his shorts back on, embarrassed because I wanted him again.

That evening, as Estaban and another young sailor were serving dinner to Gehler and me in the salon, Gehler lowered his utensils to the table and gave me a sharp look. "Estaban fucked you good today, didn't he?" he asked.

I didn't say anything. I just lowered my head.

"Yes, I can see that he did," Gehler said.

And that was that. Nothing was mentioned of it again, and I had no idea whether Gehler had engineered the day, just let it happen, or was holding it against me as a guest presuming on his hospitality. If he wanted to keep me a bit confused and off balance, it was working. I had expected him to make the moves on me, and thus far he hadn't touched me.

As good as Estaban was, no matter how much I found I enjoyed what he did to me, I knew that it had to be just a short fling. Even if I let Gehler fuck me while I was working for him, it would just be something I did during my brief vacation in Europe. It didn't mean I'd do it after that—and certainly not with Stefan if we both got on the Milan team. It wasn't how my life was going to run.

But I had acknowledged that Estaban could have me as he pleased. I shivered at the thought of being under another man's control like this. It made me feel isolated and alone. I had no idea why I reacted that way, but I did.

sr71plt
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AnonymousAnonymousabout 7 years ago
Hot as hell!

Love this story!

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