Chapter 11
Tricia rushed from the cabin, out onto the deck, along the railing, half falling, crying and telling herself only one thing, over and over again. Get away, get away.
She looked down at the ocean, dark and far below her, and a great sigh caught itself in her bosom. Followed by a sob that was noisy in the still night. She looked down the railing. Twenty feet away from her stood Vicky, crying just as obviously. Tricia struggled to put the scene together. Before she had much time to even get started with her reasoning, she heard still another movement from behind her. Down the railing in the opposite direction she saw the silhouette of a tall, lean man, but she couldn't make out who it was. Had someone followed her out of the party? Without even thinking about it, she hurried toward Vicky, not so much for the sympathy she felt for the woman, but for the fear she had of whoever was following her.
"Are you ill?" she asked Vicky, moving closer to her.
Vicky looked up, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sick would be a better word."
"The alcohol?"
"No. Men."
There was a moment of silence as Tricia tried to grasp the meaning. "You... you're talking about what happened back there, aren't you. But why... why should what Patrick Doyle does bother you....?"
"Doesn't what he does bother everybody?" Vicky sobbed again, this time louder.
"Oh, Vicky, not you too!"
There was no answer.
Then Tricia noticed, for some strange reason, she wasn't crying anymore.
"Listen, girls," a male voice said from behind them. Tricia spun around. It was Paul Taylor, and he was drunk. "I been thinkin'. It occurs to me that Patrick Doyle has had things his own way long enough aboard this ship. I say let's stop his clock, what say?"
He held up a bottle of bourbon, holding it loosely by two fingers, letting it dangle before their eyes.
"You better go to your quarters and sleep it off," Tricia said.
Vicky turned and looked at Paul, tears rolling down her cheeks. "No. Let him talk. You sound like a man with a plan, Mister Taylor. What did you have in mind?"
"Well..." he staggered a bit with the ship's roll. "Just so happens I have a pass key to Mister Doyle's stateroom. Since he was rude enough to leave both you lovely ladies at the party, I say, let's take the party to him, what say?" He let the bottle dangle in front of their eyes.
Vicky reached out and took the bottle from his hands.
"Mister, all I need is a little courage first," she hissed, and then gulped three mouthfuls in a row from the bottle.
Tricia's mouth was wide open with the rapid-fire turn of events. These two were dead serious, she decided. They were actually going to walk in on Patrick Doyle and Sabrina Moore in bed! As it formed into words in her mind, the idea didn't seem all that monstrous anymore. She smiled. Then she politely took the bottle from Vicky's hand and took a long, continuous drink of the bourbon herself. She said nothing, but the other two knew they were a trio on the hunt, now.
Paul fished in his pocket for his pass keys.
"Who the hell are you and what do you want!" Patrick Doyle barked in the dark stateroom as the door was flung open. Taylor, more than a little drunk now after his turn at the bottle, reached for the light switch and flicked it on.
"We are a rescue party," he boasted loudly, and staggered again. "We came to rescue chaste little Miss Moore from the dirty old man's clutches. Ha-ha..."
Patrick Doyle sat up in the bed, still cupping the hot globe of Sabrina's tit. He did not remove his hand from the nude woman's flesh, but used the minute to regain his composure. "Methinks it's something else you're after, my three friends. First, let me assure you, Sabrina is not in need of rescue--she is entirely capable of taking care of herself, as you can see." Sabrina was paying no attention to any of them, but was instead snuggling down and bending over his hand, trying to get her mouth closer to his cock. "But do not feel unwelcome. I'm thinking it is rather participation that this little raiding party is after. Am I correct, Vicky? Come, come, admit it."
Vicky's eyes were glued to Patrick's enormous cock. She didn't say a word. He turned around on the bed, so that the erect member was directly in their view, swimming in the ego-pleasure of the wide, suddenly sober eyes of the two women.
"Well," he continued, "if participate you must, I insist you abide by the home team's rules, at least. Rule one..." he paused and smiled as Sabrina's mouth came down over his prick, grasping it from their view. "Get naked. We all must play this game fairly, you know."
Tricia looked at Vicky. The door was already closed behind them, and Vicky wasn't crying anymore. She was slipping her low-cut gown from her shoulders.
Leaning and falling against the bulkhead, Paul Taylor was laughing and struggling out of his pants. The heat of the bourbon was hitting Tricia right between her eyes, and she blinked twice, dazedly, before she realized that she was subconsciously unbuttoning her own dress...
Tricia moaned, she cried, tears streaming down her young face. Sex-dreaming filled the room and everyone was breathing loudly, fleshy echoes of fucking everywhere.
Sabrina was on the floor now, working herself down toward Paul's cock, in spite of Patrick Doyle's strong grips at her ankles. Slowly lowering, her pussy openly craving for the young man's prick. The entire group moved as one, back and forth like so many enchanted snakes.
Vicky was nuzzling the whole head of Doyle's cock, rather gently. His knees bent out of weakness, but his cock was still on its new rise, expanding, enlarging inside Vicky's mouth. Vicky's head was rising with it, locked to the meaty package. Her eyes wide, her mouth full. Her knees came up off the floor and she supported herself with wet-with-sweat fingertips.
Tricia was nude except for her stockings, and was now in a joyously obscene squatting position over Doyle's sucking mouth, and he sucked and he tongued and Tricia could no longer tell if she was drunk or mad!
He let go of Sabrina's ankles and ran his hands over Tricia's tits, over her belly, over her thighs. A chanting crescendo of heavy breathing filled the room.
Then one of his tickling fingers played a design on her inner thighs as Tricia spread them wider apart. His tongue was working inside her, inches inside her cunt, trapping her as it bent, tongue-maneuvering over each sensitive area, wetly licking, probing, massaging, running delicately in long strokes back to her burning clit. A long licking up over one cheek, then back down the other, before Tricia lifted higher to place her anus directly over the oven of his mouth now, and strange drums were beating everywhere inside her head.
"Give it to me, oh you wild bastards, give it to me!" she heard Sabrina scream.
"Ahh, eat it, eat it, eat it!" she heard her own voice screaming down at the top of Doyle's head.
Vicky was begging breathlessly. "More, oh god! more!" as Paul's prick seeped deeper and deeper into her. "Fuck it to me! Fuck it to me!" she yelped. Paul was leaning backward, plugging into her, and for a moment he seemed to balance her, even lift her, with the head of his submerged organ. Vicky leaned backward too, bulging her belly up and out, stuffed with his cock.
They all did a hasty shifting of positions and now Doyle was behind Tricia, she on her hands and knees and he feeding that giant cock into her from behind time and again, pressed against her, her buttocks grinding and rotating on his abdomen. She tipped her head back, her hair now fanning out over her shoulders, and she was chewing gently, but firmly on Paul's fat balls, while his hands kneaded her swollen titties. She reached down between her legs and cupped her hands around Doyle's balls and cock, urging them up into her, rubbing them against her open vagina.
Vicky straddled over Tricia (standing above her back) and raised her pussy to Doyle's mouth. His mind was busy fucking Tricia, but he took the cue and dabbed his long tongue deep into Vicky's welcoming-hot cunt. She grabbed him by the back of the head and worked his glistening wet face into her crotch, mixing her own juices with the ones drying there from Tricia's coming of moments before.
Sabrina urged Paul's prick out of Tricia's mouth and he fell off balance and over on his back on the floor. As Sabrina's stomach rose and fell rapidly, her back beginning to arch and twist, she crouched over his erect prick, sliding it into her, groaning with pleasure down onto it.
Vicky knew Doyle was coming inside of Tricia when his tongue went limp inside her sopping-hot cunt and his eyes moved up to meet hers, in what seemed to be a moment of helplessness for the Great One.
"Time, baby... time... honey... time, oh, keep sucking!" Vicky moaned down at those eyes. The tongue stiffened again inside her cunt, and Vicky flung her head back and groaned in sheer joy.
Sabrina was now letting her buttocks move downward inch by delicious inch until all of Paul's prick was swallowed by her eager and juicy love tunnel. He grunted and thrust upward, giving it all to her, thrilled an extra little thrill by looking up at her face, at the animal smile there.
She tensed and lowered herself on the stiff rod for one final time, writhing, twisting, rolling her eyes, her teeth bared.
Tricia had hold of Vicky's feet, one on either side of her, just to be holding on to something, as her mind totally enmeshed in that moist, dark bush between her legs and the warm spray of cum-juice that Doyle was spraying her in-sides with, electrifying her backbone with its gushy force.
Ahhh, oohhh --oh hell, I'm ALIVE! she thought, this is me breathing and living and loving and sweating, because it's all happening deep inside my belly right here and now, and, god help me!... I've gone crazy! But she suddenly felt freer and happier than she'd felt in years, as if she had just been let out of asylum and was cured and was ready to be counted among the living... and all the while experiencing the sweetest damn come yet!