DRINKING UNCOVERING
He remembered the first glass this time.
It was pale gold, almost innocent. The yacht owner held it out with a smile that looked friendly but felt like a hook. “Relax,” he said. “You’re safe here.”
He drank.
The sun baked his shoulders. Music pulsed through the deck. Laughter echoed off the water. Somewhere between the second and third refill, his shirt was gone. His belt loosened. The owner’s palm rested low on his back, steering him gently but firmly.
“Trust me,” the owner murmured again, closer now.
Another drink. Another burn down his throat.
He felt heat blooming in his stomach, spreading outward. The world softened at the edges. He became aware of his own body like it belonged to someone else — chest tight, skin gleaming, muscles flexing under curious eyes. When his trousers were tugged down and replaced by a narrow pair of speedos, he didn’t protest. He barely remembered agreeing.
The owner circled him slowly, appraising. “Look at you,” he said, voice lower now. “Perfect.”
The model laughed, but it came out breathless.
Hands found him. Not violent. Not chaotic. Intentional. The owner gripped his jaw lightly, tilting his face upward. “Stand tall,” he instructed. The command slid straight into him. He obeyed without thinking, chest out, hips forward.
More wine. Always more wine.
The owner pressed him back against the rail, bodies flush for a moment. Not hidden. Not ashamed. The owner’s hand flattened against his abdomen, then slid upward, claiming space. “You’re mine tonight,” he said softly, but it wasn’t a question.
The model’s head swam. The words felt heavy and good. A kiss seemed to be the next natural thing to happen.
He was turned, repositioned, manhandled like a life-sized doll. "Dance," the owner commanded, his voice a low growl. And he did, his body moving on pure instinct. His hips rolled in a slow, obscene circle, a silent invitation. Fingers were suddenly everywhere, testing the firmness of his biceps, tracing the sharp line of his hipbones, gripping the thick muscle of his thighs possessively. Each touch was a brand, claiming him while simultaneously setting him adrift in a haze of submission.
The owner returned, his body a solid wall of heat behind him, one muscular arm wrapping around his torso like a steel band, holding him flush against his own chest. "Let them admire you," he whispered, his breath hot against the shell of his ear. "Let them use you."
And he did.
The first man stepped forward, unzipping his fly. His cock, thick and heavily veined, sprang free, the head already glistening with precum. A hand tangled in his hair, guiding his head down. He opened his mouth, his jaw going slack, and the man pushed inside, sliding over his tongue until he hit the back of his throat. He gagged, his eyes watering, but the hand held him firm.
The man began to fuck his face, slow and deep at first, then faster, his heavy balls slapping against his chin. He felt another presence, then another, cocks pressing against his cheeks, smearing precum on his skin. He was turned, his mouth passed to the next man, then the next, a blur of different sizes and tastes, his own drool mixing with their fluids, dripping down his chin to his chest.
He was pulled to his feet and bent over a low table, his ass presented to the room. His jeans were ripped down, exposing him completely. A rough hand spread his cheeks, and a wet finger probed his hole, then two, scissoring him open, stretching him until he burned.
The first cock pushed into him, a thick, blunt pressure that stole his breath. It was a relentless invasion, filling him completely, the man's hips slapping against his ass as he began to pound into him. He cried out, the sound muffled as another man stepped in front of him, grabbing his face and shoving his cock back into his mouth. He was trapped between them, fucked from both ends, their rhythm brutal and uncoordinated.
One would finish, spilling hot cum deep inside his ass or across his tongue, only to be immediately replaced by another. He lost track of how many, his body a conduit for their raw, primal lust, a mindless vessel for their pleasure.
Finally, he was pulled back to his knees, pushed to the center of the floor. They stood over him in a circle, a ring of hard, stroking cocks. He looked up through a daze, his face and chest already slick with sweat and spit. The first rope of cum hit his cheek, hot and thick. Then another across his forehead. They came one after another, painting his face, his neck, his chest in a pearly white glaze. It dripped from his eyelashes, coated his lips, pooled in the hollow of his throat. He knelt there, panting, his body trembling with exhaustion and a deep, unsettling satisfaction, completely covered in their seed.
By the time the stars came out, he wasn’t sure which decisions were his.
He only knew he kept drinking.
And he kept surrendering.
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