Buying Love – The Admiral’s Origin Story: Part 03

By Cutieboy90

Jonathan Silber observed the evacuation from the starboard wing of the Comte de Savoie.

“This will take 15 minutes,” Martin called out.

“That’s it?” Roger and Silber exclaimed.

“That’s it!” Martin shrugged. “The ship has linked their thoughts. They are evacuating in a calm, orderly fashion as a collective unit. With their injuries stabilized and the pain receptors blocked, just about everyone can go directly to their assigned cabins.”

“‘Just about’ everyone?”

“Yes… There are a few individual cases that require some attention.” Captain Savoie said as several red pinpoints flashed on the hologram elevation of the carrier. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle. We’ll be underway very shortly.”


Jake Jackson’s head pounded with the cacophony of echoes in the stairwell. He didn’t know which way was up. His body was numb from exhaustion and cold; he couldn’t even feel the railing he clung so tightly to. The past four days were just a blur, Jackson couldn’t tell if it had been four days, four seconds, or four weeks. It didn’t matter really, it was four time units of pure hell.

It all stopped suddenly. Jackson’s senses returned just enough to remind him where he was. Numb, clammy, and cold, head throbbing. He’d soiled himself, he’d been sick on himself, and he’d been alone in the dark the whole time. Squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could, Jackson sobbed heavily, his own broken voice echoing back to him.

Heavy boots marched across the floor.

“Private Jackson!” A voice rang out, clear and just under a shout. “What kind of hellhole are you letting yourself go in? Come on, get up!”

Jackson shook his head, biting back a whimper.

“Get up, private!”

Jackson peeked through his eyelids at the man standing in front of him. It was his old drill instructor. He gripped the railing tighter.

“Don’t you dare tell me you can’t, Private Jackson!” The drill instructor thundered. “I taught you too well for that sort of bullshit. Now let go of that railing, get on your feet, and get the fuck outta here!”

“I’m too scared, drill instructor!” Jackson barked back.

“Scared!?” The drill instructor sneered. “So there wasn’t a course on how to survive the Poseidon Adventure, and now that’s it, you’re done. You think this is scary, Private Jackson? You’re in the Marine Corp! Nothing is scarier than a US Marine, or did I fail to teach you that too?”

“No, drill instructor!”

“Then get up!!”

Jackson opened his eyes, breathing raggedly. His old drill instructor stood on the stair landing, glaring down at him. Jackson relaxed his deathgrip on the railing. Immediately his hands erupted in pins and needles.

“AAAGHH!!!” Jackson screamed as the blood rushed back into his fingertips. Jackson was too preoccupied to notice his uniform had cleaned itself, both inside and out.

The drill instructor stepped closer, his face devoid of any sympathy. His boots clomped deliberately on the metal grating of the stairs. He knelt by Jackson just as the pain subsided.

“Are you ready to get up, private?” He asked in a quiet intense voice. “We both know I can drag your sorry excuse of an ass out of here no problem. But I’m not going to do that.”

“No… No, drill instructor!”

“No indeed,” his voice rose slightly. “You know what else I’m not going to do, private?”

He stood up, pointing the toe of his right boot toward Jackson.

Jackson could see a dull smudge just off the tip of the toe. Instinct took over as Jackson flung himself forward to polish the smudge away.

“UCKKK-!” The belts! The belts Jackson had used to secure himself… Like a desperate man, he clawed at the buckles, even using his teeth to pry the fasteners open. Once free, Jackson scrambled across the floor. His tongue made contact with the smooth surface of the boot. He could feel the smudge, buffing it out with his mouth.

“Good, that’s right, private. That got you…” The drill instructor goaded.

Jackson rubbed his sleeve across the boot. As he sat back on his knees, the drill instructor dropped something on the freshly-shined boot. Jackson stared. It was a splatter of… Marinara sauce?

His eyes darted up from the boot. The drill instructor was now holding a bowl of spaghetti, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

Jackson’s stomach rumbled. His mouth watered as he watched a piece of tomato slide off the edge of the bowl and fall onto the boot with a splat. He couldn’t help but lean forward.

The drill instructor stepped back.

“You know I never made anything easy, Private Jackson,” the drill instructor said between mouthfuls. “Don’t think for a second this would be the exception.” He took another step back. Jackson crawled forward a couple paces. The drill instructor stepped back again. Jackson struggled to his feet, stumbling on his numb feet, watching his old drill instructor take another bite and step out through the door.

Jackson pulled himself along the wall, his taste buds screaming for just one lick.

“Fuck!” Jackson tripped on the threshold. His feet were on fire as the circulation slowly returned. He was too weak to pull himself back up, so he crawled along the corridor, always just a few paces behind the drill instructor.

“That’s it. Let’s go, Peach!” The drill instructor’s voice echoed down the corridor. Jackson’s old nickname resonated in his head.

Jackson panted as he turned a corner. His drill instructor was nowhere to be seen, but the basil and garlic scent hung in the air, lingering in an unseen trail for Jackson to follow.

“C-come on, private…” Jackson muttered weakly. “Get… Up.” He was seeing spots, but with a determined “Ooh Rah!” Jackson fought his way down the corridor, and into the arms of a beefy sailor in a crisp white uniform.

“There you are, let’s get you aboard,” the sailor smiled, taking Jackson’s weight. Jackson hobbled along next to the sailor, crossing a gangway toward an ever-stronger smell of roasting tomatoes, peppers, and coffee.


Quinn-Timothy James fought to stay conscious. He felt weak and feverish. In the darkness, he could hear Caleb Bradley’s raspy labored breathing. The flashlight was long dead, and he’d pissed himself dry. Though the smell of kerosene had faded, the burnt smell continued to dominate James’ senses.

“Hold on, Bradley…” James wasn’t sure if he was saying it out loud or in his own head. All he wanted to do was close his eyes, just for a minute. Nausea and exhaustion were winning this time.

The unmistakable boom of a foghorn roused James’ attention. He wasn’t quite sure he’d really heard it at first, but then he heard it again. And again. It was a rescue!

James had acclimated to the dark. But he was becoming aware that somehow, from somewhere, there was light. He was able to see the wreckage around him, he could see Bradley! He reached out and gave Bradley’s boot a reassuring pat.

“Bradley,” James croaked out. “Bradley, they’re here. Going… To… Be…”

Footsteps approached. The light grew brighter. James struggled to pick himself off the floor.

“I-in here…!” James’ throat was so dry he could barely make any sound. The footsteps grew closer and the light stronger yet.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp white uniform stepped into view. He walked directly over to James.

“P-please… He’s trapped.” James pointed to Bradley.

“Not to worry, sailor.” The swole rescuer said in a clear, gentle voice. “Come now.”

“I won’t leave him,” James insisted, somehow finding himself on his feet.

The rescuer smiled, holding out a steadying hand. From behind him, six hugely muscular men crowded into the room. Without a single word, they collectively took up the mountain of wreckage pinning Bradley to the bulkhead and pulled it away. Bradley collapsed right into the waiting arms of one of the rescuers, who then carried him like a ragdoll.

“Come now, we have a room all ready for you.”

James lunged forward, reaching for Bradley’s shoulder as he was carried by. His legs somehow had the strength to carry him with little assistance from his rescuer. James followed them through the corridors wrecked beyond recognition, suddenly finding them at a gangway. The fresh air hit James’s face like a brick.

“OHHH!” James gasped at the sensation of clean air in his lungs for the first time in four days. “Hahhh…” His hand slipped off Bradley’s shoulder.

“Almost there,” the rescuer said over his shoulder. “Breathe in… Out… Easy does it now. That’s it…”

James caught up the few paces he’d lost, following wherever they were taking Bradley. Across the gangway, through some bright colorful rooms, down a short corridor, through a door into an expensive-looking room where the man placed Bradley down on one of two large cushy beds. Immediately, a tall slender man took his place; a medic making his assessment with a calm confident smile.

“Your turn,” the medic took James’ hand. “Come on, let’s take a look… Easy. You’ll be alright…”

“B-Bradley…! He…”

“It’s alright now. Why don’t you sit here, easy…”

“No please… He needs-”

“Take a deep breath. It’s going to be fine.”

“But he… He’s…” James’ vision began to blur. The medics, the room, everything fading into a soft white glow.


“Commander, the evacuation is complete.”

Commander Daniels nodded in grim acknowledgement. A fifteen minute evacuation… That was far too short. He placed his hand on the wheel and looked through the broken windows of his ruined bridge.


Commander Daniels turned and looked through his second-in-command. He shook his head.

“Go now. That’s an order.”

The first officer opened his mouth to speak, but shut it and saluted his commander. He turned and marched off the bridge with a slight limp.

Commander Daniels kicked at the inch of seawater on the floor. He stared at the sea, cold and black as it swirled by. His head was decidedly turned away from the rescue ship brilliantly lit up like a Christmas tree on his port side.

“I know I’ve lost men…” He spoke aloud to the voice recorders he knew weren’t listening. His eyes scanned the blank screens and dead equipment of the bridge. “I know I am responsible for the damage to this ship… And to the reputation of the United States Navy.”

Daniels paced to the starboard side of the bridge. Looking down, he could see the chunks missing from the edges of the flight deck. He remembered inspecting that deck when he’d taken command of the new carrier. Now it was in shambles, just the perfect metaphor for his own career…

Crackle! “…Commander Daniels.” Crackle. It was Chief Communications Officer Harris. “Commander Daniels, do you copy?”

The radio had died. Harris and his technicians had worked tirelessly for days trying to restore it, but with no success. Until it suddenly came back to life half an hour before, but only long enough to tell them a ship they’d never heard of was coming to the rescue.

“Ckkk… Commander Daniels, the crew is embarked. All are accounted for… Crrr…”

No, that couldn’t be right.

“4300 crew accounted for. 4300… Survivors. Commander Daniels, CRRRKK…”

The radio was just static. Daniels took a deep breath and finally glanced at his rescuer. His trained, experienced eyes looked right through the elegant stylings and glittering lights, seeing the 34,000-ton Superliner for what it was.

“Nah, that’s just the concussion…” Daniels chuckled trying to convince himself as he stepped off the bridge. He crossed the gangway to be greeted by several medics. He was ushered into a lounge, surrounded by his officers and members of his crew all being tended to. His first officer smiled at him over a cup of coffee.

“Commander Daniels,” Daniels turned to see…

“Silber…” Daniels rose to his feet to greet his former colleague and most revered mentor. “Silber I-”

Silber smiled, patting the commander’s shoulder.

“It’s a long story, Daniels. I promise it will all be explained,” Silber whispered. “Trust me, you’re in the best hands possible.” He nodded to the two men behind him.

“I must introduce Martin Robért, director of the Robért Shipyard. And Captain Savoie.”

“Captain Savoie…” Daniels straightened as best he could. “Thank you, on behalf of my crew.”

“My duty, Commander Daniels,” Captain Savoie stated humbly. “Anything you need will be yours. We’ve set a course for the Norfolk Naval Base.”

Daniels managed a smile. “I am grateful to you, Captain Savoie.”

“Come, these men need their rest.” A medic stepped up to escort Daniels to his room.

“Of course,” Martin stepped aside with Captain Savoie and Silber.

“Not to worry,” Captain Savoie reassured Martin and Silber. “They’ll all be shipshape after a nap and a few good meals, and ready to redeploy by the time we make port. Accelerated healing is being applied, and supplies will hold. We rendezvous with the Comte de Vannes in five minutes.”

“Thank you Captain,” Martin nodded. The captain turned and disappeared up the stairs.

“Lord…” Silber exclaimed, looking at the miserable-looking survivors. “What a mess.”

“Why don’t we rejoin the others, and tell them the good news,” Martin suggested.

“Sure,” Silber followed Martin back to the Observation Lounge.

Sean, Tony, and Nelson were gathered around the hologram, which was now displaying various images and simulations of the workings of the Savoie’s rescue techniques. Roger stood at the starboard windows looking at the 101,000 ton hulk of the carrier, gulping rhum from a glass.

“Everyone’s safely aboard now,” Martin updated the room. “In a few minutes we’ll be meeting the Comte de Vannes, and continue in tandem to Virginia.”

“The Comte de Vannes? You mean that?” Tony pointed out the window at a brilliant glow off the port bow.

“I know we already knew about this, but comprehending one Comte is a lot for one day…” Roger muttered.

The Comte de Vannes quickly pulled into view, sparkling like a diamond against the dark stormy sky. Silber recognized it from one of the obscured photos from the other day. The Vannes had a white hull; almost identical to the Savoie’s. However, the aft section of the promenade decks was enclosed, and the Lido decks longer, giving the Vannes an overall slightly sleeker look. The windows were massed differently, and the styling more aggressive in places.

The Comtes glided closer, every second and millimeter gained just a smooth graceful synchronized maneuver. They never slowed down. Loading bay doors opened, the gangways emerged, like a choreographed dance.

Silber could easily see through the Vannes’s windows. Its interior boasted metallic bronze hues, smoky glass panels, luxe Art Deco-inspired furniture, and was packed with sailors from the two destroyer escorts. Below, the hologram muscular crewmen from the Savoie scurried across the gangways with crates of unmarked freight, barrels stamped “Rhum,” and canvas-covered boxes.

“That’s the lead ship of this class,” Sean joined Silber at the window. “Robért’s flagship.” Sean was accompanied by a hologram screen displaying features and stats on the ship in front of them. Visible behind the Vannes loomed the two destroyers looking worse for wear, illuminated with floodlights.

“Kid, what the hell were you thinking stowing away like that?” Silber inquired. “You’re smart enough to know better.” Sean sighed dejectedly, nodding guiltily.

“My mission is to collect intel on Robért’s most advanced technology. The V3 is decades ahead of anything we have. But it’s old news, almost five years old. We knew Robért couldn’t have been sitting idle all that time, only cranking out military derivatives of the same design.”

“The Eclairs,” Silber nodded.

“Yes. There were rumors of course, that there was some kind of secret project going on. But anything beyond the V3 didn’t seem possible. Until Tony showed me his sketch from Genoa, and told me about this ‘Superliner’ with stealth abilities. I assumed it was nuclear powered, I mean look at it!”

“So when it appeared off Toulon, with that wide open gangway…” Silber prompted Sean after a moment of hesitation.

“I followed through on my mission. The target just wasn’t the V3 anymore.” Sean’s blue eyes turned cold as a lone figure appeared on the Vannes’ bridge wing, a figure who could only be Commodore Vannes. “This technology… Is all so advanced, it might as well be extraterrestrial. I’d wager the French authorities have been keeping the Comtes’ existence classified at the highest level.”

“Are you… Officially undercover?”

“Kind of… I’m not some CIA operative. But I thought it best not to call attention.”

“Sean, your disguise isn’t fooling anyone. Your posture, organization, and focus gave you away. I knew you were US military when we shook hands. We all did. Roger and Nelson have a bet actually… Black ops, CIA, Navy intelligence all got tossed around. But I don’t think so, you’re too young and too clearly inexperienced at the whole undercover thing.” Silber chuckled. Sean shook his head.

“And Tony is…?”

“Unwitting civilian consultant.”

“I see. Is that all?”

Sean seemed to clam up. Silber didn’t press any further. They watched as the gangways retracted and the Vannes slipped away, settling in at a distance of about half a mile off the Savoie’s port broadside.


Joe Bennett felt as if he was waking up from a dream. He remembered walking over the gangway from the carrier, he remembered marching through the brightly-lit corridors of the rescue ship all the way to the room he was standing in now.

“Baby! You’re here!” Nathan Vincent turned and pulled Bennett into a tight embrace. He seemed a little dazed too, coming out of the trance.

“We… We’re all here. Just like that.” Brent Charles, Shane Matthews, and Tyler Clark shook their confusion away. “This is our room, then.”

The room was a spacious living area, with a small kitchenette and a bar on one side. A bathroom and a closet flanked the door. Four single cabins branched off the living area, each with a large king-sized bed, walk-in closet, mirrored vanity, a bench, two bedside tables, and a desk. Each pair of bedrooms shared a spacious bathroom, complete with marble tiled showers and standalone tubs. Thick, luxurious towels sat folded on a stand.

The walls of the living space were a lightly textured almond cream color. The lighting was clean and natural, mostly indirect, but several Murano glass wall sconces gave the room some accent color. Two large semi-circular couches of deep brown leather surrounded a low glass table.

“This is nice…” Matthews commented, eyeing the fine furnishings. A basket of fresh fruit and several small bottles of “Alpine Mineral Water” sat on the kitchen bar. Matthews selected an orange from the basket and sat down on the couch.

“I wanna take a shower…” Charles mumbled as he made his way towards one of the bathrooms. “Need a fuckin’ shave.”


“Me too,” Clark swiftly claimed the other shower.

Vincent sat on the couch across from Matthews.

“I don’t think we’re dead,” Vincent stated. “This is all very very nice, but I’m not sure it’s afterlife nice.”

Matthews nodded in agreement as he gulped down some water.

Bennett crossed the room to get water bottles for himself and for Vincent. He also chose a couple of oranges; they were perfectly ripe and almost perfume-like in aroma. He joined Vincent and Matthews, but aside from the occasional gulp, they were quiet.

Charles eventually emerged from the bathroom wearing a soft-looking bathrobe. His huge barrel chest looked even bigger with the thick fabric over it. His face was clean-shaven and he looked more relaxed.

“Shower’s free,” Charles announced. He grabbed a water bottle off the bar and sat down, the bathrobe just barely covering his knees. Matthews nodded and stood to take his turn in the shower.

The cabin door slid open. Jake Jackson stumbled through the entryway, a far-off look in his eyes.

“Jackson!” Vincent rose to help steady his fellow Marine. “Jackson, buddy!”

Jackson looked around the room, a bewildered expression crossing his face.

“No… No…” Jackson leaned against the entry, breathing hard. His eyes darted erratically, and his scruffy face looked ashen and hollow.

The walls… The walls… Noises echoing…

“Jackson? You alright, big guy?”

Noises… The walls…

“Guys, give him some room. He’s looking a little green there.”

Jackson took a step back, his palms sweaty. His heel brushed against the doorframe.

The walls… Echoes… The walls… No…

Without a word, Jackson turned and dashed out the door.

“Jackson, come back!” Vincent called after him. Charles sighed.

“Shellshock,” Charles murmured. “Whatever happened, he’s got it bad.”

“I don’t think PTSD would follow anyone into the afterlife,” Matthews said from the bathroom door. “Looks like we’re not dead afterall.” With that, he slammed the door.


Jake Jackson sprinted to the end of the hall, finding himself on the open deck. No more echoes. No more walls. Jackson grabbed the railing for support as he caught his breath. His heart was pounding out of his chest.

A gentle flicker caught Jackson’s eye. He turned to see a bar at the corner of the deckhouse, where a lone bartender stood shining a glass. Jackson must have dashed right by it! He walked up and sat on one of the barstools. Before he could say anything, the bartender placed the freshly-cleaned glass down in front of him along with a pitcher of water with several slices of lemon and orange. A basket of sliced bread soon followed.

“Oh… Thank you.” Jackson managed to say. He gulped the water down fast, and the bread too. The basket was taken away, replaced with a platter of assorted cheeses, olives, and sliced meats. Jackson’s mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten in days…


Caleb Bradley awoke in a large bed. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t let him.

“Argh…” He panted at the discomfort in his chest. “What… The?” Bradley had turned his head and could see Quinn James on a separate bed. “Cutie?”

James was clearly asleep. His shoulders were both wrapped in bandages, as was most of his right arm.

“You’re awake,” A voice said from the doorway. Bradley turned to see a handsome broad-shouldered man in a white coat enter the room. “Mr. Bradley, I’m Dr. Savoie.”

“D-Dr…” Bradley managed to sit up. “Dr. Savoie… What happened?”

“Mr. Bradley, you have a broken sternum, several fractured ribs, and mild bruising of your lungs. Severe dehydration, vitamin deficiency, smoke inhalation, and some minor abrasions on your arms and hands.” Dr. Savoie rattled off the injuries as calmly as if he were reading a grocery list. “I have reset your ribs, which is why you may be feeling stiff. While it heals, it won’t be able to flex at all… I have corrected your other conditions, and have every confidence you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thanks doc,” Bradley sighed in relief. “What about my friend? Can you tell me?”

Dr. Savoie nodded patiently. “Mr. Bradley, I am not at liberty to discuss Mr. James’ medical condition, but I can tell you he too will make a full recovery.” He paused. “You know, he never left your side. It’s incredible. I had to sedate him in order to treat him…”

Another muscular man entered the room, carrying several clothes hangers.

“This is your room steward, he will be attending to you and can answer any further questions you may have. Of course, I’m available if you have any medical concerns.”

“Thank you Dr. Savoie,” Bradley said. The room steward was placing the hangers in the closet.

“Mr. Bradley, I took the liberty of having your clothes brought over and cleaned. Your working uniform needed some repair, but it’s good as new.”

“Oh thank you, Mr….?”


“Jaques. What about my buddy’s uniform. I don’t see it there.”

“Oh no, Mr. James’ uniform I’m afraid needs replacing. Too badly damaged, but I salvaged what I could.” Jaques held up a hanger with James’ uniform. The blouse was missing most of the right side. Scorch marks lined the missing edges, and the back of the collar was blackened.

“He was wearing that… What happened?” Bradley looked over at his sleeping friend. “I remember he was there, right next to me. And then he wasn’t. I was trapped. Then… He found me again, and stayed. Keeping me company. He… He saved my life. How is he in worse shape?” Bradley felt the tightness in his chest. He coughed.

“Mr. Bradley,” Jaques hurried over with a glass and pitcher of water. “You must take it easy, your ribcage-”

“Can’t flex until it’s healed, yeah I got it,” Bradley took a big sip. “Sorry Jaques. I’m…”

“Worried about your friend. I understand, Sir.”

“I think… Is there room service? I could definitely eat, but maybe in a few hours?”

“I’ll arrange it, Sir.” Jaques nodded. “Get some rest.”

Bradley watched as James slept, a peaceful expression on his face. Bradley nodded to himself and lay his own head back down.


Ren Salynkos was assigned a single outside cabin on the Lower Promenade Deck. It was a spacious room with a generous King-size bed, large closet, small kitchenette, and a roomy bathroom with a shower and separate bathtub. A wide picture window dominated the outside wall, though for now the curtains were drawn.

“Bigger than any apartment I’ve ever lived in,” he thought. “And certainly more comfortable…” Salynkos grabbed a bottle of water off the kitchen counter and sat on the bed while he chugged it.

Feeling restless, Salynkos decided to explore a little. Upon leaving his cabin, he found himself on a wide sheltered corridor with wood planking. To his right, the corridor continued aft. To his left, the corridor angled off. Salynkos went to the left, following the path as it angled out and led him to an outdoor deck space with lounge chairs and a shuffleboard court. Salynkos leaned against the bulwark and peered out at the dark ocean below. Another well-lit cruise ship could be seen about half a mile or so in the distance. He lit up a cigarette and took his time strolling along the quiet deck. Only his boots on the wood planks and the occasional wisp of wind could be heard.

Salynkos followed the Lower Promenade Deck to the bow, where it split. A row of forward-facing outside cabins made up the base of the superstructure. A stairwell led down to the next deck. Toward the bow, a dramatically curved breakwater obscured any view of the foredeck. Salynkos flicked his cigarette butt over the railing and wandered up to the breakwater. An outdoor lounge was nestled in the protected area behind the breakwater structure. Salynkos could see an extreme whaleback capped the foredeck, so he backtracked along the deck to the superstructure to the stairs he passed before.

The stairs led down to a cozy lobby area overlooking a three-level atrium. The upper level had open sides, a lounge, and a bar at the forward bulkhead where a lone server tended a small galley.

“Hmmm… I could go for a snack right about now,” Salynkos shrugged and stepped up to the counter. It was a late night bistro with a selection of hot drinks, soups, and grilled sandwiches. The bartender placed a piping hot bowl of soup on the counter, along with a stack of toasted crackers. A mini bottle of sparkling mineral water was quickly procured as well.

“Thank you,” Salynkos took his snack to a nearby table. The soup was garlicky chicken bisque, topped with a generous dollop of pesto. “Perfect… The only thing missing is…” The bartender stepped up with a heavy-duty pepper grinder and turned the crank four times.

“Bon appetit,” the server kissed the air and returned to the counter. Salynkos stirred the pepper into the soup, a bit lost at what had just happened.

“How did he know? It’s as if he could read my mind…” Salynkos pondered as he took a quick spoonful. “But that’s not possible.”


“So let me get this straight,” Sean frowned at Captain Savoie’s schedule. “You’re capable of crossing the Atlantic from Genoa to New York in less than two hours. Why are you taking two days to get back to Norfolk?”

“Yeah,” Roger pressed. “It’s not like the weather is a problem for you.”

Captain Savoie pulled up another set of hologram reports. “Two days is the ideal time to allow the survivors to readjust. While their physical injuries can be tended to at any clinic, processing their trauma would take years at best. Under my care, the healing process can be dramatically shortened.”

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, zap their trauma away in an instant? You could, couldn’t you.” Sean muttered.

“Because doing that would cause more long-term distress.” Captain Savoie explained. “The absence of any psychological issues following surviving a shipwreck, would in itself be concerning. Two days with my help, they process their trauma and move on. The human mind is a funny thing.”


“Worry not. I can read minds, something no psychologist or therapist can do.”

“Yeah it’ll be fine,” Nelson chimed in. “Two days aboard should give you plenty of time to explore the Savoie, surely you’d like that.”

Sean bit his lip. He nodded tersely and returned to his place by the hologram table. Looking through the various reports and documents, something wasn’t adding up. Captain Savoie had said the ship’s spectrum panels harnessed an infinite amount of power, yet the ship’s Tatinite batteries were constantly recharging. Did the ship’s electromagnetic shield really suck that much power? Or was there something else using an enormous amount of electricity at every given moment?

A roster appeared, summoned by Sean’s unspoken question.

“What?” Sean spat. “It says there are half a million souls embarked?”

“Oh yes, we never had time for a proper tour!” Martin laughed lightly. “Let’s start here…” He took Sean’s arm and guided him over behind the bar, where four lush citrus trees trailed up the wall. One orange, one lemon, one lime, and one grapefruit tree, each sporting a multitude of huge fruits.

“That… Isn’t a painting.” Sean announced to the rest of the room. “They’re real-!” He touched a ripe lemon, which instantly gave off a sweet lemon scent.

Martin reached over and plucked the fruit from the tree. He set it on the bar and sliced several thin wedges.

“Look!” Nelson pointed to the spot the fruit had been picked. Another lemon was already growing in. “Biggest lemon I’ve ever seen.”

“All the bars onboard have their own citrus trees,” Martin said as he handed out the lemon wedges. “There are also three apple trees, two cherry trees, a pear tree, and four grape vines. Potatoes, shallots, leeks, greens, five types of mushrooms. The kitchens have their own herb gardens too. All old French and Italian heirloom varieties of course…”

“So the Comtes grow their own food sources too…” Sean gasped into his voice recorder.

“It isn’t only human lives I tend to,” Captain Savoie stroked the leaves of the orange tree. “These plants are grafted directly into the Tatinite walls, individually protected and nurtured by an electromagnetic bubble for climate control, eternal sunshine, and specific mineral nutrients. They did have to be bred to tolerate accelerated production, but they are organic, GMO-free, and provide 100% crop yield. There’s no finer produce in this world. Though the Vannes might be a close second…” Captain Savoie finished with a ponderous smirk.

“There’s also the honeybees and butterflies,” Martin added as he squeezed a lemon wedge into his own drink. “They can’t possibly keep up with pollination, but they’re a pleasant touch in the gardens.”

“Where?” Tony asked, transfixed by the lush blossoms shown in the hologram.

“Embarkation Deck,” Captain Savoie replied. “The butterfly gardens are aft.”

Sean turned away, muttering into his recorder. Tony sighed softly and stepped out.

“Does that mean…” Roger asked hesitantly. “That the Comte de Savoie… Has its own, exclusive wine label?”

Captain Savoie and Martin burst into laughter.

“But of course!” A sommelier appeared behind the bar with two mini bottles of “Savoie Red.”

“Oh…” Roger seemed to swoon. “Somehow, I just know that’s going to be the best wine I’ll ever taste.” Nelson nodded in agreement as the first bottle was uncorked.

“The Rhin even produces an icewine,” Martin continued.

“…The reasonable deduction is that the A.I., anticipating the needs of 4300 starving injured sailors has increased crop production, thus the spike in power consumption,” Sean could be heard talking from the hologram table.

“Poor kid,” Roger mused to Silber. “All work, no play… More wine for me.”

“Like you need any more,” Nelson quipped.

“At least there won’t be a shortage of food for the men,” Silber returned focus to the rescue. “The oranges will go fast.”


“Should… Should we go find him?” Joe Bennett asked the room, still in stunned silence after Jake Jackson’s abrupt departure.

“Jackson will be alright,” Nathan Vincent nodded. “He’s strong…”

Bennett agreed.

“Well now what?” Brent Charles gestured around the empty room.

A tall, handsome, dark-haired man in a tailored white uniform and scarlet jacket entered the room.

“My name is Tim, I’m your room steward. Dr. Savoie has cleared you all for normal, light physical activity. Might I suggest an evening run on the jogging track?”

Shane Matthews pondered. “That could be good for us,” he nodded to Charles, who shrugged.

“Or perhaps a visit to our athletic center? There’s a climbing wall, weights, machines, lap pool.”

“Is the pool open now?” Charles asked, perking up at the mention of a pool.

“Yes, always. I’m sure you’ll find our lap pool satisfactory.”

“That sounds great, actually. A nice dip in the hot tub afterwards too?” Bennett and Vincent shared a smile.

“Very good,” Tim replied. “Take the forward elevator down to the tanktop, and the athletic center will provide everything.”

“Let’s go!” Tyler Clark jumped to his feet. “I’m stir-crazy from being tied up in the dark for four days.”

Matthews rolled his eyes. “I like you better with a sock in your mouth…”

The five sailors made their way down to the athletic center. A spacious locker room provided towels and some skimpy soft yellow swim trunks.

“These are fun…” Charles muttered as the stretchy fabric contoured to his thick manhood.

“Shut the fuck up, they’re perfect.” Matthews gave Charles’ beefy bubble butt a squeeze as they filed down the corridor to the pool. “We all look great.”

Bennett and Vincent smiled, eye-fucking each other. “If these aren’t complimentary, I’ll have to smuggle these off…”

“God, how long is this damn corridor? It’s a splash pool and a couple of heated kiddy tubs!” Charles exclaimed, his chesty voice echoing down the hall.

Clark had stopped at the end of the corridor.

“Clark, what are…” Matthews trailed off as he stepped next to Clark. “Holy shit.”

The pool was in a massive room of gray marble at least three decks high with a vaulted coffered ceiling. Closest to the awe-struck party of five, was the two 25-meter lap lanes. Beyond them lay two 50-meter lanes. A sleekly styled tower with three diving boards stood at the far end, where the room tapered in and the tear-drop cross-section of the bulbous forefoot was most obvious. Along the wall with the 25-meter lanes was a row of showers and a rack of numbered color-coded cubbies with pull buoys, kickboards, flippers, fins, foam weights, and other training equipment.

An enormous mural of backlit colored glass stretched across the opposite wall, depicting an underwater scene. Mosaic tiles provided an easy transition to the gray marble making up the rest of the room. The pool itself was sky blue marble with white glass edges and lane markings.

“Satisfactory!?” Vincent and Matthews spat incredulously.

“There’s… There’s more…!” Matthews nodded to their right.

A white marble terrace with a broad stairway led up to an open plateau. A colonnade lined the port side, concealing the heated pools. Along the starboard bulkhead was a row of a dozen private cubicles.

Clark rushed down the stairs into the pool, shattering the flat tranquility of the water’s surface.

“Me next!” Matthews chased him in. “Hey fatass, I’ll beat you to the end!” He called back to Charles.

“Ha! That’ll be the day,” Charles darted over to the first 50-meter lane and jumped in.

“Come on baby,” Vincent gently tugged Bennett by the waistband of his trunks up the stairs to the heated pools. “I wanna warm up first.”

Sheltered behind the colonnade of neo-classical pillars of glass, the two heated pools were hewn from a stunning dark blue marble. They were overseen by glowing glass reliefs of mythological sea creatures. The forward end was open, allowing a clear view of the lap pool below.

Vincent eased himself in and found a spot. Bennett followed, noting that the water was both hot and fizzy, as if he was stepping into a vat of heated seltzer.

“Ahh, ohhhh…” Bennett sighed as his muscles instantly relaxed. Vincent patted the water in front of him, indicating for Bennett to sit on his lap.

“Feel good, baby?” Vincent gave him a squeeze.

“Yeah. Really good. But better because you’re here too,” Bennett cooed.

“Awwww baby. Mmmmmm…” Vincent kissed his mouth with a smile, his hands sliding down to grab Bennett’s glutes. “These trunks are so cute on you, but they seem to be… In my way…” Vincent purred as his hand slid beneath the waistband.

Bennett could feel a massive lump growing under him. “Oh fuck, Nate! Not here! What-”

He was silenced as Vincent pulled his trunks down and plunged two fingers up Bennett’s hole.

“Baby I’ve been blue-balled since we left port,” Vincent growled seductively. “And spending four days spooning you- tied to you even… And now here, in this beautiful, romantic, place of… I don’t know. Heaven? I want… More… Of you.” He finger-fucked Bennett firmly, causing Bennett to moan in pleasure.

Vincent smirked at the bulge poking his abs. He reached down to free Bennett’s trapped cock from its tight confines. Bennett moaned louder, his own pent-up cock spitting out a dribble of pre.

“Already leaking, huh? My baby wants it too?” Vincent leaned in and kissed his way across Bennett’s chest and up his neck. The fine bubbles in the water seemed to encourage Vincent’s intention; they tickled his thick tool in an excited coaxing manner.

“Yeah… I- I want you too,” Bennett gasped. “But maybe, I mean… The guys are right there…”

“Fuck it…” Vincent barked as he tore the front of his trunks off. “I’m not waiting another second,” he muttered as he lifted Bennett and lined his cock up. He let gravity do the rest, as Bennett’s tight little butt stretched and struggled to accommodate the large intruder.

Bennett’s eyes crossed as he slipped farther down. Vincent’s mighty girth was smashing his sensitive prostate, rudely shoving out copious amounts of precum. Bennett clawed frantically at his lover’s back as he found himself hilted fully. Impaled like a sock puppet, Bennett was breathing raggedly.

“It’s alright baby, I gotcha…” Vincent murmured into his neck. “I gotcha…” Vincent hugged Bennett tightly in his massive arms, holding them both still to acclimate to their tight connection. Their cocks throbbed in unison, equally impatient for what was to come.

Vincent exhaled and let his head fall back against the wall, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his cock being stuffed into such a tight place. Almost too tight… It felt so good to finally get some. His big proud Marine Corp dick twitched impatiently, demanding more pleasure. His heavy balls boiled urgently, desperate for relief… But he had to take it slow; he didn’t want to hurt his baby.

“Mmmmmm…” Vincent hummed out, furrowing his brow slightly. He could feel Bennett still struggling to accommodate his big manhood, his insides spasmed and squeezed him.

Vincent peeked at his lover through his eyelashes, letting his gaze drift down his torso. With a smile, Vincent grabbed Bennett’s cock and gave it a gentle stroke. Bennett cried out and his hole tightened again. Vincent gave it another stroke. Bennett’s back arched, and something relaxed enough that Vincent knew he was almost ready.

Bennett’s mind was focussed on the sizable intruder plunged in his rear, bigger than what he was used to. As much as he loved Vincent and wanted to be with him, he was doubting if he could physically take his fat cock. Just as the doubt and pain were beginning to overtake his mind, the pleasure of Vincent’s hand slowly stroking him refocussed his senses. He opened his eyes to see Vincent smiling up at him.

“There baby, you’re ready now.” Vincent whispered huskily, his eyes glinting. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week…” He lifted Bennett up, and with a carnal growl, began rolling his hips in a smooth piston motion.

“Ahhhhh!!” Bennett cried out. He heard his voice echo through the cavernous hall of glass and marble.

“Ohh… Fff… Yea, I-” Vincent trailed off, words failing as he lost himself to the luxurious indulgence of his tight fuck. Words weren’t necessary as the world fell away and lust obscured both their minds to everything but the pleasure of the moment.

At the other end of the pool, Tyler Clark, Brent Charles, and Shane Matthews were standing on the diving tower.

“What was-? Oh, they’re fucking. Unbelievable…” Matthews tutted as he looked across the pool deck to the heated pools.

“Surprised?” Charles rolled his eyes. “Now quit stalling. Show me these dives of yours so I can then show you how it’s really done.”

“I say we keep the same stakes as always!” Matthews suggested. “Loser gets fucked.”

“Agreed!” Charles boomed.

“I’m in too!” Clark replied, his cock swelling.

“Ha!” Charles noticed. “Clark’s already hard at the thought of getting railed by one of us! Ahaha!”

“No!” Clark blushed defensively. “I have just as much of a chance of winning!”

“You’ll win by losing,” Matthews patted the flustered sailor’s shoulder. “Cute subs like you crave being used. That’s why you suck at cards…”

“And other things, soon enough!” Charles stretched his arms. “Now let’s get this on. I wanna fuck.”


Tony walked back toward the Observation Lounge looking for Sean. He didn’t make it to the butterfly garden. After seeing all the exhausted survivors in the lounge, Tony had tried to jump in to help. But the ship’s A.I. staff had beat him to everything before he even had a chance. He found Sean and the others gathered at the hologram table, no doubt gushing over the Comtes, or lamenting the comparative faded wonder of the V3.

“Hey babe, I’m back.” Tony stepped up to Sean’s side. “What are we up to now?”

Sean grunted a response, busily watching the hologram and scribbling frantic notes.

“Did you want anything to eat?” Just as the words left Tony’s mouth, he noticed a couple of plates and an empty soup bowl on the table behind Sean. “Oh right…”

“Hi Tony,” Nelson chimed in. “What all have you seen so far?”

“Oh… Lots of tired men, but most are in high spirits. I even saw several heading down to the fitness center.”

“Good, good…” Nelson nodded. “I saw the hologram, the pool looks amazing.”

“I thought we could go too, relax a little?” Tony suggested to Sean. “You’ve been working so hard.”

“Go ahead,” Sean grunted, still focussed on a simulation of how the Savoie’s electromagnetic bubble changed at supersonic speeds to eliminate creating a sonic boom. “I’m busy.”

“Well maybe we can-”

“What? What is it you want from me?” Sean finally turned to Tony.

“I want to help, you know? Feeling a bit…”

Sean huffed in annoyance. “Feeling a bit what? Useless? That’s because you are!”


“The ship can read minds, Tony! What chance do you think you have? Just stay out of the way.”

“And what about you, Sean? What are you doing that the mind-reading android ship can’t?”

“I have a job to do.”

“You mean your report on the engines of the V3? This seems a bit off topic for that, don’t you-”

“It’s a different job.”

“Since when-”

“I have more important things going on!” Sean finally snapped. “I get paid for results. What I don’t get paid for is babysitting, or having parties, or sitting around being fed bon-bons by an Italian boytoy!”

“Huh…” Tony’s eyes started to well up. “You know, I knew you were up to something. I thought maybe industrial espionage, or something. I guess I thought we were in it together. Guess not.”

“No we weren’t.” Sean said coldly. “But don’t worry, I’ll credit you in my sources, and they’ll send you a check.”

“No need,” Tony scoffed. “It’s all about you anyway. Hope they give you a medal or promotion for it.” Tony stepped back and walked out of the room.

“You are one cold son of a bitch, you know that?” Roger clapped Sean on the back. “Though really, it’s generally a good idea to stay on good terms with your civilian consultants. You never know which ones will retaliate or blow your cover.”

Sean huffed. “Tony’s not the type to do that. He’s too nice.”

“That may be,” Silber nodded. “But still… You never know.”

Tony made his way back down to the atrium lounge. The survivors had mostly returned to their rooms, but there were still a fair number out and about. Tony watched a few, hoping he could find a way to be of any assistance.

“What am I thinking?” Tony shook his head to himself. “I can’t keep up with an entity that can read thoughts and feelings…” He stepped onto the aft promenade deck, the cool night air calming his head.

“When I get back to Turin, I’ll focus on my studies. No more of this ‘find a hot American guy’ nonsense. They’re all stupid anyway.” He kicked at the deck.

A weak belch shattered Tony’s solitude. Looking over, Tony could see a lonely couple of deck chairs by the railing where a figure lay huddled under a blanket. A small table with an empty plate sat beside him. And an empty glass…

Tony could see the bar as well, the bartender busy making drinks for a couple of haggard-looking sailors. A full pitcher of water sat at the end of the bar.

“Ha, you slipped up.” Tony smirked as he hurried over and took the pitcher. “Tony one, mind-reading ship zero…”

Tony gently approached the figure in the deck chair and refilled the empty glass. The man was enormously built, so much so that for a moment Tony thought there might have been two people under the blanket…

“May I bring you-” Tony stopped upon seeing the man’s face. Handsome, with a dark dusting of scruff, and deep brown eyes. The man’s hand shot out from under the blanket, shaking heavily.

“P-p-p-please don’t, I-I mean… Stay? I just-t don’t wanna b-be… Alone.”

Tony’s heart broke at the man’s plea, the fear in his tone, the desperation in his eyes. He nodded.

“Yes of course.” Tony calmly sat in the other chair. “My name’s Tony. I’m uh… A waiter.”

The frightened man nodded, still trembling visibly. He clutched the blanket around him. Tony caught a glimpse of his uniform. It was different from the others.

“I’m from Genoa Italy,” Tony continued, hoping to put the man at ease somehow. “I’m in school in Turin for design. Where are you from?”

“I-Italy?” The man looked lost. “Italy… This ship is f-from Italy to-too, right?” He shifted on his chair, the blanket falling from his enormous shoulder. Tony saw the name badge sewn to his chest.

“Your name’s Jackson?” Tony smiled. “Where are you from, Jackson?”

“I… Yeah, Jackson. Jake Jacks-son. I’m from Georgia…” Jackson trailed off, his eyes turned to the sky.

“Here Jackson,” Tony pulled the blanket up and held the water out for him. “Drink something, it will help.”

Jackson reached out shakily, grabbing Tony’s wrist. He shook his head.

“Yes,” Tony insisted. “Here…” He gently held the glass to Jackson’s lips. Jackson gulped the water down fast.

“Please… D-don’t go a-anywhere…” Jackson begged. “Don’tt leave… L-leave…”

Tony saw the bartender nod at him from across the deck. He held Jackson’s hand.

“I’ll be right here, Jackson.” He assured him. “Right here. I promise.”

Jackson nodded. His eyes closed as he sighed in relief, settling back in the chair.

The bartender approached with a blanket for Tony, and some more water.

“You got this one,” the bartender winked at Tony. “I’ll bring you some food when he wakes up in four minutes and twenty-nine seconds…”

“Wha-? What am I supposed to do?”

“Follow your instincts, I’ll help you.”

“He’s… In shock? What… Is he in pain? I can’t, I mean I don’t know-”

“Tony, take a deep breath. You’ll be fine. You can, and will, do perfectly. Trust me.”

Tony nodded. He wasn’t so sure, but maybe the ship did know what it was doing.


“I… I don’t believe this.” Brent Charles frowned, his hands on his hips. “How-?”

“Simple,” Shane Matthews shrugged. “I’m the better diver. You lost. I won. And I’m cashing in. I get…” He put his sinewy arm around Tyler Clark’s shoulders. “I get to fuck you tonight.”

“No…” Charles blinked. “You don’t.”

“Well yes,” Matthews puffed out his solid chest. His body still glistened with water. “That was the prize for winning that bet.”

“Except…” Clark grinned sheepishly.

“You didn’t win,” Charles turned and leaned against the diving tower. “Clark won.”

Matthews blinked, his mouth open and closed silently a few times.

“You and I bet against each other like we always do,” Charles mansplained. “Your dive was better, but I beat you in my laps. Clark didn’t dive, and he didn’t beat either of us in lap times. Clark never bet he would win, only that neither of us would.”

“And we didn’t beat each other,” Matthews finished. “Making Clark the winner. Wow. Okay…” Matthews paced and nodded to himself. “Uh huh. Alright, Clark! It’s your lucky night. So who would you like to fuck you?”

“Yeah, I dunno…” Clark chewed his lip, looking out over the pool.

“Think about it while we get changed,” Matthews snapped the back of Charles’ waistband. “And head back up to the room.”

“Heh.” Charles strutted next to Matthews, patting his defined lats. In turn, Matthews dug his fingertips into Charles’ glutes. Clark awkwardly shuffled behind them, his hard cock threatening to pop out of the skimpy swim trunks with every step.

Back in their room, Charles and Matthews quickly pressed Clark for his answer.

“So? What do you want?” Matthews pulled his impressive cock out and held it as it hardened fast.

“Slow down,” Charles scolded him. “Come on, let the kid revel in his victory. We know he’ll choose a real man. Won’t you, Clark?” He winked, adjusting himself sensually.

“Yeah…” Clark reached out and placed a hand on both the presented bulges. He stepped forward, feeling his bunkmates’ muscular bodies against his own.

“You like that? You don’t have to choose just one, you know,” Matthews purred in his ear. “You can suck one of us off while the other… Or… Wait…”

“Well uh… I uhm…” Clark stammered, a blush burning across his face. “I haven’t you know… Uhhh… Heheheh…”

“You’re a virgin,” Matthews said gently. “By some miracle…” He cleared his throat.

Charles shifted his weight awkwardly.

“Yeah… Somehow…” Clark looked away bashfully.

Matthews and Charles exchanged a few wordless glances.

“Do… Do you want us to help you?” Matthews suggested.

Clark’s eyes sparkled. “Would… Would you do that? Really?”

“Sure!” Charles boomed. “First time’s important!”

“We’re your friends, of course we will!” Matthews grabbed Clark’s shoulder affectionately. “So tell us, how do you want it? What do you like?”

Clark bit his lip as his cock popped to attention. His eyes darted as his mind seemed to race away.


Finally, Clark blushed deeply and blinked slowly.

“I want the big guy…” Clark admitted looking at Charles.

“Oh shrimpy,” Charles smiled. “Kid, I’ll wreck you. This big dick ain’t for beginners…”

“…Actually… I wanted to…”

“I know, everyone wants a big fat dick. But for your first time… It’ll be too painful.”

Clark shook his head slightly.

“Oh… Oh!” Matthews’ eyes shot wide open with realization. Swallowing a chuckle, he elbowed Charles firmly.

“Huh?” Charles followed Matthews’ glances between Clark and himself. “Wha-?”

Matthews rolled his eyes and slapped Charles’ butt, shoving his finger into his crack for emphasis. Charles got the message. He shook his head.

“Come on big guy, it’s his first time,” Matthews whispered. “It’s important, remember?”

“I am a top!” Charles hissed through his teeth.

“So?” Matthews snapped. “Come on. He’s a virgin, and just as pent up as the rest of us. How long do you think he’ll last?”

“Ok fine!” Charles clenched his jaw for a moment before turning back to Clark with a smile and his normal speaking voice. “Alright, I’ll be your first fuck. But I don’t do this often so…”

“I wanna tie you up for it!” Clark blurted. Matthews nodded with a wink.

“Works for me,” Charles sighed with a shrug. “If I’m getting fucked, you’d better…”

Matthews made short work of binding Charles’ big bulging arms neatly behind his broad back. Charles climbed up on the bed and knelt while Matthews tied a makeshift spreader bar between his ankles. Clark looked on with a giddy smile, fluffing his hard cock eagerly.

Charles was a sight to behold; the brawny sailor naked and securely tied up on the bed like a slut. He twisted in his bonds, flexing his shoulders in clear disdain for his situation.

“Come on big guy, cheer up!” Matthews taunted. “Though if you don’t want to look excited about it, there are ways of making it happen…”

Charles grunted.

“Tsk tsk…” Matthews took another rope and tied it around the hefty base of Charles’ flaccid cock, adding a few wraps around his large low-hanging nutsack to make it taught. After over a week of no release, Charles’ cock quickly grew to attention as Matthews fiddled with it; its thick eight-inches throbbed needily and turned a livid shade of red as the tight ropework forced it harder.

“Fuck you,” Charles panted.

Matthews smirked as he finished his knots. He gave Charles’ nipple a quick tweak and turned to leave him alone with Clark.

“Wait!” Clark stepped between Matthews and the door, his eager dick still in his hand. “Wait uh… Could you maybe stay? You know, since I… I don’t really know what I’m doing…” Clark blushed as he spoke. Matthews smiled reassuringly, placing an arm around his nervous bunkmate.

“Of course, whatever you need,” Matthews guided Clark back towards the bed. “But really, just follow your instinct. It’s just sex afterall…”

Charles rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“Can we just get on with it already? This is humiliating…”

Matthews glared at him.

Clark however, just smiled his dopey giddy smile as he hopped up on the bed and stood behind the bound kneeling hunk. He reached down and pulled off his socks one at a time, followed by his briefs.

“Just make sure he uses enough lube,” Charles said to Matthews. “The last thing I-MUUUUPHHH!!”

Clark shoved his rolled-up briefs deep into Charles’ big mouth.

“UUHH UHHHHH!!! NOOUPHHUGHH RRGHHRR MUUUPHH!!” Charles thrashed hard, shaking his head desperately trying to dislodge the gag.

Standing behind gave Clark the advantage, and the horny young man had no trouble securing the briefs in Charles’ mouth with his socks, tying the ends tightly behind his struggling captive’s thick neck.

“GUUUPHHHH!!” Charles raged as Clark shoved the knot firmly behind his teeth.

“Not so fun now, huh?” Clark whispered in Charles’ ear. He reached around, groping Charles’ firm pecs. “Now for my consolation…”

Clark shoved Charles forward, putting his beefy bubble butt on display. Matthews tossed a bottle of thick lube to him, which he caught single-handedly. Clark applied the slick gel and without further hesitation, shoved his long slender cock right up Charles’ tight musclebutt.

“HMMMMPHHHHH!!” Charles’ eyes bulged and crossed from the sudden thrust. He buried his face in the mattress, not that he had much other choice with Clark pushing him down.

“Ohhhhh… Yeahhhh…” Clark purred as he humped Charles, exploring the sensation of a tight butt clamped around his dick for the first time. “Fuck yeah…”

Matthews watched from the side, his dick erect in his hand. After a minute, he climbed onto the bed behind Clark.

“Here,” Matthews placed his hands around Clark’s waist gently guiding the inexperienced top’s rhythm. “It’s all about control.”

Clark nodded, fighting his urge to rail Charles hard and fast. Sensing the struggle, Matthews lubed himself up and gently pressed himself into Clark’s hole.

“Wha… AHHHHH!!” Clark cried out in surprise as he was taken, Matthews’ considerable 7-inch tool prying him wide open.

“Easy there buddy,” Matthews cooed. “Teaching this is easier when it’s… Hands-on.”

“Ohhh, ahhhh… Right.” Clark was tight, but quickly warmed up in his aroused state. Matthews hilted himself, and pressed forward causing Clark to hilt in his fuck too. Charles growled from the base.

“Now,” Matthews held Clark’s waist. “Just relax and focus on what you’re feeling. Close your eyes… Lose yourself.” With that, Matthews began a slow deep gyration, firmly fixed to Clark and moving them as one.

Charles roared in his gag, as Clark’s initial fast shallow jackhammer motion was replaced with the longer smooth style of a seasoned pro… This wasn’t going to be a quick easy fuck to humor a virgin.

“GMMPH HMPH MM!!! MMHMM PHHUUUPHHRRRMPHS!!” Charles twisted his arms in their bindings, desperately trying to work some slack in. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes and blinding him. “HHHMPH!!”

Matthews and Clark took no notice, both lost in their own pleasure. Clark, his dick stuffed in the tight confines of Charles’ muscular butt, being edged with it while impaled like a puppet himself. Matthews felt good behind him, a devious smirk twisting his lips. He was going to drag this ordeal out for hours, just to spite Charles. Oh yes, revenge was the sweetest fuck of all.


Quinn-Timothy James opened his eyes with a yawn. Where was he? He felt as if he was floating on a cloud… He sat up to find a doctor standing beside the bed.

“Mr. James, I’m Dr. Savoie. You’ve been asleep for a few hours. I’ve treated you for severe dehydration, vitamin deficiency, smoke and chemical inhalation, and moderate to severe burns. You may feel…”

James wasn’t listening. He felt fine.


Caleb Bradley peeked around the door from their suite’s living room. He waved encouragingly. A wave of relief washed over James. Bradley was alright!

“…Some stiffness, and mild itchiness around the edges. There’s no risk of reinfection, I’ve seen to that. Feel free to engage in light to normal activity as you see fit.”

“Thanks Doc,” James nodded distractedly. He was eager to check up on Bradley.

Dr. Savoie smiled and left the room.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Bradley swaggered into the room holding out a chilled bottle of water for James. “Feeling better?” He sat down on the edge of James’ bed.

“Y-yeah!” James took a few nervous sips. His head spun with questions and mixed emotions, so many that no one could come into focus. He only seemed to be able to focus on Bradley’s close proximity, wishing he’d scoot closer.

“I took a little look around. This place is… Well I think you’ll like it. You hungry?” Bradley stood to help James up. “They brought our clothes and stuff over too.”

James nodded quietly as Bradley helped him out of the bed. James could feel the bandages covering his shoulders and back, and only a mild ache from the burns. He noticed his blouse hanging in the closet, the entire back missing and scorched. James remembered the fireball, the wreckage, the fuel. The engine cowling towering over him, and a constant tingling on his shoulder, his right shoulder, the same shoulder missing from his blouse. So that’s what that burning smell was all that time… Me.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” Bradley leaped over and slammed the closet door shut. “We can wear our shore clothes.”

Bradley then led James to the elevator. “They said the dining facility would still be open,” Bradley explained as the elevator dropped to a level called “Spaghettissimo.”

James held his breath and went along with it. He was definitely hungry…

Spaghettissimo was a massive complex at the bottom center of the ship, consisting of the two main dining rooms, cocktail lounge, bar, and a wine cellar, all arranged around a three-level fully-automated kitchen. A huge pasta machine capable of churning out over 200 kinds of pasta took center stage.

The formal main dining room was a classy one-level hall with vinyl tiled floors, and dark walnut paneling to waist-height. Walls were painted a vivid sunset orange, and pairs of white plaster columns lined numerous alcoves along the periphery. The room was capped by a shallow elliptical dome of black onyx.

“Wow…” James breathed as he settled into his seat across from Bradley. They had gotten one of the alcoves along the port side. James gently touched his row of flatware; they boasted large comfortable handles of Murano glass. He looked up to catch Bradley smiling at him across the table.

“I thought you’d like this,” Bradley beamed. James swooned.

A waiter brought salads of pear, prosciutto, and parmesan reggiano all sliced thinner than paper topped with crushed toasted walnuts and a honey-balsamic drizzle.

“Ohhh, this looks amazing!” James fought his body’s urge to gulp it all down like the starving animal he was.

The next course was pasta; James had a buttery linguine with lemon, scallops, and capers drizzled with an artichoke pesto. Bradley got a summer squash capellini with urchins and a white wine blood orange sauce. This was followed by green salad and cheese courses, accompanied with wine.

“Oh dessert,” Bradley’s eyes lit up as the final plates were set on the table. “And I didn’t think I could eat another bite…”

“Yeah,” James agreed. “But who can say no to tiramisu?”

This was a lemon and lavender-infused tiramisu, soaked in Limoncello and Benedictine, with white chocolate mascarpone cream.

“Heaven,” James moaned over his first spoonful. “This is… Mmmmm…”

“That good, huh?” Bradley dipped his spoon into his slice, watching James’ reaction.

James nodded, eyes half-shut as his posture melted toward the table.

“Heh,” Bradley smiled. “I guess I’ll have what you’re having.” He took a bite, instantly letting out a moan of his own.

James peeked through his eyelashes, too lost in the dessert’s silky light texture to think of a quip. But now he had a good idea of what Bradley’s O-face looked like… James, stop it. You’re playing with fire, and you’re already burned. He quickly dipped his spoon into the cake and let another velvety wave wash his thoughts away from his heartache.

Their meal was concluded with wine; a pink Moscato D’Asti served in small glasses.

“Dinner is comped, compliments of Captain Savoie and Martin Robért.” The waiter mentioned as he cleared the table. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Mmm, that was the perfect first date.” Bradley announced as he and James strolled along the Main Lido Deck, walking off their dinner in the open air.

“Haha,” James smiled through his pained grimace. “If only…”

“What? I thought you’d like a romantic evening. Dinner, dessert, maybe a movie, no?”

James forced a casual laugh. “I… Yes, well… It is nice to have evenings like… As a distraction! Ha, ha…” Maybe it’s just a touch too much with you, though…

“Distraction?” Bradley probed. “You’re one of the most thoughtful and romantic people I know. It’s just a distraction to you now?”

“Of course not, I only meant-”

“You kept me hydrated by bottling piss for three days, and now you’re acting all coy and aloof. What’s up with that?”

“Bradley, it’s just… It… I don’t know what to say, it’s… I’m…”

“Look James,” Bradley said firmly. “Just say it already. Whatever it is. I am really tired of all this unsaid nonsense and walking on eggshells, alright? Talk to me, we’re better friends than this.”

James felt his eye twitch. This was it. He took a deep slow breath.

“Bradley…” James turned to look his friend in the eye. “I’ve had… I have… Very, very strong feelings for you. WAY more than just friendship. But I took the easy way out by not saying anything that could end what we did have. That’s why I couldn’t leave, not for a second, I couldn’t bear the thought of… Didn’t want you to…”

“You didn’t want me to die alone,” Bradley finished gently. “James… I knew. I transferred because I felt guilty. All the flirty banter, the alone time together, I knew you liked me, and I was leading you on. It… Felt nice, being admired like that, and I got addicted to it. And then I felt so badly about it, I took the easy way out too. But I missed you too much, I missed our friendship. And…”

“You wanted to try again,” James finished. “Try to make it right. But then this happened…”

“Yeah,” Bradley nodded. He took a step closer to James. “I thought I was going to die. But you were there the entire time. That… Loyalty, man. It means everything to me…” Bradley caressed James’ neck with the back of his hand.

“I’ve come to love you too, and I’d happily spend the rest of my life with you, cutie.”

James felt like he was choking. His heart was beating too fast. Bradley gently closed the distance, his lips found their way to James’. It was like the entire world around them went up in fireworks, and then all at once everything was calm. James could breathe again, his heart rate was back to normal.

Bradley slowly broke their kiss. “That… I…” He paused, a smile hesitantly grew on his mouth. “That felt… So right. I never wanna-” Bradley dove back in passionately. James kissed him back with equal hunger, tasting the wine that still lingered on Bradley’s tongue.

“That’s it? C’mon man, don’t hold back now,” Bradley gasped around James’ tongue.

“Bradley this is insane,” James whispered before surrendering to the moment. Logic and reason had finally abandoned him; now he was alone at the mercy of his wildest dreams.

Bradley leaned himself against the bulkhead, pulling James with him.

“James, cutie…” Bradley said, biting his lip as he tried to compose himself. “I mean it. I’m never letting you out of my arms.”

“Heh,” James rested his head on Bradley’s shoulder. “That’s alright with me.”

“Come on,” Bradley hoisted James up in his arms, staggering slightly as he got his balance. “Forget the movie. I want to feel more of you…” Bradley carried James through the door and back down to their room for the night.


Tony watched Jake Jackson sleep. The muscular Marine seemed restless, tossing and turning as much as physically possible on the narrow wooden deck chair. Tony could see the man’s handsome face, brows furrowed, jaw clenching. His hand squeezed Tony’s with increasing strength and frequency.

Jackson awoke with a startled shout, sweat dripping down his face, huge chest heaving as if he’d been sprinting.

“AAGH! Wha-where!?”

“I’m here, right here, Jackson.” Tony kept his voice low and calm. “I’m right here. You’re alright.”

Jackson’s legs flailed, caught in the blanket. His eyes were still wild.

“It’s okay,” Tony soothed, calmly untangling the blanket while Jackson caught his breath.

“O-oh, yes… Yes, Tony. From Italy. Yes here…” Jackson released his grip on Tony’s hand. He took a quick look at his surroundings: the open deck, the table with his empty glass, the well-lit deckhouse behind him, the night sky in front of him. “Fuck…”

Jackson slumped back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He idly bounced his fists on the chair’s arm rests.

Tony mopped Jackson’s forehead with a cool damp cloth, dabbing it down to his neck. Jackson watched with one eye open.

“You stayed.”

“I said I would,” Tony replied.

“Yes you did.” Jackson arched his back, letting his neck pop. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“What for?” Tony gently pressed the cloth into the pool of sweat forming at the center of Jackson’s clavicle. His hand brushed Jackson’s chin.

Jackson hesitated, his breath catching at Tony’s touch.

“You’re… Not afraid of me? I’m a US Marine. Trained to kill on instinct like a machine. And I’m… Clearly fucked up right now. In the head.”

Tony shrugged, sliding the cloth just under the opened top button on Jackson’s blouse. Jackson wasn’t wearing an undershirt. Close as he was, Tony could feel the heat radiating from Jackson’s chest.

“So you’re a Marine. I’m a waiter at a fancy yacht club. You’re a killer. I’m a pamperer. I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Jackson.” Tony reached over and refilled the empty glass from the pitcher, letting a couple lemon slices slip over the edge into the glass. “Here.”

Jackson drank when Tony held the glass to his lips. He sucked one of the lemon slices, chewing its bitter pith and holding Tony’s gaze.

“Feel better, tough guy?” Tony asked as Jackson gulped the remaining water.

Jackson crossed his arms over his chest.

“That act doesn’t work on me. My entire family worked the Genoa docks and shipyards for the past eight generations. Hear you me, I know ‘tough guy.’”

“Huh.” Jackson cracked a smile. “Huh, okay then.” The Marine shifted in his chair and swallowed a yawn. He quickly dozed off again, back into a fitful sleep that would only last a few minutes.


Joe Bennett collapsed against the heaving hulk of muscle that was Nathan Vincent.

“Ah ah… I can’t take anymore…” Bennett panted. He’d been riding Vincent’s huge cock for what seemed like hours in the fizzy hot tub, and his hole was feeling blown-out.

“Mmfff,” Vincent grunted back. “This is just round one, baby…” He slammed himself in.

Bennett nodded wearily against Vincent’s bulky chest.

“But I can make it easier, baby…” Vincent lifted Bennett in his arms, carefully turning him around so he was kneeling on the bench and bent over the wall with Vincent standing behind him.

“Ahhh fuck…!” Bennett buried his face in his hands as his ass got plowed from a new angle.

“Baby you feel so good,” Vincent purred, running his hand up Bennett’s smooth back. “I never want to stop…” He thrust powerfully, his cock still reaming Bennett’s tight backside open. Vincent was pretty pent-up, he knew he couldn’t last much longer if he tried. His balls felt like they were going to explode…

“Baby… Oh baby!” Vincent reached down and jerked Bennett’s hard fuckstick. Bennett moaned loudly, biting his knuckle. He’d been on the edge from being stuffed so full, he didn’t need much to finish.

“AHHHH!!” Two strokes of Vincent’s hand was all it took. Bennett shot a huge messy load straight into the water!

As Bennett came and clamped down around his cock, Vincent spilled over the edge too. He roared as he fired his thick Marine Corp cum so hard he was sure Bennett could taste it. He humped erratically, milking himself with Bennett’s tightness and shoving every last drop deep inside.

“Ah fuck… Fuck yeah, baby…” Vincent panted as he lay on Bennett’s back, his hard cock slowly deflating in the afterglow. He kissed Bennett’s nape. “Baby…”

Bennett felt like he would pass out from the overwhelming surge of pleasure. He was seeing stars and spots… He gasped weakly from under Vincent’s muscular mass.

“Baby?” Vincent lifted himself up and took Bennett in his arms. He held his sweet sailor boy, caressing him gently while he recovered. “Baby, baby… I gotcha. Your big strong Marine’s gotcha.”

Bennett felt his stomach gurgle.

“Fuck Nate,” he panted. “I think you ruined me…”

Vincent kissed Bennett’s lips.

“It’s okay, baby. I said I’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. But I’m also going to take care of you for that entire week…”

Bennett smiled up at his lover through his deliriously crossed eyes.

“Come on, I’ll take you back up to the room,” Vincent said as he lifted Bennett like a sack of potatoes.

“Are… Are you just going to fuck me again when we get back?” Bennett gulped.

“You bet!” Vincent barked proudly. Bennett rolled his eyes.


“Yes, baby,” Vincent nuzzled Bennett’s cheek tenderly. He stepped out of the pool, and carried him back to the changing room.

To be continued …

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One thought on “Buying Love – The Admiral’s Origin Story: Part 03”

  1. Complex plan for the story, but the individual lines are perfectly rendered. Usually there’s a good plan but the lines won’t bear the weight, or vice versa. In this one, everything is on track.

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