Cruise Benefits (fm:one-on-one, 2103 words)

You can change the width of the story text shown below:
Use how much percent of the screen width?

[ default ] [ 10% ] [ 20% ] [ 30% ] [ 40% ] [ 50% ] [ 60% ] [ 70% ] [ 80% ] [ 90% ] [ 100% ]

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version  |  Mark story  |  Mark author

Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

I reached around, pinched her clit. She came again, pussy spasming, milking me. I followed, buried deep, cock pulsing as I flooded her—rope after rope of thick cum painting her insides. When I pulled out, it leaked down her thighs in slow, obscene rivulets.

She left shortly after, legs shaky, a satisfied smirk. The sheets smelled like sex and coconut.

Next night, two knocks—sharp, synchronized. Lena and Carina, identical twin bartenders from the Sky Lounge. Blonde, tanned, legs for days. They wore matching black thongs and nothing else, carrying a bottle of Patrón and a lime wedge between Carina’s teeth. They shut the door, leaned against it, eyes sparkling.

“Share?” Lena asked, already peeling Carina’s thong down her hips.

I poured shots on Carina’s stomach, the tequila pooling in her navel. I licked it slow, tongue dipping lower with each pass. Lena watched, fingers working between her own legs, lips parted. When I reached Carina’s clit, I sucked hard; she bucked, lime falling from her mouth. Lena dropped to her knees, took my cock out, stroked it while I ate her sister. Carina came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping my head.

They traded places seamlessly. Lena’s pussy was bare, swollen, dripping. I tongue-fucked her while Carina deep-throated me, gagging prettily. Then they knelt side by side, asses up, faces turned to watch me. I took turns—fucking Lena doggy, pulling out to slam into Carina, their moans harmonizing. I spanked them in rhythm, left handprints blooming red. When I felt the edge, I pulled out, stroked myself. They turned, mouths open, tongues out. I came in thick ropes—across Lena’s face, Carina’s tongue. They used their fingers to scoop it off and feed it to each other. With nothing else being said, they got dressed and left quietly.

By day four, the cabin was Grand Central. Yara, the Filipina stewardess, shortly after her shift, still in her crisp uniform, hair in a tight bun, name tag glinting under the corridor’s fluorescent strips. She knocked once, slipped inside, and locked the door with a soft click that sounded louder than the engines. She didn’t speak. Just leaned back against the steel, eyes dark and unreadable, then reached under her skirt and slid her panties down her thighs. Black lace, damp at the crotch. She stepped out of them, folded them once, and tucked them into my hand like a calling card. The fabric was warm, soaked.

I was already hard.

Yara was tiny—barely five feet, maybe ninety pounds—but every inch was coiled power. Her legs were smooth, thighs strong from hauling linen carts up six decks. I lifted her by the waist; she weighed nothing. She wrapped those legs around me, skirt rucked to her hips, no hesitation. Her pussy was bare, lips puffy and slick, a thin line of wetness already trailing down her inner thigh.

I pressed her to the bulkhead. The ship rolled; her back hit the wall with a dull thud. She gasped, nails digging into my shoulders through my T-shirt. I freed my cock—thick, veins pulsing, head slick with pre-cum—and rubbed it up and down her slit. She was scalding, dripping. One thrust and I sank in to the root. She was impossibly tight, walls fluttering around me like a heartbeat. Her head fell back, bun coming loose, black hair spilling over my forearms.

“Quiet,” I growled against her ear. Crew cabins on either side—thin walls, thinner sleep.

She bit her lip, nodded, but the second I started moving, a whimper escaped. I clamped a hand over her mouth, felt her hot breath against my palm. I fucked her hard, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin muffled by the engine’s thrum. Her pussy clenched with every stroke, juices coating my shaft, dripping down my balls. The angle was perfect—each thrust dragged the head of my cock across her G-spot. Her eyes rolled back, mascara smudging.

I spun her, bent her over the fold-down desk. Her skirt flipped up, exposing a perfect, round ass the color of café con leche. I spread her cheeks, watched my cock disappear into her tiny hole, stretching her pink inner lips obscenely. She braced her hands on the desk, knuckles white, pushing back to meet every thrust. I reached around, found her clit—swollen, slick—and rubbed tight circles. She came instantly, a gush of clear fluid squirting around my cock, splashing the desk, the carpet, my thighs. Her muffled scream vibrated against my palm.

I didn’t stop. Pulled out, spun her again, lifted her onto the bunk. She lay back, legs spread wide, skirt bunched at her waist, uniform blouse half-unbuttoned, one breast spilling out—small, perfect, dark nipple hard as a pebble. I sucked it into my mouth, bit down gently. She arched, fingers tangling in my hair.

I slid back inside her, slow this time, savoring the way her pussy fluttered, still spasming from her orgasm. Her juices soaked the sheets. I hooked her knees over my elbows, folded her nearly in half, and pounded deep. The bunk frame squealed. Her second orgasm hit like a wave—her whole body seized, pussy locking down so tight I saw stars. Another squirt, hotter this time, soaking my stomach.

I was close. Pulled out, stroked myself once, twice. She scrambled to her knees, mouth open, tongue out. I came in thick ropes—across her face, her tongue, her uniform. White streaks on black hair, dripping down her chin onto her badge. She licked her lips, swallowed what she could, then used her fingers to scoop the rest into her mouth, eyes locked on mine.

The intercom crackled: All stewards to Deck 5, linen exchange. She stood, legs shaky, skirt falling back into place. Cum still glistened on her cheek. She wiped it with a thumb, sucked it clean, then tucked her panties deeper into my fist.

“Keep them,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Next port, I want them back—inside me.”

She slipped out, door clicking shut. The cabin smelled like sex and starch. I collapsed onto the bunk, her squirt cooling on my skin, and knew the rotation had only begun.

Elise, the ship photographer, brought her DSLR. She stripped me, posed me—cock in hand, then straddled my face while the shutter clicked. I ate her through three orgasms, her juices flooding my mouth, while she snapped close-ups of my tongue buried in her folds. She rode me reverse cowgirl, camera on the tripod, filming every thrust until I painted her insides white.

Amira, the Lebanese casino dealer, won a bet in the crew bar. She claimed her prize bent over the fold-down desk, wrists bound with my belt, ass high. I spanked her until she begged, then fucked her raw—slow, deep strokes that made her sob with pleasure. I pulled out, came on her back, watched it drip down her spine.

The chef, Sofia, brought two pastry assistants—Petite brunettes named Clara and Ines, dusted in powdered sugar. Three mouths, six hands. I fucked Sofia on the bunk while Clara sat on my face and Ines rode my fingers. We rotated until the bed was soaked, bodies slick with sweat and cum. I came in Clara’s mouth, watched her snowball it to Ines, then Sofia licked them both clean.

Night seven, the ship hit a swell—rough seas, the Aurora Star rolling hard. The women came anyway. Mia returned with Lena and Carina, a trio of storm and sex. They stripped me slow, reverent, then took me apart. Mia rode my cock, pussy clenching like a fist. Lena sat on my face, grinding her clit against my tongue. Carina sucked my balls, fingers in my ass, stroking my prostate until I saw stars. The ship pitched; we rode the motion, bodies slamming together. I came inside Mia, felt her squirt around me. They rotated—Lena on my cock, Carina on my face, Mia fingering herself while she watched. I lost count of orgasms: theirs, mine, the overlapping shudders when two came at once, juices mixing, dripping onto the sheets.

At 0400 the intercom crackled: All crew to stations—port arrival in two hours. They kissed me goodbye, one by one—lips soft, bodies marked with bites and bruises. Mia last, cupping my face. “Next cruise,” she whispered. “Same cabin.”

The door clicked shut.

I lay in the wreckage—sheets twisted, condoms scattered, the air thick with pussy and cum and salt. My cock was raw, balls aching, but already twitching at the thought of the next port. The women were already lining up.

Do you like this story? If you do, you may be interested to know that the author also has several other stories on the site that are available to the members of the EroticStories.com FanClub!
Click here to read more about the FanClub.

Request from webmaster Art:
Don't forget to vote for this story in the yellow voting box below!
Authors really appreciate the votes and it only takes a few seconds!

ESmail: Click here to send a private message to Colione (with ESmail, the site's internal message system)

Medellin writes Sat 6 Jun 2026 22:37:

Well you certainly cruised through the crew. Hard to find the energy to play your guitar. But a great theme and enjoyed reading

....................