"¡Hola mi guapa!"
His voice is gravelly, and commanding, His muscular hand lands possessively on your shoulder. Heart racing at his arrival, you turn to address him. Alas, sitting on the perched precariously on the edge of the ship.
The sight does nothing to settle you, as you're eyes are level with the bulging crotch of his swimming trunks. Every detail is outline, you imagine if you keep looking you could make out the veins through the fabric.
Wobbling, you half recoil from the sight. Instantly he reaches out to stop you falling overboard. One hand pulling your head to ... to that bulge. His other arm wrapping around your torso. His hand coming to rest on your expansive arse. He gives it a reassuring pat.
Held so close, the scent of his masculinity is deep in your nostrils. The bulge already starting to grow, straining against the thin fabric is it hardened, and straightened at your mere proximity. Hands coming up to gently push him back, steady yourself and climb properly on board, you almost miss the soft watery 'plop'.
His hands shift suddenly, going to your shoulders. He forces you to stay seated, your strength useless against his.
"¡Esto es ideal!"
Too late, you realise what he wants... what just happened. Looking to the water, you see the bottle sinking lower, as you watch, it vanishes from sight into the green water.
A pair of strong hands guide your head back. The outline of the bulge is obscenely pointing directly towards you.
¡Ahora!
His intention is clear. His grip changes, effortlessly keeping your head in place. With his free hand, he pluck at the draw string on his trunks. In a moment, he's burst free. His cock bobs in front of your face. You think of the trickster genie, and how you ended up here. Doubting you'll ever get the chance to recover the bottle, you find your mouth slowly opening.
Either your acceptance of the new fate in front of you, or some instinct, some curiosity to explore he doesn't need to be asked twice.
With a firm thrust, his hot, salty cock passes between your lips. Filling your mouth, tickling the back of your throat, you gag, and splutter.
¡Relajarse! ¡Relajarse!
His guidance doesn't need translation. Unsatisfied with your effort, he forces your head back and forth, until he gets the rhythm to his satisfaction. Your aching neck muscles surrender, and soon you're focusing on the timing yourself. The humiliation needed so you can breathe at the right moments.
You feel the warm jizz flood your mouth, and he withdraws. Crudely he wipes the mess from his cock, smearing more cum on each of your cheeks.
¡Tragárselo!
You don't know the meaning, but the firm grip he has on your chin. The way he keeps your mouth closed doesn't need translation. Fighting the urge to puke, you swallow it, as quickly as you can. Desperate to avoid prolonging this experience.
Satisfied to see your throat bob, he pats your head like a favourite pet. Ruffling your hair, you realise he's training you.
Another wave of nausea, and shame wash over you. You! Are! A! Cocksucker!
More people spill from inside the yacht. Your shameful acts clearly plastered across your cheeks. Some of the other women smile knowingly. The men sharing a nod of approval, at your man's control of you...
Your christening as a cock-sucker seems to signal the start of a party atmosphere for all the participant.
Your degradation feels like you want to hide forever, wanting the Earth to open up and swallow you. You look beyond the boat for an escape. Too late, you pass beyond the harbour break-water, and out to open sea.
A sob, bursts from you, and you know you're stuck here... like this... for the duration of the voyage.
And beyond, as you realise you'll never recover that bottle, and see your genie ever again.
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