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Cruising On A Sea Of Black Velvet
by Cervo © 2005



Two things bothered the fuck out of Pavement… literally. First and foremost, he could not figure out how he and Porky had ended up on this boat. It was a nice boat and all that what with the subtle Vegas décor and the big state room.

On the other hand, it was so quiet. They had left La Guardia on Delta in a low and filthy rainstorm. So? What’s new, given that it was March in New York City. They were both solidly pushing 250, so how could they forget the flight screwed into those tiny seats with their knees in their sinuses? The six peanuts in the little bag were okay, but the Coors was warm.

Still, having settled a minor dispute between two factions of the retail impromptu drug industry, they were anxious to avoid attention. A little vacation was a lot better than hanging around waiting for the cops or worse still those two stone cold killers from China Town who would now be looking for them. They were not eager to respond to inquiries about the two guys in an alley off Mott Street. They especially didn’t want to explore the meaning of why they had shovels half way through their heads. Pavement and Porky felt they had earned a nice rest.

The plane landed in Charleston an hour late and still in a soaking downpour. They jumped into a cab, and headed for the pier in the middle of the night with water sluicing off the windows. They went through a long, dark tunnel to get there. Porky, who knew Charleston, could not remember any long tunnel in the city but he had not been there for several decades owing to various short bits at the public expense.

They got on the boat and were headed for the bar, when a tall pale guy in a white uniform stepped in front of them. In a soft island lilt (which was a little weird since he looked Swedish), the guy asked them for their watches. He explained that there were no time pieces on board the vessel so the passengers could create their own pace by dining, eating and amusing themselves as they pleased.

"No shit?" said Pavement. It was a rhetorical question. He was used to using up time in confined spaces.

They went to the aft bar on deck and hoisted a few which seemed to have no effect on them as they waited for the boat to get underway. Rain and more rain sloshed over the wrap around windows. Nothing but black beyond that. Then two broads came in wearing long sequined dresses. One was brunette and the other a bottle version of auburn. Porky asked Pavement if he thought the carpets would match the drapes. Pavement did not get it.

He was too fascinated by what he deemed to be the steamy scent of two hot and hungry cunts. The girls were in their forties and flirty. They had big, batting eyes and they licked the fruit that they sucked from their whiskey sours. They perched their nice, big, round, broad asses on a couple of bar stools and managed to draw attention to the warm places between their tits. Either end looked like home to Pavement and Porky.

The boys invited the two babes, who said they were from Tallahassee, back to their stateroom for a nice bottle of whiskey and a presumed fuckathon. That was now underway and had been for some time. Porky and Pavement were old school so there was to be no swapping, but watching each other get laid was no big deal.

The boat had long since eased out into the ocean. They screwed on through the night to its easy rhythm and yet Pavement still wondered where the fuck they were. Porky was not concerned as long as his cock could enjoy the nice warm, smooth sleeve of the auburn girl’s pussy. For him the view of her asshole as she knelt before him on the bed was stunning. So he wrapped himself around her prodigious warmth and grabbed her knockers. She sighed and said, "Yeah."

Pavement held up his babe with her leg wrapped around his waist while he pumped her. She had her ass propped against a bureau just below a porthole. He knew they were out somewhere in the middle of the motherfucking ocean even though it was still pitch black. He was a sophisticated world traveler. At least he had made one trip from Latvia when he was three to Brooklyn. In his experienced view, Pavement thought the ocean was, "as black as a nigger’s asshole," which he muttered to no one in particular several times. Porky who was about as black as you they come, chuckled. His ass was in full view for comparison. He was not one to worry about social niceties.

The second problem was that Pavement had been fucking his babe for what seemed like hours. He was a strong guy and known to be extremely tough which was why they called him Pavement. During most of that time he had been on the very edge of coming, but it was never quite launch time in Houston. He was starting to feel sorely inconvenienced. From the grunting noises that Porky was making, he too was getting sore if not tired while at the seagoing helm of his girl’s cockpit.

The two girls on the other hand, were as happy as clams. They hummed and sighed and squealed a little now and then to show they were still interested. The auburn one kept saying over and over, "Oh I’m so wet. Oh yes, I am sssssooooo wet. My pussy is so wet. It’s really wet." Porky wondered if she was somehow ‘stuck’ and could not stop saying it.

As the foursome fucked on, the girls chatted about their state room and the food that had been served at the on deck buffet earlier. As Pavement and Porky fucked forward toward the promise of dawn, the ladies began to compare notes on the virtues of white Slavic schlong versus black Mississippi bang stick. It was a little disrespectful somehow as though they were talking about cold cuts. When Porky’s girl yawned, he smacked her on the ass so hard it sounded like a rifle shot.

She chuckled and said, "Thanks, I needed that."

Porky and Pavement had recently left Taconic State Prison. They had shared a cell as well as a great many trade secrets including new methods of responding to interrogation and cross examination.

At Pavement’s trial, at his lawyer’s suggestion he had made the claim that he was in the business of assisted suicide. After five hours of sarcastic questioning, poking, prodding and jeering innuendo, the prosecutor just asked him, "Did you assist the suicide of Boris "The Bomb" Senkowiczs on January 5 of last year on the Crossbay Expressway Bridge?"

Pavement was peeved and tired of this fuck in his Sears Seersucker Special. It was hot in the courtroom and he was nervous which made him want to lie down, jerk off, and take a nap. So he thoughtlessly said, "Yeah, I assisted Boris right off the Crossbay Expressway head first. Then I assisted his fucking Buick off the same fucking bridge. Glub glub. You know? What’s it to you?"

Due to a lack of police effort to find much evidence, and mitigated by the fact that Pavement had done a public service by offing the deranged Boris, he only got five years with time off. But the blow to his reputation, not to mention his record, was a professional set back. So he and Porky had found it necessary to start modestly with small hits like the two assholes in China Town. The shovels just happened to be handy from the back of a Con Edison truck. They could not afford to do time over two chump change chinks. So a relaxing cruise "to nowhere," as it was advertised in the subway, seemed a delightful answer.

Porky had been christened Pontifex by his Guatemalan mother. He had made his rep by delivering a long series of devastating beatings to any kid who called him that. He was trained in the manly art of beating others senseless by his father who had moved to Brownsville from Mississippi. The boy had taken the name Porky due to a weakness for fatback shared by father and son.

Porky moved up from his local Brownsville street gang to free lance hit man. That was a real accomplishment as most of his gang was pushing forty, unable to get over a back fence any more and suffering from incipient hemorrhoids, hepatitis or AIDS.

Porky was the first to graduate to a real career. He was a very large man made mostly of solid muscle so his methods had been simple.

"I hit your head, you gonna be dead," was his slogan.

He was right too. If he hit you hard enough, you died. Since that approach lacked subtlety, he had been encouraged by some of the older crew on the block to try strangulation.

Porky thought strangulation had emotional appeal. So he switched methods, but he failed to think things through. It was just his nature. Instead, when hired by a Fifth Avenue lawyer named Abe to settle a property dispute between two bankers living in Forest Hills; he walked into their local D’Agastinos. He waited for one of the guys and strangled him next to a bin of eggplant that was on sale. The guy’s face turned the same shade of purple while he croaked.

Witnesses, though unused to blacks in that part of Queens, easily identified him in a line-up by his enormous size. That was especially easy for them when they compared him with the two winos and the midget the cops had put in the line up with him. The Queens DA liked convictions.

Witnesses also remembered Porky’s voice from when he had bellowed, "You dead, Motherfucker!" as he grabbed his victim. Since Porky had a history of mental illness accompanied by fits of violence while in foster care, he was able to bargain the charges down to manslaughter to avoid the cost of a trial. The docket was really backed up in Queens.

Back in their cabin, the appeal of being on board the girls were just not keeping their sails aloft. Finally Pavement just stopped fucking to which his girlfriend said, "What’s the matter? Cat got your balls?" Then she giggled. He looked her in the eyes. They were dark and cold. She was as fresh as the night before while he was ready to faint. Porky collapsed on his girlfriend nearly squashing her into the mattress. Then he slowly got up and leaned against the wall.

The two girls looked at them as though they were steers waiting for the axe and then straightened their clothes. They patted their hair and headed for the door.

"We’ll finish this later," Pavement said with a little edge of menace in his voice to sound sexy.

The brunette turned back to him with a voice as cold as a nun’s ass, "Probably not. You guys never do." They left. The room was pungent with the odor of sex sweat overlaid by spilled whiskey and the sharp tang of wet pussy.

"What the fuck?" asked Porky.

"Who gives a fuck is more like it. Let’s get some sleep."

They were out cold in three minutes.

When they woke up, the room smelled of gardenias. Their state room was tidy and flowers were on their night stand. Next to them was a small note inviting them to the Velvet Arms café on A deck for a continental snack. It was still just as dark outside and still raining, but they were hungry so they put on a couple of pairs of Sansabelts with Izods on top and headed for the food. Pavement even left his piece in the drawer.

The Velvet Arms was done entirely in black velvet material from floor to ceiling. The booths looked like great inverted lips into which the patrons dropped their asses. The smell of coffee mixed with the oak savor of Napoleon brandy. The place was self-serve so they just put the bottle between them.

They were just settling into their third snifters when two blonde girls came in wearing what looked like some kind of ankle-length sleeveless sleepwear. Their creamy backs were fully exposed emphasizing the flair of their shapely little bottoms. They were grabbing croissants and coffee when they turned to look for a place to sit.

Blonde A smiled at Porky and asked if they could join the boys since the place was otherwise empty. Blonde B sat down next to Pavement. They all chatted together for about twenty minutes and then the girl next to Pavement reached under the table and started hauling his dick out of his pants.

"Rub a dub dub," she whispered as she commenced to jerk him off. Blonde B appeared to be similarly engaged. So for another half hour they stroked and tickled, caressed and fondled, squeezed and pinched until the two dicks were turning dark red with abrasion.

"He just can’t sneeze, can he?" asked Blonde A to Pavement. She was carefully sounding as cute as you can to a man with balls as blue as ice.

"I’d suck him off, but it’s not nice in a public restaurant to suck cock," she muttered sweetly. Then she got up and left. Two minutes later Blonde B did too. The only thing that had changed was that it had stopped raining.

The boys went out on deck and leaned against the railing to get some air. They were just outside the bar where they had met the two hotties from Tallahassee. They were starting to feel better when a tall guy in a uniform came walking out of the darkness. He stopped at the rail near the boys and looked out to sea.

"Pleasant weather, if dark," said the guy in the uniform.

Pavement looked in the window of the bar. Two girls were at the window looking at them. They both wore sheath dresses that exposed their luscious shoulders. The one on the right was a dead ringer for Rita Hayworth with her red hair and crooked smile. The one looking at Porky was a pouty brat like Vivica Fox. They both sported a thoroughly sexy, challenging smirk.

"Um…yeah," said Pavement. "You the Captain?"

"No Sir, the Captain’s not about. I am the first officer."

"I was wondering—," started Pavement. Porky was listening now having seen the look on Vivica’s puss.

"First night jitters at sea, Sir? Happens to everyone. You’ll grow used to it."

"But when do we like …stop?" asked Porky.

"Stop, Sir?"

"Yeah," said Pavement, "when do we get off?"

"Get off, Sir? Not on this ship, Sir, on this ship you never ever get off," and then he slipped into the darkness which went on forever.

Rita waved at Pavement as she started out on deck.

_______
© 2005 Cervo. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio:  Who is Cervo? Read his bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.


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