The Party Boat

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tagGroup SexThe Party Boat

After he exited the shower and finished drying off, Harry quickly bunged on a pair of jeans and a polo top before sitting at the desk in his hotel room and opening his lap-top. The screen came to life and the screensaver shot of himself and his wife appeared before him. He looked at it briefly, before making a mental note to change it before he was finished with his job search.
His seventeen-year marriage had, at least to him, come to an abrupt end. His wife having admitted to him that, with him away at sea for, sometimes, months at a time, she had found solace in the arms, and the bed — he thought to himself, of an old school flame. Although it still seemed recent news to Harry, that was five months ago and he had been in this hotel room ever since.
It seemed to Harry that his life was being turned upside-down. Not only had his domestic life hit the proverbial rocks but his career was at a crossroads. The cruise liner he had captained for the last five years had been sold off by the company and he had been placed on furlough by his company as they did not have any vacancies for a ship's captain at the present. Sure, he was still receiving a salary — but, in line with the small print in the contract he had signed, it was only 50% of what he had been on. The cost of the hotel was eating into his savings and he would need to find somewhere cheaper to stay very soon, unless events took a turn for the better. He could get by, but he wanted to do more than that and was determined to find new employment so that he could start his new, bachelor, life.
He carried out his daily search of the usual maritime job agencies for available positions; Captain's vacancies were rare indeed and usually went to people already employed by the company, either sideways moves or promotions to those whom had proved themselves worthy. He was now getting to the point where he would be prepared to lower his sights, if the need arose — maybe not a cruise liner — if necessary, he would captain a ferry, though the drop in salary would be substantial but it could be a stepping-stone until something better came along.
He jotted down notes of contact details for a couple of jobs that were available; pulling a grimace at the salaries on offer, then he went back to the search page and clicked on an agency he had never visited before. The first advert caught his attention immediately — "Cruise Liner Captain required — previous experience a must!". He read all of the available information, before reading it again. He hesitated at the paragraph that began "Applicants must be sexually experienced and have a liberal attitude towards life on board."
Satisfied that he met all of the regular criteria, he decided that he was, indeed, sexually experienced, albeit having been in, on his part, a faithful marriage for seventeen years with limited sex due to his frequent time spent away from home. He still had the fond memories of his late teens and early twenties when his wild oats were well and truly sown. The phrase "liberal attitude towards life on board" concerned him slightly; he was used to running a tight ship where everyone knew their place and carried out their roles perfectly. Still, this was the only vacancy that was equivalent to what he was used to and offered a corresponding salary. He could raise any concerns at an interview, should he get that far.
He clicked on the "Apply" button on the screen and completed the application form, attaching a copy of his cv before hitting the "send" button. Feeling somewhat better that he had found a suitable vacancy, he switched to his emails. Most of the ones received were personal, expressing sympathy with him for his impending divorce; he responded to these, thanking them for their kind wishes and concern. When he saw the name "Stevie Huntsby" he paused; the woman whose ex- husband was now lying in his bed, fucking his wife. They were friends, well, more acquaintances, having met up on odd occasions such as wedding anniversaries and special birthdays. He opened the email — this one was not offering sympathy or any concerns for his well-being; it merely asked "Wanna meet?" — he clicked on the attachment to see a picture of Suzie in black lingerie, her shapely figure displayed to full effect in the sexy attire. He smiled for the first time since the bombshell had been dropped; then he sent his response, declining the offer in the politest way he could. As he was about to log out of his emails, a new one arrived from "Party Ships"; he opened it up to find an acknowledgement of his job application, requesting a recent photo in his uniform and advising him that he would hear within one week if he had been short-listed.
Although there were plenty of photos of him in his uniform posing with passengers on his previous ship, these were all in the company's files and they claimed copyright over them anyway. He got up from his computer and went to his wardrobe, pulling out his uniform. He quickly stripped out of what he was wearing and donned his uniform, checking himself in the mirror. In his mid-forties, he felt he still cut a dashing figure; one of the benefits of being Captain of a cruise liner was that he got to use the on-board gym and he usually worked out every day. Now for the difficult part; taking a selfie. He had never mastered the knack of this; most of the pictures taken of him were by a professional cameraman on board ship and he rarely felt the need for selfies. He made several attempts but none came out to his liking; he was either staring strangely at the camera or he got the angle wrong. Just then there was a knock on the door, "Room Service," came the female voice.
"Sorry, not now — can you come back later?" he enquired.
"Of course, sir," came the polite response.
Almost immediately he realised what an idiot he had been. He rushed to the door and opened it, catching sight of the young woman in a maid's uniform pushing a trolley along the passageway.
"Excuse me, miss," he called after her.
She stopped in her tracks and turned around, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him in his uniform.
"Yes, sir, can I help you?" she asked.
"I was wondering — I need a photo and I'm useless at selfies — would you be so kind?"
She smiled demurely at him as she parked her trolley to the side of the passage and walked towards him.
"May I enquire?" she began, "Is it for a fancy-dress party?"
"What? Oh no — for a job application — these are my working clothes," he responded.
"Oh — so you are in the Navy?" she asked, her eyes roving over the tight body in uniform.
"No — not the Royal Navy — if that's what you mean — I'm a captain on commercial ships — cruise liners," he answered, noting the look of attraction in her eyes.
"Where would you like me to take your picture? In your bedroom, maybe?" she enquired, as she took his phone from his hand.
"Yes — I think that would be better than the hallway," he said, as he turned his back on her and led her into his room.
He walked towards the window and stood in front of it, standing almost to attention as he posed for her. When she had taken the picture, she handed the phone back to him to check that it was okay. He smiled and then a thought occurred to him, "Could you take one more, please?" he asked.
"Of course, captain, anything you wish," she answered, taking the phone again, her hand lingering on his for a few seconds.
He resumed his position, but this time took off his hat and tucked it under his arm. The maid was about to take the picture when she saw an excuse to get close to him again.
"Wait a moment," she instructed, "your hair's all messed up." She went to the dressing table and picked up his comb, stretching up on tip-toes to comb his dark locks back into position, her breasts brushing against his chest as she did.
Feeling her pressing against him, Harry felt the temptation to pull her into his embrace. She was pretty, probably about half his age and had a very nice body, from what he could make out. He was a single man again and she was coming on to him; why shouldn't he have the pleasures of a woman in his bed? His moral code kicked into gear though; his training throughout his career frequently covered the issue of passengers "coming-on" to men in uniform, particularly officers, and he resisted the temptation of the young woman pressing against him.
Disappointed that nothing had come of her advances, the maid stood a couple of paces back and took the second picture. Returning the phone to him, she smiled, "If there is anything else you need — anything at all — please call reception and ask for Natalie."
"Thank you, Natalie — I'll bear that in mind," he answered, "Now, I can't keep you from your work — I'll be out in about half-an-hour — you can do my room any time after that."
As she reluctantly left his room, Harry sat down at the desk and linked his phone to the laptop — downloading the pictures, before sending them off to "Party Ships" in a response email.
The days passed slowly; Harry was not used to having nothing to do — used to either being busy captaining a ship with roughly two and a half thousand souls dependant on him or, in his previous domestic life, carrying out all of the odd jobs that had accumulated in his absence. He carried out job searches every morning, checked his emails — responding to the sympathy "cards" and waited, impatiently, for a response from "Party Ships."
Finally, it was there — he clicked on it immediately, scanning the message — he was invited for an interview the next day, at their office in London. He had already had his uniform dry-cleaned and he set about polishing his shoes. Checking the mirror, he decided that a hair-cut was in order and called reception to see if the in-house barbers could fit him in. He was given an appointment at five-thirty that afternoon; everything was ready, now he just needed to impress at interview.
Next morning, he left in plenty of time, not wanting to leave anything to chance. When he arrived at the rather drab looking building an hour before his appointment, he was caught in two minds. His present employers' offices were quite swish, with no expense spared to impress on-lookers and prospective customers alike; this building looked like the offices for a second-rate company who were just floating above the bread-line. He looked around and spotted a café on the opposite corner; as he had an hour to kill, he decided to have a coffee and consider whether to continue with his job application or not.
Sitting in the window of the café, he kept gazing at the building opposite. Various expressions filtered through his mind — "You can't tell a book by it's cover," "First impressions are lasting impressions," the latter countered by one of his favourite novelists, Franz Kafka "First impressions are always unreliable." Deciding that he had nothing to lose, he concentrated on his coffee, taking a mild interest in the people passing by. He smiled to himself at the number of women who did a double-take when they looked in the café window; it still amazed him the effect a man in uniform had on women.
The time arrived for him to make a move; he went to the counter and paid for his coffee, smiling at the young girl as she took his money. Exiting the building, he made his way across the road and into the foyer of the office, approaching the reception desk where an elderly man stopped reading the newspaper to assist him. He was directed to the lift and told to select the fifth floor where the reception for "Party Ships" was. He checked himself in the mirror in the lift, adjusting his tie and ensuring his hat was on straight.
Exiting on the fifth floor, his attention was captured by the framed photos on the walls. The first few were of ships, presumably in the "Party Ships" fleet; but as he walked further along the corridor to the reception desk, he was stunned by pictures of ship's crew with scantily clad and, on occasion, topless women. Arriving at the reception, he looked down at the buxom brunette, dressed in a sexy sailor's uniform. She smiled up at him and asked his name; when he provided it, she picked up a phone and announced his arrival to the Personal Assistant to the Managing Director. Directing him to take a seat, her parting words were, "I'll serve on your crew any time you want, Captain," giving him a sexy wink as he looked down at her again, her cleavage so very clearly on view.
He took a seat and picked up one of the company's brochures from the coffee table in front of him. As he flicked through the pages, he realised what the expression "liberal attitude to life on board" meant; as far as he could establish, the company specialised in floating orgies. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat; looking occasionally at the receptionist, who seemed to be constantly watching him. When a door opened and a woman came out in a smart business suit, he got up and introduced himself.
"Welcome, Captain — I hope Gloria has been looking after you?" she enquired.
"Well — she's been keeping an eye on me, if that's what you mean," he responded, shaking the proffered hand.
"I'm Synthia Albright — PA to the board — if you'd like to follow me, please," she turned and led Harry through the door and along a corridor to a door labelled "Board Room." Once inside, Synthia introduced Harry to the two gentlemen sitting at a desk and asked him to take a seat.
After the initial introductions and some general preliminary questions, digging deeper into his nautical career, the Managing Director, Sam Prempory, asked, "So Harry — I see you are recently divorced. I hope that a good-looking young, fit man like you is keen to get back on the bike, so to speak? You see, we at Party Ships encourage our staff to help our customers enjoy themselves to the extreme — we get a lot of good feedback and a lot of returning passengers once they have experienced a Party Cruise! So, basically, what we need to know, because we are impressed with your experience, is are you willing to go that extra mile to satisfy our clients?"
Looking at the two men sitting opposite him, Harry's face flushed as he remembered the photos lining the reception areas walls.
"Umm — I really would like the opportunity to captain my own ship again — as you will have noticed from my cv, I've been on furlough for five months and the money isn't great. Can you explain, just what would be expected of me in the way of customer satisfaction?"
"Well, I know you've seen the brochure that was outside and I'm sure you will have noticed the photos hanging on the wall — our clients are often very wealthy individuals — they have been known to express their appreciation very generously. The reason for this vacancy is that the previous captain got himself married to one of the passengers, an extremely wealthy widow, and they are now cruising around the world together. But, back to your question — the simple answer is anything they want you to do, Harry. Within reason of course, if you're not bi-sexual, we wouldn't expect you to carry out any sexual acts with a man — but, if a woman wants you, you need to be there for them. Now, obviously, we couldn't ask you about sexual preferences, experience etcetera, in the job advert — but we do need to know — are you straight? Bi? Gay? And how experienced are you? If you have only ever done missionary, then, sorry — the job isn't for you."
Harry looked from one face to the other, then turned his face to look at Synthia, who was perched in an armchair, taking notes. She looked at him inquisitively, awaiting his response. His eyes looked down at her crossed legs, encased in sheer black nylons; he licked his lips and looked back up at her face, which now wore a smile. Turning back to Sam and the other man, Jeremy, Harry answered.
"I'm straight — that is, I've only ever been with women. Umm — sexually, I tried out a lot when I was younger — before I got married — but the sex-life became a bit routine after the wedding, and being away at sea so much didn't help."
"Okay," said Sam, watching Harry closely, "now, I need to know — the reason for your wife finding another man — it wasn't due to some shortcomings on your part in the bedroom was it?"
"No — of course not — other than the fact that I was hardly ever there — but, like any man who's been at sea a long time — once I got home, I couldn't get her into bed quick enough," answered Harry, feeling flustered and insulted at the suggestion that he was no longer able to satisfy his wife.
"Given your surname Harry — I do assume you pronounce Chayne as chain, do you?"
"Yes, Mr Prempory — exactly like that," he answered.
"No need for formalities Harry — call me Sam — now, as I was saying, given your name — some of our clients may expect you to be up for some BDSM fun — is that something you have experience in?"
Harry looked at the two men, a stunned expression on his face. He fumbled around in his memories and finally came up with something.
"There was this girl, before I was married, she liked to be handcuffed and blindfolded — but that is my only experience," he stated. His eyes glazed over briefly as he pictured her helpless on the bed before him.
"Well, that's a start, I suppose," said Jeremy, who, up until this point, had left all of the talking to Sam.
Sam looked at Synthia and nodded his head. She got up, but instead of approaching him, as Harry had expected, she opened the door and left, returning a couple of minutes later with Gloria.
As they entered the room, Synthia returned to her armchair while Gloria made her way over to Harry. Her skirt was even shorter than he had thought from first sight and barely covered her arse as she twirled in front of him.
"So, Harry, if you want this job, it is likely to entail a lot of public sex — we need to know that you are capable of performing in front of an audience. Are you willing to give us an example of your willingness?"
Harry gulped as he watched Gloria slowly and sensually swaying before him. He looked at the two men and then at Synthia, who were all watching attentively.
"So, if Gloria is playing the role of a passenger, am I supposed to wait for her to tell me what she wants me to do?" he eventually managed to ask.
"Harry, my friend, you have a lot to learn in a short space of time — if one of your passengers approaches you and dances like that, without saying anything, she wants you to take the lead — she wants you to be a caveman — to take her, to use her — ultimately to satisfy her needs."
After Sam had finished talking, Harry looked from Gloria to him and then back again. He rose to his feet and put his hands on Gloria's hips, swaying in time with her to the imaginary music. As she smiled at him, he moved his hands around and under her short skirt, grabbing her arse and mounding the soft flesh. Pressing herself against him, Gloria kissed his neck, her hands reaching behind and grabbing his arse. He reached inside her panties and slid his fingers along her slit, causing her to gasp.
Pulling slightly away from him, Gloria quickly undid and removed her skirt, sliding her panties off at the same time. She looked lustily at him as she got on all fours on a shagpile rug in the middle of the room, waggling her arse as she waited for him.
"It's now or never," thought Harry, as he looked at the audience again. He took off his jacket and trousers and lowered his boxers, before positioning himself behind Gloria and stroking his hard cock up and down her slit. At this point, Synthia rose from her chair and wandered over — she looked down as if inspecting his cock.
Turning to Sam and Jeremy, she said, "Not bad — I've seen worse — I don't think we'll get any complaints."
Feeling the need to prove himself, Harry drove his cock hard into Gloria, causing her to moan out loud.

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