Naval Studs

Marko Balazs stepped aboard the weathered vessel, the salt-laced wind whipping through his dark curls. He reported for duty with a crisp salute, eyes scanning the deck where Karl Nepessy, Istvan Kerekes, and Zoltan Kopre lounged against the rails, their gazes lingering too long. Swabbing the decks? That was the least of it. Karl's calloused hand gripped Marko's shoulder first, pulling him close with a grin that promised mischief. 'Welcome to the real work, lad,' Karl murmured, his breath hot against Marko's ear. Istvan moved in next, fingers tracing the line of Marko's jaw, tilting his chin up for a kiss that started slow, deepened into hunger. Zoltan watched, smirking, before joining the fray—his strong arms wrapping around Marko's waist, grinding against him with deliberate pressure. Clothes shed like forgotten sails. Marko's uniform hit the planks in a heap. Karl dropped to his knees, mouth enveloping Marko's hardening cock, tongue swirling with expert rhythm, drawing out moans that echoed over the waves. Istvan claimed Marko's lips again, swallowing those sounds, while Zoltan pressed from behind, slick fingers probing, preparing, then thrusting deep—filling Marko with a burn that blurred pain and ecstasy. They took turns. Karl bent Marko over a crate, pounding into him with relentless force, hips snapping like cracking whips. Istvan followed, slower, savoring each slide, his hands roaming Marko's sweat-slick chest, pinching nipples until Marko arched and begged. Zoltan finished it, flipping Marko onto his back, legs hooked over broad shoulders, fucking him with raw intensity, eyes locked as release built and shattered. Cum spilled across skin, marking their new recruit. Duties aboard this ship? They demanded every inch of surrender.