Intro from Rowan
Some encounters live at the edge of exhaustion. Long hours, late duty, uniforms that still smell of sweat and salt. This one started with a sleepless night and a superior officer who thought porn might be a cure.
Rowan
The mess was quiet, close to midnight, the ship humming its endless background song. Steel bulkheads held the day’s heat, stale coffee lingered from a pot left burning too long. The only light came from the TV, a flickering blue glow, the blur of grainy VHS. Porn on loop, a film passed around the bunks until the tape was stretched thin and the actors jerked across the screen in stuttering frames.
The Petty Officer sat heavy in one of the bolted chairs, legs spread, shoulders relaxed in a way that only made him seem larger. He was older, built like a dockworker, bear-thick but not soft, every part of him shaped by years of drills and discipline. His presence filled the room more than the TV did.
I dropped into the chair across from him, restless. My body still hummed from the day’s training, muscles twitching with a tiredness that would not give way to sleep. My cock was half-hard just from the constant tension in my skin. He looked at me, eyes steady, then tilted his chin toward the screen.
“A wank will fix it.”
Every month, 5% of all paid subscriptions supports global queer trauma recovery.
Want to help directly? [Donate here → ThePleasureFund]
Or stay filthy and stay subscribed, that helps too.
