Last Man Standing Vol. 01

Last Man Standing, Vol. 1

The Sex Boat

I came out on deck by the forward pool and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. Checking that my handlers were with me, it was time to get down to business. There were probably twenty young women in the forward pool area, most lying out on deck chairs tanning and hoping I would appear. By now, most of them probably would have recognized my face even if my unique "swimwear" hadn't given away my identity.

All eyes were on me now as I made my selection. They had all been instructed not to rush me or mob me; they had been told to keep going about their business, but that wasn't realistic to expect. Some were trying to stand out from the others, wetting their lips or pretending to suck one of their fingers like a dick. I actually had had more bad experiences with the overzealous ones, so that kind of thing usually reduces your chances of being selected. Unless, of course, they're really good at it. Fact is, there really isn't any formula to ensure that you'll be selected, and I very explicitly don't promise that everyone will be. But I do get to a lot of girls over the course of a four-day cruise; if you're young, hot, and visible (that is, spending a lot of time in places where I'm likely to run into you) there's a good chance you'll get your turn. It helps to have red hair, too, but the word has somehow gotten out about that so now I see a lot of bottle reds at my appearances. Since you can dye the hair but you can't reproduce the skin tone, it's usually only real reds that benefit from this particular preference of mine.

That morning, however, my eyes quickly locked on to a young skinny blonde with long straight hair. She was lying face-up in a deck chair, wearing a blue string bikini, one leg bent and one leg straight. I liked the definition of her abs; her moderate breasts appeared much larger by contrast with her flat stomach. I walked over to the side of her deck chair and asked for her ticket. She hadn't expected to be selected, and wasn't really ready, but she knew she might not get the chance again and didn't want to pass it up. She had tucked her ticket into her swimsuit, as many do; she pulled it out and handed it to me.

As soon as I took her ticket my handlers were there with the privacy screens—four medical folding screens that can in seconds completely seal off the area from outside viewing. Once we were "in private," I pulled the release on the modified kilt I wear for easy removal and, as instructed, she stroked my dick a few times and then began to suck it. Ahhhhh....no matter how many girls a day I fuck, I'll never get tired of that sensation when a new girl first takes me into her mouth. I could see now that she was very young, probably just over the minimum age restriction, and that made me harder. I reached for her suit to liberate the nearer of her tits and began playing with her nipple. She was sitting up now, legs on either side of her deck chair, looking up at me while she sucked my dick. This one shouldn't take long at all.

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In case you just dropped in from Mars or something, I guess a little explanation is necessary. I am the last fertile man on earth. The great Kurt Vonnegut once wrote a novel in which the human race went extinct in one generation because of a virus that destroyed women's eggs; he very nearly proved prophetic. The only difference is that the virus actually invades and becomes dormant in the cells that produce sperm. Infected men's sperm counts drop, but the real problem is that the virus causes sperm to be produced with crooked flagella, rendering them for all intents and purposes immobile, and sperm that can't swim don't fertilize eggs. By some accident of genetics—one that scientists are feverishly trying to understand—I am resistant to the virus. So far, I am the only known human male with this resistance—thus I am the last fertile man on earth. Sure, once in a while someone else still gets his wife or girlfriend pregnant, but for that to happen the egg has to chance into the sperm rather than the other way around. In vitro fertilization is still possible and is practiced, but unless it's sperm that I have provided these "test tube babies" are all be susceptible to the virus (while in theory, at least half of the children I father should be resistant). To control the frequency of the practice while also generating revenue, the government has introduced high tariffs on in vitro fertilization, making it prohibitively expensive for most. All in all, the birth of a baby is front-page news in all but the largest of cities nowadays.

While lawmakers around the globe try to figure out how to plan for a million-fold decline in population in the next 50 years, it is it my duty to try to preserve our species by fathering as many children as possible. The government agrees, and has passed all kinds regarding "fruitful males," protecting me like an endangered species and exempting me from many laws. I can legally have sex in public in any state of the union, for instance, and am immune from paternity obligations. But the fact that there are millions of women that want children in the United States alone and just one of me presents a distribution problem. So we have had to come up with novel ways of allowing me to come into contact with large but manageable numbers of women that want to have children, and further (since my resources are limited) to maximize the likelihood that intercourse results in conception. Sex cruises like this one have been one of the most successful methods of distribution; records show that I have fathered up to 30 children on just one four-day cruise. I'm just doing my part to save the human race; it just so happens that my part means I have to fuck as many women as physically possible.

In one of Mel Brooks' movies, the King of France famously said "It's good to be the king." He was right.

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What the blond lacked in oral sophistication she made up for in raw energy; she sucked with a simple, straightforward in-out motion, but at a very arousing tempo. I was ready for intercourse, but she wasn't; caught off-guard, she was thinking about sucking me hadn't even thought to start masturbating. Rather than waste precious time getting her aroused, I called for my personal assistant, Jill.

Jill is tall and thin, with long red hair, subtle freckles, and impressive tits. Hotter than a smelting furnace, Jill is my girl Friday, always close by and ready to lend a hand—literally, if necessary. You might say she's my right-hand man, but I prefer to call her my left-hand girl, because as long as she's around I never have to resort to using my left hand, if you know what I mean. She's always around to do whatever is needed facilitate my population maintenance efforts, whether it be warming up a prospective mother that isn't ready for sex, or extracting samples for artificial inseminations.

Jill came in to the screened area and knelt between the blonde's legs. We gently guided her to lay back on the deck chair; I moved so should still suck while lying down, while Jill pulled aside her bikini bottoms and began to lick her pussy. You might expect there to be some objections to having a woman provide cunnilingus, but its one of the many things prospective mothers agree to in their pre-boarding waivers packet. Besides, in taking this cruise they are hoping to get the chance to have sex with a man they've never met at a moment's notice; a little girl-on-girl action on the side is a drop in the bucket.

Thanks to the assistance of Jill's tongue, the blonde was starting to get wet. I pulled her other nipple out of her suit and played with it, letting her keep sucking me. I looked over at Jill who gave me the high sign—she was ready. I pulled out of the blonde's mouth, then knelt on the foot of the deck chair. She pulled her legs up to her chest. I put my hands on the armrests while Jill, helpful as always, lined up my dick with the blonde's snatch. I felt a soft wetness at the very tip of my cock and Jill letting go, so I must be in position. I pushed forward and my dick sunk easily into the young girl's pussy.

Propped up on the arms of the chair, I looked at the blonde's face—was she really 21? She looked like she could still be in high school. Well, she had to prove her age to get on board, she must be. I kept pumping her, scanning further down her body. Her breasts were nice, her legs arguably nicer. She had her eyes closed—most girls do, maybe its unsettling to look up at a stranger fucking you. She was also biting her lower lip as I thrust into her.

I have to say, one thing I do miss when I'm doing my duty like this: between the emphasis on timeliness and the fact that we are complete strangers fucking, I almost never get to see a girl have an orgasm anymore. Sometimes I'll take Jill aside just for fun and lick her copper box until she cums, but since I fuck all day long I usually want to do something other than fuck in my down time.

I decided that I wanted the girl to put her legs on my shoulders. They were quite nice and shapely since they were so skinny; I kissed one of her calves as it lay on my shoulder, pumping her the whole time. Peering between her legs at her face, I could see that she was actually starting to get into it now. I often catch girls unprepared at first, but once my dick has been pounding her pussy for a while a lot of them eventually get into it.

She was so skinny, I suddenly thought, I bet she could do the splits. I had her grab her legs just above the ankle, then spread them as far to the side as she could without bending them. Wow...she was flexible. Her legs looked a lot more like a straight line across than like a letter 'V' when she spread them. I grabbed her hips, and started fucking her intensely. She was so light, I could easily pick her whole bottom up off the chair and hold it into just the right position to fuck. She was starting to involuntarily make noises now, and opened her eyes to look at me; her expression was a combination of wonder and surprise. Whoever she usually fucked must be pretty vanilla, I thought, because her expression seemed to indicate she didn't know sex could be like this.

But her getting into it was really sexy to look at, and suddenly I knew the orgasm was about to hit. I stopped thrusting, instead pushing myself as deeply into her as I could, so that my penis was right up against the cervix when I ejaculated. I felt the familiar tightening of my balls, followed by the pleasurable waves as my dick unloaded into her pussy. With any luck, she would conceive.

I pulled out and stood up; Jill was there with a wet towel and dry one and helped me clean up my junk. Other handlers escorted in a young man, who dropped to his knees and started licking the blonde's pussy. A woman's orgasm helps suck the sperm into the uterus, so we encourage significant others to lick their woman to orgasm after I have delivered my seed. They are prohibited from having sex with her themselves for at least 24 hours, or risk undermining my fertilization.

Trying not to disrupt the activity on the chair, Jill snapped an orange wristband around the girl's ankle, indicating that I had already fucked her. When I take a girl's ticket, it provides both a tracking system, together with the orange wristband, ensures that I don't fuck the same girl twice (unless, of course, I want to. It's good to be the king). It also gives her the right to refuse if she doesn't want to have sex at a particular time and place, but since I make it clear that I'll only be able to service about half of the women on board during the course of the cruise, almost no one ever does for fear they won't be chosen a second time.

I put kilt back on and put a huge clock hung on a chain around my neck. We have learned that it works best to give me at least an hour of refractory time between fucks. Sometimes the Coolidge effect would permit me to perform sooner, but experience has shown that fucking again too quickly results in low sperm counts and low probability of fertilization. The clock around my neck acts as a countdown timer until the time I will again be looking for a partner. Between the kilt and the clock, I guess I must look kind of like a white, Irish Flava Flav. I don't care—when you've got what most women want and no one else can deliver, it doesn't matter how you look. In fact, I understand that kilts like mine are becoming a fashion statement in New York, as men try to convey to prospective mates an air of virility they only wish they still had.

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After the blonde, I had donated sperm to a brunette with big tits, another blonde, and a very young-looking, skinny Asian girl. It was now after lunch, time to do my duty again (darn!), and I was back out on the deck to select the girl I would do next.

My, there were a lot of beautiful women. Not surprising—prospective mothers are required to submit a photo when they apply for a berth on this cruise, and my staff screens them. I'm not gonna pick a fat ugly girl; it just seems cruel to even get her hopes up by accepting her cash for the cruise.

Most women fight for the seats where they are most likely to be seen. But way in the back corner, I thought I saw a glimpse of red. I headed that way, looking over the ladies and waving politely, and as I got closer I saw that way back, in the last row of chairs, was a spectacular natural redhead sitting next to a boyfriend or husband. She was looking at me anxiously like most girls do; I didn't look at him, but I sensed that he was scowling. I moved closer to confirm, and as I did I saw her pale skin against her jewel-green bikini, and wonderful freckles covered her flat belly. I picked her.

I walked up to her and asked for her ticked. Excited, the reached into her suit to pull it out. I started to take it, then I heard a sour voice behind me say "You've really got a nice racket going her, don't you."

"Roger, we've talked about this," she redhead hissed. "Stop it."

I half-turned to the man seated in the chair next to the redhead. "Excuse me?" I asked.

"You say you just want to ensure the survival of the human race. Then why don't you just donate your sperm, instead of using it as an excuse to sleep with another man's wife?" he said bitterly.

"As it happens, I do donate my sperm," I told him, "and you can't afford it. So I offer couples like other ways to try to have children. But if you don't want my help, there are plenty of other women here that do." I threw the ticket back at the girl and moved on.

I heard her yell "Goddamn it Roger, this was our only chance at having a family! DEAL WITH IT." Then, in violation of the rules, she ran after me, grabbed my hand, and pleaded with me. "Please, don't turn your back on me because of what my husband said. I really want to have a baby."

I looked at her, and saw that she was on the brink of tears. My handlers came up, prepared to remove her for breaking the rules, but I raised my hand telling them to hold off.

"Madam," I addressed her formally, "it seems clear that you and your husband are not on the same page with regard to the issue of parenthood. I am not willing to send a child into a family situation like that."

"Roger is a good man, and he'll be a great father," she pleaded. "He knows he can't father a child, and he's fine with raising any baby of mine. It's just...the having sex with you part he's having trouble with. You have to admit, not that long ago an arrangement like this would have been unheard of."

"That's the way the ship runs, and you agreed to those rules before you signed on," I replied.

"I do agree to those rules," she pleaded, pulling out and trying to give me her ticket. "I gave you my ticket...oh, maybe I should have just left Roger home..." She was fighting back tears.

She had agreed to fuck me, I'd turned her down because of what her husband had said. And she was a smoking hot redhead, my favorite flavor, so I was still interested in doing her. But I couldn't fuck her here and now; she was breaking the rules and if I rewarded her rules infraction by relenting I'd be mobbed by pussy next time I came on deck—and every woman on the ship it seemed was intently watching the drama unfold.

I called one of my handlers over, and whispered to him "Offer her Fantasy Room 2 at 8:00 tonight. Explain to her what will be expected, then tell her to take it or leave it."

The handler took her aside and started whispering in her ear. I saw her eyes get wide with fright as I walked off the deck and into the lower floors. Walking around below decks, I found a sandy-haired cutie with huge knockers and fucked her instead.

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I have a couple of special fantasy rooms—as in fulfilling my fantasies—on board the ship. The only time I make appointments during sex cruises is when I'm going to be using one of them.

Fantasy Room 2 is the bondage dungeon. Every now and then I like to tie a girl up and fuck her in the ass. If the redhead was going to get the sperm she wanted, she was going to have to earn it the hard way.

I was relaxing with Jill in my private quarters after dinner, waiting to hear if the redhead actually showed up; only about half of the girls I invite to the dungeon do. Truth is, I'm not into hurting a girl, I just like the feeling of being in control while she's restrained. But they don't know that, and a lot of them are too afraid to keep the appointment, even if it means giving up on perhaps their only chance at conception. This one must have been serious, though, because just after 8:00 there was a squawk on the ship's intercom to my room announcing that she had arrived the handlers were getting her prepared and into costume. Excellent, I thought to myself.

Jill turned on the closed-circuit TV in my room for me so I could watch. They were just bringing her in. She looked real good in the dungeon outfit: her fiery red hair cascaded loosely around her head, contrasting starkly with the leather slave collar with a single iron ring in the middle. She was given bracelets and anklets to match the collar, making it quite easy to restrain the wearer in any number of positions. She was wearing black fishnet stockings with black, clunk heels—sorry if I disappoint, I just like them better than boots. For now she was wearing a short, loose black PVC skirt, which would soon be easily removed using its full-length zipper. Her pale, flat belly and its cute little freckles suggested an innocence incongruous with her serious bondage gear. And to top it off, she had on a black leather cupless bra, which held up her pale breasts and their fragile pink nipples so that they jutted out proudly. I could see that if I used the crop on her, it would leave big red welts that would ruin the almost ethereal paleness of her skin. Eh...I'm not that big on the crop anyway.

"Ask them what her name is," I said to Jill. She raised an eyebrow slightly; usually I didn't care. She relayed the message anyway, then ducked into the bedroom to change into her outfit.

"Erin," came the reply a few minutes later. Of course...a beautiful redhead, named after Ireland.

Erin was led over the large, wooden "T" frame in the center of the room. She held out her arms at her sides while my handlers attached the iron rings of her anklets to the frame. Then they chained her ankles to its base, and left her there to wait for me.

I watched as her eyes, wide with fright, surveyed the implements in the room. Hanging on the walls of my dungeon are some truly frightening implements of torture—none of which I would in a million years actually use. But she doesn't know that, and the sicko in me likes to let her stand there for a while, looking around the room and growing ever more frightened that I will really hurt her.