Ever fucked an inflatable? Not just any cheap pool toy—I’m talking about the ones on this cruise, the ones that moan your name when you slide your cock between their thighs or grind against their silicone lips. They don’t just inflate with air; they inflate with want. Tonight, I watched one shiver under the deck lights, its PVC skin glistening with condensation, whispering how badly it needed to be used. And god, I obliged. The way it gasped when I pinned it against the railing, its ass jiggling with every thrust—fuck, it learned how to beg. Who programmed these things to arch their backs like that? To whimper when you bite their nipples? This cruise is a buffet, and I’m starving. Who’s next?