Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/shark-reef/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
The second round was more mutual. We ended up humping each other face to face, each trying to outdo the other with pinches and caresses without breaking our intense and wonderful kiss. I took completely unfair advantage of his exquisitely-sensitive ass-lips and he play my nipples like a violin. I came first but only by a 'head' and he followed immediately as my slime created a foamy slickness for his dick to plough through. As he spasmed, I muttered to myself as much as anything, "I can't let you go Ian. I can't. I can't and if that damns me, I'm damned." We fell asleep still kissing.
Shark Reef 11: Airplanes, Historic and Modern
By Bear Pup
I woke to a strong, midafternoon light and debated whether it was worth it to get up in the sun or wait for dusk. I decided I wanted a fresh look inside the container that held the water pump. The mystery of why anyone, ever, would have been on this bizarre stretch of sand was beyond me, and I really wanted to know.
My banging around inside brought Ian, who first checked ruthlessly for Spider Army Patrols before gingerly helping me. He wouldn't come near the boxes, but he'd take what I handed him as long I showed him that I had thoroughly check for spiders. There were six wooden boxes, basically like old-time banana crates. Ian arranged the materiel by type. Nearly all were spare parts for the pump and cans of grease or oil. At the bottom of the smallest box was a short stack of books that were now just a moldering mess. The real kicker, though, was the shipping on that box. It had been turned to the back and was still in plastic.
TIGHAR C/O SOLOMON ISLANDS PORT AUTHORITY DOWLING STREET, HONIARA, SOLOMON ISLANDS
HOLD AT PORT FOR PICKUP PROPERTY OF THE INTERNATIONAL GROUP FOR HISTORIC AIRCRAFT RECOVERY AND THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY
HAND-EXAMINE ONLY DO NOT X-RAY CONTAINS UNDEVELOPED FILM
Well, there sure as hell wasn't any undeveloped film. Apparently, they'd just reused the box for parts and those books I mentioned, then forgotten them.
World War II had turned damned near every Pacific island into a military site. Historic Aircraft? Maybe someone had been searching the area for WWII planes? But that made little sense. It wasn't like such a search would take long enough that a pump to bring up fresh water would be cost-effective. It implied that they planned to be here for a while, which meant a meticulous search, and the container was damned sure of this century, not the last.
"Oi! JB! This might be important!" I jumped over to where Ian was trying to separate pages of the books, three paperbacks with completely degraded covers. "You can still read the inside pages. All three are about that Amelia Earhart woman. What would they be doing here?" I started nodding as pieces fell into place.
"Pacific Atoll. Amelia Earhart. Historic Aircraft. Setting up for a lengthy stay. Yeah. That all seems to fit. Someone was here looking for her, maybe? It's not like you could do much in a few days, so you either live off a boat of set up something like a base camp? And you'd want something as an emergency shelter if a storm came. You could do worse than a giant steel box anchored to the ground underneath. But they didn't find anything, so why not take the stuff with them?"
I was muttering to myself but Ian answered as if I'd been asking him directly. "That is a majorly-old pump, JB. Like from the 50s. Scrap or salvage, maybe? Not worth the effort to take apart? And the container would have been a write-off, wouldn't it? Damned near impossible to get back out and why bother? What would you do with it after?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. Well, at least we know we're someplace that people have visited and explored. We'll be on maps. That's got to be worth something."
We found nothing else of interest. Some cigarette butts in the bottom, back corner of the container. We built up the fire and got rid of the butts and other detritus. At low tide, just as the sun was starting to set, I made a quick run to the old nest and got the Teeny Bop and Useless bags. While I fished, I set Ian to laying out all the electronics and bright fabrics on the widest part of the dry sand, anchoring the cloth with coconuts and the shiny-black electronics. Kindles and such were put face-down; those with glossy, reflective screens face-up.
It took forever to catch dinner, and when I finally did, it was disappointing. The silver-pink thing was mainly scales and bones, so we supplemented that with a couple of Lunk-Lunk's protein powder drinks and some extra dried fruit.
When the fire had died, we did something I'd always dreamed of -- well, to be honest, I'd dreamed it would be a woman, but the whole 'under a blanket of stars' thing still worked. I coated us both with a light sheen of the DEET and laid out Lunk-Lunk sheets next to the popping embers. The sky was alive with twinkling stars and a wide moon. We decided -- okay, no, Ian threatened to nut be again if I refused -- that Ian's ass was healed enough for serious play. Something about being completely in the open, with no Mylar roof or trees to block the night, made Ian incredibly vocal... and me as well.
I took a long time, too long for Ian by far, working him open and teasing his luscious hole. He exhorted me in a wild mix of wordless noises, Irish epithets and moaning pleas. He screamed in joy as I breached him, legs locked behind my back and driving his fingernails into my shoulders. He howled and thrashed when I bottomed out, plunging past his prostate over and over. I got two orgasms out of him before I blew and rolled to the side, utterly spent.
Ian woke me perhaps half an hour later and I moaned when I realized he was on top of me. He'd sucked me in my post-prandial snooze until I was hard and slathered me with more lube. I realized what was happened as he was positioning me to enter him. The view of him writhing, driving my cock deep within his freckle-flecked, milky-white body under the star-freckled blue-black of the Milky Way was the most-beautiful sight I'd ever witnessed. Ian rode me to another shattering climax. I have no knowledge of how we got there, but I woke well after dawn under the Mylar with Ian snuggled firmly into my chest. I can't honestly say I ever in my life woke happier or more content.
It took me a minute to understand what had woken me. A bug was buzzing incessantly by the big container. Whatever it was left just before I got there. I used the facilities and wandered over to the beach. Ian joined me shortly with a variety of small bottles. One 'bra-strap' more or less closed off a small pool on the lagoon side. The tide was very low, and the pool, about four feet deep in the middle, was perhaps five or six inches deep around the small open space on the inner edge. We did a quick check with the mask and saw nothing inimical, just a flurry of little shiny fish flicking across the pool.
We bathed each other again, and were both very relieved to see that, while Ian's ass was tender, it was nowhere near as bad as it had been that first time. This time, I saved his hair for the end. I had him float on his back and I pulled his head to my belly and luxuriantly soaped and massaged him, then did the same with the conditioner. His moans made me harder and happier than I'd been in a very long while. I had just rinsed that out and we noticed the tide was in enough that it was prudent to get out of the water when the insect returned, more insistent than ever.
"Um, JB? That's a, well, that sounds like an engine, doesn't it?"
"FUCK! Build the fire! RUN!"
He did and I rushed to the trees and started ripping off small limbs with green leaves. As the dry wood caught for Ian, I added small amounts of the greenery to get smoke. We never saw whatever was making the noise and it faded away, but I told Ian that was good news. I'd heard it earlier and further away which sounded like they might be running a search pattern. We continued to gather and pile on layers of dry and wet woods until, gradually, we had a pretty respectable and very smoky fire.
An hour later, as Ian and I rested in the shade of the trees, occasionally scuttling out into the bright morning sun to tend the fire, we heard the noise again. I threw an armload of green leaves and twigs onto the fire and watched a massive, grey-black cloud plume upwards and away to the west. The sound was certainly not a jet, and not a boat, either. Some sort of propeller-plane?
We got our answer quickly, and the 'insect' identification seemed even more apt. It was an old cargo plane with red stripes, very much like a wasp. It had passed off the north, still headed west and we watched as the sound engines faded. I'd just told Ian not to worry, that there'd be another pass, when the sound started getting louder. Instead of continuing its grid search, it was headed toward us at a steep angle, getting lower. We could actually see the man who pushed the crate out of the plane it was so low.
The small crate, perhaps two feet on each side, hit the sand perhaps fifty yards from us where Ian had laid out his giant X. When it hit, it practically exploded in splinters. Ian got there ahead of me. Inside layer after layer of bubble wrap -- seriously? bubble wrap? -- were two, two-liter bottles of vitamin water; a first aid kit with antibiotics, pain meds, zinc-oxide sunscreen and DEET; two smaller boxes labelled ORP with the New Zealand flag on the end ... and a small, black box with bold, white type a dozen languages, six on each side.
OPEN LID. TURN ON. CHANNEL 16.
My hands were shaking so badly that I thought I'd drop the thing. One edge slid up to form an antenna, if I had to guess. There was a toggle switch for off/on and I flipped that, then looked for the channel. I didn't need to; it blared to life.
"--ing repeats. This is an official Search and Rescue channel. If you have immediate information relevant to Virgin Australia Flight 9, press send and identify yourself, then release. Dites le français. Decir español. Diga Português. Shuō zhōngwén. Skazhem, russkiy. This message repeats. This is an official Search and Rescue channel. If you have immediate information relevant to Virgin Australia Flight 9, press send and identify yourself, then release. Dites le fran--"
I pushed the giant red button and shakily said, "Th-Th-Th-This is JB Cantrell! Hello?"
"...cial Search and Rescue channel. If you have immediate information relevant to Virgin Australia Fli-- Respondent, acknowledge with name only, please. Release the button afterwards."
"JB Cantrell!"
"JB Cantrell. Please answer questions yes or no and release the button afterwards. Are you in a safe and secure location?"
"Yes!"
"Yes or No and release. Are you seriously injured?"
"No!"
"Yes or No and release. Are you sick?"
"No!"
"Yes or No and release. Are others alive with you?"
"Yes!"
"Yes or No and release. Do you have shelter?"
"Yes!"
"Yes or No and release. Are you Jason Benjamin Cantrell of Salt Lake City, Utah, US?"
"Yes! That's Me!"
"Mr Cantrell, a cutter in on its way to your location. They estimate arrival in a bit over 10 hours, but darkness will complicate retrieving you. Yes or No and release. Do you feel safe until dawn tomorrow?"
"Yes! YES-YES-YES!"
"One yes is plenty, Mr Cantrell. Respond with only a number and release: How many others are alive with you?"
"One."
"If you have seen people who did not survive, how many, or say none."
"One."
"Yes or No and release. Is the other living person near to the transmitter?"
"Yes."
"Yes or No and release. Is the other living person able to speak on his own?"
"Yes."
"Mr Cantrell, please pass the transmitter to the other person."
They went on to identify Ian and determine that he was healthy and that he agreed that we could wait until morning.
"Mr Doyle and Mr Cantrell. We have your location pinpointed within a matter if a few feet using the GPS in the unit you're holding. We have a rescue cutter on the way. Please stay as calm as you can, take no risks and await rescue." Ian and I were jumping around like madmen.
"The recording will take over again in case others need to report. If your situation worsens, press send and say the word 'Emergency' three times, then your name, then release. For instance, 'Emergency. Emergency. Emergency. Jones.' It may take several moments to respond, and we will talk you through your options. Please do not do this unless it is a true emergency as it might interfere with efforts to rescue others. Please acknowledge that you understand, yes or no, and release."
"Yes!" we both screamed in unison.
"This is an official Search and Rescue channel. If you have immediate information relevant to Virgin Australia Flight 9, press send and identify yourself, then release. Dites le français. Decir español. Diga Português. Shuō zhōngwén. Skazhem, russkiy. This message repeats."
I pulled Ian into a hug so tight I could hear his joints crack. He was hugging me just as tightly. We grabbed the stuff they'd dropped and ran, hand in hand like schoolkids, to the nest. I couldn't help it, and neither could Ian. We were no sooner under the Mylar than his legs were locked around me and my lips found his. The implacable cadence of the Search & Rescue team supplied the rhythm for our lovemaking.
I had never cried during sex before, but we both wept and sobbed and kissed so intensely that it was as if the world was ending. In a way it was, and that truth fueled the most intense lovemaking I had ever experienced. Ian gnawed on my nipples as I fucked him, or pulled scratches down my sides. I fucked him in every position I could think of and a few he helped to improvise. I don't know how many times he came that hot, sweltering afternoon, but it was two for me. That brought me to four in 24 hours, a personal best since I was, myself, a teenager.
We slept for a while, initially with me still plugged into that amazing ass. We awoke just before dusk started to settle, checked the tidepool and washed again. We held hands as we came back onto the beach. Neither of us felt like fish and we cracked open the "Operational Ration Packs". It was like Christmas.
There a steel bowl-thing; apparently, these were boil-in-bag things. Nad, I rejoiced, an honest-to-God SPOON. The first pouch had Chicken Jambalaya, the next was something called Moroccan Lamb, and then utterly-vile paste called Marmite (we thought it might be fuel to cook the stuff with but it wouldn't light) as well as tea bags, instant noodles, bread, cookies, canned cheese, towelettes, candy... everything. The other had Chilli Beef with Rice (apparently it was in case we had a dog or something), Chicken Vegetable Pasta, a fucking amazing cookie called an Anzac Biscuit and another dozens goody pouches.
While the edible stuff heated up in water baths over the fires, we fired up a bowl and each took a single hit of the hash pipe. Over the dinner, we sipped a couple of baby bottles of booze. We just smiled giddily at each other throughout.
"You know, Ian, the next time we fuck, we'll be in a real bed with actual sheets?"
He went instantly silent and still. In a very small, very resigned voice he replied, "And then we go our separate ways. How, um, how long do you think we have? A day or two, at least?"
I smiled slyly. "I hope this sounds as good in my head tomorrow when the hash wears off, but I just had a very interesting idea about that." We cuddled and cooed together without actual sex until we both drifted off.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 32 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 24 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 25 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 17 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Shark Reef: 11 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 8 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 7 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/ Ashes & Dust: 2 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/