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.
A heard a high, keening wail and Ian's ass tried to snap my cock off completely. I felt him again gush between us. I got one more thrust in before I lost all sense, all control, and the largest, longest, loudest, lustiest load I'd ever dropped.
Shark Reef 8: Aperire Sepulcrum Culex
By Bear Pup
You know, I read about these marathon sex sessions where guys fuck for hours and drop load after load. Fuck, how do they do that?!? I was out like a light while Ian was still covering my exhausted face with kisses. I awoke in the night to find him snuggled into me. He had arranged my cock so that it slid up his wet crack.
I reached down to his slimy and rampant prick and started to jack him gently, slowly. I started titty-fucking his ass. I didn't know what else to call it. I used those fleshy globes and let my swollen cock glide up and down the cum- and lube-slick canyon. I felt when he came fully awake, then heard as he moaned lustily. The noises of not just approval but demand for more made me wild and I unloaded all over my hair stomach and his utterly-smooth back just as I yanked a big, grunting, whimpering load from his own dick.
I heard him sleepily whisper, "Oh, please, God. Don't let this be a dream. Or if it is, don't ever let me wake up..." Before he drifted off again to sleepy-land. The explosion of ego-fed lust that those words injected into my veins made me literally bear-growl into the night, claim for the world to hear, 'This prey is mine!'
I next woke to that special blue-black darkness that is thickened by the faintest start of lightening to the east. I stepped a few feet into the trees and let loose a long, satisfied stream of morning piss. The acrid aroma brought back my sense of smell to tragic and unhappy effect. I reeked! I smelled like a latrine in a whorehouse. I went back to find Ian rousing as well. He bolted to the actual latrine and I waited, pulling a few things together in a small pack.
When he got back, we both reacted badly to the smell of the other and convincing Ian that a bath was a good idea barely took a grunt. We double-timed it to the north end of the island. I forced Ian to wait (he did so several yards away) until it was light enough for me to verify that the tide pool was still isolated and make sure that nothing obviously-deadly was waiting.
I found a small depression that was a little over knee-deep, perhaps three feet by four, and we agreed that would be out plunge pool. I got as wet as possible, then Ian insisted he clean me off, which he did with firm -- and respectful, perhaps even loving? -- strokes. He had me crouch as he tenderly ministered to my ass, cock and balls. The body wash made me slick and shortened my breath. Damn, fuck, this kid pushed buttons I didn't know I had!
When he was, reluctantly, done, I rinsed as completely as possible, damning the somehow-sticky salt water. Ian hissed as he couched in the now-milky plunge-pool and I winced, thinking of what the stinging salt water would to that that abused, tender and fucking amazing asshole. It did nothing for the erection he'd brought me to with his wash job.
He came out and I brooked no discussion, simply began to lather his lovely, long, curly-red locks. He sighed deeply and repeatedly as I worked the shampoo into his hair and massaged his scalp. I laid him back gently into the lapping water, taking a long time to gently tease out each strand until it was clear of the foam. He giggled when I sat him up and slathered his head with conditioner.
I took a long, long, wonderfully-long time washing what I now could only think of as my Ian, my Irish Lad, my... lover. My heart beat quicker when I realized I'd never, not with any woman, felt the fierce, protective near-obsession I did over this boy. I spent time, a lot of time, with every spot that had previously made him sigh or wriggle, gasp or giggle and I had him in the whimpering stage when I decided I had to get the worst over with. I reached south and he pulled back.
"Um, JB? I, uh, there was, um, a little blood? When I, you know, went earlier? I mean just a little! Nothing to worry about! Just, well, be... gentle?" He whimpered, verging wildly from fear-of-pain to fear-of-offending.
I pulled his head close and purred into his ear, "Baby, this is gonna sting. I don't want to hurt you, honey, but you need me to do this. I'm really, really sorry, baby, but you just hold onto me and I will make it quick, okay? I' I'll make it right, Ian. Just hold onto me, baby." He turned to me and answered with a deep, intense kiss that took my breath away. It was minutes before I recalled what I needed to do and began to gently wash first his cock and balls, then taint and ever so slowly worked back to his ass.
I kissed him deeply and passionately when I finally got to the puffy and swollen lips. Ian whimpered in pain, then groaned, clenching me so tightly I could feel his nails bite into my back and shoulders. I washed back up the crack then splashed water to rinse as much as I could before I returned to the lips. This time I washed more thoroughly allowing the tip of my soapy finger glide up inside. Ian's entire body stiffened and I could feel him sob in pain. I quickly rinsed the area then stood, carrying him in my arms, gently setting him into the plunge poll and rinsing everywhere, including the conditioner from his hair.
I'd been forced to release the kiss, and was utterly undone by the way his eyes locked on mine and the complete, unquestioning trust I saw there. "Ian, I'm sorry, baby. I think you're out of commission back there for a while."
His eyes got wide and worried. "No. No, I can't be! You said we'd take care of each other's needs! I have to be right to, you know, take c-c-c-care of you."
"Shh, baby. It's not like that. Remember, I'm a lot older and couldn't keep up with your pace anyways! You heal up while I recharge. Sound a deal sport? And if you get antsy, you come to me and I'll get you taken care of, okay, baby?"
A tender, slightly-wicked and mischievous grin came to his face. "And if I said I was antsy now...?"
I pulled him into a tight kiss, this time with heat, no trace of tenderness. I reached down and began to test the lubrication value of salt water saturated with soap and condition. Final grade? C-minus, but good enough to pass. Ian whimpered to a quick explosion and we both laughed as his cock erupted. The slit was just below the water's surface and each spurt sent a tiny dimple of cum above the rippling sea-skin.
The top crescent of the sun was now above the horizon. We scurried back to the nest and dried off with the towel. Note to self: Next time you fly over an ocean, be sure to pack Deep Woods Off, several towels and nice picnic set with real silverware. I sprayed us both with the Avon crap and then sunscreen, then both of us dressed in long sleeves and short pants and, horror of horrors, shoes for Operation Mystery Door. I also had a pair of gloves (ladies, way too small but whatever). We also had water bottles, cell phones, the multitool, fishing kit and a few lighters, along with the longest Ninja Knitting Needles we owned.
The first obstacle was the wide expanse of water. This was no minor issue. The distance covered was nearly half the width of our own small island home. Every single step would put us at risk from any number of evil denizens of the reef, ready to pounce, poison or pierce with fierce teeth. We waited for the lowest tide, then I walked out, telling Ian to stay at least ten yards (I corrected to ten meters) behind me and try to step exactly where I did. Yeah, yeah, I know those are completely-incompatible instructions. Sue me. I didn't want the kid hurt, okay?
It turned out that by going to the ocean-side and staying there, only two spots were more than calf-deep, and those exposed us for only a single step to just at or above the knee. At the ebb tide, it also didn't seem that any of our guardian monsters were even interested in moving in or out of the lagoon. We made it to the other island in an embarrassingly-short time. I was abashed at the 'inaccessible' opinion, but Ian's eyes shone at my 'bravery' in the crossing. Fuck me if I was gonna disabuse the lad of his reverence!
On the way to the north half, we spotted two bags and pulled them to a safer, more-accessible location for later. We were intent on... The Door. We nearly sprinted to the beach, venturing into the mangrove fringe twice.
It was basically a BOGO island, buy one get one free. In the exact middle existed a channel that was completely dry with the low tide and looked like it would just barely separate to two parts at high tide. Being a (well, until recently) straight guy, the image of the islands' footprint could be seen as nothing other than massive Double-D bra, tits point to the ocean. The two ends even had longish sand bars trailing into the lagoon; bra-straps, no less! Our destination was the left armpit, the very tip of the island pair.
Bizarrely, we slowed and went utterly silent as we approached the spot, almost creeping the last twenty yards. Some ancient hunting instinct had kicked in for both of us, 'Don't spook the prey.'
The image that slowly resolved in the morning light was utterly-alien at first. Strange angles, corrugations and colors played over it in the shadows. Suddenly, BAM, my brain recognized a cargo container. Those corrugated-metal boxes ubiquitous in the modern word, this one ajar but dark inside.
I laughed aloud, making Ian startle, when I realized that I even knew the logo I could still make out in the faded paint. Hell, I'd damned well better know it! Hyundai Merchant Marine carried nearly all my company's products since we manufactured in South Korea.
Something inside me quailed at a horrible-ironic thought. Was I about to open a door and find boxes and boxes of (utterly pointless for survival) Papyrus Glass? My company created a glass formulation that allows bending to compete with Corning's Willow Glass. Amusingly, we used the same metaphor from different cultures. "The mighty oak/stiff reed stands against the wind and breaks; the willow/papyrus-reed bends with the wind and survives." My job was to sell the shit to manufactories around the world.
The position of the container was... odd. No; make that impossible. Nestled as it was in the trees, there was no conceivable way that it had floated to this position, and containers don't (usually) fly on aircraft. It had to have been put here for some reason. I put on the too-tight gloves and took hold of the edge, then wrenched open the screeching, screaming, unhappy door against the sand and detritus that had accumulated.
I hadn't spared any energy or attention to what might be inside until I, huffing and puffing, opened it enough to really see inside. I looked up as I caught my breath. "Huh. Creepy but okay. What do you think we do with a container completely packed with spider-webs and dead bugs?" It really looked like an Indian Jones set. The webs were everywhere, crisscrossing and weaving throughout the entire box. I wonder briefly how many spiders it took to weave so much and capture so many hundreds of nasty little bity things.
"So, um, Ian. Any sugges--" Apparently, my loyal Irish Setter had already done the spider-to-volume math. He stood thirty feet away in ankle deep water looking at the container like it was Cthulhu rising from R'lyeh to claim his soul.
I turned back and considered. There were only six bright spots, all along the top edge at the other end of the container. Air holes. The 'roof' was sound and solid. I tried to rock the thing and found it firmly and immovably settled. Fuck the spiders! This was a reliable and strong shelter! The only reliable things I could remember from 'World's Deadliest' and 'Fang and Claw' episodes over the year about webs were: Sticky (duh), strong and flammable. Hmm...
I stepped back and wrenched a branch off a nearby tree, then used the multitool to sharpen the end. I jammed a stack of thick, dry leaves on the end and applied my trusty lighter. The leaf-torch seemed eager, so I started waving it around the door of the container. Flammable? Hell, yeah! The webs curled and smoked like you wouldn't believe! I moved slightly forward and stared to run the flames right along the walls of the container.
You know, I can be really stupid at times. So, some giant, grotesque alien with way too few legs comes to Salt Lake City and starts burning everything in a slow wave, one end to the other. Yeah, right; my grand plan is to sit there and 'watch all the pretty colors' like some spaced-out stoner until I was consumed as well. Hell, no! I'd get the fuck out of Dodge!
Sixty-three billion, nine-hundred-million and twelve spiders made the same fucking choice. The walls and ceiling of the door boiled with arachnid refugees. My only salvation was that very few of the things had, evidently, been on the floor of the container. I retreated at speed after flinging the burning spear into the center of the great steel box and joined a squealing Ian in the edge of the surf. I thought frantically: Everyone knows that zombies can't get across salt water -- does that work for an enraged army of killer spiders bent on revenge for genocidal flames?
Yeah, laugh, fucker. How would YOU have reacted?
After a while, the acrid fumes subsided. I cautiously detached Ian's claws from my body and went to survey the damage. About eighty percent of the spider-webs were gone, melted or consumed in the flames. I made another makeshift torch and removed the rest, using an iPhone with a flashlight app to make sure no corner held a critter that I was uncomfortable meeting.
I hollered at Ian with increasing level of invective, culminating in, "You will never have another fucking orgasm in your fucking life if you do not get your fucking 'arse' here in the next ten fucking seconds! I mean it, Ian! Ten! Nine! Eight!"
Ian moved cautiously into the gloom, his own phone-light darting everywhere to be certain that the Spider Army from Hell had actually relinquished the citadel. What was left was a (slightly charred) set of boxes and machine parts toward the back. I started opening the boxes and found nothing but grease, oil and parts of unknowable function.
"Um, JB? Can you, well, take a look at this?" Ian was studying a jumbled pile of machine parts. Like that would help us. I tried to shift some of it to get a better look but nothing would budge. I pulled so hard at one point that I ended up on my ass, staring at the plaque that was now at eye level. 'WILDEN PUMPS' it said. My mind did a back-flip to the old movies I'd grown up watching and the jumble of machine parts began to make sense. I leapt up and applied my whole bodyweight to a handle that screamed in protest, but finally moved. I did that again and again. Suddenly, I screamed and cried in wonderment as a trickle of water, FRESH water, dribbled out of the spout.
I leapt on Ian and dragged him into the morning light outside, rolling on the ground and kissing him madly, wildly, uncontrollably. "You fucking, brilliant bastard! You've saved us, Ian! Baby, you did it!"
We spent the day cleaning the container out and discussing why it existed at all and who might have put it here. When the next low tide came, we quick-marched to the Nest and carefully undid every cable, every zip-tie, packing everything up in the various pieces of luggage and ferrying it across to our new home.
Ian called the halt to that as I was well over thigh-depth on the last pass and he physically restrained me from another trip. We got everything into the container, but realized it was, well, nasty, stuffy and stifling with a strong redolence of burned webs. I set up one of the Mylar space-blankets a few yards away at the nearest convenient set of trees. This time, to Ian's wide smile, I angled it. We would, with luck, never need to collect rainwater again. We'd test the pump later. It was nearly noon when we finished. We each ate a protein bar, some dried fruit and a liter of water before settling on a fresh Lunk-Lunk shirt-blanket. I pulled Ian's now-naked body to me. Sleepily I whispered, "I love you Ian." I heard a gasp just before I drifted into contented sleep.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 29 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 21 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 22 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 14 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Shark Reef: 8 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 5 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 3 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments) .../incest/in-gods-love/