Date: Sun, 18 Jun 2017 19:25:25 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Shark Reef 8

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.

<eof>

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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/