Blood and Salt Ch. 01

"Oh this is tight, lads, even I won't be able to ruin it in just one fuck!" More drunken laughter greeted his words, and some shouted suggestions for ways he might loosen Huw's passage.

Huw had eyes only for the stern. The lad from the wheel, was pressing in close against the watchman. The thuggish sailor glanced at the younger man and then took his hand and guided it down to his open breeches. The lad tentatively took a firm grip of the pirate's penis, beginning to work his hand up and down its stubby length.

Behind the Celt, the pirate was trying to force another finger into his arse.

"What is it, mighty Huw? Scared of a few fingers! Do I need to open you up with a belaying pin before I have my fun? You are as uptight as a virgin on her wedding night, relax damn your black eyes, or must I cut a hole in you to welcome my vessel?"

Huw forced himself to relax, allowing Lodbrog to force a second finger inside him, ignoring the burning pain. He felt his ring being stretched and in spite of himself tried to pull away from the intrusion, but his legs were held firm and his body had nowhere to go against the rough wooden barrel. Only the knowledge that he was not alone – and the press of the sheathed dagger against his chest – allowed him to keep from crying out.

"Tight ... but I wager I am not the first man to board this ship!"

More laughter from the curs, pressing round even closer now. Huw saw that the pirate spy at the stern was barey paying attention any more, lost in ecstacy as Aelfric's young ally worked his prick, fast and hard. As Lodbrog worked his fingers inside Huw, the lad on the stern brought the pirate spy to the point of no return.

Huw saw that Aelfric had lashed the wheel and left his post. As the watchman's seed spurted over the lads hand, the big Saxon struck. A meaty paw covered the weasel-faced pirate's mouth, still lost in the throes of orgasm, and a red blossom spreading under his shirt from his chest. The body was dragged away from the railing, out of sight, and the lad took his place, turning a burning gaze on drama playing out below. Huw caught his eye and he nodded once, twice, quickly.

Without ceremony Lodbrog's fingers were withdrawn, and Huw felt a squirmy, sticky wet pressure at his backside. The pirate captains cock, slickened with his own juices, quested back and forth over the Celt's fuzzy cheeks like a blind worm, and Huw felt the fat calloused hands on his lower back pressing him down against the barrel as the pirate finally began his rape.

"Bring me in, pilot!" shouted the captain, drunk on power. Huw felt rough hands at his cheeks then, helping to guide Lodbrog's cock into his crack. As the wet head thrust through his defences, he let out an involuntary yelp of pain and angry humiliation that sparked fresh abuse and laugher from his captors. The thronging pirate crew was fixated now, some of them with each other's stiff pricks in their hands, others fired to begin their own sweaty congress, rutting like dogs against crates. One of them was grunting and straining against a younger man with empty black eyes, pinned against the mast - clearly one of their most recent recruits.

At that point, the whole vessel shifted.

"What the ..." Lodbrog kept his balance - just - by grabbing against Huw to steady himself, his prick buried deep in the Welshman's backside. Huw clenched his arse muscles - hard - and strained his hands against the partly cut ropes. A sudden shout went up from the circling pirates, two of them falling in sprays of red blood, a third shrieking and clawing at his face where a crossbow bolt blossomed from his eye. Lodbrog, drunk and dazed with lust, struggled to understand what was happening.

With an audible snap, Huw pulled his hands free and grabbed the dagger against his chest, unsheathing and striking behind him, a savage slashing blow with Aelfric's knife. He felt resistance, and a cry, and Lodbrog fell across him as a dead weight, still buried up to the hilt, slickening Huw's back with hot blood. The Welshman wriggled and strained, causing the filthy pirate to drop away. As he slipped out of Huw, the Welshman roared in exaltation, leaning away from the barrel to free his ankles from their ropes, slashing at the same time at the faces of the two pirates holding them.

He felt a moment of disgust to see that his own weapon had stiffened slightly during his abuse, pressing against the front of his breechclout. Then with a wild roar he was free, and all thoughts of disgust went from him.

Aelfric was in amongst the distracted pirates who were at last starting to realise the danger in their midst. His companion leant over the railing, loading and firing the crossbow with more enthusiasm than skill, but here and there quarrels found their mark amongst the confused pirates. The young recruit being buggered against the mast seemed to realise what was going on, and as his violator turned to engage Aelfric drove a boathook into his engorged groin, receiving a sword to the gut a moment later in repayment. He and his rapist fell together, pinned to the mast.

The deck was already slick with blood as Huw stooped to grab a jagged and rusted sword from Lodbrog. As he raised it two-handed above his head, the ship leaped like a spurred horse, straining in every timber. As by magic the clouds, lightening for dawn, rolled away on each side, showing a wild waste of tossing gray waters, and a long line of breakers dead ahead. The ship was amidst the reefs now - fatally so. Far from charting a course to avoid the deadly submarine teeth, Aelfric had driven the ship straight through them.

Beyond the frothing madness of the reefs loomed land, apparently an island. The roaring increased to deafening proportions, as the ship raced headlong to her doom. Huw fought his way through the mob, now starting to rally as they grasped the enormity of what had happened.

"Where is my axe?" shouted Huw, parrying and replying with a disembowelling cut against his attacker who staggered back, guts spilling out of him.

"In the weapon rack there but - Thor's sweaty bollocks man!" marvelled the big Saxon, "Don't burden yourself now - the ship - look out!"

Aelfric thrust forward, skewering a bloody pirate who had flanked him, running him through. The weight of the dead man dragged the sword from the Saxon's hand, and he struggled with it for a moment as two more of the scum sought to overwhelm him. A moment later they were dead - taken from behind as they sought to slaughter the disarmed Saxon. Huw had snatched up his axe from the rack and confidence flowed like wine through his veins at the familiar feel of the slim, graceful shaft. His axe was as much a part of him as his right hand; if he must die he wished to die with it in his grip. Armed again, he had cut a bloody swathe to his friend and ally, just in time to save his life.

As they backed up the stairs, Aelfric marvelled again.

"Good gods man, you look as if you want to take the fray to wife!" He laughed, his eyes wild, his face and armour spattered with blood.

Huw glanced down. His manhood was fully engorged, slapping free as he fought. Battle aroused him, but normally he wore armour and clothes when he fought, restraining and concealing his enthusiasm. Yet all armour had been stripped from him when he had been captured.

"No wonder they're scared of you, Welshman!"

They were forced to give ground - the pirates were desperate to get to the wheel, to cut it loose and stop the ship's fatal flight, but Aelfric, Huw and the young man with the crossbow were keeping them at bay - for the moment. Step by step they were pressed back towards the rear of the ship. The young man with the crossbow joined them. Aelfric caught him in a rough embrace for a moment, and then was serious once more.

The pirate crew gathered at the rails to make a final charge. The three of them readied themselves for a final stand, the younger man claiming Huw's abandoned short sword - his quarrels were all expended, most of them scattered and broken on the main deck below but enough of them buried in the flesh of the pirates to thin their numbers and make them a little cautious about rushing over the open stern castle. In a moment they would realise there were no more feathered shafts, and would attack.

"Over the railing!" shouted Huw.

"If we have to swim, my armour will kill me as surely as one of these dogs!" Aelfric gritted through clenched teeth, and at that moment the ship struck with a crash that snapped her masts and shivered her prow like glass. Men tumbled like tenpins from her slanted deck. A moment she poised, shuddering like a live thing, then slid from the hidden reef and went down in a blinding smother of spray.

Huw had left the deck in a long dive that carried him clear, sliding his axe into the belt of his battered breechclout. Salt water stung his cut and abused body. For a moment all was calm in the dark water, and he hung there for a second letting the water enfold him, let it wash away the blood and snot and the stink of Lodbrog. Then he rose in the turmoil, fought the waves for a mad moment, and caught a piece of wreckage that the breakers flung up. As he clambered across it, a shape bumped against him and went down again. Huw plunged his arm deep, caught a sword-belt and heaved the man up and on his makeshift raft. Aelfric, still burdened with the armour he had not had time to remove, barely conscious. He lay limp, limbs trailing, his face rinsed in blood, replenished by his forehead wound almost as soon as the ocean waves washed it away.

Of Aelfric's companion - the man both were sworn to protect - there was no sign. The water was alive with screaming sailors, caught and dashed against the disintegrating vessel, pulled down as the pirate ship sank beneath the angry storm-tossed waves.

Huw remembered that ride through the breaker as a chaotic nightmare. The tide tore them through, plunging their frail craft into the depths, then flinging them into the skies. There was naught to do but hold on with both hands and trust to luck. Hold on to the raft with one hand - and to the unconscious bulk of the Saxon with the other, while it seemed his fingers would crack with the strain. Again and again they were almost swamped; then by some miracle they were through, riding in water comparatively calm. A shape broke the water, and for a moment Huw thought it was the brave lad with the crossbow - then recognised it for one of the pirates. In desperation the brute tried to clamber onto the makeshift raft. Huw smashed his fist into the cur's face, again and again, kicking at him with exhausted legs until he fell back, dragged beneath the waves to a suffocating doom. As the Welshman, paddling with his hands, urged the rude raft ashore until he could feel the bottom. He waded to the beach, half-carrying the Saxon; then, iron though he was, Huw sank down, collapsed across Aelfric's cold armoured chest, and passed into oblivion,

*****

First Interlude

*****

When I was fifteen my Uncle Barry gave me a funny little book called of "Gods of Bal-Sagoth" by an American - a Texan - called Robert Howard. I wasn't much of a reader, but I liked my Uncle Barry. Maybe a little too much, if I'm honest. Uncle Barry was the youngest of my father's four brothers. He drove a massive articulated lorry all over the country, and was quite a romantic figure, a ginger bear of a man with a dirty laugh and an encyclopaedic memory for filthy jokes. I kind of hero worshipped him, and I did him the favour of reading his gift cover to cover. Some of it was okay ... but some of it fired my imagination.

I'd already started to have a few inklings that I wasn't like other lads my age, a few unexpected stiffies in the shower. My mam, keen to encourage any interest I might show in things other than rugby and fighting, and failing exams - told me that if I liked that book I might get others from the library. I resisted - I wasn't a speccy nerd – if anything they were my natural prey. I still remember coming home to discover she had gone to the local library in my stead and picked up a few other books that might interest me. Moorcock's Elric I discarded almost immediately - who wanted a skinny cunt who whined all the time? Tolkien joined it on the discard pile, I had no interest in elves and wizards and hobbits and all that tedious shite. Plus it was far too long.

But she also introduced me to Conan the Barbarian. In my imagination he was a big bear of a man, hairy like my uncle and my da, and in the lessons that failed to engage me I fantasized about hanging around with him, fighting and drinking and whoring (although I tended to gloss over the whoring a bit), or knocking around with Fafhrd and his little boyfriend with the sarcastic temper.

A week after I read "Conan the Barbarian" I had the most memorable dreams of my adolescent years, fighting in my school assembly hall alongside Conan (who looked an awful lot like my Uncle Barry) and then falling entangled against the stage, kissing and wanking one another off. I woke up drenched in spunk, and gained the first few dim inklings of the kind of shagging I *really* wanted to do. I've met guys since who wanted to be fucked by Conan, but that was never what I wanted. From fifteen onwards I knew I wanted to fuck *with* Conan, or Fafhrd or whoever, I was singularly unmoved by the movie when I saw it a year or so later - that over muscled idiot was not the Conan I'd imagined during my marathon wank sessions.

Growing up in the North in the 80s there wasn't a whole lot of porn that caught my attention - computers were something for geeks to play games on - and out of desperation I created some of my own, furtively, in exercise books stolen from school. I'm not sure if either of my parents ever found them, but I was back at home a few years ago helping clear out the attic when I came across a couple of boxes of my stuff from before I left home. I poked through them to see if there was anything of value, and found some of my exercise books (the first four or five pages covered in geometry or fake essays, the middle pages full of adolescent filth). They improved as they went on and I started to get some practical experience of what lads got up to with each other. I took them with me when I left.

When I first found Literotica several years ago there was a series of stories about a barbarian that drove me wild. I wanked myself raw the first weekend, and kept coming back to see if there was any more. They made me laugh and nostalgic and horny all at once.

So ... this is a bit of a rewrite of one of the later ones I wrote when my interests had become a little more ... sophisticated. It was clearly a rip-off of Gods of Bal-Sagoth, the first story I read, the one I'm embarrassed to say started my "sexual awakening." I've rewritten it, for nostalgia as much as anything else.

I thought I'd share it here, and if there's any interest, I'll post up some more of it. It doesn't get *that* much better though. I like to think my Uncle Barry would get a kick out of this if he read it, and I can hear his filthy laugh and imagine him reading out phrases like "diseased whore's cunt" in a mocking voice, and then telling me it was a "good laugh young'un."