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Subject: The Lobsterback Episode 1 (Revised) Please consider donating to Nifty, in thanks for the hours of pleasuring they give fty Author's Note: I had great fun writing this, and I hope you find it engaging. I approached this series as a character-driven story with explicit scenes (some very explicit), rather than a story for jerking off. The five episodes vary considerably in tone, content, and point of view, but collectively they tell a coherent story. If one or two of the episodes are not to your taste, but others are, I hope you stick with it through Episode 5 regardless. I definitely do not approve of all of my characters' actions, and the fact that I am describing something does not mean that I am advocating it. Now . . . enjoy! THE LOBSTERBACK Episode 1 Jed and Ben and I stood looking at the lobsterback, but he just stared down at the straw and wouldn't meet our eyes. I'd tied his wrists, but he hadn't really resisted so I'd figured I'd just pen him in the barn and keep my eye on him while my boy ran to fetch Jed and Ben from the neighboring farm. I wouldn't say the Polks were friends of mine, but we look out for each other -- help with bringing in the harvest or rebuilding a toppled wall -- and I guess looking out for each other now included giving advice when a lobsterback shows up out of nowhere. I reckon he was a deserter. He was still wearing his uniform, but the scarlet was faded and it looked grubby and worn and too big for him -- or maybe he just looked small, huddled there on the stool like a boy in his father's coat. He'd still had his musket when he showed, but he gave it up easy enough when I pointed old Bess at this head. Didn't put up much of a fight about anything -- least, not till Jed had his idea. Jed said we should hang him from a rafter in the barn. I said I didn't take to the idea of killing someone who hadn't harmed me - least, not personally. Ben growled that the lobsterbacks had done plenty of killing and what right did they have to come over here anyway and fat George could take his taxes and his Royal Governors and shove them right up his fat fucking ass. And Jed said we didn't have to kill him we just had to teach him a lesson, and he grabbed a coil of rope and threw one end of it over a rafter. The lobsterback made a dash for the door but Ben knocked him down and sat on him and grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Ben is a big man -- I got a little worried he was going to smother him if he didn't break his neck. All in all, I wasn't real happy `bout what they were doing, and in my own barn, but I could see how riled up the brothers were so I kept my thoughts to myself. Jed tied one end of the rope to the lobsterback's wrists and pulled the other end tight and tied it off so the Brit was standing with his arms stretched over his head. His toes were still touching the ground, but just barely, and I could see he was having trouble keeping his balance. Jed stood in front of him and stared him in the face. Jed's a lot smaller than his brother, leaner and shorter, so they were just about nose to nose -- but there's something `bout Jed that makes you uneasy, and the lobsterback would not meet his eye. He kept staring at the straw even when Jed spat right in his face. I couldn't tell if it was tears or spittle on his cheeks, but I guess he deserved it either way, being the enemy and all. Then Ben came up behind him and undid the lad's britches and yanked them down. He must have been hard already at the thought of buggering the poor bugger, because he just spat on his palm, gave one quick tug on his prick, and shoved it right up the lobsterback's bum. The lad didn't exactly scream, but he gave a stifled little cry that made me a bit queasy. Jed pressed up against the Brit's front side, pushing him back against Ben, grinning wide but not in a friendly way. Ben looked like a big bear hugging his prey, except that I could izmit escort bayan see his hips working back and forth. I started smelling shit that didn't smell like horseshit, but that didn't stop Ben -- he kept driving his prick in and out, rutting away like an animal. After a couple minutes he started huffing and puffing and then he gave a sort of strangled grunt and unloaded up the lad's bum. I hoped that would be it, but at the same time I kind of wanted to see Jed bugger him too. I'd never see two men fuck, and it gave me a strange feeling I didn't understand. Ben pulled out and lumbered aside a foot or so, his prick dangling from his britches all streaked and dripping. The lobsterback sort of sagged against the ropes, and I could see he was definitely crying now. Jed prowled round to the soldier's backside and shoved his brother out of the way. His prick was already out of his britches and sticking straight out. Maybe it's `cause he's smaller framed, but his prick looked even bigger than Ben's. He made some joke `bout Ben having cleaned the cunt out and gotten it juicy just for him, but there was nothing clean about this - I could see shit stains on the Brit's britches and on Ben's as well. Jed grabbed the lad's hips and shoved his prick straight in. I didn't even see him spit on it. Ben lounged on a haybale and looked on, casually -- like he was watching a dog mount a bitch, and not even his own dog or his own bitch. I thought it was strange that Ben and Jed looked so comfortable, taking turns buggering a man while the other watched. Maybe this is what comes of not having a wife -- no, of *never* having a wife. The lobsterback was still crying but more quietly -- he seemed resigned to what was happening, which was good because Jed was even rougher than Ben had been. I could see that he was pulling his prick all the way out and jamming it in hard, and where Ben had been quiet, just grunting as he fucked, Jed heaped insults on the poor bugger -- on his country, his king, his officers, his fellow soldiers, his uncles, his mother, and his father, who -- Jed said -- had clearly been up this asscunt before. Finally he hollered and swore and blew his seed, humping even harder and deeper into the Brit's bum, his bumcheeks clenched tight as he shot. Jed pulled out, breathing heavy like he'd just run here from Granby, and he looked at me and said it was my turn now. He didn't say it like it was an offer -- more like a challenge. I felt my face go hot and my prick go stiff as a gun barrel as I thought of sliding into the lad's bum. I grabbed a rag and some water from the trough and wiped down his bum and his legs so they didn't smell as much of shit. I spat on my hand and rubbed spittle all over my prick, then did it again so it was nice and slick. I ran a finger down his crack to feel where his hole was -- his bum was smooth and touching it made my breath come quicker. I found his hole with my fingertips, and it spasmed as I touched it, and I felt something wet and warm on my finger -- I reckon Jed or Ben's seed was dripping out. I brought my prick to where my finger had been and pushed it in, nice and slow. It slid in easy, into a wet warmth that I hadn't felt since my wife died, but it felt different -- tighter -- and it seemed to grab my prick and drag on it in a way that excited something deep inside me. The thought filled my head that I was inside a *man*, that my hands were pressed against the belly of a *man*, that I was feeling hair between my fingers and not smooth skin -- and I shot my seed up his bum in no time. As soon as I shot, the enormity of what I'd done rose up to confront me. I'd buggered a man who was little more than a boy -- I'd raped him -- I'd exposed him to two men who were ready to kill him. And I'd taken pleasure in the fucking of him, in the feel of it, in the *idea* of it -- more pleasure than I ever remember feeling with Anne, God izmit sınırsız escort rest her soul. I had to make amends -- and I had to protect him from the Polk brothers. They were spent from their exertions, fortunately, so I managed to persuade them that the soldier had been taught his lesson and wouldn't give me no trouble now. Once they were gone, I untied the rope and he sagged down onto the straw and just lay there. Suddenly, his body started to shake and convulse -- I feared it was the falling sickness, but then I saw he was simply sobbing -- just lying there sobbing in a way that broke my heart. I don't know why I did it, but I lay down behind him and put my arm around his chest and pulled him to me. He flinched when first I touched him, but he didn't resist or pull away, and after a minute or two he seemed to press back against me as he continued to sob, and after several minutes his crying quieted, and at long last he fell asleep. I lay against him still for a spell as his breath gentled, trying to puzzle out what I was feeling, and then I got up. I untied his wrists without waking him, and before I went into the house I put two horse blankets over him. In the morning I half hoped I would find the barn empty, but he was still there. He looked at me warily, but he must have noticed that he was no longer tied up and he'd stayed anyway. In the morning light he looked a real mess, and the first thing I said was to come into the kitchen for some porridge and then we'd get him cleaned up. I didn't say a word about the day before, nor did he. I folded away the scarlet coat and the once-white waistcoat and put the britches and his shirt aside for washing, which they badly needed. His boots were more holes than leather, but I didn't have anything better for him. I found an old pair of my britches and gave him a blanket to cover himself. As he gobbled his porridge I asked him if he was a city boy and he said no. I asked him if he'd stay and help with the harvest -- I couldn't give him wages, but I could give him food and a place to stay. He said yes, and his eyes got a bit teary. He said he'd hated the army and missed his family's farm, but after his grandfather died the farm went to his uncle, and he had to leave, and then a press gang had got him. Once he started talking he talked a lot. He had a funny way of saying things that was hard to follow, but he seemed real eager to talk whether I understood him or no, and as I listened I started to get an ear for it. Billy was his name, and the more he talked the more I liked him. My son sat in the corner watching him. He's a soft-hearted soul, and as Billy talked, I could see Johnny's eyes get rounder and rounder and softer and softer, and finally he stood up and walked over to Billy and gave him a long hug and said how glad he was that he had found our farm and how glad he was that we could help him. I thought back to yesterday in the barn and my face burned with shame, but I didn't say anything. Billy looked at me and said he was right glad he had found us, and he just left it at that. It was the first time he had looked me square in the eye -- his eyes were a soft golden brown, and I found myself marveling at how beautiful they were. He washed in a tub by the fire, the water warmed as best we could. Johnny eagerly drew water, making trip after trip to the well till he was half soaked from the slopping buckets. He helped Billy bathe, scrubbing his back and washing his hair as he did for me whenever I had to bathe. I didn't want to stare, but I did want to know what was under the uniform -- he looked small but well-formed, and he seemed strong enough for all that he was underfed. I noticed the hair around his prick and on his belly was an even brighter ginger than the hair on his head. When night came I should have sent Billy out to the barn, but Johnny piped up and said that kocaeli escort bayan he would sleep in the truckle bed so Billy could sleep in the big bed with me. Billy looked down at the floor and said he would sleep wherever I wanted him to. Somehow or other I ended up in my shirt, lying next to Billy, with him in an old shift of Anne's that did not exactly fit him but almost did. This was Johnny's idea, as the shift was in better shape than my other shirt. For years now I had shared my bed with Johnny, snuggled together for warmth, sleeping soundly. This was different. The body pressed against mine was not a boy's, not a woman's -- it was a man's. It smelled different. It felt different, and my awareness of it was different. The heat from his body seemed to warm me both in my heart and in my bowels . . . and in my privates. As I lay awake and listened to his breathing, louder and closer than the soft breathing of my son below us on the floor, my prick grew stiff. I guess Billy could feel it against his bum, because after a long while of neither of us moving and neither of us falling asleep, he hiked up the shift and pressed his bare bum against me. I stayed still, not knowing what I should do. Then he started to move his hips, rocking gently against my shirt and the hardness beneath it. I gave in, drawing my shirt up so my prick nestled in his crack and the bare skin of my belly touched the bare skin of his back. The last time I was positioned like that there had been a heavy red coat between my chest and his back -- now there was just thin linen. I ran my hands up and down his body, touching his skin beneath the shift, feeling the muscles of his chest, drawing my fingers across each of his ribs, stroking them one by one. Gradually, my hands explored lower, past the softness of his belly to the hardness of his prick. He gave a soft moan as I grasped it and started to jack it, sliding the skin up and down, the sensation at once familiar in my hand and utterly strange in my body, knowing I was giving pleasure but experiencing that pleasure not in my own body but, somehow, in my heart. I heard him spit quietly into his hand and felt his hand brush past my prick. Then he took hold of my prick and guided the head to his hole, now slick with spittle. He was tighter than the first time, and his hole did not spasm like it did that time, but it felt just as warm and wonderful. And this time I had a sense that what I was doing was . . . right. I heard him give a contented sigh as my prick slid gently into him. We had to be quiet, what with Johnny so near, so I moved in and out slowly, the ropes under the ticking creaking gently. I savored the feeling, wanting it to last. I thought how different this felt from lying with Anne -- that had been pleasurable in its sensations and in its intimacy, but there had always been something . . . dutiful . . . about it. I had never before felt this intensity. I began to play, varying the speed and rhythm of my fucking. I found that drawing my prick almost all the way out, then poking just the tip in and out of his hole made him squirm with pleasure and gave my prick a wonderful sensation that felt different from being fully inside him. I found that pushing in deep made him gasp, and soon he was pushing himself back against my prick to force it in deeper. We fucked and stroked for hours, or so it felt, pausing to rest each time I climaxed but never pulling apart. I don't know how quiet we stayed, but I never noticed Johnny stirring so I reckon we were quiet enough in spite of the moans and grunts and creaking ropes. Twice I jacked him off, catching his seed in my hand, and both times he guided my hand to his lips and ate his own seed. After my third climax, I pulled out of him and he rolled over to face me, though it was too dark for me to see him. I felt his lips press against mine. I pulled back in surprise, but an instant later our mouths were joined again and we were kissing passionately. At last, Billy fell into slumber. I lay there a long time, holding him in my arms, drifting more slowly into sleep, marveling over undeserved pain . . . unmerited forgiveness . . . and unexpected joy. . . .