Blitzed

Chapter Four

Desperation

Sunday, 2 March 1941

Wilton and beyond

Neal stood, patiently waiting by Jocko’s Alvis Speed 25 roadster and admiring the Italianate façade of the Church of St. Mary and St. Nicholas on West Street in the market village of Wilton. He was waiting for Jocko, who, resplendent in his Royal Air Force uniform, was detained on the church’s front steps to be greeted by his childhood neighbors, all of whom beamed at him and treated him like a village hero who had always been the sparkle in their eyes. Neal was feeling all was right with the world emotionally, although his mind knew they were in dire-straits wartime conditions. The village of Wilton didn’t show any of that. It was the first time since Neal had left Oxford more than two years earlier that he had been able to fall back into the safety and order of his childhood, raised in another such picturesque, sleepy English village such as this.

It wasn’t just the village, either. Jocko made him happy. Jocko fulfilled him sexually.

“There, sorry about the wait,” Jocko said, as he reached the roadster, all smiles.

“It’s clear that your village neighbors love you,” Neal said. “Who could ask for anything more in life than the respect of those who watched you grow up?”

“Yes, well, what they don’t know . . .” Jocko answered, a cloud passing across his face.

“The war will be over soon, and this—villages like Wilton, old, beautiful stone churches like this one, will have been preserved, and we can return to life like this.”

“I suppose, for some people. The rest of us must do our bit to try to make that happen. But that’s not what I was speaking of.”

“Us? You and me? How they would react if they knew you were fucking me?”

“Yes, I suppose—although I prefer to think of it as making love with you.”

Neal smiled, pleased at the response. He too thought of it as making love with Jocko, although it was no less steamy sex than primeval fucking was. There was passion in it with Jocko, though. Fucking was what Chambers did. Passionate fucking was what Phillip did. Loving was what Jocko did. It all looked the same to a voyeur, but Neal knew the difference in the feel of it.

“You have someone here in the village they expect you to be with, don’t you? A fairytale marriage and a preservation of Wilton life down through the ages?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“Was she in church today?”

“No. We wouldn’t have come if there was a chance she would be. She’s safely tucked away—or I certainly hope she is—in Scotland, for the duration. She’s teaching school there.”

“But you hope to come back to her here after the war?”

“If I still had hope, I would, yes,” Jocko answered.

“Do you regret . . . the meantime . . . me? Is it because I am prostituting myself to Neville Chambers?”

“It hasn’t been just you. And, no, life is too short to be judgmental toward you or anyone else. If you have your reasons for lying under Chambers, I leave them to you and are just pleased that you will lie under me as well.”

That was somewhat disconcerting—that Jocko had divined that his hookup with Chambers had some hidden motive in it, one that Jocko wouldn’t condemn. Could others, like the aviator, see that? If so, the danger for Neal and his purpose was so much greater.

“Just be careful of Chambers,” Jocko continued. “There is more below the surface with him than one would suppose. And, no, it’s not just you that I might have reason to regret about, but don’t. There have been others. At first women, even married ones, all willing to sacrifice themselves to the aviators who are flying to protect their lives and who so often never come back. And then, as I became more desperate and more honest with myself and reality, other men.”

“So, I’m just another man in that progression?”

“No, Neal, you aren’t just ‘another man.’ Very likely you are ‘the’ man. And, no, I don’t regret you one bit.” He gave pause to let that sink in, but then, placing a hand on Neal’s forearm—but, notably, not before looking around to see if they were being observed, he said, “I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to Stedham Hall and there is time to spare before they arise there. Sir Neville would be scandalized to know I persuaded you to attend church with me this morning. We should dally. Would you like to see my home before we return?—it’s just the next property over from Stedham Hall. It has been put to sleep, but I’d like you to see it.”

“Yes, that would be perfect, thanks.”

They sped there in his Alvis roadster, laughing and tossing their cares to the wind. Jocko drove like there was no tomorrow, and for a brief ten minutes they had no thought of the threat from the skies of today—nor did they consider the danger of speeding down the narrow roads bordered on both sides by towering hedgerows. They were leading charmed lives, though, and met no oncoming hay wagons.

Jocko’s family house was not as extensive, pretentious, or overbearing as Stedham Hall was, but it clearly was the seat for centuries of an established family. Where Stedham Hall loomed and glowered and overpowered, Jocko’s house floated serenely in exquisitely proportioned Georgian red brick, perfectly sited in the silvan landscape.

They fucked—made love—on a drop-cloth-covered sofa in the library in front of an imposing, but unlit fireplace. Neal lay crossways on the sofa, reclining against the arm, legs spread and bent, and Jocko lay between Neal’s thighs, his hands cupping the young man’s head. Both men were naked. The foreplay had been brief and frenzied. Nothing had been spoken when they entered the library. They just fell into each other’s arm, tearing at each other’s clothes, finding the flesh of the other with searching, insistently moving hands.

Jocko was taking Neal in long, deep, cruel thrusts that lifted the young man’s body, pressing his shoulder blades into the sofa arm. Rocking with Jocko’s thrusts in one coordinated copulation rhythm, Neal was crying out for the fuck, his voice echoing through the empty halls of the house’s entertainment room, his hands clutching at the aviator’s tightly muscled buttocks cheeks, digging in with his fingernails. Jocko’s motion was one of withdrawal to only the bulb of the cock with purchase on the hole and then thrusting forward. Again and again, as Neal cried out, his body buffeted against the upholstered arm of the sofa. Relentless thrusting, sobs of exertion from Jocko. Thrust. The brutal thrust of desperation. Thrust, thrust, thrust, Neal’s submissive hips moving with the thrusts. Neal reached between them, fisted his own cock. and stroked.

“I’m coming! Oh, shit, I’m coming!” he cried out and did. Jocko held, rigid, tightly embracing Neal’s twitching body as Neal tensed, released, tensed and released again. His body relaxed in Jocko’s embrace as he emitted a long moan of satisfaction. His hands went to Jocko’s shoulder blades and Jocko’s face came to his for a long, lingering kiss. He still was hard, throbbing, deep inside Neal.

Coming out of the kiss, Jocko growled, “My turn.” The long, deep thrusts commenced again.

“Oh, shit. Fuck! YESSS!” Neal cried out. “Deep. Fuck me deep!” Neal’s passage walls expanded. His channel muscles grabbed the cock and pulled it deep inside his core, the muscles undulating over the invading, conquering shaft.

Sensing they had reached a new, richer level of intimacy, Jocko briefly changed tactics in the conquering campaign. Feeling himself being pulled deeper inside and Neal’s channel walls opening more to him, becoming soft and spongy, Jocko slowed the thrusts, lingered in the young man’s core. Instead of the in and out thrusts, he used his pelvis muscles to revolve slowly inside the core, caressing and kissing the passage walls with the bulb of the cock. Relaxing in his arms, totally surrendering, every nerve ending in his body tuned into the cock making love to his core, Neal moaned, his voice coming out in a sob, “Yes, yes. Take it all. Give me your cum. Whatever you want. Take it all.”

All good things must come to an end. Lust and need took over. Jocko embraced Neal more tightly and charged toward his own end. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Then hold, both men’s bodies quivering, tight and shimmering as the strings of a well-played violin. Release of seed. “Oh, fuck.” Release of seed. “Yes!” Release of seed. “SHIT!” Flooding Neal’s passage deep with his hot cum.

They lay there, panting, relaxing but not moving away from the close embrace.

Several minutes later, Neal wakened from a doze, Jocko licking and sucking on his nipples. Jocko’s torso was raised over Neal, but he had not changed position from the waist down. He was still inside Neal. He was hard and throbbing again. Young, virile, desperate.

“I’m sorry. I went to sleep,” Neal murmured.

“Exhausted? From Chambers last night?”

“Yes. Who knew a man that old could keep it up so long and come so many times? And was so fucking big?”

“Yes, I have heard he’s big.”

“The biggest.”

“And he fucks well. Does he fuck as well as—?”

“No, of course not. Didn’t you feel it? Ocean’s parted; mountains collapsed. This was like no other. You were in my core. Fucking me totally. Taking me to heaven.”

“Again?”

“Yes, oh yes. Yes! Oh, fuck! SHIT!”

Thrust, thrust, thrust.

Like there was no tomorrow.

* * * *

Sir Neville took all of those who were interested out on the estate that afternoon to shoot birds.

“Will you be all right with this?” Phillip asked Neal before they went out. Neal had yet to fully recover emotionally from the noise of battle and carnage at Dunkirk, and Phillip was sensitive to that.

“I’ll do my best,” Neal responded. “I can’t show weakness around the guns. Since the blitz started in London, I’ve gotten better. It’s usually just the first salvo that jolts me.”

“Well, stay close to me until you are comfortable with it and then you’ll need—”

“Yes, I know. Then I’ll need to go to Sir Neville.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

That’s what Neal did. What he really wanted to do, though, was to pair off with the aviator, Jocko. The two established eye contact frequently, but they remained separate in the field. While standing near Chambers, Neal maintained a diffident pose. He had been mastered by the man the previous night. He knew it and Chambers knew it. Chambers treated him as a possession now, and Neal gave way to him on that point. The young man’s eyes kept going to Chambers’s crotch, knowing now the full power that resided there. Neal would never again experience the suffering of the power of that cock; he was reamed to the shaft’s needs now. He was owned by that power, though, and both he and Chambers knew it.

That the cardinal had come too, and revealed himself to be an expert shot and tried to maneuver himself near to Neal from time to time, helped Neal choose to go to Sir Neville instead. Phillip moved between all of the groups, being sociable and helpful—and, no doubt, gathering friends and contacts. The silly young man, Sidney, came, and he too was, surprising enough, a good shot, and clicked into a serious mode when the birds were flushed. Chloe was there, with him. Phillip sniggered when he saw Sidney giving Chloe a tutorial on the gun and Chloe taking it all in with an eye of awe and innocence.

Phillip was standing near to Neal when he gave a low laugh and Neal turned to him to hear Phillip murmur, “Good girl. She likely is a better shot than he is.”

She didn’t demonstrate that on the day, though, remaining visibly rapt in Sidney’s prowess. Neal wondered if she had put on the same act with the man in bed the previous day. He decided that Chloe was most likely a very formidable woman.

For her part, their hostess was as severe and cold as she had been at the party, quite businesslike and efficient at downing more birds nearly than the rest of them together. She knew how to use a gun, but she wasn’t showing any pleasure in the hunt. She seemed efficiently and determinedly Germanic, Neal caught himself thinking. Just a matter of numbers—shoot as many birds out of the sky as you can and get on with it.

After the shooting and a high tea, the guests started to thin out in returning to wherever they had come from. Most of the locals had only been there on the Saturday afternoon. Neal felt a little mopey when Jocko left, having to get back to his barracks before dark. Several of the “candy” guests stayed to the bitter end, though, and Neal had all he could handle during the evening to remain out of the clutches of the remaining guests who mistook him for one of the escorts Sir Neville was providing. That was until Sir Neville took Neal under his wing and made quite clear that the young man was there for the master of the house.

Sir Neville had visited Neal’s room and covered him on Saturday night. He demonstrated that he was equally able and intent on doing so on Sunday night, as well. Neal expected it, though, and was naked and posed on his bed when Chambers slipped into the room in the early hours of the morning, slipped out of his robe and put Neal on his hands and knees on the bed.

“Show me your hole. Yes, more open tonight than last. But not open enough. Relax, breath steadily. Let’s see what we can do to stretch that out.”

Gripping Neal’s wrists together with one strong hand, Chambers raised the young man’s arms over his head. “Open your stance. Jut your ass back.” When Neal had done so, the fingers of the man’s free hand went to his hole, rubbing it, spreading it open, penetrating it with his fingers. Hole fingering was a fetish with the man. Neal moaned but held steady for the intrusion.

Chambers knelt behind Neal to work on the moaning young man’s entrance and genitals with his mouth, and then mounted him and rode him into the dawn.

* * * *

Monday morning, as the three of them—Phillip, Chloe, and Neal—were driving back to London, not by way of Amesbury, as Chambers believed they would, Phillip and Chloe debriefed each other on what they were able to learn from the various guests at the party.

Neal sat, quietly dozing after an exhausting weekend, in the backseat. He kept his legs parted and put his weight on one butt cheek at a time as much as possible to relieve the pressure. He had never been fucked as often in that span of time—or as well. There was nothing he was expected to add to the briefing. All he was supposed to do with Chambers at this stage was to make himself available and make Chambers want him again. It was quite clear to them all that Chambers was sold and besotted with Neal and would be salivating after him. As far as Neal’s assignation with the RAF aviator, Jocko, went, Neal saw no need for the other two—or Chambers—to know about that.

TO BE CONTINUED