Shores of Tripoli

[This is a completed ten-chapter GM novel, which will complete posting by early October 2019.]

Billy Evans stood at the window overlooking Foster Lane when Henry Gawn called out to him from the bed.

“Come back to me, boy. Standing in the window in that state will draw unwanted attention.”

“I think there is not time for more, Mr. Gawn. The dawn is upon us and Mistress Marianne said she would be home from her sister’s early today.”

It was not that the young apprentice would not willingly return to his master’s arms. Henry, the printer of the Boston Sentinel broadsheet, who Billy’s father, William senior, a textile manufacturer, had indentured him to in the failed hope to reign in his proclivities, cocked quite well. In his endeavor to “save” his son, William senior had tragically erred, although he did not realize it—nor would it be the last time he did so. Rather than the young men of Billy’s age who he had been observed cavorting with, his father had unwittingly turned him over to a more seasoned and experienced man of the same nature, which was more to Billy’s taste.

Resisting the call of the cock was more a matter of lack of time because of the chores Billy had to accomplish this day before he was free for the next two. His eyes were cast beyond the end of Foster Lane, where it spilled into Ship Street and, beyond that, the ships’ masts at Clarke’s Shipyard and Hutchinson’s wharf. The first golden rays of Friday were glinting through the ship’s masts there, making Billy pine for the sea and for the danger the one he marked as his true lover represented.

He heard the whistle and looked down into the street, where his sometimes friend, Ned, the solitary figure out and about at this time, was standing on the cobblestones and looking up at Billy’s naked body leaning on the frame of Henry Gawn’s bedroom window. Ned was grinning. He thrust his pelvis forward and made a rude gesture of masturbating with one hand, while giving a fingers’-circle signal with the other that the plans were in place. In exchange for a fuck, Ned, who had brought produce to market from his family’s farm south of the city, had agreed to drop Billy off in the small harbor village of Shernhaven as he was returning home.

Billy gave a small wave and turned away from the window. It had been in search of this assurance that had drawn him from Henry’s bed to the vantage point. The mere thought of the assignation in Shernhaven and the two days of relief from the demanding work of printer’s apprentice because of the coming high holiday made him harden, a response that did not go unnoticed by Henry.

“Ah to be so young and to rise so quickly,” Henry murmured. “Marianne will dawdle. I know she will. There is plenty of time for another fucking. It will be days before I can have you again. Come to me.”

Laughing, quietly, Billy moved to the bed. “You are not so old that you cannot harden thrice in a night.”

“Aye, and twice in a morning when I have as nice a piece as you. I wish that I can keep the image of you naked in the sunlight at the window until I can be inside you again. You are so young and perfectly formed. I want to imprison you to my will, nail you to the wall with my cock. Here, do not make me wait. I ache for you.”

Billy shivered at the image of being dominated so. When he reached the side of the bed, the older man—yet barely thirty to Billy’s eighteen—grabbed Billy’s trim waist in his beefy hands and easily lifted the smaller, curly headed, raven-haired, handsome youth and settled Billy’s knees on either side of his gray-laced strawberry-blond hairy and burly chest. Billy leaned forward, gripping the top of the headboard in his fists and laying his cheek against the flower-wallpapered wall. Henry opened his mouth over Billy’s cock and both sighed as Billy started to slowly move his hips. After several minutes, Billy came upright, moved his hands behind him to find Henry’s plump, hard cock, and positioned its bulb inside his channel opening. Then, as he sank down on Henry’s cock with a groan and a moan, he leaned back to lay his torso flat on the surface of the bed and let his arms go slack at his sides, after which the older man pulled leather straps tight around Billy’s thighs and calves to tighten the younger man’s channel on his buried cock. Then, supporting Billy’s bound legs against his chest, a grunting Henry used the strength of his hand holds on the young man’s waist to pull and push the belabored channel on the cock.

Billy groaned at the tightness of the fuck in a channel collapsed by the binding of his legs. “Yes, yes, punish me.”

Later, with Billy cupped into Henry’s belly, it was evident that the printer wanted his apprentice again.

“It’s late, and I have so much to do today before I can leave. You promised me . . . oh, no! Oh, god!”

It was too late. Henry had already entered him in a sidesplit and was pinching Billy’s nipples hard between thumbs and forefingers, giving Billy the roughness that aroused him the most.

“Just this once more. You may trim your work to meet your time needs. I cannot resist. We shall see what work I want you to be doing, little one. Remember that it is you who are indentured to me. Whenever I want to take you, I will. If I want your work for the day to be in my bed, under me, then so be it.”

Billy sighed at the forcefulness of the statement, which matched the strong thrusts of the man’s cock.

They both heard the electrifying click of the street door two stories down at the same moment. Someone—doubtless Mistress Marianne—was in the shop and would be mounting the stairs to the upper floors, where the printer and his apprentice lived, at any moment.

Four bare feet hit the floor as quickly and silently as possible, and Billy gathered his clothes and headed for his space in the attic while Henry pulled his own clothing on and stuffed the leather strappings he had been using with Billy in the bottom drawer of a bureau. Henry would detain his wife on some excuse of why he was not yet in his shop while Billy stole by them and went into the rear yard and began chores that would fool Mistress Marianne that he was already up and about.

The two had this down to a routine. They had lingered before and, if Henry had any power over the matter, they would linger again and again for the two years remaining on Billy’s indenture. Never had Henry had such a sweet ass and beautiful young man under his control. A lad who sought out the punishment that aroused the printer in the giving. And not the least amusement was that Billy’s pompous ass of a father had sent the young man to him for protection, begging him not to tell the reason why he was indenturing him rather than sending him to college, where he would be only loosely supervised and other attractive young men would be present in abundance. The father thought the threat was from other young men. Henry had every reason to know, however, that young Billy preferred the experience of older men—men of power and danger and who would punish Billy a bit, as pleased him. The printer knew that Billy actually welcomed the danger of being discovered by Mistress Marianne.

And, another amusement, Henry thus would not tell Billy that Marianne knew of Henry’s proclivities and did not care in the least as long as Henry kept a roof over her head and fine food on the table—and did not trouble her with conjugal demands. The only real danger was that the buxom Marianne fancied the young man herself.

* * * *

“I think this would be a good place to pull off.”

“Aye, I agree it would,” Billy answered Ned. It was on the wrong side of Shernhaven—on the headland overlooking the town from the north and the sea. Billy’s assignation was in a cove below the cliffs to the south of the town. But Billy didn’t want Ned to know where or who he was meeting. The twilight of the Friday Billy last lay with the printer was lingering, and it soon would be dark. But there was plenty of time.

Ned pulled the wagon off the track and through a copse of trees and almost to the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea to the east. They could see down into the bowl at the harbor’s edge where Shernhaven was located, but there were a few large houses of the town’s wealthy on the headlands between where the wagon was brought to a halt and the town. Flickering lamplight was beginning to illuminate the windows of two of these houses. But the young men were quite sure they couldn’t be seen from there, because they were clothed in greater darkness and curtained off by the thin, wavering trunks of birch trees whispering in the breeze coming off the water.

Ned set the brake of the wagon with one hand while he was moving the other arm around Billy’s shoulders. Billy leaned in toward him, knowing this was the time for payment for the wagon ride and Ned’s silence and goodwill. They kissed.

Billy was glad of the darkness as Ned was ugly—tall and gangly—and although he talked a ruffian’s talk, he had proven to be awkward and unimaginative in the fuck. He was two years older than Billy. He had been respected among some at school, however, because he possessed a long cock and used it liberally. Just a few months earlier, as the end of the last school term had passed, Billy, having decided he wanted to go with men, had gritted his teeth and lain under Ned. But when he had, Billy had been thinking of the schoolmaster; he wanted to be covered by the schoolmaster. There was a spark with Ned that wasn’t with the schoolmaster, although Billy really wanted to be with the schoolmaster. Ned had been rough with Billy. He was ugly and a bully, and Billy didn’t know until he was being fucked how deep Ned could cock. Once the cock was inside him and Ned had punched him in the mouth to subdue him, Billy didn’t care how ugly or bullying Ned was. Ned had thought that he had charmed Billy with his cock when Billy cried out for more of it half way through the fuck and gave Ned a ride he’d never forget. He didn’t know that it was the very forced nature of the act—the closed fist to the cheek—that had turned Billy on.

Billy didn’t realize that he wanted to feel like he had been forced and physically subdued, though, until he’d subsequently had and an encounter with a rough man on the road once. After that Billy knew—and knowing that it was too dark to have any concern for Ned’s ugliness, Billy didn’t mind the fare he had to pay. It would be a straightforward poke this time, but the scene in which it was set was a sign that Ned had control over him. That was what Billy needed.

* * * *

The schoolmaster, Samuel Hale, was barely five years older than Billy. He was handsome, with red hair and a broad chest and arm muscles that belied his profession as a teacher. He lived in a small cottage beside the schoolhouse, and Billy found himself gravitating to the man. Coming to the schoolhouse even when school was not in session. Asking for extra instruction. Sometimes he’d come when Sam was doing his chores. One afternoon Billy arrived when Sam was chopping wood, stripped to the waist. His torso was magnificent, but Billy saw marks of the whip on him. Asking, Sam merely said that he’d had a rough childhood. Billy had recently become familiar with rough, and the mere mention of the word aroused him, although he didn’t understand why. Maybe this man gave it as rough as he’d received it, Billy thought.

Billy had had a rough initiation too—not to anal sex, He had drifted into that naturally, but it was a shock to him to learn that he liked it rough.

He had skipped school one fine afternoon a few weeks previous to his encounter with the schoolmaster but some time after he’d lain under Ned and let Ned take his virginity to man love. He had been walking aimlessly along the road south toward Shernhaven, not having any goal or plan, but knowing only that it was too nice of a day to be in school. As he walked, a wagon pulled up beside him. A burley Irishman with flaming red hair hailed him.

“Would this be the road to Boston?”

“Yes, you’re on the right road, mister.”

“And I guess you would be knowing why young men like yourself dally around on this section to the track, would you not?”

No Billy didn’t know. But he found the question so strange that he passed over it and didn’t answer.

“You’re a right handsome young man. Not too old for schooling, though, I don’t imagine. You look more than a bit too young to be standing in this stretch. Maybe it’s the smallness.”

“Old enough,” Billy responded indignantly, pulling himself up to stand straighter. His lack of height was one of the biggest of life’s irritations for him. He was always being taken for a few years younger than his near nineteen years.

“So, where you off to?” the man asked.

“Nowhere in particular.”

“No one down the road expecting you or anything?”

“No, just out for the exercise.”

The man gave a guttural laugh at that response, which he took for saucy teasing. “I could give a strapping young man like you all the exercise he could want. I got to admit I’m really right randy now, and you have that look about you that makes a man go hard and that wants to be poking a lad. Fancy a fuck? I’ve got chickens in the back. Fair exchange it would be.”

“What?” Billy managed in a strangled voice, confused and scared but also inexplicably aroused. The man had set the brake on the wagon and was coming down off it. He was huge, maybe twice Billy’s weight. Billy felt frightened, but all a tingle at the same time. He turned and ran into the woods at the side of the road.

That was a mistake. “Ah, a playful one we have here. You best not make me work too hard for it,” the man called out at Billy’s retreating back. “You would regret that soundly, I can tell you.”

The man caught Billy easily and dragged him farther into the trees to a small glade where a few large trees had been chopped down, leaving stumps at near chair height.

The man grabbed Billy’s arm and spun him around. “No!” Billy cried out. But then all of the air was knocked out of him as the man punched him in the stomach with a doubled-up fist and, as Billy bent over from that blow, gave him an upper cut to the jaw for good measure.

The ruffian was already fumbling at Billy’s clothes as Billy was sinking to the ground. He had Billy’s shirt opened down the front and the front of his trousers opened and hanging low on his hips.

“Please, don’t tear my clothes,” Billy managed to stumble out in slurred words, but the man pulled him up by his shirt collar and backhanded his face twice. Billy hit the ground hard, and the man stooped down, grabbed the waistband of Billy’s trousers, and pulled them and his underdrawers off his legs. His hands then immediately went to unbuttoning his own fly.

The man laughed, looking down at Billy. “Well, look there. You already want me. It’s your clothes you don’t want mussed up, not you. You want it.”

Billy was embarrassed as well as dazed. He indeed felt that he’d gone half hard. He looked up at the man’s crotch, at the already erect cock the man was holding in his hand. More mesmerizing to Billy was the bush of red, kinky hair that surrounded the root of it. Billy moaned and tried to move away. A heavy boot plopped down in the center of his chest.

“You ain’t gonna give me trouble now, are you? You want the fuck. We both know that.”

Pinned to the ground, Billy just whimpered incoherently. He couldn’t hide that he was going hard, though. Being assaulted and controlled like this—not being able to do anything about it—had aroused him in ways he’d never achieved by himself in bed at night. The danger of it. It was exhilarating. Yes, he wanted it. He’d been thinking of wanting it as soon as he started getting the idea of what the man was talking about while he still was sitting on his wagon. “Yes,” he whimpered.

“Yes, you want it?” the man growled.

“Yes, I want it,” Billy admitted.

“And you done it before, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” Billy admitted.

The ruffian hauled Billy up and sat him down on a tree stump. He picked up Billy’s trousers and pulled the thin leather strip out of the belt loops that Billy had been using to hold his trousers up. As Billy whimpered, the man pulled his wrists together and bound them with the leather strap. Then the man stood up straight and fisted his cock again.

“Open up, and you’d better suck it good, if you know what’s good for you. No, just open wide, get your teeth and tongue out of the way, and I’ll do the rest.”

Billy gagged and his eyes were watering again, as, holding the sides of his head firmly in his hands, the red-headed assailant face-fucked Billy’s mouth. He was enjoying it, throwing his head back and howling to the tops of the trees. Billy wasn’t enjoying it very much. He had had it in his bung hole and learned to want this, but the mouth part he didn’t much like anymore. But he did it when he had to. He had a hard time keeping his mouth passage open and breathing at the same time. But still, the danger of it, the wildness of not having control, had him aroused.

Billy made a half-hearted attempt to escape again when the ruffian felt he was aroused enough to get on with it and pulled his dick out of Billy’s mouth. Billy had gone soft again and wasn’t liking what was happening right now much. If the man would just get on with it—cover him and do it—Billy could go with that. The man towered over Billy and was nimble. He got his hands on Billy’s throat and Billy slowly went slack for him.

Thoroughly cowed and having reached the point of wanting the man to get to the main event, Billy was on the small of his back on the tree stump, his bound arms over his head, the man holding his legs open and splayed out. Only a few inches of the cock were inside Billy. The young man wasn’t a virgin, but he hadn’t been worked all that much before, and the man, thicker than Ned was, was huffing and puffing, finding it hard, but arousing progress. Billy was whimpering, beaten and subdued. The pain was washing over him in waves. But underneath that was his own arousal. He was going hard again.

The man pushed in deeper and Billy flinched and his pelvis jerked up, pulling the man in even farther. The ruffian laughed as Billy reached for his own cock, fully erect now, managing to fist it with both of his bound hands, and shot off up the man’s heaving belly almost immediately.

“There, I told you you wanted it,” the man said with a smile. He untied Billy’s wrists, convinced that the young man was fully his now. “Now settle down and work with me.”

Billy didn’t want to “work with” this man. He wanted the man to do it and get Billy off and then leave, but his body had a mind of its own. As the man bottomed and he started pumping Billy, Billy raised his pelvis to him and started an answering rhythm of his hips. There was little pain now. This was it, the part that Billy wanted. Just the pleasure of a man inside him, controlling him, wanting him, not giving him any choice in the matter. Billy reached under the man’s shirt and moved his hands up to cover the man’s muscular pecs. The man pulled Billy’s legs in and, of his own accord Billy wrapped them around the small of the man’s back and hooked his ankles together. The man laughed again and began pistoning harder.

“Oh, yes, you want it, you do. I read you right. A real prime little piece you are.”

The man’s hands freed, now, one went to one of Billy’s nipples and the other to Billy’s cock, pumping Billy hard again. The man pinched Billy’s nipple, and the young man arched his back and moaned and licked his lips.

“Like it like that, do you?”

Seeing the effect it was having on Billy, the man moved both hands to Billy’s nipples and started to cruelly pull and twist them. Billy writhed under him with pain-pleasure and began humping back at him hard. The ruffian stopped his fuck, letting Billy take over the pumping.

“Yes, yes. Punish me,” Billy whimpered.

“Wanted it all along. Teasing me, you were,” the man growled as he fucked. “Walkin’ that stretch of the track, you were offering it. Just leading me on, maybe not wanting to give it to the likes of me. I should . . .”

The man was choking Billy with one hand and he’d pulled a knife out from somewhere and was brandishing it over Billy’s face. Billy came again in a gush.

He collapsed and the man resumed his pumping, breathing hard, probably near ejaculation himself now. Billy’s eyes followed the knife, moving down, toward his belly.

The man had asked him if he was going anywhere; if he was expected anywhere. In a flash of recognition, Billy’s adrenalin kicked in. He gave a sideway’s heave of his pelvis, sending the man off balance and causing him to slice into his own arm with the knife. The man gave a howl of pain and his attention went to his arm. Heaving out from underneath him, Billy lashed his leg out, kicking the man in the balls, and then he started running through the forest.

When he thought back on the encounter later, it was true that the man had gone too far, but the incident on the road had told Billy that he not only liked taking cock but that he liked taking it rough.

* * * *

All of this—not just the escape, but the thrill of what went before—was flashing through Billy’s brain as he stood, three weeks later, watching Sam, the schoolmaster, chopping wood. Maybe it was the red hair that turned Billy’s remembrance on to the ruffian with red hair and linked that with arousal. Whatever it was, standing there, watching Sam’s muscles undulating and his red, shoulder-length hair, not pulled back now as it usually was, moving in the breeze and the motion of his chopping, naked to the waist, Sam felt himself going hard. He wanted him. He realized that’s why he’d been coming around.

Before he’d started doing that, he’d passed this way by chance one day and heard strange sounds coming from Sam’s cottage. It sounded like maybe the schoolmaster was in trouble. Billy had come to the open door and then shrank back in the shadows. The schoolmaster was fucking another man on his bed. The man was on his back, his legs spread and his knees bent. His feet were flat on the mattress but were lifting up on the balls and then lowering again on the heels in the rhythm of the fuck. The man’s wrists were tied to the slats of the headboard above his head, and this may have been what Billy had found to be the most arousing.

The schoolmaster was kneeling between the man’s legs, his knees under the other man’s buttocks, lifting the man’s pelvis to a cock that disappeared, lengthened, then disappeared, then lengthened, the red bush of the schoolmaster mingling with the golden bush of the other man at the downstroke. The schoolmaster’s hands were gripping the other man’s knees and moving his legs in and out in the rhythm of the fuck. When the man’s knees were bowed out to the limit, Billy knew that the schoolmaster’s cock was deep inside him. This is when the man would arch his back and moan deeply, followed by a sigh as his knees were brought closer together and the schoolmaster’s buttocks pulled back. At various stages of the coupling, the schoolmaster’s torso arched down so that the men’s faces were mashed together and each tried to bury his tongue deep in the throat of the other.

“What is it that you want, Billy?” the schoolmaster suddenly asked, burying his ax head in a chunk of wood and looking directly at Billy. He was panting slightly.

Billy was panting slightly himself, his need and want painted on his face.

“Why is it you’ve been coming around? You don’t need extra tutoring. You’re already the smartest in the school and will be leaving within a month and going into an indenture with a printer, I hear. It’s not schooling you want. I waste of a first-class mind, but I wasn’t asked for my opinion. What is it then?”

Billy stood there mute for a moment and then he blurted it out. “I saw you with a man. There in your cottage. I know what you do.”

“Is it that then, Billy?” Sam asked with a sigh. He hesitated for a moment and then he said, “Is that what you want from me, Billy—what the man you saw me with was getting from me?”

Billy stood mute, eyes cast down. But he didn’t say no.

“Tell me, is it the cocking you want? You must tell me.”

Billy almost wavered then. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear—that he must ask for it. He felt himself going soft. It couldn’t be his decision. But, visions of those man’s knees moving apart and together flooding his brain, he wanted it so badly that he gave a slight nod of his head.

“Have you been with a man before, Billy? Do you have any idea what it would be like to have a man’s cock inside you?”

“Yes,” Billy murmured—but loud enough for the schoolmaster to hear.

The schoolmaster sighed again and pulled a wet rag out of a bucket of water beside him and rubbed it over his chest, the back of his neck, and into his armpits.

“You’d best come inside then,” he said in a quiet voice. “You’re of age now. I guess you can have a mind of your own. I can’t say it isn’t something I want too.”

And then it wasn’t Billy’s decision anymore. Sam had moved across the yard to stand in front of Billy, His arms encircled Billy. Controlling him. His lips found Billy’s and crushed them, Sam invading Billy’s mouth with his tongue. Billy opened to him, but he let Sam control the kiss. Billy felt himself going hard again. It was good now. It would be fine. Sam, taller, heavier, and more powerful than Billy, picked Billy up in his arms and slowly walked toward the cottage.

Billy was on his back on the bed, his legs spread, his knees bent, his feet flat on the mattress. Sam pushed his knees under Billy’s buttocks, raising Billy’s pelvis to him. The bulb of Sam’s cock was resting at the rim of Billy’s pulsating entrance. Sam’s fists gripped Billy’s wrists, holding his arms up and to the sides as, his torso hovering over Billy’s, Sam looked down into Billy’s eyes.

“Please,” Bill murmured.

“Please, what?”

“The strapping to the headboard. That too, please. As I saw you do with—”

The schoolmaster looked exasperated. But after a brief pause, he said, “If you like,” rose from the bed, came back with leather bindings that he used to strap Billy’s wrists to the headboard, and resumed his position between Billy’s thighs.

“It will hurt at first. But then it should be fine. I will be gentle.”

Before Billy could respond, Sam had covered his lips with his own and was pushing inside with his tongue. Billy shuddered as Sam’s cock pushed inside him an inch. Misunderstanding, Sam disengaged the kiss and lifted his head.

“Just a bit of pain. I promise.”

“Please,” Billy hissed. “Fuck me. I’ve had a man inside me before.”

Sam lowered his face for a controlled kiss again, and Billy opened his mouth to him and flicked his own tongue inside Sam’s mouth. A few more inches, and Sam’s cock head rested at Billy’s prostrate. He rubbed there slowly, again and again. Billy’s channel opened to him and Billy, still trapped by Sam’s kiss, began to pant.

“Please, your hands. My knees.”

Sam gave a low laugh, but he gripped Billy’s knees in his hands and pushed the young man’s legs apart as he slid deep inside him. He then slowly pulled out as he brought Billy’s knees closer together.

Billy cried out and ejaculated. And then he thrust his pelvis hard up into Sam, taking Sam’s cock deep inside him, thrusting again and again against Sam’s cock.

Sam’s head went up and his face took on a look of surprise. “You have done this before.”

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard,” Billy commanded. “Punish me. Make me feel it.” And then he turned his face to the wall in frustration. He wriggled his buttocks and thrust again at Sam’s pelvis, bringing the cock deeper inside.

Sam began to stroke in earnest. Deeper, harder, faster. Billy’s own hips fought to keep up with him in the counterstrokes. The younger man’s legs were being pumped back and forth at an increasingly faster pace. Sam was lost in the fuck, murmuring how sweet Billy was, how long he’d wanted to do this. Pledging his love, pumping in a frenzy, lost in the fuck.

“Yes. Fuck me. Punish me. Give it to me! Make me hurt!”

Sam went stiff and stopped stroking.

“What was that you said?”

“About what?”

“About punishing you?”

“I’ve been bad. I need your discipline. I am your misbehaving student, your prisoner. Beat me. Put me to the switch.”

Sam rolled off him and walked over to the mantelpiece and turned around. He looked achingly beautiful to Billy. And there was that red hair. Keeping the arousal alive. Still, Billy was confused and frustrated.

“How have you been bad, Billy?”

Billy was at a loss for words. The best he could do, after a moment of silence, was say. “Last month. I didn’t come to school. I wasn’t sick. It was just a nice day.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to make love to you—that you want me to punish you? That you see sex with a man as justified punishment?”

Silence. After a bit, Sam continued, “I don’t assault men, Billy. When they come to me, it’s as equals. It isn’t for me to punish or control them. They must want to fuck as equals. I make love, Billy. I don’t rape. You asked for the binding. So did the man you saw me with. It isn’t something I need.”

There was nothing Billy could say. He suddenly felt naked and defeated.

“I think you’d best go now, Billy,” Sam said as he came back to the bed and unbound Billy’s wrists. “And you need not come back to class. You’ve learned more than enough. I hope you have learned this, now, too. Sex is good as equals, even between men. It is wrong if it must be taken from you. I hope that you will learn that someday. You are a highly desirable young man, Billy. I’ve wanted you since I came here as schoolmaster. But what you think you want, I can’t give.”

Sam then scooped up his trousers and left the cottage. He was chopping wood again, and didn’t look up, when Billy left.

It hadn’t taken Billy long to find men—older men—who would give him what put him into greater arousal. First the printer his father had unwittingly indentured him to—giving the man full control over Billy’s life. Satisfying Billy’s need to be fully controlled in the fuck. And also a businessman of the town, prominent, but with a secret that made Billy melt with want.

* * * *

Sitting in the wagon beside Ned on the headland north of Shernhaven, Billy was anxious to get on toward his goal. But first there was the fare to pay. While still kissing, Ned, first—Ned had to assert control and intent first—and then Billy, each unbuttoned the other and took the hand measure of each other’s cocks. Although there was time, there wasn’t a great deal, and Billy wasn’t doing this for pleasure, so he quickly bent over and lowered his mouth to Ned’s engorging cock. The farmer’s son leaned back in the wagon seat and moaned his pleasure as Billy, without complete success, tried to swallow the cock whole.

Ned fucked Billy from behind bent over the open tail of the wagon, as the horse snorted its desire to get on with the journey. In a shared interest to get on with it and over it, Billy wiggled his butt and used his channel muscles to massage not only great length out of Ned, but a fairly quick ejaculation as well. At Billy’s request, Ned had pulled his arms straight away from the sides of his body and had bound his wrists to the wagon bed sidings with rope so that Billy was forcibly spread-eagled for the fucking.

For another fucking, Ned offered to pick Billy up here again on Sunday afternoon when the wagon would be heading for Boston again with produce for the Monday morning market, but Billy just thanked him and said he had other arrangements for a return to Boston. He did say, however, to Ned’s delight, that perhaps they could repeat this arrangement at some point in the future.

After Ned drove off, happy and satiated, in his wagon, Billy walked carefully and quietly toward the largest of the houses on the headland to the north of Shernhaven. He gave the house a wide berth. It was lit up with whale oil lamps as a demonstration of the wealth of the occupants, no doubt a purposeful message to the town below of the family’s prominence. Walking along the edge of the cliff, he went into the far reaches of the garden, looking down, first, into the town through the masts of the ships in the boatyard at the base of the cliff to trace the passage he had to make, and then out to sea. There was more than one ship out there, at sea, toward the south, with lights twinkling. His mind was on two of the ships, both of which he prayed were out there. Having taken his bearings, Billy circuited around the house again and then strode out onto the lane that served all of the cliff-top houses of Shernhaven’s leading citizens.

This was not a time for furtive movement now. Now he had to appear to belong here and to have someplace legitimate that he was heading to.

Two hours later, he had made his way down into the village, across it, and then up onto the headland defining the southern end of the harbor town. He walked openly toward the lighthouse, taking it as his beacon and as his goal should anyone ask. But when he got there, he faded into the underbrush just outside the cleared circle around the old lighthouse and, eventually, to the cliff overlooking the sea.

He had been here before, but it was still difficult to find a path that would safely lead him down into the sheltered coves at the edge of the sea and the base of the cliff. More than once he had to retrace his foot- and handholds, having followed a false path that led to a dead end and sheer drop to the churning surf below. The sounds of the waves and the seagulls wheeling overhead were mesmerizing. When he was sure he’d found a path he’d used before, he tarried for a moment and looked out to sea.

Two ships were standing off the coves at the base of cliff, near enough for Billy to see their white sails and to count their masts to assure himself that these must be the two ships he expected, but far enough out to sea not to run aground in this treacherous area of the coast. The ships weren’t near each other. The larger of the two was between where he stood and the inlet leading past the lighthouse and into the Shernhaven harbor. The other one was standing further south.

Billy could see that the one farther away already had longboats in the water, starting their journey to land. They were carrying no running lights, but were merely dark splotches on the water, discerned in the moonlight only with great care. They were riding low in the water, and Billy could see a mass of figures overloading each one.

The nearer, larger ship, was just starting to lower boats. The sound of men calling out guidance and curses at the difficulty of the work slid in underneath the keening of the seagulls overhead and the pounding of the surf.

By the time Billy had made his way down to the cove and positioned himself behind a large boulder of water-pocked rock and jagged edges, boats from the two ships were nearing the beach. Their journey was intersecting on the beach nearly parallel to where Billy was hiding himself.

The longboats from the smaller, more distant ship, Billy could now see were packed with silent, dark figures. The boats from the larger ship were seemingly empty other than the men rowing, driven by a man growling curses and threatening slackers with bodily harm.

One of the overloaded boats foundered in the surf, and there was a scramble to pull its occupants, who didn’t seem to be making much of an effort to save themselves, to safety. Billy could hear the ominous rattling of chains. The crews from the larger boats leaped out of their now-beached longboats and went to the aid of the other craft, a second of which was also foundering in the merciless surf. From the sounds of wailing from the floundering figures in the surf and the curses of the crew members, Billy could tell that not all of the passengers were being saved.

The coxswain of the larger ship’s longboats seemed to have taken charge of the situation. He cut quite a figure in the late of the longboat lantern. He was dark—either heavily tanned or an Arab—and wore a bright green vest over short brown breeches. A scarlet sash circled his waist into which two pistols had been shoved. He was bearded and there was a black patch over one eye.

Billy knew how important it was to lose as few of the floundering passengers as possible. The figures were dark sinned and nearly naked. He knew that these would be slaves being brought in from Africa via the Caribbean. He was witnessing their transfer from one ship to the other and knew that by the morrow or the next day, the survivors of this landing would be displayed on the auction block on Woodman’s wharf, near Boston’s town market and docks. Those bidding on these slaves would be turning a blind eye to their primitive conditions and weakened, dazed states. In one of life’s incongruities, whereas the trade of shipped slaves was now outlawed in Massachusetts, the resale of slaves in the state previous to the law’s enactment was permitted. Those trading with these lives in the new day would be conveniently assuming the slaves hadn’t arrived surreptitiously in the night.

So engrossed was Billy in watching the exchange of the goods, cases of rum and bolts of textiles and baskets of gleaming doubloons, from one ship for the slaves from another that he cried out in fear and surprise as a strong hand gripped his shoulder from behind.

“I believe you will be coming with us,” a growly voice rang out.

Billy had been discovered by the commanding coxswain of the larger ship’s longboats.

* * * *

A multitude of heavily callused hands backed by lustful grins, many of them nearly toothless and with suggestively winking eyes, pulled Billy up out of one longboat while a moaning ebony human cargo was handed up out of other longboats along the side of the great, black-wood ship. Billy looked up to the heavens at the sails already being unfurled for flight as the coxswain, with the help of two other burly and shirtless sailors, manhandled Billy across the deck. Those they passed whistled and leered and made rude sucking sounds with their mouths.

Billy was bustled through an arched door in the superstructure at the stern of the ship and down a corridor. The coxswain rapped on a sturdy door at the end of the gangway and listened for the summons from within. When it was given, Billy was propelled into a commodious cabin with large windows at the stern of the ship. The cabin was paneled in polished, dark wood. Oriental carpets covered the floor. Lighted sconces, covered with glass chimneys, were placed at intervals along the walls, revealing leather-backed and –seated arm chairs, heavy tables covered with maps and navigational tools, and, against one wall, a large four-poster bed.

In the center of the room was a tin bathtub, full of soapy water. And out of the water rose a giant of a man. He was well over six feet and heavily muscled from pecs to calves. He had dark, reddish hair, a rich auburn color with blondish-red highlights. The hair on his head was caught at the nape of his neck with a gold ring. The chest was broad and covered in curled auburn hair; he was deeply tanned; his waist, while thick, was made thus by plates of solid abdominal muscles rather than fat. The thighs were heavily muscled, as were the calves; his biceps popped with pronounced curves; his forearms and the knuckles of his hands were covered with curly reddish-brown hair. Piercing black eyes bore into Billy as he was thrust into the room. The face was of chiseled angles, the nose hooked, but in a commanding way. His torso and thighs showed slash marks of numerous battles, but from the look of him, it was apparent that he didn’t lose battles.

He stepped out of the tub, and Billy could see that the man’s balls hung low and that his extraordinarily thick cock, which seemed of average length when he first stood in the tub, was now lengthening out alarmingly and was beginning to curve up toward his flat belly. His bush was a brighter red than the hair on his chest and head. Billy felt his breath stop, and he moaned.

“Look what we found on the beach, Bloody Jack,” the coxswain said in an obsequious voice.

“Leave us.” The voice was deep, commanding.

Billy quickly was alone with the giant. But not entirely alone. Off in the corner, relaxing on his haunches, lay a giant, black mastiff hound, which somehow perfectly mirrored in dangerous aspect the form of Bloody Jack. It looked on with curiosity, panting slightly, its eyes moving from its master to the interloper, as if wondering what will happen next, whether its services would be required.

The young captive stood, quaking, as the dominating figure, still dripping from the water in the tub, started walking toward him, stopped by a table and picked up a dagger, and then approached Billy and circled behind him, all the time devouring the younger, shuddering man with his eyes.

Suddenly, from behind, a meaty arm snaked between one of Billy’s dangling arms and his torso and wrapped itself around Billy’s chest, positioning a thick wrist beside the young man’s neck and stronger fingers cupping his chin. Billy whimpered as the other hand started to cut his clothes away with the dagger.

The mastiff gave a low growl from across the room but settled down as soon as it realized who was the aggressor and who was the captive.

“Two months at sea only with gnarled sailors,” the voice whispered in Billy’s ear. “Not a single sweet ass among those we captured, and even those I rode could not last me. Two months without anything as nice as you. Feel free to fight me. I am going to fuck the fight out of you, boy.”

Billy moaned and then cried out in pain and surprise as, naked now, his feet were lifted off the floor, his torso flipped forward as the giant released his chest hold, and an impossibly thick cock thrust inside him and began to pump him hard, pulling him back and forth rapidly on the cock. When he stopped, abruptly, Billy was gasping and shuddering.

“You like a pirate captain’s cock, do you?” The man growled. Then he laughed.

As the man held a bent-forward Billy to him, with his cock buried in Billy’s channel, the pirate captain slowly walked toward the center of the room, where the tub was. Billy’s belly was pushed down onto the lip of the tub. His feet now found the floor, but the giant resumed pumping his ass. The man wound his arms under Billy’s armpits, locked his fists at the nape of Billy’s neck, and dipped Billy’s head under the water in the tub. One, two, three, four thrusts of the cock, and then Billy’s head was lifted free. He gasped and sputtered. And then under again. One, two, three, four thrusts. Up for air and a gasp and sputter and then under again.

Visions entered Billy’s air-starved brain of the forest, bent over a stump. A red-headed ruffian brandishing a knife. Grinning and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.

Billy was loose as a rag doll when the man hauled him up from the side of the tub, thrust him into one of the leather-backed and -seated arm chairs, high up the back, with his thighs hanging over the arms of the chair, rolled the younger man’s pelvis up toward the thrusting angle of his cock and thrust and thrust and thrust.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Billy cried out.

Surprised, the man growled, “So, you be wanting it, do you?”

“Yes, yes. Fuck me hard,” Billy answered.

“That I will,” the ruffian said—and did.

After an eternity, he hauled Billy up from the chair, carried him over to the bed, tossed him into the middle of the bedding on his belly, landed on top of him with his knees on either side of Billy’s thighs and rode the limp young man deep and hard like the stallion he was.

In the middle of the night, midst the sound of the waves being parted by the prow of the ship and the gentle snoring of the mastiff in the corner, whose name was Freedom, and the slight roll of the ship at sail, Billy woke with a whimper. An arm reached across his chest, and he was being gathered once more close into Bloody Jack’s chest. Both were laying on their sides, and Billy could feel the power of the cock that had worked almost relentlessly inside him through the night pushing at the small of his back. He turned his face toward his assailant’s and whispered. “Again, Ben, fuck me again. Hard. Punish me.”

Ben was the name Billy knew the man by in a different persona, and this was not the first time the two of them had played out this scene of forceful taking.

“Ah, I’m not as young as you are, Billy,” Bloody Jack murmured. “How many times do you need the cock tonight?”

“Again and again. You said it. It’s been two months. No one fucks me like you do.”

“That’s because I don’t give it to you every night. If I did, you would soon grow tired of it.”

“Never.” There were several moments of silence punctuated by sighs and moans and the two let their hands work the body of the other. But then Billy raised an old request. “Take me with you the next time, Ben. I want to go to sea.”

“No you don’t, Billy. You are too good for that. You’ve seen the men out on deck. You don’t want to become one of those. You are meant for greater things than that.”

“What greater things?”

“Well, the right good sheath for my cock, for one thing.”

They both laughed.

“And besides, you are too small and pretty to be a pirate.”

Billy stiffened at this oft made remark concerning him, but he yielded as the pirate fondled him intimately with both hands. Shortly, Bloody Jack, having been rested and intimately handled by Billy, in turn, started claiming the sheath that was his again.

As they fucked, they felt the ship stop moving forward and coming to rest, followed by the scrape of the longboats on the ship’s side and the murmurings and wailings of the slaves as they were brought up from below.

Billy knew they were north of Boston now, near yet another cove, where the slaves would be transported and then walked down into the city and prepared for the block.

“Why the short transfer?” Billy asked when Bloody Jack had spouted again and they were resting. “Why didn’t the other ship take them to market?”

“He’s not a member of the guild. He had to sell off shore. He couldn’t sell in either Charleston or New Orleans either.”

“Are you a member of the guild?”

“Not that one,” he answered. Then he laughed. “But the slaver doesn’t know that. I can double profits in a day.”

“When do we dock?”

“In the morning.”

“I don’t have to be back at the printers until late Sunday afternoon.”

“Good. I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk straight. All day tomorrow, here.”

Billy sucked in is breath. “You know that’s what I want. What legitimate goods do you have to offload to justify a two-month’s sail from England.”

“Fine furniture and porcelain.”

“And what else? Beneath that—that you are offloading now with the slaves?”

“Booty. Four prizes this voyage. A little bit of everything, including Spanish doubloons.”

“That’s what I want. That’s the adventure I want.”

Ben snorted, and repeated the reservation he had given before. “You are too small, lad, to be a pirate—and too pretty by far. The other pirates would all eat you alive.” He paused there, though, and when he continued, he said, in a somewhat sadder voice. “But I can see that there is much of the call of the sea and of the freeboaters for you.” Another pause. “I can give you all of the adventure you can handle. Do you see the dark object hanging from the center of the ceiling there?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow at dawn, I hang you from there by both wrists and ankles, with your cock pointed at the deck, and I fuck the stuffing out of you.”

Billy trembled at the sheer pleasure of the sound of that.

“So, rest now, my little bird. I want you to stay fully conscious for all I do to you tomorrow. We have so little time on this visit of mine to Boston.”

A pirate. That’s what Billy wanted to be. A pirate like Bloody Jack, who he knew as Ben. Not just like Bloody Jack, but alongside him. Plundering by day; being plundered by night.

The world thought that the age of pirates along the Atlantic coast of America was over, ended seventy-five years earlier with the hanging right here in Boston of William Fry, captain of James’ Revenge. Now the loss of merchant ships was totted up to storms at sea, with all hands and goods going to the bottom of the Atlantic. But there were a few pirates still, like Bloody Jack and his Black Falcon, and though many a merchant ship and its crew were going to the bottom of the ocean, not all of their goods were experiencing that fate.

Billy sighed and drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened at dawn by rough hands pulling him up; trussing his wrists to his ankles, behind his back; being hoisted above the floor on the hook in the center of the cabin’s ceiling at the level of Bloody Jack’s pelvis, with the giant pushing in between his thighs, thrusting inside him, and pumping hard. Blood Jack always kept his promises.

“Yes, Yes! Oh fuck, yes, Punish me!”

Bloody Jack raised the whip in his hand and brought its leather thongs down smartly on Billy’s thighs, complying with the young man’s request. Billy cried out in pain-pleasure and heightened arousal.

* * * *

Two weeks later William Evan’s Senior was giving a dinner for a leading citizen of Boston, a rum distiller and textile manufacturer, on a Sunday evening and wanted to show his son off. He wanted to do business with the important manufacturer and wanted him to see that his business was stable—that he had a son to pass it on to. It didn’t matter that he had little hope that his worrisome son would follow in his footsteps. But the businessman need not know that.

The printer, Henry Gawn, was quite pleased to permit Billy to go to the dinner. He could see printing consignment possibilities with both Mr. Evans and Mr. Palmer, and anything that Billy could do to help make that happen would be beneficial.

“Even if you have to bed the man to influence him. Or bed your father, for that matter,” Henry said.

Billy just gave him a watery smile.

During the dinner, Billy and Mr. Palmer barely spoke, but Palmer did seem to be interested in possible business ventures with the older Evans. The discussions went late. Henry had given Billy permission to sleep at home that night, but he still had to be back at the printer’s shortly after dawn on Monday morning.

Thus, Billy, along with his mother and sisters excused himself, leaving the two businessmen still sitting at the dining table and smoking pipes and sipping on watered-down rum. Billy went to his room on the top floor, stripped, and pulled on his night shirt. Then he went out into the hall and sat on the floor, his back against the wall, beside the staircase, and listened to the conversation below.

Not long after that, William Senior let Mr. Palmer out of the front door, snuffed the candles, and came to his own bedroom two flights below where Billy was crouched. Billy counted the minutes until the house was silent except for his father’s familiar deep snore. Then he crept down the stairs, to the front door, silently unlocked and opened the door, and let Mr. Palmer back in.

Back in Billy’s bedroom, Mr. Palmer pulled Billy’s night shirt over his head, slapped him hard, in one direction and then the other, snapping Billy’s head from side to side, roughly pushed him down on his back on the edge of the bed, hurriedly unbuttoned the fly of his trousers, and, as Billy lay there on his back, wide-eyed, panting, open, and vulnerable, grabbed and spread Billy’s legs, Billy giving no opposition, and thrust a hard, throbbing cock inside him.

“I didn’t think I’d get through dinner without needing to get my cock inside you.”

“Oh, god, yes, Ben,” Billy growled. “Fuck me hard and deep. Yes, just like that.”

Palmer raised his hand and slapped Billy on the face again and then on the young man’s bare thighs. Billy murmured, “Yes, yes,” and clutched the man close, moving his hip with the rhythm of the fuck.

Benjamin Palmer, leading Boston citizen, rum distiller and textile manufacturer—and, not incidentally, the Atlantic coast pirate known as Bloody Jack—fucked Billy desperately, as if it had been months, not weeks since they last had coupled.

Being awakened by muted but unfamiliar sounds as well as the incongruous sound of slapping, flesh on flesh, William Evans Senior crept out of bed, quietly mounted the two flights of stairs to the fourth floor, and stood outside Billy’s bedroom door. The door was open enough for him to see the two men fucking—and to identify who they were. Ben Palmer was fucking Billy like a dog, bent over his bed, and was fisting Billy’s head hair with one hand, arcing Billy’s torso cruelly back toward him, and slapping Billy’s buttocks hard with the palm of his other hand with each thrust of his cock, so lost in lust that he gave no heed to the pistol shot-like sound of the slaps in the confines of the small attic bedroom.

He might have intervened if the sounds Billy was making didn’t indicate that Billy was enjoying the assault and if he didn’t need Palmer’s business and if he had never found his son thus occupied before. With a shrug and a second—and third—look, followed by a guilt-filled shake of his head, he descended the stairs and went back to bed.

However, on the morrow, he took pen to paper and wrote his brother-in-law, Charles Rawley, with the proposal that Billy be sent to him to work on his rice plantation in South Carolina—the harder the work the better.