Marsh Assault

"I didn't think I'd ever come back," I answered. "But I guess the pull of the beach and marsh was too much."

He sat back in the booth. "You always seemed to meld well with this place. There's been more than once that I would have liked to be somewhere else—a bigger city, maybe." He laughed then. "I guess anywhere is bigger than Maple. But more adventure in life, I guess. And speaking of marshes, I do remember how deeply your parents thought about preserving the marshes. But it's not like your piece of land is going to stand a chance of fighting that battle. The developer has the parcels on either side of you. He's already built a house for himself right at the top of the beach on the parcel to the south of you. He's here to stay. Your land, with that big flat area at the top of the bluff is right in the center of his plans—and it's prime location for developing."

I blew on my coffee. They sure made it hot and strong at the café. I needed something to loosen me up this morning. The firefighter from last night had worked every bone in my body. Quite a bone he had on his body too.

"I'm thinking of putting Haphazard in the land trust, Larry. Maybe even make a park out of it. It may be a losing battle on protecting the environment of the marshlands at the edge of the bay, as you say. But at least there would be my chunk of land to show what once it was like."

"The land trust?" Larry hissed. "Keep your voice down when saying that word around here, Ron. In case you haven't noticed, this area is depressed as hell economically. The development down the bay is the best revenue stream we've seen in decades. You go saying you might put that land of yours in the trust and you'll need to start sleeping with a gun under your pillow at night. I won't press you further on selling the land—there will be plenty around here that will stand in line to do that—but I won't draw up a land trust application for you either. I'll recommend a good lawyer in Elizabeth City for you if you decide to go that route."

"Just said I was thinking about it, Larry. You say the developer has built a house for himself right on the beach line south of me? Didn't anyone around here tell him about hurricanes? And we're entering hurricane season. And how did he get it through the zoning process?"

"You know how he got approval through the system here, Ron. And you can't tell these guys from up Virginia Beach way about hurricanes and beach houses, Ron, but if it's not going to change their ways up at Virginia Beach, I don't think it will make much of a dent on their thinking down here."

"But it won't be just the environment that's ruined if they build down near the beach, Larry. Their houses won't last more than a couple of years anyway."

"You're preaching to the choir on that, Ron. But that's what he wants Haphazard for. He can fit a lot of house on that high land you have above the bluff."

"But that won't stop him from filling in the marsh and building down there too, will it?" I said, as I stood and tossed money for the coffee plus a tip on the table. "Sorry, I've got a tennis date to go to. You don't need to listen to any more offers on the land. I'm not selling. Nice having coffee with you, though. We should do this more often."

"Hope you win the match. Playing with Avery Jameson again?"

"Yeah. But it'll be doubles. Avery will get the tennis pro to partner him and he says he's invited a new guy who has joined the club to be my partner."

"So, he's loaded the deck by taking the pro for himself."

"Well, I did play on a nationally ranked collegiate team when I was at Duke, Larry. I didn't spend all my time there learning to draw pretty pictures to put in books. You could say that Avery just wants to even the odds. And I don't really care who wins the match. It will just be good to be swinging the racket again. It'll be my first time this spring."

"Oh, I think Avery will let you win—this time."

"Why's that?" I had started to back off from the table, but that brought me back. Larry stood then.

"Here, I'll walk you out," Larry said. He continued on. "Avery's one of the backers of the development. I'll bet he asked you to play today just to pitch you to sell. You can expect to have a lot of that coming to you from different directions."

"Thanks for the tip," I said, as we moved toward the café entrance.

"And watch your back, Ron. The longer you hold out the dirtier they're going to play."

"So, you're saying that developers can be as bad as lawyers?" I asked, as we got to the door.

We both laughed at that. Larry's laugh rang a little hollow, though.

Larry opened the driver's door of a fancy little sports car parked in a handicapped spot right in front of the café entrance. I said nothing about where he'd parked—Larry had been like that in high school too. But I'd just written it off then—but I couldn't overlook the car, which looked out of place in a town ruled by pickup trucks. Even I was driving a pickup truck.

"Nice wheels, but what is it?" I asked.

"It's a Crossfire. Made by Chrysler. But they don't make them anymore. I'll bet I have the only one in Northeast North Carolina. Sort of out of place in this town, isn't it? But I'm a toy guy, as you probably know." He paused here and looked at me, but then smiled and went on. "This is about the only excitement I get in my life."

"What, with three kids under seven?"

"I've got four kids. And especially with four kids under seven." We both laughed.

I waved him away. Larry sure had his quirks, but high school buddies are high school buddies. And he was a damn fine lawyer, I thought.

Sure enough, as Larry predicted, Avery and the tennis pro let me and my partner win the tennis match. The two of them combined were better than the two of us combined. The fourth guy, a well-muscled, impressively in-shape, distinguished, well-heeled businessman type who was introduced to me as Jack Dorsey, was good—especially for his age, which seemed to be mid forties—but he vied with Avery as the least capable of the four. His shortfall had to be training, not athletic talent.

I was rusty, but I still competed well with the tennis pro. It didn't take a whole lot of tennis winning for a pro at a rural country club like we had in Maple to qualify for the job. He mainly had to look real good for the ladies of the club, which Tony did.

Larry also was right that Avery pitched me at every change of side about the development. At these times, Dorsey and the tennis pro would talk to each other about the amenities of the club that Dorsey had just joined. But Dorsey also was eyeing me.

I couldn't help to take looks at him too. He was built big and solid and obviously worked out regularly. He had a mean, strong backhand on the court too.

The furtive looks continued in the shower and locker room too. I couldn't help noticing that he was hung like a horse and looked even better built in the nude than in tennis togs. The smooth businessman look he'd exhibited on the court earlier turned slightly, but purposely, I thought, to something a bit wilder and more thuggish in the nude—when we were both in the nude and in the communal shower. Maybe it was the mean-looking tattoo of really thorny brambles encircling his right bicep, I thought. The chunky chain-link necklace and black mesh bikini briefs he put on before dressing into a tailored suit that returned him to the businessman look enhanced the "something else altogether" aura of him.

The looks he was flashing at me were ones of interest—I'd been cruising enough not to mistake that. He put an arm around my shoulders as we were exiting the shower and reaching for towels and brought both his body and his face close into mine. I was somewhat embarrassed, because I was half hard by the time. So was he.

"Enjoyed getting to partner with you today, Ron," he said to me, with a smile. "I had to wheedle at Avery to get us introduced. Wouldn't mind partnering and playing with you again soon. Would like to get to know you and discover what you like—and maybe share with you what I like. Maybe we could catch a drink somewhere sometime. I've heard that Andy's over near Elizabeth City is a good place. A black guy named Jesse told me it was a good place."

The shock at how directly he was declaring himself—and categorizing me too—and especially with us both in the nude, half hard, sent me stumbling into the locker room. I felt the sting of his hard slap on my rump and a hearty laugh from behind me as I moved.

Nothing more was said—everything was in looks at each other—and at how both of us had gotten harder as we went to our individual lockers in the same row. If there hadn't been other men wandering around the locker room, I'll bet he would have tried to fuck me right there on the wooden bench between the rows of lockers.

And I would have let him. I would have spread my legs, opened up, pulled the big cock inside me, and moved my ass for him. The disturbing aspect, since I'd take dominating sex anywhere I could get it, was how much he assumed—that he assumed I'd be easy. But I guess that was a key aspect of the kink. The dominator knew what he could have, and the sub was easy for it.

He'd made no bones about doing a full frontal to me as he folded his package into the mesh briefs. Although the tennis pro, Tony, cut an arousing figure in the shower too, there was a world of difference in how he and Avery—who was nothing to write home about in the body department—related to me in the locker room shower and how Jack Dorsey did.

The possibility didn't escape me that Avery might have found out about my proclivities and brought Dorsey in to soften me up sexually to a deal on my land, but, as Dorsey made no move to go with me anywhere right after tennis, I told myself that I was still running on a high from the rough fucking the fireman, Chet, had just given me and that Dorsey wasn't going to be as pushy.

"Later," he said gruffly, as, dressing quickly, I was able to leave the locker room before he was fully dressed.

I didn't think about that again until later in the day.

* * * *

After tennis I was a bit spaced out and, despite, or because of, the previous night, a little keyed up sexually, so I went home to contemplate. There was work to do—illustrations for a gay Kama Sutra book a publisher was doing—and I was in the mood for such work. I diddled around with that for an hour after I got home, but that didn't lessen my tension, so I went into my bedroom, opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand, pulled out the Fleshjack I kept there—a "realistic experience" foam-lined masturbation aid I kept for emergencies such as this—and worked myself while thinking of Chet from the previous night, the sensuality and interest that this Jack Dorsey I'd just met exuded, the issue of the marshland, the developer who wanted to destroy it, and all of the people in Maple who supported him.

"Fuck it," I muttered after I'd relieved myself. I didn't feel like going back to the illustrations, though, so I grabbed a couple of beach towels, slipped on flip-flops—the only clothing items I was wearing—and headed down to the beach. I had my private slice of Coinjack Bay beach below the bluff and across a wide expanse of marshlands that my parents had built a wooden walkway over in as unobtrusive manner to the natural setting that they could manage. I had the luxury of swimming and sunning in the nude.

I powered out beyond the surf line and swam laps back and forth over the expanse from one end of my property line to the other. I saw the wooden monstrosity on stilts the developer had built down at the beach line on the south side. He'd left a good bit of the marshland around the house untouched, but it would only be a matter of time until what he'd done would destroy the ecosystem there and leave him with a rotting, smelly mess. And then to the north I saw that the marshlands had already been bulldozed and that landfill dirt was being brought in to raise the land a couple of feet and level it for the coming house development.

Frustrated and angry, I swam back to my own beach and lay on my back, with an arm thrown over my eyes to blot out the intruding world of "progress." I was panting lightly. The swim had been exhausting. At one time it would have been cleansing too, but that was before I saw with my own eyes what was happening at either side of my property.

I think it was the feel of the change in the sun beating on my body that made me pull the arm away from my face and look toward the sun. The very-nicely cut body of Jack Dorsey—the naked body of Jack Dorsey—crouched down on his haunches beside me and looking down at me was putting me in shadow. A horse-hung cock swung between his spread knees, reaching for the ground, but that was hardening up even as I watched it. I jerked to full consciousness and started to sit up.

"No, don't. Lay there like that. Your body is gorgeous stretched out like that." He placed a palm on my belly, as if that would hold me in place. Psychologically it worked. I stayed where I was, feeling myself start to pant shallowly again, my cock beginning to rise. He already was in full erection in the time between I'd opened his eyes and he'd spoken, his beefy balls hanging low between his spread thighs.

He was wearing the thick chain-link necklace and now I could see that there was a medallion hanging from it—a heart shape with crossed rods behind it. One a whip and the other a phallus. On a scrolled ribbon across the heart was the word "Daddy." I let out a moan.

"We set up what was going to happen between us back in the club locker room, right? That I'm going to do you?" he asked in a low, strong voice.

"Yes, I guess so." When he put it that way, a dominator's command, all I could do was agree.

"You're going to let me play with you, aren't you? Rough. Jesse rough. I'm going to be your daddy and you're going to be my bad boy, needing to be punished. Am I wrong?"

"No, you aren't wrong," I whispered. His hand had moved down to encase my cock and he was stroking it. I arched my back to him and ran my hand up his arm to that thorny tattoo encircling his bicep.

"Yes, that means what you think it means," he growled.

He leaned over for a deep kiss, which ended in him taking my lower lip between his teeth. He lingered there a long moment, the anticipation building up in me, before he bit down, drawing a bit of blood. I yelped. And then I yelped again when he dipped his face to my chest and bit a nipple. All the time his hand was stroking my cock.

"It means what you think it means," he repeated.

"Where did you come from? How did you know where I lived?"

"Avery told me where you lived. Interesting house you have up on the bluff. You'll have to show it to me."

"Yes," I answered with a whimper.

"I'd heard rumors about you. Jesse bragged about what he did to you, what you took. I asked Avery to introduce us. You don't mind, do you?"

"No," I answered in a whisper.

"I'm going to make you come now."

"Yes. Please."

He moved over my body in a 69 position and took my cock in his mouth. I was uncut; he cut. I went straight to sucking on his bulb, while he played with mine by running his tongue under the foreskin and rimming the bulb—and listening for me to yip yip as he teethed and bit on the rim of the foreskin. Soon, though, my cock had filled out to where the foreskin pulled back from the bulb of its own accord, and he went to deep-throating me and sucking on the bulb, forcing the tip of his tongue into my piss slit.

"You ever been sounded?" he asked.

"No."

"Well, well."

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran up my spine.

I gave up on sucking his cock and threw my head back, looking directly up into the sky, mouth yawning open and groaning deep in my throat as he relentlessly pistoned my shaft in his mouth and reached under a thigh with one of his hands to get a good grip on my balls, lacing them in his fingers, distending them, crushing them.

I writhed under him, trying to pull away, begging him for mercy and relief and screaming to the sun, setting off sea gulls to reel about overhead and harmonize with me, but he was too strong for me and held me tightly. My testicles tried to withdraw into my sac in preparation for an ejaculation, but he followed them up into the sac with probing, pinching fingers. With a cry, I shot my load in his mouth.

Holding the wad of cum there, he quickly reversed on my body, still holding me in an embrace and went into a kiss that shared my cum between us. I was whimpering from the assault and also from the relief.

"You didn't come," I whispered when I was able to. "Sorry, I couldn't continue—"

"I want you to show me your house. Then I'll come. You'll come again too. Multiple times."

"Yes. Yes, of course," I answered.

He was sitting on the edge of my bed when I came out of the bathroom, where I'd showered and taken the time to clean myself out. There wasn't much question what was coming—what had me keyed up was not knowing how it would be done and what would accompany it. Could he possibly be as cruel as Jesse and Chet were in their own ways?

When Jesse had gone, I thought that the kinky sex phase of my life that Jesse had refined was over. He wasn't the first one to take me in a manner that heightened my release, but he had been the cruelest one by far. Northeast North Carolina was such a backwater, and I hadn't found anyone even close to Jesse's style at Andy's. It had been more than a month of drought. Although offers were frequent, Jesse had tuned me to certain needs. Was that hiatus what made me fall so easily into it again?

Jack was giving me a sloppy grin as I emerged from the bathroom. He held the Fleshjack from my nightstand in his hand. And he'd found and pulled out the restraints at the four corners of my bed that had been tucked under the mattress—the ones that only Jesse and I had used before.

"Shall we play?" he asked in a mocking voice.

The first time we both came—almost simultaneously—Jack was sitting on the side of the bed, with me crouched in his lap, facing him, my legs bent, my feet being used for leverage to rise and fall, him supporting the small of my back as I was cantilevered over the bedroom rug, my hands dangling at my side. Our cocks locked together inside the Fleshjack, the rods stretched alongside and throbbing against each other, and Jack stroking it down as I stroked up into it, his cum mingling with mine when we both had ejaculated.

"Ever been double penetrated?" he whispered.

"No."

"My, my, we have such a lot of new games to play."

Chills up my spine again. Panting. Was he going to be as cruel as Jesse, just in different ways?

After a rest in the kitchen, where I drank beer and Jack drank bourbon with a, "Sorry, I don't drink beer," we returned to the bedroom and to the restraints at the corner of the bedposts.

Jack was under me, sitting up. I was in his lap, all four limbs restrained and stretched out toward the four corners of the bed. His cock was up inside me, deep and churning. One of his arms embraced my chest, rubbing across clips he'd attached to my nipples, making me gasp and groan. The hand of the other arm held my cock captive in the Fleshjack, which he was pumping vigorously up and down on my cock. He'd found the ball gag in my nightstand, and I was huffing and puffing and sounding off around that as I could, my neck resting on his shoulder, my eyes glued to the freestanding beams overhead, as he bent his face down and bit down the side of my neck and onto my shoulder.

I came in great globs of cum over and over again. So did he, deep inside me, filling me with his cum—barebacking me. Both of us living on the arousing edge.

He released me from the restraints and we lay stretched out against each other, me in his close embrace.