Love at the cock tunnel
An erotic story about deceit.
Written by Michael
Jamie couldn’t sleep. The blue-grey moonlight leaked through the holes in his bedroom curtain illuminating his exposed erection. His bedsheet, wet with sweat, was peeled back and despite his window being open, the air was still and humid on this hot August night. It must be about three in the morning now but he couldn’t sleep with this iron rod between his legs. He stared at it, bored, flexed it a few times watching it bob up and down, making a shadow play on the mattress. He was even bored of wanking. He needed a warm human hand, mouth or hole around his rigid pole.
He was supposed to be getting married tomorrow. To the publican’s daughter. The reception would be back at her home, The Cock Inn. The irony of it. Maybe then he’d finally get his cock in Mary. She’d been putting it off. She wanted to wait till they were married. But at seventeen, this long year of patient abstinence had felt slow. Furthermore, living in his tiny Cornish village, his options for fooling around were few. His mother was dead keen on the marriage, but Jamie wasn’t so certain. Sure, he could move one of his arms from behind his head down, wrap his palm around his cock, now dribbling from its tip and stroke up and down with his own juices, but he wanted connection, someone else’s juices.
He’d not gone entirely without. He’d fooled around with Tom the blacksmith’s lad a few times over the sweltering summer but nothing regular. They’d go down to the rock pools crabbing at dusk, they’d catch a couple of decent brown crabs each, glug down the flask of warm cider they had packed and then get down to unbuttoning each other's britches. They’d already be a bit swollen from the mix of heatwave, intoxication and the excitement of knowing exactly what was to come, or cum…
Tom was going with Bessie from the next village and having more luck. She’d meet him under a certain large oak on the heathland and there she’d let him lick her cunt then suck on his large tool until he sprayed jet after jet over her outstretched tongue. And that’s exactly what Jamie hoped Tom would do for him once they’d got past furtively wanking each other and kissing. Nobody else knew how much he liked sucking cock and swallowing a large load from his teenage mate. It was their secret. He hoped they would always be able to do this. He sometimes imagined them running away together so they could live and fuck together every day. It would be so perfect
Living at home was not perfect. The family had been shaken by the disappearance of his Uncle George back in February. They assumed he had been seized in the Inn one night by a press gang that the locals had warned of, roaming these coastal villages. They’d no doubt got him drunk, slipped a shilling in his pocket and took that as ‘consent’ to join the Royal Navy. Then he’d been whisked off to God knows where, Australia perhaps? Whatever happened, they hadn’t heard a word from him since, not that he was able to write a letter. Still, Jamie missed him and just a message to know he was safe would have calmed him and his mother.
Uncle George, unmarried and in his early thirties, had been the man of the house since Jamie’s father had taken to the drink. He was a big, sturdy man that Jamie looked up to. Jamie’s mother worried about money since he wasn’t paid much as a Thatcher's lad even though he was strong and could lift twice the load of other young men his age.
Jamie waggled his hard on to and fro and thought about Uncle George’s hairy body. He had covertly watched George changing clothes many times since they shared a room in the tiny family cottage. He would leak from his cock as he peeked at George’s large muscular buttocks as he bent over to pull up his britches, how his heavy balls hung down between his legs below his densely furry arse crack. He never wore underwear. He liked to swing loose and free in those rough woollen trousers, carrying his scent of tobacco smoke and man musk.
Jamie couldn’t stand it any longer. He sat up in bed, took the precum dribbling down his shaft into his mouth with his thumb and licked it off. He threw on his shirt and shorts from the floor beside the bed and slipped on his leather soled shoes. He slid down the handrail to avoid the many creaky stairs which could wake his mother and siblings. He went out into the street and crept down the cobbled lane toward the sea, moving like a fox from shadow to shadow.
After a few minutes he got down to the grassy path that led up onto the headland looking out over the bay. He kicked off his shoes and carried them dangling by the straps from one finger. He liked the cool grass on his naked feet and between his toes. He looked out at the empty water which twinkled softly as it shifted. The tethered fishing boats bobbed and the scent of brine and seaweed was pungent as ever.
He’d heard there was a tunnel nearby that the smugglers knew of and it came right up under the Cock but had never found it. Mary had told him how there would be noises late at night in the Cock cellar and she’d hear her father’s whispering voice and the clanking of what was probably illegal rum flagons and crates of tobacco.
Jamie got to a mound of soft grass, threw his shoes down, dropped his trousers and stood there showing his boner to the ocean. “If only some fit lad could come and find me now” he pined. He loved to lie under the stars in the soothing sea breeze and stroke himself, showing his proud prick off to the heavens. He did this often but not usually so late at night. The night air snaked under him and tickled his balls and arsehole. It was pleasingly cooling. He reached down and massaged his slick sweaty hole with two fingers. Where was Tom’s probing tongue when he needed it! Fuck.
Just then, he was startled by voices approaching. Low, gruff men’s voices and the grunting of heavy lifting. He leapt down behind the longer grasses to conceal himself and see better down the slope to the water. Approaching from a rowing boat on the shore were two men in silhouette, carrying a wooden box with a rope handle each side.
“I’ll take it from here Charlie, you go back to the rower” one of them whispered gruffly in a local accent. This Charlie hurriedly clambered back down the slope and that’s when Jamie caught sight of a large schooner a little way out into the bay. How had that appeared so rapidly and silently on such a still night? No lamps burned on it and it loomed ominously, backlit in the moon’s glow over the sparkling ocean.
As he craned to see this ghostly vessel, Jamie had accidentally let his head lift above the grasses and now he had been seen! “Who goes there?” The man growled. He was only twenty paces away and closing in on him. Jamie guessed that this must be a smuggler seeking the entrance to the secret Cock tunnel. Before he could move, the man was upon him, hand round his throat, Jamie’s hard-on still exposed and twitching rapidly as his virgin hole clenched in fear. He had heard that smugglers could be ruthless killers and usually were well armed.
“Well, well, boy. That’s a warm welcome for a lonely fisherman”. The man was looking down at Jamie’s groin. Jamie still couldn’t clearly see his features as the moon behind him, but his frame was large and his grip was strong. The man spat into the palm of his hand and wrapped it around Jamie’s cock shaft. Moving aggressively up and down, Jamie could feel how thick and rough this hand was. He was still being held down by his throat and as the man stroked him, Jamie couldn’t help but let out a moan of pleasure, but what he heard was a strange crying sound, a mixture of fear and the deep erotic tension that got him into this scrape.
“Show me me your cunt, boy” he whispered with sharply spat out consonants. Jamie took a second to realise what the smuggler meant then hurriedly complied, lifting his legs up to show the man his anus, pale and smooth. “Perfect” the man said quietly to himself and then to Jamie “Just what I needed after a month at sea”. He released his grip from Jamie’s throat and used both hands to push Jamie’s legs further back, elevating his arse crack to his face. The man stuck his face into Jamie’s underneath, his bristly beard grazing Jamie’s soft flesh. The man took a long deep sniff, launched himself upright on his haunches as though he were about to howl at the moon and let out a sort of open mouthed roar of pleasure, his tongue pushed out “Argh… Yes!”, before swooping back down into the cleft to start lapping at it with his tongue.
Hungrily, noisily, the man suckled on Jamie’s pink rosebud. Jamie tried to relax and let his wet mollusc enter him. The moon had shifted a little now and a brief glint of light on a gold tooth suddenly alarmed Jamie. It was an alarm of recognition. “Is that…. You? Uncle George?”. The man paused feasting on Jamie, looked up, saliva dripping from his open mouth and grinned broadly. He cackled with the chesty rattle of a heavy pipe smoker, stopped sharply then exhaled a sighing moan and said warmly “Hello Jamie” and then more softly, intimately, “I’ve missed you, boy”.
Jamie compulsively sat up and threw his arms around his long lost uncle. George reciprocated and in their nuzzling, desperate need to bond with each other, they found each other's mouths and started kissing messily, slobbering over each other. Jamie fell backward onto the grass, pulling George onto him and lifting up his legs again to expose his hole to his beloved and hung Uncle. A feeling of a deep bond surged between them. A bond of safety, of familiarity, but also a lustful longing that had accumulated over many years of living as two men in close quarters. Finally Jamie would get to touch and hold this impressive man.
George understood Jamie’s longing. He shucked off his braces and let his trousers fall down to his knees. No underwear as ever, his thick, dense, dark bush surrounded a fat cock head sprung up, pointing to the stars in the inky sky. He lifted Jamie’s legs right up to his shoulders, hoiked up a mouthful of thick spit and dribbled it down in a long stream down onto Jamie’s quivering hole. It landed with a splat and Jamie’s sphincter twitched in anticipation. George adjusted his position until his thick penis was pressing on Jamie’s cunt. “I’ve missed you Uncle George”. “I’ve missed you too, Jamie”
And with that, Jamie started to let him in. Slowly, George slid into his nephew, burying his cock right up to the hilt, up to that dense, dark bush. They kissed like it was their last meal. Their tongues entwined as George plundered the lad’s grateful cock tunnel. Jamie whimpered in joy. He was so happy that he shed a couple of tears.
They fucked and rutted like stags desperate to feast on each other. Jamie had never known passion like this. Jamie’s old life became a kind of fiction, like the pages of a faded childhood story book: Mary, his mother, the wedding, his job. He had found what he wanted. Finally… but this realisation came in a tremendous rush of emotion over him. He wanted George. He wanted to give himself to George. He wanted George to claim him, to use him like this every day. The feeling became so clear and urgent. George’s thrusts were pushing the air from his lungs but he brokenly managed to say “Take… me… with you”. George stopped dead, still deep inside Jamie.
“Yes Jamie, come with me. Come be my boy. Let me show you the world!”.
And there was nothing more to be said. They kissed deeply and Jamie took George’s both hands in his for comfort but also gave George the support he needed to resume pounding him. George looked intently into Jamie’s eyes, saw his need and slowing the pace of his fucking right down. They stared lovingly, unflinchingly into each other’s eyes. They both sensed that a new life was beginning.
This story was written as part of a Naked Men Talking Writing Workshop, in response to the prompt "Deceit". Copyright remains with the author - this story cannot be republished or distributed without the consent of the author.
Gareth Johnson
Gareth Johnson