1996

The July 4th weekend had been a high celebration in the harbor town of Shernhaven since before anyone in the town could remember. And, being a seaside town, celebration here was largely conducted on the water. The whole weekend the harbor itself was packed with pleasure boats from as far south as Martha's Vineyard and north as Gloucester. Only a single channel was kept clear for the movement of vessels in and out of the harbor.

The highlight of the weekend was a Sunday afternoon regatta race of sailing yachts out in the ocean, barely in sight of the Lower Head lighthouse.

By custom, even the fishermen took the day away from their toil. Most of them took their boats out to the regatta course to provide guidance boundaries. Traditionally, the Fischer fishing boats took charge of setting and maintaining the course. They did so again this year, with the exception of one of the brothers, Wal, who eschewed all celebration and took his boat out at dawn as usual to perform his daily troll for cod, haddock, and pollack. In deference to the regatta—and most likely to avoid all contact with those from Shernhaven—Wal had moved his fishing spot more to the south of the approach to Shernhaven than usual.

Wal Fischer hadn't felt like celebrating in this town for nearly a year.

The race got off to a late start because so many yachts were competing in this series of races, determined by craft type, and it took them much longer than anticipated to clear the harbor. But once it started, the regatta went splendidly . . . until near nightfall, when a squall came up from the southeast during the one-man laser craft event.

The boats had been warned of the approaching storm, and the last of the yachts from the previous event had crossed the line, so they all turned toward the harbor. The laser boats were on the course, taking a practice sail, but were being flagged in to harbor because of the approaching storm. Entering the packed harbor for the yachts still at sea was as difficult as sailing out of it had been. Long before the last boat was safely inside the Lower Head spit, the townspeople of Shernhaven could have started at the shipyard and walked all of the way to the south end of the wharf across the vessels in the harbor without touching land or getting their feet wet.

The storm remained mainly out to sea as it swept by, but it had scattered the straggler sailing craft far and wide.

Sitting farther out in the ocean than the race course, Wal Fischer's storm lasted longer than anyone else's. But he'd been in high seas like this before. He rarely let the weather strand him on land when there were fish to catch in the sea, no matter how turbulent. And in recent decades finding fish along the Atlantic coast was getting increasingly difficult. He knew there would be no room for him in the harbor on a day like today, so he just battened down his hatches and rode the storm out.

Within an hour, the storm had cleared and the twilight skies were once more clear.

Fischer's catch had been slight, but he knew that it would be welcome in the fish market at Duxbury, to the south, where there would be a harbor that could accommodate him for the night, so he struck out south. He knew there was no way for him to get to his slip in Shernhaven harbor on this day.

He had barely changed his bearings for Duxbury when the hull of a flipped sailing yacht bobbing in the still-choppy waves hove into sight, and, without a second thought, Wal turned his boat toward it.

Minutes later, he pulled a semiconscious Alden Shern from where he was clinging to a rope lashed across the hull of the flipped laser craft.

Alden was sodden and unresponsive other than a soft moan, and his skin had a bluish tinge to it when Wal hoisted him into his boat. He laid Alden carefully on his back on a square-folded tarp in the waist of the deck behind the deck house, where he'd be protected from the crash of the waves. Wal's immediate reaction was that he needed to get rid of that blue tinge, so he started rubbing Alden's limbs and chest, ripping away his sodden T-shirt and shorts.

Alden moaned louder. But he also gurgled. Wal couldn't tell whether Alden was breathing or not, or if there was water in his lungs. He started mouth-to-mouth artificial respiration. As he continued, Alden was coming to life. And he was coming to life in more ways than one. His body was reacting to the attention it was getting from Wal's rubbing of his limbs and giving him mouth-to-mouth. Alden was getting hard, and, unable to avoid brushing his erection in passing, Wal was getting hard too.

This was what Wal wanted. This was what he'd wanted ever since he and Alden had been in high school together. Trevor Cole had been getting what Wal wanted from Alden. And Trevor Cole wasn't here now.

Wal had fished Alden out of the sea—saved him from peril. Emotions were running high, even Alden's, as he drifted into consciousness, realized he was safe and who had saved him, and was aroused by the massage and mouth work he was getting.

Alden swung an arm around Wal's neck and pulled him close in and the mouth-to-mouth work became a deep, searching kiss. Wal's hand went to Alden's erection and worked it as Alden's groans and moans increased in strength.

When Alden released Wal's lips, Wal looked down into his face with a puppy dog look and whispered a hopeful, "Please."

Alden's answer was to reach between their chests and start undoing the buttons on Wal's slicker. He was too weak still to provide Wal much more than an erection, but at this moment that was all Wal needed. He stripped off his oilskin pants and the sweatpants under those as Alden reached skin through the layers of shirting and twisted Wal's nipples to be rewarded with little yips and grunts and heavy breathing from the fisherman. While still stroking Alden's cock, Wal lowered his face for another lip lock. Alden reached for and grabbed and squeezed Wal's balls and was rewarded by a groan and a deep moan. Wal lifted his leg over Alden's waist, rose on his knees, and grabbed Alden's erection in his fist, positioned his channel over it, and then began to lower himself on the shaft.

He stopped, half skewered, and looked down into Alden's eyes as if to assure himself this was really happening. Alden gave a low, guttural laugh, raised his head to Wal's chest and made Wal cry out and arch his back when Alden bit him on a nipple, following Wal's chest up as it arched. His hands went to Wal's bare buttocks, slapped them hard before digging into them with his fingernails and pulling the globes apart to gain deeper access in Wal's channel for his cock to sink in. He began fucking up into Wal's channel, his cock reaching a new depth with each thrust.

Wild with passion, Wal arched back, grabbed his ankles with his fists, and met thrust for thrust, riding Alden's cock hard and long until both had spouted their satisfaction and were spent.

Wal collapsed on Alden's chest and they both lay there, panting, fighting to regain their breath.

"Sorry," Wal whispered into Alden's chest. "I don't know what happened. I didn't mean . . ."

"You saved my life. And you did mean it."

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Yes it will. But it will be my way. When I wanted to do it back in high school, you were too scared. If we do it again, it will be my way."

They were silent for several minutes, and when Wal spoke, it was on more practical matters.

"You're still cold. Here, we'll move to the cabin. Towels. You need to dry off. Now I do too. And a blanket. Don't need hypothermia."

Wal helped Alden down to his cabin, which he had made into his home. He was a neat person—and lived a simple life—so the cabin was in order. He pulled the towel off the rack next to his shower cubicle and handed it to Alden as he was lowered to the berth at the far end of the cabin.

"And here's a blanket. I'll just go into the other cabin and get something for you to wear—you're more my younger brother's size than mine. You'd swim in the size I need. Yours are in shreds. Be back in a jiffy."

When he returned, he was holding briefs, a T-shirt, and shorts in one hand. In the other, though, he was holding several lengths of nylon cording and a thin leather belt.

Alden's eyes went to the rope and belt. "You sure? Back in high school—"

"I regretted being scared about what you wanted back then even as you were walking away from me. We can manage here. It's a fishing boat. There are ring handles everywhere in here."

And so there were. There was an iron ring in the center of the ceiling by the berth where Wal was strung up by his wrists. And there were handle grabs on the cabin wall on either side of the berth that Wal's ankles were tied to, suspending him in air, facing the berth nook.

When the welts on Wal's back, buttocks, and thighs were still just pinkish skin from the flicking of the leather belt, Alden stopped and leaned into Wal's back. He was breathing heavy and Wal could feel Alden's larger-than-ever cock throbbing at the small of his back.

Alden moved his mouth to Wal's ear and whispered, "You sure? We could stop here. Just a regular fuck. I'm feeling good enough."

"I want it," Wal murmured. "I wanted it back then. That's what I wanted to tell you at Dungan's last year. I wanted it. I wanted it then; I was just too scared. Oh, shit, yes, I want it."

He yelped and groaned as Alden bit his earlobe before pulling away, and then he was crying out louder. "Oh Damn . . . yes!"

The leather of the belt was digging deeper into his back.

Just when he didn't think his arms and legs could take any more from the weight of the suspension of his body in midair in the cabin, Wal felt Alden's hands at his waist, lifting him, and setting him down on Alden's thighs, now supporting the weight of his own thighs. Alden's hands went to Wal's buttocks. He palmed and spread the globes, and then he was lowering Wal's channel on his super-aroused cock.

Wal's rump nestled in Alden's crotch and his channel deeply skewered on Alden's staff, Alden reached around and took Wal's own erection in both of his hands. Wal found the edges of the berth nook wall on both sides with the soles and heels of his feet, which he used for leverage to fuck himself on Alden's cock.

With a cry of release—release from all sorts of tensions in his life—Wal ejaculated in three heavy spouts across the coverlet on the boat's berth.

Alden heard the hailing call from beyond the boat's cabin before Wal did. Wal was still hanging, exhausted, his head down, and all of his senses concentrating on the warmth of Alden's cum inside him and the strength with which it had filled him.

One second Alden was there, and the next he wasn't, whispering that he thought he heard something out on deck and was going to go check. And very soon after that, as the voices on deck started to cut into Wal's consciousness, he no longer was alone in the cabin. At first there were two men there, neither one of them Alden. There was the senator, Alden's father, Avery Shern. And there was Trevor Cole. Both looked out-of-control angry.

Trevor stood back, blocking the door. Wal could hear Alden, beyond the door, trying to get back in, but being held back by Trevor.

The senator, Avery Shern, drew near to Wal. Wal heard the man utter something angrily in his ear. He didn't catch it all, just the phrase, "You dare." And then Wal was screaming as the belt buckle lashed at his back and buttocks. He was semiconscious when the beating stopped. Fingers were being run over the cuts and welts that had been caused by the belt buckle. And then the senator, Alden's father, was fucking him from behind, all the time hissing incomprehensible angry words in his ear. Avery ejaculated and then pulled out of Wal's ass—and was gone.

And then there was only one. Trevor Cole, his face red as a beet, a horrific aspect of anger gripping his face, and his hands bunched up in white-knuckled fists.

Wal was helpless, still trussed up, both wrists and ankles bound, naked body suspended in air.

He looked over his shoulder with growing concern and horror, as Cole first picked up sections of nylon cording that were on the deck by the bed and wrapping them around the knuckles of his fists, and then picking up the belt.

Somewhere close to dawn, one of Wal's brothers found his fishing boat, drifting south of Shernhaven, almost to Gumet Point at the entrance of Plymouth harbor leading up to Duxbury. When Wal hadn't returned to Shernhaven harbor that evening or contacted them, which he always did if he was putting into another harbor, they went to two of their other fishing boats and activated the GPS systems connecting all of the boats. This led them directly to Wal, who was still trussed up in his cabin, but beaten almost to a pulp.

He wasn't conscious when they found him, but when they released him and cleaned him up the best they could, being careful of one leg and the opposite arm, both of which seemed to be broken, he came to enough to beg them not to take him back to Shernhaven. Although they pleaded with him to tell them who had done this to him, he refused to answer. He only wanted to be taken anywhere but Shernhaven.

So, they continued on to Duxbury and called ahead for an ambulance to meet them at the dock.