The Fisherman's Son

Jamie was only a fisherman's son, and he lay on the slab and said fillet.

On top of the marble slab, just like that. He climbed up not worrying about the fish guts and entrails remaining from the previous cleaning. Fish heads mouths open as if gasping for their last breath fell to the floor, intestines stuck to Jamie’s thighs and knees, scales stuck silvery to the skin on his stomach and chest. Blood smeared on his elbows.

The fishermen stood around in their black leather aprons staring at the lad prostate in front of them. His sculptured chest, his perfect stomach muscles, his muscular legs, an arse they all wanted. That's what Jamie knew.

The fisherman's son was wide-eyed, like an animal caught in spotlights, except there were no spotlights. He chewed furiously as he looked from one to the next of the tough fishermen staring at him.

The effeminate son of the head fisherman had long since dreamt of having his water proof pants torn from his limbs and his underwear ripped to his ankles, before being pushed over the bow of the boat by a line of pent up, many days from home, sex-crazed fishermen waiting to have their turn inside him.

He'd hung around in the communal showers on many a night and he knew that Chook and Sargent and Jackoff all looked with interested eyes. He knew Sargent had a horse cock, not so pretty but thick. And Percy had wanked for Jamie one late stormy night but he wouldn't let Jamie touch it when he reached for it, as the cum hung from Percy's knob in strings.

If they thought Jamie would be intimidated, if they thought he'd freak out, if they thought he'd scream out in fear, they were wrong. He wasn't hurting, or terrified, or terrorised, he loved the idea of it, he revelled in the attention. He knew he would love it, he begged for it.

"Do it to me." His voice was gravelly. Like you'd wanted to do it to each other's daughters ever since you saw them in their bikinis on the beach that first summer after they hit puberty. "I'm as tight as a twelve year old." His internal monologue tried not to laugh. He rested his forehead down on the cold marble, he raised his arse in the air, wiggling it around slowly, in his white briefs poking out from the arseless leather apron he was wearing. He breathed in what these men breathed in every night at midnight when they ate their wives pussies. "I can take you all." Harder than any girl will let you take them. "I can take anything you can dish out." All of you, one after the other. "I don't care about respect, whatever you want, I'm willing.” Two at once if any of you think you can do it. "Make me stretch…”

He could hear the gathered crowd's breathing. He could sense their attention and it was all directed at him. Their sexual angst was palpable, they'd been at sea for months. All energy beams were now drilling into his skin, peeling the hair from the crack in his arse, he could feel it.

Face down, he squirmed on the cold marble, rolling around on his hardening cock. He could feel the cool sea air blowing against the crack in his arse, or was that the gathered men's intent? He knew which he suspected it to be, wanted it to be. His pink hole puckered, not that the assembled gang-bang could see that, not yet.

Suddenly, a huge hand jammed itself between his legs from the back, wrapping around his nuts first and then sliding underneath him and grabbing his boner brutally hard, which only made him stiffen up to the hardness of steal.

"This little bitch is sure ready for it," said Sargent's gruff voice. His hand squeezed Jamie so hard that in any other situation it would have hurt and Jamie would have yelped in pain no doubt, but he was so turned on he started to imagine nothing these fishermen could do, short of producing a knife and cutting him open, was going to hurt him. He was ready to be brutally raped by a gang of disgusted fishermen, and he was wondering why these guys were taking so long. He thought, if he isn't punched in the face, he doubted very much he was going to be able to cum.

“He’s always wanted it,” said Percy.

Jamie could feel the men close in around him.

He imagine having his arms twisted up behind his back, maybe his shoulder dislocating and being chocked with huge brutal hands around his neck strangling off the air flow to his brain, before his cast iron cock could spray a agonisingly painful load of jizz out of him in hard, torturous busts. He ground his hard cock into the cold marble at the very thought.

Sargent’s thick, sausage fingers breached the leg elastic of Jamie’s briefs and what felt like the tip of his middle finger slid into Jamie’s arse crack and then pierced Jamie’s puckering hole with more force than Jamie was expecting, which took his breath away momentarily, but at the same time it made precum shoot from Jamie’s cock, he could feel it wet against his stomach.

“Jesus!” It was Mad Dog’s voice.
Mad Dog was the latest fisherman recruit. A bikey who’d mysteriously said he needed to get off the road for a time, when he was asked why he joined the crew. Mad Dog, who, in his first week, had screamed “whippet”, when he’d seen Jamie walking the corridor from the shower to his bunk, pulling the towel from Jamie’s hips leaving him naked. Jamie thought he was going to get flicked with the white towelling, instead Mad Dog picked Jamie up raising him high into the air above his head, one hand on Jamie’s chest, one hand grabbing him in the crotch by the dick, as Mad Dog ran up onto the deck, to the edge of the boat and motioning to throw Jamie full force overhead into the water. Stopping as he seemingly went to throw Jamie, stopping mid throw with a jolt and dropping Jamie full force onto the deck like the proverbial bag of shit, where he lay cowering, fully naked, on the wooden deck planks. Mad Dog laughed maniacally, screaming, “You should have just seen your fucking face! Fucken priceless. You thought you were going to die.”

Jamie was really turned on. He bared up. He tried to hide it by crossing his legs.

Mad Dog grabbed Jamie by the forearm, and pulled him to his feet. He slapped Jamie’s hard on with his open hand. “You’ve got a horn, you dirty little perve.” The crew had gathered around, one of them threw Jamie his towel, which he wrapped around himself before he hurried away.

Jamie was still jerking nightly about that incident.
“Make him wet.” That was Chook.

Another hand came down the back of his briefs, the thick finger of which was saliva drenched joined Sergeants still buried inside Jamie hole making them both equally as wet and able to plumb great depths of Jamie’s anus.

“I want to fucken see.” It was Mad Dog’s voice again, this time catching on the sexual desire welling up in his throat.

The next thing Jamie could hear was the tearing sound of his briefs as they were ripped off his arse.

Then he heard spitting, only some of which he could feel landing on his skin.

“Whose first?” asked Percy.