Brothers in Arms Ch. 08

Cassie clung to him as if she would crawl inside him. Even though Prest was a small person himself, the negro girl seemed like a tiny wounded animal curled up in his arms. He had heated some water by the fire and now gently wiped her face and neck and hands with a piece of warm wet rag. Prest would have liked to have undressed her and softly washed all the signs of her abuse from her body, cleansed her of all trace of the miscreants, but she would not release her hold upon his neck. He thought back to his earlier life and was filled with shame at the attitudes he used to have toward Negro women. He remembered the crude jokes he had shared with boyhood friends, the ideas he used to hold that these people were less than animals, to be held as property, used as any white man desired. He remembered the many ugly raised scars on Mandigo's back and marveled that he had ever been in a frame of mind where such things were not only accepted as normal, but encouraged. That Cassandra was a beautiful human being was highlighted by the kidnappers desire to abase her. Mandigo had taught him to think of Negroes as people, but Cassandra had taught him of their grace and beauty as a people. Preston swore a gentleman's oath to himself at that moment. He would support and defend these people's quest for equality for the rest of his life; he would challenge anyone who threatened the life or liberty of these gentle loving people. As Cassie dozed off in his arms, tears wet the cheeks of Preston Dalton, former soldier in the Army of the Confederate States of America.

Soon the little campsite was still. The silence was complete save for the whoo, whoo-whoo of an eared owl somewhere off in the black of night. Jeff slept somewhat fitfully, groaning often as he tried to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. Cassandra lay curled in the safety of Preston's arms, curled like a tiny wounded brown kitten. Preston himself snored softly and held her tight as if afraid to lose her again.

Sean woke to find Neal's body close behind his as they slept, like a magnet slipping inexorably toward one of opposite charge. Completing the attraction, he smuggled back against Neal's huge muscled form. Though asleep, the older man responded by throwing one hugely muscled arm around Sean's waist, its weight nearly pinning them together. Sean was sleeping naked as usual, but the blacksmith's cock had somehow wormed its way through the double flap of his long johns to push strongly against Sean's buttocks. Neal moaned and wriggled his hips forward, his penis insinuating itself in Sean's crack. Sean, deciding to challenge how far the encounter would go, crossed his right knee over the left, widening the space between his cheeks and the availability of access.

Neal woke slowly and silently. It took him a moment or two to assess the situation. Then, placing his big smithy's hands on Sean's hips, he levered himself up on his left knee, rotated his own hips to the right, and slipped his cock head easily past Sean's tight anal ring. Sean began to cry out, but Neal covered his mouth with one of his big rough hands and held him tight as he pushed hard and drilled the rest of his cock into Sean's rectum. Neal's left arm was under Sean, his huge left hand restraining Sean's head and covering his mouth. His right arm now held Sean's thighs from the front and his giant right hand closed over Sean's massive cock. Holding both tight, Neal drove hard and fast and mercilessly up into Sean, over and over, seeking only his own release, perhaps because he was only now coming awake, perhaps seeking an immediate and sudden receptacle for his pent up, boiling anger. Neal was not gentle, was not caring, did not seek to please his new friend, but drove relentlessly up into Sean hard and fast until release came shuddering through him. He spent himself deep inside Sean's struggling body.

Nonetheless, the forward thrusting against Sean's ass and Neal's tight grip on his penis caused Neal's fist to masturbate Sean, much as he would himself, until he also exploded onto the bedding below and all over Neal's hand. Sean began to speak, but the older man, still holding mouth and cock, whispered harshly, "Shush, Go back to sleep!"

Falling asleep after orgasm was normally easy for Sean, but this night his troubled mind sought to understand what had just transpired. Neal's large rough hands still held him tightly, almost as if he were captive. Though Neal had acted roughly and inconsiderately, though he had acted wholly without Sean's feelings in mind, Sean had found it not entirely unpleasant. Even now, still restrained he felt not uncomfortable as much as unfulfilled. He had only begun to experience a new sensations, a kind of joy of being contained, confined. In the past, whether giving or receiving, Sean had always thought of himself as in charge, in control. But now, Sean had experienced a new and thrilling sense of turning over control to another. And then, just as he had began to welcome this new thrill, before he could adapt to and embrace this new pleasure, it was over. And yet...something. . . something remained. Something deep inside him had been touched, a window or door opened, but just a crack, then slammed shut again, before he could gain sight of what had come so close to moving him profoundly.