Eric and his
Mate
By Dino
(sent by Psychouzibear)
Eric and his
mate, Jock, were quite a team… a couple of strong, muscular fishermen, who
usually fished off the coast of Sligo, Ireland.
They were real men... used to hard, dirty work, and they managed to make a
good living at it. Eric was the older, bigger man... standing a full six feet
tall, with broad shoulders, a big butt, and a nice, round gut. He was hairy
and bearded, yet a likable man. Most everyone loved his sea stories, not least
of all Jock. Jock was younger and smaller, but still well-built, and solid.
The hairy, beefy twenty-eight year old was dependable, loyal, and easy to get
along with... and best of all, he wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. At 5'
10" tall, Jock weighed around 210 pounds, was hairy, and rock-solid. He
was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, and he obviously was belly-centered.
He nearly always had at least one hand on his tight, round, hairy belly....
rubbing, scratching, patting, or slapping it passionately. The proud, sexy
Irishman walked tall and erect, with shoulders back, never slumped. All, but no one seemed to pay any attention
to it. Afterall, the last thing they wanted to do was bring on the wrath of
the two hearty Irishmen. The only real
danger they faced, other than the obvious ones that they incurred during the
course of their profession, were the "pirates", a group of
despicable men who would wait until the fishermen got their boats full, and
then try to take the load, for their own gain. Because of that, Eric and Jock
kept guns on the boat, just in case. One particularly difficult trip beyond
the Sligo Bay had netted the men quite a load, but
they were exhausted. The northern winds were kicking up, and a light mist was
rolling across the deck, as they saw the lighthouse in the distance. The rest of the crew had long-since retired
below deck, to get some rest, or just play cards, but Jock and Eric stood out
on the deck, leaning against the railing. Eric had pulled a big woolen
sweater over his coveralls, and it quickly took the edge off the brisk winds
that were whipping across the ship's hull. The tough, hot-natured young Jock
wore only a light jacket, and even that was open to his low-slung
trousers. Jock lit a cigarette and
drew hard on it. Eric snuggled close to him, and ran his hand across the
kid's round, hard belly, and Jock grinned up at him. As Jock exhaled, Eric
stared at his handsome face. "It'll
be good to get home," he said. Jock smiled and said, "you're damned
right, it will. I can't wait to get clean, naked, and in bed with you." "Say,
Eric," yelled young Thompson. "There's a boat approaching, from the
forward side." Eric and Jock rushed over to take a look. "Damn,
it's that sorry Farrell bunch," exclaimed Eric. Jock took one more drag
and thumped his cigarette into the sea. "I'll roust the others, and
we'll show those fuckin' bastards who's boss,"
he said, after exhaling fully. By the
time the Farrell family had gotten close, all twelve men were stationed about
the boat, guns and other weapons in hand. "Say,
Eric! How ye doin'," shouted Angus, the father
of the rowdy bunch? "We be fine, Farrell," yelled Eric. "What
is it that you want?" "I was thinkin' that we might get together, here on me boat, for
a little whiskey and partyin'." "Nope,
it's time me and my men got back to shore. Thanks for the invitation, just
the same," yelled Eric. "Alright...if
that's how ye feel," said Angus, as he turned around to give the order
to move on. But he didn't give the order to move on instead, the big man
tossed his hand in the air, and shots began to ring out. Three of
Eric's men screamed out in pain, as bullets struck them in the chest and
head, and the rest of the crew hunkered down for the fight. Farrell's boat
drifted forward, as the shooting continued, scraping against the hull of
Eric's boat. Thompson nailed three of Farrell's men, two of them falling into
the sea, between the two boats. Mayhem ensued for several long minutes, as
the two crews shot at one another from the boats. Without warning,
several of Farrell's men, lead by his young son, Collin, swung aboard the
boat, and Jock spotted them first. He took careful aim at the largest one,
Anthony. The blast of Jock's gun sent the big man staggering back, his heart
a bloody mess. The others scattered like quail, leaving Anthony to die on the
deck. Collin came upon young Thompson, but he tucked his gun away. Reaching
down, the young Farrell picked up a harpoon gun. Holding it to his side, he
eased closer and drove it with all of his might into the young man's lower
back, the point emerging from his gut.
Thompson screamed loudly, and Collin grinned sadistically, as he
worked the big spear back and forth in his guts. Thompson finally grew weak
and sank like a rock. Taking his
knife out, Collin eased down the deck towards the other men. Eric's men
fought hard, but they were clearly overrun, and it seemed obvious that they
couldn't win. Farrell had too many men to fight off but if any of Eric's men
feared their death, they sure didn't show it. Jock was the most fearless of
them all, bringing down seven of Farrell's men, alone. He was trying to get
to Collin, and had to fighthis way to him. Collin
sensed that someone was coming up behind him, so he quickly slipped inside a
hatch and waited. As Jock moved closer to the hatch, Collin rushed out and
drove his knife into Jock's belly. The two men were the same age, and had
grown up together, though they had remained enemies from the start. Collin
laughed loudly, as he worked the blade back and forth inside Jock's aching
guts. Suddenly, Jock clenched his teeth, and took hold of the smaller man.
Grasping him firmly, Jock swung Collin around, and Farrell looked shocked.
Standing in front of him was Thompson, slumped over, the harpoon still
protruding from his middle. Without
warning, Thompson thrust his body into Collin's, sending the point of the
harpoon into Farrell's flat belly. Collin's eyes widened, as he felt the big
spear rip through his guts, and straight out of his arching back. Even after
Thompson's belly pressed against Farrell's, they stood, clutching one another
in a firm embrace, groaning in agony.Jock left them
to find Eric. By the time
Jock located the big man, he saw that the elder Farrell had wounded Eric in the
thigh, and that several men were tying him to the bulkhead. Enraged, and
still carrying Collin's knife in his gut, Jock bent over with a groan. He
picked up a rifle, and stood back up. Farrell
reached for a rifle at the same moment, and aimed it at Eric. "Say ye
prayers, mate," he growled. Two of the men stood in the way of Farrell,
and Jock opened fire on them, striking one in the back, and the other in the
chest, as he turned around to shoot at him. Farrell quickly wheeled around,
forgetting the tied-up man in front of him. Eric squinted his eyes, and
spotted Jock through the mist. Damn, he looked hot, he thought. He was
standing erect, as always, his shoulders pulled back, a big grin on his
handsome bearded face. Then, Eric spotted the knife, and he grew sad. Jock
and Farrell fire together, and each was hit with a slug. Jock aimed higher,
sending Farrell to the deck with a slug in his chest, while Farrell had hit
him low in the belly. Jock choked, and grabbed his lower belly, but he
stumbled towards Eric. As soon as he reached the big man, he took out his
knife and cut him loose. "I'll
get you some help," said Eric, as he cradled the man in his arms. Out of
the corner of his eye, Jock saw a movement, and heard a noise. Pulling away
from Eric, he turned towards it, to shield Eric from whatever it was. It was
Farrell, and the man on the deck opened fire again, sending four slugs into
Jock's guts before Eric could do anything to stop him. Jock dug at his hairy
belly and groaned, then fell to the deck, as soon as he heard the hammer hit
an empty chamber. Two of Farrell's men rushed around the corner and opened
fire, sending a half-dozen slugs into Eric's hairy belly, and the big man
grunted and danced back against the bulkhead. He rubbed his big belly with both
hands, as the two gunmen rushed over to help Farrell up. Once on his feet, he
clutched his upper chest, and muttered to the men, "finish the
bastard." As they took position in front of Eric, they heard a loud thunk, followed by a scream of agony. Turning around, the
two men saw Farrell staring down at the knife stuck through his heart. His
eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell forward, the knife slamming into
the wooden deck. Looking over
in the shadows, they spotted Jock, sitting in a heap on a bench, a huge grin
on his handsome face, and no knife in his gut. The men stormed over to him,
as the kid slid down to lay across the bench. Jock smiled up at them and one
of them leaned over, placing the smoking gunbarrel
near Jock's navel. In complete defiance, Jock mustered amazing strength,
arching his back and pushing his bellybutton against the barrel. Eric clutched
himself and stumbled towards the men. Just as he got close, he spotted Jock,
his belly pressed to the barrel of the man's gun. Jock spat blood in the
man's face, and the gunman fed him all he had...right into the kid's guts. "Noooooo...noooo," groaned
Eric, as he charged towards the men. The other gunman swung around and
emptied his gun into Eric's big, round gut, but it didn't stop him. He charged
on, gathering lead, but too enraged to stop.
Taking hold of the shooter's throat, he squeezed so hard that the man
was panicked. Eric's hands were like a vice, as he choked the man. At first,
the second gunman tried to pry Eric's fingers from his buddy's throat, but he
couldn't budge them. Rushing across the deck, the gunman found a 38
automatic. He quickly checked and it was fully loaded. Jock was coughing up
blood and massaging his aching belly, but the stout young Irishman pulled
himself up onto his feet. Spotting the gunman with the 38, he thrust his body
in front of Eric. Eric had finally strangled the man he was choking, and he
turned him loose, the big man falling like a sack of rocks. As the gunman
stalked the two, he fired one slug after another into Jock's belly, and Eric
couldn't stand it anymore. He shoved the kid aside, and charged at the
gunman, taking three more slugs in his big, hairy belly, before he reached
the man. Enraged, Eric
grasped the man's gun and twisted it out of his hand. Placing it to the
startled man's chest. Eric fired the last bullet through the unlucky man's
heart, and the gunman dropped to the deck. As soon as Eric turned around,
Jock stumbled forward, and into his arms. Jock kissed his neck and moaned.
They slowly slid to the deck, clinging to one another. For several minutes,
they heard nothing but the laping of the waves
against the side of the boat, and their own low moans, as they dug at their
wounded bellies. A lone man
crawled through the mist, to where they lay. He was Farrell's nephew, and he
had four slugs in his body. When he reached the two men, he sat on his legs,
and reached behind his back. Pulling a 9mm from his trousers, he raised it up
and took aim at Eric's big gut. Jock reached up and took hold of the kid's
hand. He twisted it so far that the kid screamed out in pain. Jock nearly
broke his wrist. The kid sank
down on top of Jock, the gun between them. Farrell fired the gun four times,
sending all four slugs deep into Jock's belly. He finally grew limp. Eric
rolled onto his side, and reached for the kid's throat. As soon as he took
hold of Farrell's slender neck, the kid slid the gun from between his and
Jock's stomachs, and placed it to Eric's big hairy belly. He managed to empty
the gun into the big man, before the kid fell away from him, dying from his
previous wounds. Eric pushed the kid off of Jock, and he heard him moan low.
Eric couldn't believe how bloody Jock's hairy belly was. There was no telling
how many times he had been shot. Jock glanced up at Eric and smiled before he
died. Eric massaged his big gut, as he lay his head on Jock's muscular chest.
A couple of gasps later, he died.
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