Title: Gibraltar Awakening
Keywords: mf, rom, hist
Author: Caesar
There was a pianist named Liszt
Who played with one hand while he pissed,
But as he grew His technique grew bolder,
And in concert jacked off with his fist.
Gibraltar Awakening (originally titled Dream #5)
by Caesar, copyright 1992-2002
$Revision: 1.7 $ $Date: 2002/04/15 14:07:23 $
I remember very little about the woman who rescued me and who is
responsible for my recovery. If not for her gentle and caring ways, I
would certainly be laying upon the rocks near Gibraltar, dead. I
honestly cannot say what she looked like, nor her age. The whole time
I was with her, I was feverish and mostly comatose. The battle, now
known as Trafalgar, was a nightmare that could be described as Hell.
Especially to those stuck on one of the gun decks of a first rate. I
shall never sleep peacefully again, the images of my friends screaming
out as the ship rocked with multiple cannon shot, both friend and foe,
coming and going. The ship I was proud to be a crewman of, lost more
men with the storm afterwards than the actual battle. I had lived
through Hell, to fight again with an impossible foe, the weather. Yet
that is a different tale.
The first moment that I knew I was out of the cold water and
knife-like wind was a hazy and sickening encounter. It was also the
first, and only time, I saw my rescuer. Perhaps it was the warm fire,
or snugly blankets that encased my body, the smell of stew
cooking over the open fire, or the large flea ridden laying next
to my head sleeping. I have no recollection why, yet I opened my eyes
and saw a small warm room and the back of my matron. She was bent
over the table, cutting something unknown. She was a small woman,
blond hair which is a rarity in these waters. Wearing a loose skirt
and large blouse, yet I could still see she was and in fine
shape as any could hope for.
The last previous recollection I have was trying to swim the
impossible current off the coast of Spain, before being dragged under.
And at that moment, I wanted to know what happened, where I was, and
who was the woman. I tried to sit up. Well, that was it. The room
spun dizzily, spots appeared before me, and I lost what little
strength I had had. The last thing I saw before passing out, yet
again, was the face of my rescuer as she spun surprised at the noise.
I can still remember the round pretty face, the wide surprised eyes,
and the look of concern she gave me before I was again gone.
Don't recall how long it was before I sensed another sensation, but I
felt a warm wet rough cloth scrubbing by naked torso. I could feel a
cool draft upon my exposed skin, proof that the blankets were
pulled down to my knees. I was evidently naked. My consciousness
kept me back into darkness, but the coarse cloth pulled me
back again and again. I had no strength, none to even talk. The
woman had strong warm hands, the cloth a rough contrast. I returned
from consciousness at one moment and noticed that a finger was gently
sliding along the length of my penis. Up and down, and even in my
condition it enlarged pleased with some kind of attention. I must
admit I was surprised that he had more strength than I. My rescuer
attempted to encircle me with her small hand but could not, yet did
grasp it enough to point me towards the ceiling. Unfortunately that
was when I again blacked out.
I awoke a few more more times, but I only remember being sick, her
body holding me still as I puked my guts over the side of the straw
bed. I lived a dizzy black existence for an undetermined amount of
time.
The hardness of my penis again awoke me. A strange sensation, one
every male learns to enjoy at a early age. There was a warm small
body in the bed with me, laying with her back to me. My male hardness
pressing into the crack of her bottom pushed her woolen nightdress
between those soft globes. She moved only slightly, causing my cock
to slide up the length of that soft enveloping crack before coming
back down. The lady continued thus, going very slowly, her breath
slow and even. She seemed asleep, yet I knew differently. I wished
for the strength to reach out and lift that rough nightgown up past
her hips, but could not. I fell asleep, my penis still hard.
Again I was being washed, this time I laying upon my front. A soapy
slippery hand washed the crack of my bottom. A strange sensation, one
I had never experienced before. I was wet from shoulders to mid
thigh. She had saved my bottom for last. My rescuer was indeed an
interesting woman! She felt around my small hard anus, trying to
clean me or...? Quickly she stopped and dried me off.
There was several forced feedings, a broth was forced into my mouth
with a wooden spoon. Usually I regurgitate this back up, yet she
seemed to want my strength to increase. A can only go for so long
without food.
Her body slept next to mine, curled up to my side, her leg thrown over
mine, her head upon my chest. I knew immediately that she wore the
same rough gown. A small hand was rubbing the head of my hard
privates. She pressed her groin into my thigh again and again, her
breathing laboured. Though both of us were covered with the rough
blanket I could feel the warm blow of her breath. Her head was under
the blanket, just above my navel. I realized this woman was presented
with a disabled man, that she thought there would be no remembering of
what she did. Doubtful she knew I had moments of consciousness, as
few as they seemed to be to me. I could feel her heated moisture even
through that ugly gown. The darkness enveloped me yet again.
Possibly I was getting better, I began to awake more often. I had no
strength, but knew of my surrounding even more. Especially when I was
touched or a loud noise awoke me. Evidently my lady washed me once a
day, her hands withholding nothing. She would fondle my shaft to it
full height every time, the last she even bent forward and her lips
kissed the head of my penis. That time was also the first I head her
voice, a soft gentle voice, she spoke a guttural Spanish. A language
I did not understand, yet I heard a few words that were familiar to
me, "lavar", "cama", and "obra".
After that day when she kissed my cock. The lady began to sleep with
me wearing as much as me. Meaning nothing. I was fully conscious
when she again pressed her centre to my thigh, her hand immediately
grasping my hardness. The woman began to stimulate herself as well as
me. Yet this time, I could feel the hardness of her nipples against
my skin, the scratchy coarseness of her pubis, and the moisture that
part of her covered my thigh with. Night after night, was spent thus.
How many I have no idea.
Yet one night, she sleep with me and clung fiercely to me, her nails
biting into my skin. The unknown lady cried upon me, of what I have
no idea. Perhaps her husband was a sailor, pressed as I had been into
service for his country. I didn't know, but knew she was a lonely,
perhaps even scared, woman.
After feeding me one afternoon, she pulled my covers off me. Thinking
I was to get another bath this day, I anticipated what was to follow.
I was wrong. My rescuer immediately grasped my penis in her small
hand and began to squeeze it back to life. Of course it did, very
quickly. She immediately started to stroke it back and forth for a
long moment. I could hear her murmuring under her breath as she
unabashed stimulated me. She stopped. I was thankful, being sexually
stimulated often without a release can become very hard on the male
body. Yet when I felt a naked thigh next to my hip, then the other
was thrown over to the other side, I knew what was to follow and was
very pleased. My lady was kneeling above me, her hands upon my chest.
I could feel her bottom moving around, the head of my cock sliding
back and forth across her moist crack. With a brutal shove, she
dropped upon my lap and I realized she had seated herself around my
organ. She began a string of Spanish obscenities as she moved
delightfully upon my lap. Already I can feel the moisture sliding
down to my balls and my lap. The sound of her hurried sex loud in the
small room, the smell intoxicating. She had wonderful control of her
inner muscles and used then wonderfully. The woman leaned forward and
pressed her hardened nipples to my inert lips, rubbing them back and
forth across my face. My release was almost simultaneous with the
moment I moved my hand to grab her calf next to my thigh. She gasped
out in surprise both from the life giving juices shooting deep into
her and my rough hand against her warm smooth skin. I blacked out
just when the last spasm rippled through my cock, and hers was
beginning.
I believe it was that night when she again took me. Climbing over me,
her body laying on mine. She quickly slid me into her wet grotto, and
pressed her legs together and began to enjoy me. Using her hands next
to my torso, she seemed almost male as she moved her hips up and down.
This time my release was simultaneous with hers. I fell asleep with
her laying upon my spent body.
Was it the good care of my nurse, or was it the awakening of my sexual
urges that brought me back to life. I have no idea. Yet the woman
spent, I would guess, three days sampling what I had to offer. Mostly
it was with her above me, but once she lay with her back to me at
night as she moved be bottom back and forth against me. She must feel
delightful uninhibited as she did things ladies of these times would
not do. Like I felt her lips taste me, her tongue running up and down
the length of my shaft. Or using my hand to wiggle along the length
of her slit. Perhaps the scariest was when she pressed that warm wet
slit to my face, rubbing it up and down. Yet I could not breath, and
thankfully she spent very quickly.
She soon realized I was conscious and that my strength was returning.
The lady stopped her playfulness. Evidently returning to a puritan
way. Her hand never touched my penis, even when she cleaned me and my
organ grew to great heights, her hand never even touch it. Only once
more did I discover her urges still applied. Noises awoke me, my body
was uncovered, and I could almost feel her breath upon my sex. She
was evidently stimulating herself while looking upon my manhood. It
only lasted a moment before she spent, barely long enough for me to
gain my full height.
I awoke with the heat of the sun coming through the open window. The
storm was over. I could hear a male voice speaking with my rescuer.
I learned her name was Louise, yet could not make out any other of the
foreign words. I was taken away without ceremony or gentleness. Over
a rocky hilly terrain I was taken in a cart to a small town. In a few
days a small sloop of war took me on and I awoke fully on that vessel.
I am a sailor, and will probably die such. When the spray blows
against my face, and the length of the voyage becomes obvious, my mind
returns to Louise and her warm bed.
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