Author: admin

Saturday, 13 September 1902, New York City

“I do want to know how you came to this,” Hamilton Chamberlain said. He’d laid the small pouch with the money on it on the table in the basement hideaway “gentleman’s” club entered off an alley in the Chelsea section of New York City, but he didn’t take his fingers off it. The room, with a stage at one end of it, was small, dimly lit, and smoky from a pall of cigar and cigarette smoke. The tables were also small, set to accommodate one man, facing the stage, with another chair to seat either a man the patron had brought with him or one of the performers coaxed down from the stage after his act.

“I don’t want to take advantage of anyone being forced into this sort of life,” Chamberlain continued. The young man, flamboyantly dressed and in stage makeup, who was sitting with him understood that the man did, indeed, want to hear the lurid facts of the young man’s life and then to take advantage of him. He understood that knowing of his jaded past would add to the man’s arousal.

Clayton Long looked down at the pouch. His fingers had gone to it immediately, so the tips of his fingers were touching the man’s. The man’s hands were rough, calloused. But the fingernails were expertly groomed. He was not afraid of work, but he was able to make a lot of money from the work he did.

The man was older than Clayton was, perhaps as many as fifteen years older, in his early forties. He was gray at the temples, but with a good head of black hair yet. He was tanned, as if he spent time out of doors, and he was muscular. He wasn’t one to sit behind a desk all day. The grip of his hand on Clayton’s was strong, but he was trembling a bit, either suffering from a tremor or excited in the moment. The man’s ragged breathing indicated the latter.

He was elegantly dressed, dressed for the theater—for a nicer one than the club they were in where Clay had just been performing a magic act on the stage, using sleight of hand, rabbits, hats, inventive lighting and staging, and the willingness of the patrons to be fooled by what their eyes couldn’t completely comprehend. Part of the distraction of his act was to perform bare-chested, just with suspenders above the waist. He was a particularly handsome and well-formed young man. It was the sort of club where the patrons’ eyes—and all of the patrons were men—could be fooled into misconstruing what his hands were doing with tricks when his physique was so enticing. It was a time when even partial nudity aroused men.

Clayton performed alone, which distinguished his as one of the more refined acts—and, with the magic included, as one of the more legitimate, substantive acts. Some acts, like the one on stage now, giving Clayton and Chamberlain privacy in their conversation because most of the attention in the room was directed to the stage, included two men. The two men there now, one small and delicate of stature and one a regular gorilla, were challenging the question of just how far they would go with each other sexually and in terms of physical testing before ending their act.

The man’s suit was some sort of raw silk that flowed on his well-formed, if a bit well-fed frame. The starched shirt was pristine white, the cravat of an even finer silk than the suit. A beaver-pelt top hat reclined on top of two white gloves on the table, which supported two glasses of wine that Clay could attest was the best the club had to offer. The man wasn’t out of step with the rest of male clientele here. The facilities might be a bit on the shabby side, more evident when the gas lights were set up, and the bulk of the acts principally on the racy side, but the fees were steep for what a man could enjoy here. And considering that the pleasures to be had here were all male, privacy was at a premium. It was a time of repression in society, not public hedonism.

Clay had been raised with money too; he knew good wine when he tasted it, although he hadn’t tasted much of it in recent years, since he had returned from his year abroad, which had spun out to two years and had included a different education than his parents had thought he was getting—or would have thought if they hadn’t lost the well to care what choices Clay was making anymore.

“No, I’m not being forced into engaging with you at all, nor do I depend on it,” Clay answered. “I enjoyed meeting you at Lawrence’s after-theater party. He told me that you spoke to him of me and that I would find you a bit of fun. I did enjoy your conversation that night and was attracted to the look of you. I am meeting with you quite willingly and with interest.”

Yes, he had been forced that first time. Told not to go riding with that German baron in Bavaria when he went home, to the ancestral castle, with the student he’d met at Heidelberg that year after college. He’d been told the German noble was less than noble—and arrogant and took what he wanted. In the forest, the baron had pulled him off his horse and taken what he wanted—again and again.

Clayton had been a fool to go riding with the baron, after being told what the looks the man gave him meant. But Clay hadn’t been able to say he had regretted it. He knew he was inclined toward men and had been determined to include exploration of that in his year abroad. He just had not been in control of where, when, and how he was introduced to it. The baron had been brutal, but he had answered the question of what Clayton wanted in the way of sexual preference. Rather than running away, Clayton had extended his stay at the castle—until the baron had tired of him and moved on to another young man—and had moved on with an extensive education of how to lay with a man.

“But you don’t want to hear about my first time with a man,” Clay said. He said it teasingly because he had already discerned that the man, indeed, wanted to hear the salacious details of Clay undoing.

“Ah, but I do,” Hamilton said, his eyes flashing, the tip of his tongue flicking at the curve of his lower lip. “I believe you will agree that I have placed a generous amount in this pouch. I would very much like to hear about your first time.” He moved his hand over on top of Clay’s and squeezed it. “Was there much seduction? Was he handsome? Was he an expert with it?”

He was crude, Clay thought. He pulled me off the horse, punched me in the face and stomach, taking me by surprise and in shock. He was on top of me on the ground and inside me before I could react. He was ugly and fat, but he was a soldier and a baron. And he was an expert at it. He was inside me with little need of disrobing and he was swift and brutal. And then he was swift and brutal again. I was told I was a fool to have gone riding with him alone.

“Yes, he was handsome—or, rather, they were handsome,” Clay said, turning a smile on Hamilton, whose hand holding his was trembling from excitement and arousal. The man obviously wanted a storybook rendering. “I found myself a student for a short term in Heidelberg. It’s a school and city famous for beer halls and living large. I went there with members of the school’s fencing team. Yes, they were all handsome, and they held their beer a lot better than I did, and they were expert swordsmen. I don’t know how many young German students I lay under that night, but they covered me one after the other.”

The man sat back in his chair then, looking at Clay from under hooded eyes, clearly aroused. He’d taken his hand off the money pouch, and Clay had full possession of it, but he didn’t take it off the table top. They both understood that the transaction wasn’t settled until he did. The man’s hand was withdrawn to under the top of the table, and Clay was sure he knew where it had gone. If the man had wanted to touch and fondle Clay, the young man would have let him do so. But so far the man was too timid to go beyond touching himself.

“And Heidelberg. Is that where you learned to do magic?” His breathing was ragged. He obviously was trying to cool down.

“No, I learned that from another magician. Someone I served with—and under. Perhaps you know him. Mark Stewart.”

“Marco the Great?” Hamilton asked, surprised. “Why, he is much older than you are.”

“Yes, he is,” Clay answered. “I like older men.” Hamilton gave a little smile. The note of acceptance of older men wasn’t lost on him.

“He is touring the South now, I believe. Is that where—?” The man obviously wanted the story of Marco the Great laying Clayton as well.

“No, we met in Tangier. We did a magic act together. And then in Rome. They are a lot less inhibited in the Mediterranean than the theaters on this side of the Atlantic are.”

“You mean?”

“Yes. We performed for men, doing magic but also having sex on stage. What you have seen here on stage tonight—what is being performed on stage now—is tame compared to what Marco the Great—and Marco is great in interesting ways—and I have done abroad. You have no idea how easy it is to fool patrons with magic when one of the magicians is folded over the other in the position of the dog and moving his hips in rhythm.”

The man was shuddering. He reached out with a hand and placed it on Clay’s bare breast. He rubbed one of the young man’s nipples with a thumb. “But you are no longer with Marco?”

“I am ever with Marco when he wants me. He is cruel and demanding. He gives me no choice. We have a contract that gives him whatever he wants or it will go badly with me. I don’t like going with a man on that basis. I hate Marco. I don’t know what I’d do if I saw him again. If he is in the South now, he couldn’t be any farther away to please me.”

“Lawrence—at whose party we met. Does he . . . does he?”

“I lie down for Lawrence because I want to. He attracts me. He likes to lie on his back with me riding him. Lawrence has a thick cock.”

The man licked his lips and looked utterly smitten. “You sound like a young man of much experience.”

“I have been through Europe and the Middle East. I can give myself to a man in positions most men have never dreamed of.”

“It must be—”

“It is a fool’s talent,” Clay said. “But it’s the talent I’ve been given.”

“Ah to be young and foolish again,” Hamilton said somewhat wistfully.

“One can feel young and be foolish for a short time at any age,” Clay said. “What is life for if not to bring such pleasure as you can grasp—for the time you have to enjoy it?”

Hamilton took his hand away from Clay’s chest and moved it down to his crotch again. He started to say something and then stopped. But it had to be said, so he cleared his voice and said, “And me?”

“I find you attractive,” Clay said. “I have told you that already. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here with you.” He need say no more, and Hamilton watched the young man take up the pouch of money and slip it into his side pocket, giving no more than an appreciative sigh.

“I will go backstage and don my shirt and coat,” Clay said, rising.

“I have a Hansom carriage waiting for us outside. I will take you in the Hansom.”

“Where will you take me? I have made no arrangements for tonight.”

“That is not what I meant—I was not speaking of a destination, but of an arrangement, the fulfillment of an encounter.”

“Ah,” Clay said with a little smile. “Yes, I understand.”

“And . . . ?”

“Whatever you wish. I have no place I need to be tonight.”

“I have,” Hamilton said. “My residential town hotel isn’t far. My wife knows I’ll not be home tonight. We can be there together—as long as we wish.”

“Your residential hotel?”

“The Pierrepont on West 32nd Street. Twelve stories. A bachelor’s hotel. I have two rooms and a bath there.”

“Ah, a skyscraper. Steel, like the new Flatiron building that’s nearly complete.”

“Yes. That’s what I do. I’m in steel,” Hamilton answered.

And that means I will give you a very good time, Clay thought. The man wasn’t just attractive and well-heeled; he was exuded self-confidence and made Clay feel safe

“And the encounter in the Hansom when there is a hotel suite awaiting us?”

“Call it personal fantasy. Do you object?”

“No, not at all,” Clay answered, with a smile.

The good time started in Hansom on the way to the Pierrepont—or rather during the several turns around Central Park after the two kissed in the cab and Clay unbuttoned the fly of Hamilton’s silk suit to find him, not unexpectedly, in erection. Hamilton thumped on the roof of the cab what must have been a prearranged signal to the Hansom driver in back and above the cab to make the progression to the nearby Pierrepont a lengthy one—long enough for a climax.

Shucking his coat, not having bothered to put a shirt on, Clay bent over Hamilton’s lap and took the older man’s erection in his mouth. He could tell this had to be brief for the anxious man to keep himself in check, though, and it wasn’t long before Clay was unbuttoned and freed, and Hamilton was bent over his lap return the favor of giving head.

There was a short session of Hamilton pushing the suspenders off Clay’s torso and kissing every square inch of the young man’s chest and then Clay, naked, was sitting on Hamilton’s lap, facing him, with Hamilton still nearly fully dressed, but with his cock penetrating deep up Clay’s passage, and the young man bouncing on the shaft to Hamilton’s second ejaculation.

The evening was already a success for the steel magnate. It had been years since he had come twice in such quick succession, although given an hour’s recovery time, he was able, even at his age, to be ready to go again. He had every intention of getting more sex than sleep time that night. Clayton Long was a sexy little piece—and so responsive to Hamilton’s fantasies. The lad had put his European and Moroccan education to good use.

* * * *

14 September 1902, Pierrepont Hotel, New York City

Clay pulled the pillow from under the small of his back and moved it over to the other side of the bed in Hamilton Chamberlain’s Pierrepont Hotel suite bedroom, where Hamilton had been sleeping before waking, rolling over on top of Clay, forcing the thickest cock Clay had ever taken inside him, and pounding the young man to groaning and glorious submission for the second time since they retired to the bed. Who would have known that a man of the steel magnate’s age and girth could master him that well, Clay wondered. They clearly were both very pleased with what they’d been able to bring out of each other.

Clay sighed, unexpectedly full satisfied, and turned his head to watch the man in the bathroom, shaving his neck and cheeks, preserving his trim beard and mustache. He had his trousers on, with his suspenders drooping at his sides, but he was bare-chested. His waist was thick, but he wasn’t as weighty as Clay had assessed him to be at the Chelsea club, and his muscles were hard. Hamilton was a hands-on businessman, obviously willing and capable to work beside his men on site.

The man had certainly also proven the night before that he had the strength to get his way when he wanted to. Clay had struggled in his embrace, taxed heavily by the thickness of him, but all of his struggling had been to no avail. The man had held him tight until he’d fully possessed the young man, and Clay had surrendered to him, lying docilely in the man’s embrace as Hamilton pumped him mercilessly. Hamilton had taken what he wanted, but he had the sensitivity to query Clay afterward if he’d gone too far. He clearly was pleased when Clay said he’d gotten all that he could have hoped to have gotten—and would get again—and that being overwhelmed was highly arousing for him.

“Come back to bed, Mr. Chamberlain,” Clay murmured.

Chamberlain turned his face, smiled at him, and said, “Liked that, did you?”

“Yes, sir . . . very much,” Clay responded. He made a move to unbend and unspread his legs, groaning at how numb they were from being in spread position for so long with the heaviness of Hamilton’s thrusting—and then dozing—body between them, but considering the prospect that the man would come back to the bed and fuck him again, Clay just left them in position. He reached down and grasped and began stroking his cock, a maneuver that wasn’t lost on Hamilton’s gaze.

“I have meetings to attend to this morning,” Hamilton said. “We just have time for breakfast. I’ve put in an order. I think we can dispense with the formalities. Once I’ve been inside a man and seeded him, I feel we can be on first name basis. Please, call me Ham and no more of the ‘sir’ business. And I will call you Clay.”

“Yes, sir . . . Ham,” Clay said. They both laughed. “I can’t drop the ‘sir’ for someone who has mastered me like you have.”

“With all your experience? I did enjoy your display of experience, incidentally. The rippling of the muscles of your passage walls was a sheer delight.”

“Come to bed and I’ll give you another demonstration. By saying you’ll call me Clay, I hope you mean you’ll be calling me again—that this isn’t the end of our relationship.”

Chamberlain looked at him and smiled. “What do you think?” he murmured. He carefully put the razor down on the edge of the sink and wiped the cream of the shaving lotion off his face. He seemed to be about to make a move back to the bed, but they both heard the heavy wrap on the door to the adjacent sitting room door to the corridor.

“It’s the breakfast arriving,” Hamilton said. “He’ll bring it in and set it out.”

“The coffee?” Clay asked.

“. . . is in a pot that will keep it hot for some time.”

“I hope for enough time, for the time we’ll need,” Clay said. “Come over to the bed, Ham . . . sir . . . master.”

Clay sat on the side of the bed, Hamilton’s legs between his knees, as the older man stood there, guiding Clay’s head with his hands and Clay unbuttoned Hamilton’s trousers; freed the man’s thick, erect cock; and gave him expert head. After several moments, Hamilton pressed Clay’s torso back onto the sheets, grasped and wishboned the young man’s legs, drove deep inside him, and fucked him hard and fast to an ejaculation, as Clay stretched out his arms in a position of total surrender, bunched sheeting in his fists, arched his back, and let the older man know he was a master of the fuck.

Clay cried out as Hamilton dug deeper. “Am I hurting you?” the older man queried.

“No. Yes. Please don’t stop.”

Hamilton didn’t stop. Five times, he thought. No, this definitely would not be the last time he called on this young man.

* * * *

Clay had just a towel wrapped around his midsection, with Hamilton fully dressed in a business suit, with vest, as they sat at a table set for two in the sitting room of Hamilton’s Pierrepont Hotel residential suite. Clay had said he would dress before they ate and Hamilton had responded, “No. I want see you move with little on.”

The waiter was gone by the time Clay got out of the shower. Somehow, the servant had kept the breakfast hot through the unexpected fuck session that had only started when the waiter had arrived in the other room. Hamilton’s habits must have been well known and the hotel staff must have been admirably discreet. The sounds of male-male sex must have been easily discernible from the other room while the waiter was setting the breakfast up. Clay was experienced but Hamilton was thick enough to tax him.

As they were eating, Hamilton took a key from his pocket and laid it down on the table beside Clay’s hand.

“What is that for?” Clay asked.

“If you wish to be here when I return this evening, you may take a key to this room. If not, I will go home to Long Island tonight. My wife won’t care which I do.”

“The hotel . . . ?”

“. . . will be discrete and accommodating, as always.”

“Do you want me to be here when you come back tonight?”

“For tonight, yes. I don’t want to pin you down, though. We can set up a schedule for when we meet . . . if you find the conditions acceptable.”

“The conditions?” He had Clay’s full attention now.

“Yes. I would like to continue covering you . . . and I, of course, would be generous, but I won’t pay you directly for sex anymore. It would have to be because we both want sexual satisfaction from each other.”

“Oh?” Clay raised his eyebrows.

“It is sexual satisfaction for me, of course. What about you? Are you just lying down for me for the money? You don’t really need the money, do you? I sense that what arouses you is the free well of the act—not the taking of money for it or the coercion by another man into doing it.”

“No, I don’t need the money. Yes, the thrill of it is the free will part. I didn’t come here with you for the money. But how did you know?”

“The name ‘Long’ and the look of you. The clue was when you said you were traveling in Europe after college—that you went to college at all. Harvard?”

“Yes, Harvard.”

“You are of the Boston Longs, aren’t you? You are the spitting image of Coleridge Long. He is a handsome devil too.”

“Yes, I am one of those Longs. From the black sheep side, as you no doubt have discerned.”

“Not so deeply black. I could say a thing or two about Coleridge’s past. I would say more that you were following in his footsteps. I wish to lay you again—to do so regularly—but only because you want me to—not because I am paying for it. Tonight we can talk about arrangements for assignations. But I have discerned from our discussions that you have some sort of understanding with Mark Stewart as well, an uneasy one.”

“You mentioned that you didn’t think I liked to be coerced. That was discerning of you. I don’t. Mark Stewart coerces me, though. He threatens to expose me to society unless I lie under him. And he is a cruel, demanding lover.”

“Well, if you avail yourself of that key, we will see what we can do about that as well.”

Clay put his hand over the key, and Hamilton covered Clay’s hand with his.

* * * *

Wednesday, 1 April 1903, Newport, Rhode Island

“I don’t know why I came—why I come when you summon me.”

Clayton had been surprised when the summons came to him at the marble palace the Chamberlains had built in Newport, a peninsula in Rhode Island where all of the New York elite seemed to be building summer homes. Most, like the Chamberlains’ Fontwell, were being rendered in marble in European palace style. Fontwell had been completed the fall before off Bellevue Avenue between the Vanderbilts’ Marble House, finished ten years earlier, and Rosecliff, the mansion of the Nevada silver heiress Theresa Fair Oelrichs, which had been completed just months before Fontwell was finished.

It was only this spring that the Chamberlains had come to Newport to move in and Hamilton was marking that with an April Fool’s Day house party featuring magician acts. Clayton, of course, had been impressed when Hamilton had told him it was all designed so that the two of them could be together in the countryside, beyond the walls of the Pierrepont. Hamilton’s wife had already left for a summer in Paris. Clayton was performing one of the acts and was staying at the house, conveniently situated for Hamilton and him to find each other for private sessions as they were able.

What Clayton only later learned was that his former mentor and tormentor, Marco the Great, Mark Stewart, had also been invited to perform, although he wasn’t being accommodated at Fontwell. Clayton was a little miffed at Hamilton for that invitation. It showed insensitivity to Clayton’s aversion to the other magician who controlled and manipulated him.

It was upon answering the summons from Stewart that Clayton found the man in a Victorian guest house in Portsmouth, the less fashionable area of the peninsula to the north of the Newport mansion district.

“We have a contract that you will respond when I call,” Mark answered, as he stood just inside the guest room where Clayton had come to him. He was giving Clayton a possessive sneer and was unbuttoning the fly of his trousers. “I pulled you out of the brothel in Tangier and taught you enough magician tricks to put you back on your feet. I only contracted for one thing in return—that you come to me when I call and go on your knees to me. In Tangier you were more than willing to do that. You begged for it.”

“It was a fool’s contract,” Clayton said, “enforced by blackmail and coercion.”

“You are fooling yourself on that, my boy,” Mark said. “You know you can’t get enough of what I have to give. On your knees, boy. But first strip down. I like you to be naked. You are a beautiful, arousing young man.”

With a sigh, Clayton disrobed and then went down on his knees before the master magician, took the man’s cock in his mouth, and dutifully began giving him deep head. Stewart took Clayton’s head between his hands and guided the young man in his servicing, increasingly subjecting him to cruelty by thrusting deep and holding Clayton’s head captive even as the young man gagged and tried to pull away from the thrusts. Stewart made sure that Clayton took it all, to the root.

Clayton had tears in his eyes and was groaning softly, when Stewart released his head, only to reach down, pull him up by his armpits, turn him, and push him belly down on the bed. Clayton bent over onto the bed, arms stretched out above his head, fingers digging into the cheap chenille bedspread, and mouth yawning open in a silent scream, as the magician mounted his buttocks, thrust inside him, riding him high and hard, and fucked him to an ejaculation. Stewart wasn’t unusually long or thick, but before he mounted Clayton, he strapped the young man’s thighs closed with a belt, restricting Clayton’s channel, and gave him no time to adjust to the penetration of the cock. Clayton moaned and groaned, as the man thrust hard and deep in his unprepared passage. Clayton’s own belt was being put to use—Stewart was strapping the young man’s buttocks, thighs, and back with it as he fucked him.

* * * *

Clayton had managed to get through his performance that evening, presented in the ballroom at Fontwell, which had a raised stage area at one end, complete with proscenium, red brocade curtains, and access from each side to support rooms and corridors leading to the rest of the mansion. He was moving delicately, as Mark Stewart had lost control that afternoon and laid hard into him with the strap, raising welts on his thighs, buttocks, and back. When Clayton returned to the mansion on Bellevue Avenue, Hamilton met him in an upstairs corridor and signaled that the two should meet in Clayton’s room. Clayton went there and when Hamilton arrived, they kissed, and Clayton was kneeling between Hamilton’s spread knees as the older man sat on the side of the bed and was starting to service the man’s cock. As Clayton gave him head, Hamilton pulled the shirt off Clayton’s back.

“What are these? What has happened? Who did this?” Hamilton asked, in shock.

“Mark Stewart,” Clayton asked.

“Here. Stop that and sit up here on the bed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Hamilton stood.

“But we were . . . you wanted . . .”

“I’ll not take advantage of you when you are wounded like this,” Hamilton said. He left the room and came back with salve and bandages.

“When did Stewart do this?” he asked as he was dressing the wounds. “He’s not staying at the house.”

“He called me to him.” What Clayton really wanted to do was to ask Hamilton why he’d brought Stewart here in the first place—but he didn’t. He didn’t want to fight with Hamilton.

“And you went?”

“Yes. He has a hold over me—a written contract and the threat of exposure to my family.”

“Believe me, your father won’t keel over dead to know that you’re doing what he once did himself. You can’t go on like this.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“What does that mean?” Hamilton asked.

“I’m going to stop this,” Clayton answered, his face set in a grimace from the older man’s ministrations.

“Don’t do anything rash. Just stay away from him this evening. I’ll see that there is no more contact while you are here under my roof, and he’ll be gone tomorrow. I brought him here for a reason.”

So, Clayton went through with his magic act performance, with his dressing room and props being kept on one side of the stage and Marco the Great’s on the other side. After he’d left the stage, though, with another act set between his and Stewart’s, Clayton went back to his room, drew a pistol out from where he’d hidden it after buying it and bullets after leaving Mark Stewart’s guest house, and returned to the wings of the stage as the act before Marco the Great’s was to begin.

It was there, at the back edge of the brocade stage curtain that Hamilton Chamberlain found Clayton, came up behind him, reached around him, and took the pistol from him. Quaking, Clayton leaned back into Hamilton’s chest.

“You wouldn’t really do this, would you?” Hamilton whispered. “I don’t know what I would do now without you. This man isn’t worth it. And this is needless anyway.”

“Why? What do you mean?” Clayton asked.

“I had a purpose for contracting Stewart for this performance,” Hamilton said, “although, in the end, I had to use you for bait to get to him to agree to come here. I just didn’t plan on him being able to get to you.”

“Something has to be done,” Clayton said. “I can’t take any more of him.”

“Nor do you have to,” Hamilton said. “I’ve made my own contract with him now. The fool’s contract now is his, not yours.”

“I don’t see—”

“I’ve paid him a large sum to go on tour—in Argentina.”

“But he still could—”

“Argentina is very far from here and it can be, I understand, a very dangerous place—sort of like our own Wild West. Who knows what might happen to Stewart there? Let’s just let this spin out and see what happens, shall we? We can let Mark Stewart be the fool here.”

Clayton shuddered and pulled closer into Hamilton’s chest. He felt very protected and much less the fool.

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Alex was a name I thought no one would ever call me in real life. It was the name of the first boy I ever had a crush on. Well, it was actually the name of the first PERSON I ever had a crush on, not just a boy. It was the pen name I used for years so no one would ever know my true identity.

I set up email accounts, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, and pretty much every other social media or method of contact for Alex. In private, I called it Project Alex and here’s why. You see, Alex wasn’t just the name of the boy who wrote stories online of his wildest fantasies in bed. No, Alex wrote to other gay men and women all over the world asking for their advice on how to tell his family that he was gay. Asking them for advice for how to tell his friends. And asking them the unthinkable, how to tell the world without losing everything he built up over the last decade with a perfect life outside of love.

When I told my real-life family that I was gay, I told them I also created a pen name a few years prior to help me get advice on how to come out of the closet but refused to tell them what it was. So, even those closest to me never knew how big Project Alex was or how sexual it became.

A short while after telling my family the truth, I called a boy my boyfriend for the first time. We went out a few times, spoke on the phone every night, messed around a little while watching movies on the couch, and all that really fun relationship stuff like holding hands in the park. Nothing too sappy but c’mon, we’re gay so it’s bound to get sappy at some points.

I kept writing for Project Alex but decided never to bring my real-life boyfriend into any of my stories. I knew he would never read them but I didn’t want for myself to think that I was just taking every very intimate moment we had together and making it into a story I tell to thousands online. That wouldn’t have been fair to him nor to me. Our moments were our intimate moments and just that. The stories were something on the side.

Skip ahead a few months and now I was leaving some of my clothes and other belongings over his house. It just made things easier in the long run rather than running back and forth to get a toothbrush and other odds and ends.

In real life I do tons of research online for work and to do that research, I obviously need a computer. So, I own two of them. One in my office at home and the other is a laptop I can take on the road with me when I’m travelling. But seeing how much time I was spending over my boyfriend’s house, I decided to take my laptop over his place that way I can do research lying in bed while I waited for him to get out of the shower or something. That was my first mistake.

One night he was taking a shower and I did as I always did, legitimate research for work. I normally emailed myself a link to an interesting article or story if I planned on using it on my next piece for work. That way I could access the story again on my phone or on my home office computer. But I forgot to copy and send myself the link that night over his place. That was my second mistake.

The next morning, my editor was on my ass about getting him the next story. I was in my office at home and knew I didn’t have time to find the article again or drive to my boyfriend’s place to grab my laptop. But I knew he was home so I figured; what was he harm in my boyfriend opening my computer and sending me the link? That was my third mistake.

So, I quickly called him and after explaining the situation, without thinking I asked him to open my laptop and send me the link to the article I was reading the night before. I knew he wouldn’t find anything bad on my search history because I no longer have the need to watch videos online. I had him for everything like that now. But I gave him my computer password and allowed him to log in. That was the final nail in the coffin for me.

No one, and I mean no one ever was allowed access to my computer without my careful supervision and without me behind the keyboard and mouse. But I trusted him to get the link and close the laptop. I even heard him shut the laptop through the phone. Too bad I made my password too easy to remember, after all it included his name – ‘cuteasstroye’. And yes, he laughed when I told him what it was but he also thought it was cute that I thought of him like that. Like I said, us gays are sappy as shit sometimes.

But while he was on my computer, he just happen to spot the file saved on my desktop called ‘Project Alex’. Inside the file was every story I’ve ever written. I’ve been writing for over two years now, publishing 55 stories a year, and tons of stories which don’t make the cut.

Troye told me early on he had been cheated on before by a boy who didn’t know how good he had it until Troye was gone. So, I could understand Troye’s curiosity getting the better of him when he read another man’s name on my computer. I can’t blame him for opening the computer up after I got off the phone with him and logging back in. I can’t blame him for wondering if I was the same kind of guy as his ex.

He apparently opened up the file, saw the hundreds of documents in the file with very erotic names. Names like “Wet Dream Cum True” and “A Crusty Sock”. You know, the kind of stories you don’t have to read in order to know they’re sexual. But right then and there, Troye knew that I was not cheating on him. He knew that Project Alex must have been a pen name I used to write very sexy stories. He didn’t know I had readers online but he wanted to be a reader himself.

He told me later that he feared I set up some firewall on the computer to notify me if someone was reading those stories so he copied them onto his flash drive, closed my computer and started reading them all one by one using his laptop. He said it took him several days to read them all because most of them made him want to – you know, touch himself. And that took a ton of time away from the reading portion of his endeavor.

But eventually he made it through them all. After reading, he knew all my wildest thoughts and fantasies. He was the first and still is the only one to ever put a face to the man who calls himself Alex. And Troye liked that. He felt bad for snooping but at the same time, he felt more connected to me because my deepest secret I kept from him was something him and I could enjoy together.

A couple nights later in bed, we started making out and we both knew where it would lead. But he called out for me to stop for a moment because he had a surprise for me. He ran into his washroom and came out with nothing but a football jersey on. I was really surprised since we never did roleplay before but I always wanted to fuck a football player so I was too into the mood to notice it was the first of many signs he had read my stories.

The next time we got into the mood, he was about to make me explode all over his chest. He suddenly reached underneath his pillow and pulled out a sock which had his dried-up cum already inside of it. He rolled it onto my cock like a condom and made me cum inside atop his previous load. When I asked him about it, he told me that he thought I might like to use the same sock he did the night before when he thought about me for too long and just had to touch himself or else he wasn’t going down. Oh, and he also explained how it made for an easier cleanup. So, I paid it no mind.

A week past and he still made no direct mention to my stories. But a week and a half later, we were watching this really romantic scene in a film on television. We were lying in his bed under the covers with me resting my head on his arm like we always did. I loved the smell of his armpit and the safety of him holding me. It was cute as fuck – get over it. He commented how he thinks there should be more movies made with a gay couple instead of always showing a guy and gal get it on which I tend to agree with him on. So, I asked him how he would make the film better.

He explained he would cast the best looking guy he knows as the lead actor and himself as the costar. But that begged a deep question. So, I rolled over slightly, put my hand on his chest, and blocked the television with my head as I rested my chin on my hand. I asked him who the lead star would be then. Basically, I asked him what celebrity he would want to kiss if given the opportunity.

I fully expected some actual film star. You know, the Harry Stiles, Jake Gyllenhaal types. But no, he told me that he would cast me as the lead actor, the best looking guy he knows. Sorry, I did warn you we get sappy as shit sometimes.

“Oh really” I said, “And what would you have the characters do?” I continued, fully knowing how he would respond.

And he responded better than I hoped, forcing his hand under my pajamas and playing with my balls as he told me the first part of the story. “I’d have my character play a little game at first and tease his co-star. Then I’d have them make out.” He said as he forced his tongue deep into my mouth.

Before too long my dick was rock solid and so was his. We both threw our clothes off to the foot of the bed and had the sheets down on the floor. What can I say? We loved fucking with the lights on and seeing each other’s every move.

I was pinned onto the bed and he started to get the lube he kept in his nightstand for just this occasion. He knew I got excited for him, after all he was sexy as hell with his short brown hair, skinny chest, and smooth ass. He gave me head plenty of times before but every time we fucked, he really saw no point in blowing me when I got excited for him at the drop of a hat anyway. So, he just skipped the middle step and started pouring the lube onto my mushroom tip and slathering it all over my shaft with his long fingers.

Before he climbed back on top of me, he took one of his now lubed up fingers and slid it into my ass and fucked me with his finger a few times just to get me more excited than I already was. Troye then climbed on me cowboy style and positioned my dick right below his ass before slowly sitting down, allowing me to penetrate his tight hole.

His ass felt fantastic around my cock. As he got more and more used to me being inside of him, he started riding me faster and faster. It took me a while to get to the breaking point but I wanted to enjoy every second of him riding me. The first time he rode me, I cummed way too early from the pure excitement and I wanted to remember this one a lot better. Plus, I loved seeing him work up a sweat for me. It was getting me more and more in the mood to have him in my ass a few minutes later.

But eventually, I was nearing my breaking point. He saw me look up at him, dead in the eyes with an open mouth before I whispered to him that I was about to shoot my load.

With one last push down so my shaft was fully inside of his ass, he called out to me “Oh, cum for me Alex!” while he massaged my chest with his hands. But that just pushed me over the edge. I started shooting my huge load deep inside of him with a feeling of pure ecstasy on my mind and every nerve in my cock feeling like lightning bolts were going through them.

After he could feel I was done shooting, he leaned down to kiss me with my cock now sliding out of his ass with ease. Before he got all the way down, I took my hands and pressed them up against his chest, pushing him back up.

“Why the fuck did you just call me Alex?”

“I thought you liked being called that.” he replied.

“Why?” I said as I looked at him in utter confusion and disgust.

“Because that’s what you call yourself in your stories.”

“Wait, what stories?” I now looked at him with a shocked look on my face with my heart pounding that my deepest secret was exposed.

“You know, Project Alex. Those sexy stories you write.”

“You read my stories?”

“Of course.”

“Do you comment on them?”

“Wait…comment? They were just word documents on your computer… Comment? Holy shit, that means you post those somewhere.”

“Umm, yeah. Are you mad?”

“No. Are you mad that I read them?”

“When did you read them?”

“Remember that day you gave me your password, well, I saw the name Alex on your computer and I thought you might be cheating so I opened it up and low and behold it was your stories.”

“I would never cheat on you. But how many did you read?”

“All of them but it took me a while seeing that almost all of them made me cum half-way through.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. You know I love making other boys cum. But I promise I don’t talk about us in those stories.”

“I know. But I’ve noticed a common theme.”

“What’s that?”

“Alex’s boyfriend is always named Troye.”

“Yeah, funny how that works.”

“Even the stories that are dated months before we started dating have Troye as Alex’s boyfriend.”

“Yeah…funny how that works.”

“So, you started making me your boyfriend in your stories right when we first met and before we started to date?”

“Of course, I knew you would someday be mine. I just didn’t know how long it would take to get you in real life. So, I made you mine in my fantasy world in the meantime. But then everyone fell in love with you so I had to keep you in the stories after we made our real relationship official.”

“Other people like me?”

“Why wouldn’t they? You’re sexy as fuck in the stories and even sexier in real life. Plus, you wanna know the best part?”

“Sure.”

“When I first introduced you in the stories, I didn’t know how big you were so I just guessed. Now everyone knows you for having an average dick. But in real life, I get to know you for having a much bigger cock.”

“Oh really” he said in a seductive voice as to hint at what he wanted me to do to him in return.

“Yeah but although I can understand why, that big cock still went snooping on my computer without asking me what Alex was. I would have told you if you asked but seeing that you can’t keep your paws out of places they shouldn’t be, I guess you’ll just have to use one of those dirty paws of yours to show me what you do when you’re reading one of my stories.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to sit up like that…”

“Yeah…”

“Think about one of my stories, whichever one you want…”

“And…”

“And show me what you do to yourself as you read all my stories.”

“But you came in my ass?”

“And next time, you’ll cum in my ass too, I promise. But right now, you’re in the doghouse and this is your punishment.”

“Yeah, but you like me being a puppy in a doghouse and you like handing out punishments.”

“So, you have read all my stories. Now do you wanna cum on me or not?”

“I do.”

“Well then, you can kiss me as much as you want but you better get to it.”

He bent down to give me a giant French kiss as he started to stroke himself rapidly. It didn’t take him very long to get to the breaking point. He sat back up like he was when he rode me like a cowboy and started shooting his load all over my chest and into my awaiting, open mouth. After he was all done, I wiped my hand across my chest wiping up all the little white droplets and I licked each of my fingers dry. His cum tasted like the best kind of cake frosting you’ve ever eaten, sweet and made with love.

The other players on the team shuffled and limped around the locker room after lacrosse practice. They were sore, a result of sprinting, lifting, shoving, and thrusting in almost one hundred degree weather. Most of my teammates sported only compression shorts, some had towels wrapped tightly around their waists, and a few were completly naked. I sat in the middle of the room, on a bench, peeling my socks off then doing the same with my pants. There was steam coming from the showers behind me, stinging my bare back. The other guys walked past me, paying no mind to my almost naked body. I guess they were used to seeing it by now. Most of us looked the same. Some, including me, were taller than the others, and most of us had lean bodies, as a result of being pushed hard by our coach. I considered myself a good looking guy. My light brown hair came from my dad, as well as my dark brown eyes. A majority of the guys on the team were good looking, though. None as good looking as Stephen. He was around my height, six two, with the most amazing body I’ve ever seen. Or at least it was my type. He definitely worked out, but he wasn’t completely carved, just lean. His face was to die for. Stephen had a chiseled jawline and a strong nose. He possessed a pair of lips that looked as soft as I imagined they felt. He also wore two eyes, one bright green and the other a deep, dark brown. Almost black, but not as black as his hair. He had thick black hair that curled a little in the back and where sideburns start. His skin was a light caramel color, probably from spending all his time outside running with his shirt off. He lived a few houses down from me, and sometimes I would see him running on the sidewalk, in just a pair of running shoes and athletic shorts. In the locker room I could see that he had a perfectly smooth body. He probably waxed. I’ve stayed up late at night, thinking about what his naked body would feel like pressed against mine. Just thinking about him in the locker room right now made me start to get stiff, but I had to hide it. I also didn’t want to think about him like that. After all, he was one of my best friends. We had known each other since kindergarten. Most of the boys on our team have been friends that long, but he was different. 

My thoughts were interrupted when one of our friends said, “Eric, we’re gonna go shoot some hoops in the gym. Wanna come?” I nodded and pulled some athletic shorts out of my locker, and slid my shoes back on. A group of boys raced onto the court with me briskly walking behind them. We were all shirtless, our backs glistening with sweat. My eyes scanned the crowd, hoping Stephen would be among them. I finally caught a glimpse of his back as he pushed himself off of another guys shoulders, launching himself into the air. I knew it was him because he had a dark brown birthmark the size of a silver dollar on his right shoulder blade. Sometimes I wanted to run my tongue around the outside of it, as I wrapped my arms around him and gripped his bare chest. Sometimes I just wanted him to fuck me till I screamed so loud the windows in my bedroom shattered. Sometimes I wanted to do the same thing to him.

“Eric!”, he shouted to me with his sexy, raspy voice. He threw the ball my way as a group of cheerleaders walked into the gym. It was obvious they had gone out of their way to come look at all of us shirtless. Some of the other guys hadn’t been wearing underwear, so they positioned their dicks in their shorts so they stood out a bit more. I caught the ball from Stephen, and after dribbling it for a couple seconds, I ran, jumped, and launched it halfway across the gym, where it swished into the basket effortlessly. I had been trying to impress Stephen, but as I looked around for him, I saw that the girls were cheering loudly. I rolled my eyes, before they landed on Stephen. He was sort of staring at me, with a half grin. 

We all continued to play, and at one point some girls played as well, obviously flirting with us. I continued to play until everyone left. Everyone but Stephen. We ducked around one another, rubbing our sweaty bodies against each other, trying to keep the ball from entering the basket. The windows in the gym allowed an orange hue from the setting sun to dance down over us. We figured this was our cue to leave. I jogged over to the bleachers, and checked my phone. There was a text from my mom saying that she would be an hour late to pick me up. She sent it ten minutes ago, so I still had fifty minutes to do whatever I wanted. Hopefully with whoever I wanted. Stephen came and plopped himself down next to me, letting his arm brush against mine. It was more like sliding, we were both drenched in sweat, probably smelling awful. He took a swig from his water bottle and handed it to me. We had known each other long enough to not care about sharing drinks, so I let my lips touch where his had been. I tasted his salty sweat that had dripped from his upper lip, and I couldn’t help but wonder if his cum tasted the same way. I placed the bottle in his lap, allowing my hand to brush against his crotch. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact he smiled in between his deep panting. I just looked into his eyes, and he looked back into mine. I could tell that he wanted me just as much as I wanted him. 

“Do you want a shoulder massage?”, he asked. “You usually get cramps after you play basketball.”

“Sure.” I said. I was flattered that he knew this much about me. He climbed up to the next row of bleachers behind me and sat down so his knees were on either side of my arms. He began to work his hands on my tight shoulders. Just having him touch me there made began to get hard. Precum started to leak out of my dick. Luckily my pants were already wet from sweat, so no such stain appeared. I allowed myself to lean back into his open legs, until the base of my neck reached his crotch. I could feel that he was hard as well, making me less nervous about being hard myself, but more anxious about what could happen between us. We both knew that our school hadn’t installed cameras in the gym, and it was late on a Friday evening. Everyone would be gone by now. I looked up into his face. He was looking down at me, his eyes filled with lust. He was fighting what he wanted to do. He still thought that he was straight, but in a moment of weakness, he allowed me to kiss him. And in a moment of weakness I allowed myself to plunge my tongue into his mouth, where it wrestled with his. It wasn’t just a simple teenager kiss. It was a head rocking, heavy breath setting, shiver inducing kiss. His hands slowly crept to the sides of my face as his upper body leaned over mine. His hands escaped from my cheeks as quickly as they had come, but I caught them with my own and held them in place. My eyes were still closed tightly when he began to lift his head away from mine. My lips stuck to his as they softly departed. I opened my eyes to see that his were still closed, his lips still begging for more. 

I could feel his begging dick pulsating on my back, through his shorts. I turned around and knelt in between his legs, as I pushed him back to lay against the bleachers. He assisted me in pulling his shorts down. To my pleasure, he was not wearing underwear. His stiff dick sprang free from its restraints and almost smacked me in the face. I examined his private area. His staff was about seven inches long, around how long mine was. There was a big vein that wrapped itself around the pole, leading up to the reddish purple head. Precum was oozing out of the slit at the tip. I wanted to lick it up, but I also wanted to finish taking him in. His balls hung down over my hand which was positioned in between his legs. I could tell that he had either shaved or waxed his lower body as well as his top half. His pubic bush was just starting to grow back, but his ballsack was perfectly smooth. Finally, I couldn’t resist. My mouth plunged down onto his seven inches, as I heard him gasp loudly. I tried to take him all in, tried to allow his dick down my throat. I gagged, before I slid my head back up and off him. I looked him in the eyes. They were halfway closed, but I could still see the bright green and the dark brown gazing back at me. I raised my eyebrows, signifying permission to keep going. He nodded and shivered. I dived down again, engulfing his manhood in my warm mouth, being sure to use my tongue this time. I swirled it around the entire pole, cleaning the salty sweat and precum mixture that had formed. Again I lifted my head, but immediately sank back down. My head involuntarily bobbed up and down, trying to draw the cum out of him. It didn’t take long before I felt him tense up. I pushed my head down one last time, and his thighs enclosed on either side of my head. He let out a loud moan that echoed throughout the gym, then released rope after rope of warm seed into my begging mouth. His fingers intertwined in my wet hair as I swallowed every last bit. Some dripped out of my mouth and rested on my bottom lip, which he licked off when I kissed him again. I rested my wet body on top of his while he panted. My dick was still begging to be set free, as it poked his leg. He must have felt it, because leapt up and took me by hand. Stephen pulled his shorts up over his cock and led me to the locker room.

We peered around the corner to make sure no one was inside, the raced to the nearest shower. I kicked my shoes off and stripped away the restraints that were my clothes. He lifted his leg and allowed me to take his shoe off, and did the same with the other. I then yanked his shorts off him and started the shower. The scalding water poured over us as we embraced in a passionate kiss, again allowing our tongues to have sex themselves. I reached around and pulled his cheeks apart and let one of my finger slip into his hole. He pulled his mouth away while still letting our foreheads to touch, and gasped. He stared into my eyes as I shoved in another finger, then a third. His hole was tight, so I couldn’t delve that deep. I let my fingers slip out of him and run up his crack, then up his back. We kissed again, before he spun around and placed his hands on the wall. He bent over half way and begged, “Fucking do it. I want you inside me.” The water sprayed on his back, as I spat on my cock, stretched out towards his hole. I shuffled my feet closer to him, and let the head dance around his crack before it found its target. I slowly pressed myself into him and he shouted.

“Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?”, I asked.

“Don’t you fucking stop until you’ve released your load inside of me.”, he replied abruptly. I gave into his command and pushed my dick deeper into his hole. He howled as I thrust myself in and pulled myself out. I couldn’t stop, and he had no objections. My body shuddered and almost contorted as I rammed myself in and yanked myself out. I couldn’t last that long, and I felt my body tense up. Stephen must’ve felt it too because he shouted, “Yes, Eric don’t stop!” I pumped harder and harder, until I felt my cum shoot into his ass. I collapsed and let my head rest on the base of his neck. “Fuck.”, he whispered under his breath.

To be continued

It was a warm evening in May when I walked into my school at around 6:30pm. A cool breeze past over me as I entered the building, which was still open to allow athletes to come and go during their practices.

But I wasn’t there for practice. Nope, instead of having a fun Friday night with my friends, I had to come back to school and retrieve my laptop, which I left in my math class earlier that day. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to grab it though, since the classroom was probably locked for the weekend, but I decided that I would try so that I wouldn’t have to spend an entire weekend computer-less. I also didn’t want to come home to my parents and explain to them that the really nice computer they got me for my 18th birthday was left at school overnight.

I turned the corner of a dark, half-lit hallway and saw that the light was on in my math classroom.

“Huh” I thought to myself, “Maybe it’s the janitors.”

I walked to the door and peeked through the window and saw my math teacher, Mr. Davis sitting at his desk grading papers. He was always a really casual dresser, who mostly just wore sports t-shirts and jeans or nice-ish pants. Today he was wearing a tight fitting red athletic t-shirt from his alma-mater and khaki pants.

He had sort of a dad bod, but was more built. He was about 6 ft 2 in his mid to late 30s, and had short cut brown hair and brown eyes. His skin was white but somewhat tan, and he was hairless, and he had the most amazing ass I’d ever seen. I would pay more attention to it in class than the actual lesson itself. Every time he wrote something on the board it would jiggle a little bit with every pen stroke.

He wasn’t married, but I had overheard from someone in the bathroom that his girlfriend had broken up with him. I was always “attracted” in Mr. Davis, especially in his ass, but never really interested.

I shoved my thoughts about him to the side and opened the door. The smell of peaches hit me. He always had one of those Glade air freshener things plugged in so his class wouldn’t smell all sweaty.

“Hey, Mr. Davis…” I said. He looked up surprised.

“Jackson, what are you doing here?” he asked me. Then he smirked. “Oh, you’re here for your laptop, right?”

“Yeah, you have it?” I said, closing the door, and walking over towards his desk.

“I assumed someone would come to get it at one point or another. Here…” he said, opening his desk drawer and pulling out my laptop.

“Okay, cool thanks,” I said, assuming my interaction with him was over.

“So why are you here at school at this hour instead of hanging out with your friends? It’s Friday night, shouldn’t you be going to a movie or going to a party or something?” he asked.

“Eh…” I said, “There are no parties happening tonight. It sucks.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Some of the other math teachers were having a small get together at Mrs. Wilson’s house, but I don’t really want to go. So since I have nothing else to do I’m just grading papers. I guess I’m the only person in the building now” he said, suddenly seeming more chilled.

“I can’t even imagine what a math teacher party would be like, especially with boring teachers like Mr. Brown” I said, laughing. Then I realized that I was talking to a member of the teaching staff.

“Oh whoops, sorry, my bad.”

“No no, it’s fine. He’s about as bland as a bowl of soup. We had a guys night with some of the other teachers and we started talking about college experiences… the guy has done nothing. He just stayed in his room and studied. And never got laid.”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from a teacher. Mr Davis was always known as more of a chill teacher, but this was like talking to another teenager.

“We were talking about our hottest sex stories in college, and he literally said that his most wild experience was a blowjob while tutoring. I mean that’s nothing.”

“Yeah, what the hell? I’ve got even crazier ones than that, and I’m not even in college yet.” We both laughed.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be talking about sex with my math teacher,” I said.

“Don’t be sorry. You have me in class, you know I’m pretty relaxed with the things I talk about. Just as long as you’re an adult.”

“Yeah I am,” I said and laughed. And then I got curious…

He stood up and erased the math from the board. I watched his ass as it shook every time he moved his arm back and forth.

“Wait, so what is your craziest sex story from college?” I asked cautiously.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But only if you promise not to tell anyone else. I wouldn’t normally tell other people this but I trust you.”

“Basically, in a nutshell, during a party I snuck up onto a roof of my frat house, and fucked a girl while a guy did me from behind.”

“What?!” I asked, almost screaming.  Mr. Davis has had sex with a guy?!

“Yeah, it was amazing. The girls pussy was so fucking good, and the guy behind me was pretty big. Not incredibly thick, but really long. It was surreal. I much prefer topping a guy when we do these types of things, but my dick isn’t particularly large. It’s only about 6 inches, but it’s quite thick, and most guys in my frat liked long dicks because they didn’t hurt as much. But my ass hurt for days,” he said, grabbing his right butt cheek and rubbing it a little bit. He stretched it all the way to one side and let go, and it snapped back into place with a jolt.

“Yeah, but it must not have hurt that much. You’ve got a lot of cushioning,” I said, instantly giving myself a slap in the face for basically telling my teacher he had a nice ass.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, slapping his ass. I watched it ripple and slowly set back to it’s resting position. “But it’s not as cushioned as you may think. It’s actually pretty stiff.”

“Really, it doesn’t look like that from here,” I said in disbelief, now blatantly staring at his great ass.

“Oh, it is, see for yourself. Feel it.” he said, spreading his legs a bit and bent forward, placing his hands on the whiteboard.

“Are you sure?” I asked, coming closer.

“Yeah it doesn’t bother me. Unless it bothers you?” he said, turning his head to the side to face me.

“No no, it’s fine…” I said. I slowly reached out and poked into his right ass cheek with my pointer finger.

“No, really get in there,” he said, reaching around, taking my entire hand and placing it on his ass. I grabbed it and squeezed. He was right. Even though it felt very soft at first, it was stiff if you push hard enough.

“Slap it and notice the feeling, it’s pretty weird,” he said.

And so I did. I slapped it. “Oh!” Mr Davis blurted out. His ass jiggled for a moment then it quickly went back into place.

“Huh,” I said, “like Jell-O.”

“Yeah, like Jell-O” he said, as he shook his ass. I watched it bounce around. By this point I was almost completely to my full 6.5 inches.

By this point, because he was shaking his ass, his pants fell down a little bit and I could see his underwear. He was wearing gray hanes.

“Oh, you wear Hanes,” I said.

“Yep, the best around” he said. Still turned around, he pushed his brown khakis down a little bit so I could get a better look. Because of the way the fabric from his pants was laying I couldn’t see if he was hard.

“Boxer briefs or normal briefs?” I asked him.

“Briefs,” Mr Davis said. He turned away from the white board and to the side, leaning on a desk, and pulled down his pants all the way. His incredible ass stuck out at me, and I grabbed it and kept squeezing it.

I knew what he was doing. My urges suddenly took over. I stripped my jeans off a little bit so that my cock, which was still in my underwear, could touch his ass without the fabric getting in the way. I pushed my dick up against his ass crack slowly.

“Did that frat guy ever hump you like this?” I asked, as I started moving my hips back and forth.

“Ooooh yeah, but you do it better,” he said. I grabbed the sides of his ass and held on as I humped him slowly, up and down. My cock was getting harder and harder.

“Fuck, how big is your dick?” he asked me.

“6.5 inches” I said. He stood up suddenly and I stepped back.

“Seriously, no way!” he said. He looked down and looked surprised.

“I stand corrected, it’s pretty big,” he said, staring.

“Well you’re definitely standing…” I said, pointing at his 6 inch manhood, trapped by his briefs on his right thigh. I reached out and rubbed it through the fabric. He moaned quietly as I moved up and down the length of his shaft. He really was thick, maybe about 1.5 inches around. I removed his cock from his underwear, and touched the warm flesh. He was clean shaven. He moaned as I slowly caressed his thick dick.

He reached out and grabbed my dick, pulling me closer to him.  He took my cock out and started doing the same. I moaned too.

“You know, I bet he also sucked your dick.” I said. I got onto my knees on the floor and pushed him slightly onto a desk. He spread his legs more to allow me better access.

I licked the tip of his dick slowly, around and around, then slowly put the whole thing into my mouth. As I furthered myself down the shaft inch by inch he moaned loudly.

“Fuckkkkk” he said in a deep voice as I came back up every few seconds and started all over again. I quickly started gaining a faster momentum. I grabbed his huge balls and started massaging them.

“Jesus fuck you’re so fucking good, suck my fat cock,” he said. I rubbed my tongue over the top of his dick and he went wild. I got a nice taste of his salty pre-cum. I started moving up and down, pushing more of him into my throat with each pump. I was moving faster and faster, and started to gag as I tried to take it all.

“Oh my god, fuck! Hold on a second,” he said, as he lifted me off his impressive manhood.

“I don’t want to blow it yet. Come here,” he said, and picked me up off, the floor, partially into the air, and onto the desk in his place. Before I could even react, he had my cock in his mouth and suddenly I felt the warm, moist flesh of his mouth. He took me with ease, quickly devouring my cock and shoving it deep into the back of his throat.

“Holy fuck!” I yelled as I he quickly moved up and down, using his hand and tongue expertly as he covered the distance of my shaft. As he got down to the end of my cock he started to gag, but seemed to ignore it and take it all. It turned me on so much that it almost sent me over the edge.

“Fuck wait I don’t want to come, stop!” I said. He pulled himself off me and took and a deep breath.

“Okay, so what now…” he said, both of us standing up.

I smiled, moved close to him, pressing our bodies together and grabbed his amazing ass.

“Bend over” I said.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

Marc pulled his suitcase into the parlor of Waverton with his eyes firmly on the Turkish rugs. Unable to manage a glance up at the carved grand staircase he had been thinking about for two months, he shuffled across the carpets towards the front desk. He should’ve canceled the trip and eaten the five hundred dollar deposit.

“Reservation for Rosini,” he grumbled, sliding his credit card across the desk.

“Certainly sir,” the attendant said. A tablet was quietly slid back across the desk for Marc to sign, and was soon replaced by a pair of welcome envelops and a brochure, “So I have a reservation for two for the honeymoon sweet, congrat-”

Marc immediately snapped his head up, prepared to give the attendant a withering look. But his scowl died along with the attendant’s congratulations. Finally looking forward, Marc found he was not face to face, but had only managed chest-level for the attendant had at least a foot on him. Craning his head up, Marc couldn’t help but notice the attendant was built like linebacker. Broad shouldered with massive arms, the man’s dark green henley practically strained against his chest. The sleeves were rolled up past thick forearms, and his shirt was unbuttoned. Marc tried not to stare at the patch of fuzz, and went to meet the man eye to eye.

Oh.

The attendant’s eyes were a remarkable slate gray, and yet… they were warm. Marc didn’t see pity, but sympathy and a little embarrassment. Marc wanted to say something, but every time he tried to pick out the words, they seemed to get fuzzy. Instead, he just stared, until he realized he was staring, they both were.

“Uh-um.. your room is three-uh ten. Up the stairs and down the hall to your right. Breakfast goes from six to ten. Welcome to Waverton.” the attendant’s voice was quiet as he pulled the second envelop off the desk.

“Thanks.”

The suite was magnificent. Of course it was. Everything was carefully crafted and ornate, the perfect example of Gilded-Age splendor. The bedroom had a huge four-poster bed, raised up like an altar. It competed for space with the huge window, and writing desk. Pulling back the curtains, Marc could make out the shimmer of the lake in the evening light, as well as the tulip gardens laid out below.

Marc grabbed a pillow, unsure if he wanted to weep into it, or throw it across the room. He settled for slowly grinding a fist into it.

Fuck. For two months he had planned their three year anniversary weekend, then the week before, Jamie had decided to end it. Now he got to spend four days in a beautiful mansion in absolute misery, because it was too damn late to cancel.

Marc grabbed the remote, and flipped on the television. At least he had HBO.

Marc reclined easily on a grassy hill overlooking the lake. It was dark but the waters caught the moonlight and cast everything in silver. His eyelids heavy, Marc began to drift. Hands moved slowly over his shoulders and across his chest. He could feel their warmth against the cool night air. One hand slid down his stomach and tucked under his belt, tracing little circles on his skin.

Almost involuntarily Marc began to rock his hips,waiting as those fingers slid their way slowly to the buckle and button. Jamie was taking his damn sweet time wasn’t he?

God, Marc needed this.

Lips touched him softly on the neck, and Marc sighed as kisses climbed up his cheek.

Eventually their lips met, but they were barely kisses. His lips were hesitant. There was a taught tension there Marc wasn’t expecting, so he leaned forward for more. Expecting that tension to give way to hungry kisses. But instead he found only cold air.

It made no sense. Jamie liked to tease, certainly, but he was always so direct. More than a little forceful.

“Jamie?” Marc whispered. Letting his eyes open.

Marc lay sprawled across the massive bed, alone, and hard as a rock. Frowning at his morning wood, Marc reached for his phone and went searching for porn.

An hour later, Marc wandered down the stairs, still fixated on last night’s dream. Despite never having had sex by the side of a lake, the whole moment felt familiar, a strange sense of deja vu. The parts fit together too well for it to be a collection of half-remembered moments jammed together. Some dream.

Marc smiled ruefully to himself. Better unconscious than not at all. It had been weeks since he and Jamie had sex, or much else for that matter. Just a few half-hearted pecks on the cheek. Not quite the same slow kisses…

Marc started getting hard again, and decided to go for a run.

Before it was sold in the thirties, Waverton had sprawling grounds that went out in thousands of acres in every direction. The Bed and Breakfast had managed to hold on to a sizeable chunk of land beyond the gardens, with a nice set of woods and walking paths. 

Even though the day was barely started, it was going to be a hot one. After only a few minutes, Marc was wiping sweat through his dark curly hair. Even if it was difficult to pack weight on his slight build, he still felt painfully out of shape. As he huffed up the next hill, he promised himself that once he was over, and into the clearing he would stop and catch his breath. 

Marc came to a dead stop at the hilltop. 

“The fuck?” Marc stared out in disbelief. The hill gave way to a clearing, and that small lake he had seen from his window. 

The same lake from his dream. 

Marc stumbled down the hill, still breathing heavily. The tree and brushline looked a little different, but the shape of the landscape, the slow gentle curve of the water. It was uncanny. With little hesitation, Marc managed to find the exact spot from his dream, a little rise over to the left with a nice view of the water under the shade of an oak tree. 

Collapsing into the soft grass, Marc stared out over the water, watching a heron make ripples reflect in the morning light.  He must have seen the spot in the website or something. God knows, he spent enough time staring at the pictures dreaming of the long weekend with Jamie. 

Though he never actually bought the ring, Marc had toyed with the idea of proposing this weekend. In retrospect, he was grateful for whatever subconscious urge told him not to waste money on a ring. 

What a waste, the last three years. They had met through a mutual friend, started dating soon after, and moved in together after a year. They were planning to buy a dog. They had planned to buy a house. They had planned to get married. So many damn plans. 

“No more plans.” Marc grumbled, fingers digging in among the grass. For a brief moment as he crumpled grass in his fist, Marc felt that same misty memory at the edge of his mind. He had been here before. A wave of melancholy took him for a moment. Loss. His eyes started to feel wet. 

“No.” it was good to speak into the morning silence. Marc levered himself back up, and made his way back to Waverton, ignoring the little paths that went elsewhere and on to a quiet solitary evening.

It was dark. He could see flickering lights in the distance. Marc grasped a wood column as a hand gently grasped his hip. Another hand was on his cock, moving slowly. Marc bent forward, letting his hips push back. Before he shut his eyes, he saw the lights begin to dim. The air smelled of gasoline. 

He could feel Jamie’s erection against his ass, pressing in slowly. When reached back to guide it in, it felt different, thinner. But it was slick, and Marc was ready, so he positioned his hips and began to push further back. That familiar feeling of warmth and fullness. Marc’s ass twitched, as Jamie slid in another inch. Marc exhaled, and as he pushed down, he felt Jamie’s hand holding firm on cock. Still moving slowly. Every movement sending waves of pleasure through his body. 

Jamie began to thrust. Slow at first. Achingly slow. Marc couldn’t help but eagerly push back to meet him. He tried to widen his stance, but almost tore the pants around his ankles. Instead he gripped both hands on the square wood column, straining to find purchase. 

It was faster now. The soft slapping sound as their bodies met grew louder. Every time they met, Marc’s toes curled in ecstacy. Jamie sank to the hilt with each thrust and Marc could only moan softly. As he grew closer and closer to orgasm, his pleas to be fucked harder grew loud. 

The hand on his dick leapt up and covered his mouth. Marc’s eyes snapped open. Pale slender fingers rubbed against his lips. He could see a gold signet ring. There was a figure on the ring but it was hard to make out. But it wasn’t Jamie’s hand…

“Shhh.” the man behind him whispered. Marc could hear the smile in his voice. Hand still over Marc’s mouth, the man began to thrust harder and faster. Marc’s erection began to slap against his stomach. He bit down on fingers. It was all too much. 

Marc thrashed in the sheets as he came. He was awake, sweaty and covered in cum, ass still clenched. He looked around awkwardly. The bedroom was empty. He was alone. He could hear the sounds of people taking breakfast below. “Oh, shit. How loud was I?” Marc whispered, still breathing hard. Painfully aware of the thin walls, Marc flipped on the TV. It was a welcome distraction. He needed something. He still didn’t want to think about Jamie, and focusing on that dream… No, he needed distraction. 

Despite his almost clock-work need to check his phone every ten minutes, through a monumental act of will, he had managed to avoid social media. He hadn’t told anyone about the break up, and wasn’t looking forward to the whole thing. 

He considered looking at porn again, but after waking up to a fairly epic orgasm, he didn’t have the heart to go again just yet. 

It was strange. He remembered having wet dreams as a teenager, but it was never so… vivid. It all felt so real. He could swear his ass still felt a little tender. The way he used to feel after one of those marathon morning sex sessions that took him to lunch. 

Eventually the TV grew stale and the room a tad stifling. He was running out of options here, he had even missed breakfast. While he still had the option of going into town to shop or having an early lunch, Marc decided to go running again. 

Jogging past the tulip garden, he broke into a full stride once he was back in the shade of the wooded paths. He half-remembered something about twenty miles of trails and paths on the website, so where he had turned left for the lake, he went right instead. 

He fared a bit better this time. He was still a sweaty mess, but wasn’t winded so easily. After a few miles, he even managed a smile. Soon he heard the distant tinny sounds of music up ahead, he must’ve forgotten his headphones in the room. 

On a whim he jogged toward the sound, making his way back towards the road that ran beside the property. The path ran by a house tucked back into the woods. It was a dilapidated affair, in the same Gilded-Age style as Waverton, but an order of magnitude less ornate. A pickup was parked out front. Marc could see a ladder up the front and…

Oh. 

The attendant was in the process of painting the windows frames and shutters. In the warm morning sun, he had removed his shirt. His muscles glistened. His skin, though tanned, had just a hint of pink at the shoulders. Just as Marc had imagined, his arms and chest were sculpted perfection. He hadn’t pictured the generous spread of hair across the attendant’s chest, or that his abs looked like something off a magazine cover. The attendant wore a pair of tattered paint-splattered jeans, pulled low from the tools on his belt. He hadn’t seen a V-cut like that since his club days. Marc’s breath caught. 

“Anything I can help you with?” the attendant shouted down to him. 

Shit. Marc had stopped dead in his tracks. He was staring. 

“Mr. uh… Rosini?”

“Oh! Uh no… I was just enjoying the…” the music blaring on the radio had a distinctive guitar riff, “Rage against the Machine?”

The attendant grinned and began climbing down the ladder. He had bits of gray paint in his chest hair. Marc was staring again. 

“Yeah… phone reception out here is pretty terrible, can’t really stream anything… ” he gestured at the boombox plugged. The track switched from ‘Bulls on Parade’ to ‘Vietnow.’ 

“Big Rage fan?”

The attendant chuckled, “I was when I was seventeen. Found some old CDs from when I spent summers here as a kid.”

“Oh, so Waverton’s a family estate? I thought the Esterfields sold the place back in the thirties.”

“They did. My great aunt Clara bought it sometime before I was born, fixed it up. She’s been running it ever since.” 

Marc dimly remembered images of a smiling older woman on the website. She had the same gray eyes as the attendant. “She’s done a wonderful job. The place is beautiful.”

“It is, but she hasn’t exactly spent the same amount of effort on the caretaker’s house,” he gestured up at the house, which sported new windows, shutters, and new front door,  “Or herself,” his expression turned glum. 

“Oh? Is she OK?”

“She took a tumble in May. Broke her femur. Wasn’t taking her meds.”

“Damn. I’m sorry. Sounds like you’re close.”

“She’s basically my grandmother. She’s staying back with my folks in Boston. I’m here for the summer taking care of things.” 

“That’s very sweet of you. Looks like you’re pretty handy too.”

He shrugged, “I manage a general contractor business back in Boston. The office is probably happy to have me not fussing over every little detail for a while.” 

Marc blinked, the man in front of him looked barely twenty four.  

The attendant gave a whistle, “Shit! I must be dehydrated, going on like that. I’m Ryan by the way.”  He held out a hand. It had some paint on it, but Marc took it eagerly.

“No, it’s nice to talk to someone. I’m Marc, but I guess you probably knew that already.”

“Yeah. But it’s nice to meet you anyway. You enjoying the honeymoon suite?”

“Yeah… its nice,” suddenly Marc felt a familiar weight in his stomach. 

Marc’s expression must have looked awful, because Ryan winced in response, “Hey, looks like you were out for a run. Want some water? I’m boiling.” Marc smiled a little at Ryan’s awkward attempt to change the subject. He nodded, and Ryan walked down the gravel drive around the house. Marc followed, admiring the work Ryan must have done in the last month or so. He also admired Ryan’s ass, well framed even in those sagging jeans. 

“So I have water here in the garage, beer too if you’re interested. Marc?”

Marc was speechless. The garage was a wide open affair, practically a stable. Its three bays were supported by squared wood columns, freshly painted in white.

“Marc?”

“Mmm w-water’s fine.” He could almost smell the gasoline again. His body clenched. First the lake and now this. This wasn’t on the website. Couldn’t be. 

Marc almost dropped the water bottle. 

“Seriously, are you ok man? You’re pale as a sheet.”

“Yeah,” Marc took a swig from the water, it was a welcome distraction, “h-has this garage always been part of the caretaker’s house?”

“I think so. Mr. Esterfield was supposedly wild about cars. Owned quite a few.”

“Huh. Interesting.” None of this made sense. How could he dream of a place he’d never been before? Who was he dreaming about, who-  

Ryan had a hand on Marc’s shoulder. It was warm. Marc blinked, his train of thought derailed. Marc gazed up at Ryan’s worried expression. Ryan stepped in closer. Marc could smell fresh paint and salty sweat on Ryan’s skin. Marc shivered, and briefly considered running a hand against Ryan’s stubbly cheek. 

“Listen,” Ryan’s voice was a quiet rumble, “I know this weekend wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. But it’s gonna be OK.”

“No it’s not that… well I mean, it’s that too. I just haven’t slept well the last few nights.”

Ryan frowned, began to lean in further before jolting ramrod straight,, “Fuck. Listen Mr. Rosi–Marc, that was waaaay out of left field. Your business is your business.”

Marc chuckled quietly, “I booked the honeymoon suite for two, and showed up alone. I might as well have been wearing a sign that said dumped across my chest.”

Ryan shrugged, “Wasn’t my place to ask. Aunt Clara would lay me out if she found out I was talking to a guest this way.” 

“Yeah, but how often do guests come by this way?” Ryan could only shake his head in response, “Listen, it was nice meeting you Ryan. I should let you get back to painting.”

“You too. I hope you have a good weekend Marc, and put whatever-his-name-is out of your mind while you’re here.” 

“I’ll try.” Marc said, grinning but not sure why. 

Marc had finished his run and was coming back from lunch before he realized that Ryan had basically mentioned that he knew Marc was gay. He was grinning again, despite himself. He didn’t think he dressed particularly gay. He had been wearing running shorts and tshirt this morning. Most people saw him as a nerd far before they saw gay. A masters degree in data-science and years spent behind a computer had earned that well enough. Maybe Ryan had seen him ogling his shirtless hairy chest. 

Or maybe…? No. Even if that chiseled slab of man was gay, there was no way he would have eyes for Marc. Marc wasn’t even looking. He had just broken up… No, he had been dumped. Still… No. He was probably taken. Although… he certainly wasn’t wearing a ring…

A ring.

The memory of last night’s dream came roaring back. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe he was going crazy. Seeing patterns that weren’t there. Still…

Marc sat down at the table in the dining room. Despite his interest in Waverton, he had barely spent any time outside of his room. So now, sitting in the grandest room in a grand old house, he took the time to study his surroundings. 

Delicately crafted wood panel ceilings, Flemish tapestries on the wall, and an ornate marble fireplace. Waverton had been built with expense and care. Clara had clearly kept the place up with great care, a mountain of money, and a love of the period and the Esterfield family. Winston and Edith Esterfield sat larger than life in the oil portrait above the fireplace. The man with his bushy brown mustaches seemed to sit in judgement, a dead man overlooking an empire long collapsed. He was dressed in the same somber black suit almost every man wore from that era, with a signet ring on his right hand. 

Marc drew closer. Each step bringing the ring into greater detail. It was a simple gold circle with the image of a sphinx and the letter E caught with delicate detail by the brush of a master painter. 

Even in the dining room with its tapestries, even in the summer, Marc shivered. It was unmistakably the same ring from his dream. Unable to look any longer, Marc fled back to his room. 

He had tried to go to sleep early that night with little success. Whether it was the thought of dreaming again, or what those dreams meant, he just couldn’t. Hours passed and he just lay staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed. It was midnight when he rolled over, grateful for the distraction. It was a text from Jamie. 

Can we talk? 

He immediately regretted checking his phone. He had no idea what to do. He could respond. What could he say? ‘Hey, Jamie. I’m glad you texted. I’ve been sort of going crazy without you. Well not sort of… I keep dreaming about getting fucked by a lumber-baron dead for more than 80 years…’

Are you OK?

Marc turned his phone to silent. Got out of bed and, still in his PJs, made his way downstairs. 

The B&B kept a nice coffee, tea, and baked-goods station in Waverton’s massive solarium. It was open 24-7, and at midnight, it was sure to be empty. Maybe there was some chamomile or something to slow his pulse. 

Marc found Ryan camped beside the tea-station, frowning at spreadsheets at a laptop, a steaming mug beside him. 

“Oh. Hey again.” Marc declared quietly, trying not to startle him. 

Ryan looked up and smiled, “Still can’t sleep?”

Marc shook his head, and started water boiling on the electric kettle. Almost imperceptibly Ryan pushed out a chair next to him, which Marc took after finding a bag of chamomile. 

“Still trying to manage the office from out here?”

“Looking at Waverton’s finances, actually.” Ryan’s voice was downcast. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, I’m glad Aunt Clara has started keeping electronic records, but she doesn’t organize it so well. And it’s in excel.” Ryan made a face.  

“Need any help? I don’t use excel that often at work any more, but I have a degree or two in data-science.” 

Ryan chuckled, “You may regret that offer, but for the moment, I’m OK. I still remember a few things from school.” 

“Where’d you go?”

“Boston College. Finance. You?”

“U Mass.” Marc responded, sticking out his tongue. 

“Should’ve charged you double.” 

Marc laughed, “So how did someone who studies finance end up running a general contractor company?”

“Summer job. I ended up being pretty good at it. Started putting my own crews together…”

“So you ownthe company.”

Ryan offered a satisfied smirk, “I figured I could put my degree to use.” He finished inputting a formula, and an entire column appeared, most of the numbers were in red, “shit.”

“Not good?”

“Nope.” 

Marc crunched a few numbers in his mind, number of rooms by prices, standard costs, it was entirely off the cuff, “It seems like you do pretty good business here.”

“We do, but the real costs are some of the old loans Clara has from buying the estate as one piece. We are getting killed on interest payments.”

“So you need to win the lottery, pay it off in one go.”

“Or sell some of the land for development,” Ryan made a face, “but if we had a big chunk of money, this place could run forever.”

“You really care deeply about this place, don’t you?”

“It’s been my aunt’s life. And for me… there’s something about this place… even after I turned eighteen, I never stopped coming back.”

Marc looked away, for a moment uncomfortable with the weight of the phone in his pocket. “How much do you know about the Esterfields?”

“A good bit, though Aunt Clara knows just about everything, why?” 

“I noticed Mr. Esterfield was wearing a ring in the portrait in the dining room…”

“Oh yeah, the Esterfield Sphinx, Mr. Esterfield’s father used it for his lumber company, and when he struck it big, the whole family started to wear them. I think we have one in a display case somewhere. You can even see it in a few places around Waverton.”

Marc wasn’t sure what to make of that. For all its accuracy, the hands in Esterfield’s portrait bore no resemblance to the hands in his dream. So he chose a different tactic, “Have you ever heard of strange things happening Waverton? People seeing or hearing things?”

“You mean, is Waverton haunted?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Ryan grinned, “You mean Mrs. Edith finally told you where her lost sapphires were?”

Marc made a face, “No, nothing like that. Maybe a strange dream?”

Ryan’s expression grew thoughtful, “Well…”

Marc, playfully smacked Ryan on the shoulder, which brought a grin to his face, “Well what?”

“Aunt Clara would kill me if she found out I told anyone this, but for some weird reason, I can’t stop babbling at you. People have occasionally mentioned having strange dreams, and seeing things. Even a few sleep walkers, but that happens at every B&B.” 

“What did they dream about?”

Ryan looked away, and blushed, “Oh a lot of things. Parties and stuff, Mr. Esterfield I think.” 

“And getting a pretty thorough ass fucking?”

He burst into giggling. Despite–or because of– his size, Marc couldn’t help but find it rather adorable, “Yeah… now that you mention it…”

“I’m guessing the guests don’t share that one too often.”

“No, no, can’t say that they do,” Ryan stared off into the distance for a moment, “I think I was sixteen or seventeen, the first time. It was… intense.”

Marc bit his lip before continuing, “Didn’t figure you for much of a bottom.”

Ryan grinned, “Not usually no, more of a top these days,” he turned back to Marc, gray eyes sparkling, “what about you?”

“More bottom-verse I guess.” 

There was a palpable moment of silence, and Marc was painfully aware of how thin the fabric in his PJs was, and how tight the tshirt Ryan was wearing.

“So you’re having the dreams. It only happened a handful of times for me, everything was pretty scattered.”

“It’s happened both nights I’ve been here so far.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah… I… uh… saw the ring in my dream… and the garage at the caretaker’s house.”

“Huh… I could never remember much detail. Besides… ya know….”

Marc shrugged, “Honestly maybe you should put that on the website.”

“Enjoy Waverton’s lovely rooms, English gardens, and spectral gay sex?”

“Maybe you can pack this place for Pride.”

Ryan laughed loud enough he had to put a hand over his mouth.

With his tea done, Marc bid Ryan goodnight. He thought about staying longer, but Ryan did look busy, and he didn’t want to wear out his welcome. As he pulled the covers over himself, he couldn’t help thinking, the weekend may be just what he needed. 

Marc’s steps up the creaking wooden stairs were hesitant, each step heavier than the last. From below he could hear the sounds of music and laughter, but he felt only fear. When the attic door shut behind him, the world grew muffled and close. His nose tickled at the dust in the air among the crates. Winston Esterfield set down a lantern before him, throwing strange shadows on the man’s face. He looked older, more severe than in his portrait, his mustache had wisps of gray. His eyes were narrowed and his lip was curled.

“Honestly David, if you insist on embarrassing yourself at every family event, I shall have to confine you to your rooms.”

“Good.” Marc’s voice was slurred. 

“Were you trying to ruin your chances with Gwendolyn?” Winston gave an errant wave, his ring flickering in the light, “No matter, there are more Astors where she came from.”

“May I retire now?”

“No you may not retire. You are twenty two years old David. You should be looking to succeed me. But look at you! Where’s your ring?”

“M-missing,”

“A lot of missing jewelry going around these days,” Winston sneered, “You’re a shame to the family! A dissapointment! I should,” He lifted his fist, Marc winced preemptively. But, Mr. Esterfield slammed his fist into the wall with surprising force instead, splintering wood, and impressing his signet into the wall.

“Get out of my sight,” he barked, and Marc fled. Back down the stairs, down through servants stairs and into his room. As he stumbled towards the bed, he caught a quick glance in the mirror by the dresser. 

A man with floppy brown hair, blue eyes, in a disheveled evening suit stared back at him. His expression was mournful, and he seemed to whisper something Marc couldn’t hear. 

Marc woke up shaking.

As soon as he was dressed, Marc made his way downstairs. While most mornings, the smells of coffee, maple syrup, and bacon were irresistible, he made a beeline for parlor. Ryan was seated behind the desk, he beamed when he saw Marc. 

“Marc, how are you?”

“I–I had another dream.”

Ryan chuckled, “Damn, didn’t know I could be jealous of the dead.”

Marc blinked, but before he could fully process that statement, he pressed on, “No, this was different. It was… can I ask you a favor?”

Ryan bit his lip, “what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to check something… in the attic.”

“Uh… sure. There’s a couple coming in soon, see you in about an hour?”

Marc nodded. 

Almost a century later, the stairs still creaked and the attack door, now locked, was still heavy and foreboding. Ryan flipped on the lights as they entered, the exposed bulbs sputtered to life, revealing a room filled with boxes, crates, and bric a brac. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, I think. In my dream Mr. Esterfield punched the wall.” 

Marc shut his eyes for a moment, letting the nauseous wave of deja vu pass. He walked down halfway through the attic, leaving footprints in the dust. He studied the wall, pushing aside boxes and scooting shelves. Ryan, with deft hands, caught a tumbling vase. 

Long minutes passed, Marc’s fingers traced along the wall. While he had gone to the lake and the garage unconsciously, he tried to focus on whatever had pushed him there. A longing perhaps. Eventually he came to a large painting leaning against the wall. Marc tried to move it, but the frame was too heavy. 

“Allow me,” Ryan declared, hefting it aside. But, the cover slipped, and sent out a cloud of dust. 

When the coughing subsided, and they had blinked away tears, both Marc and Ryan stared silently, agape. There at chin height, one of the polished boards had been splintered. The circular imprint of the signet was still visibly etched on the wood. 

“Holy shit.” Ryan gasped. 

“They aren’t dreams. They’re memories.” Marc had the distinct impression that the world was spinning, and he shut his eyes. This was too much. He felt ill. 

“But who’s memories?”

“His.” Marc said, gestured to the revealed painting behind him. Between the figures of Edith and Winston Esterfield stood a young man with brown hair, and blue eyes. The man in the mirror. Their son. David. “They’re David’s memories.” 

“Huh… I guess that makes sense… I think. David died young.”

“How?”

“Not sure, I would have to call Aunt Clara.”

“But why? Why am I seeing this?”

“Do ghosts need a reason?”

“Yeah… usually they kind of do.”

“I guess.” Ryan shrugged, “I feel like I would have remembered if David was murdered. And it’s not like he’s stashed in the walls somewhere, he’s buried in the Esterfield crypt in Boston.”

 “I wish I knew.”

Ryan had work to do, and left Marc with the promise of dinner together. The thought cheered him considerably, but he still wasn’t sure of what to make of the man. Maybe he just wanted to hook up. As far as he knew, he was single. Marc wasn’t sure, he would have been happy had his boyfriend spent three months away without plans to visit. 

Maybe that’s why Jamie broke it off.

Marc pushed thoughts of Jamie out of his mind. He had yet to respond to any texts, but he posted a few pictures of the woods and the lake on social media. Didn’t read anything, but also he didn’t fancy having people call to bombard him with questions. He had enough questions. 

Foremost among them, why the fuck was he haunted by the ghost of David Esterfield?

Unfortunately, an issue with one of the housekeepers cut dinner with Ryan short, and Aunt Clara hadn’t answered his calls. So when Marc stripped down for bed, he was no closer to figuring things out then when he stood in the attic. 

His phone buzzed. It was Jamie.

Please come home. We need to talk.

Fuck. Marc grumbled and pulled the covers over his head. 

Marc’s vision was blurry, he couldn’t focus. Blinking, he felt hot tears roll down his face. A quick glance in the mirror was greeted by David’s reflection. His eyes were puffy and his skin sallow. Marc could feel the bone weariness that came after sobbing for hours. He knew that sensation well. 

Marc reached behind a vanity and produced a pile of papers tied together with twine and a heavy envelope. Both he crammed into a wax lined metal box. There was a paper on the table. Marc tried to read it, but his vision was still too clouded by tears. He tried to breath, but his nose was still heavy with mucus. Marc watched as he took the paper on the table. Folded it gingerly and placed it on top of the bundle and envelop. He closed the box, and left his room. 

The woods were so dark. But he ran. He knew them well. He had spent his entire life exploring them. He knew the way.

The lake was high, it had rained recently, and the ground was soft. Kneeling down, he reached into the muddy earth on the side of the hill. He dug, fingernails breaking, until he had a wet grave for the little metal box. He buried it. He was whispering but, but Marc wasn’t sure what he was saying. All he could feel was pain. 

Jamie was gone. He was never coming back. It was over. It was all over. What was the point anymore? 

Marc took walked into the lake.  He let the waters overtake him. They would be together again. As it should be. 

“MARC!” Ryan lifted him from the lake. 

Marc gasped, and coughed, water clearing from his chest. He collapsed against Ryan’s broad shoulders.

“Marc! Say something!” 

“Ryan.” His voice was barely a whisper. And the world shifted. 

Marc came to as he hit the bed. It wasn’t his bed. Ryan was standing over him. Peeling of his tshirt and his boxers.  

“Christ you’re cold.”

“W-what?”

Without hesitation, Ryan tore his own shirt off and climbed into bed with him. Ryan’s bare arms felt hot against against his skin, but the feel of his broad chest against him felt so good. “Is that better?”

“Yes.” Marc answered, and promptly fell unconscious. 

Marc woke to the sun streaming in through the window. He yawned. He felt rested. He felt so warm. He began to nuzzle deeper into Ryan’s chest. The sudden realization jolted him, waking Ryan. 

Ryan looked down, smiling for a moment, before his brow creased, “Hey… you OK?”

“Yeah. I think.”

“I… I was working in the solarium again, I saw you leave. I tried to follow, but you ran. You… you were…” He shuddered

“Yeah. I was… David.”

“Oh.” 

“He was in pain. A lot of pain.”

“Jesus. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, but… wait…am I naked?”

“You were freezing,”

“Learn that one in boy scouts?”

Ryan chuckled, “yeah actually.”

“Well thanks. I mean it. Thank you. You saved my life.”

“We strive for service here at Waverton.”

Marc shifted, and he felt something pressing against him. He reached down, and grabbed a handful of Ryan’s crotch. He pulled away immediately. 

“Oh shit, I’m… sorry, I didn’t mean.”

Ryan blushed, “I think you’re ok. I mean.. You’re the one who’s naked.”

Marc could feel Ryan’s cock against his hip, he shifted again and felt him twitch through his basketball shorts. He was at full mast.

“Ok, that one was on purpose.” Marc said, feeling bold. 

Ryan leaned forward to kiss him. It was warm, and his lips were soft. His stubble tickled. Marc could only sigh, and kiss back, wrapped in Ryan’s arms. 

Ryan’s kisses moved across Marc’s cheek to his neck. Ryan’s stubble dragged across his skin, and Marc inhaled sharply. Marc began to wriggle free of Ryan’s arms, pulling himself up face to face. They kissed again, and Marc pulled away to stare into Ryan’s warm gray eyes. 

Ryan smiled, and Marc could no longer help himself. He dived down on to Ryan’s chest, running fingers and nose through his chest hair. Ryan murmured softly, as Marc began to kiss across his chest. As Marc’s fingers traced short circles around his nipples, he gasped. Marc smiled against Ryan’s chest, before moving lower. 

With lips and tongue, Marc worshiped Ryan’s abs, and languished over the V-cut that had grabbed his attention before. With one fluid motion, he pulled Ryan’s shorts off. Ryan’s cock bounced free before hitting his belly with an audible thump. 

Marc studied him for a moment. Memorizing the shape of him. Before he pulled himself lower, and approached Ryan’s erection. 

With not-quite kisses, Marc ran his lips over Ryan’s cock. His fingers cupping his balls, and rolling them gently. Ryan’s eyes rolled back, and made a sound deep in his chest. Marc left a few last kisses on inner thigh and hips, before finally getting down to business. He began to bob up and down on Ryan’s hard-on. Fingers still teasing his balls, and tongue seeming to work on its own rhythm. 

Ryan gave a full throated groan as Marc went lower and lower. Soon every time he pulled up, Ryan gave a soft buck to his hips. Marc looked up at him briefly before returning back to work, he kept a steady rhythm at first, but soon he began to go faster, his hold a little more intense. 

Ryan’s breath grew labored, and his toes began to curl. Only then did Marc, slow, leaving Ryan gasping. 

Marc responded with an impish grin, “Do you want to…”

Ryan nodded, and reached over into the night-stand pulling out condoms and lube. He handed them to Marc, who despite having steady movements seemed to shake a bit. 

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. 

Marc nodded. As he pulled himself up off the bed, and straddled Ryan’s hips. 

It had been longer than either cared to admit. So both moved slowly and with great care. Marc lowered himself down onto Ryan, relishing every inch. He was… thicker, and it took a bit longer to relax. But through it all Marc’s cock was rock-hard, and began to drip precum on Ryan’s stomach. 

Ryan responded without hesitation, wrapping fingers around Marc’s dick and brushing a thumb over the tip, relishing the sticky smoothness. Marc moaned, and with one last push, he dropped all the way to Ryan’s hips. 

They stayed there for a moment, staring at each other, before Marc began to rock his hips back and forth. Ryan soon found the tempo and his hips were rising to meet him.

At first Ryan merely held Marc’s cock, letting the motion move him through Ryan’s fingers. But now he began to move again, one hand slowly jerking him, the other resting gently on Marc’s hip. 

They never went very fast. Occasionally Marc would plead to be fucked deeper, and Ryan obliged, earning moans and groans. Ryan’s hands grew sticky with precum. 

“Getting close.” Ryan whispered, and Marc leaned forward and picked up the pace. Each thrust ending with a little roll of his hips. 

Marc’s face contorted, and his fingers grasped Ryan’s biceps. Almost without warning he came, shooting all over Ryan’s chest. 

The sight was too much for Ryan, and he pushed as deep as he would go, coming hard. 

The pair collapsed in a heap of sweat and seed. With Marc chuckling against Ryan’s chest. 

“What?”

“You know,” Marc said, “I don’t think I ever asked for your last name.”

Ryan snorted, “It’s Graham.” 

“Nice to meet you Ryan Graham, I’m Marco Rosini, but you can call me Marc.” 

After a shower, Marc crept downstairs following the sounds of Ryan in the kitchen and the smell of coffee. His clothes were in the dryer so he had only a pair of overlong basketball shorts. Ryan assured him that neither guests nor staff usually stopped by the Caretaker’s House unannounced.  

Marc stopped to take in the menagerie of photos down the stairs, paying special attention to a young Ryan who seemed to have gone through an unfortunate punk phase in his early teens. But, one faded photo in particular drew his eye. 

It was a couple, seated. Their expressions were somber. Behind them stood a young man in driver’s garb. Their son. His long expressive hands draped easily over their shoulders. 

“Shit!” 

“What is it? What’s wrong.” Ryan called, dashing out of the kitchen. 

“Nothing. I think. Who’s in this photo?”

“Uh… that’s the Petersons, I think they were the first caretakers at Waverton. Why?”

“Get a shovel, I think I’ve figured it out.”

It wasn’t hard to find the box. A little bit of digging beside the oak tree, and they found what they were looking for. The box was still well preserved by the wax, but it still took a hammer to pry it open. 

At the top was a letter, the ink was faded and blotched. The wording was in terse capitals. 

MR AND MRS ARTHUR PETERSON,

WE DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON, GABRIEL PETERSON, WAS KILLED IN ACTION ON THIRD JUNE 1918 IN FRANCE. PLEASE FIND ACCOMPANYING PERSONAL EFFECTS: ONE GOLD RING. 

DIR OF RECORDS, US EXPEDITIONARY FORCE

Marc handed the letter to Ryan. Beneath it he found the stack of papers, wrapped in twine. Letters, written in two hands, one long and languid, the other short and cramped. A quick thumb though, confirmed his guess. Letters passed between David and Gabriel. The signs of a relationship that stretched at least two years. 

At the bottom the final heavy envelope. Pulling the twine gently, he saw the same long lettering, David’s handwriting, scrawled across the tab: Liberty Fund. 

Marc opened it and gasped, and drew Ryan away from reading the letters. Pouring the contents out, Marc revealed a wealth of sapphire and diamond necklaces, brooches, earrings, and bracelets. 

“Fuck, Mrs. Edith really did have lost sapphires.” Ryan gasped, “I thought Aunt Clara was joking.”

“Ryan,” Marc whispered, “these are worth millions. You could…”

“Settle Waverton’s debts with more than enough left over.” His eyes grew wet, he leaned down to kiss Marc. 

Hours and another round of sex later. Ryan was in the other room chatting excitedly with Clara over the phone. Marc stared at his phone. Jamie’s texts waited unanswered.

Can we talk?

Please come home. We need to talk.

We can talk later. I’ll be at Waverton a bit longer. 

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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This is a story about a high school coach who enlists some of his young jocks to service his nympho wife.  The story is fiction. All legal disclaimers apply. If this topic offends you, do not read any further; and ask yourself why you are at this site.  If you are under the age of 18 (21 in some areas) and too young to be reading such material or if you are in a locale or country where it is not legal to read such material then please leave immediately and come back when it is legal for you to do so. We’ll be glad to have you back. I value your thoughts and opinion; I would also like to hear from you personally. Personal stories and accounts of your own similar experiences are always welcome. 

Contact me at [email protected].

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I woke up from a sound sleep to face the sleeping beauty lying beside me, looking so peaceful and content. I looked at the tanned, thick muscular arm draped down over her breasts and the big hand hanging loosely over her right tit. The hand that wrapped around a football with such ease and the arm that had thrown more complete passes than any kid in the school’s history. It wasn’t my arm.  It was the arm of Jason Towne, my quarterback. I eased out of bed so I wouldn’t wake them and slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I went into the guest room to find Brian Mitchell sprawled naked on the bed, his right leg hanging over the edge of the mattress. I lifted his heavy leg up and laid it on the bed then left him to sleep. 

I made my way down the short hall to the living room. Standing in the door, my first thought was that I would have to have the carpet cleaned.  The room was a sea of naked, muscular young athletes spread out and entangled across the floor, another guy sleeping in the chair and two guys sprawled awkwardly on the couch.  I shook my head, smiling, wondering how they had landed together in that position on the couch.  The entire scene bore witness to an orgy from the night before. What a magnificent sight. I stepped over the naked bodies to make my way to the kitchen. I had my hand on the refrigerator door but then went into the den to get my video camera.  It was too good an opportunity to pass up.  I went back to the guest room and videoed Brian sleeping then slipped into the bedroom to get Lisa and Jason sleeping.  Back in the living room, I panned the room with the camera from every angle, smiling all the while. This was going to make a great surprise training film. I put the camera away and quietly as I could, I took two pounds of bacon out of the refrigerator and got out the skillet to make breakfast. 

“Hey, coach.”

I glanced around to see a naked Cody Brown, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey, Cody. Did you sleep okay?”

“I’m not sure how much anybody slept,” he said as he came over beside the stove.

“Oh?’ I said with a curious look.

“The floor was pretty crowded, it was hard not to get an elbow in the eye every time somebody turned over, and twice I woke up with somebody all over me, or spooning me.”

“That could have been interesting,” I joked, but he didn’t laugh.

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but I think somebody got more than spooned,” he said.

“Oh? You mean……”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“Who?” I asked.

“I won’t say yet, till I’m sure,” he said.

My interest was duly piqued but I let it drop for the moment; but I was determined to pursue it later.

Another boy came in; Brady Anderson. Unlike Cody’s smooth, tanned muscles, Brady had the maturity of a grown man, with more brawn, and hair on his chest and a neat treasure trail down the center of his cut abs. He stretched and yawned, his powerful muscles rippling.  He was the biggest, most powerful player on the team.

“What the hell are Austin and Jack doing on the couch together?” he asked, scratching his head.

“I don’t know, maybe they’ve got a thing for each other that we didn’t know about,” Cody said.

“Wish I had a picture of that,” Brady said. Jack Anderson was his younger brother. He chuckled softly.  “Hell, I could get head from those guys for the rest of the school year with pictures of them like that.”

I just smiled, thinking of how they were all going to look on the video.

“One of you guys wanta get the eggs out of the fridge? The other can go start waking everybody up for the showers,” I said.

“I’ll go kick some ass,” Brian said as he turned to go back in the living room.

I heard the sleepy groans and muttered curses as Brian woke them up. One by one the boys came into the kitchen to hang around and watch me make breakfast.

“Better stand back from the stove, you’re going to get splattered with grease,” I warned Cody. 

“I didn’t see Jason anywhere,” Brady said over his shoulder from the door.

“He’s in my bedroom,” I said.

The two boys looked at each other, knowing looks that brought thin smiles to their handsome faces.

The idea of bringing someone else into our marriage came to me gradually, after numerous remarks by my wife about my athletes. She went to the football games, of course, and often made remarks, jokingly, about what a great butt a certain boy had, or about a boy being a little stud, or how cute some boy looked in his uniform. I noticed she seemed to take special note of Jason Towne so he was the natural first to be invited into our marriage. Jason was a big, handsome boy; eighteen years old, about two hundred pounds, muscular and always with a golden tan that set off his dark eyes and even, white teeth. And he was every bit the stud Lisa thought he was.  More so, in fact, as I could attest to, seeing him regularly in the locker room, not to mention the reputation he had with the girls. 

It was my intent from the beginning that if things worked out, Jason would be only the first; I had visions of providing Lisa with a virtual stable of horny, young athletes, if it all went well with Jason. It did, and with my subtle encouragement the idea caught hold. I didn’t come right out and ask or suggest to Lisa that we bring a third party into our bed. I was more subtle. I told her I wanted to get to know my boys on a more personal level and suggested that we invite them to dinner, one at a time. She readily agreed, all smiles, when I mentioned Jason first.

The way she fussed around that day, one might have thought she was expecting the pope.  Jason arrived at the appointed time dressed in a dark blue T-shirt, tan shorts and sneakers, and baseball cap. 

My wife came in to greet him warmly then he and I retired to the living room. We talked about sports and I hit on the subject of girls; things that I knew would make him open up and feel at home.

“Sam, I forgot to get rolls,” Lisa said from the doorway. “Would you be a sweetheart….”

“I’ll run to the store for you,” Jason offered as he got up from the couch.

“No, I’ll go,” I said.

“I can go, I passed a grocery store on the way over; it’s just down the street,” he insisted.

“No, she wants rolls from Osterlings Bakery,” I said as I headed for the door. “You stay and keep my wife company; she could probably use some help in the kitchen. It may take a while, honey,” I called out to her.

“That’s all right. Take your time, dear,” she called back.

I drove across town to Osterlings to check out their bakery. It wasn’t where we bought groceries; we shopped at the grocery just down the street that Jason had mentioned, but I needed to give Lisa some alone time with Jason.  It was nearly an hour before I got back to the house. The moment I walked in the house I knew my plan had worked. Lisa could hardly contain her smile and Jason couldn’t look me in the eye.

Despite my attempts, and Lisa’s, to make the boy comfortable at dinner he was so nervous he could hardly eat. I felt kind of sorry for him, yet I wanted to laugh. After dinner he graciously offered to help Lisa with the dishes but she declined his offer and he suddenly seemed in a rush to leave. He thanked her profusely for dinner and hurried out the door. I closed the door and turned to Lisa with a smile. She smiled back.

“I take it my little plan worked,” I said.

“Oh, Lord!  If that you was your plan…Did it!” she exclaimed. “My Godd! He is insatiable!”

“Most teenage boys are,” I said.

“And you were right. Lordy, I couldn’t have imagined a boy his age could be built the way he is,” she said.

“Hey, he didn’t ruin you for me, did he?” I joked.

“No, of course not,” she cooed as she came over to kiss me lovingly all over my face. “If anything, he heated me up for you.”

And he had. Lisa can be insatiable too when she gets heated up, and Jason had heated her up.

Monday at school, Jason still couldn’t face me. He outright tried to avoid me, and when we did come into close proximity with each other, he couldn’t look me in the eye. Things came to a head later that afternoon in the locker room. I caught him when he was coming back from the showers, with a towel around his waist. I thought he was going to shit his pants, if he’d had any on, when I told him to come into my office. That was another odd thing, him wearing a towel. Jason never put a towel around his waist; he liked to flaunt himself.  It was like he was trying to hide the evidence or something.

I told him to close the door when he came in and he took an unusual amount of time to do that.  He turned around to face me, holding the knot in the towel, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“We enjoyed having you to dinner the other night,” I said, by way of opening the conversation.  “My wife told me to tell you.”

“Yes, sir, I enjoyed being there. Your wife is a great cook,” he said.

“Just one of her many talents,” I said with a sly grin, the meaning of which I was sure he caught. “Why don’t you sit down,” I said, waving to the big, old leather couch across from my desk.

He walked over and sat down with one leg cocked over the other knee, and tucked the towel down between his legs. His eyes were darting around nervously, unable to focus on me.

“I think I would like to have other boys over to the house from time to time; get to know each one of them on a more personal level. Do you think they would enjoy that?” I said.

“Yes, sir, that would be nice. They would appreciate it, I’m sure,” he said, still barely able to look at me when he spoke.

“What do you think, just one at a time, or maybe two or three at a time? Were you comfortable being the only guest? How do you think they would be more comfortable?” I asked.

“Oh… I don’t know.  I guess any way you and your wife want to do it,” he said.

He was in a bind, almost squirming; he didn’t know if I was talking about dinner and conversation, or what he and my wife had done while I went to get the rolls.

“Were you comfortable, being the only one there?” I asked again.

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“I should apologize for having to leave the house to get the rolls, but I thought you would be comfortable with Lisa; you seemed to hit it off,” I said.

“Yes, sir, we did.  She’s a terrific lady, besides being a great cook.”

“How well?” I asked.

Jason looked at me, his eyes suddenly fixed right at me, except for a slight nervous twitch in the left one.

“Coach… sir?” he asked, with a confused look.

“How well did you hit it off?” I asked pointedly.

His mouth moved but nothing came out at first.  Finally, “Well, I, uh… I guess okay… I mean, she’s easy to get to know, and she’s funny… we hit it off. I think anybody would, with her.”

“Oh, you think so?  You think she would hit it off with any of the guys, huh?”

“Well, y-yes, sir… I mean, she… s-she made me feel at home.”

“She’s pretty hot, isn’t she,” I said boldly.

His face was turning red; he was catching on that I knew.

“Well, I… I w-wouldn’t ever say that about your wife, Coach, but since you said it… yes, sir, she’s pretty hot. A lot of guys think so.”

“You’re not gonna admit it, are you?” I said.

“Admit w-what, sir?” he asked.

“I was gone over an hour, are you going to tell me you spent that whole time stirring the chili?”

“I d-don’t know w-what you’re g-getting at, Coach,” he stammered.

“Well, let’s try this on for size,” I said. “You couldn’t look me in the eye when I got back with the rolls. You were on pins and needles all through dinner, and you couldn’t wait to leave.  Sort of like you’re acting right now. So why don’t you come out with it — admit it — you fucked my wife.”

He looked like I’d punched him in the gut.  “Coach, I… I swear, I didn’t mean for it to happen.  I don’t even know how it happened, we were standing there in the kitchen, real close, and we were laughing about something she’d said and she turned around from the counter and came right up against me… it was accidental, at first, anyway, but… Godd, Coach, I’m sorry.  I should have been man enough to walk away… but it was so… so… Geezuss, everything was so right… everything just fell into place, like pieces to a puzzle, and the next think I knew, I was… we were….”  He stood up from the couch, taking a step toward my desk, his face a pained grimace, almost as if he were about to cry.  “Shit, Coach, I know you’re gonna kick me off the team now.  Godd, there goes my scholarship. Is there anything, Coach, please, anything I can do to make it right.”

“Well, there might be,” I said, thoughtfully, leaning back in my chair.

“Yes, sir! What is it? Just name it. Anything you say.”

“Come for dinner this Saturday night,” I said.

He looked again like I’d hit him in the gut. His mouth dropped and his eyes widened and his finger-grip on the knot loosened and the towel swirled to the floor.

“Oh,” he said and bent down to get it.

“What’s with this sudden modesty, by the way?” I asked. “I’ve seen you naked enough times, I can count the pimples on your ass.”

“I… I d-don’t know,” he said with an embarrassed shrug and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Are you serious, Coach, about coming to dinner again?” 

“Yes.”

“Does that mean… I’m not… you’re not gonna kick me off the team?”

“I think my wife would kick me out of the house if I did that,” I said.

“I don’t fully understand, Coach… after what I did… and you… you’re just letting it go?”

“No, I’m not letting it go.  I’m inviting you back,” I said.

“B-but… w-why?”

“Well, you apparently made Lisa very happy,” I said. “But, a word of warning; I won’t be leaving to get rolls this time,” I added.

“Yes, sir, I understand… I think. I’ll keep my place. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, on the contrary, it will. In fact why don’t you plan on staying the night?”

His mouth flew open and his eyes popped out. “Spend… the night?”

“Yes. I think Lisa would like that,” I said. “Wouldn’t you?”

“OH… Oh, yes, sir, Coach! I would… I would like that very much! Ohh, damn, I can’t believe it!  I’m not getting kicked off the team and you’re inviting me back, to… to……”

“To fuck my wife,” I finished for him.

He nodded, red-faced, looking like he could hardly breathe.

“Go ahead, say it,” I told him.

“I’m g-gonna… f-fuck your wife,” he blurted out quickly.  “Oh, Geezusss, I can’t believe it!  I’m fucking the coach’s wife!”

“Oh, listen, bring your uniform,” I said.

He gave me a confused scowl. “My uniform?”

“Yes. That’s part of what she likes about you, that you’re a football player.  I think she would like if it you demonstrated how you put your gear on… and take it off.”

His confused scowl turned into a knowing smile.

“Just keep this to yourself, Jason. I don’t want the other guys finding out,” I warned.

“Oh, I would never tell anybody, Coach,” he said.

The overnight was scheduled for Friday after the football game. Jason would linger back in the locker room and then leave with the coach.

“Lisa is going to love this,” Coach told the young athlete. “She doesn’t know you’re coming directly from the game, still in your dirty uniform and your sweaty jockstrap.”

“Do you really think she’ll like me in my sweaty jockstrap?” Jason asked.

“Almost as much as she’ll like you out of it.”

When we walked in we found Lisa watching the wrap-up of the game.  The lights were low; she was wearing a dressing gown and sipping red wine.

“Good game. You guys kicked some ass,” she cooed.

“Did it just for you,” Jason said.

“And you wore your uniform just for me.”

“Yes, Ma’am.  Coach said you wanted me to.”

“I wanted you to wear it so I could watch you take it off,” she said.

“I might need a little help,” he said as he walked over and stood in front of her.

“I don’t know anything about football gear; what you take off first.  You’ll have to show me,” she said.

“It’s ladies choice,” he said.

“Is that what you tell those hot little cheerleaders when they strip you of your uniform after a game?”

“I wish, but that’s never happened,” he said.

“Well, I’m sure your coach could make it happen if you mention it to him.’

“I’ll mention it to him,” Jason said.

“Oh, dear, I don’t know where to start,” she said as she set her wine glass down.

“I’ll walk you through it,” Jason said as he began unlacing his pants.

Lisa took over quickly and finished unlacing them, then Jason showed her how she should remove the thigh pads before they took the pants off.  Underneath he was wearing only his jockstrap.  It was well worn, with little tatters and pick holes.

“My goodness, you certainly fill it out,” she said, trailing her fingers over the pouch.  She looked him up and down then said.  “I think this is enough to take off.  Well, maybe the jersey,” she added.

Jason pulled the jersey off and tossed it aside and stood in his jock, cleats and shoulder pads.

“Yess! Perfect!” she said.

“Like I said, ladies choice,” he said.  “Can I show you to the bedroom?” he asked her in a low voice.

“I believe you know the way,” she cooed.

He picked her up and carried her back to our bedroom.  What a sight, to see the big, muscular jock carrying my wife with such ease.  I followed close behind, my eyes glued to his tight, muscle-ass.

He laid her on the bed and hovered over her.  With his shoulder pads on, he looked enormous over her small body. I started taking off my clothes; I wanted to be naked for this. He eased down, rubbing his meat filled jockstrap against her crotch. He was hard, ready to burst through his jock.  She spread her legs and humped herself up against him.  Naked, I took the chair and settled back to watch.

“Ohhhhh, your jockstrap feels so good rubbing against me like that,” she murmured.

“I would like to use my tongue, if that’s all right,” Jason said. She squealed with delight. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, and began to kiss his way down her body, starting with her neck, then both tits, then down her stomach.  She groaned aloud as he buried his face in her crotch. I was duly impressed.  I couldn’t imagine a boy his age pleasuring a woman in such a way.  He had her worked into a frenzy in short order and I thrilled at her groans, begging him for his cock.

“It hasn’t worked its way out of my jockstrap yet,” he teased.

She started to reach down to help but he stopped her.  “No, it knows the way,” he said.

I could see his cock was hard, straining against the worn, mesh material of his jock, anxious to slide into the warm crevice it knew so well.  He never did remove his jockstrap, or even tug it out of the way. Instead, he shoved in, using the jock like a condom.  Lisa cried out with renewed pleasure.

“Ohhhh, that feels so good!” she cried.

“Let me know if it’s too rough,” he said.

“No, it feels wonderful!”

It was hot as hell to watch his long, thick cock pulling back, drawing the jockstrap along, then pushing back in, plugging her with the worn material.  The boy knew how to fuck, obvious by the way he made certain moves to rub the soaked material over her clit. The condition of it….tattered with little pick holes….I wondered if it would hold up, or if he would fuck it to shreds.

It was well made; it held up.  But a jockstrap does not serve well as a condom, even though it clung to his manhood throughout. But when he shot his load and when he pulled out the garment was hanging heavy laden with cum and the stuff was draining through the mesh material. The stuff ran like whey through a cheesecloth, soaking the bed. He cupped his manhood to try to catch it but there was so much that it ran through his fingers.  I tossed him a towel and he held it there as he climbed off the bed and went into the bathroom.

“We’re going to need to change sheets,” I told my wife.

“I know.  As soon as I regain my strength. Godd, he literally nails me to the mattress.”

“I was thinking about inviting him to stay the night,” I said.

“Only if you will you sleep with us,” I said.

Cody was the second candidate. I thought Lisa would like Cody because he looked so young and innocent in the eyes, had a nice, lean body and a dangling cock that I couldn’t judge its potential. I approached him much the same as I had Jason; inviting him to dinner so we could get better acquainted in a one-on-one setting.

By initial opening; I mentioned to Cody that I wouldn’t be in over the weekend but I was leaving the keys with Brady so he could open up the gym for the guys who usually came in to work out.  I told him we my wife and I were going to the lake.

“The weather will be great for a weekend in the sun,” he said. “Lake Barton, or Miller Lake?”

“We’re going to Miller. My wife thought she would feel out of place at Lake Barton where all the younger crowd hangs out, with all those teenager babes.”

I don’t why she should. I don’t think your wife’s got anything to worry about on that count,” he said.  He suddenly realized what he’d said, and began apologizing.  “I didn’t mean it like that, Coach; I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“She would not take it as being disrespectful, and neither do I. She would be flattered,” I said, putting him at ease.  “I know my wife is kind of a babe, Cody, and I’m not offended that other guys notice.”

“No offense intended again, Coach, but she’s not just “kind of” a babe.”

“Oh?” I said with a smile.

“Well, I’ve never seen her in a swim suit but I’m sure she looks just as good in one as a lot of girls around school.  Does she wear a one piece or a bikini?”  Again, he caught himself and became embarrassed. “Damn, what am I saying!  I’m sorry, that’s really none of my business.”

“Stop being embarrassed.  It’s okay if you’re imaging my wife in a bikini.”

“I wasn’t…..I mean…..”

“Yes you were, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked.  For your future imaginings, she wears a bikini.”

“Oh, Geezuss,” he whispered. “I think I need to go shower, Coach.”

“Before you go, we would like to invite you to dinner one evening next week.  I would like to get to know my players better, on a more intimate basis.  Can you make it?”  I laughed.  “I promise, my wife won’t wear her bikini.”

He stammered around and finally got it out that he could make it and we set the date.

Cody arrived wearing jeans and sneakers and a blue polo shirt that showed off his lean, athletic both nicely.  His jeans also showed off his awesome little butt.  Dinner started out rather awkward but that was to be expected.  Later, when he offered to help with the cleanup, Lisa shooed him out of the kitchen then brought in two cold bottles of cold beer for us.  Cody was visibly surprised.

“It’s okay, Cody, just don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“And you have to stay long enough for it to wear off, before you get behind the wheel.”

We drank our beer and talked sports and I watched Cody began to relax.  He got a good buzz on pretty quickly.  He saw me smiling at him.

“Am I drinking it too fast, Coach?  I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“Not at all.  You seem to be handling it just fine.  Nothing wrong with a good buzz.  But I wasn’t smiling at that.”

“What, then?”

I didn’t answer him; that I was smiling at the way he kept trying not to look at my wife.

Lisa used the same ploy as before; she’d forgotten the rolls.

When I got up to go get them Cody asked if I wanted him to go with me.

“No, I’ll go,” I said. Then I said, quietly. “I was smiling at the way you keep trying to keep your eyes averted from the kitchen.  Why don’t you just go out there and assert yourself and tell her you are going to help.”

“She wouldn’t throw me out of the kitchen?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, then I left to get the rolls.

When I returned I knew without even looking at my wife that Cody had fucked her; it was all over his face, in a panic stricken sort of way.  As before, dinner was a bit awkward and as before, Cody was in a hurry to leave.  I was laughing as I went back to the kitchen after seeing Cody out.

“Well?” I asked, wrapping my arms around her as I came up behind her.

“He was a virgin.”

“No shit!  You got yourself a virgin!  That’s great!  I wouldn’t have guessed, though, the way the girls are all over him at school.”

“He was just unsure of himself,” she said.

“So you handed him his confidence,” I chided her.

Cody did a good job the next morning of acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But as the day wore on it must have gotten to him.  He got a pass out of home room to come down to my office. His composure was gone. He was so nervous he could hardly talk.  He stammered around, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Calm down, boy.  It can’t be that bad.”

“It is,” he said, almost gasping.

“Well, have a seat there on the couch and try to tell me how bad it is.”

He sat astraddle the arm of the couch—that seemed to be a favorite with a lot of the guys.

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” he said.

“Of what? Cody, you’ve got to calm down and get it together.  Now, what’re you scared of?”

“You.”

“Me!  What in the world have I done to make you scared of me?”

“Nothing you’ve done, it’s what I’ve done, and what you’re gonna do.”

“Cody, you’re not making any sense.”

“At your house last night…..when you went to get the rolls and I….I went out to help our wife in the kitchen……”

“Yeah?”  I think I might have laughed if I didn’t feel so sorry for him.  But I made him say it.

“I…..I h-had sex with your wife!  I’m sorry, coach.  I’m so sorry I could kill myself.  I didn’t mean for it to happen but it just did, and we did it right there on the kitchen table.  I didn’t know what was even happening; I mean, I never had sex with anybody before.”

“You mean you had sex with my wife?” I asked, not angrily but it must have sounded like a death sentence to the boy. He was nodding, about to cry.

I got up and came around my desk.  He cowered back a little. I put out a reassuring hand and laid it on his shoulder.

“Calm down, Cody.”

“I didn’t use a condom either, Coach. Godd, maybe I got her pregnant.”

“No, you didn’t get her pregnant. Lisa can’t have children.  She can’t get pregnant.”

“Oh.” He gushed a sigh of relief. “I’ve got my uniform ready to turn in,” he said quietly.

I laughed softly. “Fucking my wife has nothing to do with you playing football,” I said.

“You don’t….you’re not mad??”

“Well, my wife has to be held somewhat complacent in what happened,” I said.  “You didn’t rape her, did you?”

“No!  No, I don’t think so.  She…..she never tried to stop me, and she never told me to stop.”

“Then you’re not responsible,” I said. “The only thing you’re responsible for, Cody, is being a young, horny jock, and making my wife very happy.”

He gaped at me, wide-eyed.  “She told you?”

“Yes.  We don’t have secrets from each other.  I kind of expected it would happen when I left to get the rolls, the way you kept looking at her.  So, how does it feel to be without your virginity?

“It feels wonderful….she told you that too?

“Yes. And she said you did a very good job. Look, I’m not mad or upset, and I don’t want your uniform.  You’re too valuable a player.  I need you on the team.  So let’s forget this little incident and move forward.”

“I can’t believe you’re being so understanding.”

“I’ve been there, Cody.  But I wasn’t fortunate enough to have a woman like Lisa to show me the way out of my virginity.” I closed with the admonishment that he should not tell anyone.

Brian was my next mark.  He was the most physically mature boy on the team.  More a man than a boy, really, and Lisa was excited about him coming to dinner. He arrived in cut-off jeans that rested on his round, tight butt to hold them up. His thighs bulged against the worn denim material.  He wore sneakers, no socks, and a plain white T-shirt.  There was nothing fancy about Brian; he was who he was, and he was confident in his manhood.  I could see that Lisa was almost breathless when he came in.  He didn’t offer to help in the kitchen.  That wasn’t his nature.  I got us each a beer and we went into the living room to watch a lacrosse game I’d recorded.

“I used to think lacrosse was a pussy game, but those guys are tough,” he said.

“Tough and quick,” I agreed.

“I wish we had a lacrosse team.  Or better yet a rugby team,” he said.

“You would be more fit for rugby, especially with those legs,” I said.

Then came the call for rolls.  I got up to leave.

“I can go get ‘em, Coach,” Brian said jumping to his feet.

“No, I’ll go; you stay and keep my wife company.  Maybe lend a hand in the kitchen.”

“I don’t think she would want that.  I don’t know anything about what goes on in a kitchen except eating the food that comes out of it,” he said.  But used to doing as I said, he sat back down and let me go for the rolls. 

I gave have them plenty of time to get started but returned earlier than I had with the other boys.  It was intentional; I wanted to catch them in the act.  I wanted to see Brian’s reaction when he was caught.

It worked only too well.  I let myself in and closed the door without a sound.  The only sounds were Lisa stifling tiny squeals and whimpers, and Brian’s guttural moans and curses as he slammed his cock into her unmercifully.  He was fucking her on the kitchen counter.  Her legs were spread out wide and she was slumped back, holding onto the handles of the overhead cabinets.  I watched for a moment to take in the sight; Brian’s heavily muscled jock-body rippling, his round, hairy butt muscles clenching powerfully, and his stomach muscles like a plate of armor, and his cock thrusting in and pulling out of her and out of her.  I’d never seen the boy with a hardon, but he was using long strokes and I didn’t know how much of his cock he was using.

Lisa saw me and I was sure she realized that my quick return was intentional.

“Oh, dear! My husband’s back!” she whimpered softly, her voice wavering.

It was almost comical.  Brian didn’t miss a stroke.  He glanced my way with a shocked look on his face but kept right on fucking her.  I quickly realized why. He had them both so close that he couldn’t stop.  The announcement that I was there was the only thing Lisa said.  After that it was nothing but unintelligible babbling as the teenager fucked her unmercifully. Brian was obviously no virgin. He knew his way around a woman’s body. No virgin knew the moves he was using on her. With a powerful thrust Brian’s body suddenly tensed like a stone statue except for the tiny tremors that made his hips lurch and his butt muscles twitch.  He was shooting his load inside her.   She squealed and let go of one of the handles to cover her mouth.  He was obviously giving her a big O.   She trembled like an earthquake and choked on her muffled outcries.

I walked on into the kitchen and set the rolls on the table.  Brian showed no sign of fear. Physically, he had no reason to fear me but I could ruin his career.  He leaned down with his head on her slumped face and sucked in deep breaths of air, then he straightened and moved back from the counter.  His cock pulled out and fell heavily against his thigh with a wet smack.  I still didn’t know how big he was hard, but I knew his potential now.  He was big.  Beer-can big, and long.  Cum dripped from his cock onto the floor and there was cum running out of Lisa’s pussy.

“I know I oughta apologize, Coach, but I won’t ‘cause I can’t say I’m sorry, and I don’t think your wife is, either.  It just happened, Coach and that’s all there is to it.  Whatever you want to do with me, I’ll take the punishment.” 

“Well, for starters, I want you to pull up your shorts then help my wife down from the counter, then clean up the cum,” I said.

Brain was super cool. He didn’t even seem surprised at my reaction.  Again, accustomed to doing as I said, he grabbed paper towel and wiped his cock then pulled his shorts up, then wiped up the cum from the floor.  He helped steady Lisa and even made a grabbing swipe between her legs to wipe the cum that was draining out of her.

“Sorry, Ma’am, I cum quite a bit,” he said.

“Yes, I felt it,” she said.

Then Brian said he was leaving.  I stopped him as he was half way to the door. 

“You haven’t had your dinner,” I said matter of factly.

He stopped and turned around.  “You want me to stay?”

“Of course, Lisa prepared this dinner for you, it would be impolite not to stay, don’t you think?”

“I….guess so,” he said as he came back to the table.

We sat down to eat.

“I’m a little bit confused, Coach.”

“What’re you confused about?” I asked.

“Your reaction when you walked in on us.  And then you told me to stay.  Things are starting to look a little clearer; like maybe I was set up.  Was I?”

“I wouldn’t call it being set up,” I said.  “But I did intentionally create the opportunity,” I admitted.  “Lisa likes young jocks. And I’m in a position to provide them.”

“Yeah, I guess you are, being a coach,” he said.  “Am I the first or only one to take the bait?”

“No.”

“Really!  Who else?”

“I won’t say. But we’re planning a cookout and sleepover for some of the guys. You might be surprised who see there.”

Cody took over frying the bacon while I started scrambling the eggs. The boys began filing into the kitchen, naked and sleep eyed. 

“Where do you keep the plates and silverware,” Jake Talbot asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching his balls with the other.

“Plates are up there,” I said, pointing to the cabinet. “But do us all a favor and wash your hands first, after you get done scratching your balls,” I added.

They all laughed and Jake kept on scratching his balls. He and Jim Downey set the table and I told Brady to go wake Jason up, but not Lisa if he could help it.  He came back laughing and shaking his head.

“He’s already up,” he said. “So is your wife. It may be a little bit before he comes in for breakfast.”

“Geezuss, don’t that guy ever wear down?” someone remarked.

“He’s a fuckin’ machine,” another said.

“Somebody get the orange juice and milk and glasses, we may have to eat without them,” I said as I started serving up the eggs.  Cody set the platter of bacon on the table and the boys gathered round, taking up all the chairs, leaving some of them standing.

“There are more chairs there in the dining room,” I said.

“Naw, this is okay” Jake said, standing with his plate.

When I was finished serving up the eggs I went back to get Jason.

“Shit, he’s going back there!” I heard someone whisper.

“Like he doesn’t know what’s going on?” another said.

I smiled.  Like I didn’t know what was going on?  Hell, didn’t they know I’d slept with the guy and my wife; watched him fucking her while I kissed and sucked her tits.  Jason and I were practically a team.

I eased the door open a bit and hesitated, my heart thumping in my chest. Yeah, I’d seen him doing it, but it still took my breath away. I watched through the crack in the door for several minutes, listening to his heavy breathing and groans as he pounded her into the mattress, and her whimpers of pleasure. Godd, they were a sight to behold.  Jason’s athletic body rippled beautifully, a pure symphony of muscle with a soft sheen of sweat.  I couldn’t see much of his cock but his butt was mouthwatering.  Suddenly I felt the warmth of body heat behind me. I glanced around; it was Jake. He smiled and nodded to the viewing crack and I reared back to let him have a look.

“Damn, that guy’s got some moves,” he whispered.  “He oughta give lessons to the rest of us.”

I smiled and reached back to pat his hard stomach. I didn’t know whether Jake was going to go back to the kitchen or stand and watch.  I was about to go in the bedroom when he approached but I wasn’t sure how Lisa would feel about him going in with me.  I whispered to him that I was going in. He nodded, a knowing smile, and turned and went back down the hallway. I eased the door open and moved into the room, silent as a ghost. As I moved up closer to the bed Lisa saw me and smiled a dreamy smile.  Jason saw her smile and snapped his head around.

“What the hell are you doing, boy?” I asked with a scowl.

His reply was classic, and to be expected from Jason.  “Fucking your wife, Coach, just like she wanted.”

“What’s taking you so long?  The guys are eating breakfast.”

“Actually, this is the second go-round,” he said, all without missing a stroke. “I shouldn’t be more than another twenty minutes or so, maybe a half hour.” He looked down at Lisa.  “That is, if you wanta go that long.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me,” she told him.

Jason looked back at me.  “Tell the guys to go ahead and eat without me,” he said.  Then he grinned.  “Anyway, I’ll probably have an appetizer here before I come out to the kitchen; just getting it all warmed up.”

He was too much for me; always a step ahead of me.  I smacked his hard, bare butt.  “Just don’t wear it out, okay, it’s gotta last me a lifetime.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Coach.  Your wife is in better shape, and tighter than almost all the girls I’ve fucked.”

I laughed, then leaned down and gave Lisa a kiss.

“Don’t you wear HIM out, either…..I need him on the team.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that either, Honey.  He’s like a machine.”

“Well, I guess you’ll come and eat when you need more energy,” I said to Jason and smacked him on the butt again.  I went back to the kitchen.

“Is Jason coming out to eat?”

“He’s going to be tied up for a while longer, he said to go ahead and eat without him.  He said he’s going to have an appetizer before he comes out.”

“He’s gonna eat her after he fucks her?” one of the boys exclaimed.

“Wonder if he’s gonna appetize on his own cum,” another said.

“I’ve never tried that.  I think I will next time,” said another.

“That’s the grossest fuckin ‘ thing I ever heard of.”

We ate and the boys talked openly about going back for seconds.  It was funny and gratifying how at ease they were after the initial surprise of learning that they were not the only ones fucking my wife. I was a little concerned for her.  She’d already taken on eight jocks and they weren’t finished.

A little while later–about a half hour, like Jason said–I heard the shower running.  Moments later Jason came into the kitchen still drying off.

“Listen, we’ve all voted, and we want you to do a DNA thing and donate some of your genes to us,” Cody said.

“You’ll have to talk to my dad about that; they’re his genes,” he said.

“Meanwhile, we’d like for you to give us all lessons,” another boy said.

“Hell, it’s doing what comes natural,” Jason drawled.  “But like anything worth doing right….like football….you gotta be willing to practice and put in the time.”

Lisa came out a bit later, dressed in a sexy blue negligee that barely reached over her butt.  Even though they had all fucked her, the boys’ eyes popped out as they all stood up from the table.

“Sit down, finish your breakfast,” she said, waving them off.

But the all remained standing till she took one of the vacated chairs. Two other boys were quick to bring her breakfast.

“Well, I don’t get this kind of service every day,” she said.

“You should.  What’s the matter with you, Coach?”

Despite the comfort zone, breakfast was a little tense, I thought because the boys didn’t know what to say, and I knew they were all thinking about later when they all wanted to fuck her again.  Lisa settled their nerves, but only for a moment.

“I hope none of you have to leave right away,” she said. 

“No, Ma’am, we’re all good,” Brian said, looking around to the others who were nodding.  If Brian said they were all good, they were all good and none of them would be leaving.

“Good, because I have a little surprise for you,” she said, smiling.

“Wow, I don’t know what it could be, I’ve already had the surprise of my life,” one of them said.

I didn’t know either.

“You only think you have,” she said with mischievous smile and twinkle

“I haven’t even told Coach about this,” she went on.  “Now I know you’re all man enough, you’ve all proven that beyond any doubt.”

“What is it?” someone asked, then another.

“I’m always up for a challenge, just tell us what it is,” Brian said.

“Well, it’s two challenges, actually.”

“Okay, just don’t keep us in suspense,” one of them said.

She looked at me with that mischievous grin I knew so well.  “Do you think our bed will hold up under the weight of all eight of these boys?” she asked.

“Hell, yeah!” someone exclaimed.

“Hell, that’s not a challenge, that’s an orgy,” another said.

“What’s the other one?”

“Well, before we engage in an orgy….the next time we all get together; I want to watch you boys do each other.”

Mouths dropped, eyes popped and a couple of forks dropped. I was as surprised as any of them.  One boy spit out his orange juice. It was almost hilarious, the way she’d maneuvered them into a corner then sprung it on them.  It was a moment before any of them found their voices. Even Brian was speechless.

“I can’t do that.”

“No way.”

“I don’t think I’m up to that either, Ma’am,” Brian said.

“My, my, what happened to ‘I’m always up for a challenge’?” she chided him.

“I’m just not built that way,” he said.

“Oh, come now, everybody’s got a gay gene,” she said.

“I don’t think I have; I never had a thought in my life of doing anything gay,” Austin said.

“Well, my goodness, I never thought you were such a bunch of cowards,” she said. “Think about it; you sucked on a bottle when you were babies. You probably sucked your thumbs or on a pacifier. You sucked and licked a lollipop. You’ve sucked on a water bottle and I’m sure many of you have sucked on a girl’s nipples….you’ve been preparing for this moment all your lives.”

Some of them smiled, some chuckled softly. She went on, now focused on Brian as her biggest challenge. 

“It’s a body part,” she said.  “A thumb, a nipple…..and you, Jason, were wonderful eating my pussy.  So think about it….all of you….and tell me, what’s the big difference whether it’s a pussy or a cock?”

“A lot,” one boy said.

“I never ate pussy before,” another said.

“You oughta try it,” Jason said.

I wondered and was anxious to see where it would lead.  I noticed Brian wasn’t saying anything now. It was a real turn-on for me to hear her talking like that to these young men. I wondered and was anxious to see where it would lead.  Brian seemed to be in deep thought, or maybe in retreat, trying to figure a way out. It was like Lisa knew she had these boys by the balls and she wasn’t beyond squeezing to get what she wanted.

It was a couple of days later at school when I left a note on the locker room bulletin board with a list of boys to report to my office after PE class, which was the last class of the day. They lingered back from the others after class and when everyone else was gone they came into my office, in various states of undress; Jason Towne, Brian Mitchell, Cody Brown, Brady Anderson, Austin Meyers and Jack Anderson, Jake Talbot and Jim Downey.

“Gentlemen, come in. Close the door.” I waved them to the couch and the two chairs.  Godd, what a sight.  “You might know that Lisa and I are going to Lake Barton this weekend. She asked me to invite you boys to come with us.  We’ll be driving up Friday evening; you could join us anytime you can get there.”

“Is she still hung up on her idea of us doing each other?” young Jack Anderson asked.

“Yes. She thinks the weekend in the wild might be an inducement.”

“Damn!” Brady swore under his breath. “Bad as I wanta go, Coach, I just can’t bring myself to do it.  I can’t even imagine having a cock in my mouth. It’s just not a place where I wanta go.”

“She’s not one to take no for an answer; I don’t think she’ll give on it,” I said.

“Is it an ultimatum?” someone asked.

“I’m sure a great deal depends on it.  Namely your continued pleasure with my wife,” I said. I wished I could propose a compromise but I knew I wouldn’t dare without consulting Lisa. “I do have an idea, though, that might help break down inhibitions and move things along.”

“I’m all ears,” Brady said.

“You’re all cock.”

“There are eight of you,” I said as I tore a piece of paper into eight pieces.  Then I put numbers on them, wadded them up and tossed them in a helmet.  I handed a helmet across to them. “I want you to pick a number and see who you’re matched up with.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“I’m a one, too.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Okay, you break into four pairs. Each pair goes off to a spot where you can talk it out and hopefully work it out between the two of you.”

“I don’t see how this is going to solve anything,” Brady said.

“You’re just talking. Maybe it’s a no-go; at least it’ll be settled once and for all.”

I watched them unwad the papers and pair up; Jason and young Jack Anderson; Brian Mitchell and Jake Talbot; Brady Anderson and Austin Meyers; Cody Brown and Jim Downey. The boys began to disperse.

“Okay, Jack, let’s you and I go back to the weight room,” Jason said.

Brian Mitchell and Jake Talbot went to the equipment cage.  Brady Anderson and Austin Meyer chose a dark corner in the locker room where the wrestling mats were stacked. Cody Brown and Jim Downey just went out to the locker room and sat on a bench facing each other.

“Meanwhile I’ll get caught up on posting PE grades,” I said.  I left my office door open, hoping to hear what was said. I wouldn’t be able to hear Jack and Brady; they were back in the weight room. But I could make out much of what the others were saying although I couldn’t determine who was doing the talking.

“We’re supposed to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, is there?”

“I wonder what the others are saying about now.”

“Why is she doing this….cutting us off like that?  She likes it as much as we do.”

“Because she thinks she can.  She thinks she’s got us by the balls.”

“Well, she does, doesn’t she?”

“She don’t have all the cards but she’s dealt the best hand, by nature, so she gets to call the shots.”

“How do you figure?”

“Look at us. She knows we’re a bunch of horny jocks and she’s playing it to her advantage,”

“Think about this, though….if none of us folds, then what’s she going to do? She wants young cock and we won’t be there to give it her.”

“She counting on the power of the pussy. It’s what makes the world go around.”

“Yeah but what good is pussy if there’s not a stiff young cock to fill it?”

“I guess it’s a waiting game; see who folds first.”

“How’s she ever going to find eight jocks to fuck her?”

“I keep thinking, though, that’s pussy without any hassle, on a regular basis. I sure as hell don’t wanta give that up.”

“So what’re we gonna do?” 

“Everybody else is probably asking themselves the same thing.”

“Sometimes the end justifies the means.”

“I never did understand that.”

“If the end is something you really, really want, then it’s worth whatever you have to do to get it. So, what’re you going to do?”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“One of us supposed to say, I’ll do it if you will.”

“And I’m supposed to say back, I’ll do it if you will?”

“I’ve been wondering exactly what she mean by us doing each other. She didn’t spell it out.  What if she meant us fucking each other?”

“That ain’t gonna happen. I’ll go back to my fist before that happens.”

“We gotta decide something.”

“Godd, I hate to go back to begging girls for pussy.”

I glanced up to see that Cody and Jim were no longer sitting on the bench. I decided to wander through and see if there was any progress being made.  Cody and Jim had joined Brady and Austin back in the dark corner on the wrestling mats.

“You come out to witness?” Jim asked when he saw me.

Brady rose up from his seated position to his knees.  “You know this is blackmail,” he said as he and reached out and tugged at Austin’s towel. It fell loose and he took hold of his cock.

“You’re gonna do it?” Cody asked surprised.

“I don’t believe it either, but I keep thinking of that regular pussy the coach’s wife is offering us.” 

“Fuck, Brady, I don’t believe you’re actually doing this,” Cody said as he watched his cock grow in the jock’s big hand.

“Neither do I. Give it to me before I change my mind,” Brady said. With that he stretched out on the mats. He took Cody’s cock and guided it to his mouth. He wasn’t hard but he quickly got that way.

“Aww, Brady, that feels better than fucking coach’s wife. You do that real good.”

“Well, hell, there’s nothing to it. Like she said, we’ve been training for it all our lives,” he said sarcastically. “You said you’d do it if I did, so get down here with me.”

“Yes, I will.”  He lay down in reverse and pressed his face into Brady’s jockstrap.  “Mom, you smell so manly.”

“It’s sweat, stupid. I never had a chance to shower.”

“I don’t think I mind.”

Brady reached down and pulled his jock down, letting his cock and balls fall free. Then he took hold of Cody’s head and pushed his face into his bare flesh. When he let loose Cody reared back with his cock in his hand”

“You’re so fuckin’ big.  I don’t know if I can get my mouth around it.”

“Just do it,” Brady growled.

“I think this is called sixty nine,” Cody said, stroking Brady’s big, thick cock.

“It’s going to be called a bloody nose if you don’t get on my cock.”

“Do you think she wants us to take each other’s loads?”

“She’d probably want us to swallow if she was here,” Brady growled.

“I tasted my own cum one time; I didn’t like it,” Cody said.

“She’s ain’t gonna care if we like it or not.”

“Are you going to do it, Brady? Are you gonna take my load, just in case she makes us?”

“Yes.”

“No kidding!”

“And you’re gonna take mine. It’s a one-time thing; we put on a show for her and that’s it….over and done with….we go back to fucking her like always.”

“Maybe, maybe not. What if she wants us to do it every time before we get to fuck her.  Worse, what if she wants us to do more?”

“What more?”

“What if she wants us to fuck each other?”

“You’re buying trouble,” Brady said. “She’s not going to ask us to do anything like that. She knows we wouldn’t do it and Coach wouldn’t make us either.  That’d be pushing us too far.”

“We’re doing this,” Cody said.

I was watching the other two boys watch Brady and Cody. They were hard by now but neither of them had made any move toward each other. I was hard, too, watching my two athletes suck each other. It was something I didn’t expect I would ever see.

All of a sudden Brady disengaged and looked up at me; I was still sitting on the bench.

“Coach, before we take this too far, is she gonna expect us to take each other’s loads and swallow?” 

“I don’t know but you might as well prepare yourselves.”

“I don’t like this coach.  If she wasn’t such a great and easy fuck….”

“But she is, and she’s exacting her price.  Sometimes we have to pay the piper,” I said.

“Just answer me on this. Was this your idea or hers?”

“Hers, of course.”

“I believe you. I don’t think you’d ever ask us to do shit like this. Okay, Cody and I are doing it. How do we know the others will?”

I shrugged. “I never thought of that.”

“They’re not getting a free ride,” Brady said, looking at Jim and
Austin.  “Nobody’s getting a free ride.”

“We’re gonna do it,” Austin said.

I looked over at Brian and Jake in the equipment cage.  They were not in a position to see what the others were doing.  They were barely out of the gate, just groping each other.

“One more thing, Coach. She’s a great fuck and all but she better understand, if she comes up with anymore ideas for her entertainment, like us guys fucking each other, we’re pulling out and she’ll be left high and dry.”  

“I’ll pass that along,” I said.

Brady got back in the sixty nine positon and they began sucking each other. I headed back to the weight room. When I heard their voices I paused just around the corner. Peering around I could see Jason was seated on a bench, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and Jack was slouched on another bench, leaned back with his arms spread across a barbell.

“I don’t know if it’s worth it,” Jack was saying. “I mean, it’s not like she’s got the only pussy in town.”

“But it’s free and easy fucking, anytime we want,” Jason said.

“You’re saying you’ll do it?  You’ll suck my cock?”

“I guess I am, if you reciprocate,” Jason said. “I know it sounds repulsive, it’s not how we’re built but I keep thinking of crawling in bed with the coach’s wife any time we want. Taking a cock in your mouth one time don’t make you gay or anything.”

“Maybe you’re right; nobody said we had to enjoy it, and it’s one time,” Jack said.  “But are we supposed to take each other’s loads?  ‘Cause I don’t know if I can.  I can take your cock in my mouth….I can get past that….but I never even tasted my own cum.”

“Nobody said it had to be a full-fledged blow job,” Jason said.

“Well, it’s gotta be full-fledged for us to cum,” Jack pointed out.

“Let’s don’t and say we did,” Jason said. “Here’s what we can do. We’ll give each other’s cocks a few strokes in our mouths, just to get the feel of it. Then we jack off and shoot on the bench and take a couple of licks of it off the bench. At least we know what we’re in for.”

Jack shrugged, looking doubtful.  “I guess that’d work, unless she insists on us sucking each other off to the very end.  Honestly, Jason, I think I’d back out if she did.  I can bring myself to licking up a little bit of your cum and even swallowing it, but I couldn’t handle your whole load shooting in my mouth.”

“Then we fake it,” Jason said. “We suck each other real good and then we fake cumming and swallowing. Nobody sees any cum, she won’t know the difference.”

“You think of everything, Jason.”

“So let’s do what we have to do and no more. I’ll go first,” Jason said, waving Jack to stand astraddle the bench. He leaned in and pressed his face into his jockstrap before he tugged it down to let his teammate’s cock and balls fall free.  “Fuck, this is gonna be a mouthful,” he murmured as he scooped the head of his cock up with his tongue and pulled it into his mouth.

“Awwwh, fuck, Jason!” Jack gasped as he clasped one hand around the back of his head. 

Jason eased back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, holding Jack’s cock in his fist.  “I guess it don’t count unless I suck you hard, like I’m serious about making you cum,” he said and went back down on him.

“That won’t take long,” Jack said as he began fucking his cock back and forth through Jason’s lips.  “Aww, Jason, I don’t think I want you to stop with a couple of strokes.”

“Don’t you cum!” Jason warned.

“I won’t; I promise.”

Jason sucked him for a couple of minutes—more than a few strokes—then withdrew and stood up.  He pushed Jack down on the bench.

“Your turn.”

Jack pulled Jason’s briefs down and quickly took his cock in his mouth.  He was already hard so he gave it a few strokes and withdrew.

“More’n that,” Jason said.  “At least as much as I gave you.”

“How long did you give me?”

“Couple of minutes at least,” Jason said.

“Okay, time me,” Jack said as he took Jason’s cock back in his mouth.

Jason kept an eye on his watch as he watched his teammate sucking his cock.

“Aww, fuck, Jack, that’s so good. Maybe we ought reconsider; go ahead and do each other all the way.”

Jack didn’t stop to respond.  When too much time had passed he eased back and looked up at Jason.

“Did your fuckin’ watch stop?”

“No, fucker, you got another thirty seconds.”

“I’ll do my own counting,” Jack said as held his own watch up to time himself.  When the time was up he eased back, wiping his mouth with his forearm.  “I gave you an extra ten seconds.”

“Big fuckin’ deal,” Jason said. He sat down on the bench facing Jack, and reached out for his cock. “Okay, let’s jack off and shoot.”

“Oh!….I didn’t know we were gonna jack each other off,” Jack said.

“You had my cock in your mouth, it ain’t gonna hurt to jack me off, dope,” Jason said.

The moved closer and began stroking each other’s cocks.

“Your hand feels way better than mine,” Jason moaned.

“Yeah, yours, too,” Jack agreed.

“Just don’t get used to it,” Jason said.

“I could, easy enough.  Fuck, man, this is hot.”

It took another ten minutes or so for them to work up their loads.  As he was approaching his climax, Jason scooted back on the bench, putting more room between them.  Jack had to reach out to keep jacking him.

“Don’t wanta get it all over you,” he said, his voice quivery.

Seconds later he started shooting his load.  He pushed down on Jack’s hand around his cock to aim down on the bench.

“Aim it down, or I’ll blast it all over you,” he moaned.

Seconds later, Jason was cumming. The stuff shot out in long, thick ropes that slithered across the bench. Jack watched, wide-eyed as he kept stroking the big cock.  Suddenly he leaned down and captured it in his mouth. In seconds his mouth was nearly overflowing with thick, warm semen. He couldn’t decide if he liked the taste but he liked the feel of the stuff shooting in his mouth with such power. When Jason was finished in a few seconds, Jack stayed bent over with his cock in his mouth. The moment of truth was upon him.  He’d blown his cover just as surely as Jason had blown his load. It took a lot of courage to rise up where he would have to face his teammate. When he did, Jason was gaping at him wide-eyed, with his mouth dropped.

“Holy Shit! You cum like a horse,” Jack said.

Jason didn’t say anything.  He couldn’t seem to find his voice.

“Geezuss, Jack…..that was more than just tasting it,” he said finally.

“I guess you know my secret,” Jack in a hoarse voice.

“Fuck, this is…..this is huge. I had no idea.”

“Good. Nobody ese will either,” Jack said.  “Promise you won’t say anything.”

“I won’t.  I promise.”  He swallowed hard, shaking his head.  “I had no fuckin’ idea,” he said again.

“Are you gonna get over it?” Jack asked with a tight smile.

“It may take a little time.  Geezuss, you gulped it down like it was warm honey.”

“No reason why you have to get me off, Jason. Just lick some off the bench and taste your own,” Jack said. When Jason didn’t respond—he seemed in a daze—Jack scooped up some on his fingers and held it up to him.

Jason took hold of Jack’s wrist and held his hand at a safe distance from his mouth. He was more than hesitant; he acted like he was frightened. Jack brushed his fingertips across his lips.

“Go ahead, while it’s still warm,” Jack said.

Jason opened his mouth and closed his eyes and stuck his tongue out.  Jack spread the cum across his tongue then stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“Okay, suck it off,” he told him.

Jason closed his lips around Jack’s fingers and sucked the cum off.  He opened his eyes, rather wide-eyed, at the taste of it.

“Swallow,” Jack said.

Jason nodded and swallowed.  It took him several tries to get it down. There wasn’t that much of it and Jack knew he was trying to swallow the taste.

“How was it?” Jack asked.

“Not what I’d order for dessert,” Jason said. Then he reached down and scooped up some of his own cum, offered it to Jack.  “No sense letting it go to waste,” he said.

Jack took his wrist and guided his fingers to his mouth, licked it off then sucked his fingers clean.  He closed his eyes and swallowed.

“You like it, don’t you,” Jason said with mild disbelief

“Not what I would order for dessert, but it’s your cum,” Jack said

“I had no fuckin’ idea,” Jason said again

“Now you know. No reason why you have to waste any jacking off.”

“What’re you saying?”

“Cum is a terrible thing to waste,” Jack said.

“I gotcha,” Jason said. “Come on, buddy, let’s shower.”

I stepped back out of sight till they’d gone in the shower then went back up to the locker room.  Things were in full swing.  There were two of my jocks in a sixty nine on one of the benches. They weren’t just experimenting; they were really into it….into each other. The others were standing around watching.

“Holy fuck, do you believe what’s happening here?” one of them said.  They saw me.  “Do you believe this, Coach?”

“Seeing is believing,” I said.

The weekend camping trip/orgy was a grand success.  Lisa didn’t make the boys go all the way with each other so all they had to do was put on a little show of cocksucking for her.  Experienced now, they carried it to the next level which delighted her no end. They turned the tables on her. They made her practically beg for them to stop with each other and fuck her.

Saturday night when they had returned home from the camping orgy, Cody got a phone call from Brady.

“You recuperated yet?” Brady asked him.

“It was wild,” Cody said.

“Listen I was wondering if you’d….never mind….forget it.”  And he hung up

Cody called him back.

“Brady, why’d you hang up? What’d you want?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. You called me.”

“I changed my mind.”

“About what? What were you going to say?”

“It was stupid,” Brady said.

“Why don’t you let me decide that?”

“I was going to ask….if you’d wanta get together again, you know, like we did on the mats in the locker room, and later on the camping trip.”

Cody held the phone away, his jaw dropped.

“Cody?  I told you it was stupid.”

“No!  No, it’s not stupid,” Cody said quickly.  “Yeah, I’d like that. I was wondering if you’d want to but I was afraid to ask.  I’m glad you had the balls to call me.”

“You wanta come over for a little bit?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on in, lock the door behind you and come on upstairs. I’ll be waiting.”

“Brady….”

“Yeah.”

“All the way this time?”

“Yeah, fucker, all the way.”

“You know what I’m saying,” Cody said.

“Yeah, dude, we’re on the same page.  I’m gonna fuck your eyeballs out.”

Sunday morning Brady Anderson came awake with a start. He was groggy from the night of sex and little sleep but he was able to feel a presence in his room.  The presence was his younger brother, Jack.

“Jack!” he exclaimed.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s up?”

“Can I get in bed with you?”

“Sure, climb in,” Brady said as he lifted the sheet.

The younger boy crawled in and lay close to his older brother. There was little choice; it was a youth bed, barely big enough for Brady.

“What’s up, Little Brother? You haven’t crawled in bed with me since you were a little kid.”

“That’s partly kinda what’s up,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sometimes I wonder if we had the same dad.”

“What! Where’s this coming from?”

“Look at you.  You’re built like a tank, heavily muscled, hairy legs and hair under your arms and on your chest and belly. I’ve got peach fuzz on my legs.  I barely have any hair under my arms. Compared to you, I’m built like a girl.”

“Dude, nobody’s gonna mistake you for a girl,” Brady scoffed.  “Not with a dick like that. And you got nothing to be ashamed of the way you’re built.  You’re still growing; you’re gonna pack on plenty of muscle by the time you’re my age.”

 “You’re intimidating,” Jack declared.

“Intimidating!” Brady said, laughing.

“All those muscles, and look at your cock.  It’s like a club.”

“Hey….” He reached over and laid his hand on his brother’s stomach. “I don’t know where this is coming from all of a sudden, but you’re being ridiculous.  You just have to give yourself time.  Meanwhile, be happy and proud of what you’ve got.”  He wrapped his hand around Jack’s rubbery cock.  “Shit, that’s a real handful; a real pussy stuffer.”

“Yeah, if I ever get that lucky.”

“You need to open your eyes.  I’ve seen girls watching you when you walk down the halls, ogling your butt.”

“I just wanta be like you.”

“No you don’t.  You be who you are.”

“Okay, I wanta be like Brian, but I wanta be you.  Why can’t we just trade places?”

“You know what I think? I think you’re all boned up over is all acting gay for Coach’s wife.”

“I wonder if it was an act, for some.”

“Who? Who do you think is gay for real?” Brady asked as he moved his hand.

“Why’d you let go of my cock?”

“Are you saying I’m gay?”

“I don’t know; do you think I am, for wanting to get in bed with you?”

“It don’t matter to me if you are,” Brady said.

“Do you mean it?  Or are you just saying it because you’re afraid I might be?”

“I mean it. I’m not afraid if you are or aren’t.  Even if you are and you wanta do stuff with me….that’d be okay.  You’re still my brother.”

Jack began to tear up.  Brady rose up on one elbow and made a swipe at his tears.

“It’s nothing to cry about. Why’re you crying?”

“Only because you’ve made me the happiest boy on the planet.”

“How’d I manage to do that?”

“Saying if I wanta do stuff with you……”

“Do you?”

“Can I tell you about my fantasy?”

“You have fantasies about me?  I’m impressed.”

“You and Brian.”

“How’d Brian get in the picture?”

Five minutes later, Brady was dialing Brian’s cell phone.

“Brian.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay.”

“What’re up doing?”

“Waking up, fucker, what’d you think?”

“You wanta come over?”

Short pause.

“It’s nine a.m.  We going to church or something?”

“Not exactly.”

“What’d you mean, not exactly?”

“Not church church, but there is some worshipping going on.”

“Hey, I’m just waking up, my brain don’t work so well in the early hours.  You’re gonna have to be more explicit.”

“Well, I’ve got my brother here in bed beside me and he’s doing his own kind of worshipping.”

“Jack?….and you?”

“Yeah.”

“Geezusss!”

“That’s what I said. He asked me to call; he wants you to come over.  He thinks you’re hot.  He thinks we’re the two hottest studs in the locker room.”

“Well, we are,” Brian said.

“My brother has fantasies about us; you and me.”

“Tell him I’m impressed.”

“My parents won’t be home till tomorrow. Why don’t you come over and we’ll make his fantasies come to life.”

“I’ll be there within the hour,” Brian said.

It was three hours before he arrived.  He came bursting in the back door and rushed up the stairs to Brady’s room to find young Jack down between his older brother’s legs, chowing down on his cock.  Brian barely noticed.  He rushed in brandishing a newspaper.

“You seen the paper?”

“Uhhh…..no, I’ve been sorta busy,” Brady said.

“Coach and his wife have been arrested.”

“Arrested!  For what?”  It was Jack who had jerked his head up from Brady’s cock, letting it smack against his stomach and leaving it to bob up and down.

“Soliciting to prostitution and some other charges relating to sex with minors.”

“Ohh, shit, that’d be me, for one,” Jack said.

No, no, there’s nothing about him doing us. Coach approached three jocks from another school with the proposition of fucking his wife.  One of the guys was a real religious Christian and he called the police.  They’re out on bail. Two of the boys were underage. I don’t think either of them will say anything us.”

They were quiet for a long moment, trying to absorb the news.

“Well, I guess we’ll be getting a new coach,” Jack said.

“It’ll be good to have a change. We can get a fresh start,” said Brady.

“Yeah, but you gotta give him credit…..he brought us out and together. Nobody can take that away from us.”

The End

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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PETTIFER: THE GAY DISCIPLINARIAN

An Erotic Short Story

by 

Jason Land

This is the second of a group of three related stories: 

Petty Officer Pettifer
Pettifer the Gay Disciplinarian
Kevin Pettifer – The Warden 

They are all stand alone stories but are best if read in the order listed above.

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CHAPTER 1

Together with Connor Black, my best friend, to whom I shall be eternally grateful for helping me to find my true sexuality, I was on my way to Dartmouth where both Connor and I had had the good fortune to be selected for a senior Navel Cadet Training Programme.  Connor, whom I had met, some months earlier, on a two-day selection programme for this same cadet course, on which we were now about to embark, had quickly divined that I was a hesitant gay virgin and had taken me in hand. As a result of his generous ministrations, I had, in the course of a few short months, found, recognised and accepted my true sexuality; so much so that I was now completely at ease as an sexually active, gay young man.

Connor was my sex mentor and chief lover, but as he pointed out to me, we did not own each other and so we both enjoyed the company of, and having sex with, a variety of other like minded guys. In fact, since I had met Connor, my life had been what I suppose someone of poetic disposition might have qualified as “idyllic”; although just thinking about the very active and vigorous sex-life Connor and I, together with other like-minded friends led, idyllic was possibly a bad choice of word to describe what happened when we got together. But certainly those few months since I had met Connor had been the happiest in my life and as we sat together in the train going towards Exeter, I had a huge feeling of relief that I was leaving behind forever the last vestiges of what had been my miserable working-class life in a slummy area of Bradford in the north of England.

It really was by the greatest stroke of good luck that we two had been thrown together on those two selection days; for some reason we had been give a bedroom together, whilst the others bunked in dormitories of six or so guys. Without that hand of fate I might well have been bunking with several other guys and could still have been wondering about myself and sex. I had long realised that girls were not for me; but I had taken no steps to explore a relationship with another man; in fact, I had had no idea how to set about it. And it was just this chance privacy which had allowed a very perceptive Connor to take me in hand and make me recognise my true sexuality. I owe everything to him, for which I shall be ever grateful; he was a brilliant and understanding teacher and ultimately we two became very happy and active sex partners.  I have not used the word lover, as I am not sure that I knew what it felt like to be in love; but I enjoyed sex with Connor tremendously; he changed my life.

We finally arrived at the barracks in Dartmouth, where we learned that the Naval Cadet Course on which we were embarking was truly exceptional. The Dartmouth facility was usually reserved exclusively for cadets who were aiming to become commissioned officers in the Royal Navy and not for the likes of us, who were, at best, ultimately destined to become non-commissioned officers.  The British Royal Navy, you will all understand, was, and still is, very class conscious, even in the twenty-first century; so the three levels of ranking were still rigidly adhered to.  The lowest were the ratings, the regular sailors, followed by the non-commissioned officers who were beneath the commissioned ranks.  All this I learned over the first few weeks of training.

On arrival we were assigned to our quarters and here something which neither Connor nor I had thought of occurred. I suppose we had somehow imagined, if we had imagined anything at all, that we two would once again bunk together in a snug room for two. But this was not to be, for we found ourselves allocated to two separate six-man dormitories along with other lads whom we did not know. Of course, apart from Connor I knew no one else; we were all just young lads from all over the country who had been thrown together on the cadet course. Initially this posed a problem for Connor and me as we both wanted to be able to continue with what had become our very active sex life together and here we were faced with a totally unexpected and undesirable separation.  But where there’s a will there’s a way and after a bit of juggling Connor and I managed to finish up in the same dormitory; not ideal of course, as we really wanted to be on our own together, but certainly better than being totally separated.

The burning question for both of us was to determine whether any of our dormitory mates were of the same sexual persuasion as us.  The total intake of cadets for the course was about sixty and it seemed to me very unlikely that Connor and I were the only gay guys among them, for the Navy is a notorious haven for men of our orientation; in fact, after a couple of weeks, by which time we had worked out what was what among the cadets, by a bit of shuffling around with some of the other dormitories, Connor and I had managed to put together a six-man gay dormitory. We also had a good idea as to which of our other “straight” co-cadets were not averse to a little male-male sex, even though they were not like the six of us, who were all died-in-the-wool gays. Years later,  it never ceases to amaze me how many so called “straight” men, quite enjoy a little “anal stimulation”  and are not averse, given half a chance, to exercising their own cocks on a receptive arse.

So although there was no total privacy for any of us, we were among like-minded guys who wanted much the same as we did – to have sex with each other – and so the six of us soon came to an understanding of how to behave towards each other and regular sex was not a problem. I have to say that I was relieved that the sex question had been so easily settled as it had become such an important part of my existence that I could no longer go for long without it. As Connor had said before we were in Dartmouth, we two did not own each other and although we were very close, we both enjoyed the occasional sexual adventure with others. So the six of us in our dormitory soon came to an understanding and sex was mutually available among all of us.

By the end of the first month, the six of us had become a well-defined gay fraternity on the course; we had all fucked the others and been fucked by them in turn.  I was relieved that my sex life had been so easy to arrange, for gay sex had become, in a very short time, and important and indispensable part of my life.  And I am happy to say that many of the so-called straight cadets, cut off from female company, were happy to satisfy their own sexual appetites by indulging themselves with the likes of us. So all in all living in a totally male environment was just about as good as it could have been for me.

CHAPTER 2

I have dwelt on the sexual aspects of my life, as these were, an still are, very important to me; But the cadet training course was not about sex, but about turning a set of inexperienced youths into disciplined men who would eventually be worthy of the rank of non-commissioned officer: the go-betweens between the commands issued by the commissioned officers and the ratings who had to carry out the orders. To say we were on a naval training course, we never even glimpsed the sea; we were in barracks on the edge of town the whole time. And it was the proximity of the town and the allure of what it might hold in store for us, which led to the first clash with naval authority and a dose of naval discipline for Connor and me; and allow me tell you that naval discipline was not a very pleasant experience at all.

Connor had a very finely tuned antenna and picked up information like a sponge picks up water.  He had somehow learned (ask me not how) that here was a gay-club down town and he dearly wanted to escape for the camp to explore its hidden delights, if such there really were. Anyway, he and I sneaked out of the barracks one Saturday evening, went into town, found the club and I suppose that it is true to say that we had a ball. There was lots of sex going on and we were able to join in a six man-group sex effort, which in spite of ample sex in barracks, was quite exhilarating.  However, what turned out to be less than exhilarating was the sequel.

At about three in the morning, we crept back into the barracks only to be pulled up by the guard on gate duty. How had we sneaked out in the first place without him seeing us? I don’t actually know; but he put us on a report for the following morning: Sunday, to appear in front of the commanding officer.  Now we had, along with most others, been subjected to all sorts of disciplinary actions during training. You know the sort of thing; the instructor of whatever it is you are doing at the moment, decides you are underperforming and makes you do thirty push-ups in front of your mates; or makes you repeat an assault course when you are already tired out or whatever. It turned out that real naval life, at least where we were, was, in fact, much as depicted in films: unpleasant but not particularly painful. But this time it was to be painfully different.

We were marched by the adjutant before the commanding office, one Commander Scott-Brady. “Cadet Black, Cadet Pettifer, you were both absent from the barracks without leave on Saturday evening.  You will both report to the changing rooms adjacent to the showers for the punishment parade on Monday evening at eight o’clock.  The penalty for being absent without leave is fifteen strokes of the cane. That is all. Dismissed.”  So that was it. No questions about what we had been doing; no request for an explanation or for an excuse. This was my first encounter with the cut and dried rules of the Navy and how rigidly they were enforced; a rule was a rule; break it and you were punished. It was as simple as that!

When the Commanding Officer said: “fifteen strokes of the cane,” my blood ran cold. During our selection interviews punishment parades and corporal punishment had never been mentioned and now here we were the two of us, each sentenced to fifteen strokes of the cane.  This was the first time I had heard that the Navy still used corporal punishment but as I later learned it had been reintroduced into the schools, the juvenile courts, the prison service, approved schools and the armed forces some few years previously as a means of combating ever increasing violence, especially among young offenders. The Royal Navy, which had long mourned the ban on the corporal punishment, had been overjoyed by the change in the law and had welcomed the return of the cane and the birch with open arms. And as Connor and I were to find out on Monday evening, at Dartmouth the cane was alive and in rigorous good health and would shortly have the very doubtful pleasure of feeling its effects on our backsides.

Neither Connor nor I had ever experienced any form of corporal punishment. However, my own experiences with my sex partner Jonathan Singleton, the Bradford solicitor whose naked arse I had, at his request thrashed many times with a rattan cane over the past few months, had taught me that even though I did not mind wielding the cane on someone else, I certainly did not want to feel it landing on my own arse. In thrashing Jonathan, I had seen the damage that a well applied rattan cane could do to a guy’s naked arse and I shuddered to think that I would soon be experiencing the very same thing.

I flatter myself that as a novice at caning, my efforts on Jonathan’s arse had been well applied. Now Jonathan had enjoyed having is arse beaten; it was he who had persuaded me to do it and he truly relished it. But once he had persuaded me to beat him and I had got started, I have to admit that as a reluctant flagellator initially, I quickly found I derived considerable pleasure in having acceded to his wishes.   Should it have given me pleasure or not? Should I feel guilty or ashamed of my actions? I am not sure; but I did not feel either sentiment; so there it was; I finally admitted to myself that I had really enjoyed roasting Jonathan’s arse, which had become a weekly event to which I looked forward whilst I was still living in Bradford.

I had, of course, also had the additional pleasure of fucking Jonathan straight after the caning, which certainly added spice to what was already, for me at least, a very erotic experience. Once again it was Jonathan who had insisted that I fuck him immediately each time after his beating and I cannot deny that that too gave me great pleasure. Looking back, the most erotic experience I had had with Jonathan was when I fucked him bare-back with my newly circumcised cock.   You will remember that I had had problems in having bare-back sex with him due to the excessive amount of foreskin with which I was naturally endowed.

Well Jonathan was the first of my partners to experience my “remodelled” tool. He always insisted on bare-back sex and I reluctantly refrained from using a condom to please him. I can tell you that that first time when my naked cock-head penetrated his anal sphincter and the long shaft of my well lubricated cock slid smoothly inside him, was a moment of sheer, unadulterated pleasure for me; it took anal copulation to new heights; heights I had never dreamed until that moment existed. Bareback sex, I discovered, was incomparably better than fucking arse with a condom clothed cock. But Jonathan was the only person with whom I ever indulged in unprotected anal intercourse.

But now it was me who was to have my arse beaten, but beaten without the added pleasure of the sexual sequel.  The prospect was just too awful to contemplate, for I knew first-hand exactly how much damage a well-wielded cane could do to a guy’s backside. But there it was; that was exactly what was going to happen to me (and, of course, to Connor too) on Monday evening; and there was not one damned thing we could do to avoid it. This was truly going to be one of those awful moments in life, when a guy just has to grit his teeth and grin and bear it; I really hoped that I could and would not show myself up as a wimp when the cane bit into my naked arse.

Connor and I spent a very uneasy Sunday and Monday, as the prospect of what we were about to suffer weighed heavily on both of us. I don’t think Connor had any idea of the extent of the damage which was to be visited upon his arse as he had absolutely no experience of the cane.  I for my part, thought it better not to tell him of my own experiences with Jonathan as there seemed little point in adding to his nervous anxiety.  In due course he would find out all too well just what an awful experience the cane was. At supper on Monday I could hardly bring myself to eat anything at all as the fatidic moment approached when we would have to report for punishment. The nervous tension continued to build up and finally came to a climax when the whole mess was made aware of what was about to happen.

The adjutant in charge stood up at the end of the meal and announced the names of the cadets who were to report for punishment parade at eight that evening.  Connor’s and my names were the first to be read out and then there was a slight pause before three other cadets whom I knew only by sight were also slated to join us. A deathly hush fell over the room as this was the first time that most of the lads learned that a formal punishment parade existed. I guess that most of the cadets were unaware of the existence of such a formal procedure, as we had been until we had been caught absent without leave.

Most of the cadets were ignorant of the fact that both the cane and birch were alive and well in the Royal Navy and that given a slip-up on their part either one or other of these devastatingly painful implements could well be visited on their own arses.  In fact I doubt that any of my co-cadets were even aware of the fact that corporal punishment had been reintroduced into society, just a few years ago, by the British Government in effort to reintroduce a semblance of order among the uncontrollable and unanswerable youth of the day.

 

Promptly at eight, for this was not an occasion to be late, the five of us assembled outside the changing rooms. The adjutant, the senior gym instructor who was also the Chief Disciplinarian of the camp, a PO called Brian Thresher, and two very muscular looking regular sailors were already waiting for us.  Not surprisingly Thresher’s nick-name was, of course, The Thrasher. The adjutant gave the order: “Right you lot; into the changing rooms, get stripped and then into the showers.” This was the moment when I realised that we were about to follow a protocol laid down in the regulations; it was the dawning that in the Navy everything was done by the book and to the letter; no deviations were allowed or tolerated. After five or so minutes under the showers, we were ordered to dry ourselves off and each of us was handed a skimpy pair of shorts and told to put them on.

So there we all stood, naked apart from our shorts, awaiting the next order.  “Cadets; forward face; right turn and and quick march.” Down the corridor we went to the gymnasium, where we were ordered to stand to attention in a straight line against the wall.  Preparations had already been made for what was about to be visited upon us.  A wooden beating horse, the legs of which were equipped with leather restraining straps, stood awaiting its first victim in the centre of the room. Neither I nor any of the others had ever seen such a contraption before but it was quite obvious what it was used for. On a side table lay a number of long, vicious-looking rattan canes. To my horror I saw that two buckets of water, each containing two birch rod, rods stood to one side. 

Thresher, whom we all knew quite well as we were in regular PE classes under his supervision, was a very muscular young man with a powerful physique of which he was inordinately proud.  In the gym he never asked any of us to do anything which he himself could not do much better. But he had a real mean streak and in the gym took great delight in flicking the arse of any cadet who displeased him with a leather strap which, in common with many men of his profession, he always seem to have to hand.

This evening he was wearing a small pair of tight fitting shorts, which moulded themselves to his well rounded buttocks as if he had poured himself into them. The shorts also emphasised his considerable package. I had never ever seen the guy naked, but it was obvious that here was a man who was sexually very well-endowed indeed: a man who knew he had it and who was clearly not ashamed to flaunt it. His outfit this evening was completed by a figure-fitting, sleeveless vest, which emphasised his magnificent pectoral muscles and left his muscular arms in clear view. All in all, Thresher was a very sexy looking guy and on another occasion I would have been tempted to see how far I far I could go with him, for even now, just looking at him, I could feel my cock stirring in my own shorts; in a word, given the right occasion and opportunity, I would very happily fuck him and let him in turn fuck me. But this was not the occasion and such thoughts disappeared from my mind as I contemplated what he was about to do to us. However, as things ultimately developed beating arses was not all that Thresher had in mind

The adjutant looked at the charge sheet on his clip-board:  “Cadet Thomas, step forward.  You have been sentenced to nine strokes of the birch for sleeping whilst on guard duty. Take off your shorts; step forward to the horse and bend across it.” As he heard these orders, Cadet Thomas blanched visibly, for I doubt that he had realised until this very moment that he was going to be birched naked. Like the rest of us, Thomas had had no experience of corporal punishment of any kind in his life to date and today was to be a baptism of fire for all of us in which he was to be the first to be “anointed”.

“Sir, do I really have to take off my shorts, sir? It seems indecent to make me bend across the horse totally naked. Could I not keep my shorts on sir?”

“Cadet, I have just given you an order and orders in the British Navy are to obeyed without question; even more so when that order is given to someone who is on a charge, as you presently are. Now cadet, unless you want me to up the number of strokes of the birch you are to received from nine to a round dozen, drop your shorts, bend across the horse and let’s get on with the punishment. Unless you had not noticed, there are four other cadets eagerly awaiting their turn and we don’t have all night.” I doubt that any of the four of us waiting would have ventured to describe ourselves as eager; apprehensive or terrified would have been a better choice of words.

Trembling visibly, Thomas did as he was bidden and on a nod from the adjutant, the two young sailors quickly strapped his wrists and ankles to the horse, thereby rendering him immobile. PO Thresher now pulled one of the birches from its bucket, shook it vigorously to get rid of some of the water and placed himself on Thomas’s left.  The adjutant called out the first stroke: one!  Thresher raised the birch well above his shoulder and brought it smashing down in the middle of the cadet’ naked arse.  I cannot find the words to describe the sound a bunch of birch twigs makes when it mates with the solid backside of a young man, but it is quite frightening  and once heard is never  forgotten.  Thomas let out his first howl of pain.

The adjutant waited some ten to fifteen seconds before calling the second stroke and so it went on from there; stroke after horrible stroke, each separated from the next by what seemed an endless pause until all nine cuts had been administered. Thomas became more and more vocal as the birching proceeded and the pain mounted. By the time Thresher had finished with him he was weeping uncontrollably and his arse was a bright crimson colour all over, flecked with small bruises where the individual twigs had cut into his naked flesh.

Looking at Thomas’s naked arse, it was easy to see where the expression “well-roasted” came from, as not one square inch of his buttocks remained untouched by the birch. His buttocks were reminiscent of the breast of a chicken which had been well basted during roasting in the oven. The difference was that his two buns were bright red and flecked with small bruises from which a few drops of blood were oozing, whereas the chicken would have been an appetising brown.

After watching this first beating, my cock was already fully hard and tenting against my shorts. A quick glance at the other cadets indicated that the birching had had the same effect on them and I saw that both PO Thresher and the two young sailors were also sporting hard cocks.  So the highly erotic nature of the birching had stimulated all of us. I suppose it was comforting in a way to know that my own spontaneous and uncontrollable reaction to this barbaric onslaught on a naked arse was not unique: I was not at all abnormal.

The adjutant motioned to the sailors to release Thomas from the horse and said:  “That’s it for today cadet; that’s your lot; up you get and put back on your shorts and go and stand in-line at attention against the wall.”  Cadet Thomas was in such agony that he could barely walk straight and try as he might, he did not succeed in getting back into his snorts as it proved too painful an exercise. And so the adjutant motioned to him to leave his shorts on the floor and to stand there stark-naked against the wall along with the other four of us waiting to be punished. Any embarrassment he might have felt earlier about exposing his private man-meat to all and sundry had now disappeared; he was just in too much pain to care about such a detail anymore.

I glanced sideways at my three, soon to be beaten companions and saw that all of them had gone as white as a sheet just watching Thomas take his birching. In fact, I was the only cadet there who had any experience at all of what corporal punishment entailed and just now painful it could be; my experiences with Jonathan had taught me that much; but then I had been the beater and not the beaten and now I felt my blood beginning to curdle in my veins at the thought of what was still to follow, not the least of which would be visited on my own, soon-to-be-naked arse.

The adjutant looked down his list and motioned to Cadet Allison to step forward. “Cadet Allison, you will receive nine strokes of the birch for smoking when on guard duty.  Now look lively, lad, drop your shorts and bend over the horse and let’s get on with it.”  Allison stood there transfixed with fear; he was trembling like a leaf and simply could not move. The adjutant was clearly in no mood to brook any disobedience as he said: “Cadet I just gave you an order and I expect you to obey it.” Allison still did not move. 

The adjutant, who clearly had no patience at all and expected immediate action when he gave an order, motioned to the two young sailors, who bodily lifted Allison over the horse and ripped down his shorts and strapped him in position. “Cadet Allison, you just refused to obey a direct order and for that reason you will receive an extra three strokes of the birch.” And so the poor petrified Allison found himself strapped across the horse waiting for a twelve stroke birching.

I won’t go into details of Allison’s birching, other than to say that the poor lad howled loudly throughout the entire process and begged in vain for Thresher to stop.  By the time he was let down from the horse his arse was bright red and flecked with small welts and he was weeping buckets.  One had to feel sorry for him; at least I did; for twelve cuts of the birch seemed to me excessive for the crime he had committed. The next lad, Cadet Johnson, was despatched pretty quickly. I forget now what fault he had committed, but the birch was was now abandoned in favour of the cane and he got only six strokes.

However, watching Thresher apply the cane made me realise that birch or cane, it did not really matter much; Thresher was an expert with both weapons and the target arse was given a beating to remember. Just watching Thresher thrash Johnson’s arse with the cane, made me realise that he was in a different league to me when it came to administering punishment: he was a professional and I had been a mere beginner when I looked back at what I had done to Jonathan.

The adjutant now came to Connor and me. Connor was called first and I was sort of relieved for him as I did not want him to see me suffer in the knowledge that in a few minutes he would meet the same fate. After twelve cuts of the cane, from Thresher, his arse was fully corrugated, lined with deep welts punctuated in a few places by drops of blood where the skin had been broken. The adjutant then called me to the horse which I prepared to mount. But now came an unexpected change in the proceedings.

Instructor Thresher, who was the senior officer present, ordered the adjutant and the two sailors to march the other four cadets back to the changing room where the doctor was on hand to take a look at their damaged backsides and, if needed, apply a little antiseptic. In my wildest imagination I wondered if the doctor would, in fact rub salt into their wounds as a cheap antiseptic. But this was just a flight of fancy; things were unpleasant, but not quite so unpleasant.

So Thresher and I were left alone together in the gym. He ordered me to bend across the horse and strapped me down himself. I felt like telling him that I was man enough to take the punishment without being restrained, but thought better of it as Thresher was not a man to cross.  I saw that the crotch of his shorts was almost bursting at the seams with the pressure of what was obviously an enormous erection. I saw also that he was so aroused that a few telltale damp spots were showing through his shorts where his cock was clearly dribbling pre-cum. Strapped as I was across the horse, I could nevertheless feel my own cock still rock-hard and in the same moist condition as that of Instructor Thresher.  I gritted my teeth and waited for him for the first stroke; and when it came, it was a great shock, for the cane sliced down and great speed and landed more or less on the equator of my two buns. Prepared as I had been for the pain, the intensity of that first stroke surpassed even my wildest imagination; it was absolutely excruciatingly painful.

And from then on, at intervals of ten seconds or so, the cane cracked down, landing precisely where Thresher intended it to; by the time he had finished, my arse, which I did not see until later that evening in the dorm, was lined with twelve, clear, parallel welts, running from the bottom of my back to the top of my legs.  I could not believe the pain which this man had managed to visit on me.  My efforts on Jonathan’s backside paled into insignificance compared to what Thresher had delivered. One had to admit that Petty Officer Thresher, for better or for worse, was an absolute pro with the cane; and as I was about to find out, Thresher was also an absolute pro at something else, which, a few weeks later, led to the next step-change in my life.

CHAPTER 3

Like an artist contemplating his work, Thresher left me strapped across the horse for a few minutes clearly admiring his handiwork. I am sure he was inwardly congratulating himself on a job well done; but I was still strapped there in great pain and hoping that he would release me and let me get up; but it was not to be: “Cadet Pettifer, you took that very well. You will be a credit to the service and I see no reason at all why, I spite of a rather serious delinquency which brought you here today, you should not graduate with honours at the end of the course; well done lad!”  What I had done to deserve this accolade, I really had no idea but Thresher went on.  “Look lad, I’ve made a bit of a mess of your arse, so if you will just stay in that position for a few minutes I’ll rub in a bit of antiseptic cream to try to ease the pain.”

A few minutes later, he unstrapped my ankles and asked me to spread my legs and began to massage in a very pleasant feeling cream into the wounds he had just created. And then it suddenly dawned upon me what was about to happen, as his fingers went ever deeper into my crevice and eventually stretched my anal sphincter and began to explore my inner parts; that was it; Instructor Thresher had got the hots for me and was preparing to shaft me; in a word, Thresher was intent on raping me: a horrible word, but probably the right one nevertheless; Petty Officer Thresher was going to bugger my hole.

I suppose I could have protested but I said nothing. Analysing my feelings as Thresher prepared to enter me; I could see nothing of course, stretched as I was across the horse with my wrists still strapped down; but being brutally honest with myself, I knew that I would really quite like him to fuck me with what I had already divined to be his sizeable cock. Even though my arse was still hurting like hell, I thought that a well applied dose of anal intercourse might well be the ultimate complement to the thrashing I had just received.  After all, Jonathan, whom I had at first reluctantly thrashed at his behest and then gone on to fuck him immediately afterwards, had revelled in having the combination of pain followed by the pleasure of copulation visited on him in quick succession.  So might it not be the same for me?

So I rationalised what I perceived to be the inevitable decided to “relax and enjoy it.” Realistically, of course, I didn’t have any option; strapped down as I was, I was totally at Thresher’s mercy. Not a word was said by Thresher during all this, let’s call it, foreplay; but he suddenly stopped massaging cream into my arse and anus and there was a slight pause as I heard the sound of him stepping out of those revealingly tight shorts that I had found so very alluring.  

I had not long to wait, for the next thing I felt was what could have been his finger pressing once again against my anal sphincter; but it was of course the head of his cock. As he forced himself into me, I realised what a large girth Thresher had as I felt my sphincter stretched in a way I had never before experienced. And let’s face it, in my short but hyperactive gay sex-life, I had managed to take quite a number of different cocks up my arse, so I was totally at home with anal intercourse and realised immediately that this was a “big-one”.

But not only was this a massive piece of man-meat which was being thrust into me, for Thresher was quite different.  His cock had authority and once that massive head was past my sphincter and inside me, he he did not hesitate as he slid his long shaft smoothly but firmly to its limit into my rectum. Thresher simply knew how to take sex to a different level to that which I had hitherto experienced it with any of my various partners, Connor included.  He pumped and thrust his cock with ever increasing power and length of stroke, harder and harder into my arse. With each stroke he ground his pelvis forcefully against my my arse, which he himself had just roasted; and let me be totally honest with you and say that I enjoyed every minute of it.  Somehow the combination of the extreme pain I had endured and the vigorous fuck I was now receiving combined to make a perfect experience, which I found myself totally enjoying.

Talk about masochism, then this in my short active sex life to date, was the nearest I had come to it.  I suppose, strictly speaking, that masochism is not the right word, for it implies that the person himself sought the suffering he is receiving. However, if Thresher had asked my permission to fuck me as he was now doing, I would gladly have consented. This was of course a fact of which he, in the middle of a vigorous and passionate act of copulation over which he by now had no control, was totally unaware at the time.

 

Finally Thresher gave one last mighty thrust before withdrawing his cock completely from my hole and spraying my arse with what seemed a never-ending stream of thick creamy sperm.  Simultaneously, I too climaxed and shot my wad all over the floor of the gym. I am not sure whether Thresher was responsible for my orgasm as I had been so horny ever since the beatings had started and sooner or later I had known I was destined to climax as I had just done.

For a few minutes, neither of us moved. I think Thresher was exhausted with his efforts and frankly, so was I, even though I had been the recipient of everything which had just happened. So far neither us had said a word; the last thing that had been said was Thresher telling me that he would anoint my arse with ointment, after which everything had been done without another word being spoken. I was still strapped over the beating horse, and Thresher now undid my wrists and I was able to stand up. Much as I had enjoyed what had just occurred, my arse still was on fire and I realised that I was going to feel the effects of the beating for several days.

But now, standing there naked as I now was, with my cock fully erect and menacingly pointing at him, I saw Thresher in all his naked glory for the first time, for he had shed not only his shorts but also his vest. Whatever his character, he was sexually a highly attractive young man, barely much older than me. As a professional PE instructor, he clearly took care of his own body, which was well proportioned and beautifully muscular. But then I came to that cock which he had just used on me; and what a magnificent tool it was!

As I had suspected, Thresher had a totally exceptional piece of man-meat, beautifully proportioned and with a clear, well-defined head, which like mine had been freed of its veil of foreskin by circumcision; in a word, Thresher was a real stallion of a man.  My first thought, at this moment, as I looked upon Thresher naked for the first time, was that I wanted to fuck him immediately; I wanted to do to him what he had just done to me; he just had that luscious look which made him irresistible to another gay man and he was obviously as gay as a coot himself.

I wondered why he had allowed me to stand up and see him stripped totally naked as he was. Why had he not quickly pulled back on his shorts and vest before freeing me from the horse and allowing me to stand up? Common sense dictated to me that there had to be an ulterior motive;  and why from among the five of us had he picked me out to bugger: a harsh, unattractive word, but at the end of the day, that is exactly what he had done to me. I would have been fully in my rights to lodge a complaint against him for although I was well aware that gay-sex was part and parcel of the Navy life, it was, officially, strictly forbidden and as an NCO he had committed a criminal act against me.

But of course I had no intention of shopping the guy for what he had just done to me. Let’s face it I had thoroughly enjoyed ever moment of it and had he asked me if he could fuck me again, then I would have given him my permission; in fact I would have jumped at the prospect.  But, of course, in the strange circumstances in which we found ourselves, for him to have asked my consent was out of the question; there was no way in which he could have brought himself to ask one of his cadets if he could fuck him. And so obviously unable to control his sexual urges, a feeling I fully understood, he had grasped the bull by the horns, or, better put, me by the arse and had then gone ahead and shafted me.

So there we stood in complete silence, each totally naked, each sporting an enormous erection directly facing the other; it was as if the one were challenging the other to a duel.  I fully expected Thresher to say something, but no words came. And as I stood there gazing at this beautifully attractive man, whose marvellous cock I had just experienced, I simply could not stop myself. I dropped to my knees in front of him, took his cock-head into my mouth and started to suck him off.  He made no attempt to resist, nor did he say anything, so I continued.

After a while I stood up, took him by the shoulders spun him round and gently pushed him towards that side table on which several canes were still lying. There I put my hand on his back and exerted a little pressure to which he responded by bending forward across the table. To my great surprise, he then spread his legs, thereby giving me that unmistakable, unspoken invitation.  All this happened without a word being spoken by either of us. I reached for his tube of cream applied a liberal dose to lubricate my ever-ready cock and immediately shafted him.  I would like to think that in my ministrations to his arse that evening I was as professional and vigorous as he had been to me a few minutes earlier. I think I treated Thresher to an anal fuck with a cock which rivalled his own, for as you all already know I am myself very well endowed.

I like to to pride myself that when I fuck another man I take him all the way with me to his own climax.  And so it was today with Thresher; I increased both my stroke and power as I went along, until, totally involved in the act, I just could not hold back. I withdrew my cock several times from his anus only to re-plunge myself inside him each time with ever greater force. Finally as I felt that I was about to climax and I sensed he too was ready, I withdrew myself completely from him before thrusting my cock with the greatest force as deeply into him as I could.

My climax exploded inside him and as jerk followed jerk, I shot what seemed like an endless stream of sperm into his rectum. At the same time he himself reached orgasm and shot his load all over the table among the canes.  It was during the final stages of this extraordinary and unexpected act of copulation between a cadet and a Petty Officer, that Thresher spoke for the first time urging me on:  “Go on, go on: don’t stop, don’t stop:  fuck me as hard as you can; it’s exactly what I want.”  Well, when we both finally climaxed, I suppose that as his subordinate I had obeyed instructions and that he was pleased with the result.

Anyway, this whole, totally unreal situation had to come to an end somehow, which it did, in the most formal of ways.  When we had recovered, Thresher simply stood up, pulled on his shorts and vest as if nothing had happened and said to me:  “Put your shorts back on Cadet Pettifer.”  He then marched me formally back to the changing rooms where he told me to dress and I was then dismissed.

CHAPTER 4

I went back to my billet where Connor was waiting for me and he naturally wanted to know what had happened and why I had been so long. Luckily our co-cadets were all still in the common room and so I told him the entire story in private.  A few minutes later the others arrived and the two of us had to strip off and show them our wounds. And I have to say that although I could not get a very good look at my own arse, I did see Connor’s in all its post-beating glory if that is the word; and let me tell you that if anyone knew his job with the cane, then that man was Thresher. Both our arses were liberally spotted with blood where the cane had broken the skin and Connor’s arse looked exactly like an impressionist painting, as I guess also did mine.

As we tried to sleep that night, still in extreme pain from the caning, I saw how a thorough beating, such as Connor and I and the other three cadets had received, really was a deterrent to future bad behaviour. You had to be mad to risk undergoing again what we had just undergone; and yet time and time again, other cadets found themselves, arse naked, submitting to Thresher’s ministrations with cane or birch; some lads just could not keep out of trouble.

In fact, as the course progressed, it became evident that the cane and the birch played a permanent and regular role in life at Dartmouth.  The Navyhad taken them both to heart and had no hesitation at all in using them on any delinquent cadets. Punishment parades were a regular weekly fixture of our life and PO Thresher was kept busy exercising his duty on the naked arses of errant cadets. I resolved there and then to myself that I would endeavour to tread the straight and narrow from now on and avoid any other meeting with Thresher and his cane; but I have to admit with Thresher and his cock, I would not have said no to another meeting; this man was absolute dynamite with his fuck-stick.

But the outcome of what had happened was that the friendship between Connor and me began, slowly but surely, to fade. We did not fall out; but as time passed we had sex together less and less frequently until, by the end of the course, we were just good friends. I think the determining factor was my fucking of our instructor, the man who had just thrashed our arses to shreds and that proved just too much for Connor to stomach, in spite of his broad-minded views on multiple sex partners.

However, that beating and what had transpired subsequently between Thresher and me, did change my life again in as dramatic a way as my meeting with Connor and my first introduction to the delights of gay sex. So although I mourned privately the way that Connor and I were drifting apart, I realised that it was not the end of the world as sex was readily and abundantly available. In a word, sad though it sometimes was, life had to go on.

One of the things that had hit me as I had watched four of my fellow cadets being beaten before me was, that in spite of the fact that I myself was shortly to suffer the same fate, I had become erotically aroused and was, in fact, enjoying the spectacle of their suffering. In a certain way it palliated the inevitable sequel when I would be the one strapped across that same horse, waiting for my naked arse to be roasted courtesy of PO Thresher. In trying to analyse my feelings, I wondered if I should be ashamed of the fact that I clearly was taking pleasure at the misfortunes of others.

But looking back at my experiences with Jonathan when I had caned him I realised that once I had overcome the initial hurdle which the first stroke of the cane across his naked arse had presented, I really did enjoy what he had asked me to do to him. I also knew that whenever Thresher lashed out at other cadets in the gym with his strap, even though it was done informally,  I quite enjoyed watching his victims, my co-cadets, squirm. So I came round to the fact that I clearly had a strong sadistic streak, which was something I would just have to accept.  I could not just make it go away; banish it from my make up; it was an integral part of my character, good or bad with which I had to live.

Along with my fellow cadets, I was in daily contact with Instructor Thresher, as strenuous physical training was a daily part of our routine in camp.  In the days following the beatings, Thresher never looked at me in any special way or singled me out from the crowd, in spite of what we had done together.  So I more or less assumed that it was something that was over and done with and would never be spoken of again; a flash in the pan so to speak; but how wrong my assumption proved to be.

It was some three weeks after that fateful, arse-roasting day, when one Saturday evening, the adjutant came to me before supper and said that I was to report to PO Thresher in his quarters at eight sharp. So I went back to my billet, put on my uniform, which was not normally worn at Saturday supper, after which I was marched formally by the adjutant to present myself to Thresher.  He was sitting at his desk as I entered his office and I stood stiffly to attention in front of him saluted and said:  “You sent for me, sir.”

“Yes, Cadet Pettifer; quite right; I did send for you; stand at ease.”  This was followed by a longish silence whilst Thresher was clearly gathering his thoughts and formulating what he wanted to say to me.  I sensed from his somewhat less than formal manner that he was slightly ill-at-ease with me standing there in front of him.  This was a very different Petty Officer Thresher I was seeing today to the one who, just three weeks earlier, had thrashed my arse nearly raw with that utmost confidence conferred on him by his position. So I just waited until he finally spoke; and very hesitant he was.

“Yes Pettifer; I, er, wanted to, er, speak to you about what, er, happened the other day on punishment parade.  I, er, don’t  know how you felt when you were, er, dismissed from the parade, so I, er, sort of thought it might be appropriate if we, er, sort of touched base on what happened; if you, er, see what I mean: I, er, sort of was wondering, how you, er, felt in retrospect  about what happened.”

So that was it; he wanted to discuss we had done together after he had shredded my arse with his cane. I now saw very well what he meant, but I had no intention of helping him along in what he was clearly finding a difficult subject to talk about; so for the moment I played dumb as I answered: “Well sir, I can tell you that by the time you had finished with me, I felt pretty sore.  I had never been caned before and feeling the bite of the cane across my bare bottom was a revelation and not a very pleasant one at that, sir. I was amazed at the intensity of the pain which you managed to inflict on me, sir, but I suppose I deserved it for breaking the rules.  If I may say so sir, you really are extremely proficient in the use of the cane, sir.  Speaking, of course, as someone who has no experience, I imagine that you must rank up there with the very best, sir.”

I stopped at that point as I could see that he was looking very uncomfortable with the flattery which I frankly had spread on thickly as with a trowel; I sensed that I was momentarily in position strength as he clearly wanted to discuss our post-beating sexual activities but did not know how to begin.

“Yes, yes Pettifer: I am sure that you left in great pain, for that was and is always the objective of such unfortunate but necessary actions; but you will appreciate I was merely doing my duty as Chief Disciplinarian in this camp; carrying out the orders of my superior officer. I had no choice but to beat all five of you that evening; and beat you all very hard; it’s what the Royal Navy demands of me and inflicts on its young recruits and indeed on its young ratings too if they step out of line. The Royal Navy has great faith in the beneficial effects of a well applied cane. But what I really meant, was how did you feel about what happened between us after the caning.”

Affecting surprise, I said: “Oh I see now, sir; you mean how did I feel when you raped me whilst I was still strapped down across the horse, sir.”  Looking back at that moment, I wonder now how I managed to screw together my courage and use the word rape. But that was, of course, exactly what Thresher had done to me; he had buggered my arse without my permission and that is what legally constitutes rape. The word is most commonly used in the context of a man violating a woman, but it is equally applicable to non-consensual sex between males. I don’t know what had possessed me to use that word, but I had done so and I now waited with bated breath wondering what his reaction would be to an upstart cadet who had just told him he was a rapist.

Thresher’s face had gone white with the shock of hearing that he had been branded a rapist in what had been my very brutal reply to his question; but I had correctly judged the situation for he was totally embarrassed by what he had just heard, which was, of course, the cruel, unvarnished truth. “Cadet Pettifer, you certainly don’t mince your words, do you?  You call a spade a spade. But I take your point; I possibly acted with undue precipitation. Sometimes, as I am sure you will appreciate, it is difficult to control one’s own carnal impulses and one later finds that one had done something in haste which one then regrets at leisure; and that is one of the reasons I called you here. I wanted to clear the air between us, for what I did that evening has been weighing heavily on my mind ever since it happened.”

I took what he had just said as an apology for what he had done; but I noted that he had said “one of the reasons I called you here” and not “the reason I called you here”.  So I decided that the moment had come to let him off the hook and said: “Well sir, I fully understand what happened; we all find ourselves in situations where we later wish we had behaved differently, but then have to live with it; but what’s done is one and cannot be undone, sir.  Anyway sir, if it makes you feel any better – I knew, of course, that it would – if  you had asked me whether I would mind you buggering my hole, I would have told you to go ahead.  You see sir as you must have realised, as it takes one to know one (another hard swipe from me) I am totally gay. In fact, sir, being totally honest with you, I really rather enjoyed what you did to me.”

Thinking back over what had just dared to say to him, I realised that I had well and truly socked it to him. Calling a spade a spade; well in my blunt, northern part of the world we often go one further and call a spade a shovel, which is with what I had just socked it to him. A great relief spread across his face, the colour of which improved remarkably.  I wondered if he had thought when he called me in, that I might make an official complaint against him, but I had now removed that threat. But having made him squirm for a few moments at least, I had then continued with what I suppose was for him a palliating admission, in which I tarred myself with the same brush as I had just tarred him.

“As far as rape is concerned, sir, I suppose I am almost as guilty as you are, sir, for you never gave me permission to bugger you, which is what I subsequently did before we parted. But you did not resist me and indeed, urged me on, so I suppose that you did give me your tacit consent; but it’s now all water under the bridge, sir.”  I waited to see what would happen next, for in terms of holding him to task for the liberty he had taken with me, and my “return match”’ I had more or less shot my wad and returned us to a level playing field. I had also used the word “bugger” for what I had done to him, which was plain speaking at it plainest. I had never even considered taking action against him for what he had done to me that evening; and there was little point in the pot calling the kettle black, for realistically we were both as guilty as each other, of unprovoked and non-consensual buggery; but anyway, let’s both be honest about it; we had each enjoyed having sex with the other.

Clearly relieved by the way things were now evolving in what had, for him, been a tensely awkward moment, he said: “Pettifer: why don’t you sit down and relax so that we can get to know one another a little better.” And that was the way it all began; for Thresher, as I now found out, was intent in continuing and building on our first rather unorthodox and unexpected – by me anyway – sexual acquaintance.  Now that the ice had been broken broken Thresher decided to open up to me completely.

“Look here, Pettifer; you have told me that you are gay and intimated that I too might be of the same persuasion, based I suppose on my rather brutal action on your arse. Well you are, of course, right. But I have long known that you were gay and that you have a thing going with another cadet, Connor Black. In fact I think the entire camp probably knows about your relationship with him by now; it’s difficult to keep such things under wraps for long in a small place such as this.”

“Well, Pettifer, I have to confess, that I have had my eye on you in the gym for quite some time now. You are not only a brilliant gymnast with a very attractive and desirable body, but having seen you several times naked in the showers, I knew that you had an exceptionally fine cock: big, cut and well proportioned, which is exactly what appeals to me.  So fessing up completely to you, Pettifer, I admit that I have had the hots for you for quite some time now; in fact, Pettifer, to be totally honest with you, more or less from the moment I first set eyes on you, I knew I wanted desperately to have sex with you. I don’t know if you have ever had the same experience with anyone; but anyway, that is the way it was for me; I guess it’s the equivalent of love – or in our case possibly better put – lust at first sight as I knew as soon as I clapped eyes on you, that I wanted to have sex with you.”

“So to come really clean with you, it was not by chance that you were the last person I caned on punishment parade that day; I purposely put you last so that I could achieve exactly what I wanted, which was to be alone with you, totally naked.  I had wanted, from the very start, to have sex with you after I had finished caning you, but I had not formulated any plan as to how I was to achieve my objective; but when push came to shove, I simply could not control the sexual urge which is what led me, as you so cuttingly, but accurately put it, to rape you.”

“But frankly I am not at all sure just how I would have managed to have sex with you if I had not simply shafted you – raped you – as I did; and I don’t have to tell you that the first time with a new partner, even between two experienced and active gays such as us, is never very easy. It’s not the act itself which is difficult; it’s just getting round to putting one’s desires into words and who does what to whom first, which can be a bit awkward.”

“Anyway, that’s the truth of the matter and how it actually happened is now in the past; the fact is that it did happen and fortunately we both enjoyed our first coupling. The only thing I still regret about the whole thing is that we came together under such unpleasant circumstances.  I am sure you appreciate that I had no option but to cane you as it was part of the duty which is attached to the position I hold; and I regret to say that if for some reason you were slated for punishment again, I would have to do the same thing: it’s just an unavoidable aspect of my life and job in the Navy: nothing personal at all, in fact.”

I listened in complete silence to Thresher pouring out his innermost thoughts to me and wondered where we were now going. I did not have long to wait as he continued: “So Pettifer, now that you know the whole story of my fixation on you, the question is, where do we go from here; is the whole incident now closed and forgotten or do we take it further? Laying my cards on the the table, Pettifer, I myself still have the same feelings about you and would like to think that our first unusual coupling might be the first of many.  Kevin – he used my first name for the first time; an unheard of degree of intimacy between two men of different ranks – I still have the hots for you, but now do you feel about me? Do we pursue what might turn into a very agreeable and mutually stimulating friendship or do we call it quits here and now?”

I cannot begin to tell you my feelings when I heard Thresher’s words.  As you know from my earlier remarks, I had long admired his muscular figure and considerable sexual endowment. And rape or not, I had greatly enjoyed what he had done to me and then what I had then gone on and done to him on at that fateful punishment day. It seemed to me that what he was now proposing was a match made in heaven;  even more so now that my sexual activity with Connor was already on the wane. 

So that was how our relationship began and we rapidly became regular, enthusiastic and, above all, very vigorous sex partners. I think that more than anything what held us together was that we both loved to fuck and be fucked as hard as possible.

Once Thresher saw that I was as keen as he was to pick up where we had left off, things moved a break-neck speed as he was as hot for me as I was for him. He simply could not wait to get started. He stood up went and locked the door to his office. Then, more or less pulling me from the chair on which I was sitting, he took me by the hand and through a door at the rear of his office, led me into his living quarters. He had a large living room with a bed to one side beyond which was a bathroom.  He closed the door behind us and motioned to me to get undressed, which I willingly did whilst he did the same. So in a few seconds, there we were again, much as we had been after he had first fucked me strapped over that beating horse.  Not a word was said by either of us.

I looked at my future partner in all his naked glory; and let me tell you that glory was not too fanciful a word to sum up Brian, for in my eyes, at least, he was a truly glorious looking stud. He was well proportioned and muscular, but not in that bulbous steroidal way that professional body builders so often are, with exaggerated muscles bulging out every which way. Gazing as I did at his crown jewels beautifully held between his legs. I saw to my surprise that he had no pubic hair at all; the area around his genitals had been expertly shaved away leaving his cock and balls in all their splendour, totally un-shrouded; and truly mouth-wateringly attractive they were; he had a magnificent pair of well spaced balls, over which descended, in a graceful curve, a perfectly proportioned cock: a tool to die for.

I had never seen anything like this before and I found that the absence of the usual thick thatch of coarse, pubic hair really made the most of his assets. I had always thought that my own penis and balls were pretty good and in terms of size they stood up well to Brian’s offering.  But there was just something about him, at least in my eyes; that made him just the most desirable man in the world at the moment; to me Brian was a stallion!

We looked admiringly at each other for a few brief seconds; but then he had to act; to give way to his obvious passion.  He came over to me, and forced me down onto his bed where we became immediately entwined, each of us rejoicing in the feel of the other’s body. Brian, as he had told me to call him, now turned out to be a totally different beast than that which had taken me by such force. He started by kissing my body, and gradually worked his way down from my face, via my nipples to arrive at my cock where he took its head in his mouth and gently started sucking me off. 

Now for the first time the silence was broken as he said: “Bend your knees and spread our legs and let me lube you up. If we are going to fuck, we may as well make it comfortable for both of us.” He went over to a bedside cabinet and pulled out a tube of some sort of cream, with which he liberally anointed both my arse and hole and his own penis. Then kneeling on the bed in front of me, he hoisted my legs over his head and very and very gently pushed his cock against my anal pucker and sphincter.  I have to say that I was very surprised by his gentle, almost timid approach, for it was in sharp contrast to the furious way in which he had attacked me on our first encounter. 

At first, my sphincter proved somewhat resistant to his efforts, but he gently persisted and eventually I felt myself yield to him, allowing his cock-head to slide smoothly into my rectum to be followed by what seemed like his endlessly long shaft, which he equally gently, but in one long smooth movement, pushed as deeply as he could inside me.  I felt his pelvis bottom against my arse as he achieved full penetration. I had, over my relatively brief, sexually active career, experienced several other cocks, but none, not even Connor’s, had ever felt so remotely satisfying as did Brian’s at that moment; it was as if his meat filled every part of me and I found the feeling mind-blowingly wonderful; so much so that I felt myself already exuding large drops of pre-cum.

But once he had achieved that first delicious penetration, Brian showed himself as a man who knew how to use his cock to perfection on his partner; he was everything I wanted: a truly hard and vigorous cocks-man.  He gradually built up the amplitude, force and speed of his strokes until, as we both neared climax, he was battering me with what felt like a foot- long iron rod at each stroke, with the persistency and force of the piston of a steam engine; I was in absolute heaven and begged him not to stop. For the last few strokes he withdrew himself totally from me and each time with unerring aim, re-thrust his great length back into my hole with what seemed like ever increasing passion. Finally, we both climaxed together; I took all his creamy sperm inside me whilst he took my emission all over his face and chest.  He fell onto me and we both lay there exhausted for a few minutes catching our breath. 

But Brian had not finished with me, as he then flipped me over onto my stomach, pulled me onto my knees and told me to spread my legs again; then, almost before I knew it, he had again thrust his enormous length inside me and proceeded to fuck me in the doggy position. Once again he exercised that incredible control and power over his cock: the mark of a highly experienced master-operator.  We finally both climaxed again simultaneously, thanks to his sheer professionalism and I finally jerked my load all over his bed whilst he withdrew and bathed my arse in his cream. I have to say that that evening, Brian gave me the very best two fucks of my life to date; he was just so good: a true artist when it came to copulation.  I found it hard to imagine that anyone could ever handle his man-meat better than Brian had done that evening; and what a magnificent penis he had. I had not yet measure it, as I did later on in our in our relationship, but as he thrust it into me, I just felt that it was endlessly long.

The evening was not yet over as Brian’s sexual appetite was not yet fully satisfied and he wanted a “return match” as he succinctly put it, pulling me to my feet as he spoke: “Don’t think that you are getting off so lightly young man. I’ve done all the hard work so far and now it’s your turn; and make no mistake, I expect you to take me to heaven and back before we call it quits for this evening.”  Nothing could have been clearer as he took my place on the bed, kneeling there with his superbly muscled, totally hairless buttocks stuck into the air, his legs widely spread waiting for my ministrations to his hole. 

I was, of course, delighted to oblige and I felt myself already again in a pre-cum stage as I lubed both him and myself up, ready to begin. I will not bother you with the details of my own copulative efforts other than to say that I think I acquitted myself well and Brian certainly seemed to appreciate what I did for him.  But one fuck was not enough for him as he wanted his full pound of flesh and he rolled over into the mission position and indicated that he again wanted me to attend to the needs of his anus; so, unable to refuse him, I obviously obliged him and gave him a powerful and vigorous fuck with his legs over my shoulders, bringing the evening’s mini-sexual marathon to a close. It was near midnight when I quietly crept back to my own bed. My roommates were curious to know what had happened but I told them that curiosity killed the cat and they should all just piss-off and get to sleep. 

That first evening with Brian proved as big a life changer for me as had my meeting with Connor. Brian and I became regular lovers; it mattered not one wit if it was love that held us together and not just raw unadulterated anal sex.  Either way we were both deliriously happy. I went on and finished the cadet training course at the end of which all of the cadets who had graduated had to decide whether they wanted to sign on as a regular sailor with the Royal Navyor leave.  I decided to sign on; but Connor who also graduated, decided that he had had enough and left to go back to Leeds.  I think in retrospect that it was that first liaison I had had with Brian after the beating that which killed his interest in me and ultimately in the Navy. As I told you it was shortly after that incident that intimacy between Connor and me began to wane, so that by the end of the course, we were just friends and sex between us was already a thing of the past.

CHAPTER 6 

To my surprise my first posting as a regular sailor was in the training camp at Dartmouth where I became assistant PE Instructor reporting to Brian Thresher. I was delighted with this job, even though I found myself a land-locked sailor.  But I was a keen gymnast and enjoyed being an instructor. Brian and I worked well together; I took the junior cadets whilst he occupied himself with the ratings in the camp. Brian, had, of course, still the additional duty as disciplinarian and as time passed, he invited me to assist at the punishment parades, which, as ever, were held each Friday evening and were always well attended. I hate to say this but I enjoyed watching the cadets and ratings slated for punishment strip off and have their arses roasted.

Eventually, Brian allowed me to wield the cane myself and that was a moment of pure joy for me, as I knew by now, that I wanted a post where I too would be totally in charge of discipline. And so life went pleasantly along for some two years during which time memories of Connor faded as Brian and I became ever closer. We had regular sex together three or four times a week and I have to say that those two years were very happy ones for me; Brian and I seemed made for each other. Occasionally we would go into town together and visit a gay club or bar, where we would indulge in sex with other guys by way of a change. But on the whole we were both satisfied with each other and the sexual activity we shared. In the camp, I never ever looked at another guy, let alone have sex with him, although several ratings and one daring cadet, made overtures to me. And I think that Brian was the same; we were faithful to each other.

Then, out of the blue, came the next life-changer for me; I was promoted to the rank of Petty Officer and became Petty Officer Kevin Pettifer.  I was, of course, delighted with my promotion but less so with what came with it.  I was offered the post of Chief PE Instructor and Sole Disciplinarian onboard Her Majesty’s Training Ship, Great Endeavour. When I was say I was offered the post, I should have said that I was transferred to the post; like it or not I had no option but to take it.  After two years in a stable sexual relationship with Brian, whose rank I had now attained, I was devastated by the fact that he and we would have to separate as the Great Endeavour was moored offshore in Plymouth; in a word, my sex life with Brian was at an end. 

Brian was full of enthusiasm at my promotion as he saw it as a step up the ladder for me in the Navy. He did not seem bothered by the fact that we would be separated and that our so wonderful – and it truly was wonderful; at least for me – sex life would be at an end.  I began to wonder just now attached to me he really was.  I had never thought of Brian as being “the” person in my life; but it would nevertheless be a wrench to separate from him; to relinquish the certainty that each week I would have a reliable regular sex partner whom I enjoyed fucking immensely and who equally enjoyed fucking me.

In fact, I had never given any thought at all to becoming attached to another man as my life’s partner; the thought had never even crossed my mind. But now, faced with this major disruption in my life: a part of my life which had become totally essential,  I began to wonder what I would do when I arrived on the Great Endeavour where I knew absolutely no one. What would I do for sex? It was an activity which had become vitally essential to my existence and I doubted that I could exist without it.

But the day arrived and I packed my things, what few I had, and was taken by a Navy truck from Dartmouth to Plymouth, where a launch took me out to the Great Endeavour.  This, after several years in the Navy, was actually the first time I set foot on board a ship and I was finally at sea; well I was sort of at sea, for HMTS Great Endeavour was permanently moored offshore at Plymouth.  I was on board a floating training ship, but I might as well have been on shore in a camp, as the Great Endeavour had as much to do with sailing as does a plastic duck in a bathtub. The Great Endeavour was smallish old liner which the Navy had purchased and refitted as a training ship to accept cadets who were assigned to it by the juvenile courts.  The thinking behind it was that by sentencing young offenders aged eighteen to twenty to a year on board a naval training ship, where they could be subjected to strict naval discipline, rather than sending them to prison, there was a chance that some of them might realise the error of their ways, pull themselves together, and emerge as upright and useful, citizens; that anyway was the theory.  And the idea was that by confining them onboard a ship moored offshore was they could not abscond. In a word, the Great Endeavour was nothing more than floating senior approved school; or to call a spade a spade the Great Endeavor ws a juvenile floating prison. And this is where I was destined to to spend my next few years in the Navy.

I was shown to my quarters by a Petty Officer.  I have to say that the Great Endeavour having originally been a passenger liner was very spacious, and conditions were much better than those at the Dartmouth camp. The cadets: a courtesy name, for that is what we called the young prisoners, were billeted four or six to a cabin, the regular sailors two to a cabin and all ranks above that had their own cabin. But what had been the public rooms had been converted into a variety of uses; classrooms, three mess halls, three common rooms, (cadets, ratings and non-commissioned ranks  and commissioned officers ) gymnasium, shower rooms etc.  All in all the Great Endeavour was very well equipped. Whether it would fulfil its potential and civilise the cadets, all of whom were petty criminals of one sort or another, remained to be seen.

I met my fellow NCO’s at supper that evening and was shown around the ship. The gymnasium was, of course, of particular interest as it was my chief place of work on board; it was also the place where all punishments, which I alone as Chief Disciplinarian would administer. The gym was well fitted out with all the normal equipment one associates with such places, but in addition, to one side, stood a professional wooden beating horse of adjustable height and with ankle and wrist straps so that lads of any stature could be immobilised across it with their buttocks perfectly presented to receive the cane or, as I now discovered, the birch. All the punishment equipment was stored in a large cupboard and there was an excellent selection of canes of different calibres, which enabled the user to choose the right rod for every occasion and every arse size.

But to my surprise, there were also several examples of two different calibres of birch.  I say birch, but these implements were not made of the normal twigs, which of course were not exactly easily available on board ship. The supply houses, however, anxious to furnish every type of implement of corporal chastisement, had developed what I suppose we must call a synthetic birch; made of stiff, but flexible metal wires covered in a plastic coating this was an implement which would stand the test of time; there were two versions, a junior and senior calibre of this traditional instrument of punishment. I tried out one by bringing it firmly down across the leather top rail of the beating horse and I saw by the spread of the ‘twigs” that I could easily completely cover any target arse with three good strokes, so that a twelve stroke birching would be hellishly painful. I learned that the courts often sentenced their defendants to a birching to be given in the establishment to which they were sent, be it approved school, juvenile prison or, in our case, training ship. So with any luck I would have an immediate group of miscreant arses to birch.

The arrival of the first group of thirty cadets was scheduled for the next day. The sub-lieutenant who was to be in charge of their reception suggested to me that I also be present and that I bring a suitable cane with me: “You never know with such vicious, young, serial miscreants; there could well be some difficulty in getting them checked in and billeted; Better safe than sorry, so let’s have a cane clearly visible and I shall also have two muscular young regular sailors to hand to quell any potential disturbances.”  I have to say that the young lieutenant had great foresight, for the reception did not go smoothly and the cane proved very useful; in fact it was to give me my maiden beating as Head of Discipline. It was to be one of several which followed in quick succession on board the Great Endeavour.

The first intake of cadets arrived and was marshalled on deck, thirty of them in all; and a right motley lot they seemed to be. Of course, no one knew anyone else, as the lads had been sent from all over the country.  The sub-lieutenant in charge attempted to say a few words, welcoming the reluctant cadets on board, only to be immediately interrupted by a surly looking character in the front row, a lad who had a big mouth  and was obviously intent on making trouble:  “Save your breath sailor,” he said, “If you think you are going to reform us lot on this old rust bucket of a ship, you have something else coming to you. So you might just as well belt up here and now and cut the cackle.  In fact you really ought just to piss off; the whole lot of you are just a fucking pain in the arse.  Just fuck off the whole bloody lot of you.”

I was shocked that a young man of eighteen should have interrupted a senior officer who was simply trying to tell the lads something about the ship, with such a mouthful of vilely obscene and uncalled for invective. But he had clearly reckoned without the instant discipline for which that the Navy was famous; in bearding the lieutenant he soon found he had met his match, for the young officer clearly subscribed to the motto “He who hesitates is lost:” But hesitate he certainly did not!

“Cadet, step forward. What is your name?”

“What’s it to you; why don’t you just find out; and while you are doing that, why don’t you bugger yourself.”

I could hardly believe my ears. This stupid loud-mouthed oaf, was digging himself into an ever deeper hole with each word he uttered.

“Cadet, get your clothes off right now; strip completely naked; and when I say naked, I do mean everything, shoes and socks included; so quick about it; this is the Royal Navy and when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed immediately, if not sooner; so cadet, I want you totally naked in front of us here on deck in the next five seconds. Get your clothes off, boy.”

“If you think I’m going to strip in front of you and all these other guys, you’ve got another thing coming; it’s not decent what you want me to do; to make me stand starkers here in front of everyone else.  So why don’t you just fuck off, because I’m not doing it.”

“Cadet, I’ve given you an order. Your crude behaviour has already earned you twelve strokes of the cane, which Petty Officer Pettifer, standing there with his cane is just waiting to give you. If I have to have you stripped, which I will, and make no mistake about it as I mean what I say, then Mr Pettifer will be delighted to give you fifteen cuts of the cane; and let me just tell you that he has a mean way with the cane.”

Still the cadet persisted in disregarding the order and mouthed another obscenity or two at the lieutenant who just nodded to the two sailors.  In a brace of shakes the oafish cadet found himself stripped totally naked, down to his bare feet, standing there attempting to hide his genitals with his hands from the sight of the newly arrived cadets. But even this did not stop him continuing to hurl his foulmouthed invective at the lieutenant, who remained totally calm as he gave the cadet his next order; “Cadet, kneel down on the deck here in front of your shipmates, stick your arse in the air and put your head and hands flat on the deck.”

“You’ve got to be fucking joking; you can’t expect me to do that; who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I know full well who I am cadet; I am your superior officer and you will either obey my latest order in five seconds or take eighteen strokes of the cane from Mr. Pettifer. Now lad, kneel down and do as I have just said.”

The cadet, totally recalcitrant and defiant as ever did not move; so the lieutenant again motioned to the two attendant sailors who grabbed the cadet and forced him into the kneeling position with his head and hands flat on the deck in front of him. “Mr Pettifer, if you please; eighteen strokes of the cane across this cadet’s naked buttocks; and lay them on well as he needs to be taught a lesson in manners and to learn who is in charge on this ship. I will call out the strokes for you. So if you are ready we can begin.”

If ever a lad deserved a thrashing this lout did.  I can tell you that I needed no encouragement: none at all, to give his naked arse the hiding of a lifetime.  The lieutenant, whom I later learned had been at a leading public school himself after the reintroduction of corporal punishment and had himself been thrashed many times by his Headmaster,  knew exactly the importance of allowing a good pause between each stroke to let the reveiver fully appreciate the effect of the cut he had just received. So the eighteen stroke beating took the best part of three minutes to complete. The kneeling lad swore and cried out with pain as I landed stroke after stroke on his naked posterior.

By the time I had finished, the lad had a superbly well corrugated and roasted pair of buttocks with a few drops of blood here and there where I had broken the skin; I had reduced him to a flood of tears. So my somewhat impromptu debut as Chief Disciplinarian on board the Great Endeavour, had been made more dramatic than I could ever had ever imagined and I was delighted that the receiver of the first of my many ministrations, had been a cadet who truly merited his punishment; a fact which  really did assuage my conscience as I had really enjoyed making the lad squirm. The cadets were then marched off, with Cadet John William Reid, as we subsequently learned his name to be, still naked, to be examined by the ship’s doctor.

CHAPTER 

Along with the lieutenant and sub-lieutenant, we went over the various court orders accompanying each newly arrived cadet; seven of them arrived with some very painful baggage which needed unpacking more or less immediately. Three of them each had a court order for twelve cuts of the birch to be administered on arriving on board ship – by me, of course; the three others each had twelve cuts of the cane to endure. The seventh lad was none other than the oafish John Reid, who had a long history of petty theft with violence, so much so that the court had ordered him to be given three twelve stroke birchings at monthly intervals.

It was decided that the six cadets would be beaten the following day after supper when they would all attend a formal punishment parade. Cadet Reid’s first encounter with the birch was, however, postponed for ten days as the ship’s doctor, whom I later discovered was also a great believer in the beneficial effects of corporal punishment, felt that his arse was in no state to undergo another beating until it had had time to heal from my recent ministrations. But Reid, that oafish lout, with the prospect of three, twelve-cut birchings to look forward to, would have a few, mentally very uncomfortable months in front of him. My own feeling was that if the beating I had just given him, plus three more to come, did not cow the lad completely and make him toe the line, then he was beyond hope; we would never change him and he would never change himself; he had, on first appearances,  all the makings of a future old lag.

The following evening at eight, the six cadets in question were marched to the changing room, made to strip and take a shower. In fact, the protocol for the punishment parade on the Great Endeavour was exactly that same as in Dartmouth.  When we all got to the gym, the six cadets wearing just the regulation pair of shorts were ordered to stand against the wall. The same two regular sailors who had dealt with the recalcitrant Reid on deck the first day, were again on hand to ensure that things ran smoothly.  For the first time, I noticed that one of them was a very muscular looking, blond fellow, who filled out his naval trousers both back and front to perfection.  Looking at his backside it appeared that his pants were glued to his body, for each bun of his arse was beautifully delineated and did not show any sign of underpant leg elastic, which so often spoils the line of a guy’s arse; so I guessed he was either not wearing any pants at all or possibly just a cock-thong to hold his man-meat in place. One thing appeared absolutely clear to me; this young stud was obviously aware of what he had to offer and did not seem shy to vaunt it. 

After I noticing the young sailor, I had a hard time concentrating on the job in hand, which was to thrash the naked arses of six cadets; my cock, as ever was telling me what it wanted and somehow I had to try to control it; at least until I had finished with the six waiting cadets; but I already sensed that the young sailor was a very fuckable commodity and that given half a chance I would love to explore his bulging pants more fully. In a word, on first sight, this young stud, to whom I had never even spoken, was someone I knew instinctively that I wanted to get to know better; a feeling which was reinforced by the fact that he gave me several meaningful glances. I thought to myself: “Well it takes one to know one and all signs were that this superbly attractive hunk of muscular, male flesh was gay.” My pulse quickened at the thought.

But I had to chase all such ideas of possible carnality from my thoughts, for at the present moment I had six cadets to punish; a total of no less than seventy-two cuts of cane and birch to administer.  This was really a totally unexpected, bumper initiation for me in my role of Chief Disciplinarian: a harvest of six young arses to beat on my second day on board ship.  The adjutant read out from his charge sheet the name of the cadet who was to be birched first. It had been agreed with the officers in charge, that I would perform the three birchings first and then move onto the three lads who had been sentenced to be caned.

The young cadet stepped forward without hesitation when told to do so; he took off his shorts and bent across the horse, presenting his naked buttocks for punishment with no resistance at all; the lad had clearly come to terms with his immediate fate. The two sailors quickly strapped him in place and I was afforded another erotic view of the blond sailor’s arse as he bent over to attach the ankle straps, stretching his already skin tight trousers even tighter.  My God, what a wonderfully inviting pair of buns this young man had; I can tell you that I had a hard time controlling myself.

Looking at the buttocks I was about to thrash, I saw that this young cadet had a rather small pair of buns; so I decided that I would use the lighter birch on him. But once I got started, I applied the rod with maximum force and the lad was soon howling with pain; by the time I had finished with him, his backside was totally covered over its entire surface with those small blue-red bruises so characteristic of this implement; the light birch it may have been, but the lad had really suffered. But he took his punishment well and as he returned to stand agent the wall, as ordered, he quickly pulled his shorts back on, even though he winced as they brushed against his inflamed arse. I actually found myself quite admiring this cadet’s composure and mentally chalked him up as one who might well benefit from his time on board ship.

The next lad to be called was, however, a completely different kettle of fish. I think he had been petrified with fear watching his shipmate take his punishment and when told to take his position over the horse he just flatly refused.  Again the help of our two sailor friends was needed and the lad was unceremoniously stripped of his shorts and strapped over the horse. This time, presented with a good, muscular pair of meaty buttocks to attend to, I decided that they could well stand a dose of the heavier birch, which I applied with vigour. Twelve strokes reduced his arse to a deep crimson colour all over.  I think it is fair to say that this lad rose from the horse with a very well roasted arse.

The third cadet was in already in tears before he was told to mount the horse; he simply could not control his fear of what he was about to undergo;  having watched and seen the results of two naked arsed birchings, his fear was totally understandable; but he pulled himself together, put on as braved a face as he could muster and took up his position, over the horse with no assistance from the two sailors. And so I went ahead and gave him my third birching of the day, by which time I fully appreciated why the birch had been so popular.

Even though it did not produce the deep welts that a well chosen and vigorously applied cane does, it did ensure that the receiver’s  backside was totally beaten; not an inch of flesh escaped the scourge of those spreading twigs and I can only imagine, as I never ever experienced it myself, that the pain delivered by the birch was excruciating.  At the end of my first brief experience of this traditional implement, I saw that it could be applied with great force but produce much less physical damage than the cane, which when excessively applied could leave the receiver with a blooded, corrugated backside. I saw that the pain delivered by the birch built up gradually. In three strokes I and covered the entire surface of all three lads’ arses; but then, going on with the additional nine cuts, I saw that I was thrashing the same place as I had already done, so that the pain of repeated strokes on the same  flesh could be built up to be well nigh unbearable. So from my brief experience I saw considerable advantages to using the birch and realised just why it had been prized as the ultimate implement of corporal chastisement last century.

I won’t burden you with the fine details of the twelve stroke canings I administered to the bare arses of the other three cadets. Having watched their three shipmates each take a birching, it had evidently dawned on the lot of them that there was no way they were going to escape their judicial punishments; So when the moment came for each of them to strip off completely and bend across the horse, all three lads did so with what I cannot but describe as “good grace”. There was no resistance at all and the intervention of our sailor assistants was not needed.

They all accepted their punishment with as much courage as they could muster; and believe me, when you are faced with a vigorous, naked arse, twelve-stroke caning you do need considerable courage to hold yourself together and maintain your composure.  They all howled loudly as the cane bit into their naked flesh and all three lads finished up in tears by the time the last stroke had landed; I could not blame them, as I had laid on the cuts as hard as I could as demanded by the Navy code. So each of them left the gym that evening with a well corrugated arse, which would remain with them for several days and provide them with a keen incentive to mend their ways.

I thought that everyone had gone and I was putting away the birches and the canes in their cupboard, when I realised that I was not alone.  I turned around to find that the blond young sailor was still there; apparently he thought I needed a hand to put the horse back against the wall; at least that is what he said. My heart missed a beat as I saw that this young stud, for whom I already had the hots, evidently wanted, somehow, to get closer to me.  It was a very difficult moment or both of us, as I guess we both knew what we wanted; at least I know I did!

But then there was that horrible thing called rank: a potentially unbridgeable divide between us; he was a rating, a regular sailor, and I a Petty Officer which did make things a bit difficult. Looking back, the present hierarchical situation was analogous to that which had pertained between Brian Thresher and me. But that incredible thing called chemistry had already come into play between us and there was little either of us could do to avoid where it was leading us; the mutual attraction was obvious; so to hell with differences in rank.

The young rating came to our joint rescue as he said: “Well sir, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, sir, but I would like to congratulate you on your performance today. If ever a group of lads needed a good dose of firm discipline that lot did.  And you really did them proud sir; you are a real professional at your job sir.” So thanks to him we had at least got talking together, or more accurately put, he had got talking to me.  He went on:  “I was thinking sir, that as you had only just arrived on board sir, you might need a hand to get settled in sir: so if you feel you need a hand with anything, anything at all, sir (note the way he repeated the word: anything, and qualified it still further by adding the words: at all) well I’m your man sir.  Just say the word and I’ll be round to help you sir.”

So there it was; unless I had misread the situation, this young man, whose name I did not even know, was offering it to me on a plate; he was clearly as hot for me as I was for him.  It is strange how one just knows these things, which whilst never actually spoken are self-evident to both parties.  So far it was he who had done all the talking and he now shut up, waiting to see what my reaction would be: waiting to see how I would answer him.  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth I said:  “You know sailor, you’ve been of great help during this unhappy business today, but I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Shaw sir, Able Seaman Stephen Shaw sir; at your service sir.”

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth I said: “Well, Sailor Shaw, I think I might need a hand with a few things, as you said, so why don’t you come around to my cabin after supper at around eight this evening and we’ll take it from there.”

“Ay, ay sir,” replied Sailor Shaw, “I’ll be there sir; and as I said, sir, anything at all, sir: I’ll help you with anything at all you need or want to do sir.”

I don’t know if I as reading too much into what Shaw had said, but I did note that he had added the words “want to do” at the end of his offer. I found myself tingling with erotic anticipation tinged with a slight feeling of apprehension as I waited for the arrival of Stephen Shaw that evening.  I suddenly was filled with doubt; had I misjudged the situation with him? Was he, in fact, attracted to me as much as I knew that I was to him?  Was I reading more into what he had said: a complete misinterpretation by me of his intentions? Could a simple sailor be aware of the subtle implications of what he had said? Should I have taken his remarks at face value: literally to help me settle in my new surroundings, with no sexual overtones at all? The more I thought about things, the more nervous and uncertain I became.

CHAPTER 8

 

Promptly at eight that evening, Able Seaman Stephen Shaw knocked at my door. Any doubts I had harboured about his intentions vanished as soon as I opened the door and saw him, for what he was now wearing confirmed my dearest hopes; this young stud was as gay as a coot.  He had changed out of his naval uniform into an even more revealing pair of trousers, into which he had somehow managed to pour himself. Other than in a gay club or bar, God alone knows where else he could have worn them and I wondered if any of his shipmates had seen him in his overtly gay attire as he made for my cabin. But commonsense told me that his shipmates were already well aware of his sexual preferences, as it is hard for a gay man to hide himself and his proclivities from those with whom he is in daily contact.

Earlier in the day, when he had first caught my eye, he had filled out his regular uniform pants to perfection; but now what he was wearing, seemed like a second skin. The pants were not quite so revealing as the ballet tights worn by a male dancer, but his buttocks were well delineated and oh so very alluring to my eye; and the bulging crotch left no doubt that it was hiding a formidable piece of man-meat.  Above, he was wearing a figure fitting shirt with very short sleeves which was glued to his torso and showed off to perfection both his well developed pectoral muscles and his biceps. I noticed also that he was barefooted and was wearing only a pair of slip-on canvas deck-shoes. Here was a guy who could be stripped and ready for action in ten seconds.

The moment I saw him I felt that sudden surge of adrenaline which sent a thrilling shiver of anticipative excitement pulsing through my body; my cock immediately started on its upward journey, telling me in its inimitably and often undesirably uncontrollable way what it wanted. Tonight as far as I could see, there was no reason at all why I could not accede to its imperative demands and I just knew that I would fuck Stephen Shaw within the next half hour, if not sooner.

“Well sir, here I am as you requested; so what is it you would like me to do first sir?”

Just looking at this lusciously muscular stud dressed in the most revealing of clothes, I decided that the moment had come to stop the verbal charade, pussy-footing around each other as we had been since he first offered his services and cut to the chase. So taking that metaphorical big breath and hoping fervently that I was not going to find myself proved totally wrong in everything I thought and hoped for,  I said: “Well Sailor Shaw, what I would really like you to do is to take of your clothes;  in fact, to get stripped completely and let me take a good look at you, for as  far as I can see, young man, what your rather skimpy outfit is attempting to cover, will be well worth examining more closely in the buff.”

“Sir, I thought that you would never ask,” he replied. “I was hoping against hope that I had not misjudged the situation. At punishment parade, I had seen you looking at me in that way in which a man looks at another man whom he fancies; or at least that is what I thought and hoped; and I now see I was right. So to come clean with you, sir, I am, as I am sure you had already imagined, gay: in fact, I am a totally confirmed and practising homosexual; and I thought, and to be absolutely honest with you sir, hoped that you might be the same because sir, I found you so very desirable from the first moment I set my eyes on you.  I found myself hoping against hope that you might be like me as I just knew on first sight that I wanted to have sex with you.”

Whilst he was saying this, he was already removing what skimpy clothing he was wearing; first came off the shirt which let me take in his magnificent torso and then off came those skin-tight pants, to reveal a muscular pair of legs. Then, as he turned round to put his clothes to one side, his arse was revealed in all its perfect muscular glory; and I saw that as I had suspected, he was wearing a simple cock-thong to ensure that even when clothed his buns were shown without anything spoiling their perfection. As yet he had not removed the cock-string, which was supporting what promised to be a very desirable piece of male equipment.

“Stop right there, Sailor,” I said as I approached him. “If you will, permit me, I would like to give myself the undoubted pleasure of removing your last bit of clothing myself, to have what promises to be a wonderfully erotic moment when I liberate your cock and balls from their present confinement.”  Then, as actions speak louder than words, I put my arms around him embraced him and kissed him fully on the lips: a most intimate act in my view; even more so than that of the sex act itself. To my great relief and joy, he accepted my kiss and kissed me back. My hand now dropped to his crotch and felt the size and weight of the package I was about to reveal. I slipped my fingers around both sides of that minute, sexy undergarment and in one quick movement pulled it down to the floor there by rendering his nudity complete.

The young stud’s most precious possession jumped forth in all its anticipative vigour.  He was hung like a young stallion and I was delighted to see that, like me, he was one of that rare group of Englishmen of our generation who had been circumcised. His cock, which was just beginning to harden, had that wonderful rubbery texture with which not every man is endowed, but which even when totally soft, manages to look good; it arched in a graceful curve over his pair of well separated balls, held high and close to his body; and thanks to the foresight of someone (who? when?) who had removed his foreskin, Sailor Shaw’s magnificent cock was blessed with a superb head set off from the shaft by a well defined rim. In a word, his cock was utter perfection.

As I stood there admiring this young Adonis, it suddenly hit me that I was still fully clothed. So I immediately shed all my garments and allowed my future sex partner to look at me in the buff.  Sailor Shaw had a beautiful body and was sexually super-well equipped and I wondered for a brief moment if he would be disappointed when he saw what I had to offer. Why I thought this, I do not really know, for I was well aware, thanks to my regular gym training and my job as PE instructor, that I too had a set of muscles not to be sneezed at; and I also knew that few guys were as well endowed where it really counted or had such a top class cock as I knew I had. But I was nevertheless slightly apprehensive in showing my all for the first time to this young man who was to be my immediate future sex partner.  I would have been mortified; cut to the quick, if I had thought that he found me lacking.  Of course this was utter nonsense on my part as I knew that in terms of sexual performance I was up there with the best. But I mention this because it gives you an idea of just how nervous, someone as experienced as me could be at the start of a new relationship.

So there we stood, two good-looking young gays, cocks now totally erect and ready for action. Neither of us had asked the other what his preferences were, so to get started, I said:  “I don’t know about you, but I like both to fuck and be fucked; so I guess I’m neither a top nor a bottom but sort of polyvalent; in fact I just like all kinds of gay sex.”

“Well I’m much the same,” he said, “So here’s a suggestion as we obviously have both got the hots for each other.  Why don’t we just toss a coin to decide who gets first fuck?”  And that is precisely what we did; I won the toss so I then asked him how he would like his maiden experience of sex with me. We finally settled on the mission position, with him lying flat on his back with a pillow under his lower back to raise his arse up a little. I then knelt in front of him and taking his legs over my shoulders was able to address his anus perfectly with my penis.  I was please he had chosen this position for our maiden fuck together, as it was my own favourite. 

But before we got started I told him of certain things I always did when having sex: “We both use a condom during every sex act and change it for a fresh one for each new act. Why? Well partly to avoid sexually transmitted diseases, although I doubt that that is a problem between you and me: but it is mainly to keep things tidy. Sex, wonderful though it is, is intrinsically a messy business and has an unfortunate down-side, which we all tolerate because it is at the moment of orgasm: that moment which gives us the greatest of all pleasures known to man, that we spray our sticky sperm everywhere.  Frankly trying to sleep in a bed where the sheeted are soaking wet with sperm, whether mine or my partner’s or a mixture of both, is not my idea of heaven. And so I have taken to insisting with all my partners that we both use a condom, irrespective of who is fucking whom; and moreover, for each new act we each use a fresh condom.”

Sailor Shaw listened to all this and said: “That sounds absolutely great, but I hope you’ve got plenty of condoms available tonight as I don’t have a single one on me.”

“My dear Stephen, or do you prefer Steve, for I think that in light of where we are heading with each other, in the privacy of my cabin we should use our first names;  and you can drop the  “sir” business as there are no ranks between sex partners, I took the precaution of laying in a large stock of rubbers and lubricants before coming on board, as I had no idea how I would get such important items stuck, as we are, on board ship off-shore. And one way or another I was sure my sex life would continue onboard sip”

Well what can I tell you about our first evening together? I fucked him at least three times and he did the same for me, we were a well matched pair for both of us liked really hard, punchy sex and we both gave the other exactly what he wanted. For me it was one of the most exhilarating evenings of anal copulation I had ever experienced. I absolutely adored lying next to this gorgeous young sailor, whose body I kissed from top to bottom. I suddenly realised that with Stephen, even on this first occasion, that what we were doing together went beyond just raw sex; for the first time in my life I felt that I was making love to someone. Stephen finally crept quietly away in the early hours to retrieve his own bed. After that glorious beginning, we met in my cabin three or four times a week and as time passed we became closer and closer to each other. 

Stephen was the personification of discretion, never allowing our personal relationship to interfere with our duties as naval personnel. In public and at punishment parades, where he was one of my regular assistants, he always deferred to me and the other Petty Officers and never gave any hint of the very close relationship that the two of us enjoyed together. For myself, I was sublimely happy; happier, in fact, than I had ever been in my life, as in Stephen I began to realise that I had found my soul-mate and I think he too felt the same way about me. I think that not only were we both sexually fulfilled but also we genuinely liked being with each other; in a word we were also in love.

Life on board settled down into a routine; but then, what job does not?  I enjoyed being in charge of the PE department and I still derived a great deal of pleasure from the weekly punishment parade about which I still felt a niggling guilt. But it was pointless in trying to deny it; it was a fact that I did enjoy thrashing the naked arses of young men. The parades were always well “attended” as the cadets seemed incapable of keeping out of trouble for longer than five minutes; so both the cane and the birch, wielded by me, were in regular use each week.

But a fly flew into the ointment. I had not realised that as Chief Disciplinarian I would be required to cane any regular sailor who was put on a charge. There were not many occasions when this happened, but when it did it was exactly the same as the weekly parade of the cadets, from which it was nevertheless separated; but the identical Navy protocol was followed: showers, shorts, march to the gym, bend across the horse, where I then applied the cane to their naked arses. But then the unthinkable happened. Stephen, my lover and right-hand man at the normal cadet thrashings, was himself put on a charge for falling asleep whilst on guard duty. He maintained his innocence, but the lieutenant who had found him, supposedly sleeping, would have none of it and he was sentenced to fifteen strokes of the cane, the statutory punishment for that specific offence.

I broke out in a cold sweat all over when I heard the news directly from Stephen’s mouth. I knew immediately that there was nothing that I could do in the face of the inevitable. My friend and lover was on a charge and sentenced to be caned. I was the person who administered all corporal punishment; ergo I was obliged to beat his arse; it was as simple as that for that was the way the system worked. The fact that he and I had a special relationship going, that we were gay lovers, did not enter into consideration.  Stephen and I discussed this at length as we lay there together naked, after making love in my bed. I told him that I did not know how I was going to go through with the performance of what was, without a doubt, my manifest duty; but the thought of having to reduce my lover’s arse to shreds just made my blood curdle.

Stephen, who was the one going to receive the beating was much more philosophical about it than I was: “Look here Kevin,” he said, “I understand exactly how you feel, but you are an innocent party in this whole fucking business. You are just being called upon to do your normal job and nobody is aware of the fact that you and I have an ongoing sexual relationship; and frankly, even if they did, it would not make a blind bit of difference.  I know and I am sure you believe me when I say that I was not sleeping on duty, but there seems little point in taking the business in front of the commanding officer for I am sure he would side with the lieutenant. So I’ve just come to accept that I am going to be beaten and that you are going to be the one who beats me.  Look Kevin, I know it’s going to be mentally painful for you and physically bloody painful for me, but I will survive; it’s not going to affect our relationship in any way; so just relax and accept that things are the way they are; there is fuck-all that either of us can do to change matters: end of story; so let’s just forget it for the moment.”  And with that he rolled me over onto my back and proceeded to give me a dose of anal stimulation with that superb cock of his cock to calm me down.

By chance, there were two other regular sailors whom I had also to cane at that fatidic punishment parade.  Both had been caught, by the same lieutenant, smoking on guard duty and awarded fifteen strokes of the cane.  The adjutant called out their names first and I thrashed the cane down on each of their arses in turn before Stephen was order to drop his shorts and bend across the horse. 

My heart was beating twice as fast as normal as I surveyed the pristine arse of my lover, which in another, much pleasanter, context, I knew so very well; but now was quite different, as I was not going to fuck him but reduce his beautiful buttocks to shreds with the cane. Under the eagle-eye of the sub-lieutenant, there was no way that I could pull my punches and so, with heavy heart, I proceeded to give Stephen’s backside a fifteen stroke roasting. By the time I had finished, his arse was neatly lined with fifteen evenly placed stripes; I did just manage to hold back enough to avoid breaking his skin, so there was no blood. 

For me I think it had been as painful an occasion as it had been for him. But he never let out a murmur during the entire time and when told to get up he pulled back on his shorts without wincing.  God alone knows how he maintained his composure; but as his closest friend, I was immensely proud of him as he was marched away to be examined by the doctor. And let me just add one thing; this was the first time I had beaten anyone and had neither enjoyed it nor had been sexually aroused; ask me not why, but thrashing the living daylights out of my lover’s arse did not turn me on and my cock remained limp throughout the entire process.

Stephen did not appear at supper that evening, but later he came to my cabin and together, naked as ever, in bed I attempted to comfort him.  I did have some cream which I gently rubbed into the corrugated mess of welts into which my handiwork had turned his exquisite arse. He lay on his back and offered me his cock, which I went ahead and sucked to climax for him by way of consolation. Then he gently pushed me away spread and raised his legs and offered me his anus saying: “Kevin, please, very gently, fuck me; I need some internal stimulation; I just need to feel you inside me.”

It was a very moving moment in our relationship, for I fucked Stephen bareback for the first time and as we both climaxed we bathed each other in our sperm for the very first time. I have to say that it was a tellingly wonderful experience, for somehow our sticky, warm seed drew us even closer together. It was then that any doubt I had had that I did not truly love Stephen vanished completely. I did not even have to tell him as I saw in his eyes that he felt the same about me as we hugged each other tightly, still consoling each other in our mutual sorrow. Stephen spent the entire night in my bed and it was only at first light that he went back to his own billet to start the next day.

After this awful incident, life for Stephen and me went on normally.  Time passed and several groups of cadets came and went. I was still chief PE Instructor and I still caned any cadets and occasionally the odd regular sailor who broke the rules.  I was, in fact totally happy with my lot in the Navy and happier than I can ever express in words with my life with Stephen. Our relationship was still very sexually orientated as we both enjoyed sex enormously and saw no reason to stint on it. But our relationship had gone far beyond raw sex for without any formal agreement between us, Stephen and I had become an item. Even though neither of us knew what the future held for us, one thing was absolutely clear: we would somehow remain together. 

And there my story, as far as it goes, must end. Neither Stephen nor I had any idea what our future in the Royal Navy held out for us. But for the moment, we were both happy and so we made hay whilst the sun was shining. Tomorrow would be another day

THE END 

You should now read the third and final story of this trilogy:  

Pettifer: The Warden

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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“So”, said Richard Finch’s Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Philip Weekes, “It seems that your ‘friendly’ wrestling match with the US Marines was not as friendly as we might have wished. Last night Colonel Poppelhincken, the USMC Commander, bent my ear on that subject for the best part of an hour. He seemed rather upset. Would you mind filling me in, Richard?”  

Lieutenant Colonel Weekes, a typical Para Battalion Commander, was  a young, fast-tracked Army “flyer”; probably in his early thirties, Richard thought. He was very fit and energetic; had floppy blond hair, ice-blue eyes and a ruddy complexion. Richard, who liked fair-haired men, would have been happy to fill him in anytime, although not in the usual colloquial sense of that expression. Although Lieutenant Colonel Weekes’ eyesight was excellent, he kept a pair of dummy eyeglasses, with non-magnifying lenses and thick, black “Strongboy” frames, in his desk for difficult interviews. He now glared at Richard through them. Richard stared darkly back; the Lieutenant Colonel blinked first.     

“Colonel,” said Richard, after a moment’s silence. “The USMC, most of whom are keen wrestlers, had been told for years that the British Forces did not wrestle, although they might box. They recently discovered that 5 Para did wrestle, so they invited us to field a team for a ‘friendly’ match: one officer (that was me), one NCO (that was Sergeant Kincaid) and one enlisted man (that was Lance-Corporal Roddy McSpunk) against three US Marines of similar rank. There was however a factor of which I was unaware before the match: the long-standing rivalry between our Regiment and the British Royal Marines has rubbed off on the US Marine Corps too; they regard the Royal Marines as their elder brothers. So they take their side in the rivalry, which they take much more seriously than the Royals do – I don’t think that the US Marines really understand the concept of a ‘friendly rivalry’; they see it as a family feud, a la Mark Twain – so there was a partisan atmosphere from the start.” 

“Ah… I didn’t know about that background,” said Colonel Weekes. “But what  happened to inflame the atmosphere further?” 

“McSpunk was sent off for a foul.” 

“What sort of foul?” groaned the Colonel. 

“A below-the-belt sort of foul: McSpunk’s opponent called him something he didn’t like, so McSpunk gave him a “Glasgow kiss”, then grabbed his balls and squeezed them hard. The Marine Private was quite badly hurt; he claims that McSpunk may have ruined his chances of fatherhood, as well as spoiling his looks by breaking his nose!” 

“Dear God! Why, in heaven’s name, did you include that tyke – that little psychopath – in the team? What did his opponent call him, anyway?” 

“McSpunk begged to be included; he’s a good wrestler; I hadn’t the heart to say ‘no’ and how was I to foresee that the Marine would call him ‘Short Ass’!”  

“Oh Lord!” 

They both laughed; McSpunk was very conscious of being only five feet, seven inches tall; albeit (in his own eyes) five feet, seven inches of male perfection. But immediately afterwards Colonel Weekes felt obliged to put on his severe face again.

“Seriously, McSpunk should not have done that. Mere verbal provocation does not justify violence of that kind. Put him on fatigues; that’ll give him time to reflect on these things. And there was a suggestion that you yourself might have been guilty of a foul too, in your bout.” 

“There was such a suggestion, but the Ref – who was a French officer – did not uphold the complaint.” 

“So what happened in your case?” 

“My opponent and I had a disagreement about dress.”

“What the fuck…?”  

“You heard correctly, Colonel. He disapproved of my wrestling kit and said so,” explained Richard. 

“Yes; that was mentioned. You were aware that ladies were going to be present?” 

“Ladies?” said Richard. “Oh, you mean the USMC Wags – wives and girlfriends? No, I hadn’t been made aware; I had the impression that it was to be a men-only evening. I might not have accepted, had I known; women at boxing and wrestling matches are a bloody nuisance; they tend to misbehave and these ones did. I suppose they get excited by all that bare, sweating male flesh!” 

“Some women are starting to box and wrestle, too” observed Colonel Weeks. 

“Yuck,” said Richard, with a shudder and a grimace that spoke volumes. “But going back to the question of my kit, all US Army, Navy or Marine Corps wrestlers count as amateurs, however skilled they might be; they’re like collegiate wrestlers. So they wear American amateur wrestling kit, which involves a skin-tight, garishly-coloured ‘singlet’, with a number on it like a football jersey, covering the whole torso and coming halfway down their legs; often with short sleeves as well. It is more like a leotard than proper ring-gear. Their cocks and balls show up clearly inside the spray-on Lycra; that’s indecent, if you like. If a chap gets an erection, it’s impossible to conceal it. Same goes for trunks, of course, but it’s far more obvious with a singlet. They also wear knee-pads, other bits of body-armour and helmets to protect whatever brains they may possess, plus boots. We on the other hand are registered as independent wrestlers, since the Army does not recognise or subsidise our sport. We dress like professionals. They seemed not to like that.” 

“So what did you wear that night?” asked Colonel Weekes.  

“Brief black trunks, wrist-bands, black knee-pads and boots. Kincaid wore much the same.” 

“That was all?” asked the Colonel.

“That was all, Colonel,” smiled Richard, rather smugly. “But I think we both can bear that degree of exposure.”

This was not in doubt; In addition to his tough good looks, Richard’s physique was midway between Apollo and Hercules; he radiated macho sex-appeal. So, for that matter, did Sergeant Kincaid, who was rumoured to be the handsomest man in the Army. The impact of seeing the two of them clad like that or, more accurately, unclad like that, on a bunch of oversexed, bored American women whose imaginations had probably been fuelled by Playgirl’s Erotic Fantasies, had been electrifying. 

“I see,” murmured Lieutenant Colonel Weekes, all-too-easily imagining the scene. “If it comes to that, what did McSpunk wear?”

“A wet-look electric-blue Speedo and very little else.”  

“Why am I not surprised?” sighed Weekes. 

Richard continued: “The Wags certainly seemed to be getting the hots for me and Kincaid; probably for McSpunk, too; his muscles are pretty good. Their remarks were perfectly audible. You can imagine the sort of thing: (Here he switched into nasal, falsetto American English) ‘Gee, look at the buns on that guy!’ and ‘Wow, look at his bulge!’ That sort of thing.” 

Richard was an excellent mimic. Lieutenant Colonel Weekes chuckled in spite of himself. Richard continued:

“Several of them pulled off their knickers and threw them at us. That was the first time I’ve ever received that particularaccolade!”

Colonel Weekes continued to chuckle: “You’re in good company, Richard. They do that to rock-stars!” 

“I wouldn’t know,” said Richard. He detested all forms of modern popular music and had never attended a rock concert. Flying knickers, he decided, were yet another excellent reason for avoiding them. He continued: “Since the match, both Patrick Kincaid and I have received several indecent proposals by post, mostly from married women, with ‘phone numbers and information about the days and times when their ‘old man’ is likely not to be in!” 

Lieutenant Colonel Weekes now looked worried: “Hmm… I’m beginning to see why the US Marines are so upset about this episode. Richard, for God’s sake promise me you won’t follow-up any of those indecent proposals? And that goes for Kincaid, too!” 

Richard grinned broadly: “No chance, Colonel! You have my word!” Richard found women, with very few exceptions, eminently resistible. So, most of the time, did Kincaid. 

“Good. And what about the foul that you’re alleged to have perpetrated?”  

“The worst foul that Kincaid and I committed was to win our bouts. You know how Americans hate losing; look at what happens at Wimbledon! One decision against them and they start jumping up and down and demanding a rematch. Apart from that, my opponent, a Lieutenant Stoltzfuss, as I said, did not like my fighting in trunks. Presently I managed to get him in an upside-down bear-hug and administered a pile-driver; head-first into the canvas. That stunned Stoltzfuss for a few minutes. I walked to the side of the ring; I was grinning, acknowledging the British cheers, when Stoltzfuss suddenly came back to life, grabbed my trunks from behind and tried to pull them down: Americans call that ‘pantsing’, apparently. My ass was exposed! I wasn’t wearing anything under my trunks; they were too damn’ small to wear a jock inside them. This was serious!”  

“I bet the Wags liked that!” interrupted Colonel Weekes. 

“Very likely. So, for different reasons, did the men,” said Richard grimly. “There was laughter, ironic cheers and wolf-whistles. I just managed to save my dignity; I shook off Stoltzfuss; jumped aside; pulled up my trunks; re-tied the drawstring and then punched Stoltzfuss as he was rising to his feet. He came for me. I knocked him down again, this time more seriously. I then tried to haul him to his feet, so as to punch him in the face, using his silly puke-yellow singlet to pull him up. At that point disaster struck.” 

“What sort of disaster?”

“Stoltzfuss is a big, chubby man and weighs a ton. His Lycra singlet gave way under the strain. It split down the back, from neck to ass. Now it was his ass that was on display! To make it even funnier, he was wearing a tiny scarlet thong inside his singlet; to keep his genitals in place, I presume. It might have looked sexy on some people, but between  Stolzfuss’s oversized ass-cheeks it just looked ridiculous. At first he didn’t notice what had happened; he was too busy trying to get his hands on me. I dodged around the ring with him in hot pursuit, giving all the spectators a really good view. What a hoot! To judge from their laughter, everyone else thought the same.” 

Richard paused and sipped coffee. He smiled reminiscently. 

“Finally it dawned on Stoltzfuss, who is not the most perceptive of men,  that all was not well; or else he felt the draught up his ass. Anyway, the penny dropped: his singlet was disintegrating and his big muscle-ass was now completely exposed! He screamed like an express-train entering a tunnel and ran off down the catwalk yelling blue murder.” 

Colonel Weekes could no longer keep a straight face. “I wish I’d seen that!” he sighed.   

“No problem,” said Richard. “You can; Corporal Benedict captured it all on his cine-camera. A few minutes later Stoltzfuss came charging back, full of aggression and fury, in a new singlet; bright green, this time. He wanted to kill me! So I had to do something drastic. I tripped him up and administered one of my specialities: the suspended surfboard.” 

“Bob Gordon’s told me all about that” said the Colonel drily. “You inflicted it on him recently. He could hardly walk afterwards.”

And that’s not the only thing I did to him recently! thought Richard. Aloud, he said: 

“Yes, Colonel! So I don’t need to explain it again. To cut a long story short, I hauled Stoltzfuss high above me, putting the maximum strain on his spine and joints. Of course, he bucked around in agony, which made it all the worse for him. He used the most terrible language; the air turned blue. I then stretched his  spine even further back; the pressure switched to his neck. He was screaming again; this time in earnest, but he did not want to submit; especially not to me, the detested Limey Finch! Eventually, of course, he had to; the pain was too great. He was carried out on a stretcher. Victory to me!” 

Richard was now laughing happily at the memory. It was as if he were  recalling scoring a brilliant century at cricket.  

Colonel Weekes put his serious expression back on. “Okay, you won; but you may have inflicted more damage than you realised. Stoltzfuss is still in the  Infirmary. Under the circumstances it would be a tactful gesture to call on him; take him some fruit or flowers!” 

“Tactful?” said Richard. ”I think not. He hates my guts!” 

“I meant tactful in the sense of being seen to do the right thing. Good for UK-US relations, if not necessarily for Finch-Stoltzfuss relations. It’s an Order,” said Weekes.

“Oh I suppose so,” said Richard.  

“You mean ‘Yes Sir!’” said his Commanding Officer crisply. “Talking of which,” continued Weekes, “Like Lieutenant Stoltzfuss, Colonel Poppelhincken thinks that trunks are provocative and barely decent. The Wags’ reaction to your and Kincaid’s kit will have confirmed him in that view. And as of next week the US Marines are commanded to wear singlets for wrestling and baggy shorts for swimming at all times. That too was an Order.”  

“That Order is ridiculous and tyrannical,” began Richard. “Their singlets leave nothing to the imagination anyway…”

“They won’t, as of next week,” said Colonel Weekes drily. “The Marines have instructions to wear foundation garments in the form of extra-thick jockstraps!”

“Bollocks!” said Richard, in disbelief.

“Yes, exactly!” 

“What is Poppelhincken’s problem?” asked Richard.

“Colonel Poppelhincken has only recently arrived from the USA and is not used to European ways. On one of his first inspections he found that some young Marines had bought swimming trunks locally and were wearing them. You know how little the average pair of German bathing trunks covers! So he ordered that it should be baggy shorts for all. Worse still, he found that some of his young men were taking advantage of a local by-law to develop an all-over tan by swimming and sunbathing naked in parks and on beaches where that is permitted! The good Colonel was shocked. So he is putting a stop to that, too.”      

“That man deserves a nasty comeuppance,” said Richard quietly. 

“Not just now, please, Richard,” said Colonel Weekes hurriedly. “I mean it; bilateral relations are fraught enough as it is. You’ll be relieved to hear that I do not intend to impose a similar rule here, although Colonel Poppelhincken urged me to do so. He also gave me a lecture about immorality in the Armed Forces in general.” 

“It’s quite hard to live a moral life when you’re super-fit and bursting with testosterone. Apart from that, we have our reputation to live up to,” opined Richard. “We are, after all, ‘the brutal and licentious soldiery’! What else does Poppelhincken propose for the Marines?”  

“A long training run first thing in the morning, every morning; plenty of cold showers; lots of ping-pong, baseball, square-dancing and debates.” 

“Fuck me five times!” said Richard. “I go running every day; I frequently take cold showers; I have been known to dance; I took part in debates at Cambridge and none of this has made me any less licentious. Poppelhincken’s a prat! Both he and Stoltzfuss deserve something; something drolly delicious…” 

“I’ll pretend that I did not hear that, Richard,” said Lieutenant Colonel Weekes.

For the record, Richard did duly call on Lieutenant Stoltzfuss in the American Infirmary and presented him with a large punnet of loquats, to which he had discovered that Stoltzfuss was addicted. They had been  doctored; as Richard intended, they gave Stoltzfuss a volcanic dose of diarrhoea and prolonged his sojourn in hospital. Richard also thoughtfully presented some loquats to McSpunk’s victim, who was languishing in a nearby bed, with similar results. McSpunk cheered and fell about laughing when Richard later told him, while swearing him to secrecy.  

Weekes continued: “But still on that subject, would you give me some instruction on the suspended surfboard? I don’t wrestle but I do practise Mixed Martial Arts, for which it might come in handy.”

“Yes, of course, Sir! Shall we make a date now and reserve the boxing gym? The ring there should be adequate, if a bit small.” Richard sounded as keen as mustard.

His Commanding officer gave Richard a wintry smile. “Later, perhaps, Richard, when I’ve  had time to develop my technique. Let me not try to run before I can walk. I don’t want to provide a hilarious spectacle for the rest of the Battalion. I’d prefer my first lessons – and my first pratfalls – to happen in the privacy of my house.” 

“Okay, Sir!”

Like Major Bob Gordon, the Lieutenant Colonel lived off-base in a secluded house and, like Bob, he possessed a well-equipped home gym. 

Later, as he drove back to his quarters, Richard was chuckling quietly to himself. Based on his experience with Major Bob, he might – who knew? – end the lesson by having sex with Lieutenant Colonel Weekes. He suddenly had the pleasing vision of his young Commanding Officer completely naked and bent over; his floppy blond hair falling across his face, gasping, groaning, swearing and finally losing control, while Richard, thrusting balls-deep, made him take it like a man. 

“Both my Company Commander and my Commanding Officer! Phwoar!That must constitute some kind of record,” thought Richard. “Well, one can hope…”

Richard’s first sexual joust with Major Bob had been memorable but for the next ten days he had seen little of Bob. 4 Coy, like the rest of 5 Para, was involved in a major exercise with NATO Partners. Bob and Richard were both manically busy as a result; even so, Richard  occasionally wondered whether Bob might be avoiding him. After all, Richard had fucked Bob – who was a big, strong man and Richard’s Company Commander – in his ass. Although it had been fun at the time, could it in retrospect have turned sour for Bob? Oh Bloody Hell. In the event, Richard’s misgivings proved to be baseless.  

Richard’s memories of that afternoon were good. Bob had subsided onto the floor and surrendered to him. He lay waiting for Richard’s next move. Richard’s objective lay between Bob’s hard, symmetrical  ass-cheeks: his pink man-hole. Richard probed it delicately with his finger, arousing Bob further; when finally he felt Bob’s ass sucking in the finger, he prepared for the final assault; what Richard called his “conquest” of Bob.  

Just as the great heterosexual lovers of the past regarded the siege and possession of a beautiful woman as a noble achievement, so Richard saw the seduction of a strong and handsome man as a splendid battle honour. Ideally conquest should be preceded by a real battle: boxing, wrestling or mixed martial arts; the other man must put up a fight. Love, sex and pain went together in Richard’s book; both men should get physically hurt, although not seriously. 

The stronger the other man was, the better, and Bob’s physical strength was obvious. Even when he was dressed, Richard liked to watch the play of his arm and shoulder muscles under the thin material of his shirt. He exuded a whiff of pure masculinity, like the scent of expensive shaving-soap and bay rum that was noticeable on him first thing in the morning. 

That day there had been no lube or Vaseline to hand and no time to run around looking for something suitable; nature’s lube – Richard’s saliva – would have to do. Both men were already pouring with sweat and Richard’s cock was slippery with pre-cum. He spat into his hand and smeared his weapon with spit. Next, Richard grabbed Bob’s legs, rolled him onto his back with his ass-hole pointing skyward. He pushed the great powerful thighs forward and apart, so that they rested on his stomach; mounted and slowly entered him. Bob’s ass was hot and tight; Richard had to use force. (I’m forcing a virgin! When did I last do that?) 

“BASTARD!” snarled Bob between clenched teeth. 

“That I am”, muttered Richard, warming to his task. 

“You’re also a… Aargh!” Bob was shouting again. Presumably he had meant to add “sadist” or some similar epithet, but he clenched his teeth and became speechless once more.   

Richard watched Bob’s face. At first he kept his eyes tight-shut and his mouth closed, as though he were enduring punishment. He was breathing heavily. 

Then Bob opened his eyes and stared into Richard’s. Suddenly he seemed to have shed years from his age. The lines of experience had been erased; his face was that of a teenager being fucked for the first time. His eyes were wide; his eyebrows were raised in two startled arcs. His mouth opened. Emotions were playing across Bob’s face: pain, shock, disbelief, momentary anger and then more pain, suddenly gave way to a big, bewildered grin. Richard continued to thrust.  

“Wow, wow, wow!!”

I’m hitting his prostate. Now he’s getting that great feeling. 

“Wow, wow WOW!!” 

Bob closed his eyes again and smiled. He reached up, grabbed his cock and began to jerk himself off.  

Richard smiled down at Bob and thought: It’s going to be okay. I really like this guy and he seems to like me a lot, too!  

“Aren’t you going to say anything, Bob?” 

“Yes! Come back later and stay the night! Stay as many nights as you like!” 

Still inside his man, Richard bent almost double to kiss Bob on the lips. Their kiss lasted several minutes. Thereafter Richard quite often did stay the night, although they had to be careful and discreet. That added to the excitement. He was also embarking on one of the most challenging, passionate and strenuous relationships of his life, with a man who was big enough and strong enough sometimes to take physical control of him. In the process they learned a new respect for each other.  

A few weeks after these events, Sergeant Kincaid again called on Richard to discuss work and enjoy one of Richard’s strong, excellent coffees. As they were nursing their mugs, the talk turned to other matters: 

“Me and some of the lads went to the ‘Hermann-Goering-Schwimmbad’ last week”, said Kincaid, smiling reminiscently. 

The ‘Hermann-Goering-Schwimmbad’ in the nearby town had been constructed during the Third Reich; hence its former name. It was still the biggest, best and most popular swimming pool in the region. Like everything else that had survived from those days, the swimming pool had been rechristened, but the British soldiers liked to use the original name, happily aware that this still made many Germans uncomfortable. All Nazi symbols had been removed in 1945, but there remained some frescoes and statues of muscular, heroic men and women, which irresistibly recalled the 1936 Berlin Olympics.  

“And guess who else was there?” continued Kincaid. “Our Company Commander with his son, Bob Junior!”   

“Why not?” said Richard. “I heard that Junior was here on a visit. His father told me that he swims for his school. You know how fond he is of that boy; if Young Bob wanted to spend every single afternoon at the Goering-Schwimmbad, Major Bob would arrange it.”

“To be sure, to be sure,” said Kincaid. “He’s a fine lad. But I was a bit surprised by Major Bob!” He looked at Richard over the edge of his coffee mug. 

“Oh yeah? How? Why?”   

“Well, when he came up out of the water, I saw that he’d ditched his old swimming shorts and was wearing a red Speedo; like the ones you wear, except that yours are black or blue. To be sure, he’s a fine figure of a man; he can carry it off! But he’s also taken to shaving his whole body, just like you! He’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom these days!”  

Kincaid was smiling brightly at Richard. 

“I didn’t know that,” said Richard untruthfully, while improvising rapidly. “But Bob once asked me why I shave myself. I told him that by doing that I had shaved a couple of minutes off the time it takes me to swim a length at the Goering-Schwimmbad. It reduces water-drag. He probably wants to do the same thing.”  

“Is that right?” said Kincaid. “I daresay he does! Hey! Is that the time? I must be off!” He stood up, grinned at Richard; then put on a straight face, saluted and marched out. 

Richard said nothing, but his mind was working overtime: Well, fuck me five times! Bloody Kincaid is Sherlock-Holmesing again! He suspects something; and he’s right, damn him! Must be more careful! 

It were Franny’s idea that we oughta keep bees, so, in the end, whatever the joke is, it be on Franny more’n on me.

“We need more than what we can grown on this land now that we have another mouth to feed,” she had said. Her sayin’ “we” struck me hard at the time, as it had done ever since I’d asked her pa for her hand over in Pearisburg, where we’d both been at school, she bein’ from the flatland and me from the mountain. She’d gotten herself in a bad way and people were talking about me too, and it seemed the right answer to two problems at the one time. It seemed the right thing for us to take up the old Tolbert place too, abandoned since my Uncle Eddie died two years before that, up Sugar Tree Holler on Sugar Run Mountain. Everything around here seemed to be somethingorother sugar, like you could make somethin’ sweet out of these mountains. I shouda knowed that takin’ on honey bees would be trouble, honey bein’ a form of sugar, as we all know.

“We can talk about it if you be wantin’ more work, Franny,” I said. “I got my hands full adding to the cleared land. But you be right that we need more out of the land than we are gettin’ this growing season. We’re still beholden to family for gettin’ by, and we won’t want to be in that way any longer than he have to.”

I were watching her feed Billy Junior with her tittie, looking at his little screwed up face again, tryin’ not to see the red hair. There was no red hair in the Tolbert family, or Franny’s Gleason family neither, as far as I knowed. I couldn’t see how people couldn’t see it right off. The redheads around in the Blue Ridge Mountain section of Giles County, Virginia, were the Previes. And it had been Jamie Previe who’d been at Franny that fall. Folks should tell how things were right off, I would think. But I guess not, if folks don’t see the baby. That’s why Franny had said yes to comin’ up here in Sugar Tree Holler, high up on the mountain. Franny was a flatland girl by raisin’ and she knowed how flatland folks could gossip and criticize. Mountain folk are more for keepin’ their mouths shut and lettin’ be what be and knowin’ that, in most cases, folks are just getting’ by as best they can.

Still, I could see the red hair every day, and I knowed what was what, and I couldn’t feel a family or a daddy much at all—at least not yet. Franny had said that would come in time. I’d said somethin’ to my pa, Michael Tolbert, about it when he was helping me figure what to do about the rumors—and what were behind them. He told me not to be a fool about it. He tole me to take it as a lesson and to fight the urge and to make peace with it. He’d seen Franny’s problem as a chance for me.

“Make a family,” he’d said. “Forget what else you been up to.”

“Easier to say than to do,” I told him, “under the situation.” He’d been forgiving but not understanding. But in telling me that there was Uncle Eddie’s abandoned spread we could have—the old, original Tolbert place—he’d told me that I was being given a second chance, a second chance not to be a fool. I couldn’t say he were wrong. Somethin’ was tellin’ me, though, that I could maybe deny myself if I tried real hard and temptation didn’t come my way, but was I bein’ fair to Franny? Could I ever be enough for her? Would she ever be enough for me?

“She’ll have the baby,” pa had said. “She’ll be a damn sight better with a Tolbert than lettin’ those Previes take the child.” I couldn’t say he was wrong about that either—or that I should expect better from him in understandin’. Some pas would have taken me out in the woods and shot me fer bein’ unnatural. And nobody on the mountain would have blamed him.

“Bees don’t take much care,” Franny had said. “All you need do is make boxes; I’ll take care of the bees. Two boxes. I got the directions for that. I already put in an order down at the general store in Thessalia when I met my folks down there for them to give us staples to tide us over.”

“You’ve already put in an order?” I asked. “For what?”

“I asked that the bee man bring us bees for the first hive. Will Lambert down at the store told me we should make two boxes, but only put one out. The bee man would bring bees when he got around to us for the first box. We’re not to put the second box out until that one fills with comb. Then the bee man will bring us another colony. And so on. One box will meet our own needs. If we can fill more, we can be making cash money off it. Will told me what to do to bottle comb what’s above our own needs and that we can bring it down to him to sell.”

“We can bring honey down to Will to sell in Thessalia?” I guess Franny didn’t know. She knew I married her out of more than the goodness of my heart, but she didn’t know it all. She didn’t know that I wouldn’t want to be goin’ to Will Lambert down at the Thessalia general store for anything. And the bee man. “What bee man would this be?” I asked.

“Why Honey Tom,” she answered, all innocent and unknowing. “It’s already done. He’ll be bringing bees in another couple of weeks, Will says. We need a box by then. You best make two off the bat. We won’t know how fast the first swarm will fill a box with comb.”

I couldn’t look at her direct. She weren’t in the know of it. It weren’t her fault. But it were her doin’ if the temptation of it got to me. She’d be the fool of the piece. She will have done fooled herself.

“I might be out working the field when he comes,” I said, lookin’ out of the window of the two-over-two wood house my grandpappy had built with his own hands, with the help of a few neighbors. There weren’t many around here close enough to call neighbors anymore, not that there ever were. The black hermit, Rufus Jefferson, up beyond the Sugar Holler pools at the top of the holler were the nearest neighbor, I guess. But I ain’t seed him for years. After Uncle Eddie passed on, I hadn’t come up here at all—not until we needed to hide our shame and from the gossips, Franny and me both. “You might be the only one here at the house when Honey Tom comes in with a swarm.”

“That would be OK with me,” Franny said. “I do hope it’s soon, though. The directions for the boxes are over there on your grandfather’s desk. Sooner is better to build them than later, I think, Billy Ray.”

“I’ll get right on that,” I answered. “And then I’ll go look for someplace to put down the boxes.”

“In sight of the house, I think, but not too near that we’ll worry about getting stung when we’re workin’ in the yard. Will said in a cleared area of milkweed, dandelions, clover, and goldenrod—that’s what they like to gather from, he says. As much as they can have near if we want them to fill the box fast.”

“I guess up at the top of the meadow, by the sycamore stand, will do,” I said. “Just be knowin’ that I can’t stand around waitin’ for Honey Tom to show up. I’ll probably be off in the field when he comes and goes. He comes and goes as he likes—and does what he likes too. Always has.”

“He’s a wild man for sure,” Franny said. “But he’s a fine looking man too, a golden man, a man standing in the sunshine. Half the ladies up the mountain swarm over him no different than those bees of his do.”

“That they do,” I said, “that there’s a fact.” And some of the men too, was my thought—but no way in hell I was gonna say that. I decided there and then that I damn well would make sure I were off in the field and would miss him comin’ and goin’. ’Stead of fightin’ her on this and makin’ her curious, I picked up the paper Franny had writ the directions for the bee boxes on and went out to the wood shed to get to work on them boxes.

* * * *

It were the last day of June and it were hotter than normal for this day. I’d been weeding in the new field south of the house all morning and was right tired and hotter than blazes. Franny was down on the flatland at Staffordsville, with her kin, sayin’ it were just too hot and close up here in the holler for her and the baby. I didn’t expect her back in the pickup before sundown.

It were too hot to work and nobody were there to say otherwise, so I took myself off to the pools up at the top of the holler. This was where we came, whenever the season allowed, to do our bathin’. The stream that came down near the house came from a spring up here. When the rains were good, as they’d been this year, water ran down the rock walls up there from one pool into the next before it ran out into a steady stream and by our house. The pools were deep and there was room to stretch out and dry on the rocky ledges around them.

I was doin’ that—stretchin’ out on a ledge after bathing in the cool water—and, I admit, I was naked and takin’ care of myself. I did that whenever I come up here alone, as a way to find relief. Franny was of a mind that we could do it—she said she wanted to do it—but I’d been puttin’ that off. That seemed just a might too far of this pretendin’. I supposed we’d have to do it eventually, though. I kept thinkin’ of my pa’s advice to just be normal now—to forget all of that other stuff and foolishness.

Well, I was layin’ there, stretched out, pulling on myself, gettin’ hot and bothered and real big—I was sort of prideful that way, although there were men around who were bigger than me—not that Will Lambert, but Honey Tom, most certain—and comin’ real close to flaring off when I heard rustling in the bushes off the trail leading up to here. Well, I curled into a ball right quick then and looked t’ward where I’d heard the noise comin’ from. There had been something out there, I was sure, but it wasn’t there now.

For some reason the name Rufus stuck in my mind—probably because the only other one living this high up in the holler now was the black hermit, Rufus Jefferson. He had a cabin not more than a mile from here on the rim of the holler, near the top of Sugar Run Mountain. I don’t know what Rufus did to keep himself goin’. He came down to Lambert’s store in Thessalia now and again for supplies, but I never seed him workin’ anywhere down there, and folks gave him a wide berth, as big and hulking as he was—and black. More of a chocolate brown, of course, but a black is a black. I admit when I did see him, it gave me pause, standin’ there and lookin’ at him with a funny feeling coming on me. It probably was because of what I heard about him from one of the men at the mill. At one time he was a trapper, I heard, but I didn’t rightly know if there was a market for skins anymore.

I lay back, but I couldn’t get my mind off Rufus. The last I knew, he was one fine figure of a man—big, massively big, but not fat. Muscular. A man there was once at the mill who asked if I’d ever lain under him or seen the size of him, sayin’ that when I remarked about Honey Tom. I never did, but it got me to thinkin’ ’bout him now and again. Whatever he had been doin’ for a living, he was built strong. Now that I think about it, I think I heard he was doin’ some blacksmithing or at least workin’ with bending iron to how he wanted it. If so, he had the muscles to show for it.

As I thought about him—the chocolate brown of his skin, the size of him, and that muscular torso, as I recalled it, my hand went back to my dick, and I lazily stroked myself off again. This time I went to completion, and then I just laid back and took myself a snooze.

When I woke, it was a good hour past noon. I slapped my canvas shirt over my shoulder, it being too hot to put it on and nobody around to care at me not wearin’ no shirt. I pulled on my worn jeans, noticing that they were getting’ a might small for me and pulled down at the waist until it was almost indecent wearing them. ’Course it might be too that I was toughening up and trimming down more from working the fields than I had down at the lumber mill in Pearisburg in those after-school hours. My chest was expanding and my waist narrowing and my biceps brought Rufus Jefferson back to mind—or Honey Tom, although I didn’t want to be thinkin’ of him. He hadn’t come yet with the bees, and I’d had the box sittin’ up there at the top of the meadow and waitin’ on them for nigh on to three weeks.

But just thinkin’ about him when I’d promised to keep him out of mind is probably what conjured Honey Tom up in the flesh. I’d gotten almost all the way back to the house when I heard whistlin’ and I turned and looked up into the meadow, and there he was. Honey Tom, blond and muscular and wild and untamed and golden looking, was stridin’ out of the tree line near where I’d set out the bee box and into the sunshine, which made him glow. He was carrying a cut from a tree, one with a hollowed-out section in it, and he was carrying it right gingerly. I could tell the hollow had a bee hive in it, because the bees was swarming all around him and buzzin’ something fierce. He was walking steady like, like he knew exactly what he was doin’ and could get away with it with them bees—and he was, in fact, doin’ that. The bees was all over him—in his tossed blond curls and his close-cropped beard and crawlin’ all up his naked, tanned, and muscular torso. But nary a one was stinging him. It was like they knowed he was taking them to a better home than where he’d found them. Everyone said it was a gift he had, and I guess it was, because that’s what he’d become—a honey man.

The gift weren’t just with bees either, I could tell a person. He had a way of calming a person and getting them to go where he wanted them to be and doing what he wanted them to do.

Even though he didn’t look my way at first, he knowed I was here, stopped in my tracks near the house, just in my low-riding jeans. I had the thought that I should pull my shirt off my shoulder and put it on and cover myself. I knew how he sometimes before got when he saw me all naked. But I was mesmerized in watching him get that there tree section put nicely into the box I’d built and settling those bees—all without getting stung. Then he looked my way, and Honey Tom were watchin’ me more than he were watchin’ what he was doin’ in putting those bees to bed. It was like he could do the bee work in his sleep, and he probably could. But it gave me chills that he was watchin’ me while he worked—giving me more attention than he were giving them bees.

He didn’t call out or nothing, but I knowed from the way he were looking at me that he wanted me to come to him. So I did. When I got there, he put a hand on the small of my back and said, “Billy Ray.”

I answered with a “Honey Tom.”

It took no more than that to bring us back together as before. Even with all the changes—me marryin’, Franny having what was called our baby, the move up the mountain to here—all he’d needed to do was come out of that there tree line, will me to come to him, and, when I did, say my name, and I would let him do what he wanted to me. He did say my name, and then he did do it all to me.

“I brought you your bees. When you see hive through the slit near the top of the box, you put out another box and I’ll bring you more. They get confused if they have more than one choice of box unless another colony is in the other box.”

“How will we let you know that—?” I said, my voice shaky—not because of the bees buzzing around us both but because of that hand he had palmed on the small of my back—on the flesh of my spine, running fingers below the dip in my waistband at my butt. He had the tip of a finger on the rim of my asshole and I couldn’t think of nothin’ but it pushin’ inside me—and when he’d get to doin’ that.

“I will know when to come,” he said. “Now—”

“I meant for Franny to be here when you came,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be here to meet you. This was Franny’s idea and arrangement. This weren’t my doing. Franny’s—”

“Franny’s down at her folks in Staffordsville till at least dark, I know,” he said.

I didn’t ask how he knew. I didn’t want to follow that line of discussion.

“I don’t know what we owe you for this or when we can pay you,” I said.

“You know what I want in payment,” he said, and his finger did push inside me then, and the heel of his hand was pressing on my back, turning me toward the house, showing me what was next.

“You know we can’t, Honey Tom. That ship has sailed. I’m a married man now. No more of that foolishness for me.”

“You say that, but your body tells me different,” Honey Tom said. His other hand was on my crotch, feeling me up, finding me hard. Hard for him. “We can sail that ship again anytime I come here and have the notion. Come on down to the house with me.”

And so I did. I didn’t see no other choice. I didn’t see no other choice from the first time Franny said Honey Tom would be coming up here on the mountain to us. Seems my mind and body couldn’t agree on wantin’ the choice or not.

I knelt between his spread thighs as he sat on the corncob mattress in the bed Franny and the baby slept in. I slept on a pallet in the other room upstairs. The light in the room was splotchy, bright on the floor where the windows let the sun in, but dim over here by the bed. His dick tasted sweet, the first of the essence coming out of it as I sucked it even sweeter. That’s what I’d remembered the most about Honey Tom—the sweet taste of his dick, leaving the idea that that was what he mostly ate—the honey that he dealt in. As I sucked him, he leaned over my back, his fingers pushing under the waistband of my jeans in back again and reaching all the way to my hole—entering me and opening me to him, rubbing on that nub there inside that made my juices rise.

When he wanted it, he pulled me up, upending me, till I were streaming down between his legs to my head bein’ on the floor, lookin’ up the line of my trembling body at him, my arms above my head, fingernails clawin’ at rough floorboards. My legs were bent on either side of his torso, feet pushin’ into the mattress, as he held my crotch up to his face by cupping and spreading my ass cheeks, the smooth blondness of his beard tickling my tender ass flesh, and, taking his time as he pleased, he done everything he wanted to do with my dick, balls, and asshole with his mouth.

When I were moaning and beggin’ for everything, wantin’ and needin’ his dicking, he done everything with me, givin’ me the dick, deep. Pushin’ in hard, stretchin’, and puttin’ me full of both pain and pleasure, the first time with me upended that way, body arching back t’ward the floorboards. Him grabbing me at the waist and pullin’ me on and off the dick, on and off the dick, on and off the dick. Diggin’ deeper, throbbing thicker, and me bein’ wild, cryin’ because of the pain and filling of it, but cryin’ out for it like I was possessed, like he couldn’t dig deep enough, couldn’t fill out thick enough inside me. As always before I gave him all he wanted of me, and were beggin’ for more. And he took more and then took more again.

“Remember this, Billy Ray?” he muttered.

“Shit yes, I remember it all,” I cried out.

“You been missin’ this, Billy Ray?”

“Fuck, yes, don’t stop. Give it to me hard, Honey Tom!”

Plowin’ me hard, deep, long, lickety-split fast, then slow, then fast again. The two of us workin’ together as one, groanin’, gruntin’, rutting animals of the wild. No, after him getting’ goin’ good, like angels dancing on the clouds, golden Honey Tom the angel Gabriel, playin’ me like a harp. Me singin’ with the angels, releasing my seed with a cry of passion, “Fuck! Shit yes!” Honey Tom goin’ so deep inside me with a growl deep in his throat and then a long, drawn-out sigh as he flowed in spurts.

Fuckin’ me real good.

“You are the sweetest lay,” Honey Tom murmured when he stopped jerking jism out and his muscles relaxed into a calmness.

It weren’t true that what I remembered most about Honey Tom was the sweet taste of his dick. What I remember most is that he had the biggest, longest, thickest dick I’d ever taken inside me before. And he put it to me directly, makin’ no bones nor nicety ’bout it. And I just lay back there on Franny’s corncob mattress when he done me the second time and spread and bent my legs for him and moaned as he slid it all inside me, me all open to him this time. Like we’d done this forever and were meant to be doin’ it for that long. He held there deep inside me until I begged him to do it to me. And then he started his hips moving and he did it to me, and did it to me, and did it to me.

We dozed a might and I woke to knowing that Honey Tom had the need again. He were hard and he were pulling on my dick, which were what woke me.

“You are one sweet lay, Billy Ray Tolbert,” he whispered to me, like he couldn’t say it enough. “You always was. You take it better than any lad on the mountain. This is your nature. This is what you were put on earth for—to give men the pleasure of putting it in you. You can set up family up here in the nowhere holler—that be very nice—but don’t you go denying your calling.”

“My pappy says it’s for a fool—to be drawn to it. ‘Don’t you go bein’ no fool no more,’ he tells me.”

“How do you feel with it inside you, deep in your sweet passage? Do you feel like a fool when I put it inside you, deep?”

“You know how I feel, Honey Tom. I feel like the most golden man on earth wants me, and I feel like one with him when he’s inside me. You gonna put it to me again? You done me for hours, it seems like.”

“You’re gonna put it to yourself, Billy Ray Tolbert. You’re gonna declare it as your nature—something natural for you that you won’t fight. You get that sweet body of yours on top of me now. Fuck yourself silly.”

I did as he demanded, him turning onto his back, his hands helping me get settled on his shaft, me swinging a leg over his hips and laying my palms on his chest as he held himself in position. With a big sigh and a groan, I came down on him, taking him all the way inside me, hard and thick and throbbing. Me being measured to size of him now, sliding down easy on the dick with the help of the honey cum he’d put inside me earlier—and then put inside me again and again.

I rose and fell on the staff, taking him deep, with him workin’ my dick with one hand and rolling and squeezing my balls with the other. When I had released on his flat belly, he took over the fuck. He grabbed my hips ’tween his hands and slammed me up and down on his cock, with me writhing on top of him, leaning back against his raised thighs, his feet flat on the mattress, pushing off his feet to thrust hard up inside me. Again he gave me a blast of his honey and we both collapsed, me on top of him, both of us breathing hard and sighing deeply.

“Woowie, you was hungry for it, Billy Ray,” he murmured in my ear.

“It’s been so long, Honey Tom. So long since I been laid out good like that. I tried to put it behind me. I surely did.”

“It don’t need to be that long. This is your nature. This is what you was meant for, Billy Ray Tolbert,” he murmured. “To bring pleasure to men like this. If it makes you a fool, as your pappy says it do, why then be the best fool in Giles County. Just don’t go on foolin’ yourself by trying to deny who you are and what you want and need.”

The sunlight through the windows had dimmed and moved together until both slices of light was picking us out—Honey Tom and me—on Franny’s bed before he was finished moving inside me. He had seeded me again and again, and I had laid there and taken it and asked for more, moving from gripping his buttocks to hold him inside me as he convulsed and released his seed, to digging my fingernails into his shoulder blades as he dug deep and fast inside me. I were filled to the brim with his honey and humming for it.

He left, whistling, before dark, not long before I heard the motor of the pickup returning. It was like Honey Tom was in tune with the whole world in ways that others were not. He knew when to come. He knew I would lay down for him. He knew how to work my body up to beggin’ for him. He knew when to come inside me. And he knew when to leave.

I walked to the door of the house, naked, and watched him melt back into the tree line.

As he passed by me in the doorway, he turned and gave me a kiss on the lips. He tasted of clover-fed honey, which were natural, but I said what needed to be sayin’. “That’s got to be the end of it, Honey Tom. Give some warning next time when you come and I’ll be away in the field. That were nice, it were, but I got to stop playin’ the fool.”

He gave me a knowing little smile and said, “I’ll be back, and you’ll be here for me when I come.”

I lowered my head at that, not wanting him to look into my eyes—into my soul. After he’d disappeared into the trees, and as I turned to enter the house and to fix up the signs of Franny’s bed having been used, a bee stung me on the ass. He had left me something to remember him by.

I should have been satisfied, completed. But I wasn’t. I was keyed up. I hadn’t had it since before Franny and I had gotten married. It was like Honey Tom had pulled me back into the need for it after I had dulled my senses and needed nothing more than to pull on myself for my own release. Now I needed more. I had got some. Honey Tom had fucked me for more than an hour and had tired me out for then—but he’d keyed me up for now, when Franny was back home, all smiles because of her time with her family.

“Put the baby in the cradle tonight, not in the bed,” I whispered to her as she was preparing Billy Junior for the night. She turned to me with a questioning look, but when I ran my fingers into her hair and brought her face close to mine, she was as much into the kiss as I was—our first kiss since the one we done during the ceremony because those watching expected it of us.

“You must have missed me today,” she murmured after we kissed. She was smiling. She’d been sayin’ that she wanted this—that we might as well, since we was married.

“I did. I missed you in the worst way,” I answered, almost choking on the words. I hadn’t meant it as some sort of joke, but I knew it had a meaning that she wouldn’t know—or, probably, appreciate.

But then maybe she would have, because she certainly showed that she appreciated me coming to her bed, to the mattress stuffed with corn cobs, for the first time. And that I covered and fucked her for the first time as well. And then, before the light of day, fucked her again.

I didn’t tell Franny about the bee sting or tend to it myself—I could not have reached it and I could not explain to her how I would have been bare assed to be stung there. It did bother me as I fucked her, but I think it also helped me through the awkwardness of fucking a woman—feeling the sting kept me thinking of moving with Honey Tom in a fuck and I could fantasize about him doing me while I were moving on top of and inside Franny in the dark. So much did I feel the presence of Honey Tom in the fuck—and, I don’t know, his approval and encouragement, I guess—that I imagined I felt him next to us, his hand on the small of my back, pushing me forward when I was thrustin’ inside Franny.

“That’s it. That’s it. Oh, Sweet Jezzusss, I think you done it, Billy Ray,” Franny cried out as I let loose inside her and she dug her fingernails into my shoulder blades.

* * * *

Our daughter—our daughter, not Franny’s and someone else’s daughter—was born in the early morning of April 1st. I’d managed to get Franny down to Staffordsville in time—and to her people—to help Franny in the birthing. God knows there twern’t nothin’ I coulda done to help her with that up there in Sugar Tree Holler. Billy Junior was down there as well. It were a long night, and, after the birthing, I came on home, as there were planting to do and I’d noted that the top of the bee box was bein’ lifted up by the overflow of the hive. I’d put the second box out and, after I’d had a rest, was fixin’ to go down to Thessalia to ask Will Lambert at the store to let Honey Tom know we was ready for another swarm of bees. I hadn’t wanted to eyeball Will direct in case the old yearnings hit, but there wasn’t any way out of it. Franny weren’t gonna be goin’ anywhere anytime soon, not while she was being tied down with two younguns. I’d go back in four days to get Franny and our little ones—our boy and girl—to bring them back home.

As I pulled into the yard in the pickup, though, there, comin’ outa the trees up by the bee boxes, gingerly carrying a hollowed out section of tree and with bees swarming all over his head and bare torso, was Honey Tom. Just as he said he would, he knew when we’d be ready for another hive.

He also knew when Franny wouldn’t be home.

I was exhausted from the panicked ride down the mountain and the hours of fretting as Franny was giving birth. There was nothing more I wanted than a cold beer from the house and to fall into the sack. Instead, I got out of the truck and walked to Honey Tom and stood there, submissively, beside him, as he settled the new bees in the second box. ’Course I went hard for him, and ’course, he knowed I was hard for him.

After he bedded the bees, he turned to me, put a hand on the small of my back, and pulled me into him. He kissed me, all out in the open like that, and I returned the kiss, hungrily.

“Come into the house with me,” I murmured, in resignation and want, not bein’ able to help myself from being a fool for him.

“Walk up to the pools with me,” he said. His hand on the small of my back guided me which way he wanted me to go, and I found we was walking up the path in woods, to the top of the Sugar Tree Holler, where the spring-fed pools was, the water falling from one rock-carved pool to the next lower one, on the stream’s way down past the house.

We weren’t alone when we got to the pool. I could hear him hummin’ and movin’ around in the pool as we approached—Rufus Jefferson, the big black hermit who lived in the log cabin up here abouts.

“Maybe we should go back down to the house,” I said, as we drew near. “Someone’s already at the pool.”

“I know,” Honey Tom said. “It’s Rufus, who lives up here. I told him to meet us here. Rufus takes pleasure in men too. Me and Rufus are gonna do you together.”

And so they did.

Upon hearing us approach, Rufus rose up out of the pool water, naked, all chocolate brown and hard bodied—and with a big ole erect thick and long cock, a cock to rival Honey Tom’s and any man’s in Giles County, and a big ole grin on his face. I couldn’t stop myself from stoppin’ and lookin’ and shudderin’. He were chocolate brown across his big, muscular body, exceptin’ that for his dick and balls. They was black, black, black, and huge. He were hard and standin’ proud, the head of his dick pushed out all pinkish and purplish. I started to tremblin’ then and there, knowin’ that he were gonna put that black snake inside me.

With a moan, I turned, thinkin’ of getting’ away, goin’ on down the mountain as fast as I could move my bare feet. But Honey Tom held me fast and then pushed me to my knees, holding me fast, as Rufus took up his place in front of me and held my head as I took that old black snake of his in my throat. He tasted tangy, not honey sweet, like Honey Tom did, but I moaned a moan of want for him as I took it all inside my mouth.

They lay me out on my back on a rock ledge hangin’ over the pool, Honey Tom saddled over my chest and me sucking his sweet-tasting dick and Rufus crouched in the pool between my spread thighs, sucking on my dick until he wanted more and stood up in the pool, hooked my ankles on his shoulders, fed that big ole black snake of his inside me, and fucked me good. I didn’t fight him any; I bucked against him in rhythm to his thrusts as I got all het up in the dicking. After Rufus done plowed me good, Honey Tom turned me on my belly and stood where Rufus had been and fucked me with his big shaft while Rufus sat, legs folded under him at my head, with my head in his lap, and his dick down my throat.

Through it all, I was cooperative and willing and giving them anything they wanted—and they wanted it all. I wanted it all done to me, and they obliged. They did it all but one thing—one thing I kept thinkin’ of them doin’ since there were two of them at me up here.

That big black cock really did me. Rufus filled me to full stretch and he knew just what to do to get my wall muscles to shimmerin’ and clutchin’ at the thick black snake, making love to it as it made love to me—and filled me with its cum, the tangy taste of it mixing with the sweet honey of Honey Tom’s seed inside me, creating a rich slick for the men to take turns slip slidin’ away inside me, me jacking off nearly as often as they done together. Completely drained, fully satisfied, moaning for them and clutching at their asses and their shoulder blades, beggin’ them to do it again.

There for some minutes, I thought as how they’d really do me together—that other thing I’d been thinkin’ about—both pushing inside me at once, but they didn’t do that then. They saved that for later, in Rufus’s cabin, when I was a full slave to them, opened up to them completely, and wantin’ everythin’ they could do to a man.

“You are such a little whore,” Honey Tom said, with a laugh, and that I couldn’t deny.

Afterward, Honey Tom said, “I know you’ll be wanting it more often than I can come by and give it to you. That’s why I talked it over with Rufus here. You can have as much as you want from Rufus—and from me when I’m here. You can have whatever you want, as much as you want. We are going up to Rufus’s cabin now, where we are gonna do you again—and again. You can stay as long as you want. Forever, if you want. As long as you stay, though, you will be a slave to Rufus’s cock, and mine when I am there.”

He was good to his word. They held me there in Rufus’s cabin for the next two days, doin’ me in turn—in all positions and all places: In Rufus’s bed, on the cabin floor, on his eating table, and bent over the railing on his front porch. And then, as I had been thinkin’ as soon as they was two, workin’ on me in the pools, they did me together, havin’ theyselves a Billy Ray sandwich. And I liked it that way too.

I loved it all. Honey Tom had been right. I had been made for this—to serve the pleasure of men, and both Honey Tom and Rufus knew how to give pleasure as well as how to take it.

Increasingly as time went by, though, the words of my pa rang in my ears those first days of April, while I was stretched out up here in Rufus’s cabin on my back with my legs open and Honey Tom lying on me, working his dick inside me, and then Rufus at me, stretching my passage with his big black dick, and then Honey Tom inside me . . . and then me between them, Rufus at my back, Honey Tom at my front, both of them sticking it inside me together, all of us gruntin’ at the effort and strain of it. I heard my pa sayin’ I would just be a fool to abandon what had been given me to pursue fleeting, sinful pleasure—to be used by other men’s lust. What I could give a man and be to a man would only be for a few years, while I was young and supple, and good-lookin’. Family, with a grateful wife and children to blossom into grandchildren, and so forth, down through the ages would be a forever pleasure.

On the morning of the third day, I got up sore from the bed, pulling myself out of the entangling arms of a hunk of a man on either side of me. Honey Tom woke up and smiled at me. Rufus continued to snore. He had been the one to fuck me hardest and longest in the night, and now was enjoyin’ the reward of a deep sleep.

As I was pullin’ my jeans on—the first time in two days, Honey Tom said, “You’re goin’ back down to the house, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Honey Tom, I got to. I took on responsibilities. I can’t be a fool forever.”

“There are ways of having your pie and eating it too, Billy Ray,” he said. “You can have what you have there and here as well. I do believe you’ll find all will be more content if you do—even Franny. You’ll be wantin’ to add hives, and I’ll be bringing bees to you ever once in a while. I’ll know when to come. I’ll know with Franny ain’t here. And you know you’ll lie down for me on those times. But there’s Rufus too. Anytime you need it, you can come to Rufus. Rufus will give it to you good. So, you go on now, and you raise your family. But you get your pleasures otherwise too. It’s in your nature. And it’s in Rufus’s and my natures to want to git inside you when we can and the chance is there. Can’t none of us escape or fight that.”

Then he turned over on his stomach, put an arm over Rufus’s chest, and looked away from me. I didn’t look back as I walked out of the cabin.

* * * *

“You were supposed to come tomorrow,” Franny said when she came out on the porch of her parents’ house, baby held against her shoulder, as I got out of the pickup. “Did you forget the day?”

“I couldn’t stay away from our family a day longer,” I said as I climbed up on the porch and Franny turned her shoulder to give me a good look at the baby. I could see it hadn’t been missed on her that I’d said ‘our family’ rather than ‘your son.’ It might have been the first time I’d done that—made all three of them my family. Nothing that happened on the mountain with Honey Tom and Rufus Jefferson changed what havin’ this baby Franny and me shared meant to me. I was a daddy now in my own right and a husband too. And I were feelin’ I needed to be Billy Junior’s daddy too. I knew he looked up to me as his daddy, and it ’twernt his fault I weren’t his natural pa. Honey Tom had made a point to tell me that I could run my life on two separate tracks and that, in fact, it would be better for everybody if I did.

For a while I’d thought that wouldn’t be fair to Franny. But me and Franny had been sittin’ better with each other after Honey Tom came back and got to me. We’d been havin’ at it off and on too. I were comfortable doin’ it with Franny now. I got hard fine with her now, and the plowin’ of her were easy and pleasurable enough. She sure as hell wanted it whenever I hankered to do it.

We’d created this baby together. Somehow havin’ Honey Tom on the side—and now the offer of Rufus when I needed it that way—had calmed me down and made me more of a family man than before. And if goin’ back with men occasionally made me a fool, like my daddy said it would, at least I was a fool who knew it. Talkin’ about April fools, that would be Franny, not me. She had brought it on—what led to Honey Tom getting his prick inside me again and now Rufus as well. She’s the one who brought Honey Tom back into my life and jammed up my ass. Franny was the one playin’ the trick that she didn’t know were a trick and that bounced back at her. And it more than likely was gonna work out to her benefit anyhow. Better she never know what an April Fool’s joke it had been.

“I can stay the night and we’ll go home tomorrow as planned,” I told her. ‘Home.’ Sayin’ that meant something had changed in our life, and Franny had picked up on that too.

“There’s just the bed I’m in at my parents’ house,” she said, lookin’ at me real hard. I’d been in her bed for fuckin’ off and on since that last day in June when Honey Tom visited and I fucked her after—the night when we probably made this baby, the night she kept sayin’ it happened and did her countin’ of time from—but I hadn’t moved in on her completely. Franny had made clear that I was welcome to, though.

“Well, I figure we need other space for the younguns from now on, so I’ll move to your bed when we get home. I understand we can’t do nothing for a while, but you might—if you want to—tell me when we can.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Fanny said, with a deep smile. “It won’t be long,” she added, holding that smile. Then she went on. “Good thing we’re here. Me and my parents have been talking names for the baby. You have any ideas on that? You get a big vote on that.”

I thought for a minute, and a little mischief came into my head, something April foolish in keeping with the baby having popped out on that date. I bet she’d grow up to be a mischievous little spitfire too. “She were born on the first day of April. How about we name her April? Maybe April Marie. April for havin’ the gumption to come out on April Fool’s day and Marie for your mother. I always liked that name.”

“Sounds like a possibility to me,” Franny said. I could tell she was please that I’d thought of using her momma’s name.

I didn’t care one way or other because I knew I’d call her something else altogether. I knew I’d always be calling her Honey—so’s I wouldn’t forget those two tracks I was on.

“By the way,” I said, as if it had only now come to me and was incidental like, “soons we get back to Sugar Tree Holler, I guess I’ll be goin’ back into makin’ those bee boxes.”

“Oh, somethin’ happen to the spare you made?”

“It ain’t a spare no more. The bee man has been by and brought another swarm. He tells me we have a real good place for raisin’ bees and we can really go into the business—that he could be bringing us new bee swarms as steady as we can put boxes out for them.”

“That sounds good,” Franny said. “With the adding of mouths to feed, it will be good to have a business bringing in money.”

“Oh, and you talked about having an iron fence built to go around your kitchen garden to keep the deer out,” I said, pushing my luck. “I hear tell that black hermit up on the ridge, Rufus Jefferson, is blacksmithing. I reckon I could go up there now and again and get him to do work for us.”

Franny bought that one too. Them two tracks were well on their way.

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I heard the door shut then the footsteps coming along the front of the toilette stalls.  There was a brief pause between each step as he tried the doors.  I had my door cracked and when he tried it he didn’t go any farther.  He pushed the door open and squeezed into the stall.  Sitting on the stool, I was suddenly face to face with his crotch.  It made my heart skip, then pounded.  He didn’t waste any time; he knew why he was there, and he knew why I was there. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back.

Suddenly I recognized him. I didn’t know his name but he was a football player. Godd, what luck!  It was a big school and I didn’t know a lot of people’s names, and I didn’t really follow football, at least not for the plays and the scores.  My only interest in football was the players inside those incredibly tight, sexy pants.  Namely their asses. That was the only reason I went to the games. I didn’t care about his name; I was so overwhelmed that he was there.

I stayed seated.  I liked the view, and I was positioned so I was staring right at his crotch seemed to be the right place to be.  He was wearing old, faded jeans, worn in the right places.  The material covering his crotch was almost threadbare.  He rubbed his hand down over the bulge, digging his thick fingers into the meat. My eyes must’ve sparkled.  He put his hand around the back of my head and pressed my face into the bulge. 

My Godd, I thought, he’s a horse!

He smashed his manhood into my face and I wrapped my arms around his massive thighs.  Suddenly he cupped his hands in my armpits and effortlessly brought me to my feet.  My hard cock pressed against his leg.

“Stand up here,” he said as he lifted me further and stood me on the toilette seat where he was face to face with my quivering cock.

Holy Shit, is he going to suck me?  I was about to faint at the thought of it.

My jeans and shorts were down to my ankles.  He brought my right foot up and slipped off the shoe.  Then the left.  Then he tugged my shorts and jeans off and laid them around behind me on the toilette tank.  I was naked from the waist down, except for my socks.  He stood me down, facing the wall, and lifted my right leg up. That’s when I knew I was going to get fucked.  I didn’t care; sex was the reason I was there, but I was frighteningly curious about the size of his cock.  I wasn’t a virgin, but I was new on the fuck track. 

He undid his jeans and shoved them down.  He wasn’t wearing shorts and his warm, meaty cock pressed against my backside.

“You want this, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.  Godd, yess!” I replied.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t wanta be accused of rape.”

“Even if it is rape, I want it,” I said.

His cock grew rapidly as he rubbed it up and down the crack of my ass.

“Fuck, you’ve got a great ass,” he said.

“Thanks.  It’s all yours,” I said.

“Damn straight.”

He furnished his own lube in the form of spit. He shoved a slick finger in my ass, then added another.  He twisted them around and gouged my ass for a moment then pulled them out and wiped them on the back of my shirt.  Next I felt the heat and bluntness of his cockhead bore between my butt muscles.  I mention bluntness because it felt like the business end of a baseball bat pressing against my hole. I braced myself for the entry and trembled with anticipation; it always excited me to take a new cock and see how it would feel sliding deep in my ass. He clasped his hands tighter around my hipbones and pushed. I felt my asshole giving way and the next instant he was in me.

“UUhhnnn,” I moaned softly.  He didn’t pause to let me get used to it; he shoved deeper, till he was all the way in me.  I didn’t care that much about the pain either.  I’d learned that it was part of getting fucked, and it was always fleeting.  He held in deep for a moment then started fucking me.

“OOhhnnnn,” I moaned again.

“Yeah, you like it don’t you? You like my big cock stretching your tight little ass.”

“Yess!” I hissed. 

“So do I.  Fuck, dude, you’re better than pussy.”

“I’m glad,” I said. “Does that mean you’re gonna sign off girls?”

“Naw, that’d ruin my reputation.”

He was good; he knew his way around a fuck-hole, no matter if it was male or female. I tried to keep quiet but I couldn’t stifle the groans of pleasure. He was plowing me good when there was a light tapping on the door; I hadn’t heard anyone else come in.

“Hey, what’s going on in there?”

“There’s a guy getting fucked,” the jock replied over his shoulder.

“Can I have him when you’re done?”

The jock smacked me on the ass and asked me, “You want another cock when I’m finished?”

“Yessss!” I hissed through clenched teeth.

“He says yeah.”

“Okay, let me in.”

The jock reached back and unlocked the door and the other guy came in.

“Hey, Bro.”

“Hey Dude.”

They knocked fists with without my guy missing a stroke. I glanced back to see the newcomer.  Oh, Godd……it was Troy Adams; the all-star rugby player!  And he was in his rugby kit!  I had wet dreams about him; about those massive thighs locked around my head while he fucked my throat.  Suddenly I wished for the football player to finish so Troy could take his place.

Meanwhile, Troy stood to the side, leaning against the wall, watching his fellow jock fuck my ass. 

“You’ve got some moves there, Bro,” he observed.

“Like you don’t.”

“A guy can always learn,” Troy mused.

“Yeah, from you.”

I caught glimpses of Troy groping the front of his rugby shorts.

“Show me what you’ve got,” the football player said.

“Sure.”  I looked around again as Troy shoved the front of his shorts down and tucked the waistband under his balls. 

“Holy shit!” the football player said.  Troy chuckled.

I nearly fainted myself.  He was hung like the proverbial horse. I’d never seen anything like. He was fluffed up, sort of soft rubber, from the groping, offering a glimpse of his potential. There was a long moment of quiet, except for the soft smack-smack-smack of the football players smacking against my butt.

“Can you keep a secret?” the football player asked.

“Yeah.”

“On your mother’s grave.”

“My mother’s not dead,” Troy said.

“Just swear it.”

“What am I swearing to?”

“Just swear it; I’ll show you.”

“I swear it; whatever happens in this stall stays in this stall,” Troy said.

“Climb up here, stand on the toilette seat.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.  Facing me.”

It was a tight, awkward fit but the hefty, muscular rugby player stepped up on the toilette seat facing the other jock.

“Geezuss, man, you’re gonna blow me?” Troy said.

“Damn straight.”

I heard a murmur then as the football player went down on the rugby player.

“Awwww, fuck!” Troy groaned.

It got hot in the booth pretty fast and the sweat was pouring. Suddenly there was another knock on the door.

“Hey.  Open up; let me see.”

“Fuck off,” Troy growled.  Then, “Hey, guys, let’s take this out to my pickup.”

We got presentable and Troy opened the door.  The intruder was standing there.

“Ohh, Geezuss, you guys are hot!”

“Yeah, so we’ve been told.”

“Where’s you going?” the guy asked.

“No place you wanta be.”

“Please, let me come with you.  I’ll do anything,” he pleaded.

The football stopped and turned around.  “You follow us, fuck head; I’ll break you in two.”

“Yes.  Okay.  I won’t.”

We all climbed in Troy’s pickup; a big, Army-green Dodge Ram. I was in the middle. He drove out of town where he turned onto a gravel road. A mile or so down the road he turned into a field and drove along the roadway along the fence line till he came to a clump of trees.  He turned the truck around facing the way we came.

“Okay, you can get out and lean in over the seat,” he told me as he was undoing his fly. While the other two of us got out of the truck, he took off his boots and jeans and then stripped off his shorts.  Then he lay back against the door with his legs spread out, his cock at full staff once again.  He stroked it while I was stripped from the waist down myself, standing on the outside of the truck.  Next thing, I felt the heat of the footballer’s cock against my hole again.  I jutted back and he entered me and started fucking me. I leaned up across the seat between Troy’s massive thighs. He scooted down a little so I could reach his manhood and I began rubbing his legs, feeling the solid muscles.

“Godd, I love your thighs,” I told him.

“Yeah, my thighs and my butt; those are my best assets,” he said.

“What about that?” I asked, nodding to his fist sliding up and down his big, thick cock.

He chuckled and told the football player to stand me up on the running board. He did and I was pushed further across the seat.

“You want these thighs locked around you head, don’t you?” Troy asked, smiling.

“Godd, yes, just don’t get carried away and break my neck.”

“Okay.  Think you can find you way up my legs to my balls?”

I found my way, drawing up further on the seat.  Suddenly the football player gave me a shove so I was sprawled across the seat and he climbed in after me.  On top of me, actually, and resumed plowing my ass.  I nuzzled my face in Troy’s heavy balls.  They drew up as if they recognized me.

“Suck’ em,” he said.

The truck was rocking to the rhythm of the cock thrusting my ass.

“You’re about to blow,” Troy observed

“So….close,” the football groaned.  “So…..fuckin…..close…..aaaahhhh,

man, here it fuckin’ comes!”

I felt his cock explode, spurting hot cum deep inside me. I whimpered around the heavy ball I held in my mouth. Troy must have thought I was going to let it go and he put his hand on my head to keep me in place.

“Don’t stop doing that,” he said.  “Use your tongue some more, lick underneath.  Yeah, like that.  Fuckin’ like that! Ohhh, mannn, it’s getting there…..don’t stop…..suck it, man…..gonna cum…!”  The rest was obliterated in a long, low moan as I felt the powerful surge through the thick vein under his balls. His cock bolted hard as steel and shot out a load of cum that hit the roof of the truck, so hard I heard the thud.  There was another thud, and another, before the trajectory lowered and he the stuff was landing on his chest and stomach and on me. He practically whitewashed us. I was in a state of oblivion till I felt my own nuts tighten up and my asshole tightened like a vise around the football player’s cock.  Then I was coming.  I shot the stuff all over the seat. I released the swollen nut and laid my head on Troy’s thigh, gasping for air.

“Holy shit, it felt like your ass was gonna pull my cock out by the root,” the football player groaned.

“It’d grow back,” Troy joked. Then he squirmed under me and I rose up.  The truck cab reeked of cum.

“Geezuss, I’m gonna have to have this truck fumigated,” he said.

We all separated, climbing out on both sides of the truck.  Troy took a towel from behind the seat and tried to clean the cum off the ceiling while I used my T-shirt to wipe up the mess I made.  But he was right; he was going to have to have the vehicle cleaned professionally.

“What’re you gonna tell ‘em happened, when they get a whiff of cum?  Tell ‘em it’s pussy juice?” I asked him.

“Shit, if I tell ‘em that, those rednecks down at the carwash will lick it clean,” he said.

                                                    The End

 

 

 This is a story about a journalist who is granted a rare, inn-depth interview with a Navy SEAL. The story is fiction. All legal disclaimers apply. If this topic offends you, do not read any further; and ask yourself why you are at this site.  If you are under the age of 18 (21 in some areas) and too young to be reading such material or if you are in a locale or country where it is not legal to read such material then please leave immediately and come back when it is legal for you to do so. We’ll be glad to have you back.          If you meet the criteria then read on, enjoy, and kindly let me know what you think. On the sites that provide for you to rate the stories or leave comments, I value your thoughts and opinion; I would also like to hear from you personally. Personal stories and accounts of your own similar experiences are always welcome.  Contact me at [email protected]. **076 – Interview with a Navy SEAL 

                               Interview with a Navy SEAL

 

The bar was dimly lit and busy. He sat across from me in the booth by the window but the window was frosted over so there wasn’t much light coming in.  He was handsome, as most of these men seem to be; his features dark and weathered which put him in the class of rugged. From his thick, corded neck, his shoulders and chest, and his bared forearms, you knew he was muscular to the bone. Even his face was muscular, and his big hand wrapped around the beer bottle looked lethal.

He had agreed to meet with me and talk under the condition that no notes were taken and he would not be taped. I agreed.  I would have agreed to anything he demanded to get to talk to him; hell, just to be this close to one of these mysterious, awesome men. So I would record him in my mind and rush to make my notes as soon as the interview ended.

“You’re a Navy SEAL. Why do you do it?”

“Because I can.”

“There are a lot guys out there who can,” I said.

He corrected me. “No, not a lot. Some, but not a lot.”

“It still begs the question. Why? When you come in from a mission you look like hell.”

“Most of the missions are hell. Otherwise they wouldn’t send in the SEALs.”

“You come in dog tired, wet, dirty yet there’s still a look about you, like right now. I can’t quite put my finger on it…it’s like a look of contentment, almost satisfaction.”

“I don’t know about contentment. I’m happy in my skin, if that’s what you mean. But there is satisfaction that we got the job done.”

“And determination. There’s that look of steely eyed determination, and that’s AFTER the mission is completed. It’s the same look as when you go out,” I said.

“That’s always there. You lose that, you don’t get the job done.”

“You come back from facing unthinkable dangers, stalking the enemy, killing the enemy, I have to presume blood on your knife, blood and grime on your hands; how do you put that behind you?”

“When you get done with this interview, how will you put it behind you?” he asked.

“There’s a vast difference between what you do and what I do,” I said.  “I never thought it something I needed to put behind me. It’s an interview. It’s my job.  But you…..”

“Exactly, it’s your job,” he said.

“So it’s just a job to you.”

“We’re both doing what we were trained to do,” he said.

“So you’re back, you’ll have a hot shower, a hot meal, a good night’s sleep….how do you relax?”

“Well, that’s not quite the right order,” he said with his square jaw set       and a tight trace of a smile. “First I’ll get my gear squared away, ready for the next mission.  Then a hot shower and a hot meal.”

“Can’t the gear wait?”

“No. Your gear has to be squared away at all times, ready for the next mission, which could easily come even before I get my hot shower and chow. There’s no guarantee that I’ll even get any down time. I’m screwed if I neglect my gear.”

“Fair enough. So you get your gear squared away and then a shower and chow, hopefully. Then how do you relax?”

“Well, there’s one thing that’s almost certain….the good night’s sleep will come later.”

“From that smile that you’re determined not to let happen, I think I know what you’re telling me.”

“I think you do too. But do you want that in your interview?”

“Yes, of course. Where do you go? What do you do to wind down?  This is the put-it-behind-you part.  What do you SEALs do to put it behind you and be ready for the next mission?”

“We don’t always have the chance to put it behind us before the next mission, but if we do……”

“Yes, what if you do?  Where do you go?  Who do you see?”

“Some see their families.  Most don’t.  Most don’t have any family close by.”

“Do you?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then the question’s yours.”

“I won’t bring it to a personal level, not about me or anybody I know.”

“In general, then,” I said.  “I don’t understand why you’re dancing around the issue, but I’m going to venture a guess. You hang out with your buddies either at a bar or at someone’s pad; you get drunk and/or get laid.  That pretty much sum it up?”

“In general terms,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I said.

“Do you want to venture another guess?” he asked.

“There’s the time away from your buddies.  Time that none of you talk about. Not even to each other.”

“Alright,” he said, nodding.

“So you’re admitting it,” I said.

“I’m not denying it.”

“You don’t even talk about it with the guys you’re with,” I said.

“So why would you think I would talk about it with anyone else, like yourself?”

“Because I asked; your buddies wouldn’t ask….and you really would like to talk about it.”  I paused.  “So, where do you go these times; who do you meet?”

“The place….places…..will remain nameless, as will the men.”

“All in general terms, like you said.”

“The guys are men who understand,” he began. 

“Because they’ve been there and done that,” I added.

“They know the pent-up emotions. They know the body’s demand for release. And getting drunk doesn’t do a thing to release those pent-up emotions.  Getting drunk only buries them for a while; they’re still there when you sober up.  It takes an explosion….”

“I think I know what you’re trying to say.  But you’re still not saying it.  Would you like to give me an example….something explicit?  Could you do that, without revealing what you’re so desperately trying to conceal?”

He thought for a moment then said, “Two come to mind.”

“Good.”  We paused again, while I waited and he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“It’s not something I’ve ever talked about,” he said.  

 

“Take your time,” I said.

“There was this one time….we’d just gotten in from a mission.  We were in some God-forsaken place….a jungle.  It was drizzling rain. We were dirty and sweaty so the rain felt good on our bare skin; we’d taken off our shirts for the rain.  We got back to our encampment, which was more or less permanent. It wasn’t built for us but it was abandoned and we’d taken it over.  There were wooden structures, like picnic shelters, with heavy canvas wrapped around them. There were four of them plus a large wooden platform in the center that was used for PT so we didn’t have to slosh around in the mud. One of the four structures was the chow hall and kitchen, such as it was. Another bore a resemblance to a hospital room. The other two were barren of anything that might identify their use so we took them as our barracks.  There was also a shower rigged up in a clump of trees that resembled one of those water towers they used to have along the railroad tracks. Primitive, but it bore some semblance to civilization there in the ass end of nowhere.”  

“Like I said, we’d come in from a mission, tired and dirty and sweaty, in need of a shower, hot food and sleep.”

“After you get your gear squared away,” I said.

“That’s a given,” he said. “Hot food wasn’t going to happen but that left us two out of three. Me and another guy took one of the open-air hooches; the other three guys took the other one. We were shedding our gear when Rod, I’ll call him, said, ‘Wish somebody would tell me why this always leaves me so fuckin’ boned up.’”

“I laughed.  It was the first time I’d heard him say something like that. I told him maybe it was because he was just naturally horny. He said sometimes he felt like he was going to OD on testosterone, because he always felt such a rush when we get back.  I told him maybe he could find a moss covered knothole. I was joking but he wasn’t laughing.  He was standing there holding his shorts he’d just taken off, ready to toss them in the pile with the rest of his cruddy clothes. I was down to my shorts too, my thumbs in the waistband, about to shove them down.”

“Then he said, ‘Why do we fight it?’  

 

“I didn’t know what he meant. He said he’d seen me crawl in the sack with a full blown boner more than once so he knew that I knew what he was talking about. He was looking at me with a look I’d never seen before.  It unnerved me a little, also something I’d never felt before around him. It unnerved me even more when he came toward me. My eyes took in his massively muscled frame and fell to his equally massive cock.  The guy was hung like a stallion.  I’d never seen him hard but if what he had swinging was any indication, Geezuss; he must tear a woman up.” 

“I didn’t know what to expect.  I wasn’t afraid of him but I sort of braced myself for the unknown.  He came up squarely in front of me and grabbed my shorts and yanked them down before I could grab hold of them and then he grabbed hold of my cock. I thought, what the fuck and asked, ‘What’re you doing? I was afraid the guys in the other hooch would see us. Without a word he let go of my cock and clasped his hand around my hip and wrapped his other arm around my shoulder. I tensed up. He pulled me hard against him so he was right in my face.  I could smell his sweet breath from the gum he’d stuffed in his mouth on the way back from the mission. We never used gum or mints or even deodorant on a mission because it could be smelled by the enemy so he smelled simply like a man. He moved his hand up from my shoulder, around the back of my neck and he pulled me in closer, smashing my mouth on his own.  Christ, he was kissing me!! Geezusss, what if the other guys could see!  His other hand took hold of my cock again, squeezing and pulling on it.”

“I resisted but my efforts weren’t enough.  He had arms the size of my thighs and his grip was like a vise.  He forced me into the kiss. I still resisted but only in my head. I was horrified at the little eddies of pleasure coursing through me.  When he tried to force his tongue in my mouth, I set my hands against his thick shoulders to shove him the fuck away but he was a powerhouse and my strength was waning. I fuckin’ moaned.  I relented when his tongue shoved through my lips, so deep in my mouth it was lashing at the opening of my throat.  I let out a squealing whinny; it reminded me of a young mare back on the farm, whinnying when the stallion mounted her, and I wondered what was happening to me.”

“I felt my cock growing in his hand, and felt his hot cock against my thigh, harder than before.  He said, ‘Admit it; you want this as much as I do. We all do, but nobody’s got the balls to admit it.’”

 

“I managed to break away enough to speak and I told him I didn’t want whatever the fuck he had in mind; I wasn’t gay.  He said it had nothing to do with being gay. It was just helping each other out.  I told him I didn’t need any help and if he did, it was at the end of his arm; told him to go jack off. He didn’t like that.  He erupted in a surge of strength and slammed me back against the wall so hard it dazed me and I felt the boards give. Next thing I know, he’s dropped to his knees and he’s taking my cock in his mouth! I gaped down in disbelief at this rugged, massively muscled stud with his mouth wrapped around my thick cock, and he was taking it like he’d done this before.”   

“I wondered about the other three guys in the other hooch. I looked over that way to see Washington, a big colored guy, carrying Salazar over his shoulder out in the downpour.  When I say big, Washington was six-four, 260 pounds and he was all muscle. Guys stopped what they were doing just to watch the big stud walk to the showers, and coming back.  Salazar, on the other hand was little by comparison, a hundred pounds lighter, also dark skinned but he was more olive.  He was some kind of Mediterranean descent.  They were both naked.  Salazar wasn’t showing any kind of resistance.  Wouldn’t have done him any good; Washington had one big arm holding Salazar on his shoulder and there was no getting away.  Washington was often referred to as the black stallion, and for good reason.  He was massive all over.  His cock swung around like a radiator hose, smacking his thighs as he walked.” 

“He carried Salazar out to the wooden platform, like he was going on stage for a performance.  Maybe that’s what he was doing; wanting to show off. He pulled the smaller man off his shoulder so he could stand down but then he picked him up again and Salazar wrapped both legs around his hips and held onto his massive neck.  I watched, rather awed, as the man’s cock rose to the occasion. He reminded me of stallions I’d seen getting hard to breed a mare.  It took about fifteen seconds to get enough blood pumped down there to cause his cock stick straight out, then another three seconds for it to lift higher, towards Salazar’s spread butt.  This wasn’t forced, although Salazar had no chance of getting out of it….but he reached around and took hold of Washington’s cock and guided it to his ass.  Then he held onto Washington’s neck and slowly lowered himself onto the massive cock. When he’d impaled himself Washington started fucking him.  He fucked the poor guy to a frazzle.  He was literally like a rag doll in the man’s hands. It was the hottest sex I’d ever seen, then and since.” 

 

“You said there were two times,” I said. “Wanta tell me about the other time?” I asked, hoping it was like the first story.

“It was, uh…..a group thing.  Oh, first, we found out later that the guys in the other hooch had a three-way.”

“Was it just that one time with you and……I forgot his name,” I said.

“No.  No, it wasn’t.  But we’ll leave it there,” he said.

I didn’t press him.  “So what about the group thing?  You all five got together after that?”

“No, not the five of us.  It was another group. We met up in an old abandoned barracks that was used only for training missions. They were old WWII barracks, located way at the back of the base; no traffic or anything. It was pretty overgrown back there. We were up on the second floor. There were no lights, just candles set around so we could see to find our way around. The windows were covered with blankets. There was a bunch of us….I don’t know, eight or ten guys. SEALs and a couple of Marines they invited. Everybody pitched in for the beer.  I was relatively new, just finding out about the subculture that flourished in a special few of the units. I was surprised to learn that it was a strip down, grope and play party.  If the brass would just let women come on the base….that’s what everybody said; the excuse they used as justification. But they were awfully comfortable with everything.”

“After a few beers, guys were starting cracking jokes…..sex jokes….and getting friendly and then clothes started coming off.  This got my attention like you wouldn’t believe. Some of the friendlier ones were helping each other off with their clothes. I was standing sort of back in the shadows, half hidden beside a wall locker where I was watching this youngish looking guy….a kid, really, in the soft, dim light….standing off closer to the door, like he wanted to be prepared to escape. I thought he might be scared at what he saw happening. I was more curious than scared. I took off my own shirt and hung it on a hook inside the locker. Something made me want to impress the kid, and protect him; rescue him from a fate that was no doubt whirling around in his head.  I moved out of my safe place and moved across and down the aisle where he was standing.  Closer, he seemed to be cowering.”

“I said, ‘Hey’ as I approached him.  He said ‘Hey’ back. He was young all right; still a teenager.  He looked too young to be there; too young even to be in training.  I pointedly asked him if he should be there.  He reared back, a little defensive, and said he was a diver, and he was invited. Anyone that new to training wasn’t normally invited to social functions like this and I told him that.  He told me again….this time sounding irritated….that he was invited.  I backed off a little and told him I was glad he was there; and I was.  He was young and you could see the innocence in his eyes, even in the dim candlelight. I asked if I could take his shirt; warned him that things were going to be heating up.  He seemed surprised but he tugged his T-shirt out of his pants and let me peel it off of him.  I laughed softly and said, ‘I take it all back.  The way you’re put together, I guess you do belong here.’” 

 

”That put him more at ease with me. I patted his stomach…he had abs like steel plating….and asked him if he’d always been built like that. He said he started working out when he was fourteen. I asked, ‘How long ago was that, a year ago?’  “Then I pointedly asked him how old he was. He said seventeen.  I told him I’d never seen a eighteen year old built like he was. He said he wanted to be in shape to get in the SEALs.  I said ‘Well, you did that, but how’d you manage to get assigned right to SEAL training?’  He said his grandfather was friends with a Navy commander who was friends with their congressman. I told him, “Okay, that got you in but it’s not going to get you through BUDS. You know that, don’t you?’  He said not to worry; he would get through BUDS on his own merits.  I moved between the bunks, sat down and patted the mattress.  ‘Sit down, let’s talk.’”

 

“He sat down, putting some safe distance between us. I said, ‘Don’t be afraid, I won’t bite,’ as I reached over and squeezed his leg just above the knee.”

“He glanced to the other side of the room and said, ‘I see what’s going on.’” 

 

“‘And you don’t want to be part of what you see going on?’ I asked.

“He said he didn’t know.”

“I asked him if he’d ever had a blowjob; he said no.  I asked him if he’d ever gotten laid; he said no.  ‘But don’t tell that around; I don’t want anybody knowing I’m still a virgin.’  

 

“I told him okay, it would be between him and me.  He said, “I don’t know if I can trust you.’”  I riled up over that.  ‘Something you better learn hard and fast.  If a SEAL says something, you take him at his word.  You show mistrust….even a hint of it….you’re done.’  He said he was sorry. I told him it was okay this time but not to ever show mistrust of a fellow SEAL. Then I asked him if he wanted to get laid.  He said Hell, yeah, but looked around again and noted that there were no women.  I tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the other end of the barracks, where there was a guy on his back with his legs thrown up high and wide and another guy on top of him, fucking his brains out. He looked and blinked, his mouth dropping open. It was no doubt the shock of his young life.”

“He said, ‘Geez, I didn’t know guys did that.’   I told him, yeah, guys do that.  Then I laid it on the line.  ‘Look, you’re gonna get fucked tonight before you get out of here.  You want me to break you in?’” 

“He looked at me like he’d seen a ghost. I mean, I could see him turning pale in the dim light.  ‘No way.  No fuckin’ way,” he said.  I said, ‘Way.  And more ways than one. You were invited for a reason.  No way out of it.’”  

“I didn’t know if he was going to cry or try to run. I was ready to stop him if he tried.  I told him, ‘I’ll be easy with you. And it won’t be one-sided.  You can fuck me, too.  In fact, you can fuck me first if you want to.’  I heard him swallow.  ‘You would let me….do that?”  He was truly shocked.  I told him sure, I would like for him to.  I was trying to soften him up; make him think about it…..if a stud like me would take it up the ass it couldn’t be so bad, and he would believe he could do it.”

“I told him to stand up and when he did I pulled his shorts down.  His cock popped up like a steel spring.  He was big, and thick and fuck, he wasn’t done growing.  My mouth was watering.  As I reached down to finish taking his shorts off I took his cock in my mouth. He choked on a gasping moan and bit down on the palm of his hand but he couldn’t stifle his ‘Ohhh, Christ!’  that gave me a thrill.  I sucked him for a little bit then released his cock. “How’d that feel?’”

 

“‘Oh, fuck, I can’t even describe it!’”

 

“‘That was a first for you, wasn’t it?’”

 

“‘Yeah.’” 

 

“‘Ready to fuck?’”

 

 ‘Yeah, if….if you are.’” 

 

“‘I was ready when I first saw you.’ I stretched out on the bunk on my stomach and told him to climb on. He was nervous as hell; I liked that.  But he found his way, like any red blooded American boy-Marine. I kept my legs together. He straddled them and poked at my butt till he found the path to bliss. I let him know he was on target by humping back against his cock, then I lay still so he could make penetration.  I winced a little when he pushed through; he had a head on him the size of a baseball.”

“He gushed, ‘Oh, Godd!’ as he sank all the way in.  I let out a little moan myself as I discovered just how big he was.  When he was in he laid across me and that felt good too, all that young muscle pressing and writhing against me, which felt almost as good as his cock inside me. This kid was the total package.  We lay like that for a long moment while his cock throbbed and bucked inside me, getting acquainted with my ass. Then he started fucking me. He was a good fuck.  No, he was a GREAT fuck; far beyond anything I expected from a virgin.  He had some moves. Fucker had me seeing stars a couple of times. He didn’t make me cum, though, but that wasn’t his fault.  I’ve developed staying power and I was trying to hold off, for him as well as me.”

The man squirmed in his seat and I wondered if he had a hardon from telling me his story.

“Did he cum?” I asked the SEAL.

“Did he ever!  The bunk was shaking; I was afraid it might break down under the pounding he was giving me. And I was hanging onto the steel frame for dear life.”

“So, did you fuck him?” I asked.

“Yeah, but after we recuperated.  Couple of times guys came over wanting to join in but I kept him to myself. I mean, when you’ve got something that good you don’t wanta share.”

He sounded like he was finished.  I knew there was more, even besides him fucking the boy, but he wasn’t telling me.  I didn’t press it. It was his story and I was grateful he’d opened up as much as he did.  I told him that.

“There’s more,” I said.  “More besides you fucking him.  But I’m not going to hear it, am I?”

He shook his head no.

“Your eyes are still dancing,” I said.  He smiled and frowned.  “I watched your eyes the whole time you were talking. They danced with excitement, and anticipation to tell me more. They’re still dancing, but now you’re hiding the rest of the story.”

“You’re good at your job,” he said.

“So are you.”

“Just answer me one thing then we’ll bring it to a close.”

“Maybe.  Ask it,” he said.

“He’s still out there, isn’t he, in that safe place where you go. He’s there, waiting for you to come back in.”

“You’re good at your job,” he said again.

 

We both laughed.

“I only wish I was as lucky,” I said.

“Yeah, I am lucky,” he said.

“No, I meant as lucky as him.”

To my dismay, he let it pass.  “What’re you going to do with your story?” he asked.

“Publish it,” I replied.

“You can’t publish what I just told you.”

“No, not the way you told me but there’s still a story there.  But the way you told it, I might publish that on one of the gay sites.  With your permission, if course.”

“Can’t think of anything I said that would give me or anybody away.”

“I’ll let you read it first,” I said.  “One more question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you keep the boy to yourself, or are there other SEALs that see him?”

“Yes, and no.  Every man’s got his quiet place but it’s his and his alone, along with whoever he’s chosen to share that time with him.”

“The chosen….I envy them,” I said.

“It’s the way life is,” he said with a shrug

  

It was time to end it.  “I’ve taken up enough of your time.” I stood and put out my hand.  He did the same.  “Thank you for your service. I know that probably gets old but I’ll add this….I envy your service. I envy your courage. You are a man among men.”

“Now you’re embarrassing me,” he said as we shook hands.

His hand wasn’t that much bigger than mine yet it seemed to dwarf mine. It was muscular….deadly.

“Be embarrassed,” I said.  I stood in a pause.  “For the record…..is there a chance I could ever be in your quiet place?”

He thought for a moment then replied, “I wouldn’t rule it out if we cross paths again.”

The End

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