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CHAPTER 1

Friday nights at Churton were always especially exciting for Marcus Saxby-Cox, the head-boy of the school. At 7:30 each Friday evening, those boys, who had accumulated five demerits, were honour bound to present themselves together with their demerit diaries at the head-boy’s study, where they would, in retribution for their accumulated peccadilloes, be treated to a-no-questions-asked-non-negotiable-six-cut-beating with a rattan cane applied vigorously to their bare arses. Taken individually none of their minor misdemeanours justified a caning, but some long retired Headmaster had decreed that after five infractions, a boy needed a short, sharp shock to put him back onto the straight and narrow path of righteousness from which he was in danger of straying. So had begun the system of demerit diaries and the Friday evening ritual in the head-boy’s study, beating the so-called honour penitents,became one of the traditionally painful fixtures of life at Churton; and with Marcus Saxby-Cox wielding the cane, anyone unlucky enough to be treated to his not-so-tender-loving-care, learned just how painful a six-cut, well-beaten arse could be.

The truly awful thing about the system was that you did not have to get caught breaking the rules by some higher authority or other; once you had accumulated five demerits, you were duty-bound to present yourself, accompanied, of course, by your arse, to the head-boy for correction. Don’t you just love that mealy-mouthed word correction?In reality what was about to happen to you was that you were going to have your bare arse flogged with a cane. And when it came to wielding the cane, it was generally accepted that the present head-boy was a leading exponent the art. So for those boys unfortunate enough to have accumulated the fatidic total of five demerits, their inevitable visit to the head-boy’s study was not one filled with great joy. If, as occasionally happened, you forgot your obligation, either genuinely or otherwise, when your forgetfulnesscame to light, as it usually did, your arse really suffered; the penalty automatically increased threefold – always non-negotiable – to eighteen strokes, moreover with a senior-cane, whatever your age.

Moreover, the tradition was even worse than it appeared at first sight; for each successive set of five demerits, the punishment increased by three strokes. So on the occasion of a third Friday evening visit to the head-boy’s study – a regular occurrence for certain lads – the unfortunate offender was faced with twelve swingeing cuts on the bare. In public school speak, on the bare is shorthand for on the bare buttocks or, as it is more frequently referred to by everyone other than the masters – and even by some of them – on the bare arse. And it got even worse; for on a fourth set of five demerits in any school year – yearand not term – the unfortunate lad was treated by the Headmaster to the ultimate punishment: a bare arse birching. In spite of the progressive severity of penalties, several boys regularly qualified for a twelve cut beating each year; but birchings for a fourth set of demerits were rare and limited to one or two each year. But the birch was there and hung like the Sword of Damocles over the heads of the entire school.

Churton, a boys’ public boarding school, accommodating some 480 boys, aged from thirteen to eighteen plus, was located in large village of the same name, not far from the county town of Hereford. Churton was a very traditional school and the cane was in regular use; too regular by half, in the opinion of many of the boys, whose bare arses were under constant threat of its bite, from a platoon of eighteen prefects under the auspices of the head-boy, six housemasters and the Headmaster himself. To make matters worse, the Headmaster and the six housemasters all still used the dreaded birch, which was considered by most boys to be fate worse than death and to be avoided like the plague. And occasionally – very, very occasionally, the Headmaster had been known to birch a boy and then go on to indulge his artistic talents, not to mention his latent sadism, by giving him another four parallel cuts with the cane, completed by two, additional crossing diagonal cuts across his victims already throbbingly painful arse. No one could ever accuse any of the authorised cane wielders at Churton, masters and prefects alike, of a lack of thoroughness.

In appointing Marcus Saxby-Cox as head-boy, the then Headmaster, a certain Mr. Godber, had, fortuitously, made, what in his eyes, was an excellent choice. Himself a firm believer in the benefits of both the cane and the birch when applied to any delinquent boy’s bare buttocks, an act he practised with surprising regularity, not to mention skill, the Headmaster rejoiced in the fact that his new head-boy had quickly shown himself to have a slight sadistic streak in his make-up, which he displayed in the strict discipline he dispensed when it came to controlling his schoolmates. Whether the head-boy realised quite how much he enjoyed thrashing his school-mates is a moot point. But Mr. Godber, who kept his ear permanently to the ground and learned that after one month in office, the general opinion of boys who had had the pleasure of being beaten by both him and the head-boy, that in terms of pain delivery, they were both considered absolute bastards and should be avoided like the plague. In the light of this damning verdict, Mr. Godber was delighted both with his choice and his own reputation.

But to come back to the head-boy’s Friday night flogging-fests, the reason why Marcus Saxby-Cox looked forward to them so much was the sense of excitement of the unknown they brought to his life. It was not until at the witching hour of 7:30 pm each Friday evening, as he turned the corner to enter the corridor leading to his own study that he would know whether it was to be feast or famine that evening. The honour system required only that any boy – from first former through to the upper sixth – with the dreaded five demerits to his name, present himself the head-boy for punishment on Friday evening at 7:30. There was no signing-in process prior to the painful event; the lad in question simply came and stood outside the head-boy’s study, bringing his demerit diary with him at the fatidic hour and waited to be called in to have his arse shredded. So the head-boy himself was always in the dark, until a few minutes before the executions took place, as to how many, if indeed any, honour penitents were to avail themselves of his services.

However, during his first term as head-boy, Marcus had never, to date, known a single Friday when there was not at least one boy waiting nervously to be called into his study and enjoy submitting his bare arse to the biting rigours of the rattan cane as rigidly set out, as if

carved in tablets of stone, in the school rules. I almost said waiting eagerly for the head-boy’s arrival;but that would have been a gross misrepresentation of the thoughts churning around in the head of most of the penitents. On the whole, they were all shit scared of what they were about to suffer at the hands of a head-boy. Their only consolation, if you could call it that, was that the head-boy had considerable artistic talent when it came to wielding the cane and always left his victims with a visually attractive, striped arse, which they were later proud to show off to their room-mates.

And they were not wrong to be nervous, for by the end of his second week in office, Marcus Saxby-Cox had already established a reputation as being a right bastard when it came to beating arse. Not for nothing was he generally referred to as The Killer.As a boy, who had himself run the gauntlet of multiple head-boys’ and prefects during his earlier years at the school, Marcus’s own backside was no stranger to the cane. And so, like many a prefect before him – and many who were to follow him – Marcus saw his final year very much as pay-back time and had no compunction at all in indulging his sadistic streak and beating arse as often and as hard as he could; and make no mistake, in Marcus Saxby-Cox’s hands, the payback was always with generous interest.

On this particular Friday evening, the last Friday before the long Christmas break, which started on Wednesday of the following week, the head-boy’s heart literally jumped for joy as he saw a clutch of five victimsawaiting him as he turned the corner and walked towards his study. Two fourth formers, Benson and Crawley, whom he had himself, earlier that very day, caught smoking in the gym changing rooms (how could anyone be so stupid?) were standing there before his study door, justifiably nervous, as they knew that their arses would shortly be the reluctant beneficiaries of the mandatory twelve strokes of the cane laid down in the school rules for anyone caught smoking, which along with drinking was a cardinal offence.

But additionally, three first formers, whose names Marcus did not yet know, had also, rather reluctantly, found themselves honour-bound to join the less than joyful throng and bring their arses along for a dusting of tender, loving care by the head-boy. So this particular Friday promised to be a very satisfying occasion for Marcus, who, like many of the prefects and indeed, like most older boys in general, was turned on sexually by the act of beating a naked arse. As Marcus thoroughly enjoyed beating his schoolmates’ bare bums, the concept of a response proportionate to the offence they had committed never crossed his mind. So every boy, who had the verydoubtful pleasure of being corrected by the head-boy, left his study sporting an arse which was truly worthy of the epithet, well beaten. The head-boy short-changed no one; everyone got his painful due in spades!

Like so many people, Marcus Saxby-Cox was a person of habit; and like many public school boys – young men really – of his age, he was sexually very active. At Churton, until the lower sixth all, boys slept in one of a series of eight-bed dormitories, located in the six houses of the school. But in the lower sixth, two boys shared a study bedroom. Of course sexual stirrings in most lads had started well before they reached the lower sixth when Marcus and his bosom friend, Maurice Denham, first shared a room together. But until they found themselves living in such close, private proximity, they had been nothing more than close friends: best mates, so to speak. But the sexual awakenings, which are inevitably associated with young men of that age, did not pass them by.

So their friendship, fostered by the privacy afforded by the nature of their living accommodation, rapidly progressed to a more intimate level. In a word, Marcus and Maurice quickly became sex partners in what was a somewhat a rather lopsided relationship: Marcus did all the fucking which seemed to please the submissive Maurice. But Maurice did not complain and Marcus, no slouch when it came to using his cock, made hay whilst the sun was shining. So the evening at the end of his first term as head-boy on which the events of this story began, Marcus Saxby-Cox, although already an accomplished copulator, still possessed a virgin anus, ripe to be initiated when the right person came along.

But the notable thing about their relationship, ill-balanced though it was, Marcus did not bugger Maurice; the two of them really did make love. Although very young, Marcus had already seen that he needed to take Maurice all the way to orgasm whenever he fucked him, he never let Maurice stranded, obliged to jerk-off to satisfy himself. This is not to say that Marcus did not occasionally abandon himself to his worst desires and rough fuck his partner. But even then Marcus never abandoned Maurice to his own devices and always fucked him through, as a bottom, to his own climax. In a word, the two sixth formers were true lovers.

Their sexual idyll of being able to sleep together every night came to an end when the boys commenced their final year in the upper sixth.

Maurice, along with all his house mates of the upper sixth was allocated a single study bedroom. But Marcus, as befitted his elevated status, was obliged to move into the lavish quarters (a study, a bathroom and a bedroom) which Churton accorded its head-boy, who had almost the status of a master. Notwithstanding that Marcus and Maurice now found themselves in different buildings, their mutual sexual attachment remained so strong, that twice a week Maurice surreptitiously crept from his house and spent the night in bed with Marcus in his new quarters, always behind a firmly locked door.

One of these two visits was always on Friday night, when Marcus, fresh from beating the evening’s contingent of honour-penitentsand any others whom he had deemed would benefit from his attention with the cane, was always particularly horny and was able to do full justice to Maurice’s ever eager anus. And so on this, the last Friday of the autumn term, with a five man beating in view, to be followed by the delights of a night of intense anal sex with Maurice, Marcus felt very satisfied at the evening’s prospect as he advanced along the corridor to greet the group of five, justifiably nervous boys awaiting his arrival. All in all it was a very satisfying prelude to the Christmas break: five arses to thrash and one – Maurice’s – to fuck.

Marcus had in the course of his first term as head-boy, rapidly defined, refined and honed his technique of dealing with boys whom he was about to beat. Not only had he perfected his physical handling of the cane, but he had also imbued the whole business of delivering a beating with psychological overtones, which increased the mental anguish of his victims whilst they waited for the painful onslaught on their arses which they knew they would shortly receive. In so doing he showed a completely different side of his character to the loving way in which he treated Maurice. And so, that evening, painting the most dour of disapproving expressions on his face, on arriving at his study, he brusquely collected the demerit diaries from each of the three first formers, all of whom he knew only by sight and told the whole group, fourth formers, Benson and Crompton included, to wait there until he called them into his study one by one to meet their immediate, rather painful destiny.

He then went into his study, closing the door firmly behind him, deliberately leaving his five clientsto stew in their own juice for a full, fifteen minutes. He first pulled into the middle of the room the old armchair, over the back of which he habitually made the boys bend and present their naked arses to him for correction. He laid out on his desk the two canes he would use: a junior one for the first formers and a second, heavier one for the two fourth formers, each of whose arses he intended artistically to embellish with twelve, swingeing cuts of the senior-cane, by way of giving them a Christmas card, which would remind them of their misdeeds well into the New Year. As you will by now have gathered, dear Reader, Marcus was not filled with the milk of human kindness, nor particularly imbued with the Christmas message, especially the bit which preaches goodwill to all men.

The physical disposition of the accoutrements for the floggings being now in place, Marcus leisurely turned himself to the task of entering the names of his five victims into his punishment register. James Cunningham, Robert Evans and William Hargreaves, were the names of the three first formers he extracted from their demerit diaries. Somewhat a stickler for order and convention, Marcus entered the three names in alphabetically order, the order in which, in a few minutes time, they would in turn be invited to submit their bare backsides to him for correction. He also entered the offences for which they were being punished and the number of strokes of the cane they received: in each case the same: five demerits; six strokes. He then completed his register for the evening, by entering the names of the two fourth formers, Benson and Crompton: smoking; twelve strokes. All that now remained for him to do was to call in the unfortunate five, one by one, and enjoy the pleasant task – only for himself, of course – of roasting their arses, after which he had the pleasure of looking forward to an evening of sex with Maurice Denham, to round off what for him would make a perfect day.

The five condemned lads had been left standing in the corridor for about fifteen minutes, waiting their calls to execution, when Marcus suddenly opened the door and called in the first boy: “Come in Cunningham, I’ll deal with you first, then you Evans and finally you Hargreaves; and after I have have finished with this new-boy, demerit group, I’ll see you first, Benson, whilst you, Crompton, will have the pleasure of being the last this evening.” Needless to say, as had been the head-boy’s express intention in keeping them waiting, the long wait had increased the nervousness of all five lads. And so it was a tensely fearful James Cunnigham who entered head-boy’s study to meet his fate.

James Cunningham was the tallest of the three first formers; a fair-haired, robust looking lad, who, Marcus immediately noted with pleasure, filled out his trousers well, with what was obviously a very beatable arse. “Well Cunningham, this is our first meeting and probably your first beating since you joined the school at the beginning of this term.”

“No, this will be my second beating this term, Saxby-Cox. I was beaten by by house-master for being impolite to to him; he gave me six just last week.”

“And six are precisely what I am going to give you now as this is your first demerit beating this year. Let me just remind you that a second set of demerits will land you with a nine-stroke-beating and a third will give you twelve strokes of the cane. And if you are sufficiently disobedient to accumulate yet a fourth set of demerits, you will have the pleasure of a Headmaster’s birching to looking forward to. So, my advice to you, young man, if you value your backside, is to make this first visit to my study also your last. Now, Cunningham, let’s get on with it; take of your coat and go stand behind the armchair over there; then drop your trousers and underpants to your ankles and bend across the back of the chair, put your hand on the seat and bend over the back as far as you can.”

Cunningham obediently and calmly did as he had been told and presented Marcus with an absolute peach of an arse; an arse which had just been made for a rendez-vous with a well-seasoned length of rattan and one which was still bearing traces of the housemaster’s beating of two weeks earlier.

With Cunningham settled in place, Marcus said: “Now, Cunningham, here comes the tricky bit; you must keep perfectly still whilst I cane you. If you move, or if you try to massage your bum whilst I am correcting you, then I shall be obliged to start again from the beginning. And do not attempt to clench your buttocks either; you must relax your bum the whole time or I shall again start from the beginning. Now, you will count each cut aloud as it is delivered and ask me to give you the next. Marcus then recited the fatuous phrase which every boy being beaten had to repeat after each stroke. You will receive a mandatory punishment of six cuts as stipulated in the school rules; and I kid you not; this is really going to hurt; so brace yourself, boy and I will begin”

Cunningham remained remarkably calm as Marcus laid the cane gently across the mind-point of his buttocks and did not move or give any sound at all as the cane came crashing down with great force, producing the first of the six livid furrows with which he was destined to pass a very uncomfortable night in bed.

Calmly he uttered the totally fatuous, ritual phrase: “One;thank you Saxby-Cox; please may I have another?”

And so, completely stoically, Cunnigham took his punishment and, like the gentleman he obviously was, showed no signs of the considerable pain he was experiencing nor emit any of the usual, audible histrionics. This was somewhat unnerving for Marcus, who prided himself on being able to reduce even the most macho of boys to tears by the fourth blow. But instead of mentally congratulating himself on a job well done, Marcus found himself – if somewhat reluctantly – admiring Cunningham’s self-control. When it was all over and Cunningham had again made himself decent, he turned to Marcus and, as if taking charge of the situation, said: “Saxby-Cox, thank you for correcting me and I just wanted to say that I bear you no ill-will as I realise that I deserved to be beaten and that you were just doing your job.” Marcus, totally deflated, could do none other than accept the proffered hand, which he saw as an affront to his position.

Marcus felt that he had just been robbed of all authority by the sang-froid of the boy he had just beaten, It was not that Cunningham had in any way been insolent, allowing Marcus to justify giving him another thrashing immediately, which, given half a chance, he would have done without a moment’s hesitation. But Cunningham just had an indescribably air of calm superiority about him, which rendered Marcus inwardly furious. It was not that he was in any way impudent or impolite; but he just exuded and air of calm self-confidence from every pore, which rendered Marcus impotent and stole all his thunder. It was as if Cunningham and not Marcus was charge; Marcus felt almost as if it was he who had been beaten by Cunningham and not the inverse.

Finally, as Cunningham left the head-boy’s study, although the pain he was suffering must have been excruciating, he added silent insult to injury by not even touching, let alone massaging, his backside in the normal way boys, who have just been beaten, usually do. Marcus was an expert of getting the best out of every cane; so no one ever left Marcus’s study after having been beaten by him, with less than a well-striped and very painful arse. But no one seeing Cunningham’s composure as he left the study would have had any inkling of the intense pain he was suffering. In a word, Cunningham, in spite of his youth, in the face of adversity, exhibited in spades those two much admired British qualities: grit and a stiff upper lip.

His behaviour had rendered Marcus both inwardly seething with anger but literally speechless. So, completely internally deflated, he said nothing more to Cunningham as he opened the door to show the lad out and invited Evans to come in and face the music – a very percussive piece – for his sins. As Evans entered the study, Marcus noticed that he was not wearing a tie, a fact which had escaped him in the corridor when he first arrived on the scene. This, in the rigid, tradition-riddled environment of Churton was an unbelievable liberty on the part of Evans, who was now to learn that this act of lèse-majesté had earned him a further six cuts of the cane.

Exaggeration being the order of the day, Marcus laid it in spades: “Evans, do you usually present yourself to your head-boy, on such a serious occasion as this in such a half-dressed state? You are here today to be punished because you have accumulated five demerits, for which you will shortly be rewarded by a six-cut beating. And now you come here not even wearing a tie. Have you no sense of decorum? No common sense, boy? Your actions, Evans are tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull, which you wish to enrage. Well let me tell you, young man, that this serious lapse of good manners, will not be overlooked and that your act of impoliteness has earned you a further six cuts of the cane, which I shall be more than happy to give you. If ever a boy needed a lesson in manners it is you, Evans. I can see from your lax, sartorial behaviour that you are probably someone who needs to be kept on a short leash to ensure that you remain on the straight and narrow. How many times this term have you already been whacked?”

Without waiting for an answer, Marcus barked: “Now, boy, get your blazer off and pants and underpants down and present me your naked bum for correction, by bending over the back of that armchair. I will then endeavour to ensure, with my customary skill, to see that you contribute a generous quantity of salty tears to the maintenance of that stain on the seat cushion, at which you will have the honour of looking directly, whilst I am beating you. Evans, I presume that you are capable of counting up to the stratospheric heights of twelve! So, if you value your hide, count each stroke and don’t forget to thank me and ask me to give you another. The appropriate words are… (Marcus intoned the words he obliged all of his victims to utter after each cut of the cane). And finally, Evans don’t even think of putting your hands on your arse, boy, in an attempt to ease the pain you will undoubtedly be feeling whilst I am caning you; otherwise I shall start your punishment again from the beginning.”

If Evans had been intimidated and scared, as had been Marcus’s intention by making the five lads wait in the corridor, and heard, albeit through the closed door, the sharp inimitable crack of the cane as it mated with Cunningham’s bare arse, after listening to Marcus, he was now absolutely terrified at the thought of what was about to happen to him; not to put too fine a point on it, he had that undesirable panic feeling of being about to shit bricks. What was worse for Evans was that he was totally unaware of the fact that Marcus himself, already extremely irritated by Cunningham’s calm behaviour, intended to regain what he saw as his own punctured pride, in exercising his undoubted authority to the full on Evans’s backside. So Marcus had every intention of regaining what he saw as his lost prestige by beating Evans into a Niagara of tears by the fourth stroke of the cane. With twelve really hard cuts of the rattan across Evan’s bare buttocks, Marcus had the sadistic intention of making the lad wish he had never been born.

It was not as if Evans was as pure as driven snow in his general behaviour. As Marcus had surmised, Evans had already been beaten twice earlier in the term; once by his house-master for rudeness and a second time by his house-captain for being being late and incorrectly dressed at breakfast. Evidently the second beating had not been taken to heart, for as we have seen, Evans was distinctly cavalier in his respect for the rather strict dress code enforced at Churton. So Marcus was quite justified in condemning the lad to a further six cuts of the cane. However, what was very disturbing and spoke ill of Marcus’s character, was that he was – quite unconscionably – intending to vent his own concealed anger on Evans’s bare arse, and thereby appease his own frustration brought on by Cunningham. Even more disturbing was the fact that in spite of the uncalled-for severity of the fusillade Marcus was about to visit on Evans’s backside, he did not himself realise the moral implications of what he was about to do.

Evans had been through a typical prep-school mill. Having a somewhat rebellious nature, his bum – as he still thought of it – had quickly made the acquaintance of the cane; first applied by his then no-nonsense form-master in his second week at prep-school, his arse and the cane rapidly became regular companions, meeting quite often. However, the many prep-school swishings that Evans had endured, could in no way be compared with the two beatings he had already received that first term at Churston. Given Evans’s’ rather disobedient and mischievous character, it was amazing, somewhat of miracle that he had managed to survive until almost the end of his first term before receiving that fatal, fifth demerit entry bringing him to the head-boy’s study today. However, as soon as the first stroke landed on Evans’s naked bum, the lad knew that this was no ordinary beating.

Evans knew from his long personal experience with the cane, that there was pain and pain; but this was pain at an excruciating level, such as he had never before experienced. Had Marcus been able to see the Evans’s eyes at that moment, his heart would have jumped for joy, for that first stroke had already brought tears to the lad’s eyes. From then on, Marcus applied nine more swingeing strokes, ten in all, all strictly parallel to each other, running from the bottom of the lad’s back to his highly sensitive crease, before giving him a final two, diagonal, gating strokes to complete the twelve. But so obsessed was Marcus with what he alone saw as recovering his lost prestige, which was really an exercise in assuaging his punctured pride, that he left Evans with a twelve cut beating from which blood spots were oozing along the edges of many of the deep furrows which Marcus’s excessive vigour had cut into the lad’s flesh. If ever there was an excessively severe beating this had to be it. If Marcus realised the state in which he had left Evans’s arse, he did not show it as brusquely said: “That’s your lot Evans. Make yourself decent go and report to matron, who will give apply a little antiseptic ointment to your battle scars.”

So with Evans taken care of, that was two down with one more of the honour penitents, William Hargreaves, still to go, before he could get down to the highlight of his evening, to which he was really very much looking forward: thrashing the two fourth formers, Benson and Crompton. When it came to beating arse, Marcus knew that to him, thrashing a big’un was ten times more satisfying than thrashing a little’un. Beating an older boys turned him on sexually, in a way which caning a first former did not. And although he had never gone on to have sex with any of the older boys he had beaten his first term as head-boy, he enjoyed the sexual arousal which came from embellishing an older boy’s backside with the cane. But needs must and before he could pass onto to the highlight of his evening’s duties, the cherry on the cake as he thought of it, there was still Hargreaves to deal with. As he ushered a not surprisingly weeping Evans, out of his study, he told Hargreaves to come in and closed the door behind him, leaving Benson and Crompton on tenterhooks, still waiting outside.

“Well Hargreaves, this is the first time we have had the pleasure of meeting one another. However, I think as you have presented yourself voluntarily to me this evening, you know why you are here. You have received five demerits and I assume from your presence that you that you know what happens now.”

Hargreaves was obviously very nervous and frightened by what he had heard through the closed door and the parlous state in which he had just seen Evans leave the room: “Well, sir,” and then correcting himself he went on, “I mean Saxby-Cox, I’ve never been caned before and I really do not know what I am suppose to do.”

“Well Hargreaves, there’s nothing special about being beating here at Churton. You take off your blazer, drop your trousers and underpants, bend across the back of that armchair over there, then I give you the standard six cuts with the cane have earned by your demerits and that’s that. It’s just the same as you have experienced at prep-school, except that here at Churton, it is a prefect, who is correcting you rather than your prep-school form-master. So shall we proceed and get the matter over and done with. Then you can go back to your house and proudly show your stripes to your dorm-mates. Come on Hargreaves, quick about it now, get your pants off and bend over the back of the chair.”

“But you have not understood, Saxby-Cox, when I told you I had never been beaten before I really meant never,not ever, in fact; and not just here at Churton but also at my prep school. You see I was sent to a prep-school where neither the cane nor the slipper were used at all and so I have never, ever been beaten! So I am just so afraid of what you are intending to do to me now.”

Marcus had never, until now, met a boy at Churton who claimed to have an unbeaten, virgin arse. Common sense told him that Hargreaves was not alone along the new boys to have never been caned, for not every boy at prep-school got his backside swished. But he had never before heard of a Churtonian make a thing about the virgin state of his arse, when faced, as Hargreaves now was, with his first, quite justifiable beating. It seemed evident to Marcus, that Hargreaves was playing on his sympathy and hoping that he, somehow, could escape what was a perfectly reasonable and justifiable punishment. But, of course, from what we already know of Marcus’s character, Hargreaves was sadly mistaken if he thought that playing what might best be called the holy innocent card he could avoid what was inevitable.

“Well Hargreaves, I am delighted to hear that you have avoided the cane throughput your entire school life, until the end of your first term here. However, at Churton, the rules are sacrosanct and must be obeyed. And so Hargreaves, as you have now accumulated five demerits, it is my unfortunate duty to hold you to account for your actions. I am therefore obliged to give you a six stroke caning on your bare bottom. Not to do this would be a failure in my duty as head-boy of this school. So kindly do as I have told you to do. Take of your blazer and trousers and bare you bottom and go and bend across the back of the armchair.”

“But, Saxby-Cox, I don’t want to be beaten and I thought…..”

“Hargreaves, what you think is neither here nor there at this moment; get your pants off right now, boy and across the chair; if I hear another, single word out of you I will give you an extra three strokes of the cane.”

“But Saxby-Cox – please sir – you really don’t understand….”

“Hargreaves you have to learn to understand that I mean what I say. That’s nine cuts you will now receive. Now, unless I see your bare arse across that chair by the time I have counted up to ten, you, boy, will find yourself facing with a twelve stroke beating. Believe me, Hargreaves, I am not joking. One, two, three….”

Hargreaves now saw that he had to accept the inevitable and to avoid making things worse for himself, now quickly did as he had been told to do. With Hargreaves bent across the chair, Marcus, then recited to him the business about counting the strokes and so on, before, unrelentingly laying on parallel the nine, hard cuts he had promised, to the lad’s twitching buttocks. Hargreaves sobbed incessantly as he was being beaten, adding considerably to the extent of the stain on the chair cushion with his own saline effluvium. Finally when told he could stand up and redress himself, he slank away, still weeping; a changed young man, he had met met with the reality of daily life at Churton and had not much cared for it. But like many boys, the experience had changed him for the better; he had learned that he had to come to terms with life at the school and not think he could talk his way out of awkward situations. And when he got back to his house, his dorm-mates, who had not been present to witness the unedifying spectacle, smacking of cowardice, of Hargreaves trying to save his arse, were mightily impressed with what they saw as his courage and treated him like a hero. Every cloud has a silver lining.

As he showed Hargreaves out, Marcus motioned for Benson to enter. However, Crompton, his partner-in-crime so to speak, intervened: “Saxby-Cox, if you agree, then Benson and I would like to be beaten together.” As this was no skin off his nose, Marcus motioned to the two of them to enter his study. Marcus had never before beaten two boys together, having always followed the tradition of dealing with offenders individually. But the erotic overtones of having two naked arses available at the same time was an alluring erotic prospect, made even more so be the fact that the two lads in question were older. For Marcus, there was something much more sexually satisfying about beating the backside of someone nearer his own age than that of a first former.

The sexual overtones associated with beating bare arse were always uppermost in Marcus’s mind with whomever he was dealing. But the uncontrollable erections coupled with the emissions of semen he experienced as he shredded the backsides of older boys, were infinitely greater and more pleasurable than those induced when he beat a first former. His cock had barely stirred as he had beaten the three first-formers, whereas just contemplating what he was intending to do Benson and Crompton, he was already fully erect and moist with anticipation at the thought of the pleasures still to come.

Benson and Crompton, two perennial offenders, were well acquainted with protocol governing beatings at Churton and so without a word from Marcus, they immediately started stripping off for their ordeal. They never even thought of questioning the punishment they were about to receive. At the end of the day, they were nothing more than a good-natured, but totally incorrigible, pair of boys, who took delight in flouting the school rules, but who, when caught in the act, like the young gentlemen they truly were, accepted their punishment without rancour and with good grace.

Marcus pushed the armchair, with its damp cushion, to one side and place two chairs with their seats facing each other, but well apart. He motioned to the two boys to assume the traditional position over the back of the chair, which simultaneously exposed two, very meaty arses stuck in the air in opposite directions, just calling to be caned; a call which Marcus was quick to answer.

The punishment for being caught smoking was a twelve strokes beating. However, there were no restrictions as to how the twelve strokes were to be administered. Marcus, already in an extremely horny mood due to his experience that evening with the three first formers, none of whose beatings could exactly be described as run-of-the-mill, allowed the worst side of his character to take over. Marcus was, among other sports, at all of which he excelled, an excellent tennis player and was a master at the art of the back-hand stroke. So he began by standing in the unusual position to Benson’s right, with which he intended to deliver all twelve strokes to each lad. Being right-handed, as he was, the cane moved in one smooth, uninterrupted curve from the left side of his head, where he had raised it, before starting its split-second, downward journey to deliver its painful message, mating with the bare flesh of the buttocks of its victim with the inimitable crack of rattan. Add to this unusual stroke, the fact that Marcus also flexed his wrist to the left as he held the cane above his head and straightened with a quick flick on that split second before impact, endowed what was already destined to a very painful cut with even greater bite.

If anyone had been watching Marcus as he performed the beating, they would have been privileged to see a master-craftsman at work. As that maiden stroke, the first of twenty-four, which were destined to deliver their excruciatingly painful message to the arses of the two recipients before their ordeal was over, landed on the crown of Benson’s buns, the lad took in a very audible breath as the well-seasoned rattan of the senior-cane cut deeply into his naked flesh, leaving a deep, livid welt.

Having given Benson his first stroke of twelve, he now moved over to Crompton and initiated his arse into what was to prove an ordeal by fire for both unfortunate boys. With his customary expertise, Marcus quickly reduced both lads to tears and it was two very recondite young men who limped out of Marcus’s study some ten minutes later, each the painful possessor of that product of the cane: a well-beaten arse. But now, after a series of five, consecutive beatings, Marcus was almost on the point of climaxing and ready to shoot his load. He could barely contain himself, as he waited for the arrival of Maurice Denham, on whose arse he was looking forward with great pleasure to using his own personal rod. Marcus was, in fact, as competent with his cock when he fucked Maurice as he was with the rattan which he had just applied to five different arses. But, to quote Robert Burns: the best laid plans o’mice an men, gang aft a-gley,which was exactly what happened now.

CHAPTER 2

A knock came at the study door, which Marcus opened thinking it was Maurice, to find Robert Fairclough, one of his own classmates with whom he sat together on a daily basis in the upper-sixth arts stream, standing there wearing just his gym shorts and vest, the so-called appropriate attire, which was mandatory for any boy who was destined to be thrashed by the Headmaster himself. Robert and Marcus were just classmates and not close friends in the way that Marcus and the delectably fuckable Maurice were. To say the very least, Marcus was astonished to find Robert at his door, dressed as if for a Headmaster’s beating.

It was a now retired previous Headmaster of Churton, who had seen the sense in making boys, whom he was going to beat, present themselves for a beating, wearing only what was essentially their gym strip – but always without a jock strap. He had seen that it was so much easier to gain naked access to that vital part of a boy’s anatomy which was to mate with the cane, if the unfortunate had simply to drop a pair of shorts rather than fumble around divesting himself of what was a rather cumbersome school-uniform. So it was that the gym strip had become the mandatory appropriate attire to wear by any boys who was to be beaten by the Headmaster. The words: I will see you in my study, at such and such a time, wearing the appropriate attire, which had since that time, been uttered frequently by a succession of Headmasters, sent a chill down the spine of any boy to whom they were addressed; they were thought of by all the boys as the nearest thing to a sentence of death at Churton. The Headmaster in question had, on his retirement, seen fit to publish his thoughts on beating, in a now defunct magazine, The Schoolmaster, with the result that many public schools had adopted his idea and boys, whose backsides were to be beaten, were required to change into their gym strips prior to the painful event.

As he looked at Robert Fairclough, Marcus’s first thought, seeing him, appropriately attired as he was, was that he had just been beaten by the Headmaster. But he more or less immediately realised that this was not the case, as Fairclough was not showing any of the signs of pain – in modern language: post-traumatic stress disorder – which are always visible in the aftermath of a beating. For a second or so, the two classmates looked at each other in silence, which was then broken by Fairclough, who began: “Saxby-Cox, (this was the normal form of address of address between boys at Churton, where what were then still known as Christian Names, were only used between close friends and even then, only in private. So although Marcus Saxby-Cox and Maurice Denham called one another Maurice and Marcus in private, in public they were still Denham and Saxby-Cox to each other) the Headmaster has asked me to give you this note and has told me to wait until you have read it and acted on it. He has also asked me to tell you, as he apparently also says in the note, that he wishes to see you in person his study at nine this evening.”

“Well, Fairclough, what a surprise to see you here playing the role of God’s Messenger. (Mr Godber, the Headmaster, whose pronouncements were equivalent to the Ten Commandments at Churston, was universally, and quite irreverently, always referred to by all the boys as God.) You had better come in and sit down whilst I read the Word of God and see what the old-boy wants.”

Opening what Fairclough had referred to as a note, which was in a sealed envelope, Marcus saw at a glance, from the Headmaster’s precise, italic handwriting, that this was not a message which had been dashed off in moment, but a proper letter which had clearly been the subject of considerable thought. It read:

My Dear Saxby-Cox,

I am sending this request to you by the hand of the very boy, the wretchedly disobedient Fairclough, on whom I wish you to inflict the punishment detailed below. As he was caught in the act by a prefect in his house, I thought it totally appropriate that on this occasion he be punished by the head-boy of the School. I am imposing on you in this unusual fashion as I have a weighty matter on my mind, which I also wish to discuss with you. So I shall expect to see you in my study at nine this evening, to review how you got on with Fairclough, but also to discuss another important matter which needs my attention.

Fairclough is a boy, whom I class as serially disobedient: a boy who is constantly looking for trouble, which, alas, he seems to have no difficulty in finding. I have beaten him times without number, throughout his entire career at Churston, but, apparently, with little effect. His latest misdemeanour is serious; a prefect caught him, red-handed d drinking spirits in his bedroom for the second time this term. The first time he dealt with Fairclough himself, but this time he referred him to me for the rigours of a Headmaster’s beating, which I have decided to delegate to you.

So, Saxby-Cox, what I require from you is to show our friend, Fairclough, that the retribution he will suffer at the hands of head-boy of the School, who sits in the same upper-sixth class with him, is in no way inferior to that which I myself would have delivered to his buttocks. It will also reinforce the fact that staff and prefects act in unison and are, figuratively, singing from the same hymn sheet when it comes to maintaining discipline

As this is the second time that Fairclough has been caught in flagrante drinking alcohol in his room, a full twenty-four stroke beating is, as set out in the school rules, mandatory. Quite specifically, in order to bring home to this arch-recidivist the seriousness of his offence, which, if repeated again, will lead to his expulsion from this School, I require you to apply the twenty-four strokes of the cane in two sets of twelve, the second set to land in exactly the same places at the first. I appreciate that this is a particularly painful punishment; but I am afraid Fairclough deserves to face severe retribution for his sins. Fairclough, by his actions, has made his bed and must now lie in it. So I am relying on your expertise to ensure that he has a painfully uncomfortable night.

After you have dealt with his burning needs, please come to my study at nine this evening, as I have another matter which I need urgently to discuss with you.

Sincerely

R. G. B. Godber.

Headmaster

As Marcus read this extraordinary order, and let’s be quiet clear; it was an order and not a request and as such had to be executed, he was both elated and nervous; elated, in that God obviously had sufficient confidence in his head-boy’s capabilities with the cane, to delegate to him a very severe beating, which, by rights, he should be performing himself; but at the same time; but depressed, as it devolved on him to thrash another member of the upper sixth; and moreover, a boy with whom he sat together in the very same class. Every boy at Churton, no matter what his age or position, was subject to exactly the same rules. So although rare, it was not unknown for a sixth-former to be beaten – prefects included. However, such high-level beatings had always – until now, at least – been performed either by a housemaster or by Headmaster himself, which explained Marcus’s nervousness.

In all his time at the School, Marcus could remember only two occasions when a member of the lower-sixth had been beaten by the then head-boy; but an upper sixth-former, never! In fact, beating of upper sixth-formers, even by the Headmaster himself, were as rare as the proverbial hen’s teeth. So although Marcus was to some degree elated at the prospect of addressing a senior arse with his cane, he was, nevertheless filled with a sense of foreboding; something was wrong; but what?

As Marcus read and digested the contents of this very long note,Fairclough, looked on inquisitively. Marcus turned to him and said: “Fairclough, are you aware of the contents of this letter; of what the Headmaster actually says?”

Fairclough shook his head and replied: “No! It was sealed by the hand of God before he handed it to me to give bring to you; so what does it say? And does it involve me?”

“Well, my friend, the good news is that the Headmaster has decided not to beat you for your recent cardinal sin. But the bad news is that he has delegated the task to me; he has ordered me, as his surrogate, to shred your arse in his stead. Here, you can read what he says for yourself. As you will see, you are not exactly his favourite person at the moment.”

With that, Marcus handed the letter to his classmate, who was thus able to learn his fate, handed down by God himself. Marcus was relieved that the Headmaster had been so specific in his instructions to him and had, moreover, put them in writing. He knew if he had had to do it himself that he would have had great, personal difficulty in telling Fairclough verbally of the horror which the Headmaster had ordered him to visit on his classmate’s bare arse. But there it was, in God’s inimitable italic hand, all neatly laid out for the unfortunate Fairclough to read and inwardly digest. It exonerated Marcus from all responsibility for Fairclough’s predicament; he had simply been delegated the role of executioner, who would, figuratively, slice off the condemned man’s head.

After reading what passed at Churton as the word of God, Fairclough began: “What the fuck does the old boy think he is playing at, asking you to thrash my arse for me? Do you have any idea of how insulting that is; fobbing me off to his fucking head-boy because he feels too weak himself to do the job?” And for a few seconds more, Fairclough spat out a string of foulmouthed, insulting invectives about the Headmaster, before finally calming down to face the reality of the truly extraordinary situation in which they both found themselves. “So, Saxby-Cox, in your new role of Headmaster Surrogate, Arse Flogger in Chief, or whatever you wish to call yourself, what the fuck do propose to do?”

“Fairclough, I suggest first of all you stop using such foul language in speaking to me. I am the head-boy of this School and as such I am entitled to expect some respect from my peers, including the likes of you, in spite of the fact that we sit together daily in the same classes. I understand your anger, but the two of us have both been placed in an invidiously awkward position by our revered Headmaster. It is not a situation for which either of us is responsible, but is one, which we have to come to terms with. You have read the letter and seen that the Headmaster has given me an order; and let us be quite clear; it is an order to beat you and not a request. Under the circumstances, I see no way of refusing to carry out the punishment as that is not an option given in the letter, which is quite specific, even to the way the strokes should be applied. As things now stand, Fairclough, I see no alternative but to ask you to present your bare arse to me by bending across the back of that armchair over there and allow me to carry out what. I suppose we have to accept as the Will of God. I wish things were different, but they are what they are and I am afraid we have to accept them as such.”

In fact Marcus was lying through his teeth when he said that he wished things were different. The prospect of beating someone of his own age, one of his classmates to boot, was just too arousing a prospect to let slip through his fingers. Just reading the Headmaster’s letter, he had again felt his cock stirring in his pants and was already at a pre-cum stage of sexual arousal at the thought of thrashing an otherwise quasi-untouchable prize. There was no way on earth that Marcus intended to let Fairclough somehow talk him out of the beating and escape from his study, other than with a superbly well-beaten arse to his name. And then, already fully aroused after beating Fairclough, he could look forward to having a night to remember with Maurice Denham in what promised to be a win-win situation of intense copulation for both of them.

“Saxby-Cox, you are out of your tiny, fucking mind if you think I am going to allow you to shred my naked arse as per that letter, even though it has been handwritten by God. Look here, we sit together in the upper sixth together; we are classmates; and classmates at our age do not go about beating the daylights out of each other. Come on Saxby-Cox; be reasonable. The old boy is out of his mind, asking you to do his dirty work for him. Can we not compromise; strike a quid pro-quo agreement together; one that no one, especially God himself, ever needs know about?”

It was now clear to Marcus, that after his initial outburst, Fairclough had resigned himself to the fact that he had to take some form of punishment from him, but now in a somewhat calmer mood, he wanted to negotiate a lesser sentence: something that was not in Marcus’s remit from the Headmaster. So Marcus held firm; after all he had the Headmaster’s written order, which was very precise. And anyway, why should he negotiate a lesser number of strokes of the cane, which was what Fairclough was angling for, against an as yet unspoken promise which would probably involve sexual favours. Marcus was sexually very active but his activity was rather special for a boy of his age and confined strictly to his long standing affair – to be absolutely precise, his true love-affair – with Maurice Denham.

So Fairclough was barking up the wrong tree if he was thinking that he could barter away a dozen of his twenty-four cuts by allowing Marcus to bugger his admittedly attractive arse. Marcus was fully aware that such dealswere not uncommon with some of the prefects, who were willing to reduce the number of cuts they had intended to give a miscreant in exchange for sexual favours. It must be remembered that homosexual acts between senior boys at Churton, in common with other public schools public schools, were part and parcel of life in such institutions, given the sexual frustration engendered by the all-male environment in which the lads were cloistered.

So in attempting to negotiate with Marcus, Fairclough clearly had not realised that he would be proposing sex, not to a young man who was frustrated by the lack of available female partners, but to someone who was, quite amazingly, given the circumstances, already discreetly leading a full and satisfying sex-life. In a word, Fairclough was wasting his breath; sowing his seed, so to speak, on stony ground.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, as he now sensed that he had the upper-hand in what was a very strained conversation, Marcus now firmly kyboshed any thought of a deal and said, more expansively: “Look here, old man, be realistic; both you and I know that I can do none other than carry out our the Headmaster’s instructions. So I am afraid that there can be no form of any negotiation on this. You have read the letter with God’s orders to me, which, you surely know, as with all his edicts, are as immutable as if they had been carved in stone. As I see it you have two options: either you allow me to beat you or you go back to God’s study and tell him that you won’t be brushed-off with what you seem to think as second best; in which case, my guess is that the old boy will expel you; literally chuck you out of the School.”

“Fairclough, you are now in the unfortunate position of finding yourself between a rock and a hard place; as far as I can see, you are in a lose-lose situation; either you let me whack your arse, or you go back to God and risk getting the chop. So you have to make a decision; and whichever option you settle for, I’m afraid, old chap, it is inevitable that you will suffer. The choice, my friend, is yours. Frankly, Fairclough, if you were stupid enough to allow yourself to be caught a second time this term, drinking in your room, you have only yourself to blame for the consequences. You know as well as I do that among the seven deadliest sins which you can indulge in this school, drinking and smoking are second only to stealing. And as everything is more or less cut and dried in this place when it comes to retribution, the standard punishment for being caught drinking a second time is a twenty-four stroke beating. Surely you knew this before you started drinking? So, although in a way, I’m sorry for you that you have been caught, there is nothing at all I can do to mitigate what happens next. You have made your own bed and now must lie in it.”

“Now I admit that we both find ourselves in an extraordinary situation. I have not the faintest idea why God has decided to renounce addressing your arse with the cane himself, a pastime he normally relishes, as both you and I know from past, painful, personal experiences. The first I knew of it was when you arrived here just a few minutes ago and handed me the letter. And believe me, Fairclough; I was as stunned by the contents as you yourself were. But as you can see, it was not a decision made on the spur of the moment, as the letter had been prepared, in chillingly meticulous detail, well in advance. What the hell the old boy was thinking, when he passed you, one of my own classmates on to me and ordered me to beat him, I have no idea. One thing is sure, it’s certainly not cricket he is playing! He must have an ulterior motive; but I have no clue as to what it is. But I can tell you, even though I must carry out his instructions, I feel very uneasy; something about the whole business smells very fishy to me. But in words inspired by those of Lord Tennyson in his poem, The Charge of the Light Brigade: Mine not reason why, mine but to whack your unfortunate arse.”

“But frankly from your point of view, Fairclough, it seems to me that it is more or less immaterial whether God himself beats you or I do his dirty work for him. Look, because of your own stupidity you have got yourself into a situation, where the school rules mandate a non-negotiable twenty-four cut caning. I fully understand that you were incensed by the fact that God had pushed you off on to me to shred your arse. But frankly, at the end of the day, where’s the difference? Either he does it or I do it for him. There’s no skin off your nose; just skin off your arse, whichever one of us whacks you! And believe me, Fairclough, I am not second best if you decide to accept what might be called The Word of God on this matter.”

“So, Fairclough, it’s your decision to make. Do you allow me to beat you or are you going to go back to God and risk being expelled from School? The decision, my friend is entirely yours to make. Think well and clearly before you decide; I know which I personally would take; but don’t let me influence you one way or the other.”

Marcus sensed that the mention of expulsion had put the fear of God – and not God as in Mr Godber – into Fairclough. Fairclough was a clever lad and was more or less certain, at the end of that very school- year, to be admitted to read law at Cambridge. So he was unlikely to try arguing his case and risk ruining his career, by going back to see the Headmaster. So, as Marcus rested his case, he was more or less certain that, in a subtle sort of way, he had persuaded Fairclough to allow him beat his arse, rather than risk being cashiered and thereby ruin his future career prospects.

The two of them sat there in silence for a few moments, whilst Fairclough assessed his options. “OK, Saxby-Cox, you win; go ahead and do your worst on my arse.” And then without another word, the fateful decision having been made, he stood up, went across to the armchair, dropped his shorts, revealing an enormous erection, and bent, without hesitation, over the back of the chair, placing his hands firmly on its arms, with the exhortation to Marcus: “Well come on Saxby-Cox, let’s get it over and done with.”

Marcus, concealing his feeling of elation at what he saw as hisvictory,picked up his senior cane, and went across to examine Fairclough’s as yet totally undefiled buttocks, which he shortly, as decreed by God, would artistically embellish with twenty four cuts of the cane, applied twelve on twelve. He felt a surge of anticipative pleasure, akin to a sudden release of adrenalin, course through his body, as he gazed for the first time on the most mature arse he had ever had the chance to roast. On the number of strokes and their method of application, the Headmaster had been quite specific: “I require you to apply the twenty-four strokes of the cane in two sets of twelve, the second twelve to land in exactly the same places as the first.”

Such precise instructions left little leeway for Marcus to exercise his own aesthetic tastes in the creation of an, albeit temporary, artistic masterpiece of flagellative art, but he saw that God had not stipulated that all the strokes should be parallel to each other, merely that every stroke should be doubled. And so, and with this modicum of freedom, Marcus began by giving Fairclough’s muscular buttocks, eight, resounding, parallel strokes, placed, in leisurely manner, from the bottom of his back to the top of his legs. He then allowed a full two minutes to elapse, before applying a second volley of eight cuts doubling exactly the first, thereby inflicting the most agonising pain on Fairclough’s arse. After another pause, still with eight strokes in hand, he now applied another four, primary strokes in the form of a double pair of diagonals, thereby firmly gating his initial offering. And then, after yet another pause to allow his victim to appreciate care which was being lavished on his arse, he administered the coup de grace, by doubling his four, diagonal, gating strokes, thereby completing, to the letter, the Headmaster’s instructions, whilst at the same time exercising his own artistic talent.

As he stood back to admire his handiwork, Marcus silently congratulated himself on a job well done. To his mind he had, in spite of the strict parameters imposed on him by the Headmaster, to say the very least, provided Fairclough with a well-beaten arse of which he himself was justifiably proud to be the author. Whether Fairclough himself appreciated the artistic masterpiece etched on his buttocks, is doubtful. But Marcus had created an excruciatingly painful example of flagellative art, which Fairclough, by his actions, had richly deserved; an example, which by the sheer brilliance of its execution, would satisfy the prurient, sympathetic curiosity of Fairclough’s classmates, coupled, as ever, with the omnipresent undertone of Schadenfreude; an arse, which in the inevitable post-mortem viewings, would make Fairclough the hero of the moment; an arse, which from the obvious pain he was suffering, would have a strongly persuasive effect on viewers, not to follow their schoolmate’s his example when it came to drinking.

What was not immediately obvious, but what Marcus knew full well, was that there would be a lot of young, male sperm jerked and shot into wank-rags in the beds of the upper-sixth arts members that night, as the lads masturbated to assuage their sexual needs aroused by the sight of Fairclough’s shredded backside.

After Fairclough had limped tearfully away, massaging his buttocks, the euphoria Marcus had felt whilst he was beating his classmate’s arse, suddenly ebbed away. The erection and sexual arousal he had experienced wielding the cane, both suddenly disappeared, to be replaced by a feeling of foreboding. Somehow, could not shake of the premonition that something was wrong. The whole evening had been both exhilarating, but also somewhat unnerving. It was not every Friday that Marcus had a clutch of three honour penitents to beat; add to them Benson and Crompton and then the unexpected bonus of Fairclough: a senior arse, which was certainly not to be sneezed at. All things considered with a night of sex with Maurice Denham still to look forward to, Marcus’s spirits should have been bubbling with anticipation. But the fact of the matter was that they were not!

Why had Mr. Godber, a man, whose love of wielding the cane was well-known, not to say feared by the boys, chosen to send Fairclough to his head-boy to be thrashed? And why had he given such detailed instructions in writing about the number of strokes and the way in which they were to be administered? And what was the other matter which needed so urgently to be discussed? So it is not surprising that it was a strong feeling of uneasiness that Marcus entered the Headmaster’s study at precisely nine that evening.

CHAPTER 3

God in the form of Mr. Godber, the Headmaster, was still wearing his flowing black gown. He gave the impression of being in an extremely affable mood as he greeted Marcus and invited him to sit down in an armchair in front of a blazing log fire. The Headmaster’s study was a large rectangular room with three windows along the long outer wall. The room was arranged in two quite distinct parts; first came what was essentially the working part of the room, with a large mahogany desk, where the Headmaster sat to discharge his administrative duties. Facing this desk, a little way from the wall, stood a spine-chilling relic of the Victorian era: an adjustable beating horse, replete with arm and leg straps, designed to render immobile any boy who had the misfortune to experience one God’s legendary beatings. On the wall behind this fearsome contraption, was a handsome, two-door cupboard, housing God’s collection of canes and sundry other instruments of punishment. So in order to reach the agreeable group of chairs around the fireplace, Marcus was obliged to pass by this group of professional punishment artefacts, the sight of which, for no explicable reason, was enough to send a shiver of fear down his spine.

“Saxby-Cox, I wanted to find out how you got on with dealing with that perennial misbehaver, your classmate, Fairclough. He really is someone who cannot keep himself out of trouble and no matter how hard and how often he is beaten, he appears incapable of reforming himself. However, caught red-handed as he was, drinking for the second time this term, the ultimate punishment laid down in the School Rules for that very offence, was totally merited. So how did he take the fact that I handed him over to you to deal with?”

“Well sir, as you might imagine he complained bitterly. But after a little argument he finally accepted that I was going to beat him and took his punishment, which I administered exactly as set put in your instructions, sir. So, sir, he finally took a very severe beating for his offences and left, if you will pardon the vulgarity, sir, with a very well-beaten arse. I think that Fairclough will have a very uncomfortable few days in front of him sir, which on my view he well deserves. Whether he finally learns his lesson and reforms himself is another matter, which only the future will tell, sir.”

“Can I take it from your remarks, Saxby-Cox, that you approve of the severe retribution which the School exacts from serial offenders such as Fairclough?”

“Oh, most certainly, sir; it is my personal view that all boys, from first-formers right through to the upper sixth should be held accountable for their actions, sir. And whilst the beating I gave Fairclough, was very painful, I think he totally deserved it. I fully agree that drinking should be completely stamped out; and smoking too in my view.”

“So, Saxby-Cox, you do not feel in any way that I was being too severe when I asked you to give Fairclough twenty-four stokes, of the senior cane on the bare and to double each cut?”

“Absolutely not, sir; Fairclough broke one of the golden rules of the School for the second time. He knew what he was doing and what the consequences would if he was caught in the act. So he got his just deserts sir.”

“Well. Saxby-Cox, it is reassuring to know that you and I are, as I put it in my note to you, singing from the same hymn sheet and that I can rely on my head-boy to support me in the never ending task of keeping order in this place.”

So Marcus, laying it on in spades, said: “Absolutely, Headmaster; when it comes to disciplining the boys, no one is above the law and you have my fullest support, sir.”

Until now, the conversation between God and his head-boy had been extremely affable. Marcus had made all the right noises which God had obviously wanted to hear. But appearances can be deceptive, as the turn in the tone of the conversation now showed.

“Now, Saxby-Cox, there is another, somewhat disturbing matter which has been on my mind, which I hope you will be able to help me in resolving.” The tone of voice in which the Headmaster made this statement, was, to say the very least, chilling, almost sepulchral. “Yesterday evening I happened to be in the village around ten, and I saw a young man resembling you, come out of the King’s Arms, public house. Now I could be wrong as it was quite dark. But perhaps you would set my mind to rest and confirm that I was mistaken.”

As he heard these words, Marcus felt as if a knife had been thrust into his stomach. In a split second he had that release of adrenalin which sent fear rushing though his entire body. The Headmaster was quite correct. It had been the head-boy whom he had seen emerging from the strictly forbidden pub. So what should he now do; lie and tell God that he had been mistaken, or accept that he had been caught, in flagrante, breaking one of the one of the Schools’ strictest rules and make a clean breast of it? The problem was that Marcus was a regular, weekly visitor to the King’s Arms and he now wondered how much of the Headmaster actually knew of this strictly prohibited activity. So to lie was out of the question, for if he was caught out, he would certainly be expelled from the School at moment’s notice. Ironically he found himself, as had Fairclough only a brief hour, in that distinctly unpleasant position of being between rock and a hard place, with no agreeable outcome seeming possible.

So he moved into what, I suppose, might be called his damage control mode, in an attempt to salvage what he could from a hopeless situation. “Headmaster, I am very sorry to say that it was, on fact, me you saw coming out of the King’s Arms. And if you will permit me to apologise, I am very sorry that I succumbed to temptation and broke one of the cardinal rules of the School, for which I am truly, truly, sorry, sir.”

If Marcus had thought that his apology would be accepted and that the matter would be settled, he was seriously mistaken. The Headmaster’s voice changed yet again, this time from sepulchral to glacially angry, as he portentously went on, verbally grinding Marcus down: “Saxby-Cox, it grieves me bitterly to find out that my head-boy, a person in whom I had put my fullest trust to enforce the rules and maintain order in this School, has himself sunk so morally low as to break one of the cardinal restrictions and enter into the strictly forbidden precincts of a public hostelry. And to make matters worse, boy, you have just exercised your prerogative as head-boy of his School and beaten one of our classmates for more or less the same same offence: consuming alcoholic drinks. In fact, boy, your offence is worse than that of the wretched Fairclough, who at least did his drinking in private, whereas you chose to do it in the public eye. By your foolish actions, you, Saxby-Cox, you have risked bringing this venerable establishment into disrepute.”

“Now, before I finally decide what to do with you, kindly answer the following question. You have confessed that it was you I saw coming out of the King’s Arms. So can I take it that this was the only occasion that you have yielded to temptation and gone in there to indulge yourself or have there been other occasions? Come on, boy, answer me; and I shall know whether you are speaking the truth or not; so do not even think of lying to me, or you will matters, which are already grave, still worse.”

Marcus realised by now that he was in a hole of his own making and wondered to himself exactly what the Headmaster knew already. However he was sensible enough to realise that whatever he said, he was going to emerge the loser in this affair and so he quickly decided to make a clean breast of everything and answer the Headmaster truthfully. “Sir, I regret to say, that since the start of term that I have been several times to the King’s Arms.”

But this answer did not satisfy the Headmaster who wanted chapter and verse: “So, Saxby-Cox, you say that you have been several times to the King’s Arms since term began in September. What exactly does the word several mean; twice or three times or more? Come on, boy, I want an answer to my question. So let’s be having it. How many times have you been in the King’s Arms this term; and I want the truth?”

By now Marcus was in a blind panic as he confessed the extent of his guilt: “Headmaster, I have been once a week to the King’s Arms since the start of term, sir, which I think makes fifteen times in all, sir.”

“I see, Saxby-Cox; so do you think it is fair of me to say that you are a serial offender when it comes to frequenting a public house?”

“I suppose one could say that, sir.”

“You suppose that one could say that? Perhaps, Saxby-Cox, you would kindly be good enough to enlighten me as to the number of visits to the King’s’ Arms you consider to be necessary to allow you to turn your supposition into a concrete fact. Your offence, boy, exceeds that of Fairclough, whom you have just soundly thrashed for drinking in private. Allow me to repeat to you what you just said a few minutes ago: Absolutely, Headmaster; when it comes to disciplining the boys, no one is above the law and you have my fullest support, sir. I am happy that you confirmed your views in such a positive way, as it makes the action, which I now feel I have no alternative but to take, much easier. Reluctant as I am to beat anyone from the sixth form, I never thought that I would find myself having to beat my head-boy; or as I must now say, my former head-boy; for as you must have realised Saxby-Cox, in view of your actions, which are a complete betrayal of my trust in you, you cannot any longer hold the office of head-boy of the School.”

As he listened to the Headmaster and saw the look of wrathful disgust on his face, Marcus knew that there was nothing at all he could do to avoid the inevitable. Mr Godber was about to exercise his legendary skill with the cane on his backside with all the fury of an irate earthly God on earth which he was. He, the head-boy, or more exactly, the ex-head-boy of the school, aged eighteen-plus was to suffer the indignity of a beating in retribution for his sins. The only positive thing so far was that the Headmaster had not uttered the frightening word: expulsion. As there was little or nothing he could do to avoid the inevitable, Marcus decided to eat humble pie in the faint hope of mitigating the worst the Headmaster was capable of delivering. So he began to make a profound apology for his actions:

“Sir, I fully understand that I deserve to be punished for my actions, which were an abuse of my position. Before you beat me, sir, I would like to say that I bear you no ill will for the punishment I am about to receive. Your actions are completely justified, sir. I regret that I was weak and allowed my own personal desires to override the sort of behaviour which went with the position which I was privileged to hold.”

“Well Saxby-Cox, I am relieved that you are sorry of your actions. But that, unfortunately, does not excuse your behaviour, nor in any way mitigate the consequences for what you have done. Stand up boy, take of your blazer, trousers and underpants and go and bend across the beating horse over there and present your bare bottom to me for retribution, which I regret to have to say, in view of the enormity of your conduct is going to be very severe: very severe indeed.”

Whilst a trembling Marcus – and who, under the circumstance would not have been trembling? – was fumbling with his clothes, the Headmaster went across and opened both doors of his cane cupboard. Marcus was struck by the quasi-religious overtones of what was about to happen to him. Here was Mr. Godber, referred to as God, opening a cupboard, which once fully opened, took on the appearance of a triptych: one of those hinged, three panel altar pieces, with a central panel adorned with a religious painting of a biblical subject, such as the crucifixion or – more pleasantly – the annunciation, with the smaller side panels having supporting images.

But the difference was that the back of the cupboard, equivalent to the central panel of the triptych, so to speak, was adorned not with a religious image, but with a row of well-seasoned, straight-handled rattan canes, all well over 3 ft long but of various diameters, hanging menacingly there, in increasing size of calibre, ranging from the lightest, measuring just over ¼ inch diameter, to the heaviest, a so-called dragon-cane. This latter, a fearsomely knotted, instrument, just over ½ inch in diameter, was capable of inflicting unimaginably excruciating pain, not to mention physical damage in the form of broken skin, to the bare arse of any lad unfortunate enough to be invited to sample its charms.

But as if this was not enough, as Marcus approached the dreaded beating horse, the putative altar over which he was now to bend to offer his naked backside to what promised to be God’s not so tender mercies, he saw that the insides of each door, as if to complete the illusion of a three panelled picture, were also embellished with a blood-chilling selection of other implements of corporal punishment, such as the taws, a thick leather belt with a handle and an old-fashioned long-handled bath-brush. Since the beating horse was set directly in front of the open cupboard, as Marcus reluctantly bent across it, the religious illusion was complete; Marcus was the sacrificial lamb, stretched across the altar in front of the cupboard, itself a triptych to the art of flagellation.

To say that Marcus was scared as he prepared himself to meet, what seemed to him at that moment, like his doom, was the understatement of the century; he was shit scared and could barely control his cock which with typical regard only for itself, had become rock-hard and was already emitting those drops of pre-cum in anticipation of the pain to come. The total arousing, sexual eroticism of the situation was complete, as Marcus waited, trembling, for the first blow.

God had not yet spoken and announced the sentence on his erring acolyte. And as he surveyed the muscular buttocks he was about to roast, he simply said: “Saxby-Cox; I will not pretend other than that I intend to give you, in the next few minutes, the most painful experience of your life to date: one, which you richly deserve but which if you are wise, you will never, ever wish to repeat.”

Hunched over the horse as Marcus now was and with the Headmaster in front of the cupboard selecting which ever implement he intended to use to embellish his arse, Marcus could not see the object which would shortly impart pain to his arse. But as he listened to what was the word of God, Marcus’s blood ran cold as he heard what was in store for him. Like many boys before him who had experienced the Headmaster’s legendary mastery of the cane, Marcus was afraid of what was about to be visited on his naked arse.

If he had been afraid at the thought of the cane mating with the naked flesh of his buttocks, the Headmaster’s next remarks truly put the fear of God – and not God as in Mr Godber – into him: “Roxby Cox, in view of the extreme gravity of, let us call it, your long-term lapse of judgment, I feel it both appropriate and necessary to teach you a salutary lesson and exact maximum retribution from you. And so, young man, I have decided to commence your punishment by giving you six strokes with the back of the bath-brush to precondition your buttocks for what is to follow. I shall then give you a twelve cut thrashing with the heavy leather belt, which will in turn be followed by twelve strokes of the birch. I shall then complete your punishment with an additional twelve strokes of the senior cane as I feel a boy being punished should always have some clear marks on his buttocks as a visual testimony to what he has just suffered.”

As he listened to what God had in store for him, it was all Marcus could do to sop himself fainting. My God! Thirty-six strokes in all, not counting the swats with the bath-brush, which were also painful. If anyone had wished to give a master class in the art of flogging, then this was it. Unbelievably painful, it would, nevertheless, provide Marcus with a unique opportunity, given to few, to compare and contrast the efficacy of all four implements, which were to be used to roast his arse. The Headmaster then made as if to fasten the restraining straps around Marcus’s wrists and ankles. However, Marcus, who having listened to the utter horror of what was in store for him, in spite of being terrified to the point of figuratively, to use a vulgarity, shitting bricks, nevertheless had decided that he would not undergo the indignity of allowing himself to be strapped down to be beaten. So, showing considerable backbone, he said to the Headmaster: “Sir, there is no need to fasten the straps sir; I promise you, sir, that I will stay perfectly still whilst you punish me. In spite of my errors, still consider myself a gentleman and as such I will accept my punishment with good grace as a gentlemen should. But if you would permit me to say, sir, I think that the punishment you are about to inflict on me is somewhat excessive.”

“Very well, Saxby-Cox; if that is what you wish, then so be it. And, for the record, your remarks have been noted. However, I consider that the punishment I have just outlined to you is totally appropriate in view of your status in this School and the term-long nature of your misdemeanour. You, young man are now about to experience the most painful, but, at the same time, well-deserved experience of your life. Brace yourself, boy, as I will now begin with six strokes with the back of the bath-brush.”

I am sure many reader will agree with Marcus in thinking that the Headmaster was being particularly severe, but one has to remember that Mr. Godber was a strong believer in the deterrent effects of corporal punishment on schoolboys’ behaviour and, as such, a regular and ruthlessly efficient practitioner of the art of fustigation. But even though he had condemned Marcus to no less then forty-two cuts with four different implements, his choice was dictated by the desire to inflict maximum pain, which quite frankly, based on the apparent facts at his disposal, Marcus totally deserved, whilst at the same time doing little permanent damage to the lad’s arse. So in his choice of the bath-brush, the leather strap and the birch, he knew that, although very painful when applied with force, as was his intention, none of the three damaged the skin excessively, due to the wide spread of the force of the blow. But, ever conscious of the need to leave a boy with clear traces of his suffering for the customary, post mortem viewing by his schoolmates, he had added the twelve cuts of the cane, as a sort of excruciatingly painful coup de grace, to provide a visually clear and distinct series of raised welts.

So although the punishment Marcus was about to undergo was draconian in its severity and would leave him in agony, he would suffer no permanent ill-effects from his ordeal; at least that was what Mr. Godber ardently believed. He belonged to that fraternity of traditional, public school headmasters, who ardently believed that a public schoolboy’s was destined, from birth, to be beaten, both hard and often. So he had no second thoughts at all as he prepared to take Marcus to hell and back.

Marcus put on a brave face as the Headmaster, totally incensed by his head-boy’s betrayal of trust, mercilessly flogged his naked arse. Every blow he administered was painful, but by far the worst was the final application of the cane; concentrating, as it did the force of every blow over a small, already painful area, it is hard to over-exaggerate the supplementary pain it delivered. When it was all over and Marcus was told to get up from the horse and put back on his clothes, he had, quite miraculously managed to control his emotions and had not uttered a sound or shed a tear during the whole, epically awful experience. How he had managed to keep his cool given the ordeal he had just endured, God alone knows; but he had.

It was, however, an extremely recondite and sorry young man, the ex-head-boy of the School, who limped his way for the last time back to the head-boy’s rooms. As he showed Marcus out of his study, the Headmaster suddenly realised that at the end of the day, he had a sneaking admiration for Marcus, who had admitted his transgressions and had, without complaint, taken a monumental beating like the true gentleman he evidently was. The Headmaster was mightily impressed by Marcus’s sterling behaviour in adversity, which set him thinking.

But for Marcus, arriving back in his quarters, he found a light at the end of the tunnel, in the person of his lover, Maurice Denham. Maurice was aghast when he saw the state his friend was in and was full of sympathy when he learned that Marcus had been beaten for frequenting the King’s Arms. By way of comforting his lover, Maurice persuaded a somewhat reluctant Marcus into bed. He was totally shocked when he saw what the Headmaster had done to his lover’s arse, which was by now black and blue with bruising. And so he made Marcus lie on his belly and started to apply some soothing ointment to his stripes. Marcus relaxed as he felt the gently soothing fingers of his lover, massaging the ointment into his wounds, in spite of the pain, when he suddenly became aware that the fingers had descended away from his welts and into his crack and had started to explore his anus. This was a totally new departure for Marcus, as his relationship with Maurice had hitherto always been with himself talking the lead as top and Maurice submitting himself as bottom.

But now that he had started, there was no stopping Maurice. Marcus suddenly found himself, as if by magic, on his knees on the bed, with his legs spread, and Maurice’s cock-head, already oozing generous quantities of pre-cum pushing hard against his anal sphincter. Having no resistance left in his body, Marcus relaxed and took Maurice’s full-length, lubricated by its own copious emissions, inside of himself. It was by way of being first for both of them: a first for Maurice, who, in his relationship with Marcus, had ever actually fucked him until now and had been a half virgin, having always bottomed for Marcus; and a first for Marcus in that he had now, finally, lost his anal virginity, which until now had never taken another guy’s cock up his arse, most appropriately, to his one, long-term lover.

Next morning Marcus awoke alone as Maurice had, as usual, gone to his own bed. He was still very, very sore and he was grateful for his own private washing facilities in the head-boy’s rooms and did not have to display his shredded backside to others in the communal showers. He then gingerly dressed himself and attempted to walk normally, a task he barely accomplished, and sat down to breakfast with those of the masters who were single and lodged in the man school building as did Marcus. Totally out of the blue, one of the school servants arrived with a message from the Headmaster for Marcus. It read:

Dear Saxby-Cox,

In view of the parlous state in which you still doubtless find yourself this morning, I think it better that you do not attend Assembly today. Please see me in my study immediately Assembly is over.

Yours etc.

Ronald Godber

Headmaster

The nuance that the Headmaster had signed himself as Ronald,instead of using his three initials,as was his norm, did not escape Marcus: “What the fuck does old boy want to see me about?” Marcus asked himself as he walked towards the Headmaster’s study, the scene of yesterday evening’s massacre of his arse. The meaningless expletive, fuck, had slipped into his thoughts, even though he rarely used vulgar language, even to himself, and he had never been slow to beat its use out of any younger boy’s arse, whom he heard using such. But the word had slipped in as he was just so despondent with his lot, for which he appreciated that he, and he alone, was responsible.

But accepting responsibility for his predicament, did nothing to ease the pain of what he had lost; added to which was the sticky job, to which he was distinctly not looking forward, of explaining to his father, who to say the least was what one might call a difficult man, how he had come to be demoted. Among the myriad of thoughts running through his mind, was that the Headmaster would be writing to his parents to expose what he had he called a betrayal of my trust. He knew that his father would, figuratively, hit the roof if he learned that this son had lost his position because of drink.

In the event, he was astounded (quite the appropriate word) when the the Headmaster greeted him as if he had found a lost lamb: “Saxby-Cox, since I beat you yesterday evening, a punishment which I think you agree you more than deserved, I have reflected deeply on what I said to you about your position as head-boy. I have to say that in spite what was, by your actions, a clear betrayal of the trust I had placed in you, I was impressed, when push came to shove as it did for you, with a vengeance, yesterday evening, that you confessed openly to your offenses and did not try to wheedle your way out of a difficult situation, but had the courage to make a clean breast of things. But I was more impressed by the way you accepted as your lot, without complaint, what was, by any standards, a very severe beating. In summary, Saxby-Cox, in spite of your serious misdemeanour, for which I could, with complete justification, have expelled you from this school, I saw in you a boy of total integrity and honesty, one who acknowledged his errors and accepted, without demur, a dreadful punishment exacted in retribution for his mistakes. I can tell you, Saxby-Cox, I was full of admiration of the way in which you took, without complaint, the most severe beating I have ever visited on any boy, in all my years as Headmaster of this School.”

“I have therefore decided to reverse my decision and allow you to retain your position as head-boy until the end of the school-year when you leave Churton for the last time to go university. This reversal is given on the condition that you here and now give me your solemn word as the true young gentleman, which I perceive you to be, that for the rest of your time as a pupil of this School, you will never again drink alcohol in public in the King’s Arms or in any other hostelry or in private whilst you are still at Churton as a pupil. Subject to these conditions you may continue to hold your position as head-boy and what passed between us yesterday evening in this very study will forever remain a matter strictly between you and me and will never again be discussed. May I take it that I have your word and that I can rely on it?”

Marcus Saxby-Cox left the Headmaster’s study, walking on air.

CHAPTER 4

But to bring this story its satisfactory – and rather surprising – conclusion, we must back-track somewhat in time, to the end of the first week of term when Marcus Saxby-Cox had just installed himself in the head-boy’s rooms in the main school building. Possibly because of his move from his former house to his new quarters, there had been a mix-up with his laundry and his shirts were missing. To sort things out, he went himself to the service building where the school’s laundry was located and it was there that he made his first acquaintance with a female employee, whom he later learned was called Amy Hinchcliffe. Unbeknown to him at time, this meeting was to have far reaching consequences. The reader will understand that, cloistered away as boys were in the typical public school, apart from the Headmaster’s secretary, often herself a frustrated spinster, and a frumpy matron, who tended to boys when sick and occasionally anointed their shredded arses with a little antiseptic when either a master or a prefect had gone a little too far with the cane and drawn blood, females were totally absent from the daily life of most public school boys; and Churton was no exception.

Public schools were a strictly man’s world; and so the boys, once they reached puberty and the sex urge, as it inevitably does, made itself manifest, had to make do with what was available: essentially their classmates! So whether they were true homosexuals or not, many boys aged seventeen or eighteen – or even younger – assuaged their sexual yearnings by buggering one another, which is exactly the way the relationship between Marcus and Maurice Denham, except that true love developed between them as they were both homosexual and not just frustrated, like most of their schoolmates, by the lack of female company. But for Marcus, who knew – or thought he knew – that he preferred boys to girls, to find that he was attracted to Amy, as the twitching of his cock told him he was, was a totally new experience for him. There the matter would normally have rested; for once the question of his missing shirts had been settled, he had no reason ever again to go to the school laundry.

But fate, as it so often does, intervened, in the form of a chance meeting the following afternoon between Marcus and Amy in the village High Street. Well, as Marcus was attracted towards Amy, after greeting each other and an ensuing few seconds of awkwardness as to what to do next, Marcus, wanting desperately to prolong this chance meeting, suggested that as it was four o’clock, they go into the village teashop and have tea together; an invitation which Amy accepted with alacrity. Now, much as Marcus had been instantly attracted by Amy, who was an exceptionally pretty girl, some four or five years older than him, she too had also been equally attracted to him during that brief meeting in the school laundry. Marcus was an attractive and sexy looking, muscular, young stud, handsome to a fault: exactly the type that the street-wise, sexually highly-experienced Amy, really liked.

Over tea, Marcus learned that his companion was called Amy Hinchcliffe and was from what she referred to as the big town –Hereford – where her parents still lived; but, wanting to live her own life as she wished, she had left two years ago found work in the school laundry at Churston. As they sat together the mutual attraction and sexual desire between the two of them increased; especially on Marcus’s side. When tea was over and they were again walking side-by-side down the High Street, Marcus wondered what he could do to do to prolong what he was finding to be a very pleasant experience. So when they got to the King’s Arms public house and Amy said: “This is where I live; if you want to, you can come up and see my place,” Marcus did not refuse. The simple fact of the matter was that Amy was as keen as Marcus to continue the liaison which was clearly developing between them.

An older, more street-wise man than Marcus was with women, would have seen that Amy was what might politely describe as experiencedwith men and was issuing a come-on invitation. I suppose that Amy, in inviting him to see her place, a she put it, was playing the role of the man, who, wishing to seduce a woman whom he has just met, issues that classic, certainly apocryphal invitation: “Would you care to come back with me to my place, my dear and and see my etchings?” It was Amy who was intent on seducing Marcus and not, as normally the case, the man trying to seduce the woman. But Marcus, although he had been sexually very active with Maurice Denham for well over a year, had no experience with members of the opposite sex whatsoever. As such he was an easy, and it has to be said, willing prey, for someone whom as we shall soon learn, was something of a man-eater, in that she had the sexual libido of a nymphet.

It turned out that Amy did not actually live in the King’s Arms, but in one of two small apartments, which the landlord rented out, located on the first floor above the public house itself. The entrance was through a locked, outer door, in the open lobby of the pub. Another door, at present locked, as due to the then licensing laws, the pub not yet opened for the evening, gave access to the pub’s bars. So when the Headmaster had seen Marcus ostensibly coming out of the King’s Arms, he had not been leaving the public house itself, but had, in fact, been leaving Amy’s place after one of their regular, weekly, sexual assignations, which had developed as a result of that first invitation from Amy.

In fact, once Amy had a willing Marcus in her grip that Saturday afternoon when they had met, he was like putty in her experienced hands. Had Marcus wanted instruction in the art of heterosexual sex, he could have done no better than choose Amy Hinchcliffe to teach him the tricks of the trade. As soon as they were alone in her small flat, Amy more or less threw herself on Marcus, who as he was sexually attracted towards her, did nothing to resist her advances. In no time at all, Amy and he were enjoying each others’ young bodies and Amy had one thing only in mind: sex, as she seduced this young willing stud. After fondling his magnificently erect cock, Amy set off on the road to the ultimate act, intimating to Marcus the pleasures to come, by giving him a female blow-job: his first blow-job ever.

Marcus, who, unbeknown to Amy, had considerable sexual experience, still ongoing, with Maurice Denham, posed no resistance as he was totally enjoying what was happening to him. He had moved mentally into what might be described as the living and learning phase of his sex education; and no one was a quicker learner than Marcus when it came to sex. He was mentally in somewhat of a quandary, for having had, for the past year, a truly loving relationship with Maurice, he was amazed how he had suddenly been attracted to a member of the opposite sex, with whom he now desperately wanted to copulate. Until he met Amy, since he was fourteen years old, he had had eyes only for muscular, older boys at the School, out of which attraction had developed the close physical relationship he now enjoyed with Maurice. But now here he was, totally infatuated with Amy – a woman yet! – and enjoying every bit of the tender, loving care she was lavishing upon him.

But Marcus suddenly realised, acutely aware of just how little he knew about having sex with a female and how experienced Amy obviously was, when, having sucked him off to orgasm, she opened a drawer, in which he could see a sizable carton, from which she extracted a single condom and a tube of lubricant. It was not that Marcus did not know what a condom was and the purpose it served; but he had never seen one until now and had never even considered using one in his weekly sessions with Maurice. Amy then surprised him as him as rather than hand the rubber to him, she opened the packet and rolled the condom onto Marcus’s still erect member. She then applied a good dose of lubricant, making Marcus even harder than he had been – if that was possible – before lying down on the bed and beckoning him to join her.

And that is how Marcus Saxby-Cox, a schoolboy aged eighteen, with a desirably large penis, already an experienced cockswain – to coin a word – but one which was then still virgin to heterosexual sex, and Amy Hinchcliffe, a very experienced young woman of twenty-four, with an extremely large appetite for sex, started what was to become their year-long affair; and this, within one brief hour of leaving the tea-shop!

Marcus saw that he had been pipped at the post by a girl. What most young men of his age would have seen as their first conquest was, in fact, game, set and match down to his partner. Amy, he now saw, by the directness of her actions, as a girl in need of regular sex, who on meeting him for only the second time, purely by chance in the street, had, then and there, decided to make him hernext conquest and had unhesitatingly swooped into the kill. Marcus realised that he was in a situation which should be the other way round; he should have been the one seducing Amy, and not Amy seducing him. It had now dawned upon him in view of the expertise, which Amy, by her actions had taken him in hand, together with the availability of the prophylactic paraphernalia associated with heterosexual sex, that he was certainly not the first to succumb to Amy’s undoubted charms.

But as he found the girl highly attractive and she obviously wanted him to have sex with her, what the heck did it matter if he became the latest of a line of men with whom Amy had had sex? At least he would be having his first experience with a female who could show him the way. Of course the fact of the matter, as that infallible indicator of his own sexual readiness was telling him, was that he was so taken with Amy’s attractive physical appearance, that whatever her mores, he would have gone ahead, forcing himself on her and fucked her given half a chance. But here he was being welcomed with open arms; so why hold back? For for both Amy and him, it had been not a case of love, but of lust, on first sight.

But if Amy had had the upper-hand in their relationship so far, once Marcus had her in his arms and experienced the pleasure of feeling a soft, pliant female body under him, he slid himself smoothly into her as if it was an act he accomplished daily. If Amy had thought that she was about to have sex with a young man, whom she could continue to twist around her finger as she had done up to now, she was sadly mistaken. It may have been Marcus’s first time with a woman, but he was already a very experienced operator when it came to copulation. So, with the bit between his teeth and psyched up to high heaven with the anticipation of what was to come, Marcus gave Amy, who unbeknown to him, adored rough sex, the pounding of her life with his magnificent, rock-hard cock.

As he swiftly took her through to what was to be the first of their several orgasms together that afternoon, Amy felt that she was being transported to heaven. She had been with many different men in her brief life; but sex with Marcus was something else. He did for her what no man hitherto had ever done; he totally dominated her and left her with a feeling of fulfilment which she had never, ever before experienced. She had loved every second of it.

But Marcus was not yet done with Amy. Now in total control of what was happening, he withdrew his still hard cock from her and pulled off the rubber, which was now bulging with his copious emission. He went over to the drawer, took another condom from the carton, tore open the foil packaging and rolled it onto his cock, this time without Amy’s assistance, before going on to fuck Amy for the second time within ten minutes, Within the next two hours the two of them wallowed in a private orgy of raw carnality, getting through no less than six condoms and as many orgasms in what seemed like an ongoing, unbroken chain of copulation.

And that is how Marcus Saxby-Cox, discovered that he was bisexual: that he was equally attracted sexually to both males and females and enjoyed having sex with both of them. So for all that first term of his final year at Churton, which had led to his monumental beating by the Headmaster, Mr.Godber, Marcus had been copulating twice a week with Maurice Denham and once a week – very occasionally twice, if the opportunity arose, for Marcus had an essentially insatiable libido – with Amy Hinchcliffe, neither of which liaisons were known to the Headmaster.

Marcus’s beating and fall from grace, followed by his subsequent reinstatement, had all been predicated on the Headmaster’s assertion that he had seen him emerging from the King’s Arms and quite naturally assumed that Marcus had been in there drinking. In fact, the word, drink, had never been mentioned in the conversation between Mr. Godber and Marcus, who immediately saw that the Headmaster had got the wrong end of the stick in making his assumption. But given the true reason for his apparent leaving of the King’s Arms and the devastating repercussions for him if the Headmaster ever found out what he had been doing there, Marcus decided, to avoid what would have been his instant expulsion from Churton, by allowing Mr. Godber to continue to believe that he had caught his head-boy red-handed coming out of a public house with all that that implied.

Now the fact of the matter was that Marcus Saxby-Cox, unlike many of his contemporaries, did not drink beer or any other alcoholic beverages at all. Thus when the Headmaster had rescinded his original decision and had offered to reinstate him as head-boy, against his word that he would never again, whilst still at Churton, enter the King’s Arms or other public house and would totally forswear the drinking of alcohol in any form both in public and private, Marcus had had no problem in giving his word. The Headmaster was ignorant of the fact that Marcus did not drink at all; nor that he had never actually been into the King’s Head or any other pub for that matter. Marcus was being less than completely honest when he allowed the Headmaster to believe that he was correct in his conclusions. He had therefore taken that truly monumental beating from the Headmaster to save himself from expulsion, which would have ruined his chances for Cambridge had the truth ever come out.

So at the end of the day, one can sympathise with Marcus for saving his own skin and also that of both Amy Hinchcliffe, who would certainly have been dismissed from her job in the laundry and also possibly Maurice Denham, who would also certainly have have been expelled along with Marcus had their long-standing homosexual affair ever seen the light of day, as such things have a nasty habit of doing.

In the words of Alexander Pope: To err is human, to forgive, divine.Myself, I tend to favour forgiveness, especially in a case such as this. The actions of Marcus, Amy and Maurice, although forbidden by the school rules, and indeed in the case of Marcus and Maurice proscribed, by the law of the land at the time the actions in this story took place, they were just following their normal sexual urges and had done no damage to anyone. They were just three young people bowing to the demands which nature was imposing upon them.

And so, Marcus and Amy and and Marcus and Maurice, continued their regular sexual activities, fucking like rabbits for another two terms, until the end of the school year, when both Marcus and Maurice left Churton to go on to university; Marcus to Cambridge and Maurice to Oxford where in those fertile, intellectual breeding grounds they both easily found new partners. Marcus, on the principle that ignorance bliss, never told Amy or Maurice of his shared affections for both of them; so they never knew of the existence of the each other.

When he left Churton, Marcus felt justifiably proud of his record as head-boy. He knew from the punishment records, which he had studied in detail, that as in his year as head-boy, he had beaten more arses than any of his predecessors over the last ten years: a major contribution towards law and order at the school. Add to this his totally exceptional sexual activity; as a young man of nineteen, he calculated that he roughly had had sex with Amy no less than thirty times in his final year and with Maurice with whom he had copulated twice a week for their last two years together at Churton, no less than one hundred and forty.

But his contemporaneous experience with Amy and Maurice had taught him that his future life would be with another man. Much as he had enjoyed sex with Amy, he had decided that the trappings of marriage, which is where liaison with a female, whether with Amy or another woman with would ultimately have ended up, were not for him. He knew that, long term, he could never be faithful to a woman and would always prefer to have sex with another man. And if ever he was again tempted to have sex with a woman, well there was no need to keep a cow when he could always buy a pint of milk.

As for Amy; well, Marcus and she had a tearful – hers – break-up at the end of the school year. But Amy, with her generously liberal libido soon found a replacement stud for Marcus and pursued the happy life as she knew it.

So all’s well that ends well.

THE END

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I woke up. It was Saturday morning. Today was my Mom’s birthday. Cameron and I had agreed to make her a luxurious breakfast in bed. It was 7 AM and we had had a lot to drink last night. I got up. The living room was empty. I decided to see if I could wake up Cameron.

I opened the bedroom door slowly and thank God they were actually sleeping and not doing anything else. My Mom was laying on her back with her covers pulled up tight. Closer to the door was Cameron, half on his side, half on his stomach, with one arm around my Mom. Because she had stolen all the covers, he was not fully covered. All of his back and butt were out. He was naked. His butt was beautifully round in this position, to an extent that it seemed unnatural. It was the third time in three days that I had seen Cameron naked, but each time my heart started beating faster.

He looked so peaceful, but I decided to shake his shoulder to see if I could wake him up. His heavy breathing suddenly stopped as he inhaled sharply.

“Hmm?”

I whispered, “breakfast”.

“Huh?”

He turned around my way and looked at me.

“Oh. Right.”

He held on to me to get up and as he took away the rest of the covers, it was clear he had morning wood. It was a gorgeous 7’’ erection that I would have loved to wrap my lips around. He got up and was still using me for balance. His cock stuck out in front of him and grazed my thigh as we stood. He pushed me to walk and I left the bedroom. He grabbed a robe off the hook on the door and slipped it on. It was exactly the white robe I had seen in my dreams the day before. Odd.

He apologized for not getting up earlier.

“When I can sleep late, I sleep really late. And after the alcohol, I forgot to set an alarm. Sorry, man. But thanks for waking me up.”

After one coffee Cameron was awake and alert and we prepared the large breakfast as quietly as we could. We woke up Jodi and Miguel to help as well. We balanced a pile of pancakes on a plate, a big box of donuts was delivered and they didn’t knock the door as requested. We made French toast and mimosas. And by 7.30 we had prepared a lovely breakfast. We went into the bedroom and she was sitting up in bed.

“I heard you mess around and didn’t want to spoil the surprise”, she said. But then she saw what we had made as we carried it in.

“Happy birthday!!”

“I can’t eat all of this here!”, she said. She was impressed and so thankful.

Cameron had prepared a fun day at Dixie Landin’, a theme park only a 10 minute drive away. I remember it opening, I must have been about 15 at the time. I’ve gone once with my friends at the time but don’t really remember the experience. I was surprised how game my Mom was to go on rides. She held on dearly to Cameron’s arm as she went, but she did go. Because I was basically the fifth wheel, I sat next to a stranger for most of the rides, but because my Mom was afraid to go on most of the rollercoasters, I sat next to both Jodi and Cameron on a few occasions.

Right next door to Dixie Landin’ was a water park, and because it was such a great day (84 degrees, 29 Celsius) I was kind of wishing we would also go there. To see Cam in his swimming trunks… Maybe losing his shorts on one of the rides… And then as we were queuing, he brought it up himself.

“I thought about going to the water park next door, but then I should have let you know to bring swimwear and I forgot, sorry”.

“It’s such a nice day”, I replied, “I would have just gone wearing my regular clothes”.

He smiled.

“Next time we are definitely going”, he concluded.

By the end of the day, I was quite tired, but Cameron had made reservations at Mom’s favorite restaurant, Juban’s. So after a quick stop at the house to change, we crammed into one car to go to dinner. The alcohol flowed freely, the food was amazing, and Cameron had paid for all of us before we could even suggest anything else. It was so good to be with family and for a second I regretted having an early flight home the next morning.

Once outside, I realized just how drunk Cameron was. My Mom and I had been drinking wine, Miguel and Cameron had knocked back quite a few beers. But Cameron seemed a bit worse for wear as he seemed unstable walking to the car. As previously agreed, Jodi was sober and drove us home. Cameron insisted Mom got the front passenger seat, as “it’s her day!”. This meant that the three men were crammed in the back. Cameron sat in the middle and rested his hands on Miguel’s and my thigh.

“This was a great day, you guys! I love you all!”

“I think this is what they call ‘white boy wasted’”, Jodi said from the driver’s seat.

We all laughed.

Miguel and I helped Cameron to his bedroom, but once there he seemed fine undressing by himself. Miguel speedily left the room and Mom even said, “he’s fine”. I then also had to leave the room, because there was no obvious reason for me to stay. I gave my Mom a big hug and said, “I hope you had a good birthday.”

“It was the absolute best”, she said. “So glad you were here.”

“I am too. My flight is early tomorrow.”

“Wake me up before you leave, please.”

“I will.”

I smiled as she kissed me on the mouth. Typical Mom.

By this time I turned around and Cameron was lying on top of the sheets, just wearing black briefs that were pulled down halfway his butt cheeks. He lay face down, ass up, and I could hear his snoring.

Mom laughed, and whispered, “Go!”

I left the room, said good night and goodbye to Jodi and Miguel, saying I didn’t want to wake them tomorrow, and went to bed.

About an hour later, hearing Cameron’s snoring through the wall for most of that time, I was starting to fall asleep. But then suddenly, my door swung open. I saw a silhouette coming in, turning and closing the door. By the profile of his body, I could tell it was Cameron. And that he was naked with a semi-erect cock. He wobbled toward the bed that I was in, clearly still intoxicated, and lifted up the sheets.

“Cam?”, I whispered. There was no response.

He seemed to be completely unaware that I was in the room. It was likely my Mom had kicked him out of the bed for snoring, but in his stupor he may have forgotten I was here. So his big body fell into the small single bed, as I was forced to make room. My body was now crammed against the wall, and his was crammed against mine. We were both on our sides, facing each other.

“Oh”, he whispered, “Hey”, as he put an arm around me and pulled me in tight. Our faces, chests, and knees were now touching. I noticed I was getting an erection, whereas I could tell Cameron’s body was falling asleep. A soft snoring soon started, which got louder the deeper asleep he fell.

I had to admit, it felt really nice to be cuddled by someone. It had been a while that I had felt this type of closeness. Despite Cam’s loud snoring, the warmth and comfort of a man’s arms around me, also had me drifting off.

When I woke up a few hours later it was still dark out. I had rolled onto my back and Cam’s head was resting on my chest. His right hand was on my other pec. He was still holding on to me tight and snoring lightly, but clearly in a deep sleep. His hips were slowly thrusting against my thigh, which is what must have woken me up. It was like he was having a sexy dream. I quickly checked the illuminated alarm clock. It said 2:12. I didn’t have to get up yet. I carefully reached my hand down and grabbed his rock hard cock. The thrusts now slowed down a little as I was thinking he might wake up. The hand that was on my chest started squeezing and then moved around my upper body, caressing me.

My hand was still on his cock as the thrusting stopped and I heard him whisper, “I love you”, and he kissed my chest without moving his head. I let go of his cock and moved my hand away. His hand found a new resting spot on my abs and he soon drifted off again as the snoring started again. I may have crossed a line there, I thought. I was too scared to wake him up to move on my side, away from him. If he woke up, he almost definitely would have apologized, gotten up and sleep on the sofa. And I wanted the closeness, the cuddling. But I knew I couldn’t engage in anything sexual.

I must have drifted off again, because I woke up to my cock being stroked.

“Hey, handsome”, Cam whispered. His hand was inside my underwear, that I had never taken off. This was not a mistake.

He kissed me on the mouth.

“This is wrong”, I whispered.

“Your massive dick disagrees”, he said. His speech was slurred. He was drunk, still. I checked the alarm clock. It was 3:23.

“Can I sit on it?”, he asked. The tone of his voice went up dramatically at the end of the sentence, something he hadn’t done before when sober. He seemed like a different person. Still sexy as hell though.

Cameron didn’t wait for my answer as he kicked the sheets off of both of us, pulled my dick out from my underwear, straddled me and was just squatting down on my cock like it was nothing. His cock pointed straight up to the ceiling and was hard as a rock.

“Ohhhhh yeah”, he exclaimed in a very high-pitched tone.

“Ssshhh”, I silently shushed him. “You’ll wake people up!”, I whispered.

“But your cock is so biiiig”, he moaned.

I automatically stroked his gorgeous cock as I was thinking I should stop this. I realized my mind was not agreeing to this, but the rest of my body most certainly was. It had been a while for me as I realized that I was already close to cumming. I wanted to push him off, but I realized it was too late.

“I’m gonna shoot”, I announced.

“Cum in my hole!”, he said, which I did.

Just as I had finished my orgasm, he had his. Because of the curve of his dick he came on his own abs.

He stood up straight on the bed and flexed as I looked up at him.

“Yeah! That was hot!”, he announced.

Then he came down and lied next to me again, now both on our back. The sheets were still by the bottom of the bed as he was fully naked, and I still had my underwear around my thighs. Cam looked at me, then looked down at my body and caressed my chest and abs. He looked back at me again. His eyes started fluttering and soon he was out like a light once again.

I got up and showered, trying not to wake anyone up. I had been so stupid. I fucked my Mom’s new boyfriend. Bareback. I knew I was clean, but I had always against unsafe sex. But because he had seemed like such a dream of a man, I let him. When I came back in the room, Cam had taken up all the space on the bed and was lying spread eagle across it. The sheets still by the bottom of the bed so his body was fully exposed. His penis had shriveled back to about 4’’ and quietly rested between his thighs. His abs were covered in dried up cum. He was still a beautiful man to see, and I couldn’t deny that I had found our encounter quite hot, but I didn’t really know what to think at this point.

I ordered an Uber. I quietly went into my Mom’s room. She was sleeping peacefully. I put my hand on her shoulder and she woke up.

“Hey”, she whispered. I smiled.

“Thanks so much for coming. I had a great weekend.”

“So did I.”

I gave her a hug and told her to go back to sleep.

I waited outside for my Uber and went to the airport early. When I landed I had two texts.

Mom, 6:47 AM: I just found Cam in your bed in quite the state. I hope you got out of there, he can get a bit sexual when drunk. Hope you had a good flight? xx

Cameron, 9:05 AM: Hey man, can’t say I remember anything after we left the restaurant. Sorry if I stole your bed. Hangover not too bad so far. 😉 Had a good time meeting you, hope to see you again soon.

THE END

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I stretch out in the sauna’s smallish whirlpool bath, just one among ten or so other guys, all trying to avoid eye contact, the feet and hands of my fellow bathers seeking each other out, rubbing themselves against the pricks and balls of their companions, There’s furious covert activity taking place across from where I’m sitting, just below the surface of the bubbling, churning water.

Neither man looks at the other, but their hands are pumping each other’s cocks, while the younger, more attractive of the two has the sole of his foot pressed firmly against my hard-on, and in their frantic desire to keep their mutual masturbation to themselves alone, the older man looks around the sauna; ceiling, showers, cabin, anywhere but where his meat is being jacked-off by his buddy; the younger guy looks similarly embarrassed, but seems to have shed his inhibitions by giving me the glad eye, almost as if he’s saying to himself ‘You know what I’m doing, and I know you know.’

The older man isn’t helping himself by his visual wandering though: he really has to concentrate, and he has to concentrate because of his embarrassment, otherwise he won’t come – and he’s desperate to come, otherwise it won’t have been worthwhile being here – so his gaze drifts casually back to the pool, to the surface of the water, as though there’s something exquisitely fascinating about it, and as though their desperate fists can’t be seen pounding beneath the surface.

His eyes even lock onto me, and his face reddens.

Everyone knows what everyone is doing in the pool.

They always do.

That’s what they’re here for — illicit gay sex, even if it’s only a hand job in a whirlpool bath. The guys on either side of me have their hands on my cock, gently stroking me; I look to the one on my left. He doesn’t return my look because he wouldn’t; this isn’t happening. He looks seemingly disinterested, and in return I’m stroking his firm flesh, my fingers wandering over the tip, feeling what could be drool; I’ve been masturbating him for a while now, and we sit there, with no more sexual chemistry between us than two men on a train home who don’t speak because they haven’t been introduced.

Across from me, the older guy starts to jerk, his face going very red and trying hard not to display that he’s cumming in the water. It’s almost funny, watching someone having a massive climax and trying not to let anyone know.

It’s cardiac arrest stuff.

He gradually calms down and reaches behind him to lever himself out of the pool, leaving the young guy who masturbated him disappointed that there isn’t going to be a reciprocal orgasm, but the man who’s just dropped his load in the pool is out of here.

He’s had enough.

He’s mortified that everyone knows what he’s been doing and what he’s had done to him, so he leaves the younger guy, and he’ll probably not be back for a long time, at least not until he feels that his day-to-day life is boring, and he needs something a little more ‘exciting’. He probably thinks being gay is disgusting, and would never consider fucking a man, or being fucked.

This is just ‘different’, a sort of relief after a hard day at work.

He clambers out of the pool, jizz clinging to the underside of his penis like spit, and he hurries to the shower. His temporary partner catches my eye, and wriggles his foot gently against my cock, disturbing the hands that are stroking me and I look away. It’s almost like he’s been unfaithful; I would have gladly succumbed to his caresses if he’d approached me first, but he decided to give that uptight asshole his jollies instead.

It’s as stupid as that.

Above us, leaning on the balcony rail that surrounds the pool area, stands the attendant, wearing his regulation white t-shirt and white pants – looking for all the world like an athlete. He has a good body though; he’s watching for ‘bad behaviour’ in the sauna. He never really finds any – I’ve even sucked him off in the locker room before now, and we’ve exchanged phone numbers, but we’ve never met outside of the sauna.

The illusion would be shattered.

Sometimes the police raid the joint, and they haul away a few poor bastards who are giving blowjobs in the bunkroom, but it’s only a token. I heard a rumour that some of the vice police come in here on their days off and get their rocks off with the regulars.

The guy on my right seems pleasant. His cock is really hard now, and he’s leaning against me, very tense, waiting for me to bring him off, so I concentrate on stroking him, uncaring as to who might see, his tense body is coiled, ready for the drop. I feel a light shudder against me, and another longer one, his legs thrash beside mine and then it’s over.

This pool must be thick with cum every day. Who’d be the one to volunteer to clean it out?

I love cum, but in my mouth or in my butt, not sliming up the bath.

I decide to make a move before my skin gets wrinkled, so I get up, clamber out of the pool, my ten inch boner swaying and bobbing before me, grab my towel and wrap it round my shoulders, then stroll off, glancing behind me, knowing that I’m getting some greedy looks.

Yeah, call me conceited.

I’ve got the body, right?

Stopping briefly in front of the mirror, I check myself out: 35 years old, muscular torso, hairy chest, and I look like I work out, though the only working-out I do, apart from occasional mornings at the gym is horizontal jogging.

A bit of a bear if you like, but only in looks – I don’t dig all that leather and chain stuff.

The mirror also shows me who’s followed me out of the pool.

Ah, there’s one guy. Not bad looking — about my age, clean-shaven and a little shy, I’d say. he was watching me in the pool.

I head for the steam room for a while.

Pulling open the door, a gust of steam blows out, and momentarily I can see that there’s about a dozen guys in there; the thing about the steam room is that you can’t see anything once you’re inside, but there are hands everywhere. Mouths seek mine, and I brush up against long cocks, fat ones, muscular ones — all hard – and you can’t see any further than the end of your nose.

It’s silent.

You notice that about gay saunas — unless you’re involved in a one-to-one conversation, usually with someone you’ll take home later, there’s complete human silence. In here, all I can hear is some breathing. A couple of months back I was in here getting a little cream on my face, when there was a sudden ‘crack!’ as someone had his face slapped. All activity stopped briefly, while the guy left.

Fuck knows who slapped him or why.

What can he possibly have done in a gay steam-room that would deserve a slap?

I move to the far end. No one who wants anything serious stands by the door. Apart from the cold as the door opens, there’s never any action. That all takes place deep in at the other end.

Away from prying eyes.

Just prying hands inhabit this end of the room; I bump into a naked guy, and there’s a pathetic attempt at an apology, meantime he’s fumbling for my prick, and that’s how most of us guys meet – by bumping into each other in an ill-lit steam room.

I’m surrounded by naked flesh, and reach out with both hands, which are immediately filled with man-meat, then my prick is held by gentle hands, and stroked. I decide to blow the guy on my right. He has a hard, strong cock, and chances are it’ll taste great, so I sink to my knees on the stone floor, and take his swollen penis deep into my mouth. The others can sense that sex is happening, because suddenly I have pricks poking my ear, forehead, shoulders, but I keep blowing him, running my tongue along the underside of his flesh, tracing his tube all the way to the engorged tip, then running my tongue round his piss slit, tasting his pre-cum drool, before taking him deep again.

This isn’t love and it’s not a date, so there’s no time for the finer points of ‘How to Give Good Head’. He wants me to bring him off as fast as possible, so I hold his cock gently with one hand, stroking it while I suck, and I can hear the hiss of his breath above me. The other cocks are still there and hands are working on them – it’s getting a little like The Group Cum Shot in a porno movie. Something wet and long splashes down past my gaze, and then a slick cock is wiped across the bridge of my nose.

One has just come on my shoulder.

Thanks pal!

I feel his thighs quiver lightly, and he begins to shift his feet, as he fucks my mouth. Another prick has just cum on my back, but I try not to lose concentration, then I hear a deep sigh, and my mouth is filled with jizz. It’s sweet tasting, and chewy and I swallow most of, letting the rest drip down onto my chin and onto the floor.

Getting to my feet again, I push through the cluster of nakedness that has formed around me, figuring now might be a good time to leave, and I have to adjust my eyes as I open the door into the rest of the sauna.

Wiping my face and shoulder with my towel, I get most of the cum off me, and head for the sauna cabin, hoping it isn’t going to be full; when it’s full, it’s like being on some nudist bus. People standing all around you, not saying a word, but sizing you up, and there’s usually someone down on the lower bench who’s got his cock in someone’s mouth, which turns on most of the inhabitants and in the end you’re fighting off hands from all over.

All is well.

There’s just another couple who spring apart as I enter, making out that they’re not with each other, while I sit on an upper bench on my towel, lightly fingering my cock. They look at me as though I’ve farted at the dinner table.

‘Look’, I say, trying to cause the least embarrassment. ‘I’m not a cop, so please, if you want to fuck each other go right ahead.’ One smiles and turns to the other one, hands ready, but his pal obviously believes they’ve reserved the Honeymoon Suite and I’m gatecrashing.

They get up and leave.

Fuck ’em.

I soak up the totally unnatural heat, my back against the cabin’s hot wooden wall. The door opens, and in comes my shy guy. He doesn’t look at me, but turns to spread his towel on the upper bench opposite me, giving me a privileged view of his tight little butt, then, having decided that I’ve seen enough, he finally sits down. He has a beautifully tasty-looking cock, uncut, and long, and as he watches me looking at it, he starts to play with, and naturally I get a hard-on in return.

It’s like a yawn.

Once you see someone else with a real good hard-on, you gotta have one yourself.

I stroke mine as he strokes his, and I turn so that my legs are hanging down onto the bench below, giving him a prime view of my meat. He shifts on the bench and spreads his thighs as wide as he can, showing me his gorgeous boner, and he’s beating on it quite fast.

Just then the door opens, and we both cover ourselves.

Such is life. A thuggish-looking guy stands there for a moment, looking us over – he’s well-built, but I’ve seen him on previous visits, and I seem to recall that fisting is his main social skill. He moves slowly towards me, placing his hand on my erection, but good-looking though he is, there’s something uncomfortably creepy about him, and I get up to go, but he holds on to my dick as I stand there, so I give him a hard look.

‘Fuck off, or die!’ I hiss, in my best menacing voice.

It seems to work, because he suddenly looks startled and drops his hand.

Thus I exit, leaving my potential chum behind me.

It’s every man for himself in here.

Upstairs, at the back of the sauna, past the lockers, is the bunkroom. Here’s where most of the action takes place. The lights are low, and each bunk has a little ‘reading light’ (for those who really can’t get a date). There’s an unwritten sauna bath rule that you only have the light on if you’re ‘free’; as soon as you get some action, you turn it off, but since some of the more flamboyant guests like to have an audience, the lights stay on most of the time.

I pass by various bunks, some with single occupancy, but most with two – the occasional loner lying on his back masturbating – I once saw a very athletic guy who was auto-fellating. He was skilful, if inaccurate, since most of his cum hit the pillow beside him and not his mouth. I always wanted to be able to auto-fellate — I’ve only tasted my cum when kissing the guy who’s given me a blowjob – but I got as far as raising my legs up against a wall, then swung over, my cock swaying about a foot from my mouth. By then, I was so out of breath I couldn’t concentrate on masturbating.

Being able to suck your own cock!

Wow!

In the bunkroom, there are the usual double-headers and languid lovers, side by side, stroking each other for what seems like forever, and then I find an empty one that suits me.

A few guys go past, but I ignore them, and become reflective. Somehow, whenever I get into the sauna, and find myself with idle moments, I tend to look back: I guess I must have been 16 when I had my first gay experience. I was always tall for my age, and blessed with a good physique, but like all kids of that age, I lived with a permanent erection, and my nights were spent in a blur of erotic fantasies and spurting copious amounts of cum into Kleenex.

It was the movies that opened a whole new world to me. I started visiting the local bug pit, a known hangout for gays, and spent most of my school vacation there; my folks thought I was taking a mighty keen interest in contemporary films, in fact I was being initiated into the joys of gay sex.

The first time was one hot Friday afternoon in summer — I’d got my popcorn and was sitting in the middle of the row of seats, when a guy came and sat right next to me. I thought it was kind of funny, with all those empty seats around, but he seemed friendly; even offered me a cigarette. I took it, gave him a light, and we just sat there smoking, watching the movie and not saying a word.

Then I felt his hand rest lightly on my thigh.

I wasn’t shocked or even embarrassed; I was only aware of the heat coming from his hand, and a churning feeling in my loins. His hand moved further up, and when I didn’t stop him, it crept softly into my crotch.

‘Fool around?’

His voice was soft. I looked at his face, barely lit by the glow of the screen, and guessed he was a tad older than me, say 19-20.

‘How do you mean?’

My voice shook slightly – I didn’t want to appear too stupid.

‘You know.’ he nudged me.

I said nothing but just stared at the screen.

‘Let me play with your cock.’

I shrugged my shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant, but my heart was hammering in my chest, as he brought his other hand round to fumble at my zipper. Then my apprehension melted into a delirious longing as his warm hand slipped under my shorts, and grasped my semi-hard penis. Even at that age I was well-hung, and I heard him gasp as he curled his fingers round the thickening stem. He nervously looked around the theatre, then rested his other arm on the back of the seat while he stroked me.

It was a strange, exciting sensation, due mainly of course to it being so illicit and ‘bad’, but I didn’t want to let on to him that I was really enjoying it; somehow I wanted him to think this wasn’t my first time. I longed to do the same to him, but didn’t dare in case a torchlight beam came flashing down on us, resulting in my poor folks finding out their son was a movie-house faggot.

I lost all interest in the film, my mind drifting away to sandy beaches and muscular beach boys – one of my nocturnal fantasies that had produced so many Kleenex soaked in cum — and I tried to keep my moans as low as possible. The trouble was that at that age, I was on a hair trigger; each time I felt he was going to make me cum, I’d tried to steer my thoughts away from what was happening, but I knew it couldn’t last; he was so gentle, and so persistent, and I just couldn’t put off the moment any longer – as soon as I felt that sudden delicious tickle in my loins, I gave a little muffled cry and erupted all over his hand. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over me as I spewed out my cum, clutching at his coat, trying to keep from squirming too much in my seat, and feeling my shorts soaking up the jizz, while he continued to stroke me with his messy, sticky hand.

He patted me on the shoulder, got up and left, leaving me to do the best I could with some paper tissues I found lying on the floor by my feet, realising, as I used them, that as they were quite hard, they’d probably had cum on them already, I looked furtively around to see if anyone had noticed me having a climax, then realised that at the end of my row was a man on his knees, with a length of cock right down his throat. There was no way they’d have heard me, judging by the look on the face of the guy he was blowing.

I got home, and somehow managed to get upstairs without my Ma realising I’d cum on my pants, so I put them straight in the laundry basket, just hoping she wouldn’t notice among all the other washing.

After that I made regular trips to the movies, and learned that the place to be was the men’s room; being a very old building, the partition walls of the cubicles were all made of cheap wood, so I’d find an empty one, pull down my pants, and sit on the toilet seat, listening for any activity around me. There were small glory holes on each side of my cubicle, and I’d lean sideways on the seat peering into next door. Mostly it was some guy pissing, so I’d kill time by giving the various cocks marks out of ten, but sometimes I’d hit pay dirt, and a couple would furtively creep in; one would drop his slacks and bend over, while his pal would spit on his cock, and work it into the flesh, before sliding it neatly into the guy’s butt. There’d just be the sound of gasps and low moans, and a sort of squishing sound, which I guess was the sound of a prick fucking an ass.

I used to whack off when this happened, trying to keep going until we all came together — usually I lasted that long, which encouraged me, as I really didn’t want to spend the rest of my life cumming as soon as I got into sex play; I’d hear a ragged sigh from the guys next door, a moment or two of silence, then a release of breath – this was usually the momentwhen my cum would shoot out onto the tiled floor – followed by toilet paper being torn off the spool, wiping sounds, and general clearing up noises, after which there’d be zippers being pulled up, and muffled arrangements made for some future date.

Threesomes got real noisy and the partition wall would shake as they all tried to find room to fuck in such a small area, and the air would be filled with hissed words and commands, and slurping, wet sounds.

Sometimes a long cock would poke through, sometimes a fat one, sometimes a real long one, and sometimes an uncut one — those became my favorite, there’s so much more to lick – at first I didn’t dare do anything, and froze, wondering if it might be a trap (gay paranoia, so young!) but gradually I got accustomed to licking the tip, and putting my lips over the end, or even taking a few inches into my mouth. It was only after I’d got my first real big mouthful of jizz, gagged and almost choked, that I decided to take it easy and learn stuff first.

I decided to start using the glory hole myself — it’s real weird, sticking your erection through a hole in a wood wall – it took a while to banish the thought that some nutcase might just chop off your dick – and it was only after I’d had my first blowjob through the glory hole that I understood how to do it. I can still remember pressing myself up to the smelly wall of that john, while my prick was sucked by a willing mouth; there’d be some serious jacking-off, as he held my piss-slip over his the open mouth – I could feel his warm, urgent breath on me – then shooting my wad into his mouth, listening to his breathing change as he swallowed my cum.

That was my initiation, and I still go to the movies whenever I can. The old place is gone now – too many gay raids when the guys got careless – I think it was when some straight guy went to use the john some time back in 82, and found fifteen naked guys, including the manager, energetically butt-fucking each other.

My musings are interrupted when I notice the shy guy stroll by, and I’m about to call out softly, when he sees me, and comes over to me, unwrapping his towel. I sit up on the bunk as he stands there, his beautiful, erect, uncut cock level with my head, and I lean forward to kiss the tip, darting my tongue into his piss-slit, tasting the drool, taking his stiff stem gently in one hand, before pulling the foreskin back from the shiny, engorged head.

I take him into my mouth, my eyes closed, savouring that musky man-smell emanating from his bush and balls. His undulating stomach muscles flex – he has a nice six-pack – as I take him all the way in, my nose coming to rest against his slim belly, and feeling his prick stretch and swell in my throat. I suck hard on him for a while, and then ease him out of my mouth, licking my lips, before taking him in again. His hands come to rest on my head, pushing himself against my face and fucking my mouth, then I run my hands under his balls and on to his butt, splaying my hand on his butt-crack, before dipping a finger into his honey pot.

There’s no resistance, so I dip in another one, almost up to my knuckle joint, and I finger fuck him for a while, as we begin to build up a rhythm, meeting his thrusts with my mouth, occasionally just resting his cock in my lips while I whack him off, before swallowing him whole again.

My head is giddy with the sexual aroma that is rising from his meat.

This time, as he fucks my mouth, his thighs start to jerk, the rhythm becoming uneven, and his hands are deep in my hair, gripping my head, as I hear him sigh above me. His body jerks, his hands pull my head tight against him, sending his prick down my throat as he cums. I have to back off slightly or choke, as his juice gushes into my mouth, and I swallow what I can, but have to pull him out, still stroking the pulsing cock, and run it down the side of my face, letting him pulse out his load against my cheeks, before licking it, and mouthing him once more, taking everything he’s got, while he shudders and writhes against me.

I let him go, drool still oozing out of the slit, and he sits down on the bed next to me. He gives me a loving look, and our lips meet, as I pass some of his cum back to him. Our tongues thrash against each other, while his hand reaches down to my cock, curling his fingers round the girth.

I reach up and turn off the light.

I’ve got a lot of cum to drop, and I think my shy pal will be here with me for some time.

---

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I’d always been pretty much on the wild side. A feral boy, who’d enjoyed the freedoms of youth , and who never once imagined that life could turn out very differently to expectations. Indeed, I guess I’d assumed that I would remain master of my own fate wherever life took me – perhaps never once thinking that love might change my attitude, and (ultimately) transform my destiny.

Indeed, even when I first met Max it never occurred to me that things would be completely different from here on in. Which, when you consider who Max Brooks actually was, probably sounds quite crazy now! For the man wasn’t just anybody. He was a world-famous singer, whose reputation with the female of the species was almost as well-known as his clean-cut, toothy image. Indeed, I have to say that I was somewhat taken aback when the fellow first propositioned me whilst I waited on him at a restaurant in Montreal. He was there with a couple of his agents and flash friends, having hired the location for a business meeting; whilst I was filling in on a temporary basis, before moving on to my next job (whatever that happened to be). Because, let’s face it, that was what life was like for me at that time – a few months spent doing one thing before going off to do something else. Until, like I say, Max Brooks came along and quite unexpectedly swept me off my feet.

‘So,’ he drooled, leaving his colleagues to come and speak to me as I served out some drinks for them at the bar, ‘what’s a cute guy like you doing in a place like this?’

I glanced up at his handsome, manly frame. Noting that his dark brown eyes were even more gorgeous that his photos suggested. ‘Just making out,’ I coyly explained.

‘Just making out …’

‘Yeah, something like that …’

‘You want me to take you away from all this?’

I couldn’t help but smile at his teasing. ‘Well, I can dream.’

‘I’m not joking. If you like I can take you away with me.’

‘I think I’d best continue with serving the drinks,’ I sighed.

‘I have a place. Up in Yukon -‘

‘Yukon?!’

‘I’d like you to fly up there with me – tonight …’

‘Mr. Brooks,’ I smiled. ‘I don’t think -‘

But he was insistent. ‘You’re gonna love it. The views are just spectacular; and you just wait until you see my king-size bed. Gees, the fun we could both have on that …’

And that was pretty much it. Another glance into his chocolate eyes and what resistance I had just melted away! Which explains how I awoke the next morning some two-and-a-half thousand miles away, in a spacious wooden cabin in the fucking middle of nowhere. Just Max Brooks and me. Stretched out in that king-size bed he’d promised.

‘I thought you were straight,’ I remarked, as we lay there together.

‘Looks can be deceptive.’

‘But what about all these stories in the papers? The girls you’re supposed to have affairs with, before you dump them for the next …?’

He grinned. ‘When you’re as rich as me, you can get the papers to publish what you like. In fact,’ he continued, ‘when you’re as rich as me, you soon discover that you can exactly what you like pretty much on a permanent basis …’

And with that he leaned over and kissed me; before pulling back the duvet to reveal the throbbing piece of meat that was already straining in my groin.

‘You often bring back guys to this place and do this sort of thing?’ I questioned.

He shook his head. ‘I have to be careful,’ he replied. ‘I have a reputation to consider, after all. In fact, I’ve taken a big risk bringing you up here …’

I smiled – flattered, as I was, by the trust he was showing me.

‘If the papers were to find out …’

‘Look!’ I protested. ‘I’m not gunna tell them if that’s what you think!’

He grinned. ‘I know you won’t. Because if you do, I shall just deny it anyway. And then I shall have you killed.’

I couldn’t help but look surprised at his bluntness, totally unsure as to whether he was joking or not.

‘Hey!’ he laughed. ‘Anyone ever told you how cute you look when you’re worried?’

I shook my head. ‘No,’ I stuttered.

‘Anyway, you’re not gonna spill the beans on our little secret – so why fret?’

I hesitated in my response. Perhaps, for the very first time, regretting my somewhat hasty decision to come out here with the guy. ‘You’d really kill me – if I blabbed?’ I asked.

‘That’s really bothered you, hasn’t it?’ he noted.

‘Well, no. Well, yes …’ I stumbled.

‘Hey, pretend I never said it,’ he insisted. ‘I know for a fact that you’re never, ever gonna tell anyone about me, so it really ain’t a problem.’

I couldn’t help but ask. ‘How can you be so sure …?’

He gave another charming smile. ‘Let’s just say I’m a good judge of character.’

And with that he pushed towards me and gave me another kiss. This time a very open, tongue-filled smooch that merely confirmed his desire to rut. Indeed, before I knew it he had straddled himself across me chest and had flopped his grand uncut eight-incher into my face. A more-than-generous offering that I was not about to decline.

‘You like a nice hard cock?’ he teased, pushing the crimson head towards my lips.

‘Of course.’

At which point he thrust the rod into my open mouth.

Such dominant behaviour did little but turn me on even more, I have to confess. For Max knew exactly what he wanted, and exactly how he was gunna get it – and I’ll be perfectly honest and admit that that aspect of his character was something I found strangely appealing. This surprised me, given that I had always enjoyed being so cocksure and confident of myself up ’til now. But there was something about this dashing singer that totally disarmed me and left me ready to be a passenger to his driver. Something that made me utterly vulnerable.

And I loved every minute of it.

I don’t think I’ve ever gulped at a hard shaft quite so willingly and eagerly as I did that morning. Sucking it across my tongue like a lollypop, and allowing it to quickly push towards the back of my throat. Max himself grabbed hold of the headboard behind me and started to thrash his hips in my direction, forcing his uncompromising length down my throat in the process. An act that might have been expected to leave me literally gagging, but which in fact simply appeared to make me eager for more. Gees, by that point I was just a dirty white bitch, who couldn’t get enough of the guy’s nasty dick in my mouth. A veritable slut, who would do anything to satisfy Max’s wanton cravings.

Which probably explains why I promptly opened my legs for the guy when he finally decided that it was man-cunt he wanted. Parting my two limbs into the splits he pushed his raging cock-head against my tight, inexperienced pucker. Not that my hole was destined to remain that way for much longer. For, as I quickly discovered, Max was one very hot and horny dude, who thought nothing of riding a guy for hours at a time. Indeed, that very first session was but a foretaste of things to come, as he buried himself up to the hilt and began to dip his sword back and forth with long, deliberate lunges.

‘That feel good?’ he quizzed, looking down on me with those heavy eyes of his.

‘Yeah …’ I gasped, as his cock filled my guts and rubbed against my prostrate. ‘Gees, yeah – it feels fantastic! Really – fantastic!’

‘You just saying that to please me?’

‘No, man! No, it feels so big. So good …’

‘You like a hard cock up your arse?’

‘Yeah. I love it …’

‘You like my hard cock up your arse?’

‘Gees, yeah!’ I groaned, reaching up to take hold of the headboard. Fact is I’d never quite experienced anything like it before in my life, having always topped ’til now. But having him inside me like this seemed to underline just how much I’d been missing, and all I wanted was for him to fuck me even harder. To force himself even deeper into me. Which is pretty much exactly what he did!

‘That feel good now?’ he demanded, slapping his hairy balls against my ass.

‘Fuck!’ I yelped. ‘Fuck, yeah!’

And with that he raised himself up even higher, burying his pole into my slit with such magnificent ease that I just couldn’t believe this was the first time we’d ever done this together. It was so natural, so effortless – and all at once I realised that this was destiny. We were made for each other; and I, in particular, was made for him. So much so, in fact, that all I wanted was for this moment to last forever. For us to be together, like this, for the rest of our lives.

My cock was raging, straining for the attention of my clenched hand. I reached down and started to work my fingers along its hard, uncompromising length; whilst Max forced himself ever harder into me. Reaching parts of my guts that had never, ever been touched before.

He couldn’t carry on like this for much longer, I was sure. The basic laws of nature were soon gonna take over, after all – a fact confirmed by his very next words.

‘Oh fuck!’ he heaved. ‘Fuck, I’m gonna cum!’

And with that he closed his eyes and began to convulse. His whole frame gripped by the unadulterated pleasure of his orgasm, as he fired bolt after bolt of thick, creamy spunk into my crack; whilst I continued to work my own shaft to an equally enjoyable conclusion. Indeed, by the time that Max had concluded his offering, my cock was itself reaching a sticky salvation. Spurting great globs of cum right across my belly in the process.

We collapsed almost simultaneously, in a heap of breathless, sweaty satisfaction. With his sperm slowly trickling from my butt-hole, turning my on all the more. This was just as well because Max was soon demanding sloppy seconds. His cock fired up again by the sight of my well-worn crack, now oozing the remains of our initial encounter. As a result, it seemed but a brief spell before he was shafting me once again – this time his previous deposit acting as the ultimate lubricant to our lovemaking.

Fuck knows how much time we spent that day copulating like wild animals. All I can say for sure is that it was the best sex that I had ever known in my life, and that I awoke the next morning wishing that the two of us could repeat the whole exercise again. Unfortunately, however, that just wasn’t gunna be possible. For Max had to get back to Toronto for a meeting with one of his agents, and was then due in New York for a concert the following evening. I had little choice but to return to Montreal to find out whether I still had a job, given that I had left the restaurant in the lurch to jet off to the Yukon with the singer in the first place.

Little did I realise that Max had very different ideas …

‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘I guess I shall never see you again …’

‘Depends,’ I replied.

‘Depends?’

‘On whether you want to see me.’

He grinned. ‘I’d love to. But -‘ he hesitated.

‘But?’

‘But it’s not possible. As you pointed out, I have an image – and I can’t afford to take the risk of the press discovering the truth.’

‘One night stands are safer I guess.’

‘That’s what I’ve found. Though I’d love to have a relationship. You know, a real, proper relationship with someone …’

I glanced up to see him looking straight at me, and sensed at once that this was the only opportunity I was gonna get to stake my claim on him. ‘Well,’ I remarked, ‘I’m prepared to take the risk. If you are, that is …’

He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t ask it of you.’

‘What’s there to ask? I like you a lot. You like me. It’s as simple as that!’

Max laughed. ‘Oh, if only it was. Fuck, I’d have settled with someone years ago.’

‘I don’t understand …’

‘Being with me – it wouldn’t be a normal relationship.’

‘In what way?’

‘You’d always have to remain a secret.’

‘I can live with that.’

‘Away from everyone? Stuck here in the middle of nowhere?’

My young face betrayed my bewilderment. ‘I don’t think -‘ I began to reply.

‘There’d be no other option,’ he continued. ‘If you stayed in the city then the papers would soon find out. No, this is the only place you could possibly stay.’

‘Well how often would I see you?’

‘I’d try to get back as much as I could. And when I was here, I’d more than make up for my absence – I can assure you!’

‘I guess I’d be a sort of kept man …’

Max grinned. ‘Guess you would.’

I thought for a moment. Thought of the life that I would be leaving behind. It was pretty much going nowhere anyway! Thought of the life that I would have to live here, alone in the wilderness. Waiting for my lover to return. Away from the humdrum of the city, with only the backdrop of natural peace for company.

Would I be bored? I wasn’t sure. Would I enjoy the times when Max came back to me? You fuckin’ bet I would! Which in the end pretty much decided the whole matter for me.

‘Okay,’ I smiled, ‘I’ll try it …’

‘You will?’ he asked. ‘Just for me?’

‘Just for you,’ I assured him. But I’d hardly got the words out of my mouth before he’d rushed over to me and given me a great big, sloppy smooch.

‘Gees, I think I love you already,’ he laughed.

And so it was that my life began to change completely. Remaining in the Yukon, to do little but observe the magnificent scenery outside, whilst Max jetted off here and there to perform at concerts, give interviews, make guest appearances at functions … and to do all the various kind of things that famous people do. Not that I was there very long before he returned, it must be said – though I can’t begin to describe the excitement that swamped me when he stepped in through the door and told me to get ready for another real good fucking. Gees, I had my clothes off in no time; and was down on my knees, slurping on his manhood, before he so much as had time to kick away his boots. Feeding off that gorgeous shaft with my tongue; caressing it with my eager mouth and working it towards its ultimate frenzy. Not that the singer allowed me to bring him to the boil there and then. No, he was clearly determined to sink that cock of his into my butt just as soon as he possible could; and carrying me into the bedroom, laid me down on the bunk and started to work himself down into my tight, hungry hole.

‘Fuck, I need your cock inside me!’ I groaned, as he pressed his swollen head against my quaking chasm.

‘You missed me?’ he quizzed.

‘Gees, yeah. Like crazy!’

‘Good.’ He slipped ever deeper into me.

Indeed I had missed him; though it was perhaps only now, as we became one being once again, that I finally realised just how much. For Max was already the best lover I had ever had in my life, and I was slowly beginning to think that the enforced separation was a price worth paying for the untold pleasure that I experienced when we were together. For believe me, sex between us was almost unbelievably hot; with Max boasting the kind of insatiable organ between his legs that most men would willing die for.

We did absolutely nothing for the next forty-eight hours except indulge in quite mindless fornication – my lily-fresh butt-hole stretched in every direction by this unrelenting animal of a man. Indeed, such was the amount of time that I actually spent with my legs parted in the air, that by the time the singer came to leave I was almost finding it difficult to walk straight. A predicament made all the worse by the constant flow of goo that was trickling from my rectum. Not that Max seemed too bothered – in fact, he appeared to find my situation somewhat amusing. To the point that he suggested that it was just as well that he was zooming off to California so that my ass could get some rest. Indeed, I had to half-agree that, as this rate at least, the guy was in acute danger of wearing me out!

Which in my mind explained why he didn’t return quite so quickly the next time; though by the time he did I was so fuckin’ frustrated that I jumped at him like a bitch on heat, almost knocking him to the floor in the process. An act that didn’t appear to amuse the star too greatly. Truth is he actually appeared to be in something of a bad mood altogether, and I endured several sullen hours before the guy finally withdrew from his sulk. Apparently, things hadn’t gone well in respect of a negotiation for a new deal with his record label, and my advances had probably come at exactly the wrong time. Nevertheless, as I explained to him, weeks of isolation had to be relieved somehow; and my incorrigibility was but a reflection of the great love that I had for the fellow. As such, Max soon forgave me; though it was probably about then that I began to have my first sense of doubt and regret about the present arrangement. For what if the singer wasn’t quite the genuine individual that I had always previously assumed him to be? What if his proclamations of love and affection were just some sort of act? What if I was now trapped in the Yukon, solely reliant on the mercy of a man who was simply out to use and abuse me?

‘I’m sorry I was so short with you earlier…’ he sighed, interrupting my thoughts. An apology that pretty much immediately swept aside my uncertainties there and then.

‘That’s okay,’ I grinned. ‘You can make it up to me later …’

He replied with his winsome smile. ‘Why wait ’til later?’

And with that he scooped me up once again and carried me to the bedroom. Placing me down on the bed and whisking away my pants, so as to expose my hard, aching cock.

Before I knew it, Max had his head buried between my thighs, working his mouth up and down my now rampant rod and slurping me into ecstasy in the process. Needless to say, it felt fucking great; and reaching down, I ran my fingers sensually through his hair as a way of saying thank you for such wanton attention.

Not that the star would be satisfied himself until he was poking his own shaft between my tight butt-cheeks; so it was little wonder that he should soon be working his way down past my balls, to the tender button beyond. Using his tongue and fingers to open up my flower in anticipation of the buffering to come. As I grabbed hold of the headboard once again and relished the sweet sense of penetration. Yearning for my lover’s hard cock, which I knew would help stretch me into wanton ecstasy.

Not that I expected to wait long. Nor indeed was I disappointed. For before I had chance to think too deeply, Max had pushed my butt into the air and was slowly feeding his angry rod into my crack. He eased himself down onto me with an almost mischievous grin on his undeniably gorgeous face.

‘That feel good …?’ he asked again, as he pushed himself towards me.

‘Fuck, yeah!’

‘You missed my hard cock up your cunt?’

‘Of course!’

Max bore deeper and deeper into my hungry guts.

‘You get frustrated up here on your own, waiting for me to come and fuck you?’

‘Yeah! Yeah, of course I do!’

By now he was thrusting into me like a piston. Riding my ass like a biker works his motorcycle, savouring every ecstatic twist and turn in our lovemaking. Whilst I’d grabbed hold of my shaft and was riding my hand up and down my own shaft, indulging in the thought of being used and abused by this handsome stud. Because let’s face it, I subconsciously knew by this point that that was exactly what the singer was doing. Taking advantage of me every step of the way. Making a fool of me in some strange, perverse way. And yet I loved it. Yeah, believe it or not, I actually loved him even more for it. I was, quite simply, besotted with a bastard – and yet I thought more of him than if he’d been the kindest, gentlest guy I’d ever encountered. For I was his rough, his trash – and I couldn’t have asked for anything more!

We were both reaching the crest of our emotions now, and as such it was fitting that we should achieve our goal almost simultaneously. Him rupturing his balls deep inside my guys, just as I bolted across my belly and the adjacent bedclothes. Sweat poured from every inch of our bodies; whilst our dry throats groaned and spluttered our wanton excitement. It was, quite simply, the best sex I had ever experienced in my life, and (in my young mind at least) gave total sense and reason to everything that I now somehow suspected about Max.

Suspicions that were very soon to be confirmed.

‘Actually,’ he began to explain later, ‘I’ve got some bad news …’

My mind whizzed through a whole list of possibilities, all of which pretty much involved him telling me that our relationship was over.

‘What sort of bad news?’

‘We think one of the magazines in the States may have found out about you.’

‘We?’

‘My agents in New York.’

‘I see.’

‘We don’t think there’s any pictures yet though.’

‘Good,’ I smiled, clearly relieved.

‘But we’re gonna have to take steps to make sure that that’s the way things stay.’

I couldn’t help but look puzzled. ‘How?’

‘These windows are gonna have to be shuttered up,’ he explained.

‘But that’ll mean I won’t be able to see out. It’ll be like a fuckin’ prison!’

He reached out to touch my hand. ‘I can’t think of any other way.’

I sat in silence; but glancing up at him I knew I was already too much in love with him to protest too strongly.

‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘we could always finish …’

‘Hey, no!’

Max leaned towards me, and we fell together once again in an open smooch. ‘I knew you’d agree to it for me …’ he whispered.

‘I’d do anything for you, Max. You know I would.’

‘Good,’ he smiled. Then fucked me like an animal once again.

Of course, I knew I was on the slippery slope to total humiliation. To becoming a kept man in every sense of the phrase. But I was strangely happy about it, which surprised me enormously. I mean, I’d always been so proud, so cocksure – and yet here I was now, slowly becoming a prisoner for the love of another man, but deeply content about it all the same. For the pain and hurt made me peculiarly fulfilled – a fact that was only confirmed the next time that the singer arrived, some five extremely long weeks after he’d left me.

Needless to say, I’d literally counted away the hours until the guy stepped back in through the door, so you can probably imagined just how horny I was when I first saw him again. Rushing up to him like a faithful hound, and almost slobbering his face off in excitement. At which point, I guess I sort of expected Max to just pick me up and carry me off to the bedroom – after all, that’s what he always did!

But on this occasion he surprised me somewhat by informing me that he’d bought me a present, and that I would have to close my eyes and keep my arms at my side whilst he gave it me. An instruction that puzzled me immensely, but which I immediately obeyed.

I had no idea what it was, of course, and was admittedly very tempted to look when I heard what sounded like heavy chain being dragged into the cabin, but I didn’t dare to court my lover’s annoyance by ignoring his instruction. Nor did I even flinch when I felt him spring a thick leather collar around my neck; and indeed only dared to see my gift when the singer told me I could do so. At which point I realised that all my fears (and hopes) had been realised. That I was indeed finally a kept man, chained to the cabin with enough slack to allow me to function alone, but not enough for me to reach the door. Yes, like it or not, this little house in the wilds of the Yukon had become my jail. Me, its only prisoner, serving as Max’s sexual captive for the rest of my days.

‘I don’t understand …’ I stuttered at last.

‘Hey man, you’ve gotta understand I don’t want anyone stealing you,’ he explained. ‘You’re far too precious. And besides, I’ve invested a lot of time and energy in you. I don’t want you bolting off when I tell you what I’ve been up to since I last saw you!’

I looked puzzled, but barely had time to think before I was being taken into the bedroom. Tossed onto the bed, before the star literally jumped across me. Straddling me with his muscular frame, and kissing me with those hungry lips of his.

‘I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,’ he explained – a strange comment, given that he had rewarded me with my incarceration. ‘Just to be sure that you’re here waiting for me, whenever I need you. Gees, that means a lot in the crazy world I mix in, believe me. But you have to understand, man, that this part of the planet’s not too easy to get to. You know, when I’m performing in Melbourne or London or some other part of the globe. And I still get hot and horny, just like you. I still need relief somehow – you get my drift?’

‘I think so …’ I replied meekly.

‘What I guess I’m trying to tell you is that you can’t expect me to be totally faithful to you – you know, under the circumstances. If I was here all the time then yeah, there’d be no problem. But like it is, it’s just impossible. Which explains the other night,’ he sighed dreamily. ‘Fuck, you should’ve been there …’

‘Why?’ I dared to ask – actually turned on by his brutal honesty, and supporting quite a magnificent hard-on to prove it.

‘You sure you want me to tell you?’ he asked mischievously, wrapping his hand round my cock and slowly working the solid flesh back and forth.

‘Fuck, yeah!’ I exclaimed, already hanging on his every word.

And with that he began to explain how he’d taken a couple of groupies after one of his concerts. A pair of young twinks, who’d only gone to the show to accompany a relative, but who ended up providing him with very intimate entertainment in his hotel room afterwards. ‘Hung like fuckin’ donkeys!’ he exclaimed, noting that my own cock was drooling at the tale, and fingering my piss-hole simply to encourage me. ‘And with a pair of the tightest butt-holes this side of China!’

‘You fucked them then?’ I gasped.

‘Of course I did.’ He let go of my cock and raised my body up to expose my own tender flower. ‘What else would you expect me to do?’

And with that he promptly pulled out his swollen shaft and buried it deep into my youthful flesh. Filling my bowels with such rampant hardness that I almost came on the spot.

‘You like being my sex slave?’ Max now arrogantly demanded of me.

‘Fuck, yeah!’ Of course I do!’

‘You like the fact that you’re stuck out here while I’m having fun elsewhere?’

‘Yeah …’

‘You like the fact that I fuck other guys, while you’re out here on your own, just waiting for me to return?’pollllllllllllllllllllllllllllln

‘Gees, yeah!’ I gasped again, working my rod with a firm hand.

He laughed, as he thrust into me even more vigorously. ‘God, you’re a worthless shit!’ he stormed. ‘But hey, I just love you for it! Ya know that?’

‘Of course I do!’

But by now there was simply no stopping either of us. Before we really knew what had happened, both our cocks were once again brimming with ball-nectar; and it was a combined grunt of relief that the pair of us spewed our respective loads in the path of the other. Splattering our almost desperate desires in what seemed like all directions, before ultimately collapsing in each other’s arms.

It was at that point, I suppose, that I should’ve struggled to remove my collar. To have kicked and screamed and bitten and done pretty much anything in a bid to regain my freedom. But in reality I just didn’t feel like that at all. For despite everything, I loved Max more than I had ever loved anyone else in my life. More than I would ever love anyone, for that matter. For the man had given me a security that I had never enjoyed before, and (in my opinion) had only acted out of love and respect for me. Protecting me from a world outside that would never understand our commitment and desire for each other. What’s more, his transgressions – which I knew would only continue unabated in his travels – merely added to my conviction that I had chosen wisely. For if he could fuck guys all over the planet and still eventually come home to me, then ours must be a relationship worth fighting for. After all, I was his constant in a creation of flux, and that meant more to me than anything my so-called ‘freedom’ could have provided me with.

Others will not understand – what’s more I do not expect them to. All I know is that I have discovered strange contentment in a relationship that others deem unconventional. For I have gained a degree of happiness that I would previously have considered unobtainable – my life spent being fucked, when Max is visiting, or waiting patiently to be used whilst he’s away. What’s more, the very fact that I am enslaved merely serves to encourage me. Making me even hornier for my lover’s arrival when it finally transpires. Which is perhaps why I’m treated like this – imprisoned in a lonely jail, lusting for the attention that only he can give. Longing for the moment when he will step back through that door and carry me once again to the bedroom, where he will fill me up with his thick, hard cock as only he can.

For as I have discovered, being a free man isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes, as in my case here, being a kept man can be much, much more fun …

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

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‘Good to see you on time, come on in and join the party,’ a hairy fat man dressed in leather said to James.

James answered him only by walking in as he hadn’t been given permission to speak as yet.

James was nineteen years old but could be younger if that’s what somebody wanted. He had a youthful face and was classed as being thin. He’d met the burly man by chance only the other night and had been invited to the party on the strict orders that he would be a slave for the night and to do whatever he was told.

The house was packed with men in various clothing. There were men in leather, army, and police uniforms and there were some men already naked. The place was heavy with the smell of dope. James noticed that there were a couple of men tied down and bent over the sofa whilst people were taking it in turns rimming and fingering them.

‘Okay , have a good look around the room because it will be your last,’ the robust man said as he put a blind fold over James’ eyes. Even though he couldn’t see anything now the smell of man sweat filled his nostrils and he felt himself getting hard.

‘Now strip, I want to see what I’m paying for.’ He was ordered.

Slowly and provocatively James peeled of his tight t-shirt and shed his leather trousers.

‘Keep your boots and jock strap on ,’ the master told him.

Once he was finished undressing he felt course fingers scrape over his nipples, then somebody else’s hands squeezing his arse cheeks and more hands on his smooth thighs. The smell of the dope made him feel high and with all the hands mauling his youthful body it wasn’t long before his erection was sticking out the top of his jockstrap. The sound of other people being ordered around and the occasional slapping sound of somebody being spanked filled his ears.

More unseen hands took a hard grip of his bollocks and squeezed hard making James take a sharp intake of breath as the pain stabbed through his body. Then more pain as somebody slapped his backside even harder.

‘Quiet if you want to leave this place with your arse still in one piece!’ a deep voice boomed in his ear.

‘Take him into the living room,’ another voice said.

He felt something being buckled around his neck and then somebody tugging him blindly forward on a leash.

James could now hear moans and groans of pleasure near him and voices shouting.

‘That’s it fuck him harder, fuck him harder!’

‘I’m gunna shoot. I’m cumming. I’m cumming!’

‘Don’t you dare cum yet don’t you dare!’

Obviously the man did cum as the next thing James heard was the sound of heavy spanking bouncing of the walls and an angry voice shouting

‘I told you not to cum yet you little fuck pig, pass me a belt someone he’s really going to get it this time.’

As the spanking continued a different voice ordered, ‘get down on your knees and open your mouth. Somebody tie his hands behind his back, I don’t want this bitches’ hands to touch me.’

Hands gripped him and yanked his own behind his back. Within seconds James’ hands were securely bound. James loved the feeling of being used and abused and he could feel pre cum dribbling out of his erection.

‘That’s it now suck on daddies dick.’

He felt the strangers’ cock touch his lips. James could smell and taste cum from the cock and got even more excited at the thought that it had probably just been up somebody’s arse.

He quickly took the man’s length all the way to the back of his throat and felt his pubes tickle his nose. As he sucked on him somebody started to tug on his nipples sending pleasurable pain threw him once again. The man whose cock was in his mouth started groaning and James felt him throbbing inside of him and then the cock exploded right down his throat.

‘You’ll need something to wash that down with lad,’ a voice said next to him and when the first man vacated him the new voice, now in front of him, said ‘we’re not finished with that mouth of yours yet, keep it open.’

The next thing James knew was hot liquid gushing down his throat and all over his face and he realised the man was pissing over him. He was being used as a toilet. He was in heaven. The man’s piss had a strong odour and seemed to go on for ages. James could feel it dribbling off his face and down his body. He felt somebody untie his hands ‘Get on all fours and dry his cock up with your mouth,’ another unseen voice said and once again he had a mouth full of cock.

Someone started to piss all over his arse and at the same time he felt a tongue enter his hole and lap up the piss that was flowing between his cheeks. And in the background he could still hear the sound of someone being spanked with a belt. The man lapping at his drenched hole inserted a finger right up into him. James nearly came on the spot as his finger probed deeper. The cock he was sucking on withdrew from his mouth and James felt his warm come splash over his face and onto his lips. As the man at his arse inserted another finger up his hole another cock was shoved into his mouth. The man behind him started finger fucking him harder and harder and slapped his wet cheeks at the same time.

‘My turn at his arse now,’ said a voice James recognised. It was the fat man that had opened the door to him. His arse hole snapped shut as the fingers popped out.

James missed having something up his arse but didn’t have to wait to long as the big man stepped behind him and put his cock head against his entrance. Under his blindfold James’s eyes bulged, his cock felt unnaturally wide and he wasn’t even in yet.

‘Okay pussy hold on tight because this is going to hurt.’

The pain was incredible as he rammed his cock home. James had never felt pain like it, His arse hole had never been stretched so far. He thought he was going to pass out any second and wanted to scream out but the cock in his mouth prevented him from doing so. The man fucking him slowly withdrew inch by inch then unmercifully rammed it back in hitting James’s prostate. And then he repeated himself a few times before getting into a steady rhythm.

The pain inside of James soon died down and he clung on for the ride of his life. His own cock was like a tap that he couldn’t turn off. He was dribbling cum all over the place as the large cock drove itself in and out picking up speed all the time. As the big man was about to shoot his load James felt his cock grow even bigger inside of him and thought his arse hole was actually going to split wide open. The two men invading his body came at the same time. The man fucking his face came down his throat so much that James nearly choked on his spunk and, simultaneously, he could feel the hot come spill out into the condom inside him.

As soon as the big man withdrew someone else took his place. James was relieved this one was smaller.

‘Stick your tongue out,’ the big man ordered, now standing in front of him.

James was on all fours plastered in come with a cock crammed up his arse and his tongue poking out. He tried to imagine what he must look like to everybody and his cock throbbed at the vision.

‘Now suck my cock clean.’

James realised the man was still wearing his filled condom as he smacked his wide cock across his lips. He spread his mouth as far as possible and took the head of his cock in. He savoured the taste of his own arse hole on the condom and he could feel the heavy sack at the end where the man’s warm sperm lay on the top of his tongue. His mouth ached from the stretching. It was like having a small fist in his mouth.

‘Go on, take my cock you fucking pussy!’ the man demanded as he grabbed a handful of James’s hair and pulled it towards him roughly forcing more of his hard cock into James’s bruised mouth.

He was finding it hard to breathe as the man forced more and more of his cock down his throat. He relaxed his throat muscles and breathed through his nose to make it easier on himself. The man behind him started fucking him harder and faster and slapping his arse at the same time. Somebody else must have been wanking themselves off next to him as the next thing James felt was come landing over his arse cheeks. The big man who was face fucking him took his cock out and emptied his condom onto James’s tongue. Then he shoved his cock in again. James was now being forcibly fucked like a rag doll from both ends and thought that any minute both cocks would actually meet each other. He was loving every second.

With a howl the man behind him pulled out and let out a stream of come all over his back and James could even feel some of it land in his hair.

‘Okay ,’ the hefty man said, ‘lie on the floor and wank yourself off. I want to see you come all over yourself.’

James lay down in a pool of piss and cum. Somebody ripped his jock strap off and at long last his blindfold was removed. He took a firm grip of his erection and, with his legs spread, started pulling his foreskin up and down. When his eyes adjusted to the light he realised he was totally surrounded by naked men wanking themselves off. Somebody started to piss over his bollocks causing a relay of men to shoot their come onto James’s face, body, bollocks and cock. This sent him over the edge, his body stiffened his toes curled right up and with an animal sound he came, spurt after spurt after spurt. He was fully drenched in man juice and, after the last man finished coming over him, the fat man threw down a bundle of notes onto his wet body.

‘Okay fuck pig you can go now your clothes are in the hallway.’

And then he turned away and went on to someone else. James got up and put his clothes on top of his cum filled body and opened the door. He took one last look around and realised the ” from earlier was still having his arse well and truly spanked. He smiled at the sight and rubbed his arse at the thought of his next job.

He left quietly and discreetly.

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

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I’ve experimenting with guys for the last couple of years. Guess it started when I found I could suck my own cock. I would lay on my bed with my back on a pillow, throw my legs over my head and with my arms wedged between hips and calves would slowly push my ass down to my head. After 15 minutes or so pushing, resting without releasing and then pushing more I could get the first half deep in my mouth. My cock is just an average 7 inches, cut. Once I started licking it, my hips would pretty much start shoving more of it in on their own. Sometimes I would dip my cock in peanut butter or marshmallow fluff to try to suck more of it in. Sounds kinky, but felt fucking fantastic.

 This got me wondering about sucking another cock that wasn’t mine. There’s only so many ways you can blow yourself. Several times I fantasized about hooking up with some dude, pulling out his soft cock and feeling it grow in my lips. But that’s all I wanted to do, being mostly into women. The thought of actually making out with a guy didn’t appeal to me at all, especially kissing. So I just fantasized about it and over the years rented some gay porn. I even experimented with sliding cock-like things up my ass, which always gave me a powerful orgasm. Then I got into bigger women and everything fell into place for my first male-male encounter.

 We have this phone service called ‘Confidential Connection,’ were you can either leave messages for people who advertise or have an ad yourself. For years I had wondered about making it with a fat chick and here was a way to find one. So I put on an ad and out of several offers I decided on this older chick who I will call Linda here. She liked younger guys and lots of sex. We got along just fine. She also on occasion liked to play with other women who had big tits like her. I started to envy her try-something-oncebefore-you-get-too-old-try-anything attitude. So I made up my mind to finally suck my first cock and put on an ad. In my ad I made it clear I was looking for something like myself: bi-curious, no j/o buds, ready for oral and no kissing. Thinking back, being in LA I should have known I would get many looking for the same thing but I was surprised at the time. After weeding out the too-desperate, the overly gay and the ones who just had a bad vibe, I had half a dozen good candidates. The ones with the biggest dicks on the top, of course. I managed to get half of those on the phone to talk about what they were after and all. In the end, I choose Stephan because he was close, seemed discreet and was home during the day like I sometime was. We were on the same wavelength sexually, mostly into girls but wanting to try something new. What really put me at ease was him giving me his work number. I called him this next day when he said he would finish his morning shift and decided to go over that afternoon.

 After hanging up the phone, my heart began to pound with the excitement of what I was finally going to do. I took a shower and had to be careful not to touch myself too much, I was that worked up. I got in the car and drove over to his place in Venice. When I noticed one of my legs was twitching from the adrenaline, I took a few breaths to calm down before getting out. While most of me would have died had someone I knew been a resident on this street and somehow knew I was going to a neighbor they knew was bi, another part of me got a thrill thinking of a stranger seeing me go to see guy for sex.

 As I walked up to the door, it opened and Stephan pushed the screen out for me. He was about my height, with blonde hair opposite of my dark brown. Like I asked him to, he had just taken a shower and was wearing a robe. I could see his smooth chest. We both had trim builds with just enough tone to look neither skinny or muscular. It was a two room flat, with a large front living room and combination kitchen/bath/bedroom in the back. His bed was a single futon on the floor. We sat down and made with some small talk for a few minutes.

 While I was telling him about some b.s. or other, he put his hand on my thigh. I would have jumped, but I had been staring at his cock peeking out from the folds of his robe for sometime wondering who was going to make the first move. He pushed his hand over to rub mine under my jeans, which was all that I had put on. I knew it was now or never, suck cock or walk out. So I bent over as my hand reached in to grab a hold of his. At first I nuzzled it with my nose and cheek. It was soft and smelled freshly cleaned. It had a nice, almost mushroom shaped head and was about an inch bigger than mine. With a deep breath, I sucked it into my mouth. After a few minutes of me going down on his cock, he had me break off so I could get undressed and he took off the robe. He laughed and apologized for not telling me that he had shaved all his pubes the day before, something his girlfriend had wanted. We were soon in a 69, with him really going after my member. While I couldn’t handle more than half of him without gagging, he was soon easily taking me down to the furry base. He was so good I got close to cumming a few times, but held it off wanting to last longer. Moaning, he must have liked my combination hand and mouth on his dick.

 He then started sucking on my balls while continuing to pump my shaft with his spit slick hand. Edging forward, Stephan then licked the shaft under the balls to where it ends just in front of the hole. And then he licked the hole.

 I’m no stranger to rim jobs, having given them and received them before. Although always with women, I am not shy about enjoying them. With his cock in my mouth, I let out a low moan. With that encouragement, he got busy with my rose bud. Soon I could only stroke his shaft. But we were in an awkward position and my leg started cramping up. He suggested I get kneel with my ass in the air for better access. Soon, he had both hands on my hips while he tongue fucked my hole. Stephan had a big tongue, so its no exaggeration when I say I could feel it sliding in and out. I slowly sank down to the futon pad. He crawled up and put his cock in the crack of my ass, which was slippery from his rimming. Just like fucking a nice pair of tits, he began to stroke my crack (I have been told that I have a very nice ass — fit, firm and round).

 It felt really good, his slick head pushing against my tongue fucked hole. I had had no intention of trying anything anal before I came over. But when he asked if he could try pushing part of it in if he used protection, I didn’t want to say no because while I enjoyed getting rimmed I had no intention of returning the pleasure. I figured the least I could do was let him try a little. In the end, he only got about half of it into my ass before the pressure started to get too uncomfortable. Thanking me for allowing that much and repeating how hot the whole thing had been (especially eating my ass), he pulled out. We finished with him holding both are cocks together and jacking us off. We talked about doing it again soon and I left. But I never did get with him again. The mood to blow cock is a seasonal thing, a few times a year. I rarely follow through on it. Mostly I’m out chasing ass that comes with a nice pair of tits. In the four years since Stephan ate me out so well, I have only gotten with 4 others. I usually end up downloading a ton of pics from the internet, jerking off to them for a few weeks and then the mood is gone. I tell myself that its easier, safer and more liberating to keep it mostly a fantasy. I can fantasize about things I could never fall through on, like doing multiple guys or for that matter having a full-on session of lovemaking with another guy. Which is what led me to the events I decided to write about.

 LAST FEBUARY (the ‘meaty’ part you came to read)

 Being mostly into cocks means that I am into big ones. I readily cop to being a ‘size- queen.’ I don’t like to look at pics of younger guys, because twinks always seem to have small dicks. When I’m thinking about blowing a guy, I am picturing a decently long, thick prick with a mushroom head. Most of the pics I keep on my pc are just of cocks. Nice thick white dicks. I’m not prejudiced, but it just never occurred to me to think about hooking up with anyone of color.

 Last year I was getting in ‘that’ mood again and downloading a lot of beautiful, mouth- filling cock shots. I started hanging out in the ‘LAS8m4m’ and like rooms on AOL to see if I could get my hands (not to mention lips) around what I was fantasizing every night about. While Stephan had had a really nice dick, this time I was determined to find a really thick one. I made sure my profile mentioned it. Sometimes I would sit and wait by the computer while I was in the room, but mostly I put my away message on. In the message I told whoever was IMing me to check out the profile and send a pic. I would come back after watching TV or eating to see if anyone hot had stopped by.

 I was going through a backlog of IM’s (after having some wine with dinner and getting really horny) when a new one came in. I clicked on the ‘accept’

 button to see what ‘Passion4Ivory’ had to say. ‘Hello. Liked ur profile. Perhaps you’ll like mine..’ I went to his profile to check him out. His location was perfect, practically around the corner in Inglewood. I should mention what my own stats are. I’m just a hair under 6 foot, 170 pounds.

 I’ve got an average body with decent definition. I work out some, but you’d never call me a gym rat. At seven inches, my cut cock is decent enough (no one has ever called it too small, for sure). Next to mine, his profile sounded like some sort of gym god — 6’5′, 235 pounds. He listed his biceps, thighs and chest measurements which I can’t remember but are lot bigger than mine. Then came the part that stopped me cold — twelve inches by seven inches of cut manhood and the note ‘with pics to prove it.’

 What’s the catch, I thought. The next part had the catch. He was a black top looking for bi-curious white guys to dominate. While I did have this fantasy I sometimes jerked off to about getting used at both ends by a pair of black guys, it was one of those fantasies you know you will never act on. That’s what made it exciting. I hadn’t thought about actually going down on an ebony dude. Yet, I kept pondering about that dick of his. I wondered if anyone could actually deepthroat a footlong dick the size of Coke can. I had to say something, but I wasn’t thinking about getting with him.

 ‘U hav nice profile too. great bod’ I typed. ‘thanks. want to trade pics?’

 Passion4Ivory responded. I then told him that I wasn’t ‘really looking for black guys.’ ‘no prob. its cool.’

 He asked if I had ever been with a black guy and when I said no typed ‘damn, getting hot for you already.’ I laughed LOL at this. I did still want to see a pic of that cock and figured might as well ask. He said sure and sent the pictures. If you’re like me, you’ve read the other stories here and probably doubted half of the ones that describe these dudes hung like bulls. But here were the pics to back up the claims. While it was hard to tell from the pics if it was indeed a foot long, it was a massive tool. The rest of his body was like an ad for Gold’s Gym. Ripped abs, thick pecs, cut muscle everywhere you looked and all of it under smooth chocolate brown skin. I had to wonder what it would feel like. Would his skin be as smooth as it looked? What would those balls be like sucked one by one into my mouth? As everyone knows, it’s a dangerous thing to be a little buzzed, horny and staring temptation in the, er, crotch. Yet at this point I didn’t consider the possibility of getting with him seriously because I knew he would want an equally ripped partner. But lord was my cock hard at the thought of trying it with a black guy for the first time, especially one so hung.

 ‘well, am I bs-ing you are not?’ he asked. ‘lord, what a cock, lol’ I wrote back. ‘if you want, i’ll let you measure it ;-)’ he teased. ‘what about yur pic?’

 I knew this was the moment when this would either happen or not. I sent him one taken when I went sailing with a friend. Now, I don’t think of myself as a dog, but this being LA there are 10,000 guys better looking, way more ripped than me. I’m just an average looking guy. Apparently, I found out later, that is what he looks for.

 ‘u r one cute white dude’ he told me, which sent my head spinning because I could see where this could go. We traded names; his was Marvin or Marv. He then suggested we switch to the phone and gave me his number. As I told him my history with men, he kept getting more excited. He started asking more of the questions, taking control of the situation. He knew what he was doing, I went from being just curious and willing to get with him to more or less needing it. He asked me about anal, which I wasn’t too sure about. To have a toy for female partners, I bought this big, thick jelly dong. A few times I’ve lubed up my hole and worked it in, so I knew I liked the feeling. I just hadn’t been too eager to have some guy slide his Johnson up there. Marv assured me that he would loosen me up real good before, but I had to understand one thing — if I came over to his place the price for petting his monster cock was getting fucked by it. I also had to know that I was going to be his total bottom and expected to act it. With that dizziness you get from doing something new yet exciting I told him ‘yeah, sure.’

 Marv gave me the directions to the house and said not to bother showering until I got there. He wanted to help wash and feel me. I did a quick shave to be smooth. I put on some slacks and a mock turtle neck. I rode over to his place with the same dizzy feeling I had when I went to Stephan’s. I knew I could wimp out if I wanted to and just call him to beg off. This was a big step. It was going be a lot more than just sucking another guy’s dick.

 I found his apartment building and pulled into a spot just below where his door was. For a few minutes I sat in my car wondering if I should quit now. What the fuck was I doing? I had agreed to be a black guy’s fuck toy. On the other hand, when would I ever get a chance to experience a cock like that again, if ever? Above me the curtains pulled slightly to one side and while the dim glow inside didn’t show him. I knew Marv was watching me. Without any other thought, I simply opened the door and got out. I was halfway up the outside stairs when the door opened and he stepped out. He had on dress slacks and a shirt without a tie as he had just gotten home when he logged on earlier to meet me.

 He asked if had any trouble finding the place. In person he was handsome but not too much so. He ushered me into his living room which was only lit with candles, about half a dozen of them. He asked if I wanted a drink and he rattled off a few choices of mixed drinks. I told him whatever he felt like making and he went off to the kitchen. The living room was decorated with only a few pieces of furniture and an entertainment center. The stereo was on, playing a R and B cd I didn’t know. The kitchen light went out and Marv returned with two drinks on ice. They were made from brandy and I think Irish Creme, but have forgotten what he called them.

 I sipped the drink and tried not to look as nervous as I was. Its hard to describe Marv’s personality. He certainly isn’t street. But he is 100% black dude. I wanted him to think I was cool and could handle new things.

 We chatted about different shit, none of it having to do with why I was sitting on a black guy’s sofa trying not to be too obvious about sneaking peaks at the bulge running down his pant leg. We then talked about safe sex and testing. The other thing I had agreed to earlier was that if we did this, it would be bareback. As he had told me earlier, he repeated that he gets tested every month and springs for the more expensive DNA one. Having a friend who works in the (straight) porn industry up in the Valley, I knew it was the one all the porn people used and very accurate. He picked up a paper from the coffee table and handed it to me. It was his last results and he pointed to the date in the corner, which was about two weeks back. While I didn’t have one myself, he pulled out my Red Cross donor card. I give pretty regularly and they test it. I’m sure there are those who would give me shit, saying this wasn’t enough but at a certain point you have to decide if you can trust someone. I felt totally at ease with Marv and knew he was being straight-up with me. Surprisingly, it was me who got things rolling. ‘Maybe I should start that shower now.’ ‘Man, that sounds like a great idea.’ He took my glass, leaned over and gave me a brief but full kiss on the lips. That was first time a guy had kissed me. He led the way back to his bedroom, which was also lit by a few candles. The floor was hardwood, but the king- sized bed sat in the middle of a rug that looked like yak hair. I sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove my shoes and clothes while he started the shower. The long hairs of the rug felt exotic under my bare feet. He returned, his shirt halfway unbuttoned already. He stopped in front of me and while staring into my eyes began to undress. No fool about his body, he deliberately took off his shirt. I let out an exaggerated low whistle and he grinned. He then stepped forward and I reached out to touch him.

 His skin was smooth and very warm. I ran my hands over his amazing abs, up to his cut pecs and down his arms to the ripped biceps. He reached down and pulled my t-neck off. He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled my face into his stomach. My hand was sliding up his leg when I came to the bulge. Even under his pants it was impressive. I ran my hand over it, kneading it to feel that it was real. His hand still on my neck, he pushed my head down until my face was resting on it and began to gently but firmly grind my face into his manhood. He let out a small moan. He stepped back and told me, ‘Unzip my pants.’ I did so. I undid the button and pulled them down. When they were low enough, the cock I had gone through all of this to see sprang free. Trying to put into words what I thought when I could finally see and touch this massive rod is impossible. You know how Cobra’s are entranced by the flute? It was like that, only the ‘snake’ here was entrancing me. I think I muttered something about how unbelievable it was. I soon had my pants off and Marv led me into the shower, which was standalone type. Doing more or less nothing, I stood while Marv lathered me up with bar of scented soap. He slowly kept increasing the temperature while we bathed and it was soon pretty hot. It was while I was returning the favor and soaping him up that he leaned against me, pinning me to the shower wall and kissed me. His tongue entered my mouth to play with mine. Now I was having my first French kiss with a guy. A surge shot through me as I consider it: a black guy was French kissing me!

 The soap rinsed off, I began to respond to the excitement that was bubbling up in me. I started running my tongue over his body. I liked and sucked on his nipples, bit lightly on his bicep and kissed his abs. I got on my knees and licked up from his thighs to come to his balls. I had to really open my mouth to get one in, then the other. I ran my tongue under his shaft a few times, getting closer each time to the head. I opened my mouth and quickly engulfed the head, then slowly pulled it out. I did this a few times, but before I could think too much about what was I going to do to get more of it down my throat he turned around and offered me his ass. Running my tongue up and down the cheeks, I took a hold of them. When I tried to pry them apart, he flexed them shut. I tried to pull them apart but couldn’t.

 He laughed and relaxed. I guess it was the water flowing over him that helped, but I did not think about it before I ran my tongue down his crack and gave his hole a few quick flicks.

 Marv raised me back up for another kiss. This was still too new for me to do anything more that let him. I didn’t seem to mind I wasn’t really kissing back. He shut the water off and we got out to towel off. Taking me by the hand, he led me back to the bedroom.

 Following his nudge, I sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his large hands over me while he kneeled down in front of me and began to suck my cock.

 With no difficulty, he drew it all the way into his throat. It was like having my dick engulfed in silk or velvet. I sucked air loudly and moaned, pleasure tingling through me. I was beginning to really want to go down on his thick slab myself when he pushed me back onto the bed. I scooted back so I wasn’t on the edge and he climbed up. Once there, he swung himself around so we were 69 with his mammoth tool above me. He never broke off from working on my cock.

 Hairless, smooth and soft, his balls were soon being dragged across my face. I began to nuzzle his big sacs while running my hands over and squeezing his ass. He soon was offering the underside of his tool and I ran my tongue up it, trying to fight the small amount of panic that was building inside me. I was worried that in this position if he started to pump his prick into my mouth I wouldn’t be able to do much about it and would probably gag. I still hadn’t been able to get around my gag reflex.

 But I didn’t have to worry about it for long. Marv rolled first onto his side and then his back, pulling me with him. We were now almost at the headboard and his enormous member lay invitingly beneath me. Holding it with one hand mid-shaft, I lowered my lips onto the head and slowly pushed it into my mouth. Just the beautiful mushroom shaped head filled half my mouth. The feel of it and its perfect shape against my tongue elicited a loud moan from me.

 Marv then did something that was pretty amazing and reminded me of how much he was in control — he began to bench press me while sucking me off. With his palms on my abdomen and hips, he easily hoisted my torso into the air and back down. So easily overmatched by his strength, I felt like a skinny kid again. He withdrew my cock and began to lower my balls into his mouth.

 After a dozen or so reps, he put me down. I next felt his tongue sliding fatly over my anus sending shock waves of pleasure through me. God, how I love that feeling. I’m not sure if he normally rims guys, but I had told him how much I liked it as a way of saying that I was sure I would probably liked getting fucked. Meanwhile, I was attacking his cock like it was my last meal before execution. Again, I was in a trance holding and sucking this mouthwatering freak of nature, my mouth all over it. I would bob on the head for awhile and then greedily lick the shaft from one end to other. I wanted more than anything to take it to the hilt, but it was just too damn thick. A few times I did manage to relax my throat and get some of it down, but probably not more than half of it at any point (although at the time it felt like it was almost to my stomach). A tongue in my ass, a stupendous rod in my mouth — I was in flat out ecstasy. I had more than I had hoped for and should have remembered that nothing comes for free. I sure as hell remembered it when I felt his finger, wet with lube, begin to rub my hole.

 It dawned on me he had carefully positioned us so he could easily reach the lube from the nightstand. The lube was still freshly cold, but warmed up as he swirled it around my rosebud. His finger then found the center and began to push its way in. At the first knuckle, he pulled it back out and started over. ‘That feel good?’ Marv asked. I took his cock out of my mouth to answer, ‘Yeah, man, feels nice.’ He pumped it in and out and was soon at the second knuckle, then the last. ‘Need to get better situated here.’ Marv rolled off and I straightened out on the bed the correct way, lying on my back. He got a pillow and put it under my hips. His finger went back to work on my asshole. Before long, it was joined by its next door neighbor.

 Once they had loosened me up a bit, he switched to his thumbs. He took his time and never made an uncomfortable move. His thumbs worked my rosebud over for 10 minutes or longer. He then put a little bit more on my ass and a lot more on his cock. It was time. He got on his knees and put the head lightly against my hole.

 Even after having those fingers opening my sphincter up, I wasn’t entirely ready for his tulip bulb of a head to slip in. He teased me with it, sliding it deliciously over my hole. He would push it a little, then tease some more. I realized later he was getting me to want it, need to feel it slide in. He repositioned himself, with one hand lining up his cock and the other cupping my neck as he came down for a long, overpowering kiss. I was completely covered and restrained by his smooth, ripped, chocolate body. I could only move my hips a little. There was nothing for me to do but suck on his tongue snaking into my mouth and wait for him to sink the shaft into me.

 I was rubbing the firm curve of his ass with the tops of my feet when again his hips pushed forward and the pressure ratcheted up on my sphincter. This time instead of withdrawing he simply paused. ‘Okay, baby. Better start pushing and you better push hard.’ I did and was rewarded with his head slipping easily into my ass. I gasped not a little (hey, you’d gasp too if a cock as thick as a can of shaving gel slid into your ass) and while the feeling of that head pushing in had been great, there was a little bit of pain too. Yet, I didn’t want to be a pussy and say something to wimp out. I slipped one arm around his neck, the other hand went to his waist (which was as high as I could reach), and squeezed my knees against him as more of it filled me.

 ‘How’s that feel, you doing alright?’ Marv asked. ‘Yeah, good’ I said ‘Just take it slow’ ‘Damn, your ass feel fucking good. So tight. This is going to be a great fuck. This is why I just love fucking white virgin ass. Here comes the rest, nice and slow. Then I’m going to get busy pounding that ass of mine.’ Marv smiled at me, ‘Tell me whose ass it is’

 ‘It’s yours’ ‘All mine? Say it’ I caught on. ‘My ass is all yours. Fuck my ass, fuck your white ass.’ He pulled back the third or so in me and then started to pump. The veins were so thick they were noticeable sliding past my sphincter ring. My legs rubbed his hips, feeling the butt muscles tense as he pushed in. I could feel his abs against my own stomach. I wanted to ride him at one point, so while his cock was thrusting up into me I could rub my hands on those abs and pecs. If only I lasted through the rest of his cock.

 I have that dildo I bought more for female guests that’s 8-1/2 inches that I used on myself a few times. I can get most of it in. Marv’s cock was now past that point. It still felt more pleasurable than painful, but it was a close call. I reached down to feel how much was left and found only a few inches. My cock was limp at the moment, the discomfort had distracted me. ‘Fuck I can’t believe you’ve got that much in me, don’t know if I can take…’ Marv let the next pump continue and the pain flared up. ‘Shit, shit shit!’ I gasped as I was overwhelmed. He stopped and held it and I realized I could feel those heavy hanging nuts of his on my ass. He had it in. He had his entire tree trunk of a cock buried in my ass. In my mind I could see exactly what it looked like, with his dark cock stretching my pale hole wide open.

 ‘Now we can get down to some serious fucking, baby’ He started to pump, keeping most of his cock in. The pain was almost as bad as before. ‘It will feel much better now’ He kissed the corners of my eyes, which were tearing up. He started pulling it almost out and pushing it back into me. Soon he had a nice, steady rhythm and I began to think he was going to cum soon. My cock sprang up at the thought. He let out a moan. I began to push back against him, being careful not to slam his cock too deep. Our two stomachs where slick with sweat, his abs rubbing my cock in a just fantastic fucking way. I couldn’t hold out anymore and decided if I let him know I was about to cum it might trigger his. ‘Fuck…Yes!…. Yes!’ I then had one of the most powerful orgasms of my fucking life. And Marv kept right on fucking me. I was too spent to care for a minute, the last of my cum dribbling out of my shrinking cock.

 He stopped and I thought I was going to get a break. ‘Time for mine. Roll over’ He pulled out and got on his knees while I numbly rolled onto my stomach. I was starting to come back to earth and wondering if he would give me a break. The pillow really put my ass in the air. I waited too long to say anything – he quickly slid his cock back into my ass and began to pump. Slow, deep thrusts. ‘You should see what I’m watching. You know what it is?’

 ‘A huge cock in my ass?’ I said, with a few grunts. He leaned down so I could feel his breath as he said, ‘MY huge black cock in your tight white ass and man if it don’t feel damn fucking nice.’ Marv was laying on me, his hot, sweaty, smooth abs flexing against my ass cheeks as he pumped this huge black snake into my bowels. Like a pair of man tits, his incredible pecs were on my back. He got back on his knees. He pulled it out all the way a few times, then slid the head and shaft back in. That is my favorite part of getting ass-fucked, the feeling as the head buries itself into my rose bud. Marv got my hips in those strong soft hands and began to plow steady and deep.

 I’ve grabbed enough women by the hips to recognize when some serious fucking is about to begin. The strokes were getting faster and I realized with amazement that while there was still that semi-discomforting feeling of needing to take one enormous dump (say, like a 12 by 7 inch dump), it no longer had any of the sharp pain. In fact, it was almost like getting a massage on my sphincter at this point. This had to have gone on for a good 10 minutes, this steady, fast pumping of his cock into my butt. Then there started to come a few really hard, deep thrusts that brought back some of the pain (whenever I read about guys getting fucked by horse-cock guys that don’t mention the pain, I figure they either left out the part where they got fisted before or are just bullshitting. Unless you are really tall, no one easily takes 10 or 12 inches of pipe without some prep. Trust me.) Thinking about having fucked women like I was getting fucked now by Marv the black stud made me realize there were women all over LA who would be envious of me, jealous that I had this ripped, hung black god plowing my white hole. In fact, I got so turned on that it ended up giving me a hard-on knowing that Marv could care less about all these chicks I would kill to nail. All he wanted was my (somewhat) skinny white ass. A sense of sexual power came over me as Marv moaned and grunted a series of ‘Oh, baby’s’ and ‘Oh, fuck, yeah!’s’ A wave of pre-orgasm shivers ran through me. It didn’t hurt that my hard cock was being rubbed against satin pillow sheets. I started to cum and actually said out loud ‘fuck me, fuck me you black cock stud.’ My orgasm was subsiding and I was trying to figure out way to stop my over sensitive dick from rubbing on the pillows anymore when Marv tensed up. His cock pumped a few times quickly and then he shoved it deep and held it there. With his body locked over me and his hard cock in me, it was like being engulfed by muscles.

 Knowing my sexual cycles, I knew I could have another orgasm (my third) right away. Before too long he was sure to start going limp, so I nudged him onto his back. When I had difficulty getting enough space to work his cock to my ass he put gently took a hold of me and lifted me up. I guided his cock to my completely gaping hole and he set me down on it. He let go when my knees could take over. With my hands on his pecs, I sat down on his cock. Mine was still hard from the last session. Like riding a horse, I was soon pumping his dick with my butt. My hands rubbed his cut torso and it wasn’t long before I had to grab a hold of my cock with one. Sitting, I pushed all of his cock back up my ass as I started to cum. Less than 10 minutes after starting my cock was spurting onto his smooth and shiny stomach. There was a delicious feeling to his cock sliding out of my ass. I dropped to the bed and thought about the momentous moment I had just had. A black guy had just topped me and I couldn’t get enough. Before long I was asleep, awaking when the room started to brighten. We tried one more time, but I was too sore.

 Marv and I never hooked up again. It took half a week for my ass to stop bleeding and I worried about hemorrhoids for awhile. I went back to having sex with women. I have probably whacked off 50 times replaying that night over in my head. I thought about calling him or sending an email, but never did. Lately, though, I’ve been wondering if I could find another ripped, horse-hung black stud who wants to fuck near-virgin white ass. In fact, I still have this fantasy about servicing two hung black guys. Maybe next time I will be able to write about that for you…

As the obvious sounds of fucking died down, I got out of bed to prepare myself. Even as I rushed into the shower to get ready, I felt shame, dirty, guilty shame. I knew I meant nothing to him and usually not attaching feelings to sex was no problem for me but this was different. I was almost less than human to him, no that wasn’t exactly right, I was less of an actual person to him and more of a receptacle for his pent up frustrated, internalised homophobic feelings.

I knew I should have more pride , more self respect but he was beautiful, not hot, nor attractive but beautiful, in a perfectly young, athletically masculine sort of way. I had lusted after him ever since, I saw him playing soccer, one day while I walked back from classes during my 2nd year. He had sat down on one of the lunch benches that surrounded the field and his soccer shorts ridden completely up his leg, exposing these perfect thighs, hard, muscle bulging, sprinkled with dark hair thighs. I remember furtively looking at his crotch to see if I could see the outline of his penis but was too afraid to be caught staring.

I walked away, completely placing him out of my mind until weeks later in a house I rented with four others including one pretty mixed race girl. I had found the house and took the master bedroom with its it’s own bathroom and back door that led the back gate. Anyway, i saw him again coming from my roommate’s room, shirtless as I came in late one night (I had come in from my own fuck session). I fell in lust all over again, he was still as tall and beautiful as I remembered but not I could see the broad muscled chest that had been covered before and his pointed nipples. He had just the right amount of chest hair and some ran from his tight as fuck abs to the track pants he was wearing.Only this time, I did not have to strain to try to see his cock, as he had obviously not pulled on his underwear and his dick had not yet gone fully soft.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I stared at it, as it distended the front of his track pants and the spot of wetness seeping through the material where his cock head was forced against the material.He was unashamed and just laughed and put out his fist for me to knock mine against while passing me and whispering “ ya gud?” before going into the bathroom, not before giving me a prime view of his firm round ass shifting in the material as he went.

After that night he kept coming over not only at night but during the day. The girl was an amazing cook but was pretty broke, I had money but couldn’t cook and we came up with the arrangement of me paying for the groceries and she cooking at least four times a week. I had no issue with her new boyfriend eating for free, as watching him and getting to know him was more than enough payment for me. We even hung out watching movies at nigh and talking , usually after he had fucked her to sleep.

Eventually, we became what I would like to call friends and talk of sex and girls (imaginary in my case) cropped up. Apparently he was never truly satisfied after sex with my roommate, as she only ever seemed to have the energy to go once and was reluctant to suck dick as often as he would like. He was cheating on her whenever the opportunity came but it was difficult as he lived on campus and didn’t have any privacy. My roommate was the most convenient and plus he did like her, according to him.

During this these chats, he would make casually homophobic comments, which never really bothered me as much as it could have. For one, I was deep in the closet and two, sadly for the region and country we lived in comments like those were par for the course.With that being said, there were moments, where I would be staring at some part of him, the hair on his thighs as it rolled up, while we watched tv on the couch.

The bulge of his crotch as he walked towards me. The plushness of his lips as he spoke, the muscles in his arms or the flex of his biceps while he gesticulated to explain some basketball or soccer move. There were times when I stared too long and I was almost positive he noticed but he would never comment and just continue on as if nothing happened.He was a physical person by nature it seemed and I was constantly tortured by headlocks, head rubs, shoulder hugs etc. I would collect these touches and masturbate to them furiously in my leisure. Remembering the musky scent of him being the close to me, the hair ln his legs felt when they brushed mine as we sat together, so many nights, the scent of sex wafting of him.

I could feel something building but I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. He was so openly homophobic, I knew I shouldn’t read into anything but there were times on the couch he would go quiet and pensive as if battling with wanting to say something or ask something but he never did and I tried to just put it out of my mind and enjoy snippets pf time where his attention was focused on me. I would have been content, I think with the status quo, but it changed.

I remember, it was a hot humid night and I couldn’t sleep, I was watching a movie on my laptop after 1 in the morning. My soccer friend ( Tash) and I had briefly spoken before he and my roommate headed to her room. He hadn’t returned to the living room ( he didn’t always) and I figured, I should head to bed and use my fan to uselessly fight the heat. I pulled the headphones from my ears because I thought I heard something, I heard it again it was a light knock on my door.

My heart started to beat and my mouth went dry, it could have been any of my roommates but somehow I instinctively knew it was him. I walked to the door, partially hunched over because my dick was already getting hard and I was only in boxerbriefs. It was him, standing, there in football shorts, grinning at me, chest glistening with sweat, actually he was sweaty all over and that close I could smell a combination of his cum and what could only be my roommates pussy juices. “ You nar sleep boss man” he asked me, while brushing past me into my room.

As I closed my door my mind to scrambled to an answer with any witty comment. I simply answered with a no. I was distracted because as he walked past me I could see his sizeable dick was atleast partially firm in his shorts. He sat at my desk chair and turned it to me and I sat on my bed and placed my pillow over my lap. I told him it was to hot to sleep, while watching him sit, legs sprawled cock prominent showing through the thin material of his shorts.“ I go ask you someting” he said, “ and mek sure you ansa me strait.”. I said I would. “ why you neva got no oman ova?, you always by youself and me neva see you with a oman yet.”

My heart started to pound for completely different reason, was this a trick, he and my roommate came up with to out me because they caught me staring at him. I didn’t answer him, I just stared at him. “No fraid, just talk the truth, you like man?” He asked. I was trembling but part of me was still excited because I knee there was a possibility, that he wanted to know for another reasonI took a hold of my courage and nodded. “Yea me suspected so cause how you just watch me.” He said. “Lemme ask you sumn else, you suck wood?”.

I said yes but depends on how much I want the person. He paused and watched me, he lifted his ass off the chair and pulled his shorts clean off.I couldn’t believe it, he was completely naked in front of me, his cock growing hard and firm until it slapped against his stomach, it was glistening, covered in remainders of earlier activity I assumed. “You wanna suck pon dis?”. My throat was too tight to answer and I just got off the bed got on my knees infront of him. I put my hands on his hard thighs, the first things I ever noticed about him. I bent over his sweaty matted crotch. This close I could smell the strong scent of sweat and sex. It was heady and my own cock grew harder.

I took hold of his thick warm cock to pull it away from his abs, bending over to inhale before putting it into my mouth. The smooth feeling of his cock head passing my lips going onto my tongue complemented by taste of his cum and my roommate’s pussy juices.

I sucked on the head, while I reached down to fondle his big balls, he let out a small groan before stifling himself. Both of us aware that others were in the house and his girlfriend was down the hall asleep from his earlier fucking. I applied suction on his head pulling off to hear that popping sound before sucking it back in. I lavished it with my tongue, tonguing his slit, pulling off to lick his shaft and bury my face in his sweaty matted pubes to get another whiff of that mixture of scents before tonguing his balls.

All the while he was moaning softly, thrashing around in the desk chair while, lightly holding my head in his hand. I was in heaven and I wanted this to last as long as possible but I equally wanted him to cum in my mouth ( something I never allowed) my lust for him so great. I suckled and licked and blew on his dick for what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes. The hard, hotness of it in my mouth, while my hands roamed that body I had admired so long.
I was surprised to realise the fact that I was sucking his dick right after he had used it to fuck his girlfriend turned me on immensely. Here he was with me, getting pleasure from me, even after he had his dick in her pussy. I felt powerful, sexy and horny as fuck. I could feel him getting closer his cock growing hard his balls pulling up in his sack as I felt them. I wanted his cum but wanted to prolong in it. I pulled off his cock and tongued his balls and moved to tongue behind them.

I tried lifting his leg over my shoulder to give me more access but he fought me, “ wa you a do? You nah fuck me eh, me a tell you dat from now.” He said I denied that was what I was trying to do and told him trust me. He reluctantly lifted his leg over my shoulder and bent over and licked as much of his sweaty, hot crack as I could passing over his tangy tasting hole as I did.

He was clean thankfully but could still smell the musky aroma of man ass. Sweaty, hot, hairy cracked man ass. As I licked and tongued at his crack and hole, he stiffened but didn’t push me away, relaxing into it, falling back into the chair, breathing loudly, pushing my face into his ass, I tried to use my tongue to breach his tight hole. I reached up to play with his cock which had lost none of its firmness. As i finally got my tongue partially into his hole. He swore and pushed my face away, lowered his legs and said “ me wanna fuck you”.

End Part 1

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Robbie, a gay wrestler, received a text message from a guy he never expected to hear from—Kyle, whom he had wrestled in a motel room tag team match, and defeated. The message said only four words, “I want it again.” Anyone reading that might think the guy simply wanted a re-match. But for Robbie it meant something else. Robbie had trapped Kyle in a tight, long-held leg split, and during it, he played with the guy’s balls until he made him cum inside his brief. That surprised everyone, especially Kyle, who had described himself as straight. But Robbie’s maneuver, however he managed it, spawned a pleasure in Kyle so different and outrageous that he had to submit to it sexually. At first it embarrassed him, then angered him. Finally, even though a gay guy had forced him to cum, Kyle became obsessed with the desire to feel Robbie’s unique hold again.

So the two young wrestlers met once more, this time at Robbie’s place. As they stripped down to just their underwear, Kyle started to get nervous. He adjusted his brief, while Robbie faced him on the mat in his intimidating and well-packed jockstrap. They shook hands and locked up. Robbie almost immediately caught Kyle in a side headlock, anchoring his face near the pouch of Robbie’s jock—his only view. Kyle’s arms encircled Robbie’s waist, with one hand resting only an inch from the top of Robbie’s jockstrap. Robbie kept the hold on a long time, giving Kyle plenty of opportunities for the guy to feel the vertical bulge in his pouch. Kyle did move the hand to different positions during the hold, but he never put it on Robbie’s jockstrap.

But after several minutes, Kyle’s curiosity, or his resistance, broke down and he started to feel the bulge.

“Yeah, feel it, buddy. That’s what you’ve wanted to do, right?”

“I guess so,” answered Kyle softly. “It seems weird to do this.”

“It doesn’t feel weird to me! It turns me on!”

Kyle ran his hand loosely up and down the rod, then moved it lower and gave the balls a feel through the pouch.

“Balls are sexy!” said Robbie.

“I didn’t think so until you got me in that leg split before and started messin’ with ‘em,” admitted Kyle.

“Man, that sure was fun!” Robbie scooped up Kyle in his arms. “Now I’m gonna have more fun!”

He dropped the guy down onto his outstretched thigh and held him that way with his left hand on the front of his neck and the right hand on his upper thigh. Kyle groaned as Robbie pushed down with both hands, bending the guy’s spine across his leg. Yet despite that obvious discomfort, Kyle didn’t submit, nor did he even try to get away from Robbie’s backbreaker.

“Your body looks hot stretched across my leg, dude.” He moved his right hand onto the front of Kyle’s brief. Robbie began to rub the brief gently, urging the dick underneath to harden. It couldn’t resist.

“Yeah!” whispered Robbie, feeling the guy’s dick quickly stiffening. “Didn’t you say you’re straight?”

“I am….or was…. I don’t really know what I am now.”

“Your cock sure likes me touching it. Your nuts, too.” Robbie kept rubbing the cock, making it harder and longer, while Kyle groaned softly as his pleasure grew in proportion. Soon the shaft reached its full length and hardness.

“When we wrestled before, I didn’t have a chance to check you out. Now’s the time.”

Robbie pulled the brief down with his right hand, and without any opposition from Kyle. Unrestrained by the brief, Kyle’s shaft rose to its natural position, hanging just above the guy’s rippled abs. Robbie first studied the handsome shaft with his eyes. Then he put his right hand gently around the warm muscle. Kyle grunted from the pleasure of the touch.

After a minute Robbie released the cock. But that wasn’t the end. He started to inspect parts of the tense, tough-minded tool with his thumb and first finger. He began with the stiff, round cockhead. As soon as Robbie touched the top of the excited head, Kyle’s whole body jerked. Robbie began to tease the head with the slightest possible taps and rubs. But no matter how delicate, each contact with the head produced a tingling in Kyle so powerful that the shaft jumped as high as it could—either trying to escape, or begging for more.

Kyle cried out in a loud, erotic voice. The cock’s tingling and upward leaping went on as Robbie worked his way down the shaft. Whenever he occasionally stopped to check a particular spot more carefully, the cock seemed stunned and didn’t move. By the time the fingers reached the guy’s ball sack, Robbie had the cock jumping high every few seconds. When he finished his inspection, he pulled the guy’s brief up again and let Kyle slide off of his leg and onto the mat.

Robbie took hold of Kyle’s arms, lifted his upper body and got behind him, bringing the guy’s back against his bent knee. As he pulled back on the arms, his knee pressed harder into Kyle’s spine. Kyle moaned quietly, but he made no attempt to escape from Robbie.

“You like a guy controlling you,” declared Robbie.

Kyle didn’t respond, but in his mind he agreed.

“So now you’re gonna submit to me!” Robbie pulled Kyle’s arms back with extreme force.

Kyle yelled, feeling his spine bending severely against the knee. “Yes! Yes! I give!”

Robbie dropped Kyle’s arms and sat again on both knees. He tenderly pulled the guy’s back against his chest and wrapped his arms around the wrestler in a loving way.

“You’re awesome, man,” whispered Robbie in Kyle’s ear. I’d like to do this every day.”

Robbie massaged the firm pecs as Kyle sighed in relief. Then the massaging hands began teasing the guy’s tits. But soon the fingers pinched into them, making Kyle yelp in pain. The double tit claw became a long, brutal squeeze. Kyle grabbed Robbie’s arms, but Robbie didn’t release the tits or let up on the intensity of the squeeze. He wanted another submission, and soon got it—a screaming one.

Robbie rewarded Kyle by rubbing and patting his chest and abs. But soon Robbie ’s hand went lower and began rubbing the brief covered cock. While Kyle gasped in pleasure, Robbie’s hand slid down to the guy’s hard balls and began stroking them.

“That feels so good,” said Kyle. “I’m sorry about hitting your nuts after the tag team match. Jeff talked me into it.”

“That’s what I figured. You didn’t hurt ‘em too much. I lived.” Robbie laughed.

Kyle grinned. “But to be fair, I deserve a payback for that!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” agreed Robbie.

Robbie slowly slid his right hand under Kyle’s brief and held the balls in a non-threatening way.

Kyle braced himself. “Do it.” He stroked the arm affectionately, expecting a move like Robbie had used to make him cum in that tag team match.

But Robbie surprised him. He suddenly squeezed, making Kyle cringe as he crushed into the balls. Kyle gasped and gripped Robbie as hard as Robbie squeezed his balls.

“Fuck!” he shouted, refusing to submit.

But the squeeze had him and both guys knew it. A few moments later Kyle submitted, tapping out on Robbie’s strong right arm.

Robbie ended the squeeze yet kept holding the balls.

“I deserved that!” gasped Kyle.

“I’m not finished yet.”

Robbie wrapped his fingers around just the right testicle and started to squeeze once more. Kyle became very frightened. His body stiffened as Robbie started to apply more pressure. Kyle quickly tapped out again on Robbie’s arm.

Robbie immediately released the hold. “Yeah, goin’ after one nut is fuckin’ scary!” He patted Kyle’s chest. “Good job, man.”

Getting that response from Robbie made Kyle feel like a long-lost buddy. He stoked Robbie’s arm.

Then Robbie took hold of the left testicle and started applying pressure to it in the same way. “I’m gonna see if I like this one better!”

“Ah!” gasped Kyle. He gripped Robbie’s arm in fear. He knew that the guy intended this as another test and this time Kyle wanted to pass it. He promised himself that he would not submit. Because Robbie squeezed the testicle inside Kyle’s brief, neither guy could see the kind of grip used on it. But Kyle’s reactions communicated a lot. The victim uttered sexy, whispered screams repeatedly. He spread his legs wider. He slowly lifted his ass again and again—maybe hoping to alleviate the pressure in some way. Robbie squeezed harder. Kyle couldn’t take it any longer and screamed out his submission.

“Damn, that was rough!” he gasped.

Robbie pulled his hand out of the brief and let Kyle fall to the mat on his back. He grinned and stroked Kyle’s gut. “Nobody can take it that long. You’re the toughest guy I know.”

What he said both pleased and surprised Kyle. But what happened next surprised him even more. Robbie leaned forward and kissed his chest. Even though that kiss came from a male, Kyle didn’t recoil from it. Instead, he reached up and put a hand on Robbie. Kyle’s cock also reached up, pushing into his brief.

Kyle didn’t need to say the obvious. He wanted more. So Robbie did. He slipped his hand inside the brief once more and gave Kyle a long demonstration in how to ball-wrestle a guy. Robbie applied an arsenal of squeezes and pulls to the balls that definitely made Kyle squirm. At first Kyle showed a lot of bravery by stubbornly resisting the urge to submit. But over the minutes, Robbie added more pressure bit-by-bit. The demo finally got to Kyle and he submitted with desperate gasps.

Despite the fact that most guys wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long as Kyle did, he didn’t want his contact with Robbie to end. “Give it to me again,” he said.

“Just what I hoped you’d say,” replied Robbie.

A pro with holds applied to balls, Robbie began to lock on new ones that he hadn’t tried on any other guy yet. Each hold challenged the balls in different ways. Kyle’s mouth remained open in apprehension during every alarming move that Robbie came up with. Yet the guy’s cock began to push against Robbie’s ball-squeezing arm as if thanking it for the excitement. Kyle held onto that arm like a frightened child, ready to tap out on it whenever the hold became too much for the guy. And he did always end up submitting at some point. Yet despite the endless moves on his balls, Kyle began to love the feel of Robbie’s hand inside his brief.

“Do they hurt, man?” asked Robbie.

“Yeah…. No…. I’m not sure. I’m more scared of the pressure on ‘em,” replied Kyle.

This opened up Kyle to conversing about the squeezes as Robbie applied them. Kyle began to ask him to repeat certain holds to see if he could extend his time before submitting. Robbie liked that idea. This back-and-forth dialogue continued for many minutes. The constant squeezes and submissions created a kind of symbiotic relationship between the two guys. Kyle trusted that Robbie would always end a hold when he submitted, and Robbie always did. It became an erotic game to them, an expression of mutual respect and even of affection.

Kyle thought about that interaction. He knew that when some guys wrestle for fun in private, ball-grabbing would not seem unheard of to them, or outrageous. After all, he had done it to guys and guys had done it to him many times. Maybe males, he thought, have always done it. Both Robbie and Kyle had grown up watching pro-wrestling shows, where they marveled at the toughness and flexibility of the wrestlers on display. But they also wondered why the most vulnerable part of a wrestler’s body seemed off limits in those fights.

As a reaction to that, when Robbie wrestled he began experimenting to find out how to best apply the most forbidden holds—the ones that pro wrestlers never use. Kyle, on the other hand, wanted to see what those holds really felt like and if he could survive them. But probably the most difficult goal for both guys became how to locate the right partner.

So when Robbie at last pulled his hand out of Kyle’s brief, Kyle felt almost disappointed. He held Robbie’s arm, hoping to pull it back inside the pouch. Robbie understood. He shifted his position and sat on Kyle’s thighs, facing him. He knew very well what Kyle wanted. And he would give it to him. It would become Kyle’s reward for becoming the kind of buddy Robbie had always wanted—for wrestling, for intimacy, for love, and for cum.

Robbie slipped his hands inside Kyle’s brief again and took possession of the guy’s testicles, one in each hand. Kyle twitched—this time not from fear but from the pleasure of Robbie holding his balls in his special way. Robbie began slowly and subtly moving the balls as he had done during the tag team match. But now with both hands at work inside his brief, the impact on Kyle doubled.

Kyle grunted as pleasure grew inside his shaft and balls. The cock longed for Robbie to touch it. But that didn’t happen. As a result, the rod pushed up into the brief, getting some pleasure from the brief’s tight, smooth fabric against it.

“You make me feel awesome, man,” whispered Kyle.

Robbie grinned. The alluring pleasure that Kyle felt increased at a pace far too slow for him. Robbie intended to do that—to torture him with it, to train him to hold back his desire to cum. Kyle propped himself up on his elbows, then fell back to the mat again, trying to cope with the pleasure. While Robbie slow-wrestled the balls, Kyle wrestled with himself—both craving the pleasure and fighting it at the same time. The guy gasped as his vocal chords became paralyzed, unable to express anything. Robbie gently rocked the hard balls between his fingers, demonstrating his mastery over them and over Kyle’s entire body.

Robbie made him squirm like hell. Kyle slammed his hand to the mat repeatedly as pleasure made him its slave. Robbie loved watching the guy struggle. He felt Kyle’s sack skin stiffen inside the brief—gradually, the way Robbie wanted it. A rapidly hardening sack meant a guy’s pleasure going out of control leading to an imminent orgasm. Robbie wanted to conquer Kyle as slowly as possible.

To add to his fun as he worked on the balls, Robbie occasionally used a finger to nudge the lowermost part of Kyle’s shaft, just behind the balls—biting his lower lip as he did so. Kyle gasped from the little surge of pleasure this caused. His eyes begged for more of it, but Robbie only half-smiled, carefully limiting the amount of pleasure he gave the guy.

Robbie saw a small drop of sperm appear, soaking through the top of the brief. Then another. The cock, and Kyle himself, couldn’t hold off his release of cum forever. So Robbie held the balls in a firm but motionless way, allowing the pleasure to rise on its own. Kyle’s eyes opened wide. The wrestler suddenly sat up and grabbed Robbie’s shoulders.

“Fill that brief!” said Robbie with authority.

A grateful look swept across Kyle’s face. The wrestler fell backward, slam-ming his back to the mat. He grunted as huge loads of cum started pumping from his excited cock, the first ones pushing through the thin brief. Kyle gripped the mat, stunned by the pleasure spams shooting through his shaft. Robbie held the balls throughout the long orgasm, feeling them tighten as they ejected their hot sperm.

When the orgasm ended, Robbie stripped off Kyle’s wet brief and kneeled beside him. He put a hand on Kyle’s heaving chest to try calming him down. That proved difficult. Kyle’s body occasionally rose from the mat and began thrusting the cock higher, as though madly fucking the air above it. No sperm squirted from the rod, but that didn’t seem to matter. Kyle felt a pleasure equal to what he felt when the first loads shot out. The thrusting and heaving and gasping went on so long that Kyle looked like a guy having a seizure that he couldn’t stop, or didn’t want to stop.

Robbie patted Kyle’s arms and rubbed his hand over the slippery, cum-covered abs. It took a while, but Kyle’s body finally sank to the mat again, yet with the cock still leaping up in the rhythm of an orgasm.

“Man, you unloaded more this time than when I got you in the tag team match—and that was a truckload of cum!”

“You don’t know how good it feels to have your hands around my balls!” said Kyle.

“Yeah, they can really take it.” Robbie held the sack in a hand and gave the balls a short reminder of his squeeze.

“Oh yeah,” groaned Kyle, loving it.

“A guy has to have the right kind of nuts for it, and you sure do!” Robbie grinned and released the hard sack.

“Can I come over tomorrow?” asked Kyle. “I wanna submit to you again.”

“Yeah,” replied Robbie. There’s a hundred ways I can make you do that.”

“Cool!” Kyle put his hand on Robbie’s thigh. That made his cock leap higher. “I don’t know why my cock’s jumpin’ so much.”

“Maybe your balls are already filled again.” Robbie bent his head down over the excited rod, opened his mouth and quickly closed it around the hot muscle. Kyle’s body jerked from unexpected rush of pleasure. The guy groaned as Robbie began to suck the thankful cock. But when Robbie lowered his head and took the whole shaft in his mouth, Kyle uttered a grunt so deep and sexy that he grabbed Robbie’s leg for support.

The shaft suddenly hardened. Then it began to pulse with great intensity. Kyle shouted in a deep voice as streams of sperm fired into Robbie’s throat. Unprepared for the sudden, second orgasm, it shook Kyle to his core. Robbie eagerly swallowed every load, while the cock got what it wanted and kept Kyle screaming like a teen having his first sexual experience.

After he had taken Kyle’s cum, Robbie continued to excite the cock by licking the head. Kyle laughed and cried simultaneously, but didn’t try to pull Robbie away.

“Just makin’ sure I got it all!” said Robbie.

“Shit! Shit!” gasped Kyle, not yet fully able to think or speak.

Robbie took the cock in his mouth again, not to suck, but to feel it pulsing. He kept there as Kyle’s breathing began to slow down.

“Oh man! Keep it in your mouth!”

Robbie did so, waiting for the cock to soften. But that never happened. The wonderful warmth of Robbie’s mouth kept it at attention. In a few moments it leaked some pre-cum, which Robbie savored. Kyle groaned, feeling a heightened pleasure when that happened. He stroked Robbie’s legs and butt. Cautiously, tentatively, he put his hand between Robbie’s legs and felt the balls, never having done that to another male. Robbie spread his legs wider to let him know that he liked it.

“Damn! You have big nuts, man! Bigger than mine….and really hard!” reported Kyle.

Robbie’s cock twitched as Kyle’s fingers examined and then held them. “Sometime you’ll have to give me lessons in how to wrestle nuts like yours.”

Robbie released Kyle’s cock. “Be glad to, buddy.” He licked the cock from top to bottom, making it jump—along with his own. “Do you still think of yourself as straight?”

“Hell no—not since you made me cum in the tag team match. Every time I jacked off after that I could only think of you.”

“There’s something else I gotta do, man,” said Robbie.

He rolled Kyle onto his stomach. He spit saliva into the crack of his ass and stretched out on top of him. His cock settled into the crack.

“Do it,” said Kyle, asking for something he never imagined he’d ever want a guy to do to him. Still, the guy’s body tightened in fear as soon as Robbie pushed the cockhead just inside his hole.

Robbie hugged and kissed him. “It’s O.K., man. Just relax.”

Kyle accepted that and groaned quietly as more of Robbie’s cock entered him. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Did you fantasize about me doing this?”

“Yeah. I wondered what your cock would feel like inside me. It hurts a little, but not as much as your nut-squeezing!”

Robbie grinned and began to fuck him very slowly. He gripped Kyle as his shaft swelled in pleasure. Kyle could feel the shaft expanding, hardening, heating up.

“I’m close, dude,”

Kyle held Robbie tighter. The rising pitch of Robbie’s voice told Kyle exactly when he would cum. A loud grunt and a forward push triggered the climax. Hearing Robbie’s pleasure groans made Kyle feel really good. He liked being part of his buddy’s maximum pleasure.

When Robbie pulled out of the ass, he fell on his back alongside Kyle, exhausted. Kyle ran his hand across Robbie’s chest, gut and muscular thighs. Thrilled at the idea of fondling another guy’s body for the first time, he celebrated by kissing Robbie passionately. Kyle felt relieved when Robbie put an arm around his shoulder.

Robbie smiled. “That was awesome, man!”

Kyle stared at Robbie’s tall shaft and finally took hold of it. “Damn! This is beautiful!”

“Keep it in your hand as long as you want….” Robbie reached over and locked Kyle’s balls in his hand. “….as long as I can keep these!”

(end)

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I was under the impression we weren’t going to do this anymore. Apparently, dad had other ideas. Showing up at my condo, using his key to get in while I was at my internship job.

He got me a condo off campus, perks of being a spoiled rich kid. He said he wanted to be able to hang out with me and get away from mom from time to time. I, of course, knew better.

You see, he also wanted a place to bring his fuckboys while I was gone. Sometimes he brought them over while I was there, which is so awkward. I’d be sitting there studying or watching TV and he walks in with some hot kid he picked up online or at the campus gym. The kid was almost always shocked or embarrassed to see me sitting there. Dad would just take his elbow and pull him into the bedroom. I remember times when I couldn’t study because of the noise; the moans and yelling of the latest fuckboy, the knocking on the wall from the headboard while he railed some rando kid. I’m ninety-nine-percent sure they all had daddy issues. They very much didn’t want anyone to know they liked to get fucked and couldn’t resist the mature, fucking handsome as hell, built like a brick wall man that is my dad.

Although I never really talked about it openly with him, at first, I knew I was gay when I was 14. I hid it well. I was very athletic; into football, baseball and wrestling. I now wrestle at the collegiate level, that’s how I got my scholarship.

Dad was in love with my mom as far as i could tell. I had no reason to think otherwise. He gave off no hints that he was into dudes. I think he knew about me all along but just didn’t care. I dated girls as a cover but never got serious. Then, I had a thing going my senior year with another wrestler on my team. He was my first kiss, my first blow job and my first fuck. He would never shut up about how hot my dad was but then that was the reaction of all the girls at school too. Always asking if my dad was coming to matches, or football games, school events. It became annoying after a while. But then, look at him. When you own a big chain of fitness clubs, and you have all the time in the fucking world to workout, you’re going to stay hot longer than most 48-year-old guys. I admit, I always thought he was hot. Many times, I fantasized about him while I was growing up, his perfect body, the way his clothes fit; snug and fitted. His handsome face, slowly graying hair, square jaw. I saw it all every day and he just kept getting hotter as he got older. I’m lucky to inherit his build and his handsome looks. I’m very much my father’s son.

I found out about dad’s affinity for a nice ass a few months back when I stopped off at the condo to grab my singlet and shoes before a match. Dad was here to watch the match and then stay the night before driving home the next day. I walked in the condo to hear a series of grunts coming from his room. I distinctly heard my dad spewing fuck talk; “Fuck yeah. Take that cock.” I immediately thought he was having an affair with some chic he met. It’s not hard for him to pick someone up, I’m sure. He was a huge flirt. I wasn’t surprised he would fuck around. He just seemed like the type; cocky, arrogant, confident to a fault. I didn’t even know he was here yet. I thought he was going straight to the match when he pulled into town. I was so uncomfortable, I just wanted to get out quietly without him knowing I was there.

I snuck into my room, grabbed my gear and was heading towards the front door when I heard it. It made me stop in my tracks.

A deep voice, not my dad’s, out of breath, groaning and growling, “Fuck me! Don’t stop! Right there, right there!”

That’s when I noticed two pairs of jeans strewn on the living room floor, socks, two pairs of Underarmour briefs, a polo shirt and a t-shirt piled on the couch and a couple pairs of shoes on the floor next to the chair. I looked to the coffee table and a ballcap with Greek letters on the front was laying upside down.

I stayed frozen. I couldn’t move. More sex noises coming from behind the door. Dad’s baritone voice echoing and the sounds of slapping flesh.

“Come on, boy, take that cock. Good boy. Such a good boy. You like that? Huh?” The answer to the question muffled, obviously from a face being smashed into a pillow.

I quietly stepped up to the door. I took the doorknob and ever so quietly, opened the door. I doubt if they would have heard it anyway, I cracked it open and my dick got instantly hard. There was my dad, on the back of a muscular, tan guy, maybe nineteen, on all fours. He had his head in the pillow and was gripping the sheets above his head with white knuckled fists. The kid’s muscles where flush and sweaty. His chest flat on the bed, his smooth, round ass hiked up in the air to receive my dad’s cock with whatever rough pounding dad saw fit to give him. Dad had one arm extended forward, his hand on top of the kid’s head pushing it down into the pillow as he thrust hard into the muscular ass under him.

Dad looked so fucking sexy. Big, tan, ripped body taking what he wanted, dominating a guy equal in size and just about as tall from what I could tell. His dazzling white teeth clenched, veins pumped all over his body as he took control and made this kid his bitch.

“There you go, little bitch. Look at you. Fucking bent over and taking a cock like a bitch. You’re my fucking bitch. You know that? You’re mine. Tell me. Say it!” He slapped the kids head and gave a rough thrust into his ass.

“Yes! yes! I’m your bitch, dude. I’m just a fucking bitch. Don’t stop fucking me!” the kid exclaimed.

My dad smiled and gave a slap to his ass. He laughed out loud.

“Yeah, you are,” he leaned forward and hissed into the kid’s ear, “Don’t worry baby, I’m about to unload my boys into this so tight, warm, hungry ass. Carry my boys in your gut, baby boy. Use it as fuel when you lift, get bigger.”

Dad reeled up and back, started to really punch it, fast and hard. He thrust forward and stopped, I could see his ass flexing in and out. He let out a horrific sounding noise from his lungs and proceeded to flood that muscle ass with his cum.

The kid was moaning quietly and whimpering, “Yeah, man. Fill me up. Give me that load.”

Dad slowed down his pumping. Out of breath he lay forward on the kid’s thick muscular back. The kid put his ass down and his legs stretched out behind them. Dad was now flat, resting on top of the muscle jock. He kissed the kid’s cheek.

“There ya go kid. Told you I was going to take care of you. You’ve got a few loads in you, babe.” He tuned the boy’s head and kissed him on the lips. “You’re going to feel me inside you for the rest of the day and night. When you’re with your girl tonight, you’ll have the cum of another man swimming in your gut. You’ll fuck her but you’ll be hard only because you’re thinking about me. You’ll look down at her pussy and remember when you were in her shoes, being fucked like you will be fucking her. She’ll never know what a pussy you are for cock.”

The kid was silent. His brain was working overtime trying to process everything my dad just said.

Dad rolled off him. The kid immediately got off the bed and headed to the bedroom door. Without looking back, “I gotta go.”

He was obviously in shock and couldn’t put together all the pieces of what just happened and what to do next. He hadn’t intended on any of this. He now had to contemplate his new experience with guy on guy sex. The thought of knowing he just put out for another man was too much and now questioned his masculinity which scared the shit out him.

The kid shot through the bedroom door. I had no time to hide. He opened the door and ran into me, standing there, the same surprised look on my face.

“What…” He looked back at my dad. Dad was lying on his side, stroking his cock. He turned back to me. “Who the fuck are you?” the kid asked, suddenly angry and also a little high pitched which sounded strange coming from a guy as built as he was.

He turned to my dad. “Wow, really? Is he your NEXT fuck? Shit, dude. You don’t waste time, do you? Got them all lined up, do you?”

Dad grabbed a sheet and pulled it over himself. His face wore a cocky sneer. He didn’t even care I caught him.

Dad shrugged, “Don’t be a pussy, kid. You think you’re the only tail I pull in around here? Don’t be a little bitch.”

“You told me you didn’t do this often. Fucking liar,” the kid said as he flipped off my dad.

“Go back to your whore girlfriend, you fucking closet-case,” dad said without regard, making the kid feel like shit.

“Fuck you, asshole!”

“You’ll be back. Just like all the rest,” dad guffawed.

The kid turned, looked me up and down.

“You know, he’s a player, right? He’s just gonna fuck you and forget you, dude,” he said angrily. “Until out of the blue you get a text from him TELLING you to meet him here for a fuck.”

He sounded hurt and a little jealous. Apparently, this wasn’t his first time with dad, as I had suspected.

The jock looked me up and down again. “But I’ll say one thing for him, he has a type.” Obviously, noting how similar we both looked. He glanced over his shoulder to dad, “You’re an asshole but you’ve got good taste.”

Dad just snickered and gave him a two-finger salute. He thought it was funny the kid didn’t know I was his son.

The kid then sauntered over to pick up his clothes as if he just didn’t get caught with a dick in his ass. He pulled on his jeans and picked up a pen off the coffee table.

“Here’s my number, text me. I assume since you’re here, you’re a bottom.” He wrote his digits on a magazine cover. “Let’s see if we can change that. I prefer to bottom.”

He picked up his hat and pulled it down onto his dark brown hair. It made his square jaw and his all-american good looks stand out; very butch.

As he finished dressing, he said to me, “You know, too bad you weren’t here a few minutes early. I would give my right arm to watch him nut in you.”

Then he grabbed a backpack sitting next to the door. He opened the door and turned to look at me, “By the way, he hates condoms.” With that he slammed the door.”

“You’ll be back!” my dad yelled out.

I watched the hunk walk past the window then turned to my dad with a frustrated tone in my voice, “You want to tell my anything?”

Dad lay back on the pillow, laughing.

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There have been times since we’ve been together that I wondered if he had cheated on me. Business trips to far off places, late night dinners, last minute cancellations. I think a part of me knew that he might, because of the circumstances of us meeting. Especially in the past several months.

As those thoughts were running through my head, I felt myself start to rouse. A strong arm over my chest. A fat cock against my ass. Darnell was still pressed against my back.

Listening to his breathing, feeling his heartbeat, it felt so much better than anything I’d felt before.

I opened my eyes, to find it was morning. Light was filtering through the bedroom curtains. Thankfully, it was a Saturday, so I didn’t have to worry about work. Rory is hot, but he’s not Darnell.

As I lay there, I grabbed my phone. There were no messages. I’d been dropped by Andy, much like his girlfriend. As that thought, that cloud, hit my mind I felt the soft lips of Darnell on my neck.

“Hey Mikey, how’d you sleep?”

I rolled over, pushing him onto his back as I did, snuggling into the crook of his arm and chest. I rested my head on his chest and ran my fingers through his chest hair.

“Interesting dreams, but alright” I said to him.

“That good” he said and gave me a gentle squeeze.

My fingers still playing in his chest hair, started to make wider circles across his stomach too. Soon enough, I was down below his belly button and my fingers bumped his cock.

“He’s happy to see you this morning” he said chuckling.

“Is he now?” I asked, looking up at him.

“OH yeah, he likes you…”

This time I chuckled a bit, as I wrapped my hand around the fat shaft.

“AHHHH” was all that escaped his mouth.

He was squeezing me a bit as he moaned, my hand traveling up and down his cock.

I threw a leg over his waist and slid up on top of him. I leaned forward, capturing his nipple in my mouth and sucking. He was writhing under me. I bit down slightly as I rolled the nipple over and over in my mouth.

I leaned back and felt his cock between my ass cheeks. I lifted myself up slightly and positioned it under me. I felt the head of it against my hole, before it started stretching me. Wanting to make sure that this felt as good as possible, I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed some lube. Pouring some in my hand I reached back and spread it over his cock.

Leaning back, I re-positioned it against my hole. This time he slid right in, having already been stretched from our sex last night. I slowly lowered myself onto Darnell and it was like his cock was forcing mine to fill with blood, because with every inch he pushed, I got harder.

I brought my hands in front of me and gripped his chest as I started to ride him. He sat forward and wrapped his arms around me, slapping my ass as I ground down onto him.

“I can’t believe I fought this feeling Mikey; you feel so right…” He said as he kissed up my chest to my neck.

“You feel so good in me Dar, so fucking good.” I said.

He lay me back, and pulled out – repositioning himself between my legs, pulling me back to him, pushing back inside. His hands were on the outside of my thighs, holding me tight as he made love to me.

He pushed my legs back, and slowly rode my ass. His length taking me to new heights of pleasure. It felt like he was in my chest in this position. I kept my eyes open the whole time, I wanted to see the face of the man I’d tried to distract myself from for all those years. His eyes were lit up with a fiery passion.

“Mikey, I love you so much” He said as he buried himself inside me and I felt his cum flowing.

“FUCK, Dar, I’m cumming…fuck” I cried out as I felt the stickiness filling the space between us.

He was still thrusting slightly, now a squelching sound replaced the slapping of our skin because of my load.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so sexy.” He said rolling off me.

“Look who’s talking stud…” I said giggling.

“We should take a shower Mikey…” He said. Grabbing me he pulled me up and we went into the bathroom and started running the water to warm it up.

“I have an idea” and I went to grab my phone.

When I got back in the bathroom, I grabbed his cock and started stroking it. He was groaning as I played it.

“I’m not going to be able to go again Mikey” Darnell said to me.

“You just need to slip inside me Dar, and we’re going to send them their own picture.”

His eyes went wide for a second and then narrowed as he understood what I was saying.

He spun me toward the mirror. He wasn’t completely hard, but he was hard enough to slip inside. As he did, I moaned and a look of ecstasy went across my face. He captured it beautifully in a photo.

“You can have her” was his text message that was sent to both of them.

With that, we got in the shower. I’d like to tell you that he fucked my brains out again, but we were both spent. We did spend time kissing and just washing each other. It was so erotic to be able to wash this man that I’d been in love with for so long.

After we’d dried off, we got dressed. I asked him what he wanted to do today, and he said we should go get his things. I nodded, and said I thought that was a good idea. After driving across town, we were both nervous that they would be there, but were relieved to find the house empty.

It was clear they had been there the night before – the bed a mess, empty wine bottles on the counter.

I followed him to the basement where we found their luggage. We grabbed it and made our way upstairs to pack. It didn’t take long, because while Darnell was a sexy man, he lived a pretty simple life. One large suitcase and a small suitcase contained the contents of his closet and dresser.

“Is there anything else that you’d like to take with?” I asked him, looking around the house.

“Nah, all this shit’s hers. She can keep it.” He said dismissively.

Having been around them all this time, I knew that he was right. She was the one who decorated the house. She hated anything he picked out, wouldn’t let him have a man cave, or anything.

Darnell took out his keys and took his house key off the keyring, leaving it on the counter. With that we shut the door and left.

On our way back to my house we stopped at the grocery store, picking up enough to get us through the weekend. As we made our way through the store, we bantered like an old married couple. Our flow just worked.

In the meat department, the guy behind the counter was flirting with Darnell. He was pretty bold about it too, talking about how good he can handle meat. It was obvious that Darnell was embarrassed by the attention.

“Don’t worry, I take his meat just fine…” I said with a wink.

With that Darnell let out a gasp, and the guy behind the counter blushed.

Moving on from the meat department I asked him, “Would you ever consider being with another guy? Or, is it just me?”

He turned to look at me, I think he was a bit shocked I’d asked.

“I haven’t thought about it, I guess. I’ve known there was something different with us, but I’ve noticed myself looking at other men before yes.”

“I don’t want you think that you can’t explore this more Darnell. Hell, we can even play together if you want.”

“What do you mean Mikey? You mean like find a 3rd person?”

“It’s a good thing you’re so sexy, because sometimes you’re not too bright” I said with a chuckle. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

He blushed furiously. “Would you be mad If I said that, while I love you, I think it’d be fun to play.”

I smiled wickedly at him. “Oh really?”

He nodded, glanced back at the guy behind the meat counter.

I told him to go on and I’d meet him up front. I didn’t want him scaring the poor kid off.

Walking back to the meat counter I waited for the kid to finish talking to the people he was waiting on. It didn’t take long. When he was done waiting on them, he looked up at me.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble, I’m sorry I about what I said to your boyfriend.”

I laughed, “Do you have a pen and paper?” I asked.

He looked at me funny but handed over both.

“What time do you get off?” I asked him.

“About 3 usually, why, what’s going on?”

“Be there by 4, we’ll see how good you are handling meat.”

I watched his jaw hit the counter and walked away; we’ll see if the kid has the balls to show up. I kinda hope he does. I think it’d be hot to see Dar fucking him.

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