The Gay Cartoons
The Gay Cartoons

Challenging a Royal Marine

Writer: Fred King

Designer: Eduardo

Everything started with a stupid bet at the bar.

Not an usual bar, but the bar of an old Whitehall club admitting only commissioned officers of Her Majesty’s armed forces or members of Her Majesty’s Civil Service.

I was 34 years old then, and had served at the Home Office since receiving my LL. B. from Oxford. If HM Civil Service looked into a mirror, you’d have seen my face, an old friend had once joked.

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And my body, I thought to me. Nature had provided me 6’3” of length and I had never been at the aesthetic side, much more, I carried a little belly and some surplus fat, doing hardly any sports at all (except of some skiing in the winter).

But there was nothing you could not hide under a custom-made suit, and thus it didn’t really matter to me – most of the time.

 

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At this time, however, I did not only matter, but it nearly scared me.

Next to me stood a man like an old Roman marble statue of maybe god Mars or Apollo.

The waiter had told me before that he was a Captain of the Royal Marines, who had joined the Ministry of Defence for a three-year-tour before assuming command of a Royal Marines Commando Company.

This meant that my marble godness was between three and five years younger than myself (four, actually, I was to learn later).

But whereas I looked like forty rather than thirty-four, he looked like twenty-seven rather than like thirty.

 

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An ever-confident smile, well tanned skin, beautiful brown eyes, crew-cut light brown hair and a very masculine, but not hard face, made him everybody’s eye candy. Instead of his daily uniform, he wore a dark grey suit and our club tie, and he didn’t even have to move, just seeing him staying at the bar, everyone could imagine what magnificient peace of malehood must been covered under the fabric.

Although we both stood alone at this moment, I did not even hope he’d be interested in me, not only a civilian, but obviously quite boring to him.

At least, this was, what I thought. Pitying myself, I ordered another drink.

 

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The more it hit me, when I heard his voice, talking to me from the right.

“May I introduce myself, Sir?” He asked, with archetypical grammar school-accent. “Captain Ian Mackintosh, Royal Marines.”

“James Henderson, LL. B. , Home Office. Nice to meet you, Mackintosh.” I managed to answer in what I thought normal tone, still fighting my excitement.

It was usual at the club to introduce oneself giving one’s rank or grade and branch.

Especially among officers, rank and branch sometimes were quite an issue, and civilians gave their academical grade and office instead.

Once someone was introduced to you, only his last name was used.

 

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We had usual mutual compliments and small talk, until Ian – as I call him now – started complaining that he had had to leave his Commando, immediately before deploying to Norway for arctic warfare training, followed by Honduras next year.

“I’ll never understand you guys”, I laughed, shaking my head, “it’s sensible to do this as part of your job, but never ever could I imagine to like it. Being frozen to ice in Norway, melting into sweat in Honduras afterwards, undergoing exhausting training and from time to time some hours in a sticky tent.”

 

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Ian’s face changed to a wide grin, showing two rows of beautiful white teeth.

“Sissy, or what?” It was not meant as an insult, but just to make digs at me.

When I protested, he added:”Moreover, it is not only about traditional manhood, it is about self-discipline. You have never really tried it, never had the satisfaction of mastering it, and are afraid you may have to admit that you could not meet the challenge. Don’t even try to deny.”

 

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I did not try, because I knew, he was right

The malicious grin again.

“And maybe you are right. I doubt you are able to complete only a little basic training that I’d set up especially for you.”

A mixture of self-esteem and alcohol let me answer: “I will complete it.”

His only answer was: “Alright then. That’s a bet. You better hit the sack right now. I’ll expect you in front of your house at 0600 tomorrow. Be prepared for a little run. Dismissed.”

 

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What the hell had I gotten myself into?

But there was no honourable way out.

Before going to bed, I managed to find some old trainers, shorts and a tee-shirt in the darkest corner of my closet.

I did not even know, when I had worn them for the last time.

As it was already late October and rather cold in the morning, I put out a sweat shirt in addition.

 

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When my bell rang at 0545, it was still nearly completely dark outside the window.

Half-sleepy, I had a glass of orange juice, dressed, went out of my flat, downstairs and left the house.

 

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It was 0559, when I saw a runner coming round the corner, and I heard the little bell of a nearby church, when.

Ian stopped one meter in front of me.

In spite of the cold weather, he was simply hot again.

He wore the obviously well-used trainers of a keen runner – and navy blue lycras, actually most likely some of the shortest and tightest lycras I have ever seen, covering just about the half of his impressive thighs.

 

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Up to then, I had thought that only racing cyclists or steroid-bull-bodybuilders could develop visibly structured muscles at the thighs, but Ian tought me better.

I’ve never seen so strong and perfectly shaped male legs, rock hard muscle, nicely tanned and without a single hair.

Moreover, he sported a quite impressive bulge, his cock must be at least 6” or 7” flaccid.

 

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But I had no time to enjoy his looks.

“Ok, buddy”, he snarled with best Aldershot-voice, “let’s start with some basics: At first, during our training sessions, you will address me as ‘sir’. How you will get addressed yourself will depend on your performance. At second, just do as you are told. I know, what you need, and whenever I see you trying to cheat, it will just become even harder. At third, for the time being we will have regular sessions at 0600 every morning. You better ensure, you will be here at this time. I may also fix additional sessions, if I consider it necessary. Understood?”

 

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“Sir, yes, Sir.” I did not exactly shout it, but tried to sound what I thought to be military.

“Now, just follow me with not more than 2m distance whatever I do. I’ll start slowy.”

He turned and I faced his back. Most of all, his ass, his firm, masculine, muscular ass, as if designed by Michelangelo himself.

And then he started, “slowly”, as he had said, but after several hundred meters I realized that this “slowly” was more than enough to make me sweating.

 

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We were somewhere in Hyde Park and I was near exhaustion, when Ian stopped and announced that we’d have a break.

I was to learn, however, that “break” did only mean, “no running”, not “relaxing”.

Instead, my beautiful drill instructor came up with push-ups, sit-ups and things like that.

 

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He always demonstrated how he did want each exercise done, before we made a certain number of reps “together”.

If he was done before me – what he was, of course, I had to do extra reps, and additional extra reps, if he was not content with what I did, bowing my legs or body during push-ups or whatever.

 

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And everything accompanied with malicious jokes and harsh commands.

When we were done with our “break”, I was sweat-soaked from head to toe.

He smiled cruelly: “Let’s get it going again.”

All in all, we ran nearly three miles in total, with two “breaks”, before returning to my house.

 

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For the last half mile or so, it was only my will, my self-esteem and the fear of further punishment, which kept me running.

I was already happy, it was over, at least for today, but he ordered another 30 push-ups, immediately in front of my house.

 

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When I hesitated, I heard him whisper into my ear:

“You better get down on all fours, my sissy secretary, and collect your strength for a last time, to do your push-ups fast. Imagine what your neighbours would think, if they saw you sweat-soaked, in evenly sweat-soaked, ridiculous old sports clothes, making push-ups at my feet, being called names for your weakness.”

 

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My arms trembled with every single push-up, but finally, the 30 were done.

But I wasn’t done yet: my stern instructor made sure my exhausted limbs got a good stretching, to prevent them from becoming sore, before I was released.

When we met at the club at the same evening, we were just close friends.

The next morning, I was surprised, as my muscles were sore, of course, but much less than expected. Ian, of course, didn’t even ask for.

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For the next four weeks, it was still daily running, increasing distances, and interrupted only by pushups, situps and other exercises.

Even the worst weather was no pardon, but only got me pushups for insufficient equipment.Ian was merciless, driving me to the limit each single day, punishing weakness and cheating with additional exercises.

He often made me literally beg for punishment, if the fiftieth push-up did not meet his demands or something like that, and thanking afterwards.

 

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Nevertheless, he was challenging, but not abusive, stern but not humiliating.

There were moments, when I nearly broke in tears from exhaustion, knowing that I derived 25 or 50 extra, and when he just would pet my head and smile

“Let’s get it going again”. It was “sissy secretary”, if it was just us two, and he was angry at me, but “buddy”, if other people were around.

 

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After about one month, however, I saw and felt my body slowly tighten – and could not believe myself, when I felt a little bit proud about it.

At the club, Ian and me had gotten nearly inseparable in between, and it made me even more proud, when at some friday evening, just leaving the club, Ian grabbed my belt, pulled a little bit and grinned:

“They’ve become a little bit loose, I think.”

I didn’t know how to react.

 

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The following day, I was surprised to see him arriving at 0600 sharp, not running, but riding his mountain bike, and carrying a big rucksack, which I was ordered to bring up into my flat.

“One minute, buddy. Each second later means a situp.”

 

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As usually, we had finished before my house about four and a half miles, three “breaks” and 50 minutes later, when Ian suddenly began:

“If you don’t mind, I’d suggest, we’d have breakfast together.”

I was more than only a little confused, but he continued

“Everything we need is in my rucksack.”

 

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When I stumbled something about my flat not being cleaned up, he just laughed

“Never mind. I wanted to surprise you.”

Entering my flat, he asked rhetorically, if we should have breakfast first, or take our shower first – only to give his answer himself, stating that he was sure, I’d prefer to have my shower first.

I was already a little sorry, as I was fascinated by the idea of Ian in sweat-soaked shirt and lycras rather than a cleaning, but boring shower.

 

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But then came the sentence that let me completely perplexed:

“Do you mind, if have our shower together? I don’t mind, and it will save us time.”

He did not even wait for my answer, but just asked for my bathroom, virtually pushing me trough the door.

 

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“Never shared a shower with a buddy?” he asked, and when I shook my head, he continued “then that’s another thing you’ve to learn. Let’s help each other out of our clothes. It’s so hard to do it yourself, when you are soaked.”

I did not know what this would lead to, but he had already gripped my shirt and told me “arms up”.

 

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Without Ian hesitating, my shoes were to follow.

It must have been obvious now that I was really uncomfortable, because he stopped for a moment, looking me deep into the eyes and softly saying:

“Don’t worry, there is nothing I haven’t seen, and nothing I have told”.

With a firm grip, he pushed my shorts and briefs down under me knees in a single move.

And I stood completely naked before the man of my dreams, pale and hairy.

I had enjoyed every single minute I had been with him, but I doubted if he would approve, what was to come, when I was to strip him.

 

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I could already feel my sorry little 6” erect cock slowly harden.

In the best case, I figured, Ian would burst in laughter and I would have made myself a big fool, in the worst case, I would have to see a doctor and would have made me a even bigger fool.

But there was no way out.Slowly, shyly, I started the inevitable. The soaked white tee already glued to his magnificient torso, showing the outline of his abs. They had received so much attention that there was not only a “sixpack”, but literally an “eightpack”.

Slowly, I lifted his tee, exposing this magnificient symbol of athletic manhood, completely smooth and well tanned, followed by his likewise trained pecs.

 

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I had to fight myself and my little man to calm down and relax.

After I had gotten him rid of his shoes, I decided to proceed as slowly as possible, in homoeopathic doses, stripping him first of his lycras, then of his underwear.

 

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When I finally pulled down the lycras over his impressive thighs, I nearly forgot breathing. Not only were they perfectly shaped, but there was the shine and odor of masculine sweat, and the prominent bulge of his completely soaked white jockstrap. I felt my tiny little hardon and did only hope that Ian did not realize it.

 

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Then finally his jockstrap.

Hardly could I resist the temptation to take the chance and feel his wonderful ass, not hidden, but emphasized of this unique kind of underwear.

Still kneeling before Ian,

 

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I thought I couldn’t trust my eyes anymore, when I saw his “snake” moving in his pouch.

This unapproachable man of my dreams got an erection, being stripped by me, the “sorry sissy secretary”.

 

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When I finally pulled the jockstrap down, his 8” semi-erect nearly sprang into my face.

I must have looked perplexed once more, and heard Ian’s voice, calming me down:

“See, buddy, that’s what I meant. There is nothing you don’t see in a men’s shower, but there is nothing you talk about outside. Now let’s get going.”

 

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Without any question, he took the initiative also in the shower himself – and I was surprised to see that he chose comfortable warm water instead of ice cold.

When it came to soaping up, of course, he announced, that we’d do it mutually again.

I had hoped it for obvious reasons, but was still scared at the other side – also for obvious reasons.

 

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But while I was still thinking about, I felt his firm, masculine hands going over my body with round, little massaging movements, and decided just to do the same to him.

Immediately, my already softening cock sprang to new life again – I just could not stop it, and was already embarassed, when I saw his best part also re-hardening.

Ian, on the other side, did as if nothing happened.

 

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When we had finished our shower and towelled off – again mutually, of course I tried to get a last, cautious view of Ians summa-cum-laude-body, when I saw him disappearing out of the bathroom, getting his fresh clothes.

But the best was still to come.

 

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His rucksack stood in my little hallway, well visible from my bathroom door, and my breath stopped when he bent over literally for minutes, looking for his clothes in his rucksack, offering me the looks of his perfect, round, tight and muscular ass, still a little bit wet and glistening.

 

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For a second, I wondered if I enjoyed some kind of private peep-show, as I could not imagine a soldier who did not know the contents of his rucksack, but abolished it the same second – maybe there were people anywhere out there who had the privilege of enjoying a private peep show of Captain Ian Mackintosh, Royal Marines, but never me, for sure.

 

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Then he seemed to have found what he needed, when he slowly, as to drive me completely crazy, put on just another lily-white jockstrap, wiggling his incredibly sexy ass.

I wondered what pants he had brought along and was extradordinarily pleased to see that it were lily-white lycras, as short and tight as his navy-blue lycras had been.

This was really to become a HOT breakfast!

But I had to get myself ready – I did not want him to know that I had greedily observed him all the time, at last.

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“Take your time”, I heard him, out of the kitchen, “I think I’ll find everything I need.”

When I came out of the bathroom, he was busy in my kitchen, still wearing nothing than his white lycras through which the outline of his jockstrap was clearly visible, encircling them round globes of his butt.

What would I have given to have such a houseboy around all the time.

 

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“There is nothing left to do for you”, he said in my direction. “I’ll get it done alone.”

Now it was he, who took his time.

Again, I wondered, if it was meant as a private peep-show, or if he just enjoyed my admiration.

When he finally was ready, he told me to get to the table. He had prepared everything. And I was impressed. It wasn’t exactly what you would call a “British Breakfast”, just the opposite, with cereals, fruits and different kinds of yoghurt and juice.

 

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Ian told me to sit down and poured me a cup of tea.

Having this half-naked male goddess pouring my tea, I felt like old Jove being served by his boy Ganymede.

Only that my Ganymede would become my self-chosen torturemaster again in less than 24 hours.

Before he took place himself, across, from me, he stopped beside his place.

When I looked up, he started:”Boy, take this as a reward. You did quite well until now, and you have earned some appreciation. This”, he chuckled, “is hereby granted.”

 

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If you had told me one month before that I’d give anything on such a laud, I had laughed.

But at this moment, I felt lucky like seldom before.”But you should take it as an encouragement as well. Your training will become more intensive from next week on. I’ve managed to get admission to the gym of Wellington Barracks. This means, from now on, it will be running in the morning Monday to Tuesday and at the weekends, and working out at the barracks from 19:00 to 20:00 from Wednesday to Sunday. Understood? Enjoy your meal!”

 

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He sat down himself.

He must have read my thoughts, when, between two spoonfuls of yoghurt, he said:

“I didn’t invite you there, if I thought, you might be a disgrace to me. There are lots of soldiers working out in couples, controlling, teaching and encouraging each other. Nevertheless, I expect your full commitment.”

During the whole breakfast, I could not help but nearly inhale the view of his powerful and well-proportioned pecs.

Just immediately before leaving, Ian put on his trainers, tee-shirt and sweat-shirt.

 

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Entering Wellington Barracks for the first cost me quite an effort – and I was really glad to see Ian expecting me at the door.

The locker room and gym were well equipped and crowded with young hunks swirling around, happily hardly taking notice of us changing us and finally entering the main hall: as Ian had told me, there actually were lots of couples working out together, one buddy pumping iron, the other counting or encouraging him.

 

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Ian guided me around, explaining every device, before showing me the first exercises.

Of course, I was a total beginner and but Ian, wearing a Royal Marines tee-shirt to his usual lycras, prevent every derogatory or pitiful views.

If a Royal Marine, an officer according to his attitude, had chosen me worth of his company, they did accept it.

 

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During the workouts at the gym, Ian was as demanding, as when running me through Hyde Park, always guiding me to my physical limits and even expanding them, when possible.

And often it felt to me as if he was even more stern and merciless, as to prove to an always present audience not only what I could take but also that I did it on his command.

 

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The most intriguing issue to me, however, was that we always would change, when I had finished my exercises on each device, with Ian working out, and me controlling and encouraging – though obviously not teaching him.

At first, I just stood there without saying any word, but then heard him literally shouting between his reps:

“Fuckin’ – give it – to me- I need it.”

 

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It was no joke, he was serious.

He wanted to be bossed around as he had bossed me before.

Happily, I obliged. The idea of dominating him was just too tempting.

When I ordered him his first extra reps for punishment, I was happy for my loose shorts hiding my hardening cock – and more than a little perplexed to see Ian’s cock harden at the same time.

 

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No way, he could enjoy being bossed around by me, couldn’t he?

Sometimes, when I felt a little bit abusive myself, he’d get up after his exercises with a happy smile and thank me for being so demanding.

Entering the shower afterwards, I recognized that not all, but a big number of guys routinely soaped their buddy’s back, and I was happy to hear Ian suggesting we did likewise.

 

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Running in the morning Monday to Tuesday and at the weekends, working out at the barracks from 19:00 to 20:00 from Wednesday to Sunday became my training routine for November and December (with Ian running and working out on his own several additional hours), at the evening our club in Whitehall, and Saturdays, of course, our common breakfast, alternatingly in Ian’s and in my flat – and always with mutual strip, common shower and Ian’s peep-show.

 

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Except from those hours, when I sat reading in my armchair and Ian did sports on his own, there was hardly a minute of our spare time, we didn’t share.

He even got interested in my book-stuff, becoming an attentive and eager listener, when we talked about the old Romans and Greeks, history or theatre.

But I still could not believe I’d be the lucky one to find this personification of manhood as my lover.

 

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It became December and during one of our common breakfasts we discussed about Christmas.

I saw Ian’s face sadden for the first time, when he told me with a sarcastical undertone: “Seems to become a lonely Christmas for me this year. My parents have got an invitation to friends down in Spain, and an officer comrade asked me to act as substitute for him. He volunteered for some duty on Christmas Eve in order to get some extra days off. Since three weeks now, he is father of twins.”

 

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“No way, I can refuse this favor. This means, however, I can’t even visit my sister up in Glasgow and see my lil’ niece and nephew.”

Sitting there in all his male magnificience, he looked a little bit lost.

Half out of selfishness, half out of compassion, I offered: “So why don’t we celebrate our two lonely Christmas days together? My parents will celebrate with some friends in Chamonix and my siblings with their each parents-in-law. I am alone myself”.

 

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I saw that he hesitated to accept my offer, being afraid of what he had gotten me into, so I just continued:

We’ll have our workout at Wellington anyway at the 23rd, why not have a nice evening together before you start your duty at the 24th? After your duty, we could have a nice brunch together or whatever you want. Be my guest.”

For some seconds, I thought I had seen tears in his eyes, before his smile came back and he took and squeezed my right hand:

“That’s a plan!”

 

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At the 23rd, Ian came to my flat and dropped his package for three days (I had told him, he could sleep on my sofa), before we drove to the barracks.

The workout was exciting and fun as ever, and after taking our shower and dressing, we drove back to my flat.

 

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I had planned to have something delivered by a very good Chinese service, but when we had entered my, I saw Ian a little bit shyly for the first time ever.

“James”, he started, “I have tortured this body of yours for the last weeks like nobody has before. You’ve not only undergone it all voluntarily and even topped my expectations, but you have become” he gulped and stopped for a second “a close friend who offered me his friendship in a way no one has done before….”

 

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“… You may think that it is you, who did learn in the past weeks, but it is me also. When we talked about the old Greeks you told me that it was quite common that the ‘mathetai’ , the pupils tried to provide their ‘didaskalos’ , their teacher every comfort they could, in particular that the pupils were responsible for giving their teacher a good massage after gym. And that is what I ask your permission for now.”

He bowed his head as in submission.

 

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“I gratefully accept” was everything I could say, propping his head up with a tender pet.

I remembered me being completely exhausted at his feet and grateful for a pet of him.

“Then I may ask you to go to your bedroom, didaskalos, and wait, as I prepare everything.”

It lasted quite long, but then I saw the door slowly move and Ian coming in. It was an image I’ll never forget.

On a big, silver tray he balanced four silver candlesticks, a bottle of champagne with two glasses, a can with what looked like body oil, and a folded, large, thin white blanket.

 

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The most impressive look, however, was Ian himself. His beautiful fave was hidden, his head bowed in submission again.

He was completely naked, and all of his magnificient body glistened with body oil, as it was common for the Greek athletes.

His cock pointed straightforward, sporting a full 10” erection, held by a silver cockring.

 

 

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From this moment, I was completely caught by the scene Ian had set up and could not think of anything other.

Without looking up, he murmured “With your permission, didaskalos.”

Two candlesticks came to each side of my free-standing bed, and the blanket was spread over my bed with respect of the body oil that was to be used.

 

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Then my naked ‘pupil’ opened the champagne, poured me a glass and handed it over, before he slowly started to undress me.

The whole scene had already made me fully erect, my cock pushing against my briefs and trousers.

 

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When I was completely naked, he asked me to lay down on my bed on my stomach.

He did not even forget to put my glass on the night stand.

I heard the characteristic sound, when he distributed the body oil over his hands, before he knelt down over me, one knee to each side of my body, and I felt the firm grip of his hands on my shoulders, starting my massage.

 

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Soon I was just moaning from the pleasant sensations he caused, from time to time nipping from my champagne.I didn’t even realize, when everything switched under his powerful hands, but at some point I realized that it was no longer the ‘mathetes’ pleasing his ‘didaskalos’, but my hunk of Marine Captain rewarding his “sorry sissy secretary”.

 

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With slow, circulating movements he had gone down my back, and then started to wander up my legs.

The massage must already have lasted about twenty minutes, and my erect cock already started to hurt, when finally my – thank’s to God recently trained – butt received Ian’s attention. I had already completely surrendered my body and mind to him.

 

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Then I realized through the fog of my hype that he wasn’t actually massaging my butt anymore, but that his hands pulled my buttcheeks apart and his tongue started to explore the area around my manhole.

And I just let him go, it felt just natural at this moment. Licking and kissing, he caressed the skin around my hole, before finally getting to my anus itself. For a moment I was scared again, but finally decided to give in and surrender.

His tongue on my anus created sensations I’ve never had before, licking at first, then kissing, tenderly biting and finally pushing her way in. Some part of my brain registered what was to happen but the rest of my body just lay there in pleasure, feeling his tongue swirling around in my anus.

 

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“Sir, give me more, Sir” I heard myself moan, and soon felt Ian’s first finger happily obliging sliding in, adding to the play of the tongue and driving my even crazier.

I craved for more, wanted to feel more of my male goddess in me. The blanket under me must already have shown a big wet spot.

“Ask me for it, buddy”, I heard his voice, “ask me if you really want it!”

Like hell I wanted it, and did what I had considered impossible only two months before, shameless asked another man to shove a further finger up my ass.

Slowly I realized that Ian must be quite experienced in male sex, his slow and cautious play being no sign of lack of experience, but exactly the opposite, of knowledge of what a “virgin” like me could take.

 

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He took all time he needed, even calming me down from time to time, when I asked for another finger, if he thought it better, to stretch me up more slowly.

Each new finger caused a short pain, followed by much more pleasure, as my ass got accustomed to it.

Finally I heard him whisper: “You sure, you can take it, buddy?” I was like crazy already, and moaning, gasping answered

“Sir please, give me your cock, Sir!”

 

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His right hand still playing in my ass, he turned my head to the left and without a single word gave me an intense French kiss, shortly before I felt my anus painfully stretched once more, when his cockring-supported 10” tool slid in.

 

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I thought, it would tear me apart, but once again, Ian gave me some time to accomodate and slowly, inch by inch worked his manhood in my up-to-then-virgin asshole.

The candles were already nearly burned down, when I felt the cockring at my buttcheeks.

The mere fullness produced an overflow of sensations with every move how little ever.Ian did not do much, enjoyed the warmth of my anus and let me enjoy the stimulus of his cock.

 

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He lay on my back, kissing and biting my neck, only from time to time pushing in me with slow, long thrusts.

The candles had already burnt down, when he came himself after a series of a dozen of long, powerful thrusts.

The feeling of his ejaculating cock, cumming in my ass was all I needed myself, before I came on the blanket.

 

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“I love you”, we kissed, before we fell asleep, still sealed together.

 

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End of Story

Thanks for your Visit

 

 

Writer: Fred King

Designer: Eduardo

 

 

 

 

 

 

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