Trip 10.

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 Coming brought on the bigger waves that build to the peaks of a trip and I was struggling to hold my lead in a maelstrom where stimulation came from everything. Even the hot oranges in the swirling patterns of the rug were sending vibrations down through my body. Marcus was idly playing with himself and toying with my balls.

‘Ok Time for some real fun, you bring that suit?’

‘Yeah but…’

‘Get it on we’re playing out’.

He disappeared into the hall, I pulled on my shirt and went through to the kitchen and grabbed another bottle of vino. Back in the lounge Marcus was slinking across the floor on all fours like a cat. His movements were pretty convincing as he loped onto the sofa and turning face gave me a chuckling faux snarl. I tugged my jeans on, ‘Follow me’.           Outside a damp mist clung about the trees and there was just the slightest bite to the air.  A path led from the side of the house steeply down into the wood, it wasn’t quite a hunters’ moon but there was enough to see by. I was fighting to keep my perceptions straight above the strobing confusion of the drug, consciously telling myself what was solid and real. The silhouetted branches and the cast of the moonlight gave the impression of a movie set. Brushing the switch in perception aside I paused for Marcus to catch up, he was getting distracted, picking his way on all fours through the leaves, scampering then pausing to check his surroundings. I had to remind myself that he wasn’t actually a wolf.

When we reached the hut I flicked my zippo and lifted the wooden latch.

It was used by the shoot that rented the woods as somewhere for the beaters to rest up between drives and have their lunch. Long benches lined both sides and an old refectory table ran the down the middle. I lit the candle in the hurricane lamp hanging behind the door. Marcus bounded in. He was completely given over to the effects of the acid, there was a giddy madness about him as he launched himself up onto the table and prowled along it like a caged animal. I took a coil of thick twine from the wall, ‘Ready to play?’      He reared up on his haunches. I could see the line of his new hard on under the suit. He rolled onto his back and started a grinding motion against the fabric, pleasuring himself.   I moved quickly, seizing both wrists behind his head, lashing the twine tight around them loop after loop until they were immovably bound. I pulled the zip on the suit right down releleasing the tension, denying him that friction. In the corner there was a large dog cage, I’d left a leader on his bindings and I pulled him up, ‘In you go’, he went in without protest, only making a small groaning noise as I pulled the leader tight and fastened his arms over his head to the roof of the cage. There was just enough space for him to kneel upright, his arms back supported by the twine. He was choosing to stay in character, making growling noises and fixing me with those coal black eyes.

Sitting back on the table I looked down at his milky pale exposed body and craving erection. ‘Patience little cub, it’s nearly showtime’. Right on cue I heard the snap of a twig and giggling from outside the hut, the door swung open.

‘Dr Livingstone I presume?’

‘What the fuck?’ The acid hadn’t been part of plan and I didn’t want Marcus freaking’

‘Relax, they’re friendly and besides you’re safe in there’.

Little white lie there, Emily was an old friend but I didn’t know him from Adam, which is ironic as that turned out to be his name. Emily’s latest stud from the student pool at the art college and she had chosen well.  I gave him the once over. He was lean but with an almost military bearing, model look, short cropped hair. He didn’t speak, just an acknowledging nod towards me and looking down at Marcus, a wry smile.
I kissed Emily pushing my mouth to her ear, ‘stick to the script but we’re tripping, take it easy’. ‘Cool’, she nodded and crouched down in front of Marcus. ‘That boner of yours is going to get a lot harder gorgeous wolf boy’
I moved to a side bench leaving them centre stage. Adam didn’t waste any time, stripping down, showing a hard crafted body. A black Yakuza tattoo of a giant carp rose over his right shoulder out of swirling,inky lotus tendrills that ran down his back forming the tail of a dragon that coiled, looping back up under his left arm and out across his chest.           He pushed Emily back across the table, throwing open her long fur coat. Underneath she was wearing one of her kooky fantasy costumes, her skin ivory white against the dark fur, his, smooth, deep bronzed by a gap year tan. They began gently, him using his mouth across her body holding her down. As he reached her pubis and the insides of her thighs she started to squirm, her fingers curled into his hair holding his head. I watched Marcus. He was on his haunches his attention held rapt, his wild-eyed sideward glance at me told me all I wanted to know. Emily was vocalising her desires, urging Adam on, telling him exactly what she wanted from him. He in turn was teasing her, making her ask for it.       He reared up from her turning towards to the cage. The great club of his erection was strapped to his stomach by the waistband of his pants. He slid one hand down its length unhooking them so they fell to the floor. The huge bulbous headed thing stood there, quivering above the massive weight of his balls. I heard the sharp intake of Marcus’s breath and saw the bead of forecum form at the head then roll down the underside of his own straining stem. Adam took himself in hand and turned back to Emily, now waiting on all fours clawing at his back. She began to play with him, moulding her lips around the plum head of his cock and drawing down hard on his sack using her nails against the root.  I thought I was going to lose control. The scene was hammering into my mind, bending and twisting, triggering jolts of crazed desire down into my loins. Adams’ deep, resonant lusting groans and Emilys’ short gasps made my cock ache for touch. Arching the gentle curve of her rear into her back, flattening her breasts against the table she offered herself to him, deliberately facing Marcus showing him the exquisite agony that Adams’ girth would give as he drove it in.

Adam had her firmly at the hips, the swollen bulb of his cock against her glistening wet, swollen slit. ‘Show him you big dicked fucker, make him burst those tight balls watching me coming on your fat meat. Show him…’

Emilys’ drawn out moan as he slid inch after inch into her, contorted her face into a mask of total abandon. They moved against each other in perfect sync, stinging each other with pleasure. I felt every slow thrust, my cock raging with the madness of it. They fucked endlessly, a stream of filth pouring from Emily describing everything, how she loved the grind of his balls against her, how his immense size drove her crazy and she came over and over while he fucked like a living machine. I was lost to it, loving the torment until a low grunting snapped me back to the real. Marcus was straining forward thrusting his dick up and out, fucking thin air, his fingers gripping the cage roof. His expression was wild, crazed with frustrated desire. He was coming, his balls rose tight up against him and the slit in the pulsing head opened, shooting strings of come arcing outwards. ‘Wow!’ Emilys’ eyes gleamed widening with her delight at the sight of the auto-orgasm that was pumping his balls. It was too much, I broke. Undoing Marcus I opened the cage and pulled him out. ‘Suck him! Put your mouth on him now!’ Emilys’ lips slipped down his pulsing stalk as she shuddered, climaxing with her mouth around Marcus and Adam slamming hard into her.  I pulled myself free, Adam smiled, he was the only one with any control left, ‘C’mere man’, he held out one hand towards my cock. I was spouting come the minute his fingers closed around me and started to move. As I throbbed in his hand he groaned, drawing himself out and splashing his hot white stuff over Emilys’ round little ass as she hummed the last drops out of Marcus. His eyes met mine and smiling he licked along his upper lip.

As I’m typing this up back home, Marcus is sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep. His supine form as languid as a drowned sailor, except for his dick, twitching against his stomach. I pour myself a glass of port from the decanter and I wonder where his dreams are.

Moor End House .9

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I called Simone, ‘I need a favour’.
‘Already? What happened to your boy?’
‘Tart! That’s why I need the favour’
‘Then ask and you may receive’
‘Do your folks still have that cottage?’
‘Oh I see, dirty weekend already. Bit remote for you though isn’t it? Hardly Paris’
‘Au contraire mon petit choufleur, it’s just the job. Can I borrow it for a night or so?’
‘I’ll have to check when its free although it’s out of season so I imagine it’s free of the orange kagoul crowd so you should be ok’
‘Did I ever mention that you’re the most treasured and favourite of all my friends?’
‘Never quite enough sweet cheeks but honoured as always’

Thursday night.
‘Marcus, it’s Josh. I want you to come away with me tomorrow? Just a couple of nights’
‘Hi, how’s it…away? Sure. Yeah, I mean, where to?’
‘Some place I know, bit out of the way but you’ll like it. Get a cab, I’ll settle with him when you rock up. It’s a sat nav job.
I gave him the address
‘Ok, cool, I think’
‘And Marcus…’
‘…do you still have that wolf suit?’

Friday night.
Moor End House. Twenty odd miles of progressively narrowing roads and lanes. A private drive takes off and climbs along the wooded side of a small valley for a couple of miles emerging out just below the moors’ edge. One late Summer, James, Simone and myself had spent a drug addled fortnight here playing at being Byron, Shelley and Mary. Cue history lesson, stay awake at the back…it had, apparently, been built by the local landowner for the manager of a proposed quarry venture back in eighteen something or other. The manager had absconded with the initial investment and payroll money nearly bankrupting the landowner. The house, with a great deal of land had been sold, finally being inherited by Simones’ folks as a family retreat.

It was typically Victorian, nicely suiting my gothic sensibilities and from the sweeping approach out of the darkness of the trees it had the grand elevated appearance of an old rectory. Inside the rooms were high ceilinged and sparsely furnished but it had a  comfortable lived in charm. Distressed boards, antique rugs and well worn in furniture that sort of thing. I had brought seafood and bread which we ate picnic style in front of the open grate fireplace, washing it down with a crisp Saivignon Blanc.

Marcus had lost some of his controlled swagger and was cautiously polite, I sensed a nervous energy moving beneath the surface, an eagerness to talk.
‘I liked your story by the way’
‘Thought you might’
‘It turned you on didn’t it? Telling it to me I mean’
‘It did. It was the first time straight sex had flicked my switches but it was more him though, a lot more him…70/30 maybe 90/10’
‘So how come only the one more time?’
‘That’s the bit I lied about, we did loads but that was were it stopped’
‘Because of the scene?’
‘Perhaps. He went a bit weird after that. I think it was springing it on me the way they did that got him off’
‘Hard one to top I suppose’
The euphemism brought on a mutual fit of childish giggling.
The wine was kicking in nicely, I stuck a couple more logs in the grate. The flames took them quickly and the fire roared, throwing long shadows dancing up the walls.
Marcus, glass in hand stood up and walked to the big front window.
‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot you know’
‘I had hoped you’d call me sooner’
‘Well, we’re now here aren’t we?’
He turned, his eyes caught the flames and he was back to being the predator looking down at me from across the room.
‘We are…’, he placed his glass down, unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off, ‘…here’.       It slid off him onto the floor. He raised his hands to himself moving them down the flanks of his body in a V shape to the buckle of his belt. He was Narcissus, Hylas, a male principle in a Waterhouse painting and all of the light in the room seemed to be playing for him, working with the sublety of his movements, staging an act or was it ritual? Shadows thrown played with those of his own body forming a new creature of guttering light and dark emphasis. A slow devilish smile cut across his face. My vision was shifting in and out of focus. The room swam. I blinked and blinked again. ‘Marcus…’
‘You’re going to tell me how beautiful I am?’                                                                                     ‘Do I need to?’ He stepped forward out of his jeans, I could see he was naked but couldn’t make sense of the shape of him against the room. He was the room. The firelight was quickening, its’ flashes cutting forms into jabbing, changing shapes.
‘Strange, beautiful or both?’
His voice, (it was his voice?) came softly from everywhere at once. It was in my head before I heard it. His tongue was at my ear but he was still or at least what I thought was him, was still there in front of me. Sudden surges of heat spread up though my body, pulsing, wave after wave. ‘What’s…’
‘Relax Josh, just fall back into this, let go’
My mind came together in one word, acid, this was fucking acid. Jesus, the little fucker spiked my fucking wine. Outside of my gathering thoughts I heard his cocky laughter.
‘Well done Josh, you got there, you’re tripping, we both are’
I couldn’t stop myself laughing, the movement in my diaphram causing ripples to spread out around the room. I knew to keep things slow, keep it in balance. I focussed on Marcus, pulling my sweater over my head, losing the t-shirt, feeling the cotton move over my skin. Every nerve in my body felt softly alive. I needed to be naked. ‘C’mon, c’mon, I’m waiting for you’, Marcus just standing there goading me, legs braced apart leaning back, stomach tensed, trailing his fingers over himself. I felt how much he was loving it, the excitement in my stomach translating into waves of sensation making me feel what he was feeling. Our eyes met ‘Tune into me Josh, feel this’. One hand slid down over his stomach and along the curving length of that perfect dick. The sensations were instant. Heat flooded my heavy cock and it throbbed upwards against its own weight feeling every soft stroke of his manipulation. Sinking to his knees he was working himself up with ecstatic little gasps and moans, his face a contorted mask of  lust. Watching him, mesmerised by the incredible beauty of  this physical spectacle, his body coiling around on itself, the knotted muscles of his torso I gripped my stiff pole around the base. Crazy electricity was flooding my mind with reflected imagery from my own imagination, the scene was a painting, we were Waterhouses’ creations, satyrs, drowning sailors, hapless heroes lost to lustful temptation in a wild forest. Marcus locked around me finding friction against my body. I gripped the round hard swell of of his cheeks and fastened my teeth into his side. Lifting him my mouth found his dick, tongue rubbing under its head he forced it further into my mouth and began a slow measured fucking motion. The noises he was making were pure pornographic, driving me crazy, moaning, pleading with me for more, delicate gasps until he withdrew moving down onto all fours. I was shaking, my quivering cock had his attention and he moved to it, holding it aside and lapping at my balls. They looked massive next to his fine features and the desire to just ram my cock between that model perfect pair of lips and splash him with an explosion of come was powerful. I played it on his tongue until I got my mojo straight. ‘You want this Marcus?’  Without answering he climbed over me and arms around my shoulders limbered himself over it.

I fucked him from beneath, pressing against the deep root of his dick with my fingers. I put him on all fours and brutally pounded it into him while I pulled at his nipples, biting into his shoulder. My cock felt huge and I told him so, ‘Are you feeling it now?’ I had my hand around his dick and I could feel it’s crazy pulsing as he started to come. His deep groaning reverberated through his body and down around the base of my pole. ‘Fuck it, let’s go’, I rammed harder, he was fucking my hand and bucking back against my balls.       I felt the strike come and pulled out of him, jetting my hot cream over him. I dragged him quickly over onto his back and as he pumped himself dry beneath me splashed a second gush of pearly white come over his cock and balls. He was smiling, eyes closed, ‘That all you got?’  I leaned down into his neck and ran my tongue along and up to his ear, ‘That’s just the beginning’.

James .8

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The train home was quiet. Marcus’s little scene flew around my imagination. Hammering it into the laptop I was aware that its erotic charge had been in his relation of it, the way he led me through. Starting off with an almost casual ‘just between us boys’ confession that then took a sharp turn into something altogether different. That he had excited himself in the telling enchanted and excited me. Had he made it up for me or more likely, embellished an actual occurrence? Either way I didn’t care.

The following day went along it’s usual lines. I went to the second hand bookshop that I used as my private library. Set over four floors across two old, pretty shabby shop premises, it was a warren of rooms, cellars and odd claustrophobic spaces. Walls of books that seemed set to collapse at any moment towered over you. They bowed under the weight of everything from gilt and leather bound antiquarian tomes to endless shelves of pulp and pan edition paperbacks. Old fruit crates piled with vintage magazines, periodicals yellowing ephemera and old music scores were stacked wherever floor space permitted. On the ground floor behind a windowed mahogany partition was the antiquarian section and James’ office.

James, who inherited the place from his grandparents was an old mate from Uni days and for a while, an on/off lover. The place was a second home to me, a sanctuary from sanctuary.
We were hard up students back then. Stocktaking, one stiflingly hot summer in one of the shops’ musty attic rooms, he’d peeled off his t-shirt to cool down. The sleek contours of his torso glistened with sweat as he hoisted boxes onto the upper shelves. Motes of dust swirled in the shaft of sun under the skylight.
He was compliant, sensual. I still remember his crisp well educated voice, ‘I thought you’d never get there’ before pressing his mouth to mine. I sucked his silky smooth cock, rubbing my wet lips over its engorged head and holding his balls tightly in my hand, milking him until, groaning loudly he came in a series of short jabbing thrusts. Releasing me from my cut off denim shorts his elegant cool cracked when my own swollen piece sprang up at him. ‘That is so fucking big Josh! It’s like, it’s so…’ He fell to lapping at my balls while rubbing over the head, ‘So fucking big, you are one beautiful fucking monster Josh. Fuck me with it. Just take me.’
I obliged, pinning him down, cracking a lube sachet and driving it into him the way he wanted. We were on the floor, doing it like animals. He urged me on, bucking back against me, arching his back and craning his head, engaging me with pleading eyes. ‘You’re going to make me come again, punch it into me until I come. Josh, fuck me, fuck me, ffffffuu…’ We came together, collapsing in a sweaty tangle of spent force. We lay there in the heat, our heads on a stack of old NMEs, naked, just stroking each others bodies until we were both hard again. He put his cock against mine, it was almost like static crackled between the two.  It was a perfect time.

‘Not finished the latest medieval bonkbuster yet?’
James took a vindictive delight that my single minded ambition to take the world of journalism by storm had been derailed by an increasingly lucrative sideline in knocking out erotic historical fiction for the womens’ kindle market.
‘Just on the last chapters old boy, working on a credible excuse to get my heroine safely back to France’.
Muttering something about Eleanor of Acquitaine he laughed, ‘Credible’.
‘Am I sensing sarcasm James darling? Or has the shop developed a selectively sneering echo?’
‘Coffee?’ Still amused he dissapeared into the back room.
If I was honest he still did it for me. Public school arrogance and aloofness always did. Which was why I suppose the thought of Marcus playing dominant over his friend flicked my switches.

Later in the park, part of me wanted Marcus to appear. I knew he wouldn’t. He had given me his number as we’d left the cafe. The ball was mine to play,

A story in the park .7

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He found me on my usual morning meanderings through the park, which I knew he would. This part of my day is usually medititive, I always follow the same route by habit so that no decision making crosses my free train of thought. There are rarely interruptions of any kind except the weather or maybe a, ‘good morning’ from a dog walker but for those I have unconscious responses. He appeared from around one of the tall beeches at the head of the park by the folly. Greeting me with a simple ‘hello’ and in that one word his voice had loaded everything.

‘Good morning, you’re a nice surprise’
‘Am I?’
‘Absolutely you are, I’ve been thinking about you’
‘I thought that you might’, he slid his hands around my waist. ‘In what way?’
I wanted to show him, desperately wanted it but I kissed him lightly on the forehead. ‘Let’s walk’.
The park swept down around a large lake, it was too early for the boats but the boat house cafe was just opening. The young waitress putting the tables outside shouted back, ‘with you in a minute’ as we pushed through the double doors into the shabbily charming art deco interior. We took a table by the window overlooking the water flashing in the bright low sun. Outside on the lake, boats for hire were moored.

‘We used to come here in summer, from art college and take one of those. There’s an island in the middle where the lake gets really wide, you can land there.’
‘Like Swallows and Amazons?’
He ignored the reference.
‘It’s covered in huge rhodedendron bushes, they’re hollow inside so no-one can see you from the shore.
You’re completely hidden.’

The waitress appears and breaks the reminiscence, ‘Sorry about that, if I don’t get the tables out front by ten sharp he goes barmy’.
She indicated the open door at the right of the counter with a nod, ‘he’s not a morning person isn’t Tom.
Right what can I get you boys?’.

I ordered a tea, Marcus opted for a bacon sandwich then changed his mind, ‘Actually, no, I’ll just have coffee. I’m keeping an eye on my figure’. He winked and my mind flashed to an image of him naked, half emerged from his wolf skin.

‘I seduced a friend from college on that island. I teased him that I wouldn’t row him back unless he paid the ferryman’
‘Was that seduction?’ I asked ‘Or coercion?’
‘Just fun. I tied him against a tree with his arms above his head’
‘He trusted you?’
‘He totally wanted it’
He fixed me across the table with that same look, those predators’ eyes.
‘When I slid his jeans down over his hips he was already hard as rock’
‘One tea, one coffee and two buttered tea cakes courtesy of his lordship back there. Give us a shout if you want anything else boys’
‘She fancies you’, Marcus amused himself.
‘I think maybe it’s you as the love interest in this scene boyo’
He bit into his teacake, the butter oozed down over his chin.
‘Anyway I made him come twice then he begged me to come over him. Which I did but only after he’d said please’

His obvious relish in the retelling of his experience was a delight.

‘How did it make you feel? Do you remember?’
‘Remember? No way I could forget. He was a posh boy, public school. He had that arrogance they have, that certainty about everything and yet there he was on his knees licking my balls. It gave me a buzz.’
His parents were seriously loaded, they had a holiday gaff in the country so he drove us out there one time. Cool place, it had outbuildings, like stables and stuff.’

Marcus was playing with me, reading my responses.
He sipped his coffee and turned to the window.

‘He had some stuff there ready, buried under some straw in a wooden box. Rope, handcuffs…’
He started laughing, ‘…a riding crop, harness and this black hood’
‘Hood?!’ His laugh was infectious.
‘Yep, hood and this other mask, one of those half face things from Venice. That was black too, made me look mean when I wore it’ I couldn’t hold back from smiling again, ‘You liked that?’
‘A lot. At first I thought it was kind of cheesy but once I had him tied up in this stable, just like he asked, I sort of got into it. I tied his hands, threw the rope over a high beam, drew it until his arms were stretched then hitched it to a hook. I used the crop on him right across his hard ass. It made him cry out, he was loving it, his big dick springing up every time he joked with the pain.’
‘So you’ve a little sadist in there?’
‘I sat on a straw bale in front of him, stripped to my pants and the mask. I jerked myself off slowly. Torturing him with the show, loving how his dick was straining out towards me, watching the agony of frustrated desire in his expression. Then In she walks’
‘This posh bird, mid thirties, all done up, country type. I was stoned at the time so I just took it in my stride. She walks right up, kissing him, starts fondling his dick and then straight at me, ‘Let’s really make him squirm shall we?’
She undresses in front of me, I look at him, he gives me a nod so I just went with it’
‘With what?’
‘Their whole scene thing. She straddled me, lowering herself onto it real slow looking back at him over her shoulder and then we fucked while he watched. It was weird but cool. Made his dick twitch like a metronome.When she sensed I was coming she told me to let him down. She was offering herself on all fours over the bale. He went at her like a mad bull, slammed his hot angry fat dick square into her. She was urging him on, ordering him to do it harder, hurt her with it. He was like a beautiful fucking machine, pistoning in and out. I wished I could’ve filmed it.’
As he was telling me this his eyes grew brighter.
‘Did it do it for you?’
‘I was horny as hell, my legs were shaking’
‘Where did it go?’
‘They came quickly and then it was my turn. They tied me up. Taking it in turns to play with me, teasing me and then they fucked again, slowly this time. I was literally insane with the urge to come, crazy with it. Watching him going into her again, watching the hard ridges on his dick pulsing. Then it happened.’
His eyes were wide, his pupils enlarged.
‘What happened?’
‘I just started coming. it bulged up around the base and I couldn’t control it, it erupted, wave after wave of come. Seemed to go on forever, it was like a well head pumping me out.’
‘I’d like to see that’
He grinned.
‘Well, maybe we could work on it?’

Telling tales .6

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I arranged to meet Simone at the usual place. The park was quiet, autumn colours were ablaze in the low sun, a few dog walkers dotted the huge swathe of green lawn that rose up to the rose terraces. I walked around the sweep of steps up towards the orangery and the pagoda cafe enjoying the way the late morning sunshine warmed my face.

Simone sat at the far outside table against the wall. Wrapped in a huge white fur coat, she looked like a villain in a Bond movie. ‘So how was the party?’
‘All the better for your abscence darling’
‘Cheeky old queen!’
‘And less of the old please. You’re only bitter because you didn’t get an invite and besides you’d have hated it. The usual old hooray crowd and a hoard of new student intake for the old vampires to suck on. Anyways how come you weren’t invited?’ ‘Jealousy as usual I suppose. Emily’s been weird with me ever since the Midsummer thing.’
‘The threesome?’
‘Moresome more like, I lost track. It’s hardly my fault if I end up as the main event is it?’
‘You know what she’s like, when it’s her show, it’s her show. Anyway this turned into something of an event for yours truly.
You remember that boy on the train that I told you about?’
‘Oh your latest obsession, the pre-rascal or whatever’
‘Pre-Raphaelite actually. Yes him, he was there’
‘He just appeared right there in front of me, next thing I know he’s mine’
‘Dammit Josh you get all the luck, including mine’
‘Bollocks! You make Elizabeth Bathory look chaste’
‘Hungarian countess, sixteenth century. Went through the neighbourhood peasant girls like a rapacious dragon. Bit of a sadist though, she killed them all when she’d done’
‘Bastard!’ Simone’s high pitched shriek of a laugh shattered the tranquility, the only other people at the tables, a couple in their seventies turned at us and stared. Unblinking, it was if we had disturbed two cows grazing in a field.

‘Details please. You know your kind of shit turns me on. Did you fuck?’
‘No. This one’s not the usual. He’s very different in fact and I want all of him. He likes to play games Simone and you know
I’m a fucker for a challenge. There’s something about him that I can’t pin down although obviously I had a good try’
‘Oooh Mr butch’
If I had been straight I would have totally fancied Simone. She was exceptional for a Sloany Londoner in that she was anything but superficial. OK she was posh, mega-posh, dressed the part, acted the part but she loved stories. Indulging her hungry imagination in whatever way she could find. We had met through Emily, not unusual as most people we knew did but had developed a fascination with one and others’ lives. For her part I was something very different to most of the men in her usual circles and for mine she brought me out of myself in some way. Almost like some sort of mystical character. A wicked queen from a fairytale.
For the benefit of her vicarious lusting I tripped through the tryst with Marcus in the study one more time.
Although this time I embroidered the story with an extra detail, just for her. At the point where Marcus started coming for the second time I said that I had poured the remains of the bottle of pink liqueur down over his cock and balls. I said that the burning sensation of the alcohol had caused him to cry out but made him come harder as I gripped his hard stem and worked it without mercy. Worked it until he was a twitching marionette in my fist, lost to the crashing surge of his own orgasmic thrill.
That seems to do the trick for her.

Later back at the house, after a deep bath and shrouded in my long robe I rewrote the scene a second time.
Drawing it out I moved through every detail. The feel of him in my hand, hard but still swelling against my grip. The rise of
his tightening balls into his groin. I listened to his pleading voice in my mind, ‘See what you’re doing to me.’ Those words, ‘what you’re doing to me’ were fire to my own stiffening dick. It forced it’s way upwards through the heavy folds of the robe and emerged like a spring shoot demanding light and warmth. I teased it, moving gently so that the underside of the glans lightly brushed the fabric, slowly fucking thin air. An image of his face, teasing, goading me as he spread himself out on that huge chesterfield sofa. Firelight flickering in his dark almost wholly black, obsidian eyes. That achingly proud cock, scimitar curved upwards and against his taut stomach. I imagined him here and now into this room watching me, a lurking feline presence in the armchair opposite. I played to him, offering my thick club of a cock for his appraisal, sliding my hand up, over and down it’s huge profile. His mouth fell open, tongue slowly moving out over his upper lip and eyes sinking half lidded his long low moan reverberated around the room. The waves rippled around the base of my cock and I was coming. Huge gulps of the hot stuff fountaining out and streaming over my hand. His mouth pressed down on mine, his fingers raked down my chest and sides,
‘Marcus…’, the name hung through the last ragged gasps of my climax.

Recall .5

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I awoke, thank heaven, back home and in my own clean crisply laundered bed. Sunlight streamed into the room. Everything is white. I began to indulge myself in recalling the events of last night and the reappearance of the face from the train. Providence never failed to surprise me.
He was uneasy beneath me I could tell but he kept cool, ‘dominant’s your gig I’m guessing?’, ‘Yes it is, I appreciate a certain amount of…well, power I suppose, for want of a better word’. It sounded corny but that’s how it is. I unbuckled my belt and with the spear end traced invisible spirals over his skin letting it drag over his nipples and down into his navel. I teased it around his lips and he bit down on it. ‘Here is the deal, are you listening?’ Looking back at me and nodded once. ‘You will act under my instruction, do exactly as I say, you will be mine and I will reward you well for it.’ As I spoke I took the belt and collared him with it. He was compliant, angling his head up but never losing eye contact. His adams’ apple moved under his long white throat. I sat back and took the weight off him completely looking down at his still fiercly erect dick. A bead of fore cum formed at the tip and trickled down his side, ‘What do you say?’. A cocky smile gave me his answer but the sentence that followed however came straight out of the sun. ‘I’ve been watching you for months, figuring you out’. I first saw you in Skellman’s Bookshop, you were behind the glass doors in the antiquarian bit, I was in the art section, getting off on some Dulac illustrations. I waited and followed you. Eventually I wanted you to see me, it was harder than I expected but then on the train you did.’ The mention of that moment made me smile, ‘You certainly caught my eye.’
‘I’ve imagined how this might turn out and you haven’t let me down but I have a condition too…’. ‘Ok, go on’, ‘…that you never ask anything about me. Where I’m from, my real name, birthday, nothing.’ I stood and leaning on the high fire mantel took another swig of the sweet pink filth. ‘Your compliance for my ignorance? It looks like we have a deal Marcus’. ‘Then hadn’t we better seal it?’.

Orange light showing moving shapes in clips. Across the side of him, pectoral, ridged lats, deltoid, angle of hip. Calf muscle, thigh tensed, limbered loin offering himself upwards. ‘Work on it, show me how you pleasure yourself Marcus’. He drew the soft skin down, holding tight at the base, the other hand feathering from balls to tip. It quivered erect at the pressure beteen his fingers. Lightly he starts to work himself, ‘I want to see you coming you horny little fucker. Squirt the life out of those tight hot glands of yours’. Digging his heels in he stretched full length arching upwards, ‘Pump it out onto yourself, get that white stuff moving and give me a show’. He writhed, tensing muscles like living sculpture as the steady rythmic manipulation of his member made him groan, wanton, spread out across the deep velvet cushions like a huge lean cat, head thrown back over the arm. Struck breathless by the beauty of his body and its’ movement lust tore through my self control. In a moment, stripped to the waist I was over that face, his tongue flickering under my balls, lapping hungily as I worked my own huge dick. Watching him on his, matching his rhythm. His breathing quickened to panting, he was coming, ‘let it go, I want to see it.’ It exploded out of him, jetting up and out from it’s pulsing well head and splashing over his chest. ‘Rub your cock in my cum, come on me, press that thick hot dick onto me’. His pleading nearly pushed me over the edge but pinching myself hard I faced and straddled him, rubbing myself in the warm white pools, spreading a slick coating over him. His hands were back on my body. The wet friction overwhelmed me, my nuts were tightening and my cum was flooding out over him. Our mouths found each another and we were one spasming jerking mess of cum slicked muscle.

I could feel his rod prodding against my perineum, he was still rock hard. I slid down, allowing him to rub it against me and he started to come again. ‘See what you’re doing to me?’

We lay on the sofa for what seemed like hours until the fire died down and he was dead to the world. I drew a tapestry throw over his spent form and dressing quietly unlocked the room.

Party Games .4


Watching him disappear towards the cavernous kitchen where the bar was set up, my breathing eased a little. What the hell was this and why had I got so uptight when he approached me? I wanted him, no question but that was all. There was nothing there that hadn’t been done before, time over and again, so why the stress? Emily bobbed up in front of me out of the melee of dancers, ‘Looks like you might be needing this later’. She ran her hand distractingly up my thigh, slid something into my trouser pocket, gave me one of her weird, half eyed looks and was gone. Emily was one of those annoying hyperactive rich kids who think life is one continuous social occasion but in her own erratic way she had been a good friend in bad times. Werewolf boy returns with a bottle of some gaudy looking pink liqueur with a huge ear to ear grin lighting up his face. ‘Look what I found! Someone had tried to stash it under an ice bucket in the corner’. I couldn’t help but be amused by the how the giddy delight at his find contrasted with the studied cool of his approach moments ago. ‘It looks perfectly disgusting…’, his expression sunk, ‘…it’s perfect, let’s find somewhere to enjoy it shall we?’. Sliding my arm around his shoulder I indicated the staircase and we pushed our way upwards through the throng of bodies. A long landing led off the gallery receding back into the house, its far end obscured in darkness. ‘Looks promising…’, his chuckling laugh and the clink of glasses called the decision.

The corridor kinked right at the end into a smaller square landing at the top of a narrow backstair. There were two doors, one slightly ajar with flickering light from inside throwing shadows onto the near wall. I pushed it open tentatively. A large book lined study, obviously having been recently vacated by some of the guests. A fire still burned in a black marble fireplace. Bottles and glasses were left half drunk scattered around the room. On the huge desk they reflected the candlelight and the fire. A spacious bay window was swagged and hung with heavy dark velvet drapes that pooled onto the polished floor, there were high wingbacked armchairs and a low slung sofa fronting the fire. The thought crossed my mind that I couldn’t have written a more perfect setting myself. I made the doormans’ decorous gesture to enter. ‘Well, it’ll do’, and turned the key in the huge rim lock. ‘I can’t very well call you wolfboy so maybe we start with some proper introductions?’, ‘Call me what you like’, he was clumsily pouring significant measures of the liqeur into two heavy cut glass whisky tumblers. Taking one for himself he slumped into the corner of the chesterfield, wriggling back into the cushions he pulled back the wolf face cowl of his costume. His expression was the same wicked curl of a smile he had given me at the station, bright eyes fixed me over the rim of the glass as he took a large gulp. ‘Ok, your way then’, I said ‘I’m Joshua, but no need for full Sunday names so if you prefer I will allow you to call me Josh.’ He was stretching out arching his back.

I watched him as he pulled the zipper slowly down, peeling open the suit. He was naked under its’ dark fur, creamy white skin, velvet smooth over the tensed muscletone of his midriff.

Taking a swig of the tacky pink stuff my tongue recoiled at the sickly sweet viscous liquid and a medecinal aniseed warmth burnt down my throat.

I moved over him, straddling his limbered form. This was his game and I realised that was what had thrown me. He was in control. His face looking up at me, ‘You can call me Marcus’, his words came on a single breath, a hand snaked inside my shirt and down under my belt. His head fell back, eyes lidded and a delicate moan left his lips, ‘I knew you were hung’. Long fingers were around me, with barely any contact working lightly around the head and down. His legs were crooked behind me the heels in the small of my back pulling me in like an anenome. The action of his hand on me was unbearable and I focussed on my own self control. ‘You like that too much’, withdrawing his hand he disengaged and hauled himself back over the cushions on the arm. Slowly, watching me, he pulled his costume open further revealing a curved, already hard cock pressing into his lower abdomen. The glans were dark, swollen, glistening wet. A clean thick shaft, smooth down to tight shaven balls that rose and fell in response to their sudden exposure. I took my turn to tease him and traced a fingertip along the underside, lingering under the head with a gentle flicking motion. His breathing quickened. I manipulated him with a slow deliberate stroke feeling him swell and thicken, going quicker for a moment, forcing him to hold back. My other hand ran across his stomach, lightly around his side and onto his chest. The cut of the muscles were beautiful, lean, curves into angles in perfect proportion.


Turning the tables on him was easy. I moved quickly, pinning him down with one hand on his chest while the other skinned the wolf suit below his waist taking his arms behind him. Knees quickly into his elbows he was secure under my
weight. Pausing, seeing his eyes widen I waited to enjoy the moment and took another drink rocking back slightly on my haunches. ‘You’re mine now Marcus’.

A surprise party .3

Dreamlike quality to the morning, a distant view of a power station sending a towering white cloudstack up into a blue grey sky.
The carriage is quiet, no-one standing but I look out for him again just like every morning since I first saw him. In my headphones Cannonball Adderleys’ sax slides around Miles Daviss’ trumpet. I picture that face trying to conjure the sensation, waiting for the lurch of excitement in my stomach.
Tonight is Halloween and Emilys’ party. I’ve pretty much gone off the idea.

At around midnight on a cold wet friday I found myself dressed as a half arsed vampire rocking up to one of those huge victorian mock mansions built by the upper middle classes in the 1850’s, as they sought to aggrandise themselves and stage their pretensions and fantasies in displays of ostentatious neo-neo-gothic.

The main crowd were crammed into the cavernous entrance hall where a fivepiece band was in high swing, playing some old big band stuff dressed in steampunk Victorian get up.
‘Josh you gorgeous fucker!’ Emily burst out of the crowd like a mad jack-in-a-box, electric blue hair topped off her punk fairy get up. ‘Where’ve you been hiding yourself?’, ‘Oh here and there’, I suddenly felt underequipped for the situation but as ever Emily was talking for two. ‘Anyways I’ve missed you, you haven’t been out all Summer, not even to the garden party. There’s a shitload of new people, Taylor’s got a post at the art college so that whole crowd is around. Do you like my outfit? It’s like based on Tinkerbell but sluttier, I think I went a bit crazy with make up though’. She had. I thought it but kept quiet.

An hour later and somehow I’ve ended up walled into a corner by a fat goth girl making a decent stab at flirtation but who is seriously unaware that she’s into the wrong fish. A polite excuse for a gracious exit is proving elusive and the claustrophobic panic building in me is starting to get uncomfortable. She won’t stop talking and doesn’t seem to have noticed that I’ve stopped hearing any individual words in the rapid fire babble she is rattling out. ‘Fuck!’, my blurt stops her short, ‘What?’.
My salvation had come from an uncovered and unexpected quarter.

Rapidly running my eyes over the crowd that spread up the wide sweeping staircase and onto the galleried landing, I did a double take back to a figure leaning over the bannister. Something in the angular jawline visible beneath the hooded cowl of the mask of the werewolf costume made my breath stop. ‘Fucking fuck!’. Fat goth, unable to stop her mouth from getting back into motion as quickly as possible was staring wildly around, ‘What?! What is it?’. My heart was smashing into my ribcage, ‘I’ve got to go, I’ve…’, the last word hung awkwardly in the air. Over her shoulder I could see him at the foot of the stairs, he is coming over.
‘Hello…’, Wolf costume appears from behind her. He is standing square in front of me and I realise we are same height. He pulls back the cowl and there is the face from the train, twice as stunning as I remembered it, ‘…You were looking at me, on the train…why?’
No introduction, no acknowledgement to fat goth, just a wry smile and bang. ‘You caught my eye…’, I faltered, ‘…you interested me’. Dammit, he had me backfooted, I was supposed to be the fucking cool one. I felt the prickly sensation of a blush rising over my face.
The absurdity of explaining myself to this boy in a werewolf suit suddenly made me laugh. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ His voice was quick and showed a hint of hurt and agression. I was back on top, ‘No, not at all, I just didn’t expect to find myself talking to you like this, here, in the costume I mean’. To my relief his face cracked and softened into a smile that was all teeth. ‘I’ve been watching you too’, my stomach jumped ‘Oh yes?’, ‘You take the train for an hour and a half. You sit in a park for a while then you walk around doing nothing in particular, except for that old book place you go into every Thursday…’. ‘I wasn’t aware that I had a stalker’, I think I managed to cover the indignation.
‘That is my job, I mean that is my work’, ‘Why? What are you? A shoe tester’ ‘Look you cheeky little fucker, I’m a writer, that’s my routine, that’s what I do to make it work’. It sounded absurd but it was true, for seven going on eight years I done exactly that, day in day out.
‘What do you write then?’. He was enjoying my discomfort and making no secret of it either, ‘Porn if you must know’. I wanted to outplay him, I failed. ‘Coooooool’, he drew the word out with cocky deliberation, ‘Maybe I could help you?’.
I was disarmed, the flash in his eye was sharp enough to be a cheesy cgi effect. ‘Well maybe we should get another drink, bloody mary?’

A face on the train .2

Familiar landmarks on a wet autumn morning, the same faces in the over crowded carriage, swelled to capacity by Septembers’ student intake. The usual jostling for seats, confusion over reservations and excitable babble is a test of nerves. I keep my head in my work and block it all out, waiting for it to settle down. A face in my eyeline draws my attention. Cool and composed in the middle of it all. Pale chiselled features thrown into relief against the high collar of a shabby black pea coat, leaning in the doorway, face into his phone. White wires trailed out from under loose dark curls and where a pale throat angled sharply down into the loose dark folds of a heavy twill shirt, open wide at the neck, a slash of crimson scarf. I forget the first rule of commuting and I am staring straight at him, a figure stepped straight out of a painting by Waterhouse, a perfect pre-raphaelite subject.

Unexpectedly his eyes flick up to meet mine, catching me out and snapping me back to a crueler reality. There is a milli second of tension and I look quickly away. Risking a look back and meeting his eye again, a quizical, uncertain smile plays across his face. He turns to stare out of the window. When we both join the melee leaving the train, he is in front moving purposefully through the crowd, long coat unfurling out behind him making for the single manned open ticket gate. As he stops and holds his pass in front of him he momentarily looks back directly at me and smiles again. This time the curl of his lip shows a hint of arrogance and a suggestion of mocking promise.
Back home that evening I pull the drapes close and light a fire in the grate. This room was the sole reason I had bought this place, welcoming me in like an old friend the first time I stepped through it’s wide door. It was on the first floor of the house, one of those elegantly proportioned late regency terraces overlooking the park across the narrow street that ran down towards the  barracks. I always left a triangle of window uncovered when I drew the drapes so I could keep the dark silhouettes of the trees in view. The room was arranged according to my own particular idea of comfort, there was not a spare inch of wall uncovered or a surface that was not full. Eyes always like somewhere to play, stark, blank spaces were to me the stuff of nightmares, classrooms and I imagined, torture cells. A well loved leather chesterfield and high wing backed armchair gave audience to the fireplace and high Victorian clutter was the un-self concious theme. I lit the low lamps and the candles. The opening bars of Miles’ ‘kind of blue’ came in, the call and response motif of ‘so what’. I congratulated myself on being lucky enough to live alone.

For this moment I had wanted the stillness of a calm mind but while my thoughts were distracted slinking in low like a fox there he was. The memory of his face played through ‘blue in green’ segueing in and out bar by bar. I was all too familiar with the nature and pitfalls of obsession but this played to my weakneses in a way that was way too seductive to be ignored. I let it play through, indulged an imagined flirtation and the sensuality of a conclusion. How would he smell, taste? The bright gleam in those dark vulpine eyes, was it a tell tale promise? A clue? The need to know went beyond reason. The hook was in.

Monday .1

A light rain drifting out of the grey sky and a low dreary mist limited the morning view to an indistinct middle distance. Monday and my mood was about as low as the clouds.Remembering my counselling I tried to think ahead to something better, focus on a positive. Like the view from the train window, life stretched ahead in a featureless plain. Miles Davis ‘but not for me’ is trying its perky uptempo best to swing me into a sunnier place.

I am startled from my misery by the sharp buzz in my hip pocket. Message from Emily. She is throwing a Halloween party. My first thought is to think up an excuse. Emily’s partys were filled with ex students who couldn’t let go of the lifestyle. Boring and self obsessed they were an odious bunch. Most of them had jobs in trendy bars and boutiques, some were ‘artists’, others played a charade of being ‘creative’ in some way or other. They all had one thing in common, daddys’ money. For reasons that mystified me, they were the most powerful ‘in’ crowd in town, so wherever they chose to be was soon descended on by cliques of the second circle and quite often the ‘in the knows’ from the third. They revelled in this pretensious charade and their incestuous goings on. The hearsay and the sycophantic fawning that went with it irritated me beyond belief. That said I wasn’t doing anything else, my voyeuristic demon got the better of me and I was keying the reply,’sounds fun’. Emilys’ parties had been the stuff of college legend. Her priveleged social network and family connections gave her access to an inexhaustible catalogue of bizarre and uber cool venues. Arty theatrical friends were drafted in to turn these into fantastical backdrops to what usually ended up as Bacchanalian displays of unrestrained excess.

One particular event though marked the nadir of the worst. It had wound up splashed across the red top nationals, in 48 point lurid headlines illustrated by half blurred stills taken from movie clips. ‘A sex slave in a minotaur’s maze!’. Images depicted the laughing face and naked body of a blonde girl, starkly white against the black shape of an athletic male figure wearing the head of a bull, huge curved horns stretching off the edges of the frame. It was very impressive, like an illustration from an early pulp horror magazine, a dark devil towering over peverted innocence. Except as I recall there wasn’t any innocence to pervert. I remembered  the scene well, although I had been viewing it through the eyes of the bull mask.

The reminiscence cheered me up a bit, maybe a party was what I needed.