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The Commander

Category: Gay Male
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“Ahhh, that were very nice,” I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des’s chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we’d have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.

“Cig?” I asked, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a pack while he scrubbed at his face with a dirty handkerchief.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching out for the fag. He stood and turned, leaning back against the gunwale of the boat I was sitting on. “God, you are built hanging.”

“That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” I asked with a laugh. I was unbuckling his belt with one hand and moving the other down the small of his back and under this waistband, moving into his crack. I’d need time to be in form again, but there was no reason not to prepare him.

“Yes, you are a legend over at New College . . . ugh!” I’d found his hole with my forefinger, and he was rising up on the balls of his feet in surprise. But with a shudder and a little moan, he settled back down on the finger. This is what he’d come here right after dark for. To check out the Sandhurst military academy legend for himself.

“And you’re over at Old College?” I asked. He groaned an assent as I pushed the trousers down off his thighs and reached for his dong. Not much more than ordinary, but thickening well. “Valeting for the cadets, are you?”

“Yes . . . oh, shit, oh fuck.” I had three fingers in him now. He’d need to be real open for me. “Yes. And you? Over at New College.”

“The same.”

“Valet for that new cadet, Sandy Coleridge I hear. Father’s the big snot for the 6th D.C.O Lancers out in India on the North West Frontier.”

“Yes, I do for him.”

“And does he enjoy that big cock of yours in him? Particular nice piece of arse that.”

“No,” I said and then laughed. “I don’t do for him that way—would like to, but no. The Lad’s stiff as a board proper. Really up tight. A bit of the old man, I hear. A virgin.”

Des snorted. “Not a virgin, I hear. I hear he has a regular appointment with his tutor, Percy Hopewell.”

“Percy Hopewell?” I asked, incredulous. “Hopewell is almost as stick up the arse as young Coleridge is and puny as a beanpole. I can’t see them doing it.”

“Well, check it out for yourself. Tuesday afternoons at two, or so I heard. In Coleridge’s room. Faithful as clockwork.”

“I still don’t believe it. But here, you came to get a taste of this,” I waved my ready wand at him, and his eyes went wide. “and I don’t have all night. So, let’s get to it. Here. Hop up on the ledge of the gunwale. Here where it’s thickest.”

He did as I asked. He was trembling a bit, and he looked scared, his eyes constantly going to my cock, which was harding up nice, and then looking away. I stripped off his trousers.

“On the small of your back. Yes, like that, roll your arse up to me and hold your thighs out yourself.” I let him watch me pull a rubber on, and then I went down on my knees between his legs and lifted his dick out of the way and squeezed it as my tongue went to his buttocks and the crevice between.

He was making little grunting and groaning sounds.

At length, when I thought he was open enough to take me just, I stood, rubbed my cock and his hole with cream, and, taking that big breath that all athletes take before making the big plunge, presented at the rim of his hole.

“Oh god, you’re huge,” he whined and went rigid as I got the rim of my bulb past his entrance. He had been gasping but now he was still and straining to take me, and his complexion was turning red.

“Here, now,” I said. “You’ve got to breathe. Breathe. Relax. You act like a first-time school girl. You’ve had it before, haven’t you?”

“Yess . . . oh god, oh god . . . but nothing as big as this. Oh fuckkkk.”

He’d come for it because it was big; he wanted it. So I gave it all to him in one deep thrust.

“Oh, god! . . . . . Oh GODDDDD!”

* * * *

Turned out Des was right. The next time I was tidying up Sandy Coleridge’s room, I flipped open his appointment book and there it was, the notation at two on each Tuesday for “tutorial with Percy.”

The next Tuesday at two I made sure I was in the service back hall, with the valet’s door into Coleridge’s chambers open a crack. I heard voices and soft laughter down the service stairs behind where I was standing, and I went down to find the men in service Hugh and Cedrick crouched down on the turn of the stairs. Hugh was giving Cedrick a blow job, and I stood there and watched for a while, pleased by the good, straightforward sex of it. Then I remembered why I was in the back hall and went back to the door into Coleridge’s room and pushed the door open to a wide crack.

They were already going at it, if you could call it that. I had to check myself from laughing out loud. They were side by side, close together, in overstuffed chairs, naked. Arms were extended over the chair arms, Percy’s hand working slowly on Sandy’s cock and Sandy’s hand pumping Percy languidly. Percy was reading poetry from a book. Sandy was a real beauty, tanned and hardened from life on the Indian frontier. Handsome as a movie star. Sandy hair—obviously the derivation of the name that had stuck—from head down to the downy tuffs on his sternum leading down his belly and bushing up around a very nice cock. Percy was another matter—an indoor scholar—all angles and height, concave chest, hairy as a dog, dark, and with a poor excuse for a cock. I could hardly see it encased there in Sandy’s hand. The only attraction that I could see must have involved seniority—but then, here at Sandhurst, seniority was everything.

Call this fucking? Reading poetry and calmly jacking each other off. Gorsh. I’d say Sandy was still a virgin in any way that mattered. But it wasn’t all the fucking they did, and I decided that Sandy, technically couldn’t be called a virgin. Percy snapped the poetry book shut and stood up and pulled Sandy up as well. They moved over to the desk in front of the window. Percy gently pushed Sandy’s chest down onto the chair that was inserted into the desk hole, and as he did so, Sandy widened his stance. A rolled on rubber and a few minutes of rubbing cream in and Percy was pushing his small cock into Sandy’s arsehole. Sandy flinched a bit at the first breaching, but nothing significant or painful looking. Percy bottomed quickly and just held there, moaning softly, his head flung back in what passed for ecstasy for him, while, holding a wash cloth over his tip, Sandy slowly beat his own cock to ejaculation and stared out of the leaded diamond windows of his bay window onto the parade grounds below. Percy was reciting poetry again, and the pace of his voice picked up and he became breathy. There was a slight lurch and a tightening of his thin buttocks, and then the ritual was all over.

It seemed so sad. Sandy looked like he was just marking a “to do” activity off his life’s experiences lists. His beautiful body and sensuous lips told me that he wanted so much more out of life.

They dressed in silence, there was one pecking kiss on the lips initiated by Percy, and then they settled down in the upholstered chairs and opened their books for the justifying tutorial session.

That was it? That was all? I thought. There hadn’t even been enough for me to take my meat out and beat it. Although I was hard. That was from watching Sandy. As Des said, he really was a nice piece of tail. He deserved better than Percy.

But then I guess that was the way in the British colonial army life. Attend Sandhurst as your father did and his father did, become imbued with the gentleman soldier’s training as your father did; become manned by a sensitive but consumptive upperclassman as your father did; find an appropriate bride from a suitable family to marry just before embarking for your colonial posting as your father had; produce sons as your father had—and pick out the best looking of your sepoys and fuck him for your only sense of self and rebellion as your father did.

I turned and crept back to the top of the stairs and did now take my meat out and beat it while watching Hugh splayed out on the stairs on his belly and Cedric crouched over him from behind and fucking him furiously, both of them grunting like pigs. Now that was fucking. A difference between upstairs and downstairs perhaps. I suddenly had a desire to find out.

* * * *

I spent the next night trying to forget Sandy Coleridge—the beauty of his young, supple, yet muscle-hardened tanned body—and not being able to do. I resolved to act and justified it by telling myself Sandy wanted more out of his male-male experience and ultimately would be grateful to me. It was a gamble, and it might lead to me being booted out of a pretty cush Sandhurst job—but it wasn’t as if Sandy was repulsed by the idea of being fucked by another man. All of the rationalization came down to the simple fact that I wanted to fuck the cadet from colonial India just to get my cock in him for my own pleasure, however.

So, in the still of the night, I threw some necessities and a couple of toys in a bag, and just in my sleeping briefs, I padded down from my attic room in the New College service area and crept up to the service door into Coleridge’s chambers.

All was dark inside, and I could hear him gently snoring. I crept through the door and silently shut it behind me and stood, still, for some minutes until my eyes had fully acclimated to the dark.

Sandy was stretched out on his bed, on his back, his legs tangled up in sheets. He was wearing long sleeping drawers, and nothing else, but his cock was hanging out of the fly and his hand was still on it. The front of his drawers were spotted where he had finished masturbating as he went to sleep. He was as beautiful and sexy in sleep as he was awake—maybe more so, as he looked so vulnerable and peaceful.

I was going to fix that—the peaceful part of that.

The handcuffs made a clicking noise when I took them out of the bag, and I froze, afraid it would wake him. It didn’t, though. He just snuffled and turned a bit more on the side away from me and moved his arm over his head. His wrist went between brass railings in the headboard. Perfect. I had that wrist locked in the handcuffs and a good grip on the other wrist before he woke with a start and began the expected confused and indignant objecting to what was happening to him.

I rose off the bed from where I’d gone down on a knee to snap the hand restraints on and turned and clicked on his bedside lamp. I wanted him to see what was going to happen.

“Alec,” he muttered in surprise. “What the hell? Release me this instant.”

“Sorry, Mr. Coleridge, I’ve come to give you a proper fucking, sir.”

“A proper . . . what is this? Are you joking? I’ll have your job for this.”

“No I’m not joking. And we’ll see about my job. But you can’t even say it. Fucking, fucking, fucking. You can’t say it, can you?”

“What in the world are you talking . . . no don’t do that. Put those back on this instant.”

I had been stripping my leggings off, and then I reached over and did the same for him.

“No. Stop that . . . let me go. What is this about?”

“This is about you doing it with a man, sir, but not having any idea what that means. I’m going to give you a good idea, and then you can choose whether you want to do it with the likes of Percy Hopewell or with a real man. I think you deserve knowing the difference.”

“Percy Hopewell . . . what?”

“I seen you and Percy, sir, and I don’t call that fucking.”

“Percy and I . . . we . . . we do too do it.”

“Do what, sir? You can’t say it. Fuck. Say it.”

“We do too have sex. And that’s enough for . . . free me this instant.”

I had taken his dick in a fist, and he was writhing around, trying to get away from me. But I could feel him coming to life.

“Bet you can’t say this either, sir. Cock. This isn’t an ‘it.’ This is a cock. And this is a cock too, sir,” I said, wagging my own proud member at him. “And this cock is going to be in your arse. Say it. Say cock.”

Sandy was still writhing, trying to get out of the restraints and away. I climbed up on him and knelt over his chest, wagging my cock in his face. “Cock. A hard cock. Show me you know what real sex is with a man. Suck it. Suck my cock.” I was beating him on the cheeks with my cock, but he was having none of it. His lips and eyelids were shut tight, and he was jerking his head back and forth, still trying to escape my onslaught.

“Aye, well you’ll give me suck soon enough—and enjoy it, I’m betting,” I said. And then I scurried over him and down behind him and between his legs, swallowed his cock whole, and began pumping my mouth on it. I moved my thumbs to his hole and pushed them in and spread him just a bit. His curses and demands filtered into moans and groans, and his writhings merged into waves of going with the rhythm of the suck as I relentlessly pumped his engorging cock until he ejaculated, which happened quite quickly, this all being a shock to him and him not having been expertly blown before.

Then I rolled his buttocks up and moved my lips and tongue to between his crack, and he was groaning right proper for me, although he occasionally was making an attempt to tell me I had to stop.

He pretty much was under control and his cock had gotten rock-hard solid again when I stopped, slapped him on the butt, and reached down and took a toy out of my bag.

He peered down to see what I has holding up above his belly, and I felt his whole body shudder. “Wha . . . what is that for?” The shudder told me what he knew what that was for.

“I think you know what this is for,” I said. “I call this the Commander—because every moment it’s in use you will know the Commander is in control.”

“Ahh . . . no . . . you can’t,” he cried out. And he tightened his thighs together as much as possible and arched his back off the surface of the bed and was rolling back and forth and rattling the handcuffs holding his arms above his head so that they rang hollow, almost musical notes on the brass rails—all of this expense of energy as if that was going to get him out of the predicament.

I held the toy suspended over his belly, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. They were wide with fear. It was twelve inches of cascading rubber nodules, the one at the tip, the first of five, a pointed tear-drop shape about one inch at the upper rim, graduating up in connected tear drops of increasing size so that the fifth, uppermost was a good three inches across at the upper rim. At that point a four-inch rubber lead ended in a strong handle that all four fingers could wrap around for good leverage.

“Tell me. Does this look anything like Percy’s cock?” I asked sweetly. “Is he twelve inches and three inches thick at the widest point?”

“Noooo . . .” Sandy moaned, and I didn’t know whether he was belittling Percy’s dimensions or objecting to the Commander. And it didn’t matter.

Sandy groaned and whimpered and begged as I fished cream out of my bag and lavishly greased up the Commander while holding it suspended over his heaving belly.

“Here, I think I’m going to need that pillow,” I said, pulling the pillow out from underneath his head and inserting it under the small of his back. “And I think you’ll find you’ve going to want to widen the stance of your thighs just as much as possible.”

He, rather, tightened his thighs and rolled his hips back and forth, trying to escape me, as, after I’d greased his hole with some finger work, I placed the tip of the Commander at his rim.

He gasped and cried out and spread his thighs wide, though, as I pressed the tear drop at his hole. The first one was the hardest to get accepted, but, although it was easier with the next two before being quite difficult with the last two, he was as noisy in the invasion of each successive tear drop over the next twenty minutes. As the wide edge of the third tear drop was swallowed by his entrance, he ejaculated again in a great spouting of semen. He was grunting and moaning profusely. No longer objecting. Voicing a little appreciation now for all of my efforts. When I asked him if Percy’s cock made him feel this way, he was quick to acknowledge that Percy couldn’t do anything like this.

After the fifth teardrop had disappeared, I moved back up beside him and held him in my arms and looked into his eyes, which were open wider and looking more wild and electric than ever before. He was panting hard and trembling all over, and his expression was flipping through pain and ecstasy and wonder.

“Good for you,” I crooned to him. “You’ve taken it all. You know I’m nearly as long and almost as thick. And I can move it in ways that will send you to new heights of pleasure. What do you think now?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” he whimpered. “I want it.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“It. I want it.”

“And what’s ‘it’?” I persisted.

“Your cock.”

“My what? I can’t hear you.”

“Your cock. Your COCK!”

“And where do you want it?”

“Inside me. Oh, please . . . now, oh please.”

“What do you want me to do to you?” I was biting on his nipples and fisting his cock. His back was tense, arched, and his thighs spread wide, the Commander still fully encased in his channel.

“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me!”

I went up on all fours and straddled him in reverse and swallowed his hard cock again. I was pleased to note that his mouth went to my cock, instantaneously, without hesitation this time, and he was sucking me—not expertly, but giving me good suck and extraordinary pleasure nonetheless.

My hand went to the handle of the Commander, and I ever so slowly pulled it out of Sandy’s arse. In response he went into a frenzy of passion, sucking hard on my cock and writhing under me. Before the Commander was fully extracted, he had ejaculated again, and I took it at the back of my throat, pleased and awed at the stamina of healthy youth.

I released his hands then and knelt between his legs and gave him a proper, expert, total, working-man’s fucking. And he, in turn, gave me the proper lust-released responses for one being well fucked—and now knowing he was well fucked.

* * * *

The next Tuesday afternoon, still employed by Sandhurst, I was standing in the service hall outside Sandy Coleridge’s door when I heard the knock on his main entrance. Sandy walked, gingerly, to the door and opened it.

“Oh, Percy, it’s you,” he said to the one standing at the door, but not given entrance. “You didn’t get my message then.”

“What message?” Percy said, almost in a huff.

“No session today, I’m afraid,” Sandy said. “In fact, we might have to leave off altogether. I haven’t been sleeping nights recently, and I feel all fagged out. Sorry. I’ll see you at lecture tomorrow.”

As he closed the door, I stopped shining Mr. Sandy’s boots and gave him a turn of my head and a secret little smile. My chest was puffing up in pride, being as how the dark-hours fuckings he begged me for now were the reason young Mr. Sandy wasn’t getting enough sleep at night.

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