tagGay MaleTurning Out The Blind

Turning Out The Blind

As I look back on my coaching career, I can't help but smile. I have a respectable record of wins and season trophies, a long list of young men trained as sportsmen, and a couple of Most Valuable Teacher awards. I also keep a private list of names and telephone numbers.

Men, you see, come in three varieties, and three only: * Curious (wants to try sex with a man, eager to suck a cock, maybe get fucked--a bottom) * Confident (knows how hot man-sex can be but wants to "preserve his manhood," so he accepts blowjobs or performs the fucking--a top) * Blind (has no idea of the world of sexuality available to him, usually has a religious hang-up--a straight)

Years ago, when I first came to Hohenpastle University, a coach turned me out--actually turned me inside-out. What he taught me is printed in no textbooks, but it turned out to be the bedrock of my life. In fact, what he showed me about man-to-man sex--demonstrating my asshole as the real ecstasy-machine of my body--gave me my life's hobby when I went on to become a coach myself: showing others.

A few days after Coach Niengweik stuck his magic wand up my ass and in the course of a single fucking turned me from an arrogant, anal-retentive teenager into a more rounded, anal-receptive man who saw things from more perspectives.

Not long after that, I set myself a goal: to show a bone-solid straight guy what could happen if he just loosened his belt a little. I figured, of course, to find another college student, a guy like myself who had not yet reached Coach Niengwiek's level of consciousness--whose asshole was virgin--but things didn't turn out that way, as things often don't.

That afternoon as I walked out of the laundromat with a bag of newly cleaned clothes, I spotted a healthy-looking young man waiting at the bus stop. Close-cropped hair, white shirt and tie, black pants. Very handsome and attractive but very uptight-looking.

What the hell. I hopped in my car, pulled up to the bus stop, leaned over, and called through the window. "Where you headed?"

He bent over and looked through the window. "Carnaby Street." Clear skin, blue eyes, straw-colored hair.

"Hop in, that's on my way."

He looked down at me, tugging at his ear, then climbed in, and we took off. I looked over and smiled. "Name's Edgel; what's yours?"

He held out his hand. "I'm Elder Sunneray. I'm a missionary for the Mormon church."

Damn, I should have known!
Then I noticed the big, plastic nametag in his shirt pocket. "Don't you guys go around in twos?"

"Yes, but my companion was transferred to another area, and my new companion hasn't arrived yet. In the meantime I have to run my errands alone."

Blam! My guy! My Blind!

I looked him over more closely. Age 20, maybe, about my age. Built well, stocky, muscular. Pants weren't tight enough to tell anything. I've got to play this carefully. He's a rare bird, and I don't want to scare him off.

He went on: "The problem is that I don't know how to cook, so I'll be eating at McDonald's for a few days." He smiled. "What church do you belong to?"

Aha, perfect opening.
"None. I've been curious about the Mormon church, though." After we'd driven for a while, I took a very casual tone: "I'm going to my apartment to make lunch. Want to have a bite with me?"

Again, he looked over at me, thoughtfully tugging at his ear. "Yes," he said cautiously, "yes, thanks! I'm sick of Big Macs."

Thanking my lucky stars I had cleaned up my apartment, I drove to my place, unlocked the door, and led him in. My apartment could be considered the Mother of All Bachelor-pads (clean variety), a Temple of Muscle Worship.

Around the living room, along with the couch and a couple of overstuffed chairs, was my collection of exercise machines and a set of barbells. The floor was "carpeted" with a large, green, foam rubber mat I used when I did calisthenics and weightlifting. I kept the joint clean, but in the darkness, before I switched on the light, the place smelled like the unmistakable den of a male. Walls in pastel orange, the color of sunlight, heat, suntan, and passion.

A few exotic plants brought a little color to the place, each in a large ceramic pot I bought in Mexico, horny pots decorated with naked males in various contortions. My favorite was a pot shaped like the torso of a naked athlete--the large Red Torch flower jutting up from it looked like the thick, hot, fevered-red shaft of his cock, ending in a devilish cockhead with flaring petals around it, like hooks locking that fantastic cock into whatever hole it entered.

Elder Sunneray walked into the room, mouth open, tugging at his earlobe. "Have a seat," I said, moving to the breakfast bar at the side, next to the only source of light, the glass sliding door to the balcony. The refrigerator had bad news: two frozen macaroni and cheese and three turkey TV dinners. Turkey it is. "Care for a cup of coffee?" "Mormons don't drink coffee or tea, so the 'intoxicant' of choice is Mountain Dew. More caffeine than Coca-Cola."

"Too bad. I don't have any Mountain Dew. Would a Coke do?"

When he looked away, I poured a good shot of Stolichnaya into a glass, then filled it with Coke. "Here you go."

"Ahhh, yeah, that tastes great."

Great enough, in fact, that I refilled his glass twice, each time with increasing percentages of Stoli. While the microwave purred away, I directed his attention to a passing police helicopter then turned the room thermostat up to 80 while he looked away.

A few minutes later, "Wow, it's really hot in here."

"Sorry, my air-conditioning system is on the blink."

"It's really hot."

I smiled. "You're right. I can't take it anymore. I'm taking my shirt off." I peeled off my shirt, turning slowly to give him a good look at my upper body (of which I was--immodestly, perhaps--rather proud). I'd spent months in this very weight room building myself into a Charles Atlas type. I had even auditioned (and won) a couple of health food/health gym/underwear modeling contracts.

"Wow, you're really built."

"You look pretty hefty yourself. Are you a football player or something?"

"Naw, varsity wrestler at BYU."

"Hey, let me see how buffed you are. Take your shirt off. We're all men here."

He smiled shyly, again pulling at his earlobe in that endearing little mannerism he had--tugging at his ear when he was uncertain. "I'm not built anything like you." But he unbuttoned that white shirt. Underneath was the strange, silky underwear Mormons wear--apparently one piece, a jumpsuit. He pulled open the wide, elastic collar and pulled his arms through it, lowering it to crumple at his waist.

I licked my lips at his upper body. Nice. Hard pecs. Big arms. Washboard belly. "When was the last time you wrestled?"

"A year ago. Before I left on my mission."

"Show me a few holds."

He stood up, looking around the room, at the body-building machines, at the weights, at the flowers in their erotic pots. I wondered what was in his mind, but I had a good guess when he shrugged his pants a little lower on his hips.

We took off our shoes, and smiling, a little hesitant, he faced off against me on the soft surface of my foam calisthenics cushion, which had become our wrestling mat. As we engaged each other, struggling back and forth, I accidentally brushed my crotch against his a few times, making sure he could feel the jockstrap-bound tiger in my nylon tank, and--Damn!--he had a hardon, too.

In a couple of moves, I was in a hold that controlled his legs. I moved my hand swiftly over his buns, between his legs, under his balls, then sinuously over his crotch bulge, pressing gently (as if I were off-balance), stimulating him, groping his crotch--all "accidentally." All "unintended."

A few movements and reversals later, I was surprised when he did the same to me.Yes! I flexed my hips, pressing my bulge into his groping hand and let out soft moans. Damn. He actually started stroking.

A few movements later, I fell into a trap he set, and damn, he really did have me helpless. I lay backward over one of his knees as he knelt on the mat. Theoretically he could've broken my back in that hold, so it was a "slap the mat and give up" situation, but instead of flexing me backward into pain, his hand slid down over my crotch--a bogus move: securing me down there was meaningless.

Whatever. As I lay powerless over his knee, his hand groping my iron-hard cock, all 10 inches up and hard--I sensed my cockhead sticking up over the waistband of my pants. Still he stroked me! Up and down. Slowly. Sensually. I let out another moan and looked up at him.

Breathing hard, he let out a little smile. "Sorry. Guess I got a little horny."

He let me up, and I glanced at his pants. Yep, hard cock tenting out the soft wool. "No worries. Happens to everybody. You see hardons in wrestling competitions all the time. Can't be helped."

We got up and circled each other again. No doubt about it, his upper body is solid. I got a little horny, myself--no, make that I had been very horny from the first moment I saw him. I moved in close and grabbed him, taking advantage of my superior height and strength. I yanked him off balance then around until I had his back to me. Yeah! By then we were both hot and sweaty, and his moist back against the sweaty hair of my chest hardened my cock to Total. I smelled him. Made me even hornier.

With a quick movement, I pinned him against me by crossing his arms across his chest, pulling his hands back toward me. He let out low grunts, struggling as for a second or two I rubbed my hard cock against his ass--I couldn't resist. I should've been more careful, though. He dropped to the floor to break the hold and came up twisting away from me. But there was that handsome butt of his, and I grabbed it in both hands. Nice ass, man, can't wait to bust your cherry! As I pulled him off balance, I also got a very good feel of the strong muscles in his buttocks--my first chance to give him a good grope. My cock grew even harder (if that was possible).

But he writhed and twisted, sliding his legs through my arms, and he escaped. A wrestler's countermove. Shit.Next thing I knew, he'd grabbed me, and my face pressed into his naked chest, and with a tripping move, we went down together, his legs struggling to entrap mine. Again our crotches came together. His hardon--even bigger and harder than before--pressed against mine.

From then on, every combination sooner or later brought our crotches together, pressing our hard dicks against each other. We almost took turns as the one who "accidentally" arched his hips up to cause the contact. My face was against his chest so often, I gave in and tasted his sweat, even licking at a nipple a couple of times.

He was losing control, too. His hand moved across to form another hold, but on its way, the hand slid over my crotch bulge, and for a second--just for an instant--he gripped me tight. Good boy, cop a feel!

The more we sweated, the hotter we got in those pants. Also, the more we struggled, the more I got the upper hand--which was strange; I wasn't a wrestler. At one point, I had him (but I think he let me have him) in a hold from behind, like a State Trooper controlling a felon, locking his legs with my own, my right arm under his armpit, my hand locked behind his neck in a half-nelson.

I could've forced him to the mat for the winning pin, but I had other plans. I pressed my crotch up into his ass, my left hand holding his chest back against me, then moving slowly, sensually--almost in a caress--my hand slid down his hairless belly to his belt.

Then over his belt, and lower, lower, lower.

Finally, my hand cupped his crotch bulge, and I squeezed gently, pulsating, gripping his big cockshaft. We were both panting. He even turned his head, my heavy breathing right in his ear. For a moment I thought it was just about "Mission Accomplished," but I heard a soft whisper: "I can't. I just can't!"

With a surprise move, he clapped his hands above his head, moving his arms straight up, which lost my leverage under his armpit, and he shot his legs out straight, dropping straight to the mat on his butt, slipping out of my hold like a ferret. Shit.

By then both of us were breathing hard and sweating. And excited. We both sat on the mat, catching our breath, looking at each other--and he pulled at his earlobe, uncertain. I forced myself to be calm, to move slowly.

I stood up and unbuckled my belt. "We've got too much clothes on." I let my pants drop. Underneath I wore a jockstrap. "Yeah, this is much better. We can wrestle better this way."

He looked at me with worried eyes.

I smiled. "Go ahead, take your pants off, so we can really wrestle."

--"You can take that underwear off. I've got a jockstrap you can borrow."He stood up and dropped trou--Yes!--and the silky jumpsuit slid to his ankles. He stepped out of it. "Nice cock, man." Couldn't help myself. I was bigger, of course, but he had a good 8 inches, and he was thick. Damned thick. Like as big around as my wrist. Barely grippable. And he was hard! "Fine cock."

He smiled shyly. Then he said something I couldn't believe: "Let's see yours."

I pulled down my jockstrap, and ol' Siege Mortar leaped out, all 10 inches throbbing and reaching skyward. His mouth dropped open. His eyes locked onto it. His voice was a hiss. "Darn, never saw a penis like that."

"I'll get you a jockstrap. You look like you take an XL--like me."

Suddenly I got a satanic inspiration. In my bedroom, I grabbed the container of souring yoghurt I hadn't quite finished from the bedside table, grabbed one of my jockstraps from the drawer, and pasted a handful of warm yoghurt in the pouch.

Back in the living room, I handed him the supporter, careful to make sure he took it by a strap so he wouldn't notice the creamy pouch. It went better than I could've dreamed:

Holding the waistband in two fingers of each hand, he stepped into the straps, and embarrassed to be naked, he pulled it up in a single, powerful yank. The pouch covered over his cock with a slushing sound that I could hear from where I stood, and his eyes widened in shock.

I gave him an astonished face. "Oh, god, no! Oh, shit, man, I'm terribly sorry! I just jacked off in that jockstrap earlier today! I grabbed it by mistake!"

His face went white. "This is . . . your sperm?"

"I'm terribly sorry, man! Let me help you take it off."

He looked at me like a drunk (it was possible, he drank a lot of vodka-Coke). "Your . . . sperm is all over my . . . penis!"

"Here, let me help!" I reached out and cupped the pouch in my hand. But I didn't pull the nasty jockstrap away. My hand just stayed there. He was hard.

I squeezed his cock. He didn't resist, so I did it again. Then I began to stroke him.

Finally he spoke: "Wait! Wait a minute!" Breathless. Excited. I kept stroking. "Ohhhhh, hell!"

Something about my sperm "all over" his cock really turned him on. After exactly 10 seconds of stroking, his whole body jerked, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell back on the mat, his hips lurching. I jerked down the jockstrap to see his cock spouting. Damn full balls! Fuck, look at that! He sprayed a real mess all over himself, from his belly up his chest, neck, and face.

I was impressed. I thought only horses cummed that much.

He put his fists over his eyes. "Oh, Brother Blaylock, I am so sorry! This is shameful! Please don't think negatively about the church because of my sinful weakness!"

No worries, dude.
I gloated. This was going to work.

I decided it was time to strike. He lay before me, naked (jockstrap pulled down), his hands still hiding his face in shame, moaning, "I am evil, evil! I am a sinner!" I moved closer, put my hands on his shoulders and rubbed them gently, massaging.

"Hey, that's okay, man. Perfectly normal. You know as well as I do that guys sometimes ejaculate in the wrestling ring."

He paused. Finally he said, "Yeah, that's right." Soft voice. Hopeful.

"You've got a big, cock, Elder Sunneray. A man with a dong that big--"

--"Not nearly as big as yours--"

--"will have problems if he doesn't get sexual release." I smiled.

He smiled back. "We don't get to date girls for two whole years."

"So you beat off?"

"We're not even allowed to do that." He looked down. "At least, we're not supposed to." After a long pause, he looked up at me again. "Let me see your penis once more." His voice sounded like rubbing velvet.

I instantly yanked down my jock, and he murmured, "I've always wondered what angels looked like under those white robes." He stared at my rapidly inflating cock. "I bet their cocks look like yours."

He said "cocks"!!

"You're so hot," he went on, "God must have cried when you left heaven."

Damn, he
isdrunk. But who cares? I tossed an old sock at his head playfully. "Hey, you're going to turn my head with talk like that."

"You must be what God was thinking of when He said, 'Let there be man.' "

By then my cockhead was slippery with drools of precum, and he stared even harder as each burp of clear, slimy liquid oozed out. Finally he shook his head as if to clear it. "No, I've to get out of here--"

--But I put a hand on his shoulder. "How can you do it, man? How can you go without girls for a whole two years?"

He settled back again, his head down. "Sometimes it's hell." I kept my hand on his shoulder.

"And you really don't jack off for two whole years?"

He looked up with miserable eyes. "We're not supposed to." He sighed. "I'm really a self-righteous, bossy hypocrite. We're not supposed to go swimming, you know--"

--"What? Not even a summer swim?"

"No. But I went swimming at Piriapolis Beach." He paused. "And I masturbate. Can't control myself. I'm a sinner." An opening! "Well, look, man, it doesn't count if you don't do it yourself." I licked my lips, dropped my head, and slid my lips around his big cockhead.

"No, I can't do that, can't let you . . . Ohhh, my god, yes! Suck my cock!"

I had to make this a quickie, no time for him to reconsider. I jacked the lower part of his shaft and bobbed my head up and down over the head. I figured he would be horny, what with two years of no sex or even Rosy Palmer. Sure enough, after only 30 seconds or so, he stiffened, preparing for another orgasm.

At that point I worked a finger into his asshole, and that shock blasted him into Valhalla. He growled loud and climaxed, his balls pumping his jism up in big arcs. He fell back, delirious, moaning wordless sounds. Finally, "Ohhhh, god, what did you do to me?"

"Just helping you out, Elder Sunneray. Taking the pressure off you." I smiled. "Don't you feel better now?"

He sighed. In his afterglow. "Yeahhh. Damn, I feel good."

I dipped my finger in the jism on his belly and brought it to his lips. "Your sperm, Elder Sunneray. It came out of your own body. Surely it can't be a sin to taste your own cum." He licked at it. Yes! I scooped up a gob and brought it to his lips. He sucked it all up.

"Thank you, Brother Blaylock." He looked down. "You've been so good to take care of me." He looked up again. "What can I do in return?"

To cut a long story short, five minutes later he sucked on ol' Siege Mortar, and I blew his cheeks out like balloons when I shot him my load, which he swallowed, every drop.

He was ready. I had just one more preparation for him. As he lay back, savoring the taste of my jism in his mouth, I pushed him past one more line in the sand. I grabbed his feet, lifted them up, and pushed his legs back toward his chest. It was an eerie moment--he didn't know exactly what was coming, but he knew it wasn't going to be saintly.

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Tori Carrington Flavor of the Month (Mills & Boon Blaze)
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Prince Val's Persuasion

J.O. Dickingson

authorsix@hotmail.com

Standing on the parapet of the High Tower, Prince Val had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he surveyed the two scenes before him. Below, the peasants from the surrounding farms were still streaming through the main gates with their worldly possessions. There were far too many, and far too few were bringing food or water. Brass candlesticks and one's finest dress were not going to be of much value when one is starving. Prince Val raised his eyes to the horizon to the far East, to the growing cloud of dust, the cause of the stream of peasants entering the castle. The size of the cloud confirmed scouts' reports of an army of twoscore ten times over, a formidable force considering his situation.

"I'll have the new peasants settled and then send them for more stones to cast upon the enemy when they storm the castle walls."

Val turned to look at Galain, the Commander of the Royal Guard. "No," the teenage prince said after a moment. "That will not be necessary. I do not think they will trouble themselves to risk their lives by challenging our defenses."

"They will lay siege, and wait for hunger and thirst to do their dirty work, like cowardly vultures," spat Galain, well aware of military tactics and the honour of the attacking forces.

"Yes," said Val, looking up at the cloudless sky. Thirty days without rain had dried up many of the crops, and had left the water level in the castle lower than he'd ever known. It was only midmorning and already the stones on the parapet were warm to the touch. By this afternoon you would not be able to lay a bare forearm on them. "King Falcyn might be a barbarian, but he is no fool."

"And a worthy opponent on the field of battle," observed Galain. "He has earned the title Falcyn the Fierce. It was dark day for this world when his father died and that tyrant inherited the throne of Valkyre."

Val studied the approaching cloud a few minutes longer, and biting his lower lip, made a decision. "Gather a triad of your men, the slightest of build and the fleetest of foot, and have them darken their bodies and leathers with suet and meet me at the offal gate in an hour."

"My liege?"

"And the same number of the swiftest horses in the castle plus one besides my roan."

Galain thought for a moment and then bent his arm, fist to his heart. "Yes, my liege, that is the wisest decision. And we will put forward a valiant defense while you make your escape."

"Escape!" exclaimed the prince, his young voice rising like a child's and making his wrath sound more like a tantrum much to the seventeen-year-old's dismay. "Escape!" he repeated in an only slightly deeper voice. "Who has spoken of escape?"

"But, my--"

"A Lankanshire does not run from danger," he snapped angrily, his eyes narrowing and his smooth, handsome face flushing as red as a poker in a smith's forge.

"No, of course not, my Prince. I only thought--"

"When your lord is in your presence, it is not your role to think, only to obey his commands," Val snapped. "You have your orders."

"Yes, my liege, right away my liege." Galain bent low and backed away.

Although three times the boy's age and a veteran of more battles than the prince could count on his fingers and toes combined, Galain obeyed the order without question, and accepted full responsibility for his reprimand. The prince was right, a Lankanshire would never retreat, no matter how great the risk to him personally. Regardless of his age, the teenager was of royal blood, and at the moment, in charge of the castle. He should have known better than to presume.

As Prince Val watched the seasoned warrior descend the stairs, he was immediately sorry for his words. 'When your lord is in your presence. . . .' How pompous. Galain meant well, and was a wise Commander and loyal retainer. Not only had he been needlessly sharp, but his words were wrong. It was a foolish sovereign who did not seek the counsel of his senior officials, at least those who would give their honest opinion, and whose counsel was for the good of the kingdom and not for their own welfare. Galain was one such man, and his kind was becoming fewer.

Well, what was done was done. He could not change what he had said. The young prince turned and headed for his private chambers.

As he put on his stiff leather tunic and leather wrist protectors and drew on his boots, he wished there was someone he could discuss his plan with, but there was no one. His father, with the best knights of the kingdom, was with the High King fighting the infidels beyond the Aeryan Sea. Elderly Sir Marcus, left behind in charge of the home defenses, was fifty leagues away pushing back the barbarians that had invaded the northernmost border of the kingdom. Prince Val had no doubt that the invasion had been encouraged and probably even given financial support by King Falcyn to draw the army away from the castle. That left only the Royal Guard and the small company of soldiers kept behind to patrol the surrounding lands. Squatting before the fireplace, Prince Val ran his hands over the blackened stone and smeared the suet on his face and on his bare arms and legs.

An hour later, he lead his three men, who had similarly blackened their bodies, out of the small back gate used to dump the offal from the castle. He had told no one of his plans, and had left instructions only for the two he trusted the most. He had informed Galain what to do when King Falcyn approached the castle, and he had taken aside squire Helvar, the sixteen-year-old grandson of Sir Marcus, and posted him on the parapet above the offal gate. Leading their horses and keeping to the densest brush and gullies wherever they could, they circled around the castle to the base of a hillside half a league away from the castle and in direct line with the advancing army. There in a small copse of alders they buried themselves with branches and forest debris and waited.

Soon the ground trembled with the advancing army and Prince Val's heart rose in his chest. Suppose he was wrong? Suppose they were spotted? He was depending on the army being in too much of a hurry to reach the castle to pay much attention to the land around them. He was also counting on their overconfidence, hoping they were of the belief they would have sent any able man fleeing ahead of them to the castle, making it unnecessary to check every clump of bushes for opposition. The first of the army thundered past. The four did not raise their heads but they could tell by the sound and the dust in the air what was happening around them. It seemed to take hours before the last of the army had reached their hiding spot.

As the rear of the army was passing Val and his three men, the head was advancing on the castle, King Falcyn in the lead, his black armour freshly oiled and polished and his black war horse prancing and snorting, ready for battle. The army spread out around the castle with practiced precision, totally encircling it. King Falcyn slowly rode out from the circle. The six-foot-four, fourteen stone warrior stood up in the stirrups, an impressive figure of might and power.

"Prince Val!" he thundered upon reaching the castle gate.

The men on the parapets did not move.

"Prince Val!" he called out again. "I know you can hear me!"

There was still no response from the castle.

"Prince Val! You cannot ignore me! Let us talk."

"Tell me what it is that you wish to say to our liege, and I will relay your message," Galain finally responded.

"To whom am I speaking?"

"Commander Galain, of the Royal Guard."

"I would speak directly to your prince."

"My liege is occupied at the moment. He has sent me to speak on his behalf."

"Occupied? His castle is being laid siege to and he is otherwise occupied? Doing what? Has he shit his tunic in fear and is busy cleaning it himself so nobody will know?"

The men in the field laughed at the insult while those on the parapets bristled. Where was their Prince anyway? Why was he not with them? That was not like a Lankanshire. A leader should be there with his men, as the Commander was. The men said nothing, but silently to themselves many questioned what a mere boy was going to be able to do anyway.

"He has important matters to deal with."

"Important?" snorted King Falcyn, well aware of the implied insult. "I insist on speaking with him, now."

"Insist? And who are you to insist anything of my liege?"

"I'm the man who has his castle surrounded, you fucking idiot!" thundered King Falcyn, never having been known for being a patient man. If there was a battle, and if this commander survived, he would particularly enjoy his torture. "Tell your idiot, snot-nosed prince I am here to accept his surrender."

"I will relay your message."

While King Falcyn and his men sat upon their horses in the hot afternoon sun, Galain made his way from man to man, assuring him that Prince Val had purposefully not shown himself so as to insult Falcyn the Fierce, and make him think he was not concerned about the siege. It would make King Falcyn think twice about their provisions and their defenses. Besides, their prince was relying on the hot summer sun to aid them in wearing down the enemy. The men were cheered by the news, and many praised the wisdom of one so young. Others proclaimed that such wisdom was only natural, being of royal blood. Squire Helvar, circulating among the men with a bucket of water to relieve their thirst, smiled and held his tongue. He knew very well the wisdom of Prince Val, and of other, secret talents as well.

Biding his time, Galain did not reappear on the parapet of the high tower for an hour.

"My lord, Prince Val, regrets he cannot speak to you at this time," he finally called out. "But if you tell me your terms, I will relay them to my liege."

"Terms!" spat King Falcyn angrily. "There are no terms other than his surrender. You tell your arrogant little snot I will have his head for this! Open your gates now and let us in and we will go easy on the rest of you."

"That is what I am to tell my prince?" Galain asked, playing out the role Prince Val had assigned him.

"Tell him I wish to avoid needless death on both sides. Tell him I know you are outnumbered, and I know your food and water are low. We need only sit out here in the fresh air and make merry while we wait for you to starve, and then climb the walls and sweep your dried bones from the castle."

"Your information is wrong. Our larder is full, and our well deep," replied Galain.

"That is a pile of fucking shit," King Falcyn retorted, his face flushed and hot both from the sun beating down on his black armour and from the temper welling up inside him. "Lies just as sure as your Prince is too much of a coward to even appear before me."

"Prince Val does not see the value in wasting his time discussing what is evident. Your siege is futile, so you might as well depart for your own lands."

"Prince Val is a child still hiding behind old women's skirts."

And so it went for the afternoon and far into the evening, King Falcyn becoming angrier and angrier and his men becoming more and more incensed as they wondered how long their leader would tolerate these insults from a mere stripling. Galain remained steadfast even though he knew that the enemy's words were beginning to have effect on the men in the castle. Not rushing to the parapet to meet Falcyn the Fierce the moment he had arrived had made sense, but to not appear the entire day did not. Even they did not believe the lies he was saying about their liege being otherwise occupied and being of the opinion the siege was too trivial for his attention. His father the King would not be hiding in his private chambers and letting the Commander of the Royal Guard do his speaking. There were even rumors that the young Prince had taken a select group and had fled the castle. That was a far better explanation for his absence, and it did not sit well with those left behind.

At last as night began to fall, King Falcyn, disgruntled, streaked with sweat and his face black with anger, turned and headed back into the encircling army and the enemy began to set up their tents. Still Prince Val and his men waited until the moon was high in the sky. He'd wished for a cloudy night to hide the full moon, but such was not going to be his luck. Finally he decided it was time. Most of the army had gone to sleep, anticipating a long, hot day in the sun again tomorrow. They skirted the few tents of soldiers still up, mostly young warriors on their first campaign drinking and bragging what they would do to the cowardly Prince Val if they were the ones to corner him once they stormed the castle.

Slowly they made their way to the tent of King Falcyn, easily identified by its extra size and the standard of the Kingdom of Valkyre. There were two soldiers sitting at the entrance and two more sleeping by the smoldering campfire, ready to take messages from their king. Prince Val slipped to the back of the tent and silently cut an opening with his short sword. The full moon proved to be to his advantage, there being sufficient light shining through the opening to easily spot the king stretched out on a pallet directly before him. It was a hot night and he slept above the blankets, dressed in only a pair of linen breeches.

It was not a glorious capture that minstrels would be singing about. Falcyn the Fierce was knocked out cold by a blow to the head with his chamber pot, which Prince Val noticed too late had not been emptied. Quickly binding his arms and legs with strips of the blanket and gagging him with the lining of his armored codpiece, Prince Val's men slipped him out of the tent and began carrying him to their horses while the teenage prince searched the tent. Finally locating what he was after, he slipped it into his pouch and picked up King Falcyn's helmet and sword.

Even the flight back to the castle was uneventful. The few soldiers that did notice the troop were simply told they were scouting the perimeter in case any in the castle were trying to escape, especially the cowardly prince, which brought laughter and encouragement. In that they were heading to the castle and not away from it, the soldiers had no reason to be suspicious, and they kept the horse carrying their captive in the center of their small band so nobody could see the body draped over it. Arriving at the offal gate, Prince Val gave the signal to the young squire, three calls of a hoot owl, and the young squire quickly opened the gate for the adventurers and then ran to get Galain. Fortunately the blow to his thick head had been heavy, and King Falcyn had only begun to awaken.

"We will put him in the dungeon under extra guard, my liege."

"No," said Prince Val, "Lock him in one of the cells below the Royal Apartments."

Galain stared at the young prince, unaware the boy even knew of the special cells that his father had built for his personal enjoyment. Raising his fist to his chest, he turned to obey.

Prince Val accompanied his Commander and the two guards, and saw to the chaining of his enemy in an alcove in the corner cell directly below his own apartment. In their escape the king's breeches had been torn, leaving only a tattered rag about his right leg. Telling them to leave, Prince Val finally removed the struggling king's gag.

"So, this is the way of the Lankanshires," spat the man. "Sneaking in the night like cowardly dogs."

"I think our minstrels will remember it more as a daring excursion into the heart of the enemy camp and capture of the enemy king. However, it does not matter. What was needed to win has been done."

"Win? Win?" thundered the naked captive.

"Whatever made you think you have won, youngster? When my men find out what has happened they will be furious. They will storm the castle and kill every one of you in revenge."

"Then we had best negotiate before that happens," observed the young prince softly.

"The time for negotiation was this afternoon, stripling, not now."

"Well, we will see."

"You will see your men slaughtered because of

your infantile little prank, you stupid little snot nose," Falcyn railed. "But then I should not have expected anything more than ignorance from a mere child. Release me and we can at least save the lives of your men, even your own if you cooperate." He glared at the youth standing before him. His face, body and tunic blackened with suet and his right hand and arm streaked and sticky from the contents of the chamber pot, he had the wide-eyed, excited look of a dirty street child playing sheriff and robbers, not the solemn face of a negotiator and noble prince.

"I will release you when you agree to my terms," he said softly.

"Which are?" Falcyn the Fierce asked in disbelief.

"You will send a message to the north, telling the barbarians you are withdrawing your support. You will take your men and return to your castle. And you will cede the farmlands south of the Koryn River to me in payment for your release."

King Falcyn snorted. "Never will I agree to such terms."

"You will agree," said the young prince.

Retiring to his private chambers, he called for a tub of hot water and plenty of soap and someone to clean his tunic. As he bathed, he considered how he was going to break the man in the cell below him. Falcyn was a brave, husky warrior and a proud and fearful king. He, on the other hand, was still untried in battle and merely a prince. It would take exceptional means to break the man, and he did not have much time. The castle needed the meager provisions it had for its own occupants if they were to last out the drought and could ill afford to feed the hordes who had sought refuge there. Besides, it would only be a matter of time before King Falcyn's men stormed the castle.

Half an hour later, he stepped from the tub, having worked out a strategy of persuasion. The sun would be rising in a few hours at which time he would hold council with Galain, but first, he would hold council with Helvar. He sent his personal attendant to fetch the young squire, and the ten-year-old boy did so hastily with a wide smile on his face. It was not the first time he'd been sent to fetch the handsome young squire. Young Helvar had best not be planning on sitting for a while the boy thought with an impish grin. His Prince was going to celebrate his capture of the enemy king.

Dressing in his freshly oiled and cleaned tunic, and wearing his leather wrist protectors and his dress helmet with the stiff royal purple crest, Prince Val met several hours later with Galain, and then together they stood upon the parapet and addressed the commander of the army assembled outside the castle gates.

"By now you will have discovered your king is missing," called out Prince Val. "Let it be known that I, Prince Val of Lankanshire, have captured your king, and he is at this moment in our dungeon."

"How do we know this is so?" called the Commander of the surrounding army.

"Yesterday you would not even show your cowardly face."

"Here is your proof," the young prince replied, tossing the king's helmet and sword from the battlement above the castle gate. "Your king and I are in negotiation regarding this siege. Tell your men so. And tell them this: if you try to rescue him, before the first man can reach this parapet I myself will put a dagger through your King's heart."

With that, he turned and told Galain he would begin his negotiations with the captured king, and that he was not to be interrupted under any circumstances. Carrying a cat-o-nine-tails and wearing his short sword with a pouch tied to his belt, he walked briskly past the men on the parapet, and they smiled as they pictured the tortures that their young prince had in mind as part of his negotiations.

The past few hours had done nothing to improve King Falcyn's temperament. He had spent the first two fuming about the indignity of having been plucked from the middle of his army by a mere cub of seventeen years. Then he had spent the next two devising the most exquisite tortures once his army stormed the castle and overcame the stripling. He was imagining just that when his young captor entered the cell.

"So, you have brought your cat-o-nine-tails," the warrior glowered. "Well, it will do you no good. You can whip me with all the strength your puny body can muster and I will not give in to your demands."

Val studied the man closely. There was no doubt in his mind that the man spoke the truth. At six-foot-four and weighing fourteen stone, he towered above the boy by a hand span and a half and he outweighed the youth by at least four stone, all of it solid muscle. King Falcyn might have been of royal blood, but the thirty-four-year-old man was no pampered royal. His shoulders were broad, and his upper arms, four hand spans in circumference, were as hard as the stone to which he was bound. His chest was broad and muscular too, sparsely haired as if too hard for hair roots to penetrate, and with prominent nipples. Val's eyes paused there in admiration before passing down over the rippled torso and solid abs to the man's crotch. He had a massive, circumcised cock, thick and meaty, the shaft almost as wide as the fat helmet, and he had a nut sac the size of twin plums.

"Even if you were to whip my member, you would not succeed in obtaining my agreement to your terms," the warrior king said, noticing his endowment had attracted the boy's attention. "Go ahead and try. I'm sure you are the type of man who would whip a man's organ if for no other reason than out of envy."

Val dropped to his knees, his right hand reaching out under the man's impressive jewels and his tongue slipping between his lips as he eyed the massive cock. King Falcyn looked down at his cock, and then at the boy. "What, are you a poof, besides a coward? You swoon before my manhood as a woman would swoon?" he heckled. "Well, have your way with me if that is what turns you on, boy, but you should know that there is nothing I despise more than those who would lay with their own sex."

"I have a fourth requirement for your release," the boy said, ignoring the caustic comments and his eyes remaining on that thick, smooth skinned member. It was by far the largest member he had ever seen and beautifully sculptured, having a smooth, pale pink shaft with a single thick blue vein running the length of the underside and a bulbous, slightly ruddy knob.

"I have already forgotten the first three," sneered the king.

"You will send a message to the north, telling the barbarians you are withdrawing your support. You will take your men and return to your castle. You will cede the farmlands south of the Koryn River to me in payment for your release." Val looked up at the man. "And you will beg me to spill your royal seed on the dungeon floor."

"Never," the king spat. "To spill one's seed on the ground is a sin even greater than to lay with one's own sex."

Putting down the cat-o-nine-tails and removing his helmet and placing it on the ledge between the man's outspread legs, Prince Val opened the small leather sack he'd brought with him. From it he extracted a horsehair brush and two feathers, a soft downy feather from the chest of a hawk, and a long, stiff tail feather from an eagle.

"What sort of toys are those?" snarled King Falcyn.

Taking the soft feather, Prince Val ran it along the man's stomach just barely touching the solid, muscular abs. The man drew in his stomach and gritted his teeth as he tried not to laugh.

"What is this? Some child's play?" he sneered, using his sharp tongue to fight back the natural reflex the feather was causing.

Noticing the man's reaction, Prince Val continued to gently brush the man's taut stomach, causing the man to tense until he felt he was going to snap in half. Then slowly raising his hand, the young prince gently touched the man's ribs with the feather.

"Go ahead," King Falcyn challenged, inhaling sharply as the feather danced across his ribs, "play your childish game."

The feather continued, up to the man's hairy armpits where it made tight little circles inside one and then the other pit.

"Hnnghm," the husky man grunted, fighting desperately to stop the laughter that wanted to erupt as he grasped the iron chains fastened to his wrist clamps and pulled down with his outspread arms.

As the feather moved along the warrior's underarms, he grunted and strained just as strenuously, so the boy paused to tease for a minute. The man threw back his head and scrunched shut his eyes, but held back his laughter. He was a warrior king. This was a game children played in their nurses' care. The soft feather danced over the muscular biceps and triceps twice the size of the young prince's even though the boy trained daily with both short sword and broad as evidenced by the cords of muscles in his forearms. Around to the neck, up over the coarse stubbled cheeks and square chin, and then down over the broad, sparsely-haired chest to the nipples skipped the downy feather.

"Hunnngh." The air whooshed from the six-foot-four giant like a gust of wind as the feather brushed against his nipple. The feather touched again, just barely making contact. "Agggh, you little prick," he cursed.

His nipple began to get hard and the boy tarried there, gently brushing one and then the other until both protruded fully erect and the man's chest heaved with each touch. King Falcyn's face was red with fury. This was an obscenity, to arouse a man's teats so. This was something a man did to a woman's dugs, if he wished to amuse himself before the ride, or perhaps something a young maiden might be expected to do to heighten the arousal of her lover. It most certainly was not something a man did to another man. To be subjected to such an obscenity was outrageous, but what bothered Falcyn the Fierce even more, was that his nipples had actually become erect at the hands of another man, and that they were causing him to feel the beginnings of lust.

The feather continued, down to the man's belly button. It protruded in what was commonly referred to as having an outie. As the feather touched the protruding button the man inhaled sharply but held his tongue. The feather moved on relentlessly, down to the broad, muscular thighs, twice the thickness of the young prince's biceps. As Prince Val brushed the feather along the inside of the man's thighs he jerked back and tensed and he constricted the opening of his cock. Prince Val repeated the feather-light touch and the king's body repeated the reflex. The young boy persisted and the man's massive member began to stir.

Falcyn the Fierce stared down at what the boy was doing in disbelief. What madness was this that his member was beginning to rise, as if its attention had been caught by a fair maiden? Even considering it had been a week and a half since he'd lain with a woman, having been informed by the wisest doctors that having sex weakened a man before battle, that was insufficient reason for it to react so. Inhaling sharply, he concentrated with all his strength, willing his member to cease its swelling. It did not work.

Satisfied, Prince Val continued down to the hollow behind the knees. The slightest touch of the downy feather caused the man to buckle as he muffled a laugh. The feather touched again.

"Fuckin' shit," the man cursed in order to prevent the laughter about to peal from his lips as he pulled on his shackles, trying to escape the persistent feather.

The young prince continued his investigation.

The calves, thicker than Prince Val's thighs, showed no reaction to the feather, and the naked toes, hard and calloused, showed only a minimal response. Putting down the feather, he picked up the cat-o-nine-tails again and considered his next move.

King Falcyn looked down at the youth crouched there before him, relieved the boy had put down the feather, but uncertain what his intentions had been. Whatever they were, he had emerged the champion, making him confident that he could handle whatever else the boy had planned.

Prince Val worked his mouth, like a rabbit munching a mouth of grass, and then leaning forward, he stuck out his tongue. A stream of spittle flowed down the middle of the U-curve of his tongue and then dropped down from the tip in a long pendant. He bent closer, allowing the pendant to drop on the base of the man's soft cock.

"What in the fuckin' names of the seven hells!" he cursed as he drew his hips back, banging his ass against the cold stone behind him. The boy had to be insane.

The warm, slimy spittle oozed down the man's shaft, down to the bulbous helmet where the slightly wider ridge dammed the flow. Another stream began at the top just below his thick, curly hairs, oozing down the shaft, following the path of the first, and then down around behind the ridge to the funnel slit underneath the helmet. The accumulated spit flowed down the funnel to the tip, where the spittle hung as a slimy pendant.

"You fuckin' son of a whoremaster!" the mighty king cursed. "Spitting on a royal monarch, on his family jewels none the less! What in the name of God do you think you are doing?"

Prince Val said nothing as still another slimy flow oozed down the furrow and off the tip of his tongue and down to the shaft. He moved ever so slightly so that it formed a new path beside the first. Slipping his hand under the man's genitals, he collected his spittle in the palm of his hand as it oozed off the man's thick cock. Drool after drool flowed out of his mouth, and as the warm, slimy ooze flowed over the man's shaft and around his helmet, to King Falcyn's horror, his member began to swell. He shut his eyes and tried to will it to stop, but as the warm slimy spittle oozed around the ridge of his bulb, his cock continued its growth.

Continuing to work up a flow of spittle, Prince Val reached down for the horsehair brush with his left hand. Wetting the end with the spittle he had collected in his hand, he reached up and began to paint the king's balls, the stiff brush and the wetness causing his nuts to roll in their sack and his cock to swell even more.

The king cursed and thrashed, but could do nothing to prevent what was happening to him. He tried to think of something else. He thought of his army commander and what he must be doing at this very moment having discovered his king was gone. He tried to think of the most distasteful things he could think of, a full chamber pot, a man decapitated in the midst of battle, a prisoner screaming as his limbs were pulled from their sockets on the rack. None of them could compete with the itch around the ridge of his helmet and the growing desire in his loins. His member grew until it was standing upright, shiny and slippery with the young prince's spit.

Putting down the brush, Val reached over to the upright organ and took the bulb between his thumb and first two fingers. Never had he held such a huge organ in his hand, and he wished he was doing so under other circumstances. As he thought of that, there was a stirring between his own legs, and he savoured the delightful feeling of growing arousal and swelling man flesh. Remembering a few moments later why he was holding the hot, erect cock of his enemy, he squeezed the bulb to open the pee slit.

"Now what do you intend on doing, you poof? You want to go down on my member like some wanton slut? Well go ahead. Find out what it is like to have a real man's cock in your mouth and not the little prick of one of your young fag attendants. I've heard of perverts such as you!"

Another pendant of drool began its descent from the extended tongue and Prince Val dangled the pendant over the opened pee slit. The droplet of drool stuck the opening and began its natural descent down the channel.

"Fuck! Oh shit, you little poof!" King Falcyn cursed as he felt the boy's spittle oozing down the core of his erect cock, causing an uncoiling deep in his groin in response. He drew back and then jerked his hips forward, but he could not shake the boy's hold.

Continuing to squeeze open the tiny muscle that guarded the entrance to the man's member, Prince Val slowly dribbled more of his spittle into the pee slit, and then working up a mouthful, he generously coated the bulb with his spittle. Picking up the brush once more, Prince Val again dipped it in the pool of spit in his palm, but this time the tip of the wet brush touched the king's belly button. The man grunted as he thrust out his hips, causing his cock to jerk and the spittle to spray from it like a dog shaking its coat after a swim. Prince Val ignored his thrusting and continued to spit-paint his outie with the brush.

"Hahahaggh, Agggh, stop!" the king cried as he constricted his stomach.

The wet brush struck again, spittle now oozing down the flat stomach to collect in his curly hairs.

"Hahahaaaahh, no, stop!" he cried, half in pain and half with a chuckle.

"You will send a message to the north, telling the barbarians you are withdrawing your support."

Reaching behind the man, Prince Val wiped the remaining spittle off on his buttocks as the king's eyes flashed angrily. The mongrel pup would pay for this when his men freed him. He could feel the spittle oozing down his ass cheek and down the back of his leg.

Picking up the long tail feather, Prince Val touched the tip to the man's ribs. Falcyn the Fierce twisted, the muscles of his well-toned body contracting and as he quickly forgot the discomfort running down the back of his leg. He thrust out his hips causing his spit slick member to bounce, he cursed, and he began to laugh, unable to stop the natural reflex of his body.

"You will take your men and return to your castle," Prince Val ordered, withdrawing the feather.

"No," the king gasped.

The feather moved up to his arms where it gently stroked the underside and then made circles in his hairy pits, barely touching them. The mighty king twisted until the metal cuffs were cutting into his wrists. He grunted and snorted as he tried not to laugh, but he could not stop it.

"Aaahahahaha, aggghhh, aahahahah, oh, ah, fuuuuh, ahhahahah!"

With the first chortle it was like the breaking of a dam, and he roared as the feather attacked relentlessly. The strange combination of laugher and screams of agony echoed down the stone corridor and up to the prince's private apartment. Commander Galain, passing past the high tower to check the western battlement, paused to listen. He had heard of plenty of cries of pain and agony, both on the battlefield and in the torture chambers, but nothing like what he heard coming from the private cells below the royal apartments. He didn't quite know what to make of it, but his liege had said he was not to be interrupted.

"You will cede the farmlands south of the Koryn River to me in payment for your release," Prince Val said, withdrawing the feather to allow the man to respond.

Falcyn the Fierce panted and gasped to catch his breath before replying, "Fuck you, you mongrel cub. Never!"

That was not the response the young prince wanted. The feather touched one, and then the other nipple. The man jerked and squirmed and his cock waved in the air. The feather continued its caresses, causing the man's nipples to burn with arousal and his cock to ache.

"Annnhuh, aaaghh, ahhhhuuuh," he gasped as the itching became unbearable. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and at the V of his neck.

The feather continued to caress his irritated teat relentlessly, the itching causing it to burn fiercely and the stimulation causing his groin to ache for satisfaction unlike it ever had before. Even the most beautiful maiden spread out before him, offering herself for whatever bauble or reward the mighty king might choose if she did well, had not made his groin ache as this beardless youth was doing. Had Falcyn the Fierce been able to dwell on that mystery and the implications it had about his own sexuality it would have caused him much anguish, but at the moment, he was unable to concentrate on anything as his body twitched and ached with an arousal he'd never imagined in his wildest fantasies.

"You will beg me to spill your royal seed on the dungeon floor."

"Never would I do such a thing," Falcyn swore although at that moment his body was begging for just that to happen.

The feather swooped down and struck the hollow behind the man's right knee.

"Agggh! Ahhhhahahahaha, agghhh," he cried out as his need to cum was combined with the acute pain of being tickled in one's most ticklish place. "Ahhhhahahahaha!"

The prince smiled as he worked the feather, knowing from his earlier investigation that hollow was the fearsome king's most vulnerable spot. The mighty warrior twisted to the right and to the left. He pressed his body back against the cold, damp stone wall and he thrust his body outward. He pulled down on the chain fastened to the rings just above his head causing them to creak, and the muscles of his thighs bulged as he pulled up on the ankle clamps holding his naked feet to the narrow ledge of the alcove. The feather moved from right leg to left and back again, causing the man to buckle and scream and laugh at the top of his lungs.

His voice carried through the grate high above his head and out across the courtyard.

Peasants who had gathered in small clusters and had been discussing what their fate would be if the army outside attacked the castle stopped their gossip and looked up at the high tower, bewildered by what could cause a man to laugh from the pit of his belly and scream with pain from the depths of his soul at the same time. The soldiers on the battlements glanced at each other, just as mystified as to what type of torture their young prince was employing.

"You will send a message to the north, telling the barbarians you are withdrawing your support."

"Hahaha, agggh, unnngh," panted the king even though the feather was no longer touching the hollow behind his knees. "Never."

Once again the prince crouched before the gasping man and began to work up a mouth of spittle. King Falcyn's cock, engorged and aching to come, twitched and jerked as the hot spittle oozed down it, wishing it was its hot cum instead. The stiff horsehair brush ran along the underside, stroking up and down with brief strokes, slowly working closer and closer to the tip, finally reaching the sensitive funnel under the glans.

A droplet of pre-cum oozed out of the slit and Prince Val quickly flicked it up with the brush and applied it to the king's right nipple, causing him to jerk and curse angrily. The next drop of pre-cum to ooze out was applied to the other nipple, and the third and fourth to his belly button. The man jerked and laughed and cursed the boy, using every epithet he knew. Those in the courtyard and on the battlements were perplexed, hearing only the bellowing of Falcyn the Fierce, not the slash of a whip nor the grinding of a chain.

The brush ran along the ridge of his helmet, causing another copious flow of pre-cum. This the young prince allowed to flow unhindered down the funnel under the helmet, and down the shaft to collect in a globule in the hairs of the man's nut sack. As the brush continued to stroke his helmet ever so gently King Falcyn felt his seed beginning to churn in his nuts. Falcyn the Fierce struggled with the thoughts wrestling in his head.

He did not want his seed to be wasted on a dungeon floor, but he did not want the boy to stop either. To waste one's seed by one's hand was a mortal sin, but he had to have an ejaculation or the tension was going to drive him out of his mind. His breathing became labored as he concentrated on the burning sensation around the rim of his helmet. His mind fought against the sensation, trying to prevent the inevitable from happening, trying to will away the desire. At the same time a voice in his head was urging the boy on, waiting with anticipation for that delightful feeling when a man feels his seed racing up the core of his cock and spurting out of his body. Finally the desire to cum overpowered the moral objection. Any second now he reasoned. Any second now. At least he had not begged the boy for this. Again he had been the superior in their battle. His body tensed. He inhaled deeply, relishing that moment before ejaculation. Just as he was sure he was going to climax, the prince ceased stroking his cockhead with the brush.

King Falcyn the Fierce did not know what to think, or what to do. He had dreaded the vile act of spending his seed on the infertile floor of the dungeon and was relieved the boy had stopped, but at the same time his body had wanted it so badly he felt dismay knowing that it was not going to happen. An errant thought reminding him the boy's fourth demand was that he beg him to spend his seed was quickly vanished from his mind.

"You will take your men and return to your castle."

"Never," King Falcyn declared, glaring down at the boy. For the first time the King noticed the stiff cock jutting out below the boy's brief tunic.

"This play has turned you on, boy," the King sneered, using the boy's poofery as a defense for his own physical reaction.

The boy was aroused, but he said nothing. The eagle feather attacked, this time striking the outie button. The man trembled and twisted and as the boy persisted he began to howl. Over and over the feather struck the man's belly button, caressing, probing, tickling.

"You will cede the farmlands south of the Koryn River to me in payment for your release."

"Never!" the king gasped.

The feather attacked the hollow of his legs once more and the proud and fearful king pulled and strained against his fetters as once again peals of laughter erupted from his throat until it was raw. He screamed with the combination of pleasure and pain, the pit of his stomach aching and perspiration now dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. As he twisted and squirmed and laughed and cried, sweat trickled down his chest and down his thighs. His sides began to ache.

An hour later Prince Val retired to his private apartments and called for Squire Helvar. The tormenting of King Falcyn had left him hotter than he'd ever felt in his seventeen years, and as he waited he pulled up his tunic and began to stroke his swollen member. It felt so good. Arriving at the prince's chambers, the sixteen-year-old squire quickly lowered his breeches and knelt before his prince, willingly prepared to relieve the young royal of his need.

In the dungeon below, King Falcyn twisted and strained against his restraints and struggled even more with the thoughts that were combating in his mind. His manhood was finally limp once again and his balls were still full of his seed. He was the victor, but what had happened troubled him greatly. He had steeled himself to withstand the most horrible of tortures, but for a moment he had almost given in to a mere boy armed with nothing more than a feather. He had over the years prepared himself for any number of imagined tortures from husbands incensed by his dallying with their wives to being caught by any number of enemies and thrown to the mercy of the dungeon torturer. Never had he imagined what he'd just gone through.

It was more than just the physical pain of the tickle torture. It was the indignities the boy had committed on his body. His pits and nipples were crusted with dried pre-cum, his pre-cum, and his abs and ribs were sore from laughter. His cock, though now limp, had been sensitized to the point that a trickle of his own sweat would cause it to begin to swell. That was a problem. Despite the barred window above him, the air in the cell was stale and in this drought the cell was like a baker's oven. He was sweating profusely, and some of it was sure to run down his member.

That evening he was fed scraps from the royal table, better fare than the regular prisoner, and indeed better fare than many peasants, but then he was a king. Besides, Prince Val wanted him to remain in good health. His stomach full, King Falcyn was dismayed to see the prince enter with his small pouch. He tensed as the feathers and brush were removed. Once again the prince knelt before him in his leathers and began to work his mouth.

"No," pleaded the king.

"You will send a message to the north, telling the barbarians you are withdrawing your support."

Once more the boy's warm, slimy saliva did its trick to the dismay of the prisoner. Once more the naked warrior-king felt his cock rise and his testicles begin to ache for release of their pearly contents. Once more the fine horsehair brush coaxed out his pre-cum. Once more his nipples and pits were painted with the royal fluid of his nut sac. Once more the eagle feather made its rounds from belly button to hairy pits, from tortured cockhead to the sensitive hollows behind his knees. His massive, muscular body quivered and ached as he howled with laughter, and as the sweat poured down from his forehead and ran in rivulets down his sculptured torso, all he could do was scream and laugh and ache.

"You will take your men and return to your castle."

How could a mere boy design such a torture? How could such a simple thing as tickling reduce to a quivering, aching mass a man who had fearlessly faced hordes of enemy and who had slaughtered hundreds of men without the slightest qualm? Of even greater concern, how could a virile stud who could ride a woman all night, and frequently did, become sexually aroused by a slip of a boy? What did the erection of his cock mean? He did not like one of the possible answers, an answer he was beginning to realize was the most valid of his choices, the answer that it was possible for a man such as him to be turned on by a smooth bodied boy. He vowed he would not let it happen again. He could not let it happen. That was what he resolved, but each time the boy entered the dungeon cell, it happened.

Falcyn the Fierce was strong, he was proud, and he was defiant. Despite the constant pain and the aching desire in his loins, he refused to meet the boy's demands. Prince Val, however, matched him. The boy was patient and persistent and he was certain of his victory. Five times a day, for three days Falcyn the Fierce withstood the unique torture. As the iron door to the private cells clanked open on the morning of the fourth, he braced himself for another two hours of torture.

Kneeling before his naked captive, the boy in his stiff leather uniform removed his purple-crested helmet and placed it between the man's outspread legs. He untied his pouch and laid out on the dungeon floor the horsetail brush and two feathers. Still holding the cat-o-nine-tails, he worked his cheeks and stuck out his tongue, forming a U-shaped furrow. The same ritual, five times a day, for the past three days. The warm, slimy spittle ran down the meaty cock, and it immediately awoke and raised its head, ready to crow. After three days of repeated arousal and unrealized satisfaction, and it being a fortnight since the warrior king and last lain with a woman, his cock responded almost instantly.

"Well, we are a horny old man this morning, aren't we now?" the boy said with a grin as he looked up at his captive.

The sharp retort and curses that comment would have elicited three days ago no longer flowed from the king's lips. He stared down at the boy with eyes dulled from lack of sleep and constant stimulation. He was horny, more desperately horny than he had ever been in his entire thirty-four years.

The horsehair brush began to stroke the underside of his massive, erect cock, following the blue vein from his ripe nut sack to the ruddy bulb, moving with agonizing slowness farther and farther up his engorged shaft until at last it touched the sensitive rim of his helmet. His royal pre-cum oozed out of his slit in the false hope of lubricating his shaft for a much needed ride. He grimaced and laughed readily as the brush flicked up the clear fluid and painted his belly button, no longer able to hold back the natural reflex. His body ached as he twisted and his massive member twitched as the brush applied his pre-cum to his nipples, already coated with fifteen prior applications. He knew the boy was waiting for him to give in to his demands, but he would never give him the satisfaction.

"You will send a message to the north, telling the barbarians you are withdrawing your support."

The proud, fearsome king clamped his lips shut and braced himself as the eagle feather approached his flat, taut stomach.

"No, neeeeever, ah, nnnahhhh, ahahahaha, ahhhh, fuuuahahaha."

He could not hold back. The eagle feather flicked repeatedly against the sensitive belly button, barely touching it but sending the mighty warrior into a fit of convulsions and laughter. The mere touch of the feather was like a dozen needles pricking his protruding button. It was mid morning but already sweat began to bead on his forehead and collect in the hairs at the V of his neck.

"You will take your men and return to your castle."

In response to his silent glower the feather skipped up along his ribs to his hairy pits where they inscribed tight little circles, and then danced out along his underarms and then back into the hairy hollow. He screamed and laughed with that tortured cry of the damned, with the cry of one relentlessly tickled. His biceps bulged as he twisted and pulled down on the iron rings and the iron camps cut freshly into his wrists, renewing the red blood stains from where they had cut into his wrists the time before. The pain went unnoticed compared to the shocks of combined pleasure and pain ripping through his pits and underarm. The glowing tip of the torturer's forge-heated iron could not cause a pain more severe. Over and over the feather skipped along the underarms and hairy, sweating pits.

"Aaaahh, ahahahha, aggghahahahah, aahahahaha," he sang as his body danced the tickle dance.

"You will cede the farmlands south of the Koryn River to me in payment for your release."

To agree would finish this never-ending torture. A simple nod of the head and this combination of pleasure and pain ripping through his aching muscles sharper than the lash of the cat-o-nine-tails would cease. If the barbarians to the north had been unsuccessful by now, withdrawal of his support would not be unreasonable. It had been three days and his army had not scaled the castle walls, for whatever reason. That was not his fault. He could always blame the commander of his army. He was planning on doing so anyway. The farmlands were a different matter. They were in a choice location with rich soil and plenty of moisture. Their yield was regularly abundant year after year.

"Never," he snapped, his body immediately reprimanding his tongue for its quick answer as the feather advanced like a viper and stuck his right nipple. "No, don't, oh fuuuuuuahahack, ahahaha, agggahahahahaaa."

The touch of the feather was worse than the bite of a viper. It sent ripples of stimulation down to his groin, causing his cock to once again twitch and his aching nuts to pump forth another stream of pre-cum. As the feather skipped to his ribs, his body thrashed with laugher, causing his thick, meaty cock to sway in the air and his pre-cum to fly in long sticky strands. Sweat poured down his body in sour rivulets, leaving trails in the dust and grime as it traced the outline of his bulging, contorted muscles. The tickling pain of the feather tip and the burning pain in his cockhead demanded satisfaction.

"Yahahahaha, yahahahah, hahahaha, yeahahahth, yeahahtthh!"

"Yes to which?" Prince Val asked quietly as he pulled the feather away. Only years of royal training and lectures on the decorum of his position prevented him from following his impulse to cry out with the juvenile joy of having triumphed.

"Yes to them all," Falcyn the Fierce replied with a gasp, his throat raw from constant screaming and laughing. "Yes to every fucking one of them. Enough!"

Reaching into his pouch, Prince Val pulled out three documents, already written and waiting for the royal signature. Taking out a bottle of ink and quill, he paused, and then with a wicked smile, dipped the stem of the eagle feather into the bottle and held it up with the first document. The king's signature was shaky, and it was awkward with his wrist chained to the wall, but it was legible, and legal. He did not even bother reading the three documents. Taking out the small box he'd searched for in King Falcyn's tent the night he'd captured him, he opened it and removed the royal seal and candle. Sealing each of the documents with a bit of wax and stamping them with the seal, he called for Galain and handed him the documents.

"That leaves only the last of my demands to be fulfilled," Prince Val said with a slight grin.

"Yes, yes, do it."

"Do what?" the boy asked, looking up at the tortured face of his enemy.

Falcyn the Fierce glared at the boy. He'd given in to the first three demands. The withdrawal of support to the tribes to the north would take years of bartering to regain the mutual friendship they'd developed. Withdrawal of his army was an ignoble defeat that his men would long remember, and the loss of the produce-rich farmlands would hurt the royal coffers of Valkyre. Surely that was more than enough. This last demand, the most humiliating of them all, was the hardest to accept, but he knew to resist would be futile.

"Do what?" the boy repeated.

"Spill my seed on the dungeon floor," the proud fearsome king said softly.

"Me, a poof, spill the seed of Falcyn the Fierce?"

"Yes," came the reply through gritted teeth.

"You will beg me to spill your royal seed on the dungeon floor."

"Yes. Yes, dammit, you fucking cub! I beg of you to spill my seed."

The man's cock having become limp during the signing of the documents, the boy squatted down before him, churning his cheeks and slowly sticking out his furrowed tongue. His warm, slimy saliva quickly brought the massive member back to life and once again it raised its eager head. As the final wad of spittle oozed down over the ruddy bulb, Prince Val picked up the eagle feather. It gently touched the irritated nipples, causing them to immediately itch and grow firm until they were burning with a pain worse than being struck with boiling oil. The feather descended to the towering, thick member, and began to caress the underside, following the blue vein up to the sensitive bulb and caressing the ridge, coaxing out once more the clear droplets of royal pre-cum. The feather flicked up each droplet with precision and deposited the clear fluid on the inflamed nipples and in the hairy hollows of man's arms, and the feather tarried there a spell to gently caress the sensitive pits and tender underarms so conveniently exposed.

Gales of laugher echoed through the stone tower. The thrashing of chains and the cries of a man in pain could be heard throughout the courtyard. Behind the locked door in the special cells under the royal apartments thrashed a man, cock erect and dripping with a boy's spittle, his nipples glistening with pre-cum and sweat trickling down his sides from his hairy pits as a feather worked its magic. It ran along the underside of his shaft and caressed the ridge of his helmet, causing the man to groan with the impending and long awaited climax.

"You will beg me to spill your royal seed on the dungeon floor," the boy said softly.

"Yes, yes, oh fuck yes! Spill my seed!" cried the mighty, proud king, Falcyn the Fierce.

The feather dropped to the hollow behind the man's knees and touched the skin with a gentle, almost imperceptible touch.

"Aggggahahha, ahahahahaha, ohhhfuuuuahahahaha," cried the mighty warrior, his body thrashing and the iron rings in the stone of the dungeon creaking as he pulled on them with all his strength.

The muscles of his legs and arms bulged as he strained, convulsed with laughter and aching to release the load building up in his nut sac. He strained and pulled and screamed like a man being stretched on a rack as the feather danced along the ridge of his bulb bringing him within seconds of climaxing, and then darted to tease his pits and underarms with a pleasure just as intense. Then it was back to the underside of his helmet, the tip of the feather tickling the sensitive skin at the mouth of the funnel and following it up to the pee slit. The man's seed began to churn in his nut sac and his massive member throbbed with his hot, royal blood as he felt his cum finally begin to rise up the core.

At the same time the downy feather from the breast of a hawk began to gently brush the hollow on the inside of his knees. The man howled and laughed as his legs buckled under him and his balls contracted, sending a rope of his royal seed shooting across the dungeon. The man wailed and howled and quivered with laughter as rope after rope of his pent up cum spurted from his jerking, burning cock and as shocks of pleasure and pain caused his legs to spasm uncontrollably. The rim of his helmet and the opening to his throbbing member burned with the sweet pain of ejaculation and the eagle feather attacked one last time, sending shocks of sweet pain through his pits and underarms and gales of laughter from his raw throat. The mighty body of the brawny warrior danced the tickle dance one last time as the final rope of royal seed swung in the air from his thick cock before dropping to the barren dungeon floor.

An hour later Prince Val stood with Commander Galain on the parapet of the high tower, the two watching the peasants leaving for their homes and the army packing their tents. In the royal chambers was a deed, leasing the lands south of the Koryn River to Lankanshire. Two letters had been dispatched two hours earlier to the north, one with the royal seal of King Falcyn to the barbarian leader, and one with the royal seal of Prince Val to Sir Marcus. Another letter had been dispatched to the Commander of the Army telling him his King had agreed to a truce and to begin withdrawing the army. At that very moment that very proud and fearsome king was being helped through the castle gates. The enemy troops, and his own men, were amazed to see the mighty Falcyn the Fierce walk through the castle gates on weak, wobbly legs, drained of all energy and supported by two soldiers. He had been provided a pair of linen breeches in the interest of modesty, and to show everyone that there was not a mark on his body. The wisdom of Prince Val was now combined with an awe how a mere stripling could cower a mighty warrior, and could have arrived at the three concessions that he had wrung from the powerful king. There was, of course, a fourth concession that only the prince, and eventually a very select few, would ever know about.

Claiming weariness after four days of negotiating, Prince Val left Commander Galain in charge of overseeing the return of the peasants to their farms. The bounce in his step and the smile on his lips as he retired to his private chambers were not, however, what you would expect from someone who was weary. The reason lay in his bedchamber. Squire Helvar was waiting there as they'd previously arranged. The sixteen-year-old was spread out on his back stark naked on the large canopied bed, Prince Val's young personal attendant having tied his arms and legs to the four corner posts. Prince Val flexed his fingers and then sat down beside his smiling beloved.

As peals of laughter rang out from the royal apartments, life in the kingdom of the Lankanshires returned to normal.

J. O. Dickingson
authorsix@hotmail.com


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(Author's Note: This story is a sequel to Mega Woman's Disgrace., originally intended as the introduction to this much longer story. Technical difficulties have been more or less overcome, so here is the rest of the story. My thanks to my friend, David, for some suggestions, incorporated, herein.)

WARNING: This story contains nudity, graphic violence, rape, bestiality and adult themes. It is most definitely intended for, and should only be read by, mature adults, over the age of twenty-one.

Adder's Return. Part 4.

Mega Woman and  Ultra Maid.
Champions of Justice.

Adder beat the captive superheroine's fabulous bosom, until Mega Woman was literally howling in unspeakable torment. At last, a trifle fatigued by her exertion, Adder sat down a moment to rest. Coral solicitously brought her grandmother a cup of tea. As the vile old villainess sipped her tea, her diabolical granddaughters, began the next stage, of Adder's vengeance.

Mega Woman and her sprightly daughter, Ultra Maid were the renowned champions and exemplars of virtue and purity. How delicious it would be to debauch them both!

Cobra initiated the process with the stately, mature Mega Woman. She released her tied right arm, and Mega Woman stumbled to her feet. Cobra boldly seized the huge older woman in her arms, and fondled and groped at her voluptuously generous curves, with blatant sexual abandon.

In shock from Adder's abuse, and unschooled in unnatural vice, it took a moment for the virtuous, matronly superheroine to grasp the depraved girl's lecherous intent.

Coral joined her sister in lasciviously toying with the horrified Mega Woman. The girls' double assault on her virtue, was impossible to resist in her weakened state.

The girls' abused the weeping superheroine, until she involuntarily succumbed. When her gorgeously contoured body trembled in hateful sexual arousal, moaning loudly, in unwelcome erotic excitement, the girls flung their victim to the floor. While Cobra sat on Mega Woman's upper chest, pinning her to the floor, Coral strapped on a huge dildo.

Once again, despite her own distress, Ultra Maid tried to run to her mother's assistance, but Adder grabbed her waist, to restrain her, forcing the young crimefighter to watch the hateful rape.

Lasciviously excited by the spectacle of her vicious granddaughters debauching the virtuous Mega Woman, Adder laughingly did the same to her hated enemy's delectably denuded daughter. The vile wrinkled old villainess pulled the younger woman's shapely, sylph-like form onto her lap, and lewdly toyed with Ultra Maid's sweet, maidenly charms.

When Adder commanded the sobbing, disheartened Ultra Maid to service her, the terrorized, young superheroine, whimperingly obeyed, surrendering her virtue to Adder's vengeance.

Now it was Adder's turn to complete the sexual domination of her hated enemy.

While wielding the fearsome phallus, Coral had missed out on the full satisfaction of her own sexual desires, though she had certainly enjoyed forcefully raping the venerable, irreproachably virtuous  Mega Woman. Now the younger equally virtuous younger superheroine, Ultra Maid would satisfy her needs.

When Adder finished sodomizing the hapless Mega Woman, and Ultra Maid satisfied Coral, Cobra whispered to her sister. "Think it's time t'get Gran t'bed! She's had enough excitement for one night at her age!"

By the time Adder and her depraved family were done, they had come close to their aim of destroying Mega Woman's pride and self-esteem.

Coral agreed with her sister, that it was time to call it an evening. "Yeah, right! First though, we gotta spray the two sluts, with that anti-gravity solution so they don't fly away on us!"

The defeated, debauched, naked captives were stowed in a Krononite cage in the cellar for the night. The recuperative powers of the two superheroines matched their other amazing powers, however. By morning, their spirits had revived, and their physical wounds had healed. Even Mega Woman's broken arm was fit again. It was time to show these evil villainesses the error of their ways. Justice demanded rightful retribution!

End of Part 4.

Go on to Part 5. Conclusion.


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Does Sexual Desire Wane at Age 50?

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Video Transcript

Why do we assume that as we age, our desire for sex is going to fade?

Dr. Ruth, Westheimer, PhD, Sex Therapist
God forbid! Don't assume it. People after 50 should continue to have a wonderful sex life if they so desire, if they say they don't want it anymore, I say goodbye, but if they so desire, but they have to be sexually literate. A woman has to know that after menopause she needs a lubricant, not to engage in intercourse with a not well lubricated vagina, it's painful, she's going to say, who needs it. And men must know and even physicians don't know, that after a certain age, there is no psychogenic erection. After a certain age, a man does not have an erection when he wants one, when he thinks about sex. A man needs physical stimulation, rubbing against the partner, his hand, or her hand on his genitalia in order to obtain and to maintain the erection. Here is what happens. They are trying to have sex, he doesn't have an erection, she thinks I'm not attractive any more. I don't look, my body has changed, I don't look like I looked 10 or 20 years ago, and then there is more to that. She also doesn't want to have the feeling that she is going to make him unhappy, because if they try to have sex, and he doesn't have an erection, he gets very unhappy, so she avoids it. There is an avoidance pattern by both. Then he starts to think, I would like to have sex but I know I have problems, and if he thinks that, he can be assured that he is not going to have an erection. Male sexual apparatus is very delicate. The moment he thinks, oh my gosh, what happened to me yesterday is going to happen again, he will not have an erection.


tagLoving WivesBack in the Saddle

Back in the Saddle

It had been such a long time, and there were so many unknowns. His discovery in her browser was certainly a step in the right direction, but still it was hard to know how to let her know that he wanted nothing more than her, and her alone. The last gin-fuelled fumble still weighed heavy on his mind and he knew that trust was an issue. Unsure of where to begin and lacking the confidence to start a difficult conversation, he sat down at the keyboard and began to type. Perhaps at some point his fiction may become a reality.

Lying on the sofa with the soft, brown blanket covering her legs, she smiled as he returned from his weekly football game, "Hi darling, how did it go?" she asked.

"Great," he replied, "it was a fast game and a good workout this week."

Despite him having showered, the gentle musk of his body filled her as he leaned in for a gentle kiss. "All quiet this evening?" he asked.

"For now," she replied.

He noticed a small flicker in her eye, some minute sign that more was going on than he could see.

"I need a hug," she exclaimed, pouted lip extended to almost Francophone proportions.

He obliged, feeling her warm arms wrap around him, hands tousling the neckline of his hair. As he pulled back, she guided his lips to hers with a gentle pressure on the back of his neck. They touched. Gently at first, the light intimate kisses that they had shared less frequently recently, yet her grip didn't loosen as usual. Slowly the passion built as he breathed her beautiful scent deeply, the pace of the kiss growing. Her fingers gently caressed his neck, ear and then shoulder. The passion building with each breath. Her tongue chased gently into his mouth, coaxing more back from him in return. He took her firmly behind her head, pulling her into him, drinking from the kiss like a man returning from the desert. She gentle pushed on his shoulder and he pulled back.

"Wow," he exhaled.

She smiled naughtily and pulled back the blanket, revealing her curvy naked body, nipples erect at the centre of bright pink areolas capping beautiful round white breasts, iridescent against the purple of her open shirt. She was a breath-taking sight, he felt his penis swelling in his trousers, responding to his longing and this unexpected sexual reawakening.

"What do you want?" he queried, still wary that his need to be inside her was not guaranteed.

"I want you inside me," she replied, "but not yet. First you're going to have to work for it."

She lifted her knees and revealed the soft pink flesh of her pussy, a delicate mound, light coloured hair and a glisten of wetness gathering on the outside. He knew what she wanted first and knelt down in front of her. Working his way from her toes, he gently kissed every millimetre of skin, savouring the softness of her milky calves. As he reached her knee, the perfect scent of her sent his manhood into a frenzy, throbbing wildly, threatening to burst from his trousers at any moment. Upward he travelled, still kissing, caressing, enjoying every second as if suddenly released from a life sentence.

And soon he reached it. Parting the lips with his tongue, he licked vertically upward, flicking her clit as he passed. She gasped.

"Do that again!" she commanded.

He leaned closer, steadying himself and flicked her clit again with his tongue. Her body shuddered, responding to the moment and the stimulation. Three more flicks and she reached down, pushing his face deep into her soft pussy. He lapped voraciously as the sweet juice flowed, bringing her to the edge by licking her clit and then moving down to her hole, probing it deeply with his long tongue. Again she firmly guided him back where she needed him and he wrapped his tongue around the swelling clit, moving it from side to side then diving down to taste more of the delicious juice. She lay back, panting slowly as the sensation inside her grew. He felt it coming, the tense lips giving way to a light throbbing, wetter and warmer, her hips moving, thrusting the clit in time with him. And then it was upon her, arcing her back in pure pleasure, radiating from her engorged pussy in waves through her body, rippling through her expectant body. Slowly her breathing steadied as the orgasm faded and he took a mouthful of the sweet, sweet juices. She shuddered once more.

"I need to be inside you," he begged.

"No," she replied, "it's too soon. I want to do more."

She rallied herself and sat up. "Stand up," she ordered.

Naturally he responded. She admired the throbbing bulge in his trousers and reached to release it. With a swift pull she dropped his sports trousers to the floor and then teased the waist of his boxers away from his flesh. The pink tip of his excited penis appeared at the opening, single eye opening and closing slightly as blood coursed through his swollen cock. Unable to resist, she released it, pulling him forwards into her mouth and sucking hard, wrapping her tongue around the sides, teasing, teasing. She didn't take him deep, just enough to cover his deep pink head and allow her tongue to flick underneath it. The sensation he felt was beyond words, her mouth pulling at his head with every movement, excitement building, building. He held his breath trying to keep the moment from arriving, but could do nothing as the cum rocketed from deep in his loins and the ecstasy coursed through his body. She held him firm by the hips and swallow hard, licking delicately round the eye of his penis, tasting the last drop of his cum, smiling broadly at his happiness.

He was utterly speechless. He'd dreamed long and hard about this moment, picturing it every time he pleasured himself, and it seemed too that she now wanted the same thing. "Now," she said, and he obeyed.

Pushing her gently back against the couch, he leaned in and guided his shaft towards her. Reaching down he slowly parted her wet pussy lips and pressed against the opening. "Now!" she commanded and he guided it along the tight but well lubricated hole.

It was truly amazing, he felt his world let go as her warmth enveloped him. She reached for his shoulder and pulled him closer, driving him right to the very extent of her, swallowing every inch that he had to offer. He kissed her, tenderly at first, passion building as they fucked. He pulled out until only the very tip of his penis was between her lips and then drove the length deep inside her in a single, swift movement. She groaned in ecstasy, grinding her hips backwards and forwards against him, massaging the entire length of her tender pussy. Again he pulled out and back in, this time more slowly.

She released a gasp, surprised by the reaction of her own body, "Faster," she commanded, "I need you to fuck me faster."

He responded immediately, grasping her shoulders and driving himself quickly and deeply into her. With each thrust he felt her pussy throb in time to his movements, the imminent release building inside them both. He kissed her deeply, all the time moving himself in time with her until she could hold back no more. Her body contorted, now no longer grinding, but throbbing with pure energy as the orgasm took hold. She let go a primeval moan from deep with her and this pushed him over the edge. He felt the cum explode from his dick and fill her. The sensation burned across him, his mind blinded by the agony and ecstasy of a relief he could not achieve without her.

He leaned in and kissed her gently, caressing her naked body. Every stroke of his hand sent shivers through her, her eyes flickering with every touch. Their bodies pressed firmly together in a loving embrace, she looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes and smiled. "Thank you," she said, "We've needed to do that for a while."

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byrood_peper© 4 comments/ 28296


08 Mar 2006

THE Diesel ad, featuring a naked man's body being straddled by three pairs of women's legs, has been banned by the Advertising Standards Authority. The Italian fashion house claimed that the image, which is no longer running, was intended for an adult audience who would have understood the irony and fun it represented. However, the ASA ruled that the position of the women in relation to the man's body clearly alluded to sexual behaviour and it was likely to cause serious or widespread offence. Which is the rudest ads you have ever seen? Click on the links to controversial ads below and have your say on the VOGUE FORUM. (March 8 2006, AM) Dolly Jones [b]****ADS THAT WERE BANNED**** [b]Patrick Cox's locker room [b]Elle Macpherson's knickers [b]Harvey Nichols in the car [b]Sophie Dahl naked [b]The Calvin Klein "open-mouthed" kiss [b]Giorgio Armani's children [b]****AND THOSE THAT WEREN'T**** [b]VOGUE.COM's nipple<!-- Original: [VOGUE.COM's nipple] --> [b]Tom Ford full-frontal for YSL [b]Gucci Pubic G [b]Calvin Klein's bulge [b]Kurt Geiger's lovers' alley [b]Alexander McQueen breasts