SAND UNDER MA FO'SKIN
Clyde always begins by kissing my toes. Individually and molto lentissimo (very, very slowly). It takes him an aeon to progress any further. I never get impatient with him or try to urge him to get a move on jes' 'cos my impatient dick wants some attention! That would achieve nothing. I am still drowsy, stretched out on a beach towel with only the skimpiest of Speedos to cover my modesty. If Clyde carries on the way he's begun, nothing will save me from being given a ticket for indecent exposure in a public place should one of the beach patrols pass by as there would be no way of disguising the raging hard-on I would be sporting. On the other hand, if Ezekiel and Noah - my two favourite patrolmen - just happened to be on duty...by golly, Miss Molly, those two large appendages 'tween their muscled legs would give a man somethin' to remember for all his days!
With my eyes half closed I can feel Clyde kissing and licking his way up my legs, alternating from one to the other, still very slowly. He knew from the very beginning that I love this kind of action, moving to where my hairy middle aged white man's legs meet my silky Speedos. At that point, I pretend to wake up, just in time to have the thrill of seeing his reaction when his nose detects the odour of my three-day unwashed foreskin. He always looks up into my eyes, just like he's doing now, with a questioning look on his face as he continues to lick and stroke my thighs. I growl in his ear, "Go on you fucking dirty minded twat, drag the top of my trunks down with your degenerate slavering mouth..."
Clyde knows that I know he cannot refuse - I have already paid him with several large denomination local dollars. I know Clyde. His mind is an endless pornographic movie. He's a sexually depraved black bastard who will be up for anything and up anybody's arse - provided, of course, they happen to be male and enjoy being rogered by the biggest black dick this side of Bermuda. He puts his mouth over the waistband of my Speedos and tugs downwards. My half-hard, reeking cock flops out across his cheek, leaving traces of moisture on his face. My shiny cock head pokes eagerly through my foreskin, smelling heavily of cock cheese. I growl again, "Lick my cheesy piss slit, Clyde..."
He gags but sticks his tongue out and licks the tip. I encourage him with a not too painful flip of my hand across his ear. "Start cleanin', Clyde..." That is the signal for the depraved bugger to begin using his mouth just the way I like it. By the time he's finished my cock is rigid, pointing in a perfect straight line towards my stomach. I put a hand behind his head and force him to take the full length down his throat. "Oh...dat's great baby. Suck it off, black bo'. Ah'm fuckin' horny an' mah balls want a-blowin' off!" He sucks and slobbers all over my cock, treating it to the best he can give.
This particular stretch of Seahorse Bay is Clyde's hunting ground. He knows all about giving head, he also knows everything a man can possibly know about fucking arse and how to get the best out of being fucked. However, today all I want from him is a good, strong blow-job. I'd had a hard night of it at Pedro's drinkin' place last night and need Clyde to give me his very best, top class treatment today. He seems to sense this and is doing his best to swallow my large thick cock but unusually for him it keeps making him gag. In the end, in sheer desperation, he fills his throat with saliva, grabs me by my waist and thrusts my cock deep down his throat, entwining his tongue around its substantial girth in an attempt to drag me towards my climax.
Now begins our usual battle of wills: he is trying to make me shoot my load and I want to hang on to it. Usually it's me that wins, but today he wins and I give a groan and a heave as I flood his mouth with my musky spunk. Pulling out of his syphoning mouth halfway through, I allow my throbbing cock head to fire off its creamy load. The final spurts catch him on his thick voluptuous black man's lips before the last trickle dribbles out of my slit and oozes down my solid nine inches of white man's cock. I grab him behind his head and hold him in position.
"OK, black bo', dat was what Ah needed. Now you can clean off ma cock wit' yo'se cummy mout'." I know Clyde loves every drop of a white man's spunk almost as much as I love spilling it. Once again, Clyde has lived up to his rep on this beach. I slip him an extra $50 bonus. That way I'll be sure to be using him again.
Today, for the first time, I have seen the new kid Giordano that the guys at Pedro's have lately been raving about and lusting after like animals on heat. They have been going totally crazy about him for some days now, but as he crosses my line of vision I take an instant, irrational dislike to him. True, he is as sexy as all fuck but it is glaringly obvious he knows it and has given me the impression of being an arrogant teenage rent boy who is attempting to encroach on Clyde's territory. He'd better watch out, but I am not going to interfere and warn him of possible danger. Oh no, swaggerin' and struttin' as if he was a proud peacock in full display on this beach ain't gonna earn him a five star rating if Clyde catches him. Oh, golly Miss Molly, no indeed. Instead, as has happened occasionally in the past to high and mighty guys who've tried taking liberties with Clyde's operation, it will earn him a couple of shiners, a bloody nose and a few missing front teeth, not to mention an arse so sore he won't want to take even a pre-teen soft cock or to sit down for a week. As for me, all I want to do is to thrash that muscular, self-important arse, fuck it to within an inch of its life and teach it a lesson it will take a long time to forget. I love dishing out a bit of rough from time to time. Curious, innit, that once a thought like that lodges in the old brain box it's nigh on impossible to shift it, especially when such a thought and its accompanying mental images cause such gratifying rigidity in the front of my Speedos!
Thinking about it, ain't Giordano a bit of a poncey name for a kid of seventeen who's trying so hard to be macho and tough? Everybody knows he's staying at the Beach Hotel with two mates, Griff and Tom. Nobody staying at that hotel can do so without having a wad of money readily available and in Giordano and his mates case I reckon it must be his Daddy in Wyoming whose paying for this. Again, no one at the hotel has had any difficulty in discovering their names: they are noisy and rowdy and let everyone know just who they are. "Look at us," their loutish lads-on-vacation behaviour screams at us, "we're fuckin' horny sexy teens on the lam for a week or so an' lookin' to fuck mos' anythin' in sight. Our daddies are powerful, rich and they've paid for all of dis. If any of you queers and stuck up bitches doan like it, get de fuck off dis islan'! We're here to stay!" Definitely not the best way to ingratiate yourself with the other guests or the locals. Griff is dark and handsome with smouldering eyes and a body fit to die for. My guess would be he's mad for all forms of physical sport: football, rugger, baseball, Aussie rules, surfing, bungee jumping but, above all, fucking. Tom is taller, plainer to look at, sports a skinhead crop, lacks any kind of attractiveness or sexiness yet I've noticed two or three teenage girls giving him the glad eye come-on, so he must have something - a big cock, perhaps?
Giordano, on the other hand, simply oozes sex, from the way he fills his T-shirt and his denim cut-offs to the come-on sparkle of his brilliant cobalt blue eyes. The throb in my shorts tells me I must have him. He is the nearest thing I've ever seen to pure sex on legs. He has an alluring boyish shape and a golden lustre to his blond hair cut in the latest fashionable style. His heart stopping, cock hardening blue eyes are unforgettable and invite you to drown in pools of uncontrollable passionate love-making with him. Strong, well muscled thighs and buttocks suggest he could fuck you until the cows come home - and give your slightly jaded arsehole an animated evening! His cut-off pale denims are cut right up into his groin and have to stretch almost to breaking point to hold everything in. The tightly stretched back seam between his buttocks highlights an arse that is round, well muscled and winsome - the kind of arse in which you want to bury your face and feast on for hours. I notice his lower legs are overlaid with a soft golden down that glistens in the sun, a perfect hairless, tanned torso and pumped upper arms stretch the lycra T-shirts he always wears; finally, his crowning glory - a mouth that should be forever fellating cock (preferably mine.) The Speedos I'm wearing today are struggling to contain my cock as I watch him being as noisy and arrogant as any seventeen year old male has a right to be. Seriously, though, he does have a lot to be arrogant about.
I catch a glimpse of Giordano down on the beach later in the day. Gentle, rippling wavelets lap the golden sands, a soft breeze ruffles my hair, and my dick is half-stiff from surreptitiously watching him strain every sinew of his glorious body. He is, as always, with the other two, stripped to his cut-offs, displaying his outrageously fit chest, muscled shoulders and an almost permanently solid bulge. His lithe body strains and stretches with every movement as the trio play a strenuous, vociferous game of three-a-side beach football which they are forever telling us they invented. I am somewhat fearful that his cut-offs might split at any moment with the strain and exhibit his hidden treasures as well as revealing the prime cause of that provocative bulge. I pull myself upright on my beach towel, partly to hide my raging boner and partly to give an impression I am reading the crap paperback I had picked up earlier. My attention, though, wanders and there seem to be a lot of tasty young men about this week. Later that day, I learn from the bar tender at the refreshment hut that a gay cruise ship has put in. We get them from time to time during the season and I usually hang around the harbour, ogling the fabulous young males streaming off the liner whooping and shouting and heading straight for...yeah, you've guessed it...our beach. I have, from time to time, enjoyed fun and games with some of these boys but Giordano has become the one I most want to fuck. Several times he has glanced back over in my direction but I never bother to look away and simply pretend I haven't noticed him. After all, he's been giving us all the impression he's a totally straight lad who simply loves being the centre of everyone's attention. Lay one finger on his butt or dick and you'd probably spend the remainder of your vacation lying in a hospital bed with plastic tubes coming out of every orifice.
Years ago, when I came to live here on this magical island, I purchased a large luxurious villa for cash with some of my savings from my career, first as an expensive rent boy then secondly as an outrageously costly porn star - occasionally I am still recognised by fans and even the odd former colleague - but mainly as a retired producer/director of expensive gay pornographic movies. I was the guy who discovered the man who found fame and fortune as the originator of the biggest gay porn empire in Europe, based in Paris. Now, of course, with all those years of experience and acquired local knowledge, I have claimed the best spot on this beach as mine, only allowing Clyde access to it to ply his trade. I have decided to stay on my towel for the remainder of the afternoon. I take off my Speedos and am now butt naked, a signal to the beach patrols - and anyone else - that I do not intend leaving the beach any time soon. From this position I can see everything and everyone as they arrive, leave the beach, or trudge through the fine sand to the refreshments hut run by my good friend (he's the nearest to a lover I will ever get) whose name is Ari, short for Aristotle (really, some parents!) If I get bored, my eyes will occasionally follow those intrepid sex hungry souls who brave the scrubland behind the beach that is never disturbed by beach patrols and where sex always takes place in the hollows and a sparsely wooded area. That is where Clyde has gone after our little session. He holds court in a small dug-out lined and covered with brushwood. All the guys who come here looking for man-on-man sex eventually find their way to Clyde's hollow. Most of the beaches on this island have their own gay action spots with a regular beach bum lording it over them. Clyde's bum is almost as round and firm as young Giordano's but I'll take even money that Clyde's hole is a helluva lot looser than the youngster's!
I watch our three prize lads finish their game and leave the beach shouting and whooping, heading for Ari's hut for a cooling beer. They all look across in my direction as they wander off. I pick out the words "queer" and "arse bandit" as they giggle their way up the path. At least there is no hostility between us and I playfully give them a queenly little bow as they disappear. They love it. I can't help watching Giordano's strapping thighs trapped in that old denim and his bulging packet straining at the flimsy crotch. I make a grab for my knob which has suddenly hardened and is pointing to the skies above. Giordano's eyes catch me at that same moment. He smiles at me and licks his lips... I feel a frisson of excitement... my throat has suddenly gone dry... I can't breathe...
Since that extraordinary experience, I haven't seen the three teenagers for several days and conclude that they have probably decided to keep well away from the queers, just in case they are caught at a weak moment and become involved in something they don't want to know about. I have seen them sometimes down on our beach but they certainly made it crystal clear they were avoiding my patch. Yesterday I caught sight of Griff and Tom boarding the lunchtime water-bus across to the neighbouring bigger island of Espadon. I was surprised there was no sign of Giordano so I sauntered down to the small harbour hoping to find him there, but no luck. I felt sick to my stomach with disappointment. The boys only had a few more days of their vacation left and when I saw the other two going off without him, I had rather unwisely built up my hopes that I might yet get to fuck young Giordano. It was about mid-afternoon when I had one of those inexplicable, sudden sex attacks, right in my balls. I needed some action and I knew just the place to go. I packed up all my things in my towel and wandered off to find Clyde's hollow but before I got there I saw the small yellow flag fluttering from the tree above his dug-out. All the guys fly a flag from some prominent point when they're 'entertaining' to warn anyone else out looking for action that this location is temporarily occupied. My balls ached with frustration but I thought I'd hang around a bit. Maybe he was giving someone a quickie in the sand and would not take long.
It was no quickie. Nearly half an hour went by before a figure emerged from the dug-out. I almost doubled over as if I had been punched in the breadbasket when I saw it was Giordano, stripped to the waist and hastily trying to button up the fly of his cut-offs. He looked somewhat flustered and I caught a glimpse of his cock head as he tried to push it down into his shorts. Clyde appeared a few moments later and I saw the boy hand him two twenties and a ten. Thirty dollars - that was the price Clyde usually charged for a fuck and I guessed it was Giordano's arsehole that had taken Clyde's monster cock. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the youngster struggling to keep his footing in the loose sand as he walked away. His day was about to implode and did so emphatically when he saw me lounging back on one of the sand dunes, my legs spread, my rampant stiff cock stretching my tight swimwear to its utmost limits. I had a look on my face that was telling him that I knew everything and I wanted some of the action to keep quiet. As he struggled towards me he seemed to have lost all traces of the bravado and super-confidence he had displayed hitherto. His gaze appeared to be transfixed on my visibly twitching crotch. "Hi!" He sounded as nervous as a naughty little boy caught pulling the wings off an insect. I decided I'd play it tough, teach him that us wrinklies could be as macho as the twinks. I deliberately stared at him and when I spoke, I adopted the local patois, just to make him feel uneasy.
"Yo'm lookin' mahty fit dis afternoon, queer bo'." He blushed furiously when he heard the q-word. "Looks to me as if yo've bin a-suckin' on some ol' black cock... or else yo've bin a-takin' it up dat dere ass, huh?" I had set out to try and taunt him and the look on his face told me it was working...in spades. "So, d'ya spread dem fahn legs fo' anyone who wants it, huh? Or d'ya only do dat when yo're mates ain't aroun'?" I paused. He said nothing. I saw a little shadow of fear cross his eyes. I pressed on, advantage me. "Jes' yo' 'magine havin' a big hard cock ram itsel' up yo' li'l ol' fanny, spreadin' dem sporty ass cheeks an' fuckin' till yo' cain't breathe proper an' doan wan' it to stop." The look on his face changed. His expression was that of a guy who was utterly pissed off as he realised he'd been rumbled good and proper by an ageing poofter who was making no bones about wanting to fuck him. I resumed my repartee but this time I was going to lay it right on the line.
"Clyde's gotta real tasty dick, ain't he? The kin' yo'd expec' from sich a big black bro... but it doan compare any way wid mine, bo'. Oh golly, Miss Molly, no it doan." Despite himself, a quick grin flashed across his face. "Ah'll bet anudder twenty dollar bill wid any man dat yo'd jes' luv to have mah fat inches of solid hard man meat up yo' ass t'night, hmmm? Jes' 'bout as fer as it cain go." I was slowly stroking my cock as I was talking. Giordano licked his lips a couple of times with his tongue as he watched my full size hard-on tug at the fabric of my Speedos. He was obviously struggling to deny his lust for what he saw but the appearance of his knob pushing out of a leg of his cut-offs gave everything away.
"Yeah, Ah cain see yo' cock lahks dat i-de-ah, queer bo'. Yo'd tek ma dick an' beg fer me to give it yo', long an' hard... dere's a lot of cock packed into mah fat inches... an' it could all be yo's fer free cos Ah doan charge lahk Clyde do's." I could see the blood pumping in his throat. He could not speak; lust was overcoming his bravado. "Go on, queer bo', why doan yo' take off dem dere shorts an' let us see what yo've got packed inside. Let's see if yo' dick is worth me gettin' interested, huh?" He stood motionless. I could see the fight going on inside his head. His resistance was at breaking point. Right now he wanted to hate me... if I said or did the wrong thing I could end up with a knife between my shoulder blades.
"C'mon, yo' horny queer bo'. Yo' ain't goin' shy on me, is yo'? Ah cain't think why, yo've tekken all yo'r clothes off fer a complete stranger over in dem dunes so sho'ly yo'm not a-feared o' strippin' fer me. After all, it's not dat yo' haven't admired me when Ah've bin dere on dat beach. Ah've sin de way yo' look at me when I bin a-wanderin' down to de oh-shun. Ah've felt yo' eyes strip mah body nekkid. Fair's fair, queer bo'. Yo've gotta show me what yo've got." He probably had not realised that I had noticed him watching me diving off the rocks at the far end of the bay. That would have been the first time he could have seen the outline of my dick emphasised by the clinging wet fabric of my Speedos. My dick would have been extra thick knowing he was watching me. Blushing again, he unbuttoned his denim shorts and peeled them down until he was naked, apart from his beach shoes. His face was as red as his hairless sun burned chest; his nipples had received some hard treatment at Clyde's dug-out and were still taut, very stiff and erect, with a striking resemblance to a couple of erect miniature penises. I guessed he must be feeling nervous to his stomach and I watched, grinning lewdly as his young cock became as hard as bone. I estimated he had at least seven inches of thick fuck muscle and the foreskin was pulled back tight from the helmet. He gave a little gasp as a breeze sprang up off the sea and caressed his naked manhood, cooling the tingling of his arse and easing the burning in his balls.
"Dat's better, queer bo'. 'Tis good to see yo'm doin' as yo've bin told. Ah makes Clyde call me Sir. Yo' will do de same, un'erstan'?"
"Y-Y-Yes, Sir," he replied - but only after a lengthy pause.
"Good." I moved myself off the sand dunes where I had been sprawled and walked round him, candidly inspecting his physical attributes. "Hm, dat's not a bad lookin' cock yo've a-gotten dere," I paused, then added, "fer a young queer bo', dat is. I'se a-bettin' yo've lots of kids playin' aroun' wid dat, not to men-shun a-lickin' dem succ-u-lent balls a-hangin' dere."
I was deliberately treating him as if he was a prize bull at a country show. Giving him a light tap on the rump I spoke with a sharp note of command, dropping the local twang. "OK, you, now turn round, bend over and pull your cheeks apart. I want to see your asshole for a good look at the spot where all the action is gonna take place." Somewhat to my surprise he did as he was told, speedily and without argument. I was being intentionally and abusively domineering - and boy! did I enjoy that feeling! I had been stung by hearing the lads, including this one, call me a "fucking old queer" and other nasty things a few days previously. Now I had Giordano trapped and I was going to make him squirm. He didn't have the faintest idea that I had set myself targets of making his arse cheeks sting and follow through by fucking his arsehole hard, fast and bareback until I had dumped a load of jism up his chute. Both targets were now close at hand. I ran my forefinger around the rim of his arsehole, playing with him, teasing him. He snatched a deep breath when he felt my finger and allowed a soft little moan to escape from his lips. He wanted it and wanted it bad. Oh yes, indeed, Miss Molly! I relapsed into the local twang once more.
"So, is dis where de queer bo's lahk to explore wid dere tongues an' dicks, eh? Had quite a lot of dem up dere have you...?"
"Not many," he nervously replied.
"Ah bet dere's not bin too many pricks as big as mine, eh? Bet yo've not had too much real man meat up dat tight li'l ol' queer bo' ass, huh?"
"Shit, I've had some good size dicks up there. Size ain't everything, you know..." He was beginning to respond, to answer back (although with a cliché), his natural cheekiness returning. I liked that. It meant he was going to be responsive.
"Hah! but is dat what yo's wants raht now?"
He groaned. "Yeah, I need to be fucked real hard, man."
I stood there, looking at him. I gave his prick a couple of quick slaps with my hand, making it bounce around his tightly packed balls. He threw his head back, his eyes half closed. Moving in on him, I grabbed his throat and forced him to lie down on his back, sprawled on the sand. My other hand wrapped around his balls, squeezing them, not too hard but enough to cause him to give a little whimper. His eyes flashed open and I saw fear in them again. Deliberately keeping my face cold and impassive, I decided to treat him a bit more roughly.
"Yo're bein' disobedient, bo'. Ah t'ought Ah tol' yo' to call me Sir a li'l whiles ago. Seems to me yo' ain't bin a-doin' what yo' was tol' to do. Seems as if yo'm one o' dem stupid little queer bo's who doan do as he's tol' 'cos he tinks he's got a min' of his own an' he'll fuckin' well do what he wants. Yo' is a real dis-o-bed-i-ent li'l fucker, ain't yo? I t'ink yo' de-serve punishment, doan yo'?" I could see the fear was spreading.
"Yes... er... Yes, Sir!" His voice had developed a tremble. Not long to wait. He lay as still as a rabbit caught in the headlights of a speeding car, his blue eyes locked on to my glittering diamond-hard eyes. A trickle of piss leaked from his cock, dribbled down his golden thigh and soaked away into the sand between his legs. Yess! I've hooked him! He actually likes being treated like a dog turd! OK, my little queer boy, if that's what you want, you're gonna get it!
"Ah'll tell yo' once mo', queer bo', so yo' lissen good. Queer bo's lahk yo' who wanna enjoy de pleasures mah cock can offer need to ad-dress me as Sir whenever dey speak to me. Do yo' really wanna pleasure mah cock, queer bo'? Do yo' really wanna lick it wid yo' tongue, wanna taste it an' mebbe hold it in yo' mout' a while? Mebbe open yo' t'roat an' tek it all de way down yo' queer bo' gullet? Bes' of all, dough, do yo' truly wan' me to ram it up dat purty li'l queer bo' asshole of yo's? What d'yo' say, queer bo'? Wan' ma rampant dick up yo' queer bo' ass?"
He gave a funny little half groan, half sob. "Oh, yes, Sir. Please, Sir."
"Good boy." I had switched back to normal speech again, just to confuse him a bit. "However, I first have to punish you for your previous lapses and for being a disobedient fucker." He lay still, not saying a word, and almost crapped himself where he lay in fear.
I released my grip on him and allowed him to regain his composure. His body was covered with a fine film of perspiration caused not by the heat of the sun as it was beginning to set and the air was rapidly turning cooler - but by fear of me and his own anticipation of what might happen to him. I eased my Speedos down over my thighs, giving him a good view of my inches of semi-hard cock, hanging from my crotch, throbbing with every beat as the blood pulsed through it. The 'skin was pulled back from the crown, which was speedily acquiring a burnished reddish-purple colour. Although only semi-hard, it must have seemed monstrously large to the drooling youngster who simply could not tear his eyes away from it. My balls hung heavy in their bag, suspended from the base of my rod, gently swaying from the effect of the strong pulse beating through my veiny manhood. Without a word from either of us, I leant forward and suddenly forcefully grabbed his arm. In an instant I had him straddling my right thigh. He gave a hoarse, voice-just-breaking squeal and struggled to free himself but he was no match for my superior strength. I soon had him bent over my thigh, my right hand tight on his neck to hold him down, my left hand smoothing his exposed buttocks. The rapidly fading daylight glinted on the remains of whatever lube he'd used when Clyde fucked him where I'm gonna be fucking him before long. But first things first, as they say. A stinging rapid fore- and back-hand flip across his buttocks forced his head to jerk up and a rush of breath expelled from his parted lips.
"What d'you say to that, queer boy? Think disobedience is worth a good spanking?"
"Yes, Sir!" His voice was weak and unsteady. However, his throbbing dick was strong and firm against my thigh, telling me a different story. During this short exchange, my hand had been gently making soothing lazy circles on his right buttock. Without warning, I landed my first slap resoundingly, astounding him, taking his breath away. It occurred to me that this seventeen year old had probably never been spanked in his life before... today, however, he was going to experience something new and discover a new source of pleasure.
I gave him eight more hard slaps, four on both cheeks, feeling him squirm against my thigh but he remained firmly under my control. I continued slapping his arse hard, alternating between the cheeks, never keeping to a regular rhythm or pattern, making his buttocks gradually turn pink, then red and finally a deeper tone of crimson. At first, he only gave little grunts as each stinging slap found its mark, but as his arse began to glow he could not refrain from giving puppy-like yelps. Finally, he raised his head, opened his mouth wide and gave an inhuman, almost sobbing, roar. "Aaaagh! Please, Sir, stop. I'm hurting. Please, Sir..." I was gratified to note he had not forgotten to call me Sir but I had no intention of stopping. However, I paused every so often to soothe his skin, take away the heat and make him think it was all over. WHAM! WHACK!! Then I'd begin again.
I had it in mind to give him roughly thirty strokes but he was squirming and squealing like a stuck pig long before I reached ten. As the twentieth stroke approached, he was crying like a baby - deep, racking sobs. He slumped down on to my beach towel at thirty, an arrogant little boy who had been taught a hard lesson. I gazed down at him lying there, deep cardinal red spreading over the entire surface of his arse, his body quivering with pain and surely something else... excitement?... arousal?... submission? I was soon to find out.
He was still trembling when my dick, lubed-up with generous quantities of my spittle, pushed its obscene way between those scarlet arse cheeks and pressed on to force itself deep into his tube, still stretched and tender after being fucked by Clyde's masterpiece. He groaned and cried as I pumped harder and faster but did not struggle or endeavour to get away. The throbbing in his abused buttocks would have dulled any pain he might have felt as my turgid cock ploughed into him. It did not take long before he began to respond and ecstasy overwhelmed him, forcing new, harsher sounds from his throat. I pumped lasciviously into him, stroking myself inside him against the soft warmth of his rectal lining, taking him for the ride of his life. We came together: he dumped his load on to the sand and I filled him to overflowing with my hot jism, allowing some of the excess to trickle down over his golden thighs.
As we lay together on the sand, caressing and gently fondling each other, I knew the rest of his vacation was going to be different. He would never be the same self-important youth again. It was going to be all about sexy Giordano and me. That is, if only I can keep this blasted sand from getting under my fo'skin...
Laurie, 17/02/17