SWEAT! (5) This contains the usual: gay pornography, disciplinarian fetish, and suitably idiotic situations - so if, by chance, you shouldn't be reading this, or don't want to be reading it, then please don't read it. Simple!
Thanks so much to those who emailed me after episode 3 and episode 4. I really like getting comments. My address is thobyj@yahoo.co.uk.
The story so far is that Marmaduke is a right sexy little so-and-so and is subsequently being subjected to some harsh athletic training and discipline from Frank Wrath - Etonesque triathlon coach. And all for our lecherous benefit too. Also, something about a guy called Eric who's older than Marmaduke and has a thing for Marmaduke's Speedos. Or something. Oh, dear. Anyway, we find Marmaduke where we left him last time. . .
. . .feet splashing in the shallow, flea-infested bog. The surf-ski he was carrying across his back weighed him down into the mud. It was knee-deep, then waist-deep, and then suddenly chest-deep, and he wallowed in the brown murk. The soft mud rose again underfoot and he ran on. On horseback, clear of the spraying, dirty water, Frank wielded the Lite-Carbon buggy-whip. It whistled - and with remarkable accuracy, scored a second, thin, red stripe across Marmaduke's little rump.
"KER-RACK!!!", it went.
"OWW!!! SHIIT!!!", Marmaduke went.
"Shut the fuck up! You whiny-arse cry-baby!" went Frank.
Marmaduke increased his pace. The burden across his shoulders unbalanced him and caught awkwardly on tree branches and vines. Something underwater snagged on his jocks and ripped them off.
"Let's go, faggot! Show uncle Frank what you're made of!" yelled the mounted coach cheerfully. For a third time, the stinging whip whistled and neatly popped the backside of the youth with a loud crack!
Marmaduke wanted to curse, but could only grunt with effort as he fell into another submerged hole. Eventually, they began skirting the whole swamp. In the shallows, Marmaduke could run properly without needing to half swim, his dangling cock slapping against his thighs - and Frank could direct a well-aimed swish at the naked lad's tail-end. The lithe, muck-slick youth slip-slopped along resolutely, disturbing frogs and attracting mosquitoes.
They made grinding, unpleasant progress. If only this part of his training ordeal could be gotten through, Marmaduke thought, the rest wouldn't be so bad. Couldn't be so bad. He pushed on, his arms aching with strain and his legs humming with effort. His breathed wheezed. A slight stumble a momentary slowing of pace and . . .
. . . swish. . .KER-RACKK!!!
. . . the smack of man-made whipcord on bare, wet skin. He didn't hear what Frank yelled. His own twisted mouth bitterly grunted a curse and his bottom lip quivered in pain and outrage.
The disgusting morass underfoot gave way to grass, then to sand. They were heading back, the tortuous run due for completion. With Frank's house in sight, Marmaduke put on a spurt of speed and outdistanced Kiara's thudding hooves. Every muscle screamed for relief. He mounted the grassy embankment and plonked the surf-ski onto Frank's lawn. As Frank and Kiara arrived, he was leaning on his knees trying to get breath back into his lungs.
"Not bad, lad. You might just have the right kind of stamina. Not a bad effort at all," said Frank kindly as he dismounted. Marmaduke looked pleased. "And get rid of that," Frank continued, nodding in passing at a half-turgid erection on the boy. "If you've got that kind of energy left in you, it means we're not training you hard enough!" Marmaduke's thick, fleshy appendage twitched horizontally - half-heartedly seeking attention, then quickly drooped, embarrassed.
Marmaduke was shown a short piece of hose protruding from the exterior laundry wall. He showered under it, hurriedly but blissfully, rejoicing in the cool, splattering wetness. Then he was allowed to retrieve his jeans and t-shirt from where they had been dumped on Frank's living-room floor.
Still wet, but dressed at least, Marmaduke found that he had more to learn. He cleaned the dirt and mud from Kiara's saddle and tack, and applied a coat of pH conditioner and fat. It rubbed in smooth and greasy, making the leather supple and shiny. Only when Frank was satisfied that the entire leather riding kit was cleansed of the damaging water, was Marmaduke allowed to go home for the rest of the day. He hotfooted it back to Eric's, tired limbs feeling hollow.
He was also horny. Back at the house, he peeled off his t- shirt and Eric saw how quiveringly agitated he was.
"How was it, Pumkin'? You look fit enough to bounce off the walls!"
"Yeah. OK."
Marmaduke's breath was shallow and hot. His chest heaved excitedly. Eric's hand went there, to find the boy's skin warm and only very slightly moist. He pinched one of the delicate nipples - it was as hard as bubble-gum. The hand traced down lightly to the darling melon of the narrow tummy, and four fingers slipped easily into the waist of the wet jeans. Eric pulled the boy to him, and Marmaduke complied, supple and ready. The head of the lascivious lad bent-backwards exposing an expanse of throat where Eric placed his face and breathed in the beautiful, milky aroma of fresh, young skin and flesh.
The hand at Marmaduke's jeans fumbled - a little desperate now - with the metallic buttons.
"Jesus, Kiddo! You're trembling. What did Frank do to you?!"
"He whipped me."
"Ha! You wish! You little brat!"
"No. He really did. . . Fuck! Get my jeans off! I'm gonna come!!"
An over-excited young cock jumped forth from the its denim opening. The cut, purple end of it dribbled clear fluid and Eric could see the big, blue vein down its side, pulsing. Now, the whole organ was starting to jerk.
"Relax! Relax! Don't come, Pumkin'!" entreated Eric, a little worried.
Marmaduke moaned; "Ohhhhh Nooo! Ohhhh Shiiit!"
"Don't grab it! Just relax! Relax and push. As if you're doing a piss!"
Poor Marmaduke bit his lip and shut his sweet eyes. The spasms subsided. He had not come.
"It worked!" he gasped.
A sticky glob of clear juice squeezed out from the eye of his engorged penis and bungee-jumped slowly to the carpet on the end of a long strand. Eric gently held the boy's head and sucked on his supple, rubbery, lower lip. He let go.
"Alright. Now get your pants off, Sexy," Eric said, softly ". . . Holy shit!"
"What?"
"He did give you a whipping!"
"I told you he did! But did you believe me? Nooooooo!" sang Marmaduke precociously.
"Oh, shutup! Brat!"
Marmaduke's bare rump was cross-hatched with a number of skillfully placed, thin lines of a rather attractive, rose coloured hue. Eric's hand reached out, fascinated, - but didn't touch.
"You can feel it if you want. It doesn't hurt," said Marmaduke nonchalantly.
Eric cocked an eyebrow and placed his palm, ever-so-lightly on the twin, rounded, red-lined buttocks. Together, they were no wider than the span of his hand - and were as hard as marble. There were little dimples in the skin just above each smooth orb.
"That bastard!" said Eric, amazed but not angry. "My word! Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"
"It doesn't hurt, Eric. It's all part of the training. Don't worry about it! Now come and play with my dick!"
Eric knelt down on the carpet before the boy's outstanding prong - and came close to it. It was shiny and glazed with pre-semenal fluid. He touched it. It was slippery and fat, and throbbed visibly. He placed a hand on each of the boy's bony hips and began to gently lick. His tongue darted in and out, tasting and tantalizing. He licked the underside of the upstanding shaft, tasting sweet sweat, musk, and oily effusion.
Marmaduke groaned. His dick twitched and throbbed, smacking quietly and wetly into his belly. Eric took the head into his mouth and nibbled gently at the edges of the glans. His tongue probed and twiddled, burrowing into the v-shaped recess where the underside of the head joined the skin of the shank.
Marmaduke groaned again. Eric let the blood-stiffened meat pop out of his mouth. He put his cheek - then his lips - against the tidy and hairless skin of the thigh, where he fancied the muscles twanged like guitar strings. His fingers tickled the back of the boy's knees, then slid upwards, dancing lightly across the hard, little muscles at the back of the thighs, until his hands cupped the buttocks in a firm, fleshy grip.
Eric stood up and brushed away Marmaduke's hand, stopping the boy from stroking himself.
"Don't touch it. It'll be better if you hold off."
Marmaduke seemed less sure. Almost sobbing, he moaned, ever so softly; "I'm gonna come I'm gonna come I'm gonna come I'm gonna come. . ." his soft lips pouting in sexual distress.
"Think about racing cars."
"Oh, fuck. . ." Marmaduke whimpered pathetically.
Tiny beads of sweat prickled Marmaduke's bare skin. It seemed that his insistently throbbing penis could erupt at any moment. It strained and arched, begging for attention, refusing to be ignored.
"Come into the kitchen," said Eric, dragging the naked and highly aroused stripling by the wrist.
"Why?"
"I'm going to rub some moisturizer into your backside. Those welts look rather disfiguring."
"Fucking hell! Don't worry about it!"
In the kitchen, Eric had produced a huge plastic bottle (which had been conveniently at hand) of a UV factor +15 skin-care product, popular in sunny climes. He waved it happily at Marmaduke, as if to say; "look what I've got for you!"
"Eric, why are you messing around with that large bottle of globby, creamy, cool, lubricating stuff which would make me oily and greasy if applied liberally, when I'm standing here on this easily-cleaned linoleum kitchen floor, hot and naked, and desperately in need of servicing?" Marmaduke asked in a single, uncharacteristically complex sentence. "Why don't you just place it precariously on the edge of the table here. . .?"
Marmaduke snatched at the bottle, grabbed it, and momentarily struggled with Eric. The lid inexplicably flew off and of course, the UV factor +15 moisturizer went everywhere. It slopped down onto Marmaduke's head, shoulders, and chest, and spattered over everything else.
"Now look what you've done!"
"I didn't do it! Give it here!"
Eric grappled with the lubricious teenager and attempted to tickle him - but Marmaduke, nude and covered in great gobs of the runny fluid from the bottle was as slippery as a greased swine.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! - WHOOOOOPS!!!" Marmaduke squealed like a girl.
They both skidded over onto the floor, Eric on top. Their lips continued the struggle, desperately. Marmaduke tasted of the bottle's contents; tea-tree oil - calendula - chamomile - hypericum - rose oil. Shit! It was an expensive product they'd just sprayed everywhere! Eric's hands slid over the writhing boy's slick flanks and around his torso. He sneaked an oily finger into Marmaduke's anal passage. Marmaduke flinched, shuddered, and moaned; "Oh shit I'm gonna explode I'm gonna explode!" Eric grabbed his supple little waist and flipped him over easily. The boy complied, awkward limbs all clumsy angles. Now, Marmaduke positioned himself on his elbows with his bottom in the air. His knees slipped on the greasy floor as Eric grabbed his hips and hoisted them further upwards.
Eric unzipped and breathlessly unholstered his primed cock. Marmaduke's pink hole puckered in waiting. He leant over the boy and gently nudged the hard, rounded end against the tight, little quoit, testing the resistance. Then he penetrated, smoothly and adroitly. Marmaduke opened and accepted and they both moaned in unison and flattened to the floor, Eric breathing into the kid's ear while he bored from above - slow and controlled.
Eric held him, deeply shafting in and out. In the quiet of the kitchen, their hard breathing and the soft, wet smack, smack of their well-lubed fucking could be heard. Marmaduke skidded on the floor a few times but braced himself, moving in rhythm. Presently, Eric came and withdrew his prong.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he moaned in post-coital relief.
Marmaduke flipped over, his glabrous, shiny young body taut and ready to go. He arched his back off the floor as Eric reached for the purple erection straining against the excited youngster's belly. The oily hand stroked gently, bringing him off. When Marmaduke came, it was with a long, long spurt of white, boy-juice, shooting horizontally over his shoulder. It was prolonged and audible - like a healthy, white piss. Marmaduke grunted and unloaded in hot, streaming jets, one after the other. Uncontrolled, muscular spasms jerked his body. His jism mixed with the creamy stuff already all over the place and he sank back, exhausted, onto the wet floor.
"You can have the first shower, you little grub," Eric said affectionately to the expended, still groaning boy stretched out on the filthy linoleum.
Dripping gunk, Marmaduke made his way to the bathroom, steamed himself clean under the nozzle and put on a decent set of clothes. The pair of them cleaned the kitchen and spent the afternoon in the warm sun - Eric reading Plutarch's 'Lives' and Marmaduke complaining that he didn't have his computer with him.
"Frank said you wouldn't have time for any of that stuff,"
Eric said, referring to Marmaduke's repeatedly voiced preference to be playing 'Gran Turismo'.
Eric scratched the boy's bumpy back and admired his twisting, droopy shoulders. "Don't whine like a brat, please, Marmaduke. Maybe I'll buy you a new computer. If Frank lets you have one."
"Hmmmmmmmm," said Marmaduke, remembering that Frank wanted him ready for training quite early the next morning, but that will wait 'till next episode.