I won't say which country this is set in, if you are good at geography, you can probably figure it out for yourself. It was 1978 and I was 22. Since moving from the coast to the leafy suburbs of the largest city some 18 months previously, I had been on a fitness campaign. Whether it was the altitude or that I had become a little lazy, I decided I was in need of improvement. I stepped-up my running, swimming, used weights and just recently before this event, had started gym training with a 'personal trainer'. I was now running 10k in 35 minutes and a half marathon in one hour eighteen minutes.
My daily regime comprised a run every morning and often again in the evening. I loved wearing my skimpy shorts, which were revealing even by late 1970s standards. My favourites were some blue cotton Adidas shorts, with three white stripes and hem splits, just like Bruce Jenner had worn in the 1976 Olympics.
I was forever horny, wanking two or three times every day. I liked to cum onto my old navy blue nylon speedos, which I had owned since my swimming and diving days at school, then wear them under my shorts on my sweaty runs through the suburbs. When they had become too crusty or pungent, I would take an early morning run to the local out-door pool and when no-one else was there, take a swim in them to wash them.
Working as a technician with a house-building company, I liked to be hands-on with some of the more complex masonry work and lifting bricks and mortar all day helped with my muscle training. I rarely wore more than cut-off denim shorts and a tee-shirt for work and consequently was deeply tanned. I topped-up with sun-bathing at the pool or in the yard at home for a perfect speedo tan-line.
In the summer season between September and April, I used to swim at a new 25m outdoor pool about half an hour's run or a ten minute drive from where I lived. Otherwise, if there was a pool near where I happened to be working, then I would swim in my lunch-break or before making my way home.
My problem was that I liked men, more specifically having sex with men. I was mostly a bottom but could top, especially if it was a shorter guy with a great bubble butt. When I had first started work nearly four years ago, I was living in a construction camp for a huge industrial project. I had a small room in a single mens' accommodation block. In the first few weeks I was there, I spent too much time hanging around the washroom in my briefs and soon became known as a willing cock-sucker. Then things quickly got out of hand and I became the victim of a group of perverts in a phase of my life I am not proud of. Jan, a Dutch guy, who was junior management there and also on the accommodation committee, rescued me from this group and became my sort of pimp, such that access for sex with me was only with his permission and under his supervision. He himself though, had strong sadistic tendencies and soon it developed into a master and slave arrangement. I endured punishment and indignities, but equally I was disappointed if my services were not called upon. When work was running down on the project, I moved to a new job at the coast and we parted company.
Unfortunately, the country had draconian laws against homosexuality. You could be judicially caned and sentenced to hard labour in a prison camp for gross indecency offences, not to mention so called treatments rumoured to involve electric shocks and chemical castration, so one had to be extremely cautious in making any approaches and be particularly careful not to be caught in the act. It was not so easy to find sex living outside the closed societies of school or the construction camp. While I lived down on the coast there were occasional encounters on the beach and in the sand dunes, but rarely a satisfying fuck. I had had a lucky escape when I was arrested for hanging around in my speedos too long in the men's toilets at the beach. I was taken to the police compound, held in a bare room for a few hours, given a strapping, a humiliating internal examination, held for a while in a bare cell, then released with a warning, but not charged. The shame and outright fear still haunted me, but in other senses it was erotically stimulating. I am sure I was set up. The arrest happened about a month after a weekend visit from Jan when I had confided in him my beach cruising technique or it may have been a sexy guy I was trying to entice into the toilet block. This incident was the reason why I had changed jobs and moved to the city, but that's all a story for another time.
Back in the big city, I rented a room in a single storey house on a big plot. Hard to call it a lawn or garden, more a piece of veld. I shared with my landlord, Mike, and another guy who only ever slept there during the week, but my landlord's girlfriend Kate, was a near permanent resident too. She was a beautiful young woman and looked fantastic in her bikini. Kate was my confidante. She knew all about my preferences and experiences. She had revealed to me the real meaning of the 'Fitness training and discipline for boys of all ages' small ads in the newspaper. She egged me on to make the call and for the past few months I had been attending my 'personal trainer' on a Sunday morning in the next suburb. I was required to arrive precisely on time in clean white gym kit, no underwear, body hair neatly shaved. There was 50 minutes of intense interval and weights training in a big triple garage laid out as a well-equipped gym complete with wooden floor. This was followed by discipline for time or kit infringements or not meeting set targets. Discipline was a shorts-down caning over an old leather vaulting horse. There was no sex allowed or imposed but the canings always got my juices going and 'Sir' seemed to ignore my raging erections. I always left a dark pre-cum patch on the worn leather of the horse.
Sunday afternoons were quiet. Everything was closed. Mike always used to go and visit his daughter from his former marriage. Sometimes Kate would go with him, but, if it was a hot sunny afternoon, she would want to do some sun-bathing at our place, as she herself lived in an apartment block. I would also be out in the yard topping up my tan. She would set-up on the patio of the main bedroom and I would choose a spot on the other side of the house. At some point in the afternoon the teasing would start, either with the garden hose or with her wielding one of Mike's leather belts. After a chase around the plot and some play fighting, we would adjourn to the bedroom and she would scream with delight as I satisfied her. Since the spring and her fascination with my fresh Sunday cane marks, it had become a regular event. I was not however in danger of becoming straight.
It was January, the hottest month of the year. I was substituting a swim after work for my usual evening run. There was almost always a thunderstorm mid-afternoon at this time of year which cleared the air, but on this particular day it was oppressively cloudy and hot and the thunder had rumbled around all afternoon without the storm actually breaking. I was working on some prestige new houses near the motor racing circuit, so my local pool, just off the main road into town was the most convenient. As I arrived, there were only a handful of people there. I quickly changed into my speedos in the men's block. It had to be my decent newer black pair rather than my cum soaked favourites on this occasion. There were no lockers here, so I took my clothes, takkies (plimsolls/sneakers), soap and towel and placed them on a concrete bench at the poolside, then I started my swim. I usually aimed to do 40 lengths.
After about 10 lengths, the last of the patrons had left and there was just one guy who appeared to be working over by the plant room.
As I continued swimming, the sky was becoming darker and the thunder rumbled more loudly. At about 25 lengths, the guy came over to take some water samples. He was a great looking guy, a few years older, a bit taller and more mature in build than me with long curly hair. He was wearing a white tee-shirt with a wavy blue logo on it 'Aquatech' or something, and some small khaki jeans shorts which revealed his long thighs as he crouched by the pool. Absolutely just my type of man. Despite swimming fast, I could feel my cock getting hard.
As I passed close to him, he shouted 'How's your swim going?' Trying not to swallow water I said something like 'Getting there, nearly finished.' On the next pass he said 'How many lengths do you do?' I replied 'forty'. I missed his response in the splashing. At that point, I thought I detected the first drops of rain, so on the next pass I slowed down and asked him 'Do you mind putting my clothes in the changing room? I think it's starting to rain'. He replied 'no problem'. As I turned for the next length, I saw he was carrying my things in one hand, but he seemed to have my little blue briefs in his other hand as if he was having a sniff at them. It had been a hot, sweaty day and with some of the guys on site working stripped to their underpants, I had been horny most of the time. The briefs must have smelled quite rank and would have been full of snail trails.
By length 32 it was definitely raining. He had finished collecting his samples and I could see he was sheltering at the door of the changing block. There was a vivid flash of lightning with a near instantaneous clap of thunder as I swam away on the next length and as I turned for 35, the water began to hiss with a torrent of rain and hail. Quickly reaching the pool end I hoisted myself out and sprinted across the grass to the changing block. It seemed as if I became wetter over that short distance across the grass than I was in the pool. The hail was painful on my bare skin.
We stood together in the doorway watching the storm in amazement. The lightning and thunder were continuous and you could hardly make out the pool through the rain and hail.
I thanked the guy for bringing my clothes in. He said something like: you are lucky I am here. He didn't seem too talkative, not as friendly as he had been at the poolside, though it was difficult to hear anything over the noise of the storm. I had slowed my breathing after my exertions in the pool and was conscious of being so close to this good-looking guy. The changing block was nothing more than a short corridor where we were standing with the toilet on one side, then widening to an area no more than 2m by 2m, with a slatted bench, a few clothes hooks and high-level frosted windows. I had had the occasional encounter in the toilet cubicle. There was no shower, though there were two outside by the pool.
I was excited and wanted this guy so much, but scared to make a move. My cock was starting to respond, but doing the old 'just adjusting my cock' routine seemed too dangerous a move. He was standing on my left. I surreptitiously kept glancing at his gorgeous thigh and the front of his shorts. He was obviously well packed there, but I couldn't detect if he had a hard-on. We stood a minute or so longer watching the storm without talking. I did a bit of 'brushing surplus water' from the back of my speedos and I was slowly developing a bulge. The hail had stopped by now and the intensity of the rain was slightly diminished. You could just about see the pool but there was still plenty of lightning. I thought I might undo the tie-cord on my speedos. Being the old nylon type, not the modern lycra material, they tended to sag a bit at the front when the cord was undone. A bit of an old cruising trick as you could often catch a glimpse of cock in its speedo nest. Using a particularly vivid lightning flash as an excuse, I took a step backwards, quickly pulling the cord undone and having a better look at his arse at the same time. Very nice it looked in his little shorts exposed by his shorty tee-shirt. But then disaster: on the finger of his left hand there was a wedding band.
Disappointed, thinking what might have been, I watched the rain for a minute longer trying to stand casually with my thumbs in the waistband of my speedos at back and my palms on my arse cheeks and then declared:
‘Seems to be clearing now, I'm going to dry off.’
As I turned to face the changing area, he swiftly turned and caught my neck in an armlock with his left arm,
‘No you're not, you dirty little slut boy.’
I could have fought, but bodily contact with this guy was what I'd been hoping for, though I hadn't imagined it would be quite like this. Turning me half around to face him, he slapped my right butt cheek hard with his free hand. Yanking my speedo down at the back to fully expose my butt, he administered further hard slaps on my bare cheeks. I yelped, arching my body to vainly distance my butt from his hand, but also thinking he must surely be able to see the fading cane marks from the previous Sunday.
He twisted me fully around and forced me to my knees, facing his crotch. Now grabbing my wet hair with his left hand (I was in my Roger Daltrey longish curly phase at that time) with his right hand he undid the waist button of his shorts and pulled down the zip. He had little navy blue discount-store briefs on of the type I wore and there was clearly something big inside. I was excited and scared at the same time, I knew what was coming. As I was prone to do in such circumstances, I pissed myself a little. Hitching down his briefs revealed a monster. Cut, not quite fully erect, it was longer than my own not inconsiderable offering, but it was as thick as any I had experienced before.
'Suck it, slut boy' and he slapped me face with his free hand.
Though I had had plenty of experience of this when I was living at the construction camp, in fact my tops said I was really good at it, I was somewhat out of practice and I had rarely taken one this size before. I started slowly and tenderly with the tongue and reached down to my own cock that was still trapped in the front of my half-pulled-down speedos. I used to love jacking-off as I sucked cock and usually came myself the instant the top’s cum flowed.
'Suck it, I said' as he thrust deep into my throat, pulling me towards him by my hair.
I gagged and gagged again as he thrust forward pulling me onto him. Plans to jerk my own cock as I sucked him were abandoned. I was holding onto his thighs for balance and to try and resist the ferocity of his thrusting. He pounded my face until I was nearly passing out for lack of breath, then he would withdraw, slapping my face, allowing me to take one gasp of air before plunging in again. I clamped my lips tight around his shaft in the hope of making him cum quickly, but the pattern of thrusting, my gagging, gasping, slapping and more plunging carried on. The rain outside still poured down, but I was sweating, drooling spit and frankly only half conscious.
Still he carried on, grabbing my wet hair and forcing me down on him right up to the hilt as I choked then he released, allowed me to take half a breath then continued just as hard. Sometimes shifting to inside my right cheek then to the left, the pounding continued without let up. My mind flashed to the techniques I had been coached in; I was forgetting about looking up at master with puppy eyes. My eyes were for the most part pressed up hard against his abdomen, but in one of the brief breathing intervals I managed to look up and made eye contact. The effect was to make him thrust even stronger if that were possible. I was beginning to pass out, but managed the eye contact again while gasping for breath. He started to moan and released the grip on my hair. At the next gasp, I did the big puppy eyes again and held out my tongue as I had been taught. He put both his hands behind my head and pushed my mouth back hard onto his cock. I was waiting for that big jet of hot cum that I adored so much, but no, he withdrew, grabbed me by my hair and pulled me upright, at the same time using his foot to yank my speedos down to my ankles. He then frog-marched me with my ankles tethered by my speedos along the corridor to the slatted bench in the changing area.
With the fading afternoon light and the deep cloud from the storm, it was quite gloomy in there apart from the occasional lightning flash. It continued to rain heavily though the thunder seemed to be becoming more distant. My clothes, takkies and towel had been thrown into the corner, but my little blue pre-cum stained briefs and my bar of soap were centre on the bench. Gripping my hair, he kicked the bench away from the wall, picked up the briefs and although I was still gasping for breath and drooling, he stuffed them into my mouth. He put one foot on my speedos which were still around my ankles, forcing one leg out of them and straddling me over the bench at one end, then pressing the back of my neck, forced me forward and told me to hold the other end of the bench and stay there. With his free hand he picked up my soap bar and slicked it up and down my arse crack which was still wet. The soap burned as he worked it into my hole. Still struggling for breath and half dazed I knew what was coming. I felt his tip trace down my arse crack locating my hole and without further ado, plunged his cock deep inside me. Being tight from months of no action, it felt as if a dagger had split my arse apart. I screamed into my gag with pain and just a hint of pleasure. I tried to arch my back to pull away, but I was stuck with my legs straddled and if I had let go with my arms, I would have fallen flat on my face. He pushed my head back down with one hand and spanked my right buttock really hard with his other, then started to thrust deep and rough.
With a rhythm developed, I looked down between my legs. I could see upside-down his gorgeous tanned thighs and the hems of his little khaki shorts. My own cock and balls were bouncing in tune with the thrusting. I was responding, for months this was what I had been aching for, a damn good fucking, though perhaps not as intense and uncontrolled as this. He held my neck down, I kept gripping the bench as he continued to pound my arse, groaning, half pain half pleasure, into my gag. He shifted his position; he was now hitting my sweet spot. I shuffled back a fraction on my toes, putting more strain onto my arms but allowing his thrusts to hit just in the right place. My cock was now fully erect. He slapped my arse again hard. I don't know why having my arse punished turned me on so much, but it did. A thought flashed back to my time at the coast and my trip to the police compound in my speedos and having my arse strapped. It was enough, my hole began to clench, his rhythm changed to a slower deeper thrust and at the same instant as I shot jet after jet of hot cum onto the bench and floor, I felt that favourite warm wet tickle as he came inside me. My arms collapsed and we fell forward onto the bench as he thrust as deep as he could go, still pumping.
Face down, my head over the end of the bench, I was looking at my own cum on the floor. With my arms now free of holding the position, I reached to remove my gag, but he clamped his hand over my mouth and pushed the briefs even further in. He slicked out of me, cleaning the excess off his cock in my arse crack. He stepped alongside me and seemed to reach over. I thought he was picking up my towel, but no, he had taken one of my takkies and he proceeded to use it to whack my arse cheeks with enormous ferocity first one side then the other, over and over again. I screamed into my gag and tried to escape from the bench, but he had moved to the side with his left knee pinning my back and his right hand thus free to destroy my arse cheeks.
‘You dirty little perverted slut. Shame I haven't got a cane. I'd show you what it means to be caned.’
One ferocious slap after another, alternate cheeks, my pleadings to stop unheard through the gag. My cock was being painfully bruised as I bucked and rolled on the hard bench trying uselessly to avoid the punishment. He stopped, throwing my takkie back into the corner, his arm must have tired. He fastened his shorts button and pulled up the zip.
‘Clean up that mess on the floor before you go’, and with that, he walked out.
It took me a minute or so to recover my composure. I just lay uncomfortably on the bench shaking. I realised I still had my briefs in my mouth and took them out. My mouth and lips were sore, my arsehole was sore, my cock was bruised, but moreover my arse cheeks were burning after their vicious spanking. He must have seen my fading cane marks from last Sunday morning and it clearly triggered his sadistic side.
I eased myself up from the bench and rubbed my sore arse. There were strings of my cum on the floor and on the slats of the bench. I wiped it all up as ordered using my dirty little briefs. They were well soaked with my spit and cum by the time I'd finished. I hung them on one of the clothes hooks, then I picked up my towel, takkies, shorts and tee-shirt and put them neatly folded on the bench, perhaps in a sub-conscious attempt to retrieve some order.
The rain hadn't quite stopped but it was a little brighter, though at the same time the light was beginning to fade as evening came. I needed to have a shower and start on my way home. The lights on my truck were not great and the last thing I needed now was to be stopped by the police. I had to go outside to the poolside showers so I picked up my wet speedos and eased them over my burning arse. I took my soap, but left my towel otherwise it would get wet outside. My speedos didn’t fully cover the redness from the spanking I had just endured and there was part of one cane mark from last Sunday that was exposed beyond my tan-line.
The thunder was still rumbling in the distance, but the air had a freshness, the pine and eucalyptus smell as always after a big storm. The pool looked tempting and I decided I should quickly finish my interrupted forty lengths. I thought I was up to about thirty-two, so I dived into the deep end and struck out with a steady front crawl. The water felt so great, cooled by the intense hail storm, it relieved my aches and soothed by burning arse. A thought struck me as to what I was going to wear under my cut-off denim shorts on the way home, wet speedos or cum soaked briefs. I needed something, the shorts had no lining and were cut so high that my cock would otherwise escape. I did a perfect racing turn at the far end then accelerated my stroke towards the changing block end. Another great turn and at racing speed another length and turn heading for my final few lengths. I glanced at some movement by the entrance gate and slowed to take a better look. It was two cops.
This was not good. I reached the end and turned again continuing my swim. They were bound to find my cum soaked briefs if they went into the changing room. This could be yet another trip to the police compound in speedos, but this time already with spanking and cane marks to explain, not to mention an arse full of cum. I had been warned last time that any further indecency incidents would likely lead to prosecution, a judicial caning and an extended stay in a 'correctional facility'. The images flashed through my mind of my past experience; being led off from the beach in handcuffs, transported in the cage on the police truck, held in a stinky cell then being bound naked to a spanking bench and receiving fierce strokes of the strap. I pissed myself as I swam. As I turned again, one cop was now by the end of the pool, signalling for me to stop. The other was heading to the changing block.
‘Sorry to spoil your swim meneer, but can I ask how long you’ve been here?’
‘Er, only a few minutes’, I stuttered, feigning being out of breath, ‘I have been waiting in my truck outside for the storm to pass’.
‘Did you see anyone else here?’
‘No, everyone was gone by the time I came in. I saw a maintenance guy leaving just as the rain was stopping.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘No, though the storm was so intense for a while. It was difficult to see out of my truck.’
‘Would you mind stepping out of the pool for a minute.’
I pissed some more as I hoisted myself out of the pool, making sure to keep my back away from the officer. I realised I needed to expel the cum from my hole, but I had missed the opportunity.
‘Now, what’s your name?’
‘Tony Buller, sir, b-u-double l-e-r.’ I spelt it out, because I knew that on my last run-in with the police, they had recorded it as Boller.
‘Well Mr Buller, it’s just we have had a complaint about men engaging in sex in the changing room. You would not have anything to do with that, would you?’
‘No, no, I didn’t see anything.’
The other cop was emerged from the changing room carrying my little blue briefs on his pen. I must have gone pale and released another stream of piss which trickled warm down the inside of my leg. Fortunately, I was still dripping wet from the pool so it was not immediately noticeable.
His colleague approached, ‘What have you found there, Farnie?’
‘These little pants smell a bit ripe; someone has recently ejaculated in them.’
The first cop turning to me said ‘They are not by any chance yours, are they?’
‘No, no, sir.’ I probably replied far too urgently, ‘they were hanging on a wall hook, when I put my clothes and towel on the bench in there. I didn’t want to touch them, they looked gross.’
‘What do think, Farnie, should we take him in for examination?’
I released more piss, this time erupting through the thin nylon of my speedos, but they were concentrating on the briefs, and it quickly dissipated, I think I also let some of the cum in my arse go too.’
‘Well, he looks the type in his skimpy little swimming costume, but these briefs look to be too small for him and his clothes seem to be in a nice pile in there, so we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.’
Adjusting my stance to keep my backside away from them, I muttered something incoherent about ‘definitely not mine and thank you so much’.
Farnie said to the first officer, ‘We’ll put these in an evidence bag and see if anything else crops up.’
I made a mental note to dispose of the matching pairs of the same brand and size that I had. I used to buy ‘LB 72-76’ large boys size for the tight sexy fit. They turned and headed towards the gate. I carefully twisted away from them and slid back into the pool.
Then Farnie turned and said ‘Incidentally, Mr Buller, where are your briefs?’
‘I…I just wear my trunks under my shorts for a quick change by the pool.’
‘OK, I just wondered’
By the tone of his voice, he clearly doubted me. The image of being stretched on the punishment bench at the police station, flashed through my mind again. They continued on, out of the gate.
I did two more lengths, then dashed for the changing room, towelled down quickly, pulled on my t-shirt and my little cutoff denim shorts over my damp speedos, slipped on my takkies and ran for my truck. It started first time, which was a plus. The Thursday evening traffic was slow, there was debris on the roads from the storm and some flooding. The daylight was fading rapidly and my headlights were little more than a cream-coloured glow.
My head was spinning with trying to make sense of what had just happened. What a fantastic fuck that was; I felt it must have ranked in the top two or three of my life. Yes, it had to be regarded as another sadistic rough fuck, which I had vowed to avoid after my experiences at the construction camp, but shooting cum while being fucked was an exquisite experience. I just seemed to attract the sadistic types. The spanking had really hurt, but perhaps it was a rightful punishment for my behaviour.
My hole was still throbbing and I realised I still had most of his big load inside me. The guy must have called the police. There was definitely no-one else around in that storm. What if I saw him again? What if we’d been caught? We could have gone to prison together and he could have fucked me like that every day, twice a day even three times a day. I might have been sentenced to a judicial caning. I could only imagine what that felt like: my cock twitched. What if the police had turned-up five minutes earlier when I was still mopping-up cum in the changing room? What would have happened at the police station? I had real experience of the humiliating internal examinations and being stretched over a punishment bench. They would have found the cum inside me. I shuddered at the thought. Then the spanking; my arse was sore to sit on, how was I going to explain my bright red arse to my personal trainer on Sunday. I was likely to get a severe caning from him, perhaps I would cum on his vaulting horse.
By the time I was nearing home, my cock was straining out of the hem of my speedos. What was wrong with me, it was barely an hour since I’d shot a massive load.
Kate was cooking dinner in the kitchen when I got back wearing her tight jeans and shorty white tee-shirt. Mike and the other guy were not home yet. The first thing she said was ‘What happened to your lips?’ I had not realised they were bruised purple from the severe face fucking. I related in detail what had happened. I could see I was turning her on.
‘Let’s see your butt then’
I lowered my shorts and still damp speedos, to show my, by now ,bright pink butt, releasing my cock at the same time.
‘Wow! That looks really sore, I’m going to rub some balm on it. Slip your pants off and bend over the table.’
I readily complied, spreading my legs as if to receive another spanking. Maybe she was fetching Mike’s leather belt. There was a string of pre-cum dangling from my cock. In a few seconds she returned from the bedroom with a jar of stuff and proceeded rub it slowly and firmly onto my sore arse cheeks. It invoked a memory of a similar situation in my teen years. It felt so good. Her fingers traced towards my arse crack, then slowing up and down it, then touching my hole, pressing harder, one finger inside, then two, absolutely exquisite and my second load of the evening was dripping onto the floor.
‘Good boy. Was that nice? Now release all that nasty cum that’s up your arse.’
