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From: Bookman Archives <readebks@wolfenet.COM>
Subject: RP: Eternal Youth Mm, MF, historical
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(Note: I am not the author, only the archivist.
The following story contains themes of explicit sex. If you're not
old enough to be here, you're not old enough to read it. Scram.)
As far as I know, these are the only two episodes of this tale.
==========================================================================
THE ETERNAL YOUTH
Written in (Sometime) and (Somewhere) by Drow Elf--
radix mallorum.
I remember distinctly what I was doing in 1716 because it was the
year I became immortal.
I was in England, working at a tavern in a small village on the
road from Dover to Liverpool. I was an 18 year old orphan who looked
about four years younger and was slight of build for my age. My
complexion was clear and smooth, and my jet black hair dragged
slightly over my blue eyes.
With my fresh young face I had found work at Troll's Nose Tavern.
My only wages were scraps and leftovers, but the kindly tavern
keeper's wife treated me well, feeding me hot gruel on the Sabbath and
letting me sleep in their stable. The tavern keeper was moderate
enough towards me when sober, but once he got a few drinks in him, he
would whip me over the most trivial matter.
It was a quiet Spring night when a well-dressed traveller walked
in. By his fine clothes one might have thought him a gentleman, but
on closer inspection one saw the earthy, cunning face, the sharp,
critical eyes, the bulging money pouch, the ready dagger, and one
could surmise him a merchant at best, or else a smuggler... Two
associates travelled with him, one a burly huntsman with a rapier at
his belt, and the other a fat, dark-eyed, sinister rogue with missing
teeth and a firearm at his belt. The well-dressed traveller was
clearly not to be trifled with.
After they seated themselves, having roughly expelled a dozing
drunkard from a table by the window, I approached them with
trepidation and meekly asked them how I could serve them. The
huntsman and rogue said nothing, but stared at me as if I would be
better off dead; the merchant, however, inquired if we served any
decent wine. I said we did, even though I knew my master watered it.
The merchant told me to fetch him and his mates a bottle, a loaf of
bread, and butter. I asked if that would be all, and he gave me a
sharp glance, smiled, and purred that if he needed something else
later he would let me know.
I was trying to decipher that last comment as I walked back to the
kitchen. Before I went in, I turned around and looked back at the
merchant. He was staring right at me! The huntsman and rogue
appeared disinterested, lazing in the chairs and yawning or stretching
their arms. I hurried into the kitchen.
The tavern keeper was in a bad state tonight, sprawled in a chair
with a bottle of devil's brew in his lap. I gave his wife the order
for bread and wine, and she began preparing them. Abruptly the tavern
keeper grabbed my arm and asked me if I was doing a good job. Since I
knew better than to try and get away, I kept still and said that I
was. He used me as a support to get on his feet and walked out and
surveyed the main room. He asked me who I was serving, and I pointed
them out. "Fine gentlemen, they," he said, "and ye bloody well take
care not to spill any wine like ye did last month, Larson!" For
Larson was my name. I said nothing but turned to his wife who had
nearly finished loading the tray. After a moment she handed it to me.
As I passed by the tavern keeper, he whispered about what to charge
these men, and I nodded my head.
Careful not to spill anything, I slowly advanced to the merchant's
table. I laid the tray down and the three men immediately took the
bread and began slathering the butter over it with a short knife the
rogue had produced from his shirt.
The merchant eyed me closely, resting his stare particularly on my
waist and below. Slowly I became aware that he was staring at my body
as another man might look at a woman. You may think I was naive, but
keep in mind that I was a young lad, only recently forced out into the
wide world. The thought had just crossed my mind as I took the wine
from the tray and approached the merchant to fill his mug. While I
poured the wine, the merchant grinned lustily at me. I darted a quick
glance at him. Suddenly I felt him pinch my bottom! Startled, I
dropped the bottle on the table, where it quickly rolled off onto the
floor and shattered!
The tavern keeper, who had been overseeing my work with an eagle's
eye, bellowed an epitaph. The rogue and huntsman burst into fits of
rude laughter. I reached back a hand to rub my pinched bottom and
blushed with embarrassment. The merchant stared at me in amused
wonder and shook his hand, still smiling. I heard the thundering
steps of the tavern keeper approaching me but the fact didn't register
in my stunned mind until his heavy hand was clapped on my shoulder,
which he then held in vise-like grip. He briefly addressed the three
men, apologizing for my clumsiness and growling, "He shall serve ye
another bottle, after I get through whipping him!"
At the mention of a whipping I shuddered. My buttocks tensed as I
imagined how sore my behind would feel when he was through with it.
The merchant tried to interject a confession that he had some part in
my accident, but the tavern-keeper interrupted him, saying, "I've had
enough of this lad's wasteful ways, and I shall put an end to it!
He'll work the rest of the night but I warrant he shan't be sitting
down tonight nor several days after! Nay, good men, you shan't be
able to tell the difference a pair of plums and this lad's bottom, ere
I finish!" I flushed in embarrassment at this mention of my impending
punishment.
He took me to an adjacent table and had me lie across it on my
stomach. It suddenly dawned on me that he meant to whip me in front
of these men! I cursed under my breath but knew it was senseless to
struggle, because he would only whip me harder. In my position I
could see the merchant and his friends behind me if I turned my head
to the left. The merchant watched with avid interest while his two
companions merely seemed amused. I bitterly realized that I was
providing entertainment for them. The only other customers in the
tavern were a drunkard, who I noticed with relief was now passed out.
I heard the sound of the tavern keeper unbuckling his belt and then
snaking it of his pants. I took a deep breath and braced myself for
the first lick, tensing my buttocks. Then the merchant spoke up.
"Hold there, good man!" he said. The tavern keeper turned and looked
belligerently at the merchant. The merchant continued, "I fear that
the lad will not taste the full flavor of your belt unless you pull
down his pants, which now protect his bottom." I glared sideways at
the merchant, who I now saw placing a shilling on the table by the
tavern keeper. The tavern keeper grunted his assent, pocketed the
coin, and said to me, "You heard the gentleman, Larson! Down with
your pants! Right this instant, boy!"
I was mortified at this turn of events, but could do nothing.
These men would watch my bare bottom be whipped. Much as the thought
embarrassed me, I was resolved to have the episode over quickly.
Hurriedly I unfastened my pants (I had no belt) and they dropped to
the floor, baring my bottom for all to see, since I had no
undergarment. The air felt cool to my naked flesh, which I knew would
soon be warmed. I turned to look at the men. The merchant was now
studying my naked butt with gleaming, fascinated eyes. His companions
apparently didn't share his sexual interest, and were laughing and
drinking their wine.
The tavern keeper raised his belt and lashed it across my bottom
with a resounding SMACK! My buttocks jiggled with the stinging blow.
Another followed with a SMACK!, then another SMACK! I felt the sharp
eyes of the horny merchant upon me almost as much as I felt the belt.
I knew he was glad that I was bent over a table near him with my pants
down. My bottom seemed to be on fire as the belt rained down with
increasing force. The tavern keeper aimed several licks at the left
side alone, and then switched and whipped the right side for several
licks. Then he would strike both at once, working his way down from
the upper part of my bottom to the legs. Soon my entire bottom was
stinging from his belt. I cried a little, and then the tavern keeper
gave me three more licks in the middle of my bottom, and stopped.
The tavern keeper caught his breath and said, "Well gentlemen, what
think ye--is his bottom a proper shade of red?" I don't know why he
asked--surely it was very red and I had welts to last me a few days.
The sly merchant said, "I shall have to secure a closer look," and he
went behind me and examined my bottom up close. I thought the tavern
keeper might protest when the merchant reached out his hands to touch
and feel what interested him so much, but he merely chuckled and said,
"Methinks his bottom is hot as fire--take care you don't burn your
fingers!" The merchant nodded, then grasped my sore buttocks in his
hands and squeezed. I moaned softly; the merchant sighed. "Indeed
you painted his bottom a proper pink," he said, "and I find your
handiwork most enticing!" He removed his hands from my butt and
reached into his money pouch to produce some shillings. He said, "Now
if you would be so kind as to leave this lad in my care for the rest
of the night, I would be most appreciative!" Holding out his hand,
the tavern keeper said, "That could be arranged, with enough
persuasion." The merchant tinkled the coins into the tavern keeper's
palm.
I was nervous about this situation. If I ran away, where would I
go? How would I eat? I had to do what I was told. I wondered what
would the merchant do to me. I know he wanted to use me sexually, but
I was at a loss to guess exactly what he had in mind. I knew he liked
my bottom. Would he whip me? I couldn't bear another whipping.
Would he pay any attention to my cock? I was eager for some
cock-play, at least. I didn't know what to feel about his playing
with my bottom, though I didn't mind it, as long as he didn't whip me.
The merchant made arrangements for a room upstairs for the night.
I noticed he only rented one room. I assumed his companions would be
sleeping with us. I wondered what they would do to me, if anything.
They didn't seem interested in using me that way.
His other two companions did not follow him as the merchant grabbed
my left arm and led me to the room. I stumbled along this way, having
a hard time walking because my pants had sunk down to my ankles. The
merchant didn't give me any time to pull my pants up. I waddled along
like a penguin, my cock slapping noisily against my legs.
Once we were in the privacy of the room, the merchant said, "Strip
off the rest of your clothes, boy." That didn't require much effort;
I lifted each foot and my pants were on the floor, and then I took off
my shirt. The merchant studied me intently, paying special attention
to my long-neglected cock, which dangled lazily. His eyes travelled
back to my face, and he exclaimed, "Such a beautiful boy!" This time
I didn't blush, but grinned slightly. I was almost starting to enjoy
this game.
He began peeling off his clothes. I took a deep breath as he got
down to his final garment and took it off, revealing a partially erect
cock about 5" long, large and fat to my virgin, teenage eyes. Only
rarely had I seen another man's cock before, when one was pissing. I
stared at his member in fascination.
The merchant caught my gaping stare and was evidently pleased. He
ran a soft hand through my hair and with his other hand patted my sore
bottom, which made me groan. He purred tenderly, "What's wrong, my
precious? Does it still hurt?" I snuggled my head into his chest and
nodded, whimpering a little. He embraced me tightly. I felt his hard
cock, a throbbing warmth pressing against my stomach. An idea
occurred to him, and gently he broke away and retrieved his cloak. He
sat down on the bed and felt along the inseam of his cloak for a
hidden pocket. His hand dug in, reached around, and fished out a
small blue glass vial. Not unkindly he said, "Come to me, boy, and
lay across my lap."
I studied his eyes, wary lest I take another spanking. I decided
he wouldn't spank me. Perhaps the blue vial had a healing salve that
he would rub on my tortured bottom. Obediently I laid my naked body
over his naked lap. My cock pressed snugly on his left leg, and my
upper body lied draped comfortably over the bed, as did my legs. My
sore bottom was stretched slightly in the bending posture--I hoped he
wouldn't take advantage to smack it, because I'm sure I would have
begun bawling like a child.
His own stiff cock was pressed to his stomach by the side of my
body. I felt its heat and wondered what he would do with it.
I heard a popping noise as the merchant opened the vial. Next I
felt a very cold drop of liquid tap my bottom! Surprised, I drew a
quick breath. Three more drops followed, and goose flesh rose on my
bottom. The merchant said, "This will heal your wounded flesh, boy,
so that you may enjoy our sport to- night!" As he rubbed in the cold
liquid, my bottom tingled crazily and nervous tremors shot up my
spine. After a brief electric moment, I sighed and all the tremors
ceased. I felt possessed with a vibrant energy, as though I could
suddenly leap up and run a marathon. The merchant whistled in
astonishment and said, "Sure does work fast! You're healed, boy.
Turn around and behold your once-blistered posterior!"
I turned to look, and was flabbergasted to see unblemished white
flesh where a pink and welt-crossed ruin had been! I exclaimed and
reached a hand back to feel my bottom. No sore spots! I was
completely healed, just as the merchant had said. I looked to the
merchant for an answer, but he merely chuckled and waved the blue vial
before my eyes. "It's a miracle potion!" he said. I said, "Can it
heal anything?" "Aye, anything, from disease to wounds to mental
infirmity. What is more--" (and his eyes twinkled) "this potion is
the elixir of Life! Once it mixes with a man's blood, that man
becomes immortal! As I am!" My lips gaped with amazement. I could
not but believe the man; after all, a few drops of the potion had
instantly healed my bottom, which otherwise would have needed several
days. Seldom had I seen such a display of science (perhaps it was
sorcery--I did not know).
I hardly need to describe the way I pleaded with the merchant to
let me mix the potion with my blood, that I too might become immortal.
The idea immediately fascinated me and I could think of no better
destiny, than to live forever, and what is more, to never grow old!
The merchant laughed at me and seemed oblivious to my entreaties.
Desperately, I cried, "Please--I will do anything for you!" On a
sudden inspiration, I knelt down at his lap and seized his cock. His
eyes gleamed with lust. I opened my mouth and lowered my face down on
his cock. The taste was salty from the crystal drops that I had seen
oozing from his cock-head. I swallowed this pre-cum fluid and bathed
his cock in my saliva. I thrilled to feel his warm cock expanding in
my mouth. My tongue probed around his cock, playing, dueling with it.
My teeth nipped lightly at his cock-head. I was a novice to cock
sucking, believe me, but was simply highly motivated and eager, and
everything came naturally to me.
You can bet I had the merchant's undivided attention. His cock
quickly grew rigid inside my mouth. Finally the merchant lifted my
face up by the chin and looked me in the eyes. "Enough." he said.
"First I will take your cherry and then I will apply the potion. You
will then be immortal. Now, get on the bed, on your hands and knees!"
It was plain that he meant to fuck me in my ass. The idea did not
scare me; in fact I was interested in finding out what it was like.
Anyway, I would have done anything to become immortal. I eagerly
complied; then the merchant took control of the situation. He put his
hand in the middle of my back and pushed me down until my chest
touched the bed and my bottom was raised up, the highest part.
"I shan't be gentle, lad," the merchant confessed, "but bear with
me, and after a few moments you will be past that pain. And after I'm
finished I shall make you immortal." I nodded. Then I felt his cock
moving between my buttocks. I flexed them apart to allow him easier
entry. I felt him moving his cock to line up with my anus; then he
pressed inward, hard! The pain mounted--he might as well been trying
to stick his foot up my bottom! He grunted, struggling to get past my
tight sphincter muscle which just wouldn't open. Then he pressed
really hard, and I shouted with pain; but he got inside me, even
though I felt like he had ripped me apart. My eyes shut tight and I
clinched my hands into tight fists. He plunged all the way into my
rectum which had to rapidly expand to accommodate his size. My anus
was on fire with the pain and heat. I whimpered a little. As he
slowly pulled out half way, a warm liquid, which I knew was blood,
streaked from my broken cherry down my leg. He pushed his cock back
in, deeply, and paused there. I felt his hands grip my hips and knew
he was going to start fucking me. He did, with irregular thrusts,
creating a burning friction in my anus. I thought to myself, "So this
is what women feel! I swear to be gentle when I take a woman's
cherry." The thought of myself fucking boys hadn't occurred to me at
this point.
The merchant pumped me hard, reaching my prostate, and this caused
my erection. The pain was certainly still present, though less
excruciating; but I began to settle down into the idea of being
fucked. I began to like feeling his cock go in and out of me. My
cock became very hard. I also imagined how much pleasure the merchant
enjoyed, ramming his cock into my rectum. As fluid began dripping
from my cock, my sphincter tightened around the merchant's cock, and
he had to push harder. The added pressure on his cock had an effect,
though, and soon he moaned deliriously and his cock stopped moving. I
knew he had cum inside me. He laid his hot, sweating body over my
back and embraced me, his cock pulling out. I felt it leave, but my
anus remained involuntarily open. His hot body pressed on top of mine
was an incredibly erotic feeling, and I stroked my cock, soon bringing
myself to orgasm. (It was not my first; I had masturbated myself
before at the age of 12.) I shuddered as the cream flew from my body.
After a golden moment when both of us laid there together, neither
saying a word, but just enjoying each other's warmth, the merchant got
up and fetched the vial. I surmised that he would fulfill his promise
to me now. He let a few drops of the potion on his fingers, and
inserted his fingers easily into my slippery anus which was now
dripping with blood and semen. His fingers tickled, and I reflexively
wiggled my bottom. He rubbed the potion all around my anus and
somewhat inside my rectum; when he finally connected with some open
tissue, still bleeding, I felt an immediate sensation, an electric
impulse that swam through my nervous system until it struck my brain.
When the merchant removed his fingers, my anus and rectum were
completely healed--and I was certain that I was now immortal.
Ah, there was further sport we made that night. After the merchant
had cleaned his cock, I performed fellatio for him, and he returned
the favor, many times. He claimed my "boy-juice" was sweeter than
honey, and on my part I had developed a taste for his cum, which that
night showered over my mouth, face and hands. We drifted off to sleep
very late into the night. When I woke up, he was gone, and there was
not a trace of him or his companions to be found anywhere in the town.
I felt deserted, certainly, but there was an incredible store of hope
in me; after all, I was immortal, an eternal youth, never to grow old,
never to lose my good looks, and I had the whole world and many
thousands of years before me!
The tavern-keeper received a bottle of wine across his head from me
as I was leaving. It was a meager revenge for all the whippings he
had meted out to me in the past. I left him unconscious in his own
tavern. Later I heard that thieves had robbed the place while he had
lain thus helpless for an hour.
I set off in the direction of the rising sun, away from the tavern
and my temporary residence there. I went out into the world with a
happy heart freed from knowledge of inevitable death, in search of fun
and frolic wherever I could find it. And find it, I did...
I daresay the 18th century was trying for me, inasmuch I found
myself obligated by the Ministry of War to serve in the Revolutionary
War against you uncivil Americans, whom we Londoners liked to call
Yankee Doodle Dandies. I had no desire to be shipped off to the other
side of the world to brawl with barbarians! But alas, I have always
lacked any sensibility when it came to financial matters, and being
deeply in debt, I was presented the option of being sent to debtor's
prison or becoming a soldier in His Majesty's Army. I chose the
latter out of some dubious romantic motive which I little understand
now, as I reflect on those years. I wonder if I might not have had
more fun in the debtor's prisons, from the rumors I have heard about
those places.
I was 75 years old at this time. You may now be properly appalled
at His Majesty's justice and wonder how such an elderly man could
possibly be treated so cruelly as to be drafted into a war. Before
you begin to utter liberal nonsense against the Royalty, heed my
timely confession. Though I had lived 75 years, I appeared in every
respect like an 18 year old boy with jet black hair, a clear, pale
complexion, bright blue eyes, and a smooth, slender body. You see, as
an 18 year old I had had the good fortune and wise judgement to strike
a bargain with a mysterious merchant who applied a magical oil on my
body which completely and permanently stopped the aging process.
Hence I remain for eternity in a hot, sexy, strong young body which
will never age. The merchant and I made a simple exchange--I gave him
my virginity, he gave me eternity.
Do you envy me? Obviously you should! I am sorry if I seem
inconsiderate. Do not brood too long on your brief lifespan. It is
the fate of most. Cheer up, poor fellow; the time will come, or so I
have been told by knowledgeable sources, when modern technology will
advance to such heights that people like yourself will be able to
manipulate the aging process through scientific means. Your
great-great-grandchildren are likely to be the first recipients, an
idea which may not cause you to jump and click your heels for joy, but
is nevertheless a cause for rejoicing among the philosophically
minded.
There were of course many experiences I had in the Colonies as a
British infantryman which are of historical interest, and I may some
day be persuaded to write a novel about them. But as those intimately
acquainted with me are aware, I choose to focus on my sexual
escapades, to the neglect, aye, even complete oblivion of other
memories. This is why I have been labeled, not unfairly, an erotic
writer. It is also the singular reason that anyone bothers to read my
scribblings! I recommend to any novice writer that in his stories he
indulge his libido to the utmost because it adds a zesty spice to what
may be a lackluster meal cooked by an inexperienced chef. With just a
modicum of skill and the proper "flavoring" your customers will enjoy
the feast and say "Bon Appetit!" while you will gain needed experience
in story-crafting and indulge your ego (and alter-ego)...
Even at the age of 18, when I arrested the aging process, I could
have passed for a fourteen year old, being slight of build and always
very youthful in appearance. Perhaps this had something to do with
the fact that I became the fond favorite of our commander, Captain
Rogers, a most grasping man. Upon my arriving for duty in the
Colonies, he immediately assigned me to clerical duties at his
headquarters, a fine and proper Victorian mansion located in
Charleston, South Carolina.
One afternoon after tea, he turned and said to me, "Private Larson,
you have such dashing good looks. How did you ever come to join the
army? You should be back home sweeping out chimneys or 'prenticing.
A boy like yourself--"
"But Sir," I protested, "if I may?" He nodded. I continued, "I am
not a boy. I am a man, 18 years old, two years over the minimum age
to be a soldier."
"As you say, Private." He reached in his coat pocket for his snuff
box. He didn't find it. "Drat, I must have misplaced my snuff. Go
find it for me, Private."
I leapt up from my chair and searched the room for his snuff box.
As I moved around and searched the shelves and drawers, I became aware
that Captain Roger's eyes were rivetted upon my body and staring in a
way that I was long accustomed to, from both men and women. I
suspected that his losing the snuff box a cheap ploy but I decided to
play along and see where it led--hopefully into a warm bed where I
might discover if what they said about the cock-size of British
officers was true or not.
I found the snuff box and presented in to him. He made a motion as
if taking it, then let it fall to the ground. As I bent down to pick
it up, his arm moved around my backside and grasped my right buttock!
I gasped in surprise and turned my head to look at him. I felt him
give his hand a squeeze and heard him say, "Well, just don't look at
me. Pick up the snuff box." I picked it up, stood up straight and
handed it to him.
He took the snuff box with one hand while his other remained
stationed on my rear and began a massaging motion as I stood there. I
didn't mind it quite so much, but I wondered where this would lead.
He wasn't saying anything and didn't look me in the face--instead his
eyes were focused on lower parts of my anatomy. My cock was not
responding just yet, I imagine because of the novelty of the
situation.
We heard a knock at the door and his hand instantly disappeared.
He asked who it was and a soldier replied that he had news from the
Colonel. Something about a rebel ambush on one of our supply trains,
I don't know. You Americans simply don't know how to conduct a
civilized war. Captain Rogers looked me in the eye and said, "Would
you like to return to my room this evening after supper, Larson?"
"Yes Sir," I nodded, saluting with a smile. I opened the door and
left as the messenger entered to speak with the Captain.
Realizing that the Captain would be preoccupied with the Colonel's
messenger for a good while, I decided to take a stroll in town to
occupy myself until suppertime, which was 2 hours away. I must say I
cut a fine figure in my smart red uniform as I walked down the streets
of Charleston. I caught the eyes of several passing ladies glancing
surreptitiously at me in admiration and secret desire. My lust was
building from this welcome (though discrete) attention and in
anticipation of this evening's adventures with the Captain. On
impulse I headed for the docks, where I knew of a notorious street
where whores could be purchased any time of the day or night.
I came upon a group of five or six prostitutes ranging from young
to old. The one that caught my eye was a thin young brunette,
fragile-looking, very pale with long black hair and beautiful brown
eyes. I was enchanted by a faint look of suffering on her face, a
weak smile, a sad expression she tried and failed to hide, which
compelled me, which spoke to something deep within my heart so that I
wanted to reach out and hold her, caress her face, whisper warm things
in her ear. "This world," I would say, "is not so bad. Look at me,
feel me, and I will show you what I mean..."
These thoughts of mine soon disappeared, or rather were relegated
to the sidelines, as she boldly approached me and purred, "Why good
afternoon, young Brit! Out on the town for a bit of fun, are we? I
bet little Sabrina can give you a good time!" She groped for my
crotch; I was amazed by her forwardness, so unlike the properly
prudish ladies of my acquaintance, and at the time, rather
refreshing... I smiled and said, "Cute little Sabrina, if you will
give me but an hour of your time, I'll give you half a pound!" Quite
satisfied with the amount, she nodded and said, "Let's go, my love!"
She took me by the arm to place down a side street, opened the door
and we walked into a dark, musty room. She lit a candle and I saw a
bare room with unpainted brick walls. It was unfurnished save for a
mattress with several rips in it and the whore's personal belongings
scattered over the floor, a fragment of a lady's mirror, a bottle of
wine, a tinderbox and candles, and numerous rags which could pass as
clothes.
I sighed, "Poor Sabrina! Is this how you live, my dear? Ah well,
it is no concern of mine!" She said, "Silly Brit, do you think I take
johns to my home? I was robbed once and I never shall suffer that
again!" "Robbed?" I said, "You? But by whom?" "By a damned rebel,
of all things! Said he knew I was pleasing the redcoats and he was
levying a 'revolutionary tax' on my business!" "Why, the scoundrel!"
I said, with an involuntary smirk. "A low-life dog, he was!" she
declared.
I loved the look of anger in her eyes; it made them gleam, it made
her face red with spirit, and her little body shook all over with the
passionate anger. I wanted to take her now, naked, body against body,
feel myself inside of this woman. I took off my coat and began
unbuttoning my shirt. She saw that as a signal to get undressed. I
almost stopped her, thinking I might enjoy taking her clothes off
myself, slowly, piece by piece, watching her reaction as I stripped
down each garment. But I was too hurried, too filled with lust to do
so. I felt my cock growing hard as I watched her slipping out of her
clothes, easily, quickly, like she did it several times a day, as no
doubt she did.
She was naked before I had gotten out of my pants and she walked to
me on bare feet, looking straight into my eyes, a little tigress
closing in on her prey. My cock was hard as she knelt on the floor in
front of me, took my pants in her hand and pulled them down all the
way to my ankles. My cock stood out, engorged. I resolved to myself
that I was hers for now, I would let her do what she wished, and after
that I would take her. Her breasts, luscious melons, rested against
my legs as she placed her face next to my cock and looked up at me.
It was a sight I won't forget, Sabrina kneeling before me with those
brown eyes, that cute young face, her dark hair flowing down to the
small of her back, not quite reaching those sharp twin curves of her
buttocks with her delicate little feet resting underneath.
She looked at me, opened her mouth and left it gaping open,
waiting. I rested my hands on the back of her head, caressing her
silky black hair as I thrust my cock forward, sliding it several times
across her pretty face, missing her open mouth, teasing her
unintentionally until finally my cock passed through her wet lips and
she closed her lips over it. Her tongue squirmed underneath my cock
as she sucked me, bathing my cock, making it wet and slick, a
development I immediately noted with satisfaction, as I intended to
fuck her soon. I yearned to see what bright colors I could put into
her pretty pale white face, to hear what this little nightingale's
love-cries sounded like.
Her tongue rolled around my cock, tossing it around her mouth,
brushing it lightly against her teeth. I heard her slurping, I heard
the squishing noise as she took my cock deeper into her mouth. I
watched her head move as she took me deeper, to her throat and then
back almost to her lips. The damnable expert, I thought to myself;
she sought to make me cum quickly, pocket my money and find another
john. Ah well, I thought to myself: que sera sera. This felt too
good to stop it.
I stared at her head, her back, her buttocks--her sweet perfect
ivory buttocks which had not felt my hands on them, kneading and
rubbing their soft flesh. I thought of her sweet pussy which had not
taken my cock, which I had not even looked at. I wanted to take
her...but how would I last under this delicious treatment?
She was picking up pace, rapidly taking my cock in and out of her
mouth, rubbing my cockhead quickly with her tongue. My breath was
quickening, my muscles were hard, my pulse rapid. She knew. She took
my cock out of her mouth. A silvery line of semen stretching from her
lips to my cock fell away as she licked her lips. She held my cock in
her hands, smiling, and said, "You are too beautiful to take your seed
in my mouth. I want to feel you inside me, soldier." I caught my
breath as my impending orgasm faded away, though my desire was very
inflamed now.
She saw the glint of lust in my eyes and smiled. I reached down
for her arms and raised her up, with one hand on her inner thigh, the
other around her back, cradling her in my arms. "You're light as a
feather," I said. She drew her legs up, placing her knees against my
bare chest. She looked vulnerable, dependent, and all mine...for the
evening or as long as I wanted her.
I turned around in a circle, holding her tightly in my arms. She
swooned, "ohhh!" and placed her arms around my neck for safety. "I
want to tell you something," she said, placing her face next to mine,
whispering into my ear, her breath hot and warm; I heard her lick her
lips, I heard her inhale, exhale. I felt her chin on my face. She
said: "I liked the taste of your cock, so much like sweet British
cream and sooo nice!"
That was enough. I turned to her own ear and whispered obscenely,
"I'm going to fuck you now!" She moaned, "mmmm-humm, that's what I
need!" as I laid her down on the ragged mattress, which I considered
wholly inadequate for the occasion--but I was in no mood to do
anything but tolerate it. I laid her on her back, grabbed her ankles
and placed them on my shoulders. Her bare feet wiggled by my head as
her naked arms spread across the mattress. Her firm, erect nipples
were firm and erect.
I wanted to see her face in passionate ecstasy. I am somewhat of
an artist...or perhaps a gourmet. I placed my index finger on her
labia, touching Sabrina's sex for the first time. I thrilled to the
sensation of touching her there, knowing that I had attained the power
that I had wanted since I first saw her standing in the street. It
was the power to send my own commands directly, physically into her
brain, to override all her own thoughts and anxieties, replacing them
with my personal, sexual impulse, which cannot be ignored or denied;
her body would feel it, she would rise with delirious, heavenly
pleasure. She would see what I saw, she would feel what I felt.
My finger travelled inward, to her pussy, feeling the wetness, the
heat. I rubbed her clit lightly, watching her lips part in pleasure.
My finger rubbed around the entrance, the loose skin, finding the hole
and entering, rubbing against the slick hot inner flesh, daring to go
deeper, but slowly. I removed my finger and laid on top of her,
letting my cock dangle at her pussy. A thought occurred which pleased
me: this was how animals did it, since they didn't have hands to guide
it in. I pressed again and again, spearing her groin with my sex,
until I felt, ah! sweet success! as my cock found her hot, wet, warm
pussy and slid easily inside. Sabrina gasped, "Oh yesss, my handsome
British soldier! Fuck me, fuck me!! Slide your hot cock into my
pussy!" I pushed into her, deeper, deeper. I withdrew, then filled
her completely. She thrashed upon the bed and screamed out loud: "
OHHHHHHH YESSSSSSSS!!"
My cock slid in and out as I began that old familiar rhythm. I
thought: in my 75 years of existence upon this Earth, how many whores
had I fucked, how many virgins deflowered, how many young
inheritresses filled with my manhood? I had stolen my pleasures from
the hands of Time with my unfading good looks. I shall always be
young! Always! Women and men will always want me! I felt a sense of
exaltation and power.
Her pussy felt moist, loose, warm. I watched her face flush bright
red, I stared at her gleaming eyes which were looking not at me, but
at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, rolling in ecstasy as I pumped in
and out, my hips slapping loudly against her upper legs and lower
buttocks, leaving faint pink marks on her delicate flesh. I thought
vaguely of fucking her in the ass, but my cock sent strong signals to
my brain and I realized I couldn't hold out much longer. And I knew
that I had to be heading back to headquarters soon. Ah well...let the
climax come...
Her love noises, feminine squeals of joy and pleasure, were joined
by my masculine gasps and moans and the slapping, squishing, sloppy
noises of our lovemaking. Suddenly I felt her orgasm by the spasming
of her muscles, the sudden dampness in her pussy. I let myself go
immediately, feeling butterflies in my stomach, weightlessness in my
head as my pumping ceased and my head arched up, my back straightened,
and I came suddenly, violently, the semen gushing from my rigid sex,
flowing like a river into her body. I felt absorbed by her, a part of
her...briefly...and then the moment passed, and we were separate
people again on a torn mattress in this little ragged room.
She sighed, turned over on the mattress and laid on her stomach,
silent and smiling in post-orgasmic bliss. I gently put my body over
hers, resting my spent, wet cock in the crack of her buttocks,
surrounding her legs with my own, placing my arms on her shoulders,
massaging their tight muscles as I admired her long, silky black hair
which I found infinitely attractive. She enjoyed my gentle massage
and her body became softer, more pliant. I noticed her legs spreading
out, her buttocks rising, opening for my wet, tumescent cock; I
imagined she did it unconsciously, under the intoxicating influence of
my massage. Only the presence of my legs around hers kept her legs
from spreading out.
She moaned in pleasure as I rubbed her shoulders, my fingers plying
the smooth flesh, unraveling her stiff little muscles. She turned her
head to lay it on the left; then the right. "Feels so good," she
moaned. Her back shivered. My cock was not stiff, but was not soft.
I pressed it against her buttocks, felt it slide over her dry flesh,
leaving a slick trail. I knew I didn't have time to take her ass.
I'd have to make an excuse, then get up, pay her and leave. She
wiggled her buttocks and purred, "Is it true what they say about
British soldiers?" I pressed down on her again, but played dumb,
asking her what she meant. She giggled. I said, with pretended
outrage in my voice, "Do those infernal Yanks say that we like to
brown our ladies?" She nodded, smiling. I chuckled: the little imp,
she must have read my mind! Or perhaps she read my cock, which I
realized had probably advertised my desires by its predatory motions
around her posterior.
I hated to say it: "Sorry lass, but you may never find out the
truth of that rumor. I must leave. Duty calls, you know." I
regretted seeming so abrupt and regretted saying the word "never,"
particularly. I immediately realized I wanted to see this hot little
tart again--soon. But I didn't clarify what I said. I got up to my
feet.
She turned to look at me. She was disappointed and surprised.
"Wait just a minute, Brit...didn't you enjoy it?" she asked, insecure,
doubting for a moment. The incredulous look on my face answered her
question. I grinned and joked, "You were the best I've had in, oh, at
least a week or two..." She reached out her foot and kicked at my
rear; I moved away in time.
"Oh..." she sighed, "if you say you must leave...even though I wish
you would stay and play with me some more..." her fingers rubbed her
left breast, "But please, oh please come back to little Sabrina next
time you want a woman." I picked up my pants. "That I shall,
Sabrina." I fumbled through my money purse, found enough shillings to
make a half-pound. I said, "I'll come back soon. You can count on
it. Now count this!" I tossed the shillings on her waist. Coins
tinkled across her hips, onto the mattress, her legs, her groin, her
chest. Another woman might have been insulted, but Sabrina took it
all in fun exactly as I intended it. And she did count the coins.
I quickly slipped into my clothes, knowing I would look disheveled
when I left the house, but trusting on the dim light of the early
evening to cover me. As I headed for the door, Sabrina called after
me. "You will be back," she said, pleading, "won't you?" I smiled,
enjoying the look on her face. I waited, as if deliberating the
matter. After an unbearable pause, I confessed, "I can't resist a
lass who likes it up the ass!"
I saw the glint in her eyes: I had confirmed the rumor. So much
the better, I thought. She would know what to expect next time.
Maybe in the meantime she could practice with a candlestick or some
such object to prepare her other orifice for a new function. I opened
the door and stepped out of the house, tipping my hat at the minister
and his wife walking on the other side of the street.
.....................................<to be continued>...........
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