"Ahhh, that were very nice," I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des's chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we'd have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.
"Cig?" I asked, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a pack while he scrubbed at his face with a dirty handkerchief.
"Thanks," he said, reaching out for the fag. He stood and turned, leaning back against the gunwale of the boat I was sitting on. "God, you are built hanging."
"That's what you came for, isn't it?" I asked with a laugh. I was unbuckling his belt with one hand and moving the other down the small of his back and under this waistband, moving into his crack. I'd need time to be in form again, but there was no reason not to prepare him.
"Yes, you are a legend over at New College . . . ugh!" I'd found his hole with my forefinger, and he was rising up on the balls of his feet in surprise. But with a shudder and a little moan, he settled back down on the finger. This is what he'd come here right after dark for. To check out the Sandhurst military academy legend for himself.
"And you're over at Old College?" I asked. He groaned an assent as I pushed the trousers down off his thighs and reached for his dong. Not much more than ordinary, but thickening well. "Valeting for the cadets, are you?"
"Yes . . . oh, shit, oh fuck." I had three fingers in him now. He'd need to be real open for me. "Yes. And you? Over at New College."
"The same."
"Valet for that new cadet, Sandy Coleridge I hear. Father's the big snot for the 6th D.C.O Lancers out in India on the North West Frontier."
"Yes, I do for him."
"And does he enjoy that big cock of yours in him? Particular nice piece of arse that."
"No," I said and then laughed. "I don't do for him that way—would like to, but no. The Lad's stiff as a board proper. Really up tight. A bit of the old man, I hear. A virgin."
Des snorted. "Not a virgin, I hear. I hear he has a regular appointment with his tutor, Percy Hopewell."
"Percy Hopewell?" I asked, incredulous. "Hopewell is almost as stick up the arse as young Coleridge is and puny as a beanpole. I can't see them doing it."
"Well, check it out for yourself. Tuesday afternoons at two, or so I heard. In Coleridge's room. Faithful as clockwork."
"I still don't believe it. But here, you came to get a taste of this," I waved my ready wand at him, and his eyes went wide. "and I don't have all night. So, let's get to it. Here. Hop up on the ledge of the gunwale. Here where it's thickest."
He did as I asked. He was trembling a bit, and he looked scared, his eyes constantly going to my cock, which was harding up nice, and then looking away. I stripped off his trousers.
"On the small of your back. Yes, like that, roll your arse up to me and hold your thighs out yourself." I let him watch me pull a rubber on, and then I went down on my knees between his legs and lifted his dick out of the way and squeezed it as my tongue went to his buttocks and the crevice between.
He was making little grunting and groaning sounds.
At length, when I thought he was open enough to take me just, I stood, rubbed my cock and his hole with cream, and, taking that big breath that all athletes take before making the big plunge, presented at the rim of his hole.
"Oh god, you're huge," he whined and went rigid as I got the rim of my bulb past his entrance. He had been gasping but now he was still and straining to take me, and his complexion was turning red.
"Here, now," I said. "You've got to breathe. Breathe. Relax. You act like a first-time school girl. You've had it before, haven't you?"
"Yess . . . oh god, oh god . . . but nothing as big as this. Oh fuckkkk."
He'd come for it because it was big; he wanted it. So I gave it all to him in one deep thrust.
"Oh, god! . . . . . Oh GODDDDD!"
* * * *
Turned out Des was right. The next time I was tidying up Sandy Coleridge's room, I flipped open his appointment book and there it was, the notation at two on each Tuesday for "tutorial with Percy."
The next Tuesday at two I made sure I was in the service back hall, with the valet's door into Coleridge's chambers open a crack. I heard voices and soft laughter down the service stairs behind where I was standing, and I went down to find the men in service Hugh and Cedrick crouched down on the turn of the stairs. Hugh was giving Cedrick a blow job, and I stood there and watched for a while, pleased by the good, straightforward sex of it. Then I remembered why I was in the back hall and went back to the door into Coleridge's room and pushed the door open to a wide crack.
They were already going at it, if you could call it that. I had to check myself from laughing out loud. They were side by side, close together, in overstuffed chairs, naked. Arms were extended over the chair arms, Percy's hand working slowly on Sandy's cock and Sandy's hand pumping Percy languidly. Percy was reading poetry from a book. Sandy was a real beauty, tanned and hardened from life on the Indian frontier. Handsome as a movie star. Sandy hair—obviously the derivation of the name that had stuck—from head down to the downy tuffs on his sternum leading down his belly and bushing up around a very nice cock. Percy was another matter—an indoor scholar—all angles and height, concave chest, hairy as a dog, dark, and with a poor excuse for a cock. I could hardly see it encased there in Sandy's hand. The only attraction that I could see must have involved seniority—but then, here at Sandhurst, seniority was everything.
Call this fucking? Reading poetry and calmly jacking each other off. Gorsh. I'd say Sandy was still a virgin in any way that mattered. But it wasn't all the fucking they did, and I decided that Sandy, technically couldn't be called a virgin. Percy snapped the poetry book shut and stood up and pulled Sandy up as well. They moved over to the desk in front of the window. Percy gently pushed Sandy's chest down onto the chair that was inserted into the desk hole, and as he did so, Sandy widened his stance. A rolled on rubber and a few minutes of rubbing cream in and Percy was pushing his small cock into Sandy's arsehole. Sandy flinched a bit at the first breaching, but nothing significant or painful looking. Percy bottomed quickly and just held there, moaning softly, his head flung back in what passed for ecstasy for him, while, holding a wash cloth over his tip, Sandy slowly beat his own cock to ejaculation and stared out of the leaded diamond windows of his bay window onto the parade grounds below. Percy was reciting poetry again, and the pace of his voice picked up and he became breathy. There was a slight lurch and a tightening of his thin buttocks, and then the ritual was all over.
It seemed so sad. Sandy looked like he was just marking a "to do" activity off his life's experiences lists. His beautiful body and sensuous lips told me that he wanted so much more out of life.
They dressed in silence, there was one pecking kiss on the lips initiated by Percy, and then they settled down in the upholstered chairs and opened their books for the justifying tutorial session.
That was it? That was all? I thought. There hadn't even been enough for me to take my meat out and beat it. Although I was hard. That was from watching Sandy. As Des said, he really was a nice piece of tail. He deserved better than Percy.
But then I guess that was the way in the British colonial army life. Attend Sandhurst as your father did and his father did, become imbued with the gentleman soldier's training as your father did; become manned by a sensitive but consumptive upperclassman as your father did; find an appropriate bride from a suitable family to marry just before embarking for your colonial posting as your father had; produce sons as your father had—and pick out the best looking of your sepoys and fuck him for your only sense of self and rebellion as your father did.
I turned and crept back to the top of the stairs and did now take my meat out and beat it while watching Hugh splayed out on the stairs on his belly and Cedric crouched over him from behind and fucking him furiously, both of them grunting like pigs. Now that was fucking. A difference between upstairs and downstairs perhaps. I suddenly had a desire to find out.
* * * *
I spent the next night trying to forget Sandy Coleridge—the beauty of his young, supple, yet muscle-hardened tanned body—and not being able to do. I resolved to act and justified it by telling myself Sandy wanted more out of his male-male experience and ultimately would be grateful to me. It was a gamble, and it might lead to me being booted out of a pretty cush Sandhurst job—but it wasn't as if Sandy was repulsed by the idea of being fucked by another man. All of the rationalization came down to the simple fact that I wanted to fuck the cadet from colonial India just to get my cock in him for my own pleasure, however.
So, in the still of the night, I threw some necessities and a couple of toys in a bag, and just in my sleeping briefs, I padded down from my attic room in the New College service area and crept up to the service door into Coleridge's chambers.
All was dark inside, and I could hear him gently snoring. I crept through the door and silently shut it behind me and stood, still, for some minutes until my eyes had fully acclimated to the dark.
Sandy was stretched out on his bed, on his back, his legs tangled up in sheets. He was wearing long sleeping drawers, and nothing else, but his cock was hanging out of the fly and his hand was still on it. The front of his drawers were spotted where he had finished masturbating as he went to sleep. He was as beautiful and sexy in sleep as he was awake—maybe more so, as he looked so vulnerable and peaceful.
I was going to fix that—the peaceful part of that.
The handcuffs made a clicking noise when I took them out of the bag, and I froze, afraid it would wake him. It didn't, though. He just snuffled and turned a bit more on the side away from me and moved his arm over his head. His wrist went between brass railings in the headboard. Perfect. I had that wrist locked in the handcuffs and a good grip on the other wrist before he woke with a start and began the expected confused and indignant objecting to what was happening to him.
I rose off the bed from where I'd gone down on a knee to snap the hand restraints on and turned and clicked on his bedside lamp. I wanted him to see what was going to happen.
"Alec," he muttered in surprise. "What the hell? Release me this instant."
"Sorry, Mr. Coleridge, I've come to give you a proper fucking, sir."
"A proper . . . what is this? Are you joking? I'll have your job for this."
"No I'm not joking. And we'll see about my job. But you can't even say it. Fucking, fucking, fucking. You can't say it, can you?"
