Disclaimer:
This story is intended for adults interested in homosexual erotica. If that is not something that you wish to read then go no further.
All characters and situations are fictional though hopefully plausible and grounded in reality.
The work published here is all my own with all rights reserved.
The author is based in the UK so the diction reflects this but my stories involve characters of different ethnicities and many are set in locations outside the UK.
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As always, feedback both critical and complimentary is welcome via e-mail to: barneybumpkin@gmail.com.
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Hope you enjoy
Barney
The Isle of Dogs?
Summary
After hearing about Playa Del Ingles reputation for being a sun-drenched gay paradise, Ian Hamilton opts to take a winter holiday in the Canary Islands.
Travelling alone, after the beak up of a relationship, he opts to book with a gay tour operator, thinking he will soon make friends with his fellow tourists.
But introverted Ian doesn't make friends easily and when his travelling companions all seem to be in tight-knit couples or groups and no one he fancies takes much interest in him, he turns to the locals to satisfy his craving for sexual domination and his lust for hirsute Latino and Arabic guys.
A few years later, a more sexually accomplished Ian hears the resort now has a leather scene, so decides to visit Gran Canaria again.
This time, he mixes more with his British compatriots, but after finding it hard to pin down a guy he fancies, who is into the sort of sex he enjoys, he fears he may have to settle for watching the drunken antics of others.
Until, on the last night of his stay, he summons up the courage to make a move on a strikingly handsome guy who has caught his eye in the disco.
When his affection is reciprocated, Ian proceeds to introduce his companion to the delights of public humiliation and bondage, only for things not to work out quite as he had planned...
Part 8
He must have dozed off, as when Ian woke up he was feeling very hot and bothered and could feel his skin starting to burn.
Time to take a swim, he decided, after taking several swigs of his drink to quench his thirst.
The German guy, who had taken the sun-bed next to him while he'd slept, reluctantly agreed to look after his clothes - but didn't seem overjoyed about this unwanted responsibility - allowing Ian to venture, stark naked, across the hot sand and thread himself through the passing stream of tourists before finally hiding his embarrassingly red bottom below the cooling waves.
Once over the initial shock of the ice-cold ocean on his overheated skin, he began to enjoy his swim and found the seawater both refreshing and soothing.
But by the time he came back to shore, this time wet as well as naked, he'd completely lost his bearings. Having left his glasses behind him, he peered into the distance vainly attempting to locate the flag that he'd been relying on to lead him back to his clothes but could see it nowhere!
He received a further shock when he crossed the twin conga-lines fringing the waves and noticed everyone around him seemed to be wearing either beachwear or swimming costumes!
Realising he must have drifted a long way from his starting point during his swim, Ian began to panic. Totally naked, displaying his reddened arse to all and sundry - he could hardly ask complete strangers for directions to the gay beach!
So, in a belated attempt to preserve his dignity, he headed back out to sea to hide his spanked arse beneath the waves and slowly waded back along the shoreline until he finally spotted the rainbow flag flying in the distance once again.
Now shivering from the cold, he dashed back over the hot sand to retrieve his towel, thanked Kurt for his vigilance and began hastily rubbing himself down.
Only when he donned his sunglasses again, did he notice a new arrival was eying his antics, and his bare arse, with a big grin on his face.
A dark haired, pale skinned twenty-something, was sitting smoking a cigarette on a sun-bed just a few yards away from his own. When Ian returned the boy's grin, the youngster smiled back amiably but then looked away.
However, as he reapplied a fresh coat of suntan lotion to his skin, including his arse and cock, he noticed the lad continue to glance across at him at regular intervals from the corner of his eye.
Once he'd done, he lay down on the sun bed on his front, and surreptitiously checked out the youngster while pressing his, fast-stiffening, dick up against the towel beneath him.
In contrast to the bronzed hunks lounging all around him, the boy defiantly wore a cotton checked shirt, vest, knee-length shorts and a pair of heavy, but fashionable, suede boots. His legs were covered in a thick matt of black hair from his knees all the way down to his ankles.
He not only looked cute, but also a little bewildered as though, like Ian, he too had had a tough time locating the gay area of the beach and, now he'd finally arrived, wasn't quite sure what to do next.
After turning onto his side to reveal his hard-on to the youngster, only to have him acknowledge it with a smile and turn away from him again, Ian realised he would have to be the one to make the first move.
Pretending he'd done enough sunbathing for the day, he pulled on his vest and shorts, socks and trainers, re-donned his cap and packed away his towel.
He then bade farewell to Kurt, who gave him a parting grunt, and slid his bag over his shoulder.
Aware that the young guy was watching his every move, he finished off his drink and boldly walked directly towards his young admirer, on the pretext of depositing his empty bottle in the waste bin beside him.
As he got closer, he discovered the boy was a little older than he had first thought but had a slender face with fine features, big dark eyes and a sexy growth of beard on his chin and upper lip.
"Any idea what time it is?" he asked him, as an opening gambit, having tucked his own watch away in his bag for reasons of safety.
The boy glanced down at the stainless steel dial on his wrist and announced it was almost three O'clock.
As soon as he spoke, Ian realised he was French.
He recalled he'd had a date with a Frenchman a couple of years previously whose body he reminded him of. He'd had a fine, smooth, upper body and a slender waist, but a much more rugged lower half, with stocky buttocks and legs covered by coarse black hair. Not the perfect body shape to display on a gay nude beach, but one not without its charms!
"You from France?"
Ian asked the obvious next question, as the guy seemed willing to talk to him in English.
"Yes, from Nantes, but I lived in England for a couple of years. Where are you from?"
"I'm from London," Ian confessed, "You wouldn't be looking for the gay beach by any chance?" he risked asking.
"Yes, I walk all around trying to find her for over an hour!" the Frenchman replied.
"I'm afraid this is it! I had trouble spotting it myself. It's a bit of a disappointment - well it was until you came along!" Ian added with a wink, having discovered that flattery usually goes down well with cute young men.
The guy smiled enigmatically in response.
Encouraged, Ian sat down beside him and held out his hand, "Hi, I'm Ian. What's your name?"
"Marcel," he replied, taking his hand gingerly and awarding him a cautious smile.
Interpreting this as an invitation to take things further, Ian risked resting an exploratory hand on the top of the boy's thigh and gave it a squeeze.
"What would you say to us finding ourselves a quiet spot among the dunes and getting to know each other better?" he ventured.
"That would be very nice," Marcel replied.
"Okay then!" Ian grinned back, rising to his feet and tossing his bag over his shoulder, "Just follow me!"
Not sure where he was going, Ian led Marcel down the path he had reconnoitred earlier and began desperately searching for a suitably sheltered spot for the two of them to have sex.
Like an explorer in the desert, he scaled the shifting sands of the nearest dune to give himself a better view. From its brow he spotted in the distance what looked like an oasis, though the heat haze may have been deceiving him.
It was actually a clump of bushes with a stone windbreak underneath them, but would be perfect for what he had in mind for Marcel.
He waved to his charge to follow him and led him off through the wilderness in search of Shangri-La.
But as they drew nearer, Ian cursed his luck as he saw that the spot was already taken.
"I think I saw a place earlier," ventured the French lad, displaying a little impatience, and headed off in a different direction.
Shamefaced, Ian followed him back towards the beach, sensing he had lost much of his credibility.
It did not take long before Marcel led him through a screen of scrubby bushes into a similar small clearing, this time bereft of any occupants, which Ian guessed must have only recently been vacated.
Maybe, like him, the youngster had sussed out the cruising area before he had reached the beach?
The shrubs provided a modicum of shade and there was a low wall giving sufficient privacy for them not to be visible from most directions.
So while Marcel sat on the wall and lit up another cigarette, Ian prepared their love nest by laying his beach towel down over the sand.
Eager to get started, he then sat down on it to remove his trainers and socks and place them next to his bag at the foot of the wall, expecting the French boy to follow suit.
"Keep going!" the youngster chuckled, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a sparkle in his eye, clearly not yet ready to reveal to Ian what lay beneath his fashionable outfit.
Taken by the idea of stripping himself naked while the younger guy remained fully clothed, Ian pulled off his cap and glasses and awarded his admirer a grin as he coquettishly removed both vest and shorts, to reveal he was again full erect.
But it wasn't Ian's cock that Marcel was interested in!
"Turn around and show me your arse, Englishman!" the French lad demanded, after taking a further drag of his cigarette and contemptuously exhaling the smoke in Ian's face.
"And from now on, as a courtesy, you must speak to me only in French!" he demanded.
"Oui Monsieur!" Ian replied smartly, despite his schoolboy French being pretty rusty, thrilled by the youngster's unexpected self-confidence!
Despite him being a life-long non-smoker for health reasons, Ian had found the habit in others a huge turn-on ever since a turbulent affair with an especially sexy, nicotine addicted, dom who had incorporated his smoking cigarettes into his sexual humiliation.
In fact, this had been a major factor in the breakup of his year-long relationship prior to his trip to GC as the lingering smell of smoke after their sessions had tipped off his over-possessive and increasingly insecure boyfriend that he had strayed elsewhere.
Ian had met the incredibly sexy Indian guy on a clandestine visit to a gay club while his partner was away on business and when he had opened his eyes to the delights of sexual submission had become increasingly besotted by him.
Unable to get away in the evenings without arousing his partner's suspicion, Ian had made use of the one day a week he was permitted to work from home to entertain his secret lover at lunchtimes at their bijou country cottage.
On the pretext of preventing the tell-tale odour pervading the premises or his clothes, but really as a means of accentuating the power-difference between them, Ian would leave the front door unlocked and present himself to his Indian Master in the kitchen, stripped naked, down on his knees, with his bum up in the air.
On his arrival, the guy would help himself to the coffee Ian had prepared for him (the way he liked it) then lead him out into the patio, where he would relax on the garden chair he had set out for him, imbibe his drink and smoke several cigarettes while Ian set about servicing his dick - often for twenty minutes at a time.
By the end of the guy's lunch break Ian would have been comprehensively fucked and humiliated in any number of ways and, once his Master had achieved his own orgasm, if he had been a good boy, had been permitted to wank off himself in the remaining few minutes whilst licking out his arse.
The arrangement had gone on very satisfactorily from Ian's perspective for three months or more, before, alerted by the smell of tobacco smoke in the kitchen on the day he worked from home, his partner had taken a half day's leave and discovered what had been going on.
The ensuing stand-up row had put an end to Ian's relationship and pissed off the amorous Indian guy so much that he had not heard from him again!
Reminded of their hedonistic open-air encounters by Marcel's smoking habit and the feel of the hot sun on his naked back, Ian slipped back into his old role and eagerly displayed his arse to his young admirer like an excited puppy, down on his knees with his tail wagging between his legs.
"You like being spanked?" Marcel enquired, after stubbing his cigarette out on a nearby rock and running his nicotine-stained fingers over the deep pink patches adorning the submissive Englishman's upturned backside.
Ian deliberated, uncertain how to reply, knowing if he were to say "yes", he was likely to get spanked again on his already raw arse, but that if he answered "no" the guy would probably think he was a liar.
"Oui ou non?" Marcel persisted, backing up his question with a couple of slaps on Ian's buttocks to help elicit a reply.
"Un petite!" Ian ventured weakly in response, encouraging Marcel to scoff and playfully land several more slaps on his reddened arse.
"Who did this to you?" the French boy then enquired, clearly intrigued.
"Un hom Arabique - dans le centre commercial!" Ian stuttered in reply, not having the presence of mind to think up a convincing lie and translate it into French at the same time.
"Did he fuck you too?" asked Marcel, prising Ian's buttocks apart to examine the state of his rectum.
"Oui Monsieur!" Ian confessed with a gasp, as the youngster coolly ran a finger around the circumference of his recently traumatised hole.
"Just the one?" Marcel enquired wryly, landing a gob of his spit in Ian's crack to help him slide his digit inside his hole.
"Non, deux!" Ian revealed, beginning to squirm as Marcel prised a second finger inside him in response to his answer.
"So, you were spit-roasted!" Marcel rightly concluded with a chuckle.
"Oui Monsieur!" Ian confirmed.
"Bit of a slut, aren't you Englishman!" he sniggered, extracting his fingers and awarding Ian's reddened cheeks a much harder slap with the flat of his hand.
"Turn around, slut!" he demanded, "Time for you to suck Monsieur's dick!"
To the Frenchman's surprise, before he had the chance to unfasten his flies, Ian was rubbing his head submissively against his groin and nuzzling the shaft of his swollen cock through his pants like a dog in heat.
Marcel smiled, this guy had clearly already been trained how to pleasure a Master!
"Open it then!" he instructed, as Ian gazed up at him, seeking his permission before he proceeded further.
"Close eyes!" he whispered in his ear, as Ian began to open up the front of his culottes.
Despite being unable to see what he was doing, Ian soon succeeded in prising both buttons and material apart to allow the Frenchman's manhood spring free of its confinement.
Smelling its urine-redolent tip beneath his nose, without a second's hesitation, he took Marcel's uncircumcised cockhead into his mouth, laundered it with his saliva and then slid his shaft to the very back of his throat.
Without need of any further prompting, Ian began sucking on his dick so enthusiastically that the Frenchman was soon emitting sighs of contentment.
To be continued...
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