Something about seeing him enter the kayak made me horny. Maybe the way his shoulders went up with great muscle. Maybe the sitting down motion. Maybe the gentle glide forward on the waters, and the view I had as he set out in front of me, turning his head slightly over his shoulder with a boyish look seeking approval, and the way he smiled when I smiled at him, and we set out for the woods and the swamps and the reeds we could see in the distance. Maybe all that got my cock hard and my smile going and the thoughts flowing in my head of what I'd do to him once we got there...
All I know is that I wanted to wrap those shoulders in something. They twisted back and forth in front of me through his t-shirt, the arms swinging wide, the torse twisting, as I followed him down the stream and we began to cross the small lake. Once we were far enough away from any house, I called out to him and he stopped, turning around with raised eyebrows. I glided slowly in his wake, letting my grin smile out, letting my head cock to one side, pretending to look at the shoreline, and then cocking it back at him. He was now grinning. "Take off your shirt," I said. He grinned more widely, and removed it. I floated up beside him, bumping the kayaks together, my cock hard, and reached over with my fist, holding it above his crotch. Waited two seconds, and then pounded it down in till he bent forward groaning slightly. Then I stroked up that torso till I reached his nipples, pinching each slightly with a grin into his face, smiling back at me, with the sunshine down on top of us and glinting off the water surrounding us. I grabbed his boat and shoved it foward, and we continued on.
He seemed to be paddling somewhat erratically now. Sometimes with great powerful forward strokes -- maybe he thought I'd do something once we got into the protection of the weeds and shoreline -- and then slacking off, realizing that he might be getting too far ahead of me. I just kept paddling regularly on. After a couple of times of this, he grinned over behind me and took a turn, like some giant puppy or porpoise, completely circling me, pumping his naked chest hard as he powered through the water, splashing himself and laughing, and I got even more hard, seeing that hairy chest glinting with water droplets in the summer sunshine. Thankful that I had brought along some rope in the bottom of my boat.
Suddenly we were across, and gliding swiftly up a stream, reeds brushing the sides of our boats. Both of us got into the beauty surrounding us, watching the birds we had startled rise up into the air, and the fish and shells below the surface of the water. Quietly we glided in, slowing as we stopped paddling, until we'd passed two or three turns and were entirely surrounded by reeds, quiet water and sunshine. I stroked hard twice and glided up next to him, slowing with precise paddle strokes, and held out my hand. After a moment of confusion, he extended his paddle to me and I slipped it into the bands on my boat. I reached out my hand again. He paused, weaving his eyebrows together, and then smiled in recognition, and threw his t-shirt over to me. I grinned and nodded. And held out my hand again. This time he bit his tongue for a moment, but only a moment, and soon he was throwing over to me his shorts, and his underwear, and his shoes, and his socks. All of this I stored in my boat. And held out my hand again. He handed over his small backpack, which contained a towel and spare shirt and jacket. He even handed over his life jacket, because now we were in 3 to 12 inches of water and 2 feet of mud, so he wasn't going to drown. Then, totally naked as he was, we explored. I thought of how useful a kayak is. Someone on shore wouldn't be able to see below the waist! And they would not know that he was naked. I'd make him go back to the rental agency in the small seaside town like that, but we had stuff to do first.
I watched him explore. At first, of course, he was full of excitement, but that quickly dissipated and he seemed to explore with much more calmness, and solicitude of me actually. He kept close, and he smiled lovingly in my eyes much. We explored around in a biggish circle: the creek, finding no one there, and some little island all of three or four feet round, and when we'd seen enough of what was around, I returned us to one of those islands.
"Go up to it," I said, and he paddled up to it. "Land," I said, and he pushed the bow of his boat up on it. "Get out," I said, and he looked plaintively over at me. I was floating off to his side, about six feet away, and he didn't want to get out, because this little island was mud. Not hard earth. It was mud, deep mud, and though the water was warm and the sun bright, he shivered, because trying to get out into that mud meant that he was going to sink deep, and maybe even feel things down in that mud that slithered against his feet and legs, and he would not be able to run up onto dry land, because there was none of that out here in the marsh.
But he did as he was told. Gingerly. He pushed with his powerful shoulders up on the sides of the cockpit, and raised his naked ass onto the coaming. I admired his beautiful body as he did this. He gingerly swung both legs over to one side, the kayak shaking with the force of his control, wanting to flip over with the movement, but he balanced it like he was on a high-wire, the muscles in his body standing out in the tension. And then he put his feet down. They settled through the water and touched the silt of the little island ... and kept going. In past the ankles they sank. Up his shins they sank. And when the water was to his knees, and the mud only three inches below, he finally got a solid grip.
I floated closer. He slowly stood up, bracing himself against the kayak, the muscles in his ass standing out strong, and his feet sank quickly deeper, till his knees were sunk in the mud. "Go on up to the island," I said, and as he waded up to the island, I reached out and pulled the kayak suddenly away from him, hanging onto the rope at the stern. He wavered as his arms flung out, but did not fall, and kept up his pace till he was up out of the water itself, but still knee-deep in rich dark, silty mud. Once he almost fell and put out his hand, but quickly pulled it back, not wanting any other part of himself to touch the mud. I tied his kayak to mine as he slowly turned toward me.
A beautiful sight. A man naked in the natural wilderness. His face was contorted just slightly in beautiful concentration, and I did not fail to notice that his balls were pulled up tight and his cock mostly full but not hard.
"Back up," I said, and he began to turn around to go further onto the island. "No -- I said: back up." And so he began to try to walk backward. Much more difficult, but he did it. As he got up to the center of this three foot diameter island in the swamp, he suddenly hit a soft spot and dropped down till the mud was almost at the center of his thighs. "Stop," I said. He almost looked terrified.
"How's it feel?" I asked, worried a bit that he was getting too scared, and ready to nudge my craft quickly up onto the island that he could fall onto my bow and be saved if need be.
"OK," he said nervously, "I don't know what's in here. And he paused and looked around, breathing a bit easier and his cock fililng up a bit more. He looked up at the sky, and felt the sun and smiled.
"Pose," I said. He looked confused and then began to do poses for me, like he was at some competition. "Work that cock up for me," I said, and he did, slapping it around and getting it nice and hard. "Get it close to coming," I said, as I pulled my own shorts open and began to jerk off, and he did, this beautiful man under the sun and smiling broad.
"Go as far as you can without coming," I said, "and when you stop, raise your arms to the blessed sky." He went faster. He went harder. His breathing moved his chest in and out. I paddled slowly around the island, watching my man jerk off for me from all angles. Suddenly, with great gasps of breath, he stopped and raised his arms and face up, to the sun and sky, and breathed and sighed.
"Sing," I said, and he laughed and began singing whatever he could think of with great gusto and celebration. I lifted up my paddle and smacked the water, sending spray all over his front. He gasped and stopped singing but then began immediately again and I went a little bit around to his side and splashed some more water on him. I'd stroke my cock, then stop and lift the paddle high and smack the water onto him, and go round a little bit more, and around and around I went, till he was soaked in water, his cock bouncing shiny in the sun, singing Irish drinking songs to the whole wide world.
"Stop," I said, and we both rested. He made to lower his head and look at me. "Nope," I said, "Keep it all up." He smiled, then quickly reached down and stroked his cock with an evil grin, showing that he was going to keep it all up, and then raised his arms again. I could tell his arms were getting tired. I waited. When I saw him lose his smile slowly in the effort to keep his arms raised, I did what I had been wanting to do this whole time.
"Kneel," I said. He blanched. I swear he blanched. I grinned broad. I thought he might not do it, that I might have to instruct again, but then he began. Very slowly. Very very slowly, his thigh muscles bulging hugely out, he knelt down into the mud.
And kept sinking.
He sank quickly down his whole thighs. He held his arms up but he couldn't keep his eyes away from the sight of his cock and balls lowering into the mud. He gasped, almost cried when they met the stinky mud, and then his eyes grew big as he felt the fine silt, the muck of life, rise up to cushion his balls, rise up into his ass crack, rise up the cock as he settled down slowly. He grinned widely as he felt the mud slowly encompass his cock and then settled completely into the kneel, the mud rising up to cover his bush and the ridges that rose up from his hips, but it didn't quite reach his button.
I paddled into the island, letting the bow of my boat rest there in the reeds to the side and whispered, "Let your hands fall into the mud." He let them fall, with a sigh of rest, resting them curiously with palms up on the mud. "Down deep in the mud," I said, and he dug his fingers in. At first, delicately. I saw his mouth twinge in disgust. But then he became fascinated, and dug in deeper, till he'd pushed them in halfway up his forearms.
"Pick up two huge handfuls," I said, and he shivered. He knew what I was going to do. But I was going to whisper us through it. I was going to go slow. He was going to experience every moment of that slimy, smelly immersion.
He raised up the handful, dripping wet stuff. I think I saw some worms and bugs fall out of it. He looked up at me with a dare-you face, with a face like 'fuck it,' with a face that with open mouth and showing teeth was both a grin and a howl in the silence. He waited.
"Cover yourself," I said, "slowly and completely."
He did. He took those handfuls and, shivering uncontrollably, brought them up to his chest and smeared them all over, brought them up to his armpits and wiped that all down. Picked up handfuls more and rubbed it all over his neck.
"Your hair!" I said, and quickly he bent over and picked up two more handful and ground it into his head, shivering and panting and his cock growing hard.
"Your back!" I shouted, and he pulled up gobs after gobs and threw it over his shoulder, twisting side to side to get his hands absolutely everywhere.
"Stop!" We sat there. I had pulled somewhat away from the flurry of mud. The water chuckled on the hull. The wind blew gently by. "Two more handfuls," I said. He did. There was only one place left uncovered and we both knew it. "Your face," I said quietly, and slowly, like a benediction, he bent his head and gently smeared the swamp mud all over, gasping, almost crying, in obedience to my desire. He was covered, head to toe and in all cracks, with muck.
He dropped his hands to the side, and gently opened his eyes. The whites looked out at me and he tried not to grin but he couldn't help automatically sticking his tongue out to start to wipe his lips and then he grimaced and then he spit and then we both got the giggles.
I paddled up within arms reach (he made to smear me but I with facial expression pointed out the other kayak, in the reeds distant from his reach and he grinned back and let his hands stay where they were). I pushed strong up onto the island and reached out to my smeared man. I ran my fingertips all over his chest. I smeared the mud around his nipples. I ran my hand around the edge of the mud. I pushed one finger down into the beginnings of the crevice of his ass. And then I pulled up my sleeve and plunged my hand down into the mud to grab his cock and jerk it, there down deep in the mud Our eyes locked. His breathing began to increase, and tears came out his eyes. Suddenly, I don't know why, I just wanted to: I spit in his face. He froze. And then that was the moment: he relaxed toward me, slumping, almost falling into my arms with his surrender.
We didn't go on long like that. I raised up my muddy arm from his cock and ran it up the center of his body, up his neck, up past his lips, and then to his nostrils, and slowly rubbed in circles there till the mud got further and further in. Not too much. Just a little. Then I pushed off the island, gliding backwards to where I'd parked his kayak in the reeds, tying it to the stern of my kayak.
"Stand." He did. Struggling to keep somewhat level, but not nearly so delicate as he had been. The mud was beginning to dry and cake on his shoulders and I half wanted to leave him like that and see what it was like, but another time, I decided, and so said, "Get close." And he began to jerk himself off with the slick mud. When he came close, he yelled "May I SIR?"
"No." I said. "Follow me now," I said, and quickly began to paddle down the stream toward the lake, his kayak following. After a moment's pause, I heard thrashing through the water, thighs plunging through mud, a great noise. Birds took off from nearby. "Sir!" he called and I stopped and looked back but he just needed the acknowledgment. I smiled. "Come on!" I shouted and kept going and soon we were in water 2 feet deep, and a harder bottom, and I didn't here the thrashing of the effort of going through muck and I pushed hard the last little bit and shot out into the lake, quickly curving 'round to watch my man emerge.
He came, his thighs clean from the coming through the water, and he saw me out in the deep, and he grinned huge. I put my paddle in the bands, and raised my arms toward him as though to give a hug, and from 15 feet away I saw my boy grin, surge forward with water to his thighs and suddenly, covered in muck all the way, he raised up his arms and dove in.
The water showed a torrent of mud behind him. He dove under and swam under water, and as he came, me paddling backward to be sure not to let him get to close, I saw a tunnel of mud become a half pale thing, become a wholly clean thing, and he surfaced, his hair streaming mud, but his face and neck and shoulders clean.
"Cavort," I said, "Clean off," and he thrashed and dove and rose and breached like some otter or whale, and the mud washed off and off. At one point he curved up onto his back, throwing his legs in the air so that for a moment I could see his ass crack with his hand there scrubbing away.
After he was clean I untied the kayak and extended it to him and he swam to it. I handed him his paddle, and he lifted it up on top, and I braced his kayak against mine, and held his paddle down and he lifted himself (beautiful shoulders, beautiful man) up and on top of it stomach first, his ass in the air.
"Stop," I said, and he did, looking up at me with quizzical looks. I pushed off till I got about five feet away, and swung his kayak around so I was behind him, and then I raised up my paddle and swatted that bare ass three times, increasing in hardness, till he was grounding his hard cock into the fiberglass. I paused. And then hit him hard once. And then once more. The red showed up on his ass, especially where the pole ridge caught him.
"Get in," I said, and with some beautiful struggle, he got himself in.
Then I paddled close to him again. He slumped at me a bit, like he was thinking this was over already or something. Silly boy. I pulled his hands behind his back and tied them there with one of the ropes I had. Then I took his paddle and pulled it athwart the cockpit and with another rope tied it down hard to his cock and balls. Then I tied his kayak once more to the stern of mine and began to paddle back toward the livery.
O so unfortunately for my boy, kayaks tip. And paddles are long. And several times he couldn't keep quite the balance he'd want and the tip of the paddle would hit the water and pull, trying to get away from his control, with his groans and moans to help out, but my boy's cock and balls are strong and wouldn't let the paddle get pulled away, no matter how far the boat pulled off to the side. He'd just have to angle his hips to get it to come on up out of the water. But of course, then he'd be overcompensated on the other side! And the kayak would tip. And the other end of the paddle would dip in. O so unfortunate.
It was a nice afternoon of paddling it was, and when we were coming back into town and he was begging for his clothing, I made him promise me all kinds of things in order to get each article back.