from M.A.C.H.O. BBS
MY LOVER THE MARINE
If any guy could make a pair of camouflage fatigues look good, Trace could. I remembered the first time I saw him on campus wearing them. His khaki splotched pants showed only a suggestion of the firm round globes of his ass as their heavy cloth draped over the contours beneath. The flap pockets on his shirt seemed to slant slightly giving a subliminal revelation of his nautilus- developed pecs. His manner was casual; never too serious but not flippant. Each person seemed important to him; but not so important that he would cry himself to sleep thinking about them (the way I was doing for him!)
We had been in a couple of classes together but hadn't really gotten to know each other until we shared that summer seminar together in philosophy. Fate was on my side as we were teamed up to do a required class presentation on Dewey's pragmatism and its applications in current governmental policies. But that seems like ages ago...
Trace is before me now. His wrists stretched out to the limits of the suspended beam, bound tightly by the leather-lined cuffs bolted to the rough wood. The beam is high enough that he can barely touch the floor with his bare feet. The flickering candlelight adds atmosphere as my eyes roam his nude body. The curly blond hair droops over his forehead pointing to his now blindfolded blue eyes. His mouth reveals a wince that only my slaves portray.
The stretched pecs glisten with sweat and looks as smooth as the marble statues in the museum. A thin trail of soft hair draws my eye to his expectantly tumescent 8 inch cock; not hard but not soft, waiting to be encouraged to greater service for its master. Just below is the leather ball harness I made him put on before he submitted to the cuffs and beam. "Do I have to? sir?" He had asked.
"Do what you are told, slave! I don't want to be bothered with all that hardware. Snap it on and don't be slow," I had growled. When I added the sash weights to the harness after he had been stretched to the beam, he writhed in expectant delight and moaned slightly. I had a hard time not revealing the intensity of my own desire for him then. But a master remains a master... for now. "Make those weights swing, soldier! Faster! I want to hear them hit your legs."
"Yes, Sir! I am trying, sir."
"They're not swinging fast enough! I want your balls to ache for me. I want them to ache with their load until you can't stand it any more. Am I going to have to encourage you to be a good soldier?"
"If it pleases you, Sir. I am supposed to please you in every way, sir."
I took the riding crop from its holder and brushed it gently over the tip of his rising cock. Involuntarily it responded with a bobbing nod of fear, dread, and expectancy. Since he was bound to only the beam, I had access to his entire body as I walked around the room in my dull black boots. Smack! I gave his ass a stiff whip.
"Aaah! Thank you, sir!! I need to please you sir!" His cry was almost joy instead of pain. (Why am I doing this?) Another five or ten cracks to the backside; each greeted with the same "Thank you, sir." (Time to work the front a bit.) I reached around him without touching his body and grasped his nipples which were now hard with excitement and expectation. I took the clamps out of my pocket and gave each tit an extra hard squeeze just before I put the clamps on. He began to sweat more. It ran down his forehead, his temples, along his magnificent chin line and formed a rivulet down his neck between those glorious pecs. I wanted to lick it all up.
I grabbed the weights and put them through the chain between his tit clamps, adding weight to his chest and lifting his balls up. Slowly I took my leather gloved hand and peeled back his foreskin, revealing the red corona beneath, already well moistened with pre-cum juices. Suddenly I pulled back hard, bending his cock like I was snapping a radio antenna from a luxury car.
"Aauuungh! Oh shiiiiiitttt" he hissed.
"Are you my good little slave?" I asked.
"Yes sir."
"Say it!" I shouted.
"I am your good little slave, sir."
"and?..." I asked, giving him his cue.
"And uh " He paused, and then began almost as though he had memorized it, "I am your good little slave and I love you because you teach me how to enjoy the pain I desire."
"And why do you desire it? Why do you beg to be stretched to the limit and grovel to serve me?"
"Because I love you, sir. I love you with the intensity I am unable to express myself." (Hey, he was departing from the script. He was really saying some heavy stuff here.) "I need you because my feelings are trapped inside this body and I need to get them out. I love you in ways I can never show in this scene or any other. I love you more than any slave ever could, Bob." I was too stunned to discipline him for the infraction of using my name instead of the ritualized "sir." But this was only the beginning of my stunned shock. Tears were starting to form under the blindfold. I could tell because his nose was running. He was starting to gasp and his huge body was being overtaken by an intense shudder from his baseball shoulders down to his sculptured toes. Seeing the Crucifixion itself could not have been any more touching to me than the passion that was unfolding before me. I tried to maintain control but it was crumbling fast. Was I affected by what he was saying or was I afraid for his safety?
The unfolding mystery led me to take the blindfold off and I gazed into those marine-blue pools of passion. He tried to avoid my glance like a good slave but we couldn't break the hold. He tried to continue, "I need you, sir, because I need to have someone who can hold me when I am vulnerable; who knows when I am hurting inside; who can make the hurt go away because I know he loves me too."
"I need you, sir, because I need to love someone, too. Someone who knows my limits but who also knows how to challenge me and help me grow not just in the scenes but in my life our life too."
I lost my grip on Trace's cock and stood there in shock. I knew I had fantasized about him for a long time but I really through all those scenes never had heard him say he loved me in such a tender genuine way.
We gave up the scene. When I took the beam down and the cuffs off, we lay down on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace and I treated each of the wounds and nursed that body like I was his slave. (How could I have hurt him like that? But would he have been aware of his genuine love without it? I guess I will never know.)
That night was not wild sex but it was passionate. We walked around in each other's minds as we had never done before. We talked and we talked. We cuddled and nestled in the contoured places of each other's body. There would be new scenes again together, we were sure. But now there was the hope of a life together, too.
Amazing isn't it? No one on campus would believe that the Commander of the ROTC and I, the President of the Pacifists Alliance, are lovers. Why talk politics in bed when there's so much else waiting for you?