Sweat

Okay. Here we go again.

WARNING: This story is a load of crap - and is really quite rude. It starts off boring, but in the middle, young triathlete Marmaduke gets into a fight and performs oral sex. And at the end, coach Frank gives him a good flogging with a razor-strop for naughtiness. That should make a few people happy.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is episode 6. The others are at http://nifty.org/ I think, and probably archived at the ASSGM website somewhere.

I'd be most obliged if someone could tell me where this story is headed. I've got a few ideas but it'd be nice to hear from someone willing to go into details.

TO THOSE WHO HAVE SENT MESSAGES: Thanks everyone! I'm trying to fit in the bits you've asked for, but gee! I don't want to be too cruel to poor old Marmaduke! He cops a real hiding this episode. I think he's due for a break soon. I answer all emails (there aren't that many) and would be interested in any ideas you have.

thobyj@yahoo.co.uk

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • "SWEAT! (6)"

Eric stirred. Sunlight streamed into the bedroom. He yawned. Another beautiful day in this place, wherever it was. The blankets were warm, the bed was warm, and the boy beside him was cuddly warm. He snuggled up to beautiful Marmaduke and wrapped his arms around the sleeping angel. Breath moved in and out of the boy's innocent mouth, and a strand of saliva steadily streamed out of the kid's gob, forming a pool on the pillow. Marmaduke snuffled, brought his arm up, grunted and, still sleeping, jerked around, rolling the blankets around himself. Then Marmaduke enfolded Eric in all four of his gangly limbs, dozily cuddling him. Eric felt peace and serenity lying in the unconscious youth's arms.

Then he felt what Marmaduke was doing. The boy was moving, sliding up and down - humping a wad of bedclothes. Eric could feel the rod of harness down below, grinding into his leg. Oh dear!. . . Oh, well. It didn't matter. Eric kissed Marmaduke on his sweet, parted lips. The breath was coming faster now and the boy was making little noises. Then Eric felt the warm flood of come in the bedsheets. There was an enormous wet patch. Marmaduke woke up.

"Oh, shit!" he said sleepily, yawning. "I had a wet dream again!"

"Never mind, Sweetheart. I'll wash the sheets today."

Marmaduke groggily climbed out of bed. His hair was sticking up. So was his cock.

"What time is it? I have to be at Frank's place."

He pulled on a pair of Speedos and trotted out the door, not bothering to shower or eat any breakfast.

"See you when you get back, Puppy. I'll have some breakfast waiting. Some more of what you had yesterday." Eric called, meaningfully ('yesterday': see the last episode). Marmaduke's fine little backside disappeared out the door.

The air was cold, the day not yet having really begun. Marmaduke's erection quickly subsided in his togs. He ran along the edge of the sand dunes, warming up. He was nervous. His first dose of athletic training the day before had been a shock. It was a serious business. Nevertheless, when he thought of what had been done to him, he felt a kind of virtuous enrichment, and excitement.

Frank was in a more benevolent mood than had prevailed the day before and Marmaduke made a good effort to impress. He attracted no further chastisement - only a couple of wolf- whistles from strolling queers. He was thankful that he was not being eyed by strangers in the state he'd been in yesterday; i.e. butt-naked and yelping at every slash of Frank's buggy-whip.

Nevertheless, the training session was hard, as expected. Marmaduke had to run like a greyhound and was urged, in no uncertain terms, not to dawdle. A slow, long distance swim beyond the breakers served to cool him down and wash the gritty sand from his Speedos.

As he emerged from the surf, he exchanged a meaningful look with a good-looking, dark-haired boy standing nearby in the wet sand. But Marmaduke couldn't linger. Frank bellowed from a hundred metres away and shortly, Marmaduke was hurrying back to Eric's house to get his bike.

Eric looked up, surprised, as the wet, gleaming youth burst in.

"Back already, pup?"

"I need to get my bike."

"It's in the carport."

"Yeah. I know. I need a spanner to put the front wheel on."

"There might be one in the car."

"Can you get it?"

"Of course," said Eric, leisurely. "Just as soon as I finish breakfast." He lingered over a piece of toast.

"Now please, Eric. Frank's waiting!"

"All right, all right. Can't keep old Frank waiting, can we?"

Eric admired, almost painfully and with a gulped swallow of dry toast, the exquisite turn of rounded thigh on the boy. As he squeezed past in the doorway, Eric brushed against Marmaduke's wet skin and not accidentally, fingered the bulging, nylon front-pack of the boy's genitals.

"You look lovely in Speedos, sonny," said Eric with his mouth full. "But you looked better the other day in your little g-string!"

"You're going to see me with nothing on and my arse licked red-raw again if you don't hurry up and get me that spanner!" said the agitated Marmaduke.

"Will I, now?" said Eric, thoughtfully.

Marmaduke fixed up his bicycle and sped furiously away to keep his appointment with the impatient Frank. He was kept very busy in activities that, whilst wearying to relate, nevertheless administered to our need to keep our young hero in peak physical condition. Part of the curriculum imposed by Frank was, as those familiar with the story will be aware, to make sure Marmaduke imbibed the right form of traditional discipline.

Perhaps this segment of the training was not being as effective as Frank would have liked. Later in the morning, as Marmaduke made his way back to Eric's, he found himself powerfully aroused by the memory of the other boy he'd seen on the beach - and the brief look he'd been given by the two big, brown eyes.

As Marmaduke pedaled his bike, a long bead of sweat made a line down the middle of his back, trickled into the rear of his Speedos, found its way into his crack, and mixed with the sticky humidity between his pumping legs. The sweaty bike-seat ground between his hard, toiling little buttocks. He was as eager as a cat on heat. His cock had twitched to life and was making a large, banana-shaped protrudence in his stretched Speedos. Curse his rude organ's disobedience! And after he had fucked the bedsheets only that morning!

Marmaduke evaluated his three choices:

One; go home to Eric, mess around with whatever lubricant he had a fixation on this week, suck his cock and probably end up ejaculating all over something that he'd have to clean up afterwards.

Two; Get off his bike right here and jack himself off with his hand whilst crouching behind that bush over there, lubricating his thick, meaty shaft with spit and spilling his seed unproductively in the dust while thinking of that boy's eyes.

Three; Turn his bike around, go find the dark-haired boy, and fuck him backwards.

Our tousle-haired, slick-skinned boy cleverly chose the latter option and rode back along the beach road, his taut, fine muscles springing with anticipation and his firm penis pushing demandingly against his Speedos. He pedaled up and down - around and around, looking for the boy who had excited his fantasies.

They found each other on the sparsely vegetated hillocks back from the beach. They said nothing to each other, their purpose purely that of two horny boys seeking relief. Communication was, at first, by clumsy wrestling as they figured out who would do what to whom. Marmaduke went for the zip on the guy's jeans. He pushed him onto his back on the sandy ground and lay down on top. The guy desperately wrenched his jeans down and flicked his erect dong out from his underpants. He grunted and waved it in Marmaduke's face.

Marmaduke got down over it and took it into his mouth. It tasted sweaty and meaty. He licked smoothly and quickly, moving his head up and down. Then he cupped his hands into the small of the guy's back, rested on his elbows and moved the guy's hips up and down in time with his own oral servicing. The guy moaned. Marmaduke enveloped the boy's prong completely with his mouth, continuing to lick and make the guy grunt. He stopped to clear some pubic hair from his teeth.

"Keep going, fuck ya!" the guy said, anguished.

Marmaduke got back to work and felt the tell tale jerking and contracting of the testicles as the other boy prepared to come.

"Oooaahgh!!" The guy said, thrusting with his hips.

Marmaduke gulped, and somehow kept his mouth fixed to the wildly bucking torso underneath him. A hot torrent of sperm gushed forth.

"Splurmphgh!!" said Marmaduke as the spewing, white muck raced into his throat. He gagged and pulled away - but the guy was still coming. He pushed Marmaduke's head savagely back onto his spitting cock.

"Suck it suck it cocksucker!. . . You fucking little cocksucker. . .!" the guy said, not very nicely.

When the flow had subsided into dribbles, Marmaduke was able to lift his head from the slimy flesh-pole. He spat wads of come into the sand and retched.

"Nice going, prick," said Marmaduke disgusted. "You nearly suffocated me with that rotten little fuckstick!"

"Dry your eyes, princess. You're privileged to swallow my tasty jism. Don't you know that?"

"Like fuck! You owe me! Open your stupid gob and suck me off now!" Marmaduke demanded, a little optimistically.

"Fat chance, cocksucker! I don't suck faggots who wear Speedos and prowl around looking for dirty old men!" The guy laughed.

"Why, you. . .!"

Marmaduke lunged at him. They grappled viciously and rolled around in the dirt, struggling. The guy had Marmaduke's hair, and wrenched his head back. Marmaduke grunted and managed to get a hand around the guy's throat. He choked him mercilessly, the guy's face going purple.

Marmaduke was stronger, and was already on top. This, coupled with the fact that the guy's jeans were around his ankles, allowed Marmaduke an early advantage. He sat up on the other boy's chest and pinned his arms to the ground. Marmaduke's Speedos had ripped, and his bare body, scratched with grass-stains, was sweaty and itchy. He breathed heavily from exertion.

"Now you're going to get it, fuckface!" he pronounced through bared teeth.

Deftly, he brought his stiff cock up in line with the guy's grimacing face.

"Swallow it! I swallowed yours! Now you swallow mine!"

The erect, male-organ was shoved bravely and unceremoniously into the guy's yowling mouth. But not for long. The guy bit down on it. Hard. And now it was Marmaduke's turn to howl.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!" he bellowed at the sky.

The other guy moved. He shoved Marmaduke hard in the chest, toppling him. As Marmaduke tried to nurse his bitten dick, the guy managed to do up his jeans and send his adversary sprawling with a well-placed, sneakered foot in the shoulder. That was enough for Marmaduke. He leapt, and floored the guy with a body-slam. "Oomph!" they went, onto the ground. The fight was on again - and again, quickly, Marmaduke gained the upper hand. They struggled together, breathing hard, more desperate than ever.

Then, there was a far-off howl of high-revving motor bike engines - which rapidly got louder, and nearer. Two riders on dirt-bikes came cutting across the sandy, bumpy ground, spraying muddy water from a few puddles. Marmaduke didn't look up until the bikes were circling the fighting boys. The din was deafening.

The engines were stopping. The riders dismounted.

"Hey! Wayne's getting' his arse kicked by a faggot-boy!" Marmaduke heard one of them yell, gleefully. Uh, oh! This situation was not getting any better!

Marmaduke was dragged backwards, off his opponent. A motorbike boot claimed him hard in the belly, painfully knocking all of the wind out of him. He curled up, clutching his guts, moaning in agony. They grabbed his arms and spread them. The one he'd sucked - 'Wayne,' - punched him and sent him sprawling again.

"Give it to 'im, Wayne!"

"Little, fuckin' cocksucker. . .!"

Another punch hit him in the guts. Bruised and naked, Marmaduke lay disabled on the ground. Thankfully, they'd stopped hitting him.

"Hey, pretty-boy! You're fucking great at sucking cock! You'll have to do it again sometime!" laughed the objectionable object of Marmaduke's former lust - the obstreperous 'Wayne'.

"Come on, spunkrat!" cried one of the leather-clad riders. "If you like sucking, then you won't mind sucking on my lollipop!"

A horrible, spotty penis extended from the guy's leathers. He waved it at Marmaduke who still lay, sore, on the ground. There was no fucking way Marmaduke was going to suck anyone else's dick today! He took aim - and landed the sole of his foot, real hard, into the guy's crotch. He felt the soft nuts squash - and heard the sickening thump. The guy went down like a sack of shit - and boy, did he yell! Marmaduke was smart enough to know his continued presence would be much less conducive to good health than it had previously been, even. He jumped up and ran. His bike, lying in the sand, and his torn Speedos were left behind. He headed with much haste back to Frank's house - it was closer than Eric's.

A kickstarted dirt-bike's high-revving shriek told him that the other biker was coming after him. He sprinted hard, feet pounding in the sandy ground and ears pounding with pumping blood. The bike roared past and circled back onto him. He ducked behind some scrub and scrambled up a dune. Perhaps. . . perhaps he could be agile enough, and speedy enough to outrun and outwit the dolt on the bike.

The bike speared into the sand behind him. He heard it rev hard. A glance behind told him all he needed to know. The idiot had bogged himself and was spraying sand from his rear wheel. That gave Marmaduke enough distance to race across the top of the dunes and scoot across Frank's yard. He was safe! The sound of the bike had subsided into the distance. And there was Frank.

"What happened to you, lad?"

". . . I got beaten up!" Marmaduke puffed.

"Who. . .?"

"These guys. . .! I don't know!"

"What. . .? Where?"

"Back there!"

"In the sand dunes?"

"Yeah."

"What were you doing? cruising?"

"No. Er. . . I. . ."

"I asked you a question, boy," Frank's tone was stern now. "Were you cruising for a fuck?"

"No. I wasn't. . .!"

"Where's your swimmers?"

"They got ripped off. . .! Honest Frank! I got mugged!"

"I'm not going to mess around with you, boy. Get in Position."

Frank pointed sharply at Marmaduke and then at the ground near himself, where Marmaduke was to adopt the Position. Marmaduke slumped, pouted, and gave a whining "aaw!".

"GET IN POSITION!!!"

The boy jumped. He quickly got into the pose he had been instructed on the day before. He hadn't forgotten: Feet well apart - hands clasped behind neck - chin up - back straight - elbows back.

"FEET FURTHER APART! STRAIGHTEN UP!. WHAT DID I FUCKING TEACH YOU YESTERDAY?" Frank barked.

Marmaduke stiffened.

"NOW STAY THERE!"

There was a lengthy pause while Frank fumed. Marmaduke curled his toes into the bristly grass - waiting. Frank spoke.

"Now, listen up, son. First; you went sniffing around for some boys to fuck. I've got a remedy for that. Then; you tried to lie to me about it. I've got a remedy for that too. Would you like to find out what those remedies are?"

"Frank. I promise I. . ."

"You just made your third mistake, boy. If you open your mouth once more, it will be a very - big - fucking - mistake. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"GOT IT?!!"

"Yes, Sir!!"

"I tell you something once. Not twice. There'll be no discussion. This is not political-correctville. This is done my way or not at all. What did I tell you yesterday about this?"

"You said I shouldn't be messing around, doing shit. And that." Marmaduke whimpered.

"You just forgot to say 'Sir.'"

Marmaduke snapped to a different tact.

"SIR! I fucked up, SIR! I'm sorry, SIR!"

"How many mistakes have you made this morning, boy?"

Marmaduke's lips moved quickly as he counted in his head.

"Four, SIR."

"How many mistakes do you think I tolerate in one day?"

"None, SIR."

"At least you got that right."

Frank reached out and grabbed a handful of Marmaduke's hair. He slowly, thoughtfully tilted the positioned boy's head back until Marmaduke was looking at sky.

"Are you going to hang around long enough for me to get you properly disciplined, Marmaduke?" said Frank, his tone now quieter, but no less menacing.

"Yes, Sir."

Marmaduke bent back, arching his back as Frank pushed his head away. His feet gripped the ground.

"You need to be whipped into shape, the old-fashioned way, don't you, lad?"

A forefinger prodded hard into the teenager's firm belly, enunciating every syllable, i.e.:

"You (prod) need (prod) to (prod) be (prod) whipped (prod) into (prod). . ." and so on.

"Yes, Sir."

"Ask for it, sprig!"

"Please whip me into shape, Sir."

Marmaduke was suddenly jerked upright by the fist in his hair. He kept his position as he was lifted painfully onto his his toes.

"ASK FOR IT!"

"SIR, I NEED TO BE WHIPPED INTO SHAPE! I NEED DISCIPLINE REAL BAD! PLEASE DISCIPLINE ME SIR!"

Two fingers of Frank's free hand slapped Marmaduke's penis sideways, hard, with a smack, making it bounce between his thighs a couple of times.

Frank let him go.

"Get into the shed! MOVE!!"

Marmaduke scurried into the wooden shed and got straight back into position. He smelt the dry wood and leather. Oh shit! He'd fucked up, big time! If only he'd gone straight home to Eric!

Frank came in. his words were stingingly curt.

"Turn around. Get against the rail."

Marmaduke instantly spun, and lined himself up against the large, wooden, horizontal beams of the horse pen. He put his arms over one beam and felt the others at intervals down his body.

"Spread your legs. Hold on to it."

He did so.

Frank shoved a rough, folded strap of dark, oiled leather under Marmaduke's nose, lifting his chin with it.

"This is what you're getting, lad. Let's hope you learn a valuable lesson from it today."

Marmaduke felt it and smelt it, rather than saw it.

"For your information; it's a studded razor strop. Usually effective. Think yourself lucky you're not getting the horsewhip."

Marmaduke shifted slightly, and held on to the rough, splintery wooden beam. He promised himself that he wouldn't yell, and that he'd take the punishment bravely - and then that he'd never fuck up with Frank again.

"Ready?"

"Ready, Sir."

The razor strop was in the air before Marmaduke spoke - and landed, one tiny fraction of a second after he'd finished the word "Sir," evenly across his naked backside.

The sound - the CRACK - as it made contact with bare skin, was enough to shock. The horse in her stall skittered.

The pain was much worse than that which he'd received from the buggy-whip. He howled in outrage.

"FRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNK!!!"

When the second, blazing lick landed, Marmaduke could feel, somehow, that the flying leather strop was being placed expertly in slightly different places on his fiery rump. This stroke had, indeed, placed a wide, sizzling stripe up high - where his buttocks joined his back. Again, he cried out.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!"

"Stand up straight, boy!" said Frank.

Marmaduke shifted, raised his arms, and braced himself against the fence. His body broke out in a sweat.

With the arrival of the third stroke came a sincere oath, on Marmaduke's part, that Frank would never have reason to chastise him again - Just as soon as this whole thing was over! Please let it be over!

"Stop wailing, boy! This doesn't leave permanent damage! Take it like a man!"

"Aaaaaaaaaawwwwww!!" moaned Marmaduke loudly and pitifully, as he realized there was more to come.

And indeed, there was.

Three more strokes were laid, evenly, one on top of the other, across the boy's red-hot backside. With every stroke, Marmaduke committed himself solemnly to making sure this would not happen again. Six times, the wicked razor strop had flown in the dusty atmosphere of the shed. Six loud CRACKs of traditional correction, laid on in six, searing strokes. Six reasons not to upset Frank again.

Marmaduke slumped against the fence, his arms over one of the horizontals. He hadn't blubbered, for which he was proud of himself.

"Turn around, boy."

He about-face slowly and faced the man who had deigned to leather his rear with that vicious weapon, in a form of punishment outlawed in all states.

"Come here."

Marmaduke went to him, not knowing what to expect next. Frank placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently, affectionately.

"You took that pretty well, lad. Will you be making those kinds of mistakes again, do you think?"

"No, Sir! No, Sir!" said Marmaduke, breathlessly.

"Good lad."

"I'll try to be, Sir."

"Now what did you do wrong? What were you just punished for?"

"I went messing around looking for some action when you told me. . ."

"And what was the second thing you did wrong?"

"I lied to you about it."

"Right. For that, you get six more. Get up against the fence."

"What. . .?! Oh no! Come on, Frank!. . . Please. . .!"

"Do you want to disappoint me, lad?"

"No. . .!"

"Then get up against the fence. Now!"

Marmaduke saw he had no way out. Tearfully, he ran back to his place against the fence, for punishment. He gripped it tightly with his arms and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Frank, wait."

"What?"

"After this. . . no more, please!"

"Okay. No more after this."

"I promise not to disobey again!"

"Good lad. You need to understand I don't tolerate the kind of nonsense you got up to this morning."

"Yes, Sir. I understand now."

"Good. So you understand why you're getting these next six."

"Yes, Sir."

"In that case, you can count them out for me. Count 'em out nice and loud, boy. We don't want to miss any!"

"Yes, Sir."

Almost instantaneously, the strop whistled in the air - and the frightful SMACK of it sent that intense stinging through Marmaduke's thoroughly chastened butt cheeks.

"ONE!!" he yelled. It came out: "WUUUUUNNN!!" as a shriek.

"you didn't say Sir."

"ONE, SIR!!"

"We'll start again."

Tears squeezed from under his eyelids. He whimpered.

The 'first' stroke flew through the air again - really the second - really the eighth. It cracked home like a cut from hell.

"SIR! ONE! SIR!"

"Don't mess up the count again, boy."

He didn't. The remaining five strokes were counted out very loudly and very definitely. Finally, Marmaduke cried; "SIR! SIX! SIR," to indicate his thirteenth, impossible stroke.

"That's it, lad. No more." Frank said, laying the wretched strop-whip to one side. Marmaduke turned around, emotionally flushed, but not cowed anymore. Frank drew the boy to him with a leather gloved hand behind the neck. He was gentle. Marmaduke put his wet face into Frank's leather jacket. He trembled uncontrollably in the man's arms. The sweat of suffering glazed his naked body and Bits of straw stuck to him. Frank smoothed the boy's hair, brushing away strands of hay.

"Learnt anything, lad?"

"Yes, Sir," said Marmaduke, nearly sobbing.

"All right. You can stop calling me 'Sir' for now. How's your bum feel?"

"Hurts like all fuck."

"We'll cool it down with some water."

"I won't be sitting down for a long time!"

"Never mind, lad," Frank laughed. "You're no use to anyone sitting down, anyway."

Marmaduke sulked.

"Yeah, well that fucking hurt a lot, what you just did. I want to go home!"

Marmaduke pushed away and went outside. Frank followed.

"Boy."

Marmaduke stopped.

"Get back inside the shed," Frank said, gently.

Marmaduke obeyed.

"Get in position."

Frank's tone was still gentle. Marmaduke adopted the position in the middle of the dirt floor. Sweat ran from his armpits and from his neck, down his chest and back. Trickling, salty droplets traced down the twin curves of his buttocks, making them sting all the more. Frank spoke.

"There's not many that can voluntarily take a second licking with the razor strop, like you did, Marmaduke. You've done well. I'm not angry anymore, but by God, I need discipline from you, boy! Don't sulk like a spoiled brat. Grow up!

"Now listen. Here's what you're going to do: Run back and get your bike before it gets pinched. Bring it back here and stick it under the house. Then get back inside this shed, get back into position, exactly where you are now, and stay there. I want you to stay in position for a good while so you can have a think about why you've been punished. Got that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm going to phone Eric and tell him you won't be back until tomorrow. I've got some work for you around this place. Oh, and we'll do something to cool off your bum. Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Right. Off you go then. Hurry up, lad!"

With that, Marmaduke dashed off. Frank, it seemed, had no regard for the boy's modesty, sending him off naked. But it could be argued that Marmaduke's lack of clothing was his own fault, anyway. He ran fast, backside aflame, hoping to avoid anyone - especially anyone riding a dirt-bike.

He had no time to dawdle, but all the same, his sexual appetite, aroused that morning, had not yet been sated. Two loaded balloons of young-man's jism dangled freely and heavily between his running legs.

He hacked some spit into his hand and yanked his pendulous organ to full erectness while he ran. Within seconds, he was pumping glassfuls. He grunted and stumbled over onto his hands and knees, still strumming his erupting penis. Sand stuck to his sweat and to the thick gobs of warm, splattering come. Then he got up and ran on. Frank was waiting.