Training the Marine

Part 9 of the saga which you're kindly posting in authoritarian and military.

Pete

TRAINING THE MARINE - Part 9

By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

It always seems as if 50 or so of my aides and advisors want to accompany me when I head towards the USA, and they justify this by claiming that they are going to brief me on the aircraft. Whilst I do have a conference room on board (I need to be able to show the whole thing is designed for business in order that I can take it as a business expense) I really hate listening to them going on and on. Actually, I can't stand these briefings at all, so having them whilst we're flying is even worse. I think it's about time for a new purge - last year I restricted all presentations to a maximum of 20 minutes, and allowed no more than six overhead foils. But this last month or so I see they have been gradually creeping up both in length and in terms of the number of foils.

After we had taken off, therefore, I sat down to listen and after exactly 20 minutes dismissed the speaker - and he was still going on about the co-operation he had had from others, and had not even got to the meat of the thing! The second one left after I told him no more foils after number six! And after that my staff got the message and the rest of the briefing programme was cancelled - my senior PA just came and we talked about the really key points I needed to address in the USA, and it only took us twelve minutes in total!

That left the whole of the rest of the journey for my pleasure, and anticipating this I had had a new slave loaded into the containment cages at the rear. I retired to my private suite of rooms, and sent for the slave.

I have a dealer who I particularly trust, and occasionally he sends me details via my PC of slaves who he thinks will certainly appeal to me. He's like those really high class car dealers - the ones who sell Ferraris and Maseratis - he relies on a small, rich clientele who are prepared to pay for the best, and who have little personal time to make a choice for themselves. He does not abuse the privilege of access to his clients by sending them details of every piece of merchandise he has for sale, but when a particularly excellent "model" comes in to his "showroom", he invites just those clients who he knows will appreciate it to consider a purchase.

Four weeks ago he sent me details of a Russian who had been newly enslaved, but who had taken well to an initial period of training. My dealer thought that he might appeal to me as the man was tall - taller even than me - with a body that was extremely well made. Not overly muscled, but powerful and strong, with legs and body properly proportioned - so often very tall men have overly-long legs, I find. His hair was a dark blonde, and his entire body was covered in a very fine coat of body hair, lying appealingly flat on his front and back, but with just a hint of curl on his arms and legs. He had sharp, chiselled features, and seemed to smile and laugh a lot. Everything about him seemed perfect from the detailed shots I called up onto my screen - prominent nipples on big aureoles, flat belly, extremely muscular ass carried high, and a long, thick cock and low-hanging balls.

The dealer assured me that he was fertile, as he had sired two sons, and told me that he had no previous experience with men. He had been sold to the Eastern network by the Russian Mafia, to whom he had failed to repay a loan. Having been "retired" from the Russian special forces when the financial crisis hit the country, he had tried to go into business importing scarce Western goods, on borrowed money, but it had failed.

I didn't have time to inspect the slave personally, but, as I said, I trust this dealer. And in spite of the quite outrageous price I had bought him. After all, if you work hard, you deserve to be able to play hard, and my hobby probably costs me a lot less than those adopted by some rich men - if you go in for ocean racing, for example, the running expenses are huge and the boats themselves actually depreciate. A good slave, on the other hand, usually appreciates whilst I own him as the next buyer know that he will be acquiring an exceptional slave who had been properly schooled in all the arts of serving a master.

Whilst I generally like to attend to the training and decoration of these slaves myself, I was particularly busy at the time and so I had told the dealer to have him marked with my house brand, get him circumcised, and to send him to sex school before delivery to me. Whilst it's fun occasionally to teach a new slave about being fucked, and I was enjoying doing this to the marine, sometimes it's just good to be able to use the slave immediately and know that he understands what his role is. The sex school we use is excellent - they take a slave and quickly get rid of any shame or inhibition he has in doing anything a master might want to with his body, whilst managing to retain something of that air of surprise and innocence that previously straight men still sometimes exhibit so engagingly.

I was reclining on a couch when he came in, and immediately I could tell that my dealer had again not failed me. There was that indefinable "something" about him that promised delight and pleasure - you know how it is, sometimes you just catch a glimpse of something going on inside a man's head that makes him truly special. Some men can just enter a room and all heads will turn to look at them - not just because of the beauty of their bodies, but because they have about them an aura of confidence and charm, and this slave was just such a one. He stood there looking at me, and I felt myself going instantly erect - that's relatively rare, as I see so many naked slaves all of whom are generally very presentable - and I believe it was this combination of masculine beauty and general aura that did it.

Unlike so many of the newly enslaved, he didn't look cross, or sad, or downtrodden, but had a pleasant, open grin on his face. It's so good to see a happy slave - so often they have been trained to show no emotion at all. I suppose I ought to have commanded this one to kneel, or to cast his eyes down in respect, but the chance to see a slave daring to look at me almost as if he was an equal was in itself quite exciting.

He just stood looking at me, and his eyes never left mine. He was totally unashamed of his nakedness - indeed, he almost flaunted it - and he obviously knew why he had been brought into my private room.

I got up, and went over to him, and started to examine him as I would any new purchase. Usually I'm pretty methodical about this as you know, starting at the top and working downwards, but on this occasion his cock looked so tempting it was the first thing I reached for. He was instantly erect as my hands touched him, and then, to my utter amazement, he was fumbling for my cock through my robes!

He found it, and as I fondled him, he fondled me. It was almost as if one of my oldest friends was with me, rather than a slave! Then he leaned over and pressed his lips to mine.

I am a master, but, more than that, I am a "top" and an aggressive one at that. It's always me that "makes the running" when I'm with another man, whether free or enslaved, and I am completely unused to another man taking an initiative in this way. I knew I should have the slave punished for daring to attempt to touch me without my permission, but something inside me said "what the hell", and I decided to let the scene play itself out.

Within seconds his tongue was deep inside me, and his arms were wrapped around me running up and down my back with urgent passion. His leg was in-between mine, and he was rubbing his erect cock up and down against where mine still nestled under my robe.

Breaking off after a minute or two, he stood back a pace and literally tore my robe off me so I too was naked, then flung his body back against mine so we could again kiss and hug each other, and stab our rampant cocks into the other's pubic area.

I really had no time to think, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't even want to think! My body was being flooded with waves of pleasure from the aggressive stroking and hugging we were doing, and I sensed that this is what my marine must have felt when I first started to aggressively caress his body.

The slave was now biting my lower lip, and intermittently breaking off to force his head against my shoulder blades so he could bite and nibble at my shoulders and neck. And he would occasionally drop further, to suck and bite at my nipples. I actually heard myself groaning and crying with pleasure, something I rarely do. For me sex had become something rather mechanical, which you do of course perform well; but now I was being swept along on a tide of passion, the sort of passion I had last felt, I think, as a young man taking my first pleasures with slaves of different sizes and shapes.

We were both sweating intensely, and as we rubbed against each other I marvelled at the feel of his skin against mine - all hot and wet. And already he was giving off those wonderful masculine scents that only come when a man is truly aroused and his sweat glands are pouring out all sorts of pheromones to attract a mate and raise his level of sexual readiness.

He pushed me backwards on to my bed, and now moved his head down my body, toying with my nips again so I shouted with pleasure and arched my body to try to get away from his insistent mouth. I clutched at his head as he moved it down, constantly licking at me and probing into my navel. And then of course he started to tease and play with my cock with his hot, moist tongue.

It was almost more than I could bear, but then it all stopped. With an athletic bound he sprang off the bed, then back on again, kneeling between my legs. He spread his legs, using the force in his powerful ass and thigh muscles to force mine wide apart, then put his hands under my ass and raised it in the air! The next instant I felt the hot touch of his cock pressing against my ass hole. Ahhhhh!

I don't really like to label people as "tops" or "bottoms", or "active" or "passive", and I never cease to be amazed when I see Western men obsessing over these terms when I bother to scan the Internet. Men should just do to each other what each wants, and I suppose it's easier if you have a "top" and a "bottom". But as an aggressive top, I suppose it is sometimes, just occasionally, fun to just lie back and let it happen to you! It's really good, occasionally, to give up trying to make things happen, and just to let things happen to you.

Whether it was because I was tired, or because I had felt "something" for this slave, I decided just to turn off (as much as I am able), and the next thing I experienced was that feeling as a cock slides into you. I suppose this happens to me this eight or nine times a year, generally with very old friends when we are doing "turn and turn around", but never before have I had a slave start to fuck me! Actually, you can't tell, of course - if I closed my eyes there was no way of knowing that a big aggressive slave was pushing his way into me, as it felt much the same as when a friend does. But when I opened my eyes I knew at once it was a slave - there was no doubting the superb musculature and the rugged good looks that were the reason why I had bought him in the first place.

The slave was almost as good a lover as I am. He had pushed my legs up to sit on his shoulders, and was thrusting away deep into me in a most expert way - if he had been supposedly straight before enslavement only those few weeks before, then straight men must at last be learning how to do things properly. He had that instinctive ability to slide in and out gently and regularly, almost in time with my breathing, then suddenly, without warning, to draw out almost completely and plunge in hard so his pubic bone slammed into my pubic area. My moans of pleasure turned to cries of pain whenever he did this (well, not exactly pain - you know what I mean - that amazing feeling of pure unadulterated pleasure, verging on unbearable pain. You cry out for it to stop, but that's the last thing you want to happen).

He was breathing hard, and as his body pistoned in and out small drops of sweat were flying off him. I was moaning and crying in time to his strokes as I have said, but one part of me was watching the scene intensely analytically: I could see the slave watching my face, then timing his regular strokes and his sudden thrusts to coincide with my breathing, and my moans of joy. He only thrust hard when it looked as if I had completely relaxed and was not expecting another, and in-between each hard thrust he gave me several gentle strokes to allow me to "recover". This is exactly what I do when I'm fucking, and, like the slave, I always prefer to fuck men on their backs precisely so that I can watch their faces.

With a great shout of his own he came, and I could feel him pumping his seed deep inside me. At once he fell forward onto me, and to my amazement, almost as if by reflex, I crossed my legs behind his back as if to hold him in, whilst pulling his body even closer to mine, if that was possible, with my hands on his back.

His head was beside mine, and I could feel his lips lightly kissing my shoulder. He was moaning something quietly and softly, but I guess it was in Russian as it was not one of the languages I speak fluently. He could have been the master, and I the slave!

After a few minutes he rolled away from me so that we were side by side on our backs, then, realising his cock was covered in my crap, he leapt lightly out of bed and went into my bathroom - all without asking my permission! It was interesting to see how such a big man could move so lightly and smoothly: it was if he was some sort of big jungle cat, and I delighted in seeing the muscles in his body move as he almost slid across the floor.

When he emerged a few moments later, I expected him to fall to the floor and start reacting like a slave, but instead he vaulted on to the bed, and rolled over so that he was again lying on his back, next to me. He pulled my arm under his head, and cradled my head in his arm, and reached down with his other hand and started to masturbate me whilst kissing me passionately!

I couldn't have broken off even if had wanted to, and to my surprise it only took a few strokes of his hands before I shot a huge load of my cum all over my stomach. Actually, I wasn't totally pleased about this as I planned to fuck him next, and I didn't think I would have time to recover. But before I could say anything, he had sat up and had bent over to lick my cum up from my belly and chest, causing waves of pleasurable sensations to flow through me again. He then lay back, and kissed me deeply, and I could taste my own cum intermingled with his own delicious spit.

We must have lay for at last half an hour recovering from this massively enjoyable session, just lying there languidly kissing, fondling each others cocks and balls, and indulging in mutual fun nipple play. We did nothing to excess, so there was no need to writhe or moan, and just experienced the gentle warmth and touch of a lover intent on prolonging his companion's sensations.

I really wanted to fuck the slave next, as I was looking forward to probing his lovely ass myself and ramming my cock up his hole. I knew that I could return that mixture of pleasure, passion and pain that I had experienced, and really wanted the slave to enjoy it.

But, irritatingly, the "Vitally urgent" light had been flashing on my phone for over half an hour already, and I decided the real world did need to intrude a little. Even so, it was another half hour before I was ready to take the call - we washed each other in the shower, revelling in examining and playing with each other's wet, soap-slicked bodies.

This had been such a deeply passionate experience for me that I thought of taking the slave with me into my hotel in Washington. But I could tell that "real world" was intruding as my innate caution said "no", reminding me of what happened last time I took a newly-enslaved man in to the USA. He tried to escape!

Or, rather, when he was presenting his manufactured passport to the immigration officer, he started to shout and cry out about being captured and enslaved!

The US courts didn't believe him of course, and so ordered him to be deported. But it took ages - at least a year. He was, as you would expect, deported to the country he had come from, my own, and on arrival he suffered the inevitable penalty for slaves who attempt escape.

I didn't want to risk something similar happening to this magnificent animal, as I wanted to enjoy him many more times. So I ordered him to be taken and locked back into his cage until we returned home. Or, I mused, there was always the long flight back....!

Actually the "vitally urgent" call was quite serious, so it was probably as well I stopped then. However rich you are, you hate to see your self losing money, and the fools on the West Coast had managed to completely fuck up a project with which they had been entrusted. The press and the courts had become involved, and there was talk of class action suits that could tie up some of my US assets for years! I did see one potential "fix", but it was not something I wanted to get the incompetents who had got us into the mess in the first instance to do. So I wearily told my PA that we would fly on to LA after Washington, and that therefore I could only see the lieutenant the next day, and only then at lunch time - the rest of today had to be spent in the meetings, and at the formal dinner, that were the ostensible reason for my trip in the first place.

The meetings went well - but again they were of those self-congratulatory kind where the "chiefs" were supposed to shake everyone's hand and thank them for making it all possible - the essence of the deal had all been done already by phone. I hate big formal dinners, even when they are in the White House, and made my excuses to leave as early as decently possible.

One of the presidential aides had obviously been briefed to "take care" of me if I left early, and sidled up and said that perhaps that this was because I was interested in seeing some of Washington's "night life"? Actually, that did seem like a good idea - with my slave locked in his cage on board my aircraft, I faced a lonely bed that night. But the US intelligence services had obviously stumbled somewhere, because the enthusiastic aide took me to a vile place where the air was full of cigarette smoke, and half-drunk men were standing around watching naked women disport themselves!

How completely disgusting: smoking, drinking, and naked women. No wonder the USA is in crisis. And it was so tame - the women were just dancing, and were not even being made to go down on each other with dildos.

I strode out of the "club" in fury, and the presidential aide was obviously worried.

"I'm sorry, sir, if we have offended you or your religious principles!" (Religious - me?).

"On behalf of the President, please accept our deepest apologies."

"That's perfectly all right. I'm sure you meant well.

So many of your country's actions are meant to be right, and few succeed, so I am used to these failures."

"It's just, sir..... Well, I don't know how to put this.... It's just that our information was that you had a..... a, shall we say, healthy interest in sex!"

"So you think I'm a eunuch! Is there no end to your insults! Of course I have a healthy interest in sex! Every man does. If you thought that, why did you take me to see that pornography - naked women disporting themselves like that!"

"I'm sorry, sir... But that's one of Washington's top sex clubs...."

"In that case, it's no wonder your country is in a mess. It cannot be healthy to have men standing around in that smoky atmosphere, drinking, and watching pornography. Do I understand that as it's one of the capitols top clubs, that most of the clientele are leaders of government and industry?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

"Well, that proves my point. Leaders should be doing, not watching; they should be fucking away, not watching women dancing! You can redeem yourself by taking me to a proper sex club, where real men indulge in the true pleasures of sex. Surely there is such a club here?"

"No, sir. I don't think there is. Our laws forbid men and women getting together in clubs to...."

"Fool! Do you persist in your perversion? Why would a man want to watch a man with a woman? Women are for breeding, and whilst it is necessary to use them for this occasionally, there is no requirement to have to watch that animal act taking place! If I want to see breeding going on, I'd rather watch my stallions on my stud farm. No, by sex I mean proper sex - men fucking men. And as a leader and most important person present, I naturally do not want to watch, but to initiate action and to take part. Take me to wherever it is in this capital that that takes place!"

"Sir, I... I don't know! In all my time in the Office Of Protocol, no one has ever made such a request!"

"Well then, you have failed in your mission to understand the needs of, and to cater adequately for, your guests. Once again, your country has disappointed me deeply."

"Sir, so I understand that you want to spend the night with a man..."

"No! Not necessarily, only if he pleases me. I want to fuck a man as I invariably do before retiring, and if he is particularly pleasing, I might choose to have him share by bed all night."

"Thank you for your candour, sir. The US Government does not, I am afraid, procure men for its guests."

"So you will risk my displeasure? There is still that final meeting tomorrow morning. Do you want me to arrive cross, and frustrated?"

"Sir, please. Remain calm. Whilst we do not procure men, I do have a colleague with whom I used to work who is now in the Pentagon, in the Navy department. If you would allow me ten minutes, sir, whilst we drive around.... I might be able to do something."

"Very well! It's a long time since I was in Washington - get the driver to take me on a tour of the monuments."

The man looked relieved, and spent the next minutes in frantic phone calls - he was bending low into his cell phone, and evident understood, as do so few users, that you do not need to shout to make yourself heard! So I had no idea who he was calling, or what about. But he did seem pleased when he put down the phone.

"Sir, my friend would like us to join him for a drink in his apartment. He has located a member of the US Navy, a junior officer, who will also be joining us. This sailor is, I understand, handsome and, shall we say, not averse to enjoying the company of men...."

"Excellent! Drive us there quickly."

The apartment was one of those expensive ones near the key government buildings, where those officials who were clawing their way up aspired to live in order to impress. There was a vast marble and glass atrium, uniformed doormen, and fast, silent elevators. The apartment had a stunning view of the skyline and out to the Potomac, and was furnished in the tasteful whites, beiges and taupes that screamed "expensive interior decorator".

The host was clearly also a diplomat, as he greeted me warmly and offered me a drink. There was no sign of the promised naval officer, and we were running out of polite small talk - never my strong point even at the best of times, as you will by now know - when we were saved by the sound of the door buzzer, and the arrival of a stunningly handsome man in his early thirties.

"Sorry I am late, sir! ", he said. "I had this call from the Admiral to come here, and not even to bother to change. But I could not leave the duty room until my replacement arrived as I have responsibility for the overnight monitoring...."

"Quite...", my host cut in. "Did the admiral mention why you were asked.....?"

"Oh yes, sir. He sounded considerably embarrassed, but I understood what is required."

He turned and looked at me, grinned, and said, sort of to the others, but quite clearly aiming his remarks at me

"And, if I may say so, sir, I think it will be a pleasure if this is the gentleman who is to be entertained."

I could see that this officer had all the makings of an eminently suitable bed companion, but did not want to have any false expectations or misunderstanding. As he was evidently being provided for me, I looked at him squarely and simply said

"I want to assure myself that it will be a pleasure. Take off your clothes, so I can inspect you."

I heard the two diplomats gasp, but the sailor just smiled again - I like a man that smiles, as you know.

He quickly took off his entire uniform, and stood there in white cotton boxer shorts. I thought that like so many men he would stop at this point, but he did not - still looking at me and smiling, he put his thumbs under the waistband and shucked them to the floor. He was not at all ashamed to strip in front of three men - perhaps that's what you learn when you are confined in the close quarters of ships. I of course enjoyed it, as I always like to see the shape of the ass as a man bends to release his trousers over his feet, but both diplomats looked highly embarrassed - had they never seen a naked guy in their drawing room before, I wondered!

He did that little "flick" of the cock that we all do to shake a confined cock clear of the balls, and said

"Do I meet with your approval, sir?"

"Yes, you do. You will accompany me back to my hotel...."

"With respect, sir, I think you would perhaps enjoy coming to my barracks more. I have a comfortable room in the officers' quarters, and once there, if you would like some additional company, there are a number of my fellow officers who might be, shall we say, equally pleased to entertain you?"

I laughed, and said to him "Excellent! A man who really understands how to entertain a guest. Get as few of those clothes on as can prevent these gentlemen from remaining embarrassed, and let's be off."

Turning to the diplomats, I went on "You should recruit this officer to the diplomatic corps! He shows more understanding of the needs and requirements of real men that do any of you diplomats! I assume we can continue to use the official car for the rest of the evening."

Then, with a heavily ironic tone, I finished "Please don't feel the need to accompany me further. I know we have another morning of negotiation tomorrow, and you should probably go home to rest. I am confident that this officer will be a proper ambassador for your country, and can explain to me some of its customs in more - shall we say - intimate detail. And I am greatly looking forward to meeting some of his friends, too."

Much to the surprise of the government driver, I used the journey out to his barracks to thoroughly explore the officer's body, as did he mine, and we left two pools of cum on the rich carpets. That night, after some eight officers and 'enlisted men' had got together, we really did have fun. You know, once out of their uniforms you could not tell the officers and the 'men' apart, except that the 'men' tended to have more tattoos. It shows how superficial these distinctions that are imposed by society are.

But this is a memoir about my relations with a US marine, and only peripherally about my relations with the US Government. And it's not at all really about interesting sexual encounters at a naval base - although the eight men did have some amusing variations I must remember to have my slaves perform for me. So I will dictate those to a separate file and have them stored for my autobiography.

It was fortunate that the meetings the next day finished before lunch, as my PAs had determined that the lieutenant came off duty about then. They arranged for us to meet initially over lunch, but I instructed them to keep my diary clear for the afternoon. We would only fly on to the West Coast for a load of shit-shovelling when I had satisfactorily concluded my liaison with the young man, even though it was becoming clear that the earlier I intervened, the better.

I collected him at the staff gates of the White House as he came off duty - the car only had to drive around from the "official" entrance we had just left, and I was glad he was still in uniform - military dress uniforms are after all designed to enhance the features of the male body, and in his, he looked very desirable.

Although not eating out often, I do of course like the best, and a table had been booked at the internationally famous "Le Doyen De L'est". It's always said that this is difficult to reserve at, and that they take reservations months in advance. Fortunately, like so many expensive restaurants, the chef-proprietor had recently moved to even more magnificent new premises, in an even more expensive and fashionable location than that he had been in previously (and used the move to help justify a 20% increase on his already rapacious prices). He had financed this by a multi-million dollar business loan from a bank in which I have a minority, but still sizeable, share holding. My PA was thus easily able to get to speak to the man himself when his maitre d' proved unhelpful, and pointed out the wisdom of making space for me that very day at his very best table.

We arrived and went in, and I could sense the Lieutenant stiffen with embarrassment as he looked around the room. All the other diners were much older than us, and looked to be the cream of the Washington establishment - one could hear the word "senator" being muttered discretely at several tables. There were military there, too, but other than the lieutenant, no one less than a four star general!

"Fear not, Lieutenant", I said as I commanded the maitre d' to take us to our table straight away. "Just remember that I am probably the only one here paying for his lunch personally. And that we are paying for most of the other lunches, too, as they are undoubtedly being charged to government expense accounts funded by us, the taxpayers."

The maitre d' tried us to sit opposite each other, but I decided to sit next to the Lieutenant on the banquette that ran along the wall. I wanted to be physically close to him when we started to talk seriously, and I also wanted us to share a common view of what else was happening in the restaurant.

The lieutenant seemed to be overawed by the mass of waiters and assorted flunkies holding our chairs, shaking our napkins, and presenting the menus. And he was totally unable to understand the menu - "Le Doyen De L'Est" still continues that ridiculous practice of writing its menus only in French. I really do not understand why these restaurants seem to go out of their way to attempt to intimidate the customers, but it is of course quite amusing: I detected at least three errors in the French, and pretended not to understand those lines of the menu because of the failing in the grammar. When I tried to discuss this in my completely fluent French with the maitre d', he was quite unable to answer me in the same terms, as he had only got high school French himself and his accent was as phoney as the rest of the place!

To save time, and to prevent further embarrassment to the lieutenant, I suggested that I order for him - actually, of course, by taking this choice away from him I was subtly starting him on the road towards complete subjugation to my will. When the wine list came, he was blushing when he told me that he really only liked beer, so that "any wine would do, as I can't tell one from the other". I really don't understand why this should cause him to blush - beer is, after all, just as good an accompaniment to food as wine is, and those that do not recognise this are themselves the gauche ones. However to my astonishment, the sommelier confessed that the restaurant did not serve beer.

I had to command him quite sharply to send one of the waiters to the hotel across the street and bring one back for my guest - several of the diners at adjacent tables seemed to be surprised to hear these tones in the otherwise hushed calm of the room. But servants do need to be kept firmly in place and their failings pointed out to them if they are not to become dominant over their masters. I rarely drink alcohol, but to keep the Lieutenant company I ordered my favourite Chateau Palmer (the 84, the only one in the restaurant's cellar, is adequate but not exceptional).

Whilst the first course was coming, I commented to the lieutenant about the waiters, telling him how much better it would be for us if we could enjoy their bodies properly instead of having to try to guess what they would look like without their silly uniforms of tight black trousers, white shirts, and short jackets (which looked as if the designer had been trying to emphasise their asses, by cutting them off just at the base of the spine).

I told him how in my town house and at my estate waiters are always handsome, and always totally nude except for tiny white silk posing pouches. Of course they are totally shaved, as I would not want there to be any risk of a pubic hair fluttering down onto the table, or into the food. But I have found it is also necessary to make them wear the tiny pouches to avoid any unseemly drops of precum dripping from their cocks. As it is, my guests and I always laugh when one of the waiters has been aroused - he can't hide it, as the pouch is so small it is pushed away from his body by the rampant cock, so weak and translucent that you can see the erection in complete detail through it, and the precum clearly shows up as a small, damp patch where the tip of the cock is pressed against the silk.

Before we got down to the serious business of talking about his needs, I went on to ask him about his own taste in men.

"So what do you prefer - short or tall, blonde or black or red head, white or black skin, cut or uncut....?"

"Sir, I... I... I hadn't really thought about it."

"But you must, Lieutenant. You must become a connoisseur of the male form. You never know when a quite exceptional piece of male flesh might cross your path. If your senses are not finely honed to appreciate it, you might miss it totally. And you know, sometimes it takes only a flash, a glimpse.... In less than an instant, a casually seen face, or tight Jeans stretched over a nice ass, or a strong hairy arm emerging from a T.... All these can prompt you to take a closer look, and often you can see the most astonishing men in the most unlikely places. Building sites, offices, on the subway, in the street - there are good looking men everywhere, if you tune yourself to look."

"Now", I continued, "There are six waiters serving us.

Which one do you prefer?"

"Prefer, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. If you were going to bed one of these young men, which one would you take first?"

He was blushing furiously now. I suspect that it was because this was the first time he had ever had such a bold conversation with another man about his preferences - it can be difficult to overcome years of conditioning, and start to talk about such things openly. Or perhaps it was because of holding this conversation in these surroundings. Or perhaps he thought that the waiters might have heard my question.

Who knows?

"Well, sir. I suppose... I suppose... It would be the young guy with the black hair and that cute smile..."

"Excellent choice! Mine, too. He obviously takes care of himself - when he comes back, observe how is just that bit more muscular than the rest - not overly so, but just enough so that you can see through his uniform that he's well defined, and lean, not fat. And have you smelt him?"

"Sir?"

"Yes - you are not yet trained! As he leans over you, smell him. There's no trace of stale sweat, of course - you wouldn't expect that in a waiter in an expensive restaurant. But most importantly, there's no smell of deodorant or cologne either. He doesn't mask his maleness by artificial perfumes: I think you'll find that he has an attractive 'maleness' about him - I would imagine he washes thoroughly with soap, then stands under the shower for several minutes to wash all trace of it away. Very sexually attractive men often do this, without realising why: their bodies are ensuring that their male pheromones can get through, and attract other men to them."

As I was speaking, I put my hand on the inside of his thigh, and started to move it up, towards his crotch.

"Sir.... Sir...." He was bright red with embarrassment now.

"Lieutenant, you told me on the phone you wanted my body again. And now, when I start to caress you, I believe you're trying to tell me to stop. At least your mouth is trying to tell me to stop - I can feel from the reaction I am getting that at least one other part of your body wants me to continue..."

"But sir, it's a public place..."

"So? No one can see, as my hand is now caressing you under the starched white linen cloth. And even if they could, their brains would deny what their eyes are seeing - men just do not stroke other men in restaurants like this, you know!"

I had lowered the zip on his dress uniform trousers, and my hand was now inside. I probed through the slit in the front of his boxers, and curled my fingers around his cock - it was hot and moist, and it only took a very small effort on my part to make it rear up so that it was unrestrained and free, poking through his open fly.

I had to stop then, as the sommelier brought my wine and went through that silly ritual of offering me the cork to sniff, then a small quantity of the wine to taste. This is all so pretentious, and I told the man so - he had, after all, tasted the wine himself a moment ago, and was he not an expert? Surely he would not presume to offer me wine that his own taste had not assured him was in first class condition?

I was eager to continue my exploration of the Lieutenant's genitals, and so told the sommelier to pour me a glass, and go away.

I teased my fingers up and down the lieutenant's cock, rubbing my thumb quite coarsely around his flange - especially the sensitive underside. He wanted to try to wriggle out of my way, I know, but of course he could not without risking exposing himself to the other diners. I wondered about jerking him off, but thought better of it as I wanted him fresh for an enjoyable afternoon in bed.

I withdrew my hand again as our first course arrived, and I was keen to sample it to see if the chef-proprietor's reputation was all that the glossy magazines claimed. But that did not stop us talking.

"So, lieutenant, all is not well with your career. And your marriage plans have been cancelled. And you have not yet found another man to service you and excite you sexually. So you call to me to come half way around the world to pleasure you....."

"NO, sir. It's just that you were the first man who has ever been with me, and the first man who made me realise that I want to experience the joy and pleasure of being with other men. No one else will ever be as good as you are, no one else can make me feel the ecstasy I felt when you fucked me, no one..."

"Nonsense, lieutenant! Let me tell you this, from my vast experience. The first man always is special, and you will always remember him. And I am a skilled master, well used to fucking men of all sizes and shapes, under all sorts of conditions. Of course you thrilled to the touch of my body, and enjoyed that special sensation as my cock slid up your ass for the first time: any man would who has me as a sex partner. But you will find other men who thrill you just as much, if not more. And you yourself will derive pleasure in turn from fucking other men.... Now that is another occasion you will remember, the first time your cock is inside another man."

"You need to get out there, meet men, and fuck with them. Forget all this nonsense about only wanting me, or even of thinking about only wanting one man. Initially, you want quantity - have a different man every night, two if you can find them. Fuck them, get them to fuck you. Experiment - do you like your nipples tortured? Do you like a man to rim you, or do you like to rim him? Do you just want to jerk each other off, or do you want to fuck? You can't have too many men, and try too many things. Only when yo are exhausted with 'the new' should you sit down and try to determine what you really like doing, and with what type of man."

"Sir, I couldn't. I couldn't approach another man... "

"Yes, you could, lieutenant. Most men are approachable if you ask them in a clear and straight forward way. And they can only say 'no', after all. If you don't ask, you don't get."

"But sir, I have no experience. I just can't go and ask a man to come to bed with me..."

"Watch this, lieutenant!"

I signalled to the young waiter that we had both singled out as being our best pick, and he came over. As well as noticing that he was exceptionally well built and handsome, he had that air about him that we all recognise - although not noticeable to the general population, he was, to the observing and discerning, gay.

"Can you help me, please?".

"The Lieutenant here has dropped a fork - could you retrieve it for us from under the table, please?".

"Certainly, sir".

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the lieutenant start to struggle and make a frantic effort to try to get his cock back inside his trousers. But I gripped his wrist with my hand, and he was unable to do so just using the other. The waiter bobbed his head under the table, and took what would, by any standards, be a very long time to retrieve a fork, even had there been one there!

He got back to his feet, and looked hard at me.

"I'm afraid I could not find the fork, sir. I will fetch you another one."

"No matter, please do not bother. But you were a long time looking, thank you. It must have been interesting under there..."

"Indeed, sir, yes."

"So could you assist me further? I want the Lieutenant here to have a truly memorable meal at this restaurant, one he will remember for a very long time.

I believe he needs to go to the rest room shortly, and you could perhaps render a special service.... A very special service? Will you accompany him, and gratify him sexually?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Then when the lieutenant goes to the rest room, I would like you to follow him and suck him off.

That erection he has is quite spoiling his concentration on the meal. You would, I take it, like to have that magnificent cock of his down your throat?"

"Sir, at Le Doyen De L'est we pride ourselves giving all our guests a memorable time..."

"Thank you. Keep a close eye on us, as I feel certain the Lieutenant will be moving soon..."

"Sir, of course".

As he moved away, I looked at the lieutenant who was simply open mouthed with amazement.

"Off you go then, lieutenant. You're about to have your second sexual adventure!"

"But sir...."

"But nothing. I heard you agree with me that you thought he was handsome, and that he was s the one you would most like to bed. Well, the bedding is a little impracticable in the circumstances, but I'm sure that those lips of his will do a very satisfactory job on that erection of yours. Now zip yourself up, and off you go. Then when you come back I will require you to tell me everything."

I made a dismissive gesture, and sipped my wine thoughtfully.

That lieutenant really was a handsome devil, even though he was slouching a little as he made his way across the restaurant - it was as if he was ashamed of being there, instead of standing tall and proud as any man would who had a body like his.

The restaurant has the effrontery to say that patrons cannot use cell phones, but I decided to check up on the West Coast. I signalled to one of my Pas who had been waiting in the bar area, and he came over with the number already dialled for me. The situation was worsening, and it had the potential to spoil my day! Of course no one said anything bout my phone call - the maitre d' started to come over, but even my PA was able to quell him with a single glance!

I smiled to myself as the waiter out of the rest room, and the lieutenant emerged only a very few seconds later. As soon as he was back at the table, I started:

"Well?"

"Sir, I can't believe it. I can't believe this is happening to me!"

"Well, it's just as I said. If you ask, you may receive. Were you passive, or did you actively fuck his face?"

"Sir... I don't know.... I can't say...."

"Come on, lieutenant. There can be no secrets between us. Did you just stand there and let him blow you - funny how you Americans use that expression, isn't it, when the actual process is quite the reverse. Or were you more active, and thrust your cock into and out of his mouth?"

"Sir, initially I was scared, and just stood there whilst he unzipped me and put my cock in his mouth. But once he had started, I wanted to be in control. I grabbed his head, and started to thrust my hips so I went in and out of him - I had to hold him quite tight at one point as he was gagging and wanted my cock out of his mouth, but I didn't want that to happen."

"Excellent! But enough of this. We have serious business to discuss. Tell me what you like most, and what you like least, about being in the marines."

"Well, sir, the things I like most are being with my men. Commanding them, building them in to a team, and then going on operations where we are all guys together, sharing the same risks and the same hardships. And I like the physical training, to keep me in good shape."

"The things I like the least are all the senior management bullshit, and the need to 'keep a distance' from my men - when I've worked with those guys all day, and we're going off on an operation some time when we might be killed together, I think I should be allowed to interact with them socially, too. But the corps frowns on that, and says officers should drink together, and the men should drink together, for example."

"I see. And I take it, from your inexperience, that you never 'socialised' with your men to the extent that you experienced any sexual contact with them?"

"NO, sir! Absolutely not! That's completely forbidden. It's hard enough to go out for a few beers with any of the men, let alone get to know them well enough to be able to ask them that."

"And you're convinced that your career is now going nowhere?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, lieutenant, would you like to come and work for me? Here's the deal: I need a commander for my private guard."

"Currently I only have about fifteen guards, and they're mainly used to control my slaves - actually, most of the slaves are pretty docile, as they're farm-bred and know no other way. So the guards are only need occasionally, when we have a 'wild' slave who has yet to be broken. I don't intend to change these men, as they operate perfectly satisfactorily."

"Slaves, sir?....."

"Oh, yes. I haven't explained the customs of my country to you, have I. Well, that can come later. As I was saying, I don't intend to change the current arrangements. But there is a need for an elite guard for me - business grows ever more dangerous, and businessmen are being assassinated and captured every day, even in the West. There are many in my country who are envious of my power, wealth and position, and I also have made many enemies along the way who may be plotting revenge. I have decided that the time has come that I need a corps of bodyguards - guards who will be fanatical in my defence."

"And there is a second purpose - our King is old and becoming feeble, and his sons are pampered, idle and feckless. When he dies, I intend to seize power. Our laws forbid any citizen from having a 'private army' of more than 50 men, as such revolts and putsches have not been unknown in the past. Sitting there smugly in the royal palace, the sons believe that they can always quell any uprising by only 50 troops."

"But I know better. I remember the story of how 300 Spartans defeated the whole Greek Army. And do you know why?"

"No, sir"

"It was because every one of those 300 was the lover of at least one of the others, and no man likes to appear to be weak in front of his lover. Those 300 fought like tigers, both to impress their lovers, and to protect them. The power of the sexual attraction between these men, a most basic primal instinct, was harnessed to turn them into one of the best fighting machines the world had ever seen."

"So I want you to do this for me. I want you to recruit and train 50 of the world's top fighters - you can select them from your own marine corps, the British SAS, the French Foreign Legion, mercenary armies... Anywhere.... Scour the globe. You need 50 fit, tough, strong brave men, who like the military life and who are not afraid to die. You can offer them anything - any luxury, any money, anything. But I suspect that the sort of men we are looking for will come because of the life they will live, and not for financial gain."

"Then you will train them - completely and to exhaustion every day. You can, of course, have unlimited money to spend on the latest weapons and weapon technology. But the real training will come in teaching them to be lovers. Each of those 50 men is to sexually bond with at least four others in the group, you included. I want an elite troop of men who really know each other, in the way that only men who have endured both tough rigorous training, and the pleasures of the bed, can."

"With 50 such well trained, well equipped, totally loyal troops, I can take the country, when the time comes."

"Any questions?"

"You want me to select them, and train them.... And get them to fuck each other?" - he sounded somewhat incredulous.

"Yes, why not?"

"Well, I'm only a lieutenant. I don't know anything about international recruiting. I.... I.... actually, I don't know much about fucking men!"

"I think it's that last problem that's stopping you, lieutenant! You are an ambitious man, and you have already demonstrated to me your concerns for your men, so I know you would be a good commander. Now you have admitted to yourself that you want sex with men, it is only a matter of giving you a little more experience and practice, and you'll be fucking along there with the best of them! Come on, what do you say?"

"Yes, sir! I will. You will have the toughest fighting corps the world has ever seen."

"Good. Now, to be practical. You must resign from the marines. If they do not accept your resignation, or if there are any problems, call me and I will tell the President to let you go immediately. But in the next two days, before you put in your resignation, take a look with your newly-opened eyes at the men in your own barracks - are there any there who are candidates for this? If there are, be bold and approach them: get them into bed first, then when you are lying together, after your sweaty passion, tell them about the life they could be leading."

"I hope they will let you go immediately, so that within two weeks you can go an a world-wide recruiting drive - my secretaries and aids will contact you with flights, money, and so on. But leave two spaces in your corps - I know two candidates already."

"Now we must pay the bill, as I have to fly to the West Coast...."

"But sir, I thought we were going to spend the afternoon together...."

"We were, Lieutenant - although perhaps I will now start to call you Andy as you are my employee. But I must go there now, as a vital project is at stake and my idiot subordinates have completely messed up."

It was difficult for me to say this, as I really would have enjoyed the almost innocent young, hard body again. But my phone call had set some alarm bell ringing, and, some times, you should give up pleasure in pursuit of gain (providing it does not become a habit!).

"I did want to take you again, as I enjoyed our first encounter, as I now know you did. But after hearing about you and the waiter, I anyway think it better that you strike out on your own - I do not want to simply fuck you and increase your reliance on me. I want you to be brave and fierce, and find out for yourself the pleasures of your new sexuality. You must seek out men, and do all the things to them that I did to you. It will increase your self confidence, and let you discover your own power as a master, which I sense is currently buried within you. Then the next time we meet, we will be more as equals."

"Sir, I see what you mean. But I don't know how to get started in this city..."

"This is the last advice I am going to give you, Andy.

You are going to have to go into some strange places to locate the men we need, so you had better learn how to approach new situations and encounters. So do two things, as a start: firstly, as we leave, go up to that waiter and demand his number. Then call him during his afternoon break, and insist he presents himself for you to fuck when he leaves here in the early hours of the morning. Both demanding his number in this public place, then issuing your instructions, will be good experience for you. Secondly, here is the number of a man in the Department Of The Navy. Call him, mention my name, and tell him you are to be invited to join his jolly little crew of ratings when they play their evening fuck games tonight! I think you need quantity, as I said, and I personally found the bodies of those young ratings highly desirable, so I expect you will, too. Don't you marines always think that you are superior to the navy - well, here's your change to demonstrate it!"

I did not want further debate with him, so I summoned the waiter for the bill. Of course I never carry cash or credit cards - my PA who had been hovering in the bar area of the restaurant hurried over to pay the bill as soon as it appeared.

I got up to leave, and saw Andy approaching the handsome waiter. They whispered together, but I thought this was unsatisfactory. So as Andy came back towards me, I put my arm around his shoulder and as we walked out together asked him, in a voice that could be clearly heard by the other diners

"So did you fix to fuck that handsome lad tonight, Lieutenant?"

He had. Progress was being made!

End Of Part 9