Benji called me again the following Friday, and Clare was a little disappointed that my sexual exploration into my bisexual side was told to her rather than shown to her. I tried to do justice to the encounter as I recounted the forceful pounding which my fuck-buddy had imparted before leaving me a sweaty, horny mess on the double bed I shared with my fiancée.
I gave Benji oral the following Wednesday, and he fucked me two days later, an hour before Clare arrived home. The following Monday, I serviced him twice, as he wanted a “quick blowjob” before his “board meeting” and then ploughed my arse twelve hours later, celebrating his success.
He had a wicked sense of humour to him. After every orgasm in our flat, he left a message in an envelope for Clare as a “Report Card.” These said things like “your boyfriend is a great cocksucker” and “I just fucked Jon in the ass as he needed dick.” He also gave me a mark out of ten; my fiancée loved them, as they were cheeky, and yet degrading to me.
But, for every single fuck, Benji always left me wanting more. His seven inch prick was thick and moments after he departed, if I hadn’t already climaxed, I would wrap a lubed fist around my shaft and orgasm strongly.
We had a chance meeting in the local supermarket a few weeks – and almost two dozen encounters – after we first hooked up. It was at the weekend, and Clare and I were arguing over the fresh desserts when I saw Benji and his family walking towards us. His wife had an air of a kept woman about her, and the young children were impeccably behaved. Our eyes met, and he gave a slight inclination of his head. I didn’t want to acknowledge him in public, as we had both asked for absolute discretion.
A couple of minutes later, he tapped me on the shoulder, holding a bottle of wine. I turned to face him and he smiled. “Clare, this is the guy who left you those notes.”
He sighed as my fiancée beamed. “Really?” She squealed. “Ahh, I love …”
“I’ve only got a few seconds,” he interrupted. “My wife is holding a soiree later, and I am going to need to nip into the office for an unexpected emergency.”
“How do you know?” Clare suggested, and Benji rolled his eyes.
“What time?” I asked.
“Ring me at seven thirty from an unknown number. I’ll be with you around at 8pm.” He looked at Clare. “Your missus can watch but no touching.”
“We could handcuff her to a chair,” I muttered.
“I like it.”
“I am not being restrained,” Clare moaned.
“You are, if you want to be a witness to me sodomising your boy. It’s your choice.” He grinned and slipped away towards the checkouts with his bottle of expensive Merlot.
She shook her head once more. “How many times have you screwed on the bed, with a well hung bull, and I’ve been tied up, or cuffed, or whatever? What’s good for the gander is good for the goose!” She grunted in annoyance and flung the packet of tiny cheesecakes into the trolley.
“This is not fair,” she muttered and flounced down the dairy aisle, looking for her favourite brand of yoghurt.
After shopping, we had a wonderful afternoon at the cinema, followed by a meal at a local pub. Clare emotions swung wildly between being frustrated and annoyed, to being excited and playful.
At seven o’clock, I went to the bathroom to prepare myself. As I finished douching, I picked up my phone and called Benji with the “Hide My Number” option.
“Sorry love, Benjamin Chapman,” he answered the phone in a gruff voice and paused. “You what? You’ve done what? OK, plug the hole and get a chair out ready for me. We’ll fill the A55 and make sure you get a deposit.” I sniggered as he had a one-side conversation for the benefit of his dinner guests. “I’ll be fifteen minutes … just be ready!”
The phone went dead, and I smiled at his humour. Benji was a tease. I positioned a dining chair by the side of our double bed and retrieved two pairs of handcuffs from our drawer. I knew Clare would complain, but these were Benji’s rules.
It was him exhibiting his power and control once more. I plugged my butt and waited with Clare in the lounge. She peered out of the window as eight o’clock neared. I could hear the excitement in her voice. She had seen her fiancée plundered before, but this felt different.
Benji swept into our flat ten minutes later and clicked his fingers at me. “C’mon. I got moaned at when I left. Bloody wife’s friends. Morons, the lot of them. I needed to escape. And my wife’s on the rag this week and she doesn’t take it up the tradesman’s entrance. Not like you!”
“Right, Clare.” I pointed towards the bedroom and Clare crossed her arms when she sat on the chair.
“I’m not being handcuffed,” she said firmly. “It’s not happening.”
“I can go,” Benji replied. “I can leave right now or you can be a good little girl and do as you are told.” Clare’s cheeks burnt and with a rise of the eyebrow, she reluctantly permitted me to fasten each wrist to the chair. “I have not allowed anyone to witness me ploughing one of my fuck buddies. Not even my wife has seen this. So stop your bratty sulking and enjoy the fucking show. It’s a rare and special privilege, that is for tonight only. It is not a right.”
Clare scowled once more; she didn’t appreciate being ordered about in her own bedroom. Benji ignored her silliness and discarded his T-shirt and jeans with a quick motion. I knelt on the floor and took his semi-erect cock in my mouth. “That’s good,” he grunted. “Here is a guy who loves to suck dick. Such a wonderful cocksucker. Such a fucking faggot!”
The words smashed into my ego. My cock rose as my lips swirled across the top of his corona. I sucked his prick and swallowed his pre-cum. My hands glided over his muscular thighs, and I gripped the base of his shaft as I bobbed on his dick.
Clare writhed. Her cuffs clunked as she struggled with her binds. Benji placed his hand at the back of my head and pushed his manhood deep into me. My nose nestled into his fur of trimmed hair as my throat gagged under the weight of his dick.
“You see this? Your fiancé deep throats cock. And it gives him a stiffy. He is so hot for dick.” My throat scorched in pain as held me in that position and I squeezed his buttcheeks as his cock trembled. It was all I could do to keep my gag reflex in check.
He withdrew his dick from my mouth. He didn’t have to say a word as I climbed onto our bed and presented my plugged ass to him. The accountant grinned. “You see that? So desperate to get dicked. Such as a slut. So well trained!”
I was. I needed to please. A hunger. A desire. A desperation. I wanted to submit. I needed Benji to satisfy my need and plunder me. Take me, use me and violate me, in front of my fiancee.
Claire groaned. My cheeks burnt with shame. My cock bounced with anticipation. He reached to my butt and slowly withdrew the plug stretching my hole. Clare watched with rapt attention as he unfurled a condom over his slick prick and drizzled the lubricant I had left out for him. “That’s good,” Benji muttered as the head of his dick entered my body.
I gasped as he filled me, and I arched my back, like Benji had taught me. My hands curled into fists and my frame shook as he buried his prick into my butt and slid against my prostate.
I grunted with the pressure. Intense pressure that gave waves of pleasure and satisfaction as Benji slammed his cock into me. A warm bliss that wrapped itself around my body as my fuck buddy roughly took me.
He was playing to his audience. He grunted and groaned loudly as he rammed his prick into me. Taking and owning me, as I willingly subjected myself to him. In front of my fiancée, who cooed as the dominant man plundered her partner.
My submission swelled throughout my soul. I adored every thrust, loved every abusive comment and felt every slap on my arse or pull on my waist as he ravaged me. I bucked my hips in tune to his aggressive rhythm and buried my face in the pillow as wave after wave of lustful tension swept across my body.
Benji grunted. “Ahh yeah, such a fag here.” He pushed his prick deep into my butt and his cock quivered to unleash several surges of cum into the tip of the condom.
Clare squirmed. “So hot,” she mumbled.
“He’s not done. Strap your dildo on and fuck him a bit more. I’ve never known a bottom who claims to be straight, to be so greedy!” He unfastened Clare’s handcuffs, and she reached for the middle drawer. “Although he ain’t straight, of course. He’d take a dozen dicks and still want more.”
Clare ignored him. She frantically donned her strapon harness and slid a six-inch dildo behind the ‘O’ Ring. Benji drizzled more lube onto my butthole as my fiancée prepared to plunder my backside and then passed the bottle to Clare.
He enabled this. And he watched, sat in the chair as Clare lined up the rubber dong at the entrance to my hole and pushed.
I willingly accepted the full length of Clare’s fake prick, opening my butthole as drove the dildo deep into my bowels. She reached around my waist and grabbed my rock-hard cock and laughed.
“He’s a slut for anal!” Benji commented. “You can fuck the cum right out of him.”
“I’m trying,” Clare muttered and slammed the toy deep into me once more. No hesitation, no pause, no respite. My fiancée drilled her cock into me, smashing our bodies into each other in a frantic rhythm.
My ass was ablaze. My prostate simmered under the pleasure driven into me by my submissive nature and my dominant partners. I wanted it more than ever and gasped with every thrust into me.
Clare’s meaty strapon was sheer heaven. I groaned, louder and louder, into the pillow as the pressure inside my balls grew and a sweeping orgasm swept throughout my body as if it had been dowsed in cool liquid. Cum poured from my prick onto the bed as I loudly squealed and gasped.
“You better get cleaned up, boy!” Benji called as I collapsed onto the wet spot on the white sheet. I hummed and Benji smacked a palm into my exposed bottom. “I told you to clean up, boy!”
Breathless, I rolled off the mattress, stripped the bedclothes from the bed and walked into the bathroom to wash myself. Benji had left when I returned. “He’s quite a cool fuck buddy,” Clare muttered, tucking the new white sheet into the bed frame. “But you need to find one who will fuck me.”
“It was hard enough finding someone who wanted no-strings sex, and who hadn’t lied. Or was a nervous wreck.”
“Ahh, come on!” Clare mused and slid on the bed alongside me. We kissed, and I wrapped my arms around her lithe body. “Seeing you fucked by another guy is so hot. I want to see it again.”
“You’re never satisfied,” I moaned.
“And that’s why you are a little cuck,” Clare whispered, and she bit my ear lobe affectionately. “Make sure I get to see you plundered again. Or I will plan and scheme with Victoria.”
I didn’t doubt her threat.
As the spring progressed towards summer, Clare’s company extended her temporary assignment in Manchester by another month, and then another three months. I saw more and more of Benji. It was the same use-and-go transaction, but he would send a brief text message when he would come around, do the deed and just leave.
The only exception was when we met for lunch, which we did on a monthly basis. He was keen to ensure that I was content with the arrangement we had. I found it reassuring that he wanted to do that, and I promised him that I adored our play, and would say so if I wasn’t. Clare and I trusted him in the bedroom, and we liked him as a person as well. However, he had a couple of strict red lines, and he would not screw around with friends or other women. I was his cocksucker, butt slut and “freeuse whore” but I was not his mate, and he was not interested in pursuing a friendship.
I visited Sienna each month, and the following waxing appointments hurt a lot less, as I had less hair to remove. I felt better about my hairless self. Clare dared me to go commando for the week, and it felt naughtier with no hair.
With Clare spending every weekday in Manchester, I had a lot of evenings to myself, and I used my bike to explore the countryside around Bristol, venturing as far as the Cotswolds or Mendip Hills.
Benji was a member of a local cycling group, and I didn’t have the equipment or the stamina to join them, but he gave me a couple of printouts of some shorter rides that they had ridden, which were ideal for my fitness levels. An evening riding forty kilometres was the upper end of my abilities.
In early September, Clare had to stay in Manchester for the weekend to help with an office migration, and I took advantage of a cycle ride deep into the Cotswolds. It was a beautiful day in Southern England, and having a beer and a pub lunch underneath the cloudless sky was enjoyable.
As I finished, I received a text message from Benji. “Are you out cycling like you said you would? If so, send location.”
I used my phone to send the exact GPS location and received another text a minute later. “Good. Cycle to the spot below and wait for us. Be naked.”
I really was his bitch. But that was part of the fun.
The remote location was at the end of a track and was about ten kilometres away from the pub. The six miles would have been a relaxed, pleasant ride, but the message had sent my mind into somersaults.
“Wait for us.” Who was “us”? My cock strained my skimpiest pair of lycra shorts, as I followed the navigation app on my phone to pass through the tiny villages and hamlets to the mouth of the narrow dirt track, which stretched into a line of trees and into the countryside beyond.
I couldn’t see or hear anyone, and I cycled as quickly as I could to the red marker on the map. A small one room outbuilding was at the very end of the bridleway. I looked into the brick shack, through the open doorway, and saw just an empty room containing a stone floor.
It was cold and slightly damp inside the abandoned brick-built shed. Outside, I could hear the gentle, hypnotic bubbling of a nearby brook, and the wind whistling gently through the trees, but it was fairly secluded. I couldn’t be seen from the road, and, according to the map on my phone, the track was not a public right of way.
I parked my bike inside the brick building and removed my lycra shorts and shirt, folding them onto my riding saddle. I placed my helmet on the floor and I stepped into the bright sunshine to enjoy the warmth of the rays on my entire body.
Our flat didn’t come with a garden, and the odd visit to a naturist beach aside, it was a rare experience to lie down in the grass au naturel and soak up the powerful glow from the Sun.
I dozed. The heavy lunch was soporific, and I slumbered in the direct sunlight. “We could just piss on him?” A voice spoke, and I looked up to see the cloudless sky replaced by three men in cycling lycra.
Benji was in the centre and had his dick in his hands. “I need a wicked piss, and I’m going to pee where your face is in three … two … one.” I rolled over in the grass, missing the incoming stream of straw yellow urine by a fraction of a second.
He chuckled as the liquid sprayed into the compressed grass, with splashes hitting my bare body. He had two strangers with him. They were all taller than me. One – a middle-aged black man – towered over everyone and was about 6ft 3in. His pale blue and white skinsuit exhibited his bulging muscles underneath the full length lycra. He had short hair and a touch of fashionable stubble on his face. He smiled as he ogled me; he wasn’t menacing, but he had a devious smirk within his grin.
The other man wore bright red lycra bib shorts that showed his muscular pectorals and rippling chest. He looked to be the eldest in the group and had short styled hair on top of a beaming smile. They had come with Benji for fun. “You weren’t joking, Benji,” he said. “You really do have a naked slut on-call! Does Amanda know?”
Benji laughed. “She doesn’t know about him. She wouldn’t care too much if she found out, but I ain’t telling her.”
“Paula would break my fucking nuts.”
“Which is why it is not going anywhere,” Benji said forcefully. “That’s why the phones, cameras and bikes are in the hut. Your wife, Darren, she’s knocked up and you ain’t getting shit.” He turned to the tall black cyclist in the pale blue lycra and nodded. “And your missus is filing for divorce. Here is a guy who will give you the relief you want. Just as I promised in the pub. Use him. He wants it. He needs it. I’m going to. Don’t tell me you don’t want a little fun?”
Darren licked his lips. “But ain’t it, a bit, y’know?”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” Benji said dismissively. “Enjoy his tight butt or his wondrous mouth. He’s the queer, not you. I’ve been doing him for the last six months and he gives great satisfaction” My fuck buddy, standing topless in the sunshine, pushed his lycra skinsuit further down his thighs. “Don’t you, boy!”
I nodded at him with my cheeks burning. “Ahh, go on then,” his white friend said, and unhooked his bib straps from his shoulders to present his hairless semi-erect cock to my face.
“Nice one, Darren,” Benji replied. I grabbed both cocks in my hands and stroked them both. My lips wrapped around the head of Benji’s dick and I sucked the tip gently, tasting the remnants of his salty, musky piss.
“That’s one eager slut!” Darren muttered, almost spellbound in wonder as I fellated his friend.
I smiled at him. “Of course.” I moved my lips onto his semi-erect cock, and sucked it until it was hard. I adored the sensation of the growing cock. It expanded as I sucked harder, filling my mouth.
Benji tapped me on the top of my head and I swapped onto his thick, smooth dick. It swelled under my touch until Benji grunted in satisfaction and I bobbed on his delightful prick. “What gets you off?” Benji asked his friend.
“I love it when Paula sucks on my balls, but she doesn’t do that no more.”
“Boy, suck on Darren’s sweaty balls!” Darren laughed and stripped free of his shorts. Wordlessly, I looked up at his hanging balls between his spread legs. I smelt his masculine scent and craned my neck to run the tip of my tongue over his smooth testicles.
Slick, sweaty, disgusting. And lovely. My lust was in overdrive as I tenderly sucked his ball in between my lips and ran my tongue over his hairless bollock.
I took turns, bathing his sensitive orbs in my mouth and swirling patterns with my lips and my tongue over his balls. Salty and dirty, yet so delightful. I had never been so gentle and so loving when giving oral pleasure to another man, and his grunts and gasps showed he appreciated it.
His cock bobbed against my forehead as my lips whirled across his soft, velvety spheres. My hands gripped his buttocks, and I squeezed his muscular behind. But he loved the velvety touch of my tongue as it glided effortlessly over his spit-covered testicles.
His cock was twice as hard when I slipped my mouth over his engorged head and skidded my lips down the shaft. He grabbed the back of my head and drove his prick down my throat.
He face-fucked me.
A stranger who I had known for five minutes, had rammed his sweaty prick into me after I had sucked on his sweaty balls. My cock strained. My mind became hyperactive with slutty thoughts. “Suck my balls again!” He squealed, and I lifted his slick cock onto my forehead and I took his balls in my mouth.
Ten seconds of sucking. A dozen rolls of my tongue over the lustrous skin and his cock twitched as he came. Several waves of cum hit my forehead and were powered directly into my short, black hair.
Darren groaned, panting as my mouth detached from his prick. “Good?”
“Amazing! Wish my wife did that!”
I took Benji’s semi-erect prick in my mouth and felt it grow once more. My cock throbbed with urgency and anticipation.
I bobbed on Benji’s dick. Quickened. Hurriedly. Feverishly. I craved his creamy load, and he knew it. I was a horny little slut, and he hit my mind with a barrage of humiliating insults.
My tongue swirled across his thick dick and caressed his smooth shaft. He held the back of my head, but I had no hesitation in burying my nose in his pubic fuzz. He didn’t need to hold my head in place, as I wanted to go nowhere.
He rewarded me with his cum; fired into my mouth without warning. I swallowed. It was natural. He grinned as I looked up at him. “Such a fucking tramp!” Benji gestured towards the Black beast, watching the homosexual sex show. “Go on, Michael.”
The long-sleeved lycra skinsuit covered him from his neck to his ankles, and he eyed me and then his friend. “Yo, I ain’t sure.”
Benji glared at me. “Tell him how much you want it.”
My cheeks reddened as I stared at the muscular giant while kneeling. “I would love to suck your cock, Sir.”
“See? He’s a proper whore. Help a fellow cyclist as he needs cock.” Benji teased. “At least try out the goods I have provided for you.”
I was an object. Benji had supplied me to his friends. I felt cheap and worthless. My cock bobbed even further at his words. Benji was persuasive. Michael unzipped the front of his lycra skinsuit and pulled his arms through, so the garment rested on his waist. My hands pulled the cycle clothing to his thighs and his cock bobbed free.
Soft, black, circumcised, veiny and fascinating. Truly enchanting. The bulbous mushroom head was disgustingly delicious. Sweaty and manly, salty and powerful. My lips slid down his dark dick until my nose nestled at the base of his hairless mons.
Perhaps it was the nature of the hookup. The fetishisation of gay interracial encounters in the pornography I watched made me feel naughtier for enjoying it, and the hot, sweaty nature of his dick was more of an aphrodisiac to my clouded mind. Benji and Darren offered words of filthy encouragement that swirled around my brain as I went down on the black cyclist. I loved sucking on Michael’s prick. I could have stayed on my knees until the sun set on that corner of Somerset. My lips worked his stiff prick until Michael panted, gasped and his legs trembled.
My third load of the day fired into my mouth as the reluctant cyclist groaned loudly. He grabbed my cum-covered hair and rammed his black cock to the back of my throat. “Choke the nancy!” Benji called. “Make him squeal.”
Michael laughed at me, and then my fuck buddy. “Not bad. He can suck a cock pretty well.”
“Yes, he can!” Benji called, and he nodded towards me. “Go get my black backpack. There are some beers in there. Go serve us, please. And then I might ram my prick up your arse.”
“Eh? Does he do that too?” Michael asked.
“Of course. Don’t tell me, you’ve never fucked a slutty white boy?” Benji asked, and sat down on the grass, well away from the area he soaked with his piss. “Subby white boys love cock, and they adore black cock. He’ll bend over to have that thing plundering his poop chute any day of the week!”
My cheeks burnt as I walked naked to the brick hut. A black pannier contained four cans of ale that I took back to them, passing a can to each of the sitting cyclists. Benji grinned. “I bet you think that last one is for you, right?”
“Well … I would love to have a beer, Benji.”
He sighed, looking away from me, across the meadow and towards the babbling brook in the distance. “If I give you that, you owe me, right?”
“Sure,” I muttered. He stared at me.
“And I will take payment, how I want.”
“You know you can get all the fucking and sucking …”
He cut me off. “I know that. I have that already. You give that out for free.” I blushed once more. “Have the beer …”
I pulled on the ring-pull and he smiled. “Thanks.”
“Have the beer … and there will be a payment you didn’t expect.” He winked at me as I sat down and gulped the warm can of English ale. It was refreshing in the hot summer sunshine, and the four of us chatted about bikes.
I knew my bike was old and cheap, but Darren showed me where I could get a cheap upgrade. “Your bike weighs more than both of ours put together! Second-hand half-decent road bike is only a couple of hundred quid. Or get a hybrid. But get rid of that awful, awful thing!”
Benji called to me. “There is just one thing I want to ride, boy! Come here. Now!”
I scooted to Benji’s side and the dominant accountant beamed as he sent me inside to retrieve a small red bag from the pannier on his bike.
Condoms and lube. Benji had come prepared, and I laid on the soft grass, as directed. The lubricated fingers of my fuck buddy slipped into my hole.
My body craved his touch. I pined for his intrusion and groaned as his dominant probed me. He sniggered as I leant back on the grass and groaned. My hands held the backs of my thighs as I longed for his invasion; my libido demanded it. One finger became two and then three, and he slowly touched and massaged my prostate. My cock sparked as he stroked my horny button. My special place.
My cock seeped pre-cum onto my belly as he prepared my whorl for invasion. In his left hand he tossed Michael a condom. “Go roll that down your prick.” The black cyclist took it. He didn’t know what to say; the afternoon had taken an unexpected turn. It was a level of intimacy he did not expect, and I wasn’t sure if he knew what he wanted. “Anal is the best sex. And fags like him can’t enough of it.”
His uncertainty didn’t stop him. He rolled his cycling skinsuit to his waist once more and unfurled the latex condom over his dark, tumescent dick. His eyes filled with expectation and with lust. Mine probably did so too.
If giving a blow-job to a black dick was a subconscious taboo, then what was about to happen was much more so. Not that I cared. Michael knelt on the ground beside Benji and coated his prick in the transparent lubricant.
The first touch of his blunt head into my unguarded ass was heavenly. He stared at my eyes as he leant over my body and slowly forced his cock into me. Violating my sanctuary while he screwed a guy for the first time.
His face filled with anger and with lust. The first few thrusts showed me it was an aggressive, violent screw. He wanted to fuck someone, roger someone, bang someone. His lycra-dressed thighs smashed against by bare skin as he jackhammered into my arse.
Delightfully so. A lustful tingle built into a magical, smouldering glow. His rough fucking was incredible. His hands rested on my shoulder, pinning me to the ground as he pounded my arse.
“You like that?” Benji asked. “White bottoms love being tapped.”
“Yeah,” Michael breathed. He glared into my eyes as instinct had taken over. I could not stop the animal nature in him. There was no way I wanted to stop the wild, passionate thrusting deep into me; my legs parted further as he wantonly used the slut, Benji had provided for his friends.
His prick buried deep inside me had taken me to a delicious place, and for the first time in his life, Michael came inside another man.
Benji was next. He ploughed my stretched hole until pre-cum dribbled from my prick. I was a “nasty little pig” and a “desperate fag.” He pounded my battered body to elicit his climax, and his orgasm only.
Benji didn’t care that my balls were ready to come. He barely noticed that I had grunted with every deep thrust into my desperate butt and that my cock was itching to release.
He just grunted as he filled the condom at the end of his amazing prick and laughed as he withdrew. And then he emptied the contents of the latex sheath over my face as Darren plundered me.
Rubber-enriched cum dripped onto my lips as Darren screwed me. Ferocious, deep strokes from an inexperienced top. The chemically altered sapid taste slid across my lips as Darren smashed his cock into my backside.
He looked away from my face. The dominant man stared into the grass as he fucked me, not wanting to see that it was a guy underneath his prick. He wanted to believe that his dick was conquering an eighteen-year-old cheerleader, not a 24-year-old bisexual cuckold.
With a long groan, he announced he was coming and his cock trembled as he fired several waves of cum into the teat of the condom.
He withdrew the moment the post-orgasmic glow passed. Benji looked down at me. “Happy now, boy?”
“Almost,” I moaned. My cock bobbed, still desperate for my climax. Benji was not interested. He never cared about my pleasure, just his own.
“Get up,” he ordered, and I scrambled to my feet. I wiped my mouth free of his cum with the back of my hands. “Payment for your beer is due. Your cycling clothes?” He demanded, holding his hands out.
“But I need them,” I replied. “I can’t ride home naked.” He glared at me, and I retrieved my white lycra shirt and shorts. He grinned and dropped them on the ground. I watched as he took aim and pissed over the discarded cycling gear. I gasped. “Benji,” I yelled. “That’s …”
“Shut your bitchin’. You drank my beer. You pay the price.” I grumbled, but he ignored my complaints. “Darren. Michael. Recycle your booze here.” Then didn’t hesitate, and three streams of very pale yellow piss splashed on my white lycra.
Benji slapped me on the back when he finished and pulled his black clothing over his waist and shoulders. “I’ll see you in the week, boy! Have fun riding home with stinky wet white lycra.”
Darren sniggered. “That was a pretty nasty thing to do.”
“I know,” Benji chuckled and wheeled his bike from the hut as I picked up the sopping wet gear. “But my boy likes nasty. That’s in his blood. He’ll get a stiffy from climbing into piss wet white lycra and smelling it as he rides home.” His eyes sparkled as I pulled my cycling gear from the pile. “See ya, boy!”
I watched as the three club cyclists rode into the distance and down the track, swearing under my breath. The lycra was disgusting – cold, wet and fetid.
And sheer. The liquid made the white fabric translucent, and I looked obscene as I stood in front of my bike. I took a picture on my phone and was shocked at how see-through the garment had become. My semi-erect cock was visible, as was my hairless body. I sent it to Clare.
The ride home was scary and exhilarating. The quiet country lanes offered little traffic, and by the time I neared the city, much of the piss had dried from my garments. I knew I smelt awful, but I wasn’t showing as much flesh in the city as I had done in the countryside.
The reality may not have been dreadful, but the mind-fuck was intense. That evening Clare wanted a complete account of my bike ride, and I told her everything. We both masturbated together, 150 miles apart, as I recounted my tale.
“Did you enjoy it?” She asked.
I hummed. “Yeah, I think I did. It was wild. I’d like you to have been there. But it was filthy.”
“And you love filthy?” Clare giggled.
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Can you please come up to Manchester?” Clare asked. “Next weekend? I think it would be good for you to visit.”
“Why?”
“Victoria and Martin have some amazing games on Saturdays and you will just love them.”
“Will I?” I muttered.
“And … err … well work have floated the idea about me coming to Manchester for the year. And I want to know what you think about moving back up here.”
“But …”
“It’s changed, Jon.” She interrupted.
“But, I like it in Bristol.”
“Look, our lease is up on the flat in two months, so we need to agree if we want that place again for another year,” Clare replied. “I promise, I will do what you want to do but I think you’ll love playing in the summerhouse at the weekend. Come up for a couple of weekends, enjoy Martin and Victoria’s company and the wild sex and the fantastic scenery. Victoria really wants us to move in with them while I have my assignment up here, and if it works out we can buy a house in the area.”
“Move in with Victoria and Martin?” I exclaimed. “Really? Is that a good idea?”
“Yeah. Look, come and see what Cheshire is like and we’ll decide. Together. Yes?”
I sighed. “Yeah OK. But if we do stay, you need to make Victoria let us pay our way. I’m not freeloading off of them. You’ve told me what she is like.”
“I can’t make Victoria do anything. No-one can.” Clare laughed. “You can have that discussion with her.”
“I will.”
“I gotta go, as I have a conf call at seven with the fitters. Love you, babes!”
“OK. Love you too!” I called and collapsed on the bed.
