Misdelivered Mail Male Sex Training

Allen scooted around to the other side of the bed without hesitation, where the black bull caught him, forced him down on all fours, shredded his shirt in pawing his chest, covered him, mounted him, entered him deep, and fucked him.

The black bull was bigger than anyone Allen had taken before, but he'd just taken a fist, so he could manage. The experience of being power fucked like this by a black man sent Allen up to heaven, as he grunted and groaned in the effort to remain open to the churning monster cock.

When the black bull came up to standing, he brought Allen with him, still deeply skewered on the black monster cock. Allen held close to the black man's bare chest, with his hands locked behind Jamil's neck. Jamil's hand were under Allen's thighs, keeping his legs bent, not reaching the floor, and spread.

Sam walked over close to them, his cock still erect and in his hand. "Have you ever been taken by two men at once?" he whispered as he came in very close to Allen, between the young man's spread legs. "I know you can take it if you agree to it."

"Yes, I've been doubled. Yes, I want it." Allen answered, licking his lips and his mind going back to the trenches and the lieutenant—but not only the lieutenant. A sergeant as well, in combination with the lieutenant—after opening him up with a fist. Just like now.

"If you decide you don't want it, we'll let you break loose and head for the front door," Sam said. Allen let loose of his hold on Jamil's neck, Sam's chest being close enough into him that he wouldn't fall, and he embraced Sam, bringing Sam into him.

"Both of you, now," he begged in a husky voice.

Allen pressed his head back into the hollow of Jamil's shoulder, raised his face, and howled to the ceiling as Sam worked his cock inside him on top of Jamil's and started to pump. Allen writhed in the throes of the pleasure-pain ecstasy of the exotic feel of having two hung men working him at the same time, his mind racing back to the trenches and of being shared by the lieutenant and sergeant, the two of them making him forget where he was, the danger he lived under, the horrors of Afghanistan. The fisting he'd endured earlier helped him take the two cocks—as did the emotional pleasure of knowing he was taking two, one of them a black bull.

* * * *

Saturday morning there were two envelopes in Allen's mailbox. He'd staked out his living room window and thus was able to see that it was the greasy, thin clerk from the costume store who snuck up and put the misdelivered mail in his box. One envelope, like the others, was addressed to Sam's Oak Street house. The notation on it was "rent-boy lap dance," with the time set for 8:00 p.m. that night. Allen looked on that with disappointment. That evening was a regular visitation session by Jack. He would be sorry to miss the lap dance fantasy.

Except that he didn't miss it. The other letter, addressed to him from Sam Strang on Oak Street, contained the note, "If Saturday is the time for a visit from your sometimes lover, cancel that. You must learn not to be taken for granted and he must learn not to take you for granted. This is training for him as well as you."

"What do you mean I can't come over?" Jack had said on the telephone. "This is our regular Saturday."

"I'm sorry. I have other plans. Maybe next Saturday."

"I may not be available next Saturday."

"Then it would be a pity for us to miss a fuck," Allen responded, saying good-bye and disconnecting before Jack had time to object further and after saying, "I'll call you to check on whether you want to come next Saturday."

Sam met him at the Oak Street house door at 8:00 p.m. He wasn't in any particular costume. When he shed his coat, Allen was wearing his red silk jock strap, the lace-up sandals from his Roman costume, and a red sequined vest that didn't meet across his chest.

"You said this was a learning experience for me—and should be for my lover too," Allen said to Sam at the entrance.

"Yes. I could tell from watching you in the store and from what you bought that you needed to move up levels from where you were in sexual activity," Sam answered. "Little did I know that you've been up many levels at one time—that you both were fisted and doubled before—and what you need is to recover them."

"What is there in this for you?" Allen asked.

"I get a luscious little piece to play with," Sam answered, "At least until you've regained all of the expertise you once had and the assurance that you deserve and can get better than you've been getting."

"And the lesson for today?" Allen asked. "A lap dance seems pretty tame compared with being doubled by you and that black bull."

"It isn't the intensity of it—it's the lesson that it's the sexual arousal and release that is the focus, not the partner you're with."

They entered the living room, and there, in a straight chair in the center of the room, sat the beanpole, gawky, greasy-haired clerk, just in gym shorts. He was hunched over slightly, his chest concave. From the tenting of the gym shorts and the grin on his ugly face with the pronounced Adam's apple, Allen could tell that he was ready and looking forward to the session.

"Dance for him, blow him, and ride his cock," Sam directed. "Your role is that you're a rent-boy in a sleazy club trying to get money out of any man who wants a lap dance—and more money for more service. Phil here has money. Your job is to make him part with his money. He'll reward you periodically as long as you are doing him well. Remember that the training is to be able to be a rent-boy—focus on the sex acts and the rewards to be won, not the client."

Allen crouched over Phil's lap and bumped and grinded for him to music and two TV screens of rent-boys giving ugly old men lap dance fucks. He got his first big bill by taking Phil's head in his hands and giving him a deep French kiss, more for rubbing his chest on Phil's and moaning during the dance. Even more for kneeling between Phil's spread legs, pulling the man's gym shorts off his legs, and sucking him off, taking the cream on his face, and cleaning that and Phil's cock off with his tongue.

Phil took over in the fuck. Sliding Allen's jock strap off as Allen rose from the blow job, tucking his arms under Allen's knees and flipping Allen backward. Phil's arms were strong and he was able to pull Allen's crotch up to his face and, while he was recovering his own hard, he sucked on Allen's cock and balls and ate out his ass. When he was recovered, he let Allen down to do a few more gyrations of a lap dance and then took charge again, positioning his cock bulb at Allen's rim.

"He's going to fuck you now," Sam said. "He's not the handsome hunk you usually need to open for. His cock is big, though. He's going to put it in you."

"Yes, yes, fuck me," Allen whined, taking Phil's head between his hands and kissing him on the lips. "Give it to me hard, big boy."

Phil held Allen's body at the waist and slammed it down on the cock. Lift up and slam down. Repeating it for as long as it took for him to bottom. Yelping and writhing, Allen settled down, collapsing like a rag doll and completely docile before Phil started the serious pumping, letting Allen's body arch back to the floor, while Phil gripped his hips and pulled him on and off the cock in swift, powerful, deep strokes.

"Yes, yes, give it to me. Fuck me hard!"

Phil held off on ejaculation for almost forever—some time after Allen had shot off again—before he filled the bulb of his condom, leaving Allen in a sighing, purring heap at his feet.

At the door on the way out, Sam said, "Remember that. Their looks don't always match their sexual prowess. Phil could make you his willing sex slave if I let him—and I can see in your eyes that you recognize that. So, when you are in your rent-boy role, don't judge a client by his looks or even his diffidence. I'll bet this lover who doesn't fully satisfy you is an Adonis."

"Yes, he is," Allen admitted.

"To be satisfied by him, you will need more than a pretty face and a big cock from him. He'll have to want to fuck you so bad that he'd give you the attention you need. And remember for your own pleasure, Allen, that it isn't how handsome the man is or whether he is, it is that he has his cock inside you and that he knows what to do with it when it's in there. Keep your mind on the fuck."

* * * *

The follow-up instruction on misdelivered mail on what he was to do on Tuesday evening was more in this vein. "The Smallwood Rest Stop. Do two ugly truckers."

The first one was a pudgy man old enough for the fringe of hair on his head to be turning gray. Allen had bellied up to a urinal at the notorious rest stop on the highway to which he had been directed. He waited until an obviously interested trucker came in and moved into the urinal next to him. They held there longer than necessary for a guy to take a piss and long enough for them to signal each other with their eyes.

The older man turned toward Allen enough for Allen to see that he was in erection. Allen turned as well, and the man reached out and touched his cock, which helped it go harder. Allen had managed to harden up by running the image of ugly Phil and what he could do with his cock through his mind repeatedly. With effort, he found that the experience itself, this setting, was enough to arouse him. Allen reached over and more aggressively took the man's cock in hand.

"Can I suck you off?" the man asked in a tentative voice.

"I'd rather you fucked me," Allen answered. "Do you want to do that?" The man nearly lost his teeth in that offer.

"The stall over there," Allen said.

The man sat on the toilet, his pants down around his calves, and, sans shorts and briefs, Allen sat in his lap, facing him, and bounced up and down on the man's cock until the trucker came. The trucker had a very nice cock, Allen found, and he had a technique of kissing every inch of Allen's internal walls with its bulb.

Afterward Allen offered his ass to a tall, thin guy in flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots leaning up against the side wall of the toilet building in the shadows and smoking a cigarette. They were around at the back of the building, between a huge air handling system and the back wall of the toilets before Allen realized that it was Phil, sent by Sam to check on whether Allen had carried forth with the assignment.

Allen raised his arms over his head, pressed his chest against the back wall of the toilets, and jutted his naked buttocks back into Phil's hands. Phil went down on his knees behind Allen, spread Allen's cheeks with his hands and attacked Allen's asshole with his mouth. He snaked a hand between Allen's spread thighs, milked Allen's cock, and fondled, squeezed, and distended Allen's balls until Allen gave him his cum. Then Phil mounted Allen's ass, gripped his hips, and fucked him hard for twenty minutes before coming himself, leaving Allen a puddle of putty in Phil's hands. They went back to the car Phil and driven, got in the backseat, and made out like teenagers after the prom, with Allen winding up on his back across the seat and the toes of one foot wedged into a side hook above a door and the other hooked on the top of the front seat, while Phil lay on top of him between his spread legs. They worked each other's mouths while Phil was pounding Allen's ass again.

Ugly is as ugly does, Allen was taught—and Phil did anything but ugly. Allen had to assume he'd gotten passing marks for his rest stop lesson.

* * * *

Thursday night rolled around again. Finding Allen at the gay men's sports club once again for a pickup basketball game—and maybe something else to pick up as well. These manufactured role playing games of Sam's had really opened Allen up. He was looking for it more broadly and actively than before. He was coming out of his mourning period for the lieutenant—or at least what the lieutenant had given him sexually—and he had to credit Sam for pulling him out of the lethargy. Allen couldn't say it was grief or even mourning for the lieutenant himself. It was more starting to come out of the need for someone else to give him commands and to start expecting and seeking pleasure himself.

The irony was that it was Sam giving Allen roles to play and commands that was moving the young man not to need them so much anymore.

The basketball game was fine—and Allen did get propositions. This after all was a gay men's sports club. But there was nothing on offer that excited him and he was coming to realize that he needed and deserved excitement. Specifically, Larry, the cop, and his handcuffs and forceful fuck hadn't shown up.

Allen left in an "oh, well" mood. And he must not have been paying much attention because half way home a revolving red light pulled up behind his car and he saw that, indeed, he had been going ten miles over the speed limit. It was in a school zone too, but that didn't really matter. It was after 10:00 p.m., and the school was closed. Allen was guided over into the school parking lot and in side-by-side spaces under a stand of trees by the police van.

"Please step out of the car," an authoritative voice boomed out when Allen rolled down his window. The man with the voice was shining a light in Allen's face, blinding him, but Allen recognized the voice.

"Larry?" he said.

"Turn the ignition off, step out of the car, and go over to the back of the van."

As Allen walked to the back of the van, which wasn't a police vehicle—it just had a temporary red light on top of it—Larry stopped the light and tossed it in the front seat of the van.

The back of the van was tricked out with carpeting; soft lighting; music loud enough to, Larry said, drown out screams coming from inside the van; sex toys; and a restraint system. There also was a TV suspended on the window between the back of the van and the driver's compartment; it was running a DVD of a cop fucking a prisoner in the back of a police van.

Larry was wearing a police uniform, but, as Allen stripped down and got into the back of the van, Larry opened up his shirt, unzipped his trousers, climbed in the back behind Allen, and shut and locked the van doors.

Larry put Allen on his knees and made him lick all the way down from his hairy barrel chest, past his heavy belt with the gun and truncheon holsters, into his unruly pubes, and then to take the erect cock in his mouth and give it suck. Allen sucked the cock greedily, aroused by the fantasy fuck Larry was providing, which was better than Allen could have imagined himself for this evening.

Allen huffed and puffed, gasped, whimpered and his eyes watered, as, wrist handcuffed to ankle on either side, bowing his body almost painfully, Larry put Allen on his belly on a carpeted cube in the middle of the van bed, and fucked his ass with a greased nightstick while both watched the action on the TV screen.

Later, Allen now on his back and spread-eagled in four directions with leads going to anchors in the four corners of the van, Larry crouched between Allen's legs and fucked him to a mutual ejaculation.

It was what Allen had come out this evening hoping to find, so he didn't complain; he cried out for the exotic fuck.

The only damper of the evening was that, as Larry released him, Allen saw the store bag that the DVD cover was in. It came from Sam's Costume Dreamland. What was the relationship between Larry and Sam, Allen wondered. Was this all part of the education program Sam had set up for Allen? Was Larry part of the fantasy role playing, operating under Sam's command?

Was Larry even a real cop?

Allen was so taken by this experience that, frankly, at this moment he didn't care.

* * * *

On Saturday afternoon, Jack called Allen in a panic.

"You'd said maybe I could come over today. It's the Army-Navy football game. You haven't answered my e-mails, though."

"I wasn't sure I wasn't doing something else today," Allen said.

"Doing something more important than me? You love me fucking you."

"You've got a great cock, Jack. But you're not using it enough on me. Yes, I love what you do to me for the six or seven minutes you're doing it to me. If you come over, you'll have to give me more of a fuck than that—and pay attention to me when you're doing it."

"Hey, I'm aching for you here. My balls ache they need it so bad. Nobody takes it like you do."

"Maybe because nobody but me lets the ball game take priority. And I'm not doing that anymore either. I've got a great meal planned for you, but if you're coming over, it will be early, before the game, to be pumping inside me for fifteen minutes at least and giving me attention when you do—and you have to get this done before I feed you—and before the game starts. And after the game, you have to take me into my bedroom and bang the hell out of me. You might even have to spend the night on top of me."

"Is that what you really want? I don't know what's come over you. You want me to—?"

"Take me into my bedroom, yes—no TV, no competing attention—and bang the hell out of me."

Allen watched Jack unfold from his new, blue Porsche Carrera convertible—seemingly identical to the old one except for the color—and walk up to the front door. He was carrying a bottle of wine, but he didn't do the old "fuck you" routine with it. He looked quizzical and a little worried. And he'd arrived an hour and a half before the coverage of the Army-Navy college football game was scheduled to start on the TV.

Allen met him at the door. "Here, strip, and put these on. Leave the waistband flared and your cock out. You get a blow job for showing up early." He handed Jack a pair of combat boots and camouflage baggy fatigue trousers.

"What's this . . . and what are you—?"

"It's Army-Navy game day. And we're going to play a game of our own. You're Army and I'm Navy. Good news; it's your lucky day. Army gets to fuck the shit out Navy today."

The lower half of Army fatigues had gone to Jack. Allen had met him at the door, wearing the naval uniform he'd bought at the costume store: a white tunic, with blue scarf, white bellbottom trousers, and a seaman's cap.

"Here. While you're dressing, I'll go ahead of you and strip off the bellbottoms." When he did so, he was wearing his red silk jock strap. "Remember this jock strap. Last time you fucked me without taking it off me. This time you have to take it off me—and get me hard and make me come in the process—before there's any dinner or the TV is turned on."

Jack sat at the dining room table, his hands on Allen's head under the table top as Allen knelt between his thighs and his mouth bobbed up and down on Jack's erection. Jack moaned in a way he'd never done before. Much of this was because a quarter of the way through the blow job Allen took his mouth off the cock and wove a tale from underneath the table of what they were doing.

"Since you were here last, I learned a thing or two about the erotic help role playing can give to a fuck. I want more out of you, Jack, and I know you have it to give. In turn, I can take you higher than you've been before—I can give you a high that surpasses your football team winning on the TV.

"We are playing private Army and Navy, you and I. For starters, this blow job starts off our game. I'm going to work your cock until you come. But you aren't going to come right away. When you want to, I'm going to back you off, and then when I resume, I'm going to take you higher than you went before when you wanted to shoot. And then again."

Jack moaned, not only in anticipation of the play but also because Allen was stroking his cock and pressing his pinkie finger into Jack's piss slit.

"What we are playing is a Naval admiral coming to visit an Army installation. I am the admiral's young aide. I am a virgin, but I am aching to be debauched and I have decided the time is now and the lover who will pop my male cherry is you. You are a handsome, young Army lieutenant, the general's aide who is immediately turned on by me. We are meeting at the officers' club. One wing of the officers' club has visiting bachelor officers' bedrooms.