The Naked Bodybuilder's Assistant

I sat there for a while, musing to myself, thinking back to what Aldo and I had done together the first time we met. We had really had a great first sexual experience together -- or at least so I thought -- but now it seemed as though that mutually satisfying approach was over. And realistically why should it not be? After all I had signed up as Aldo's personal NBA, and I knew exactly what that involved and what my role was. What my job involved had nothing at all to do with developing a mutually satisfying sexual relationship with Aldo. I was being paid to be on hand to serve the regular need of his own cock for anal intercourse; my own sexual feelings didn't come into the equation at all. I was there purely and simply to serve Aldo's physical needs and that was it. And to be fair to him, he had said that I would be free to lead my own life as I wished; so he had clearly never seen me other than as an employee; albeit one with an exceptionally intimate position.

Having clarified my own thinking about the situation with Aldo I personally felt a lot better; I have to say I honestly regretted the way the situation had developed. I had hoped that we would might have a great sex life together outside of working in the gym; but that was clearly not to be. But I had a stable, well paid job, a great place to live with meals provided. I was new in town and knew no one; but for my own good I needed to get myself into an active gay environment where I could exercise my own sexual desires as I had hitherto done for several years in LA. I simply could not envisage a life without regular give and take gay sex; I needed to fuck and to be fucked back in turn; it was as straightforward as that; so I had better start thinking how I was going to re-arrange my life in Venice, for my relationship with Aldo was tantamount to celibacy.

My private thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Aldo's general factotum, Mark, who had come to clear away the dinner things. Hitherto, we had only exchanged a few words and I knew nothing about him other than that he had previously been a male stripper; but as I already mentioned, I had found this young guy extremely attractive at first sight and I was sure that he was as gay as I was myself. And, of course, there had been that alluring glimpse of his superbly attractive arse: an arse which was just crying out for further, more detailed, physical investigation and some TLC!

Mark cleared the things off the table and took them back into the kitchen. I was just about to follow him in there, when he re-merged and sat down at the table with me. "Now that the boss-man has gone to bed, you look as though you will be at a loose end until morning," he began, " So I just wondered if you might fancy going down to one of the bars at the beach with me for a drink now that we are both free until tomorrow morning at six? I'm afraid that you will have to get used to evenings on your own as Aldo always goes to bed very early; in fact, most days, straight after supper; so you and I are stuck in his huge place with nothing to do until morning other than twiddle our thumbs; so how about it? Shall we go down to the beach together to see what action there is tonight? It's up to us to amuse ourselves."

I could hardly believe my good luck that Mark had invited me, someone he barely knew, to go out with him on the very first occasion which had presented itself. So I, of course, said that I would be delighted and we both went to our rooms to change into some suitable clothes. I assumed -- correctly as it turned out -- that we would be going to some switched on gay bar, so I change into one of my more revealing outfits: backless thong and tight pants to emphasise both the contours of my own arse and my generous front endowment and a fitted shirt, open well down towards the waist to show off my six pack of which was also quite proud. I saw no reason at all not to advertise the direction where my sexual inclinations lay. As I waited for Mark to reappear, I wondered what he would be wearing.

Well Mark soon re-appeared, dressed to kill and just one look at him sent a tingle of excitement surging through my body and my cock started to register its immediate appreciation of what I was looking at. He was wearing much the same outfit as me: tight pants glued to that deliciously fuckable, bubble-butt of his, but cut also to show that he too was not lacking the active tools of the trade. In a word he looked absolutely stunning; he was a very handsome young man; a little younger than me, I guessed (wrongly as it turned out as we were the same age) and he was obviously dressed for action. I tell you, given half a chance I could have ripped off his clothes and fucked him there and then. So far, neither of us had mentioned the word sex; although he knew full well what my role with Aldo was and had seen me several times totally naked; so he was well aware that he was in the company of a very well-equipped stud. Mark's sexual orientation was now in no doubt: this superb young man was as gay as that much maligned bird, the coot. The only question in my mind was how did we cut to the chase and get down to some serious fucking.

It is a curious fact that even though I had, over the years, had sex with many different guys, often on a one-night-stand basis; and had rendered my anal stimulation services to countless business men, there had never been any difficulty in getting down to brass tacks with a guy whom I did not know from Adam, but with whom I was destined to have sex. But with someone whom I sort of knew, as I now did Mark, I found it difficult to come to the point. And I sensed that he too felt the same. Nothing was more certain in my mind than the fact that I desperately wanted to fuck this young guy; and I suspected he felt the same about me; but neither of us made the first move. Was it because of the possibility that if, by chance, our first encounter went wrong, we would both be embarrassed by the fact that we had still to live in close proximity to one another? But as I did not know that answer to that question, off to the beach we went.

Mark clearly knew his way around down there, and we went into what was an upmarket gay bar with soft music playing and a few guys, more or less glued to each other, dancing on a small floor. Mark was clearly a regular, for he gave a few high fives to a number of guys whom we passed as we headed towards the bar. Anyway, we installed ourselves at the bar, where the bartender greeted him by name and asked: "Who's your friend Mark; a new boy to the beach?" So we ordered some drinks and stood there taking in the scene, one with which I was intimately familiar having run just such a place myself in LA. Normally guys paired off as the evening progressed and drifted off together to do what gay guys tend to do of an evening. I wondered what was going to happen next when Mark suddenly decided to take the initiative and said: "Was it difficult for you to leave your life in LA and come down here and dedicate yourself to Aldo? Did you leave a lot of friends behind? How did you feel about taking a new job and a real demanding one at that and, in a place where you knew nobody?"

Clearly what Mark really wanted to know was whether I had any close attachment to another guy, which, in fact, I did not. Up to now, I had led a very foot-loose and fancy-free sex-life; easy come, easy go, I suppose you could call it; but I had, as yet, never met anyone with whom I felt I wanted to make any sort of long-term commitment. In fact, being honest, I had until now, enjoyed my life as it was and had seen no reason to change it. I had simply enjoyed life as it came and had not worried at all about the future. These facts I communicated to Mark who said: "Me too Scotty, I've fucked around all my adult life, but never found another guy I wanted to shack up with."

Well the ice had now been broken and the immediate future looked quite clear to me. So I said: "Mark, shall we now stop pussy-footing around each other and back home? I think we now both know what we want."

When we got back to Aldo's apartment, Mark suggested that we go straight to his place. Once there, I took the next initiative and without further ado, went up to him and started to unbutton his shirt and undo the buckle of his belt. "Come on, Mark, let me have a look at you; I've been dying to see you naked; so get to it young man; strip off and let the dog see the rabbit. You've seen me in the buff several times, so now let me see you." Mark needed no urging as he was clearly as keen as I was to have sex and he quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes whilst I did the same. As I said, he had seen me naked several times but this was the first time that I got a look at this luscious young man for whom I had been lusting since I first saw him and whom I could barely wait to fuck.

I was not disappointed, for the tantalising promise of what he offered when dressed, was more than fulfilled now that he had shed his clothes. Mark had a perfect physique, slightly lighter than mine, but with perfect muscles and between his legs, that all important gay weapon, a big, beautifully circumcised cock with a magnificent head, set off from the shaft by good well-defined rim. In a word Mark was a delight to look at and was a very fuckable proposition. But surprises come when least expected and never cease to amaze. As I spun him round to take a good look at that very desirably fuckable arse of his, liberated from the confines of his pants, I got a huge shock; Mark's backside was covered with the traces of what must have been a severe beating. It was not so recent, but the marks of a cane were clearly visible and his two buns were criss-crossed with traces of welts, which must, at the time they had been delivered have been very painful.

He saw my face and said: "OK Scotty; look I was going to tell you about myself; so let me come clean. There is something which I have to confess to you and I do hope that you will understand, but you have to realise that there is nothing that I can do about it. Look Scotty, I love gay sex, but I also love to get my arse whacked with a cane; you know; as if I were a naughty schoolboy. And for me, the experience I like the best, is for the guy who is about to have sex with me, to whack my arse before he penetrates me. I know that it all sounds a bit kinky, but that is the way I am; that's me: Mark Simmons." So now for the first time I knew Mark's full name.

"Anyway Scotty, please don't judge me. Please try to understand as I would really like us to be more than just workmates working for Aldo and, correct me if I am wrong, but I get the impression that you would too. Look, just think of what you are doing for him yourself. Gay sex in itself is not exactly a normal act, but we gays indulge ourselves in it anyway, as we get pleasure from it. But what you are doing with Aldo is not even gay sex. In fact, I am not sure that it can be considered sex at all; for all you are doing is allowing him to use your body to serve the needs of his cock. Does he get any pleasure from shafting you with that massive tool of his six times a day? Frankly, I doubt it. His only interest is to make sure that his man-meat does its stuff when he is on stage. You, Scotty, are nothing more than a sort of living tool: an instrument on which he can sharpen his axe so to speak"

"I have said all this because I want you to see that in his own way Aldo has a very special take on what passes for sex; but we don't judge him because that is the way he is. So please, please Scotty, do please try to understand me and not judge me for what seems to you a bizarre perversion. I know it seems weird to you; but that is the way I am. And believe me when I tell you that I am not alone in this world, for there are plenty others like me who enjoy having their arses beaten. And just look at the two of us; we are both homosexual and are devoted to an act which most other men find strange; really there is no difference. Just let me explain to you how I came to be the way I am and then you will better understand where I am coming from."

I had listened in complete silence to Mark's plea but I knew already that there was no way that I was going to ditch this beautiful sexy young man with whom I had already envisaged a potentially marvellous, sexual relationship, just because of -- how shall I put it -- a foible. I knew that I wanted to fuck him now just as much as I had before his outpouring and so if the way to a happy union was for me to beat his arse before having sex with him, then so be it; I would do it; with some reluctance and distaste perhaps; but I would do it. But Mark was intent on giving me some justification for his position, which, quite frankly was the last thing I need right now. What I wanted to do was to get physical as soon as possible and show this young stud what a properly fucked arse felt like. But I realised that I had to let him say his piece and so I resigned myself to hear him out; and quite a tale he had to tell.

CHAPTER 6

"Scotty, I have to tell you that my father was an Englishman who came to the USA when he was in his early twenties, met my mother in Boston; they married and I was the third of their offspring after two daughters; so I have two older sisters. My father was, still is, for that matter, a well-heeled, upper-class Englishman through and through; how he came to feel at home in the USA I never really knew, for he never adapted at all to American ways as far as I could see. He remained, and probably still is as far as I am aware as we are no longer on speaking terms, an upper-class Englishman, fixed in his ways and views. Anyway, we were a fairly rich family as far as I could tell; he worked in a brokerage firm in Boston, where we lived in one of the posh areas, in a biggish house with a live-in maid. Now my father was the product of a strict English public school education: that's a private fee paying school, by the way, to which the upper-class Brits send their male offspring to be given a superior education and to be brought up as young gentlemen; at least that is the theory."

"Until I was thirteen I was sent to a local private prep school in the Boston area; but then my father decided that his son and heir, to wit me, should enjoy the rigours, and I choose that word carefully, of an English education. And so without asking me what I thought, I was shipped off to a boy's boarding school called Frensham in a town of the same name, stuck in the English countryside. And let me tell you that when I arrived there I was like a fish out of water. Even though half English, I had never before been to England and had never met any of my relatives there. I never did meet any of my father's family by the way, as he had obviously gone off to the USA under some sort of a cloud; sufficiently dark it seemed, that he was not even on speaking terms with any of his English family. So literally, totally alone, I was plunged into a class of thirteen year olds like me; except that they had all come from an English preparatory school and were prepared for what life at Frensham was going to be like. I, on the other hand, with my American junior education was prepared for nothing: absolutely nothing."

"Now my father was a great disciplinarian and had regularly spanked me with a slipper when I had needed it. But at Frensham, I found myself in a school where the cane was more or less in daily use. The Brits have a system of prefects, boys in their final year, whose job it is to enforce the school rules and maintain order out-of-class. And these guys are allowed to beat their junior school-mates. And beat them they do; or at least at Frensham they did. I had not been there more than a week when I ran afoul of the Head-Boy, who caught me down town not wearing my school cap or my tie. Before I knew it I was in his study, naked arse across the back of a chair and he gave me six swingeing cuts across my bare bum with his cane. It was absolute fucking agony as he really did lay it on. To cut a long story short; that was my initiation into life at Frensham, which lasted until I was eighteen, when in my final year I was expelled for what the Headmaster called gross moral turpitude."

"Well in spite of the constant stream of beatings, I actually quite enjoyed life at Frensham and became quite a good sportsman and gymnast in my own right. But by the time I was fifteen and my body was changing, I already knew that I was gay; not that I had actually done anything sexually other than jerk myself off, of course; but I had eyes only for other boys and young men and just adored looking at those of my schoolmates with strong muscles and big cocks in the showers. But schoolmates apart, I was particularly fixated on our young PE teacher, a man called Robin Tymm. He could not have been more than twenty-five at the time I started my final year at Frensham. I suppose my fixation with him was much the same as some of my classmates had on certain girls, or for that matter vice-versa."

"Robin, for that was how I privately thought of him, was about my height and every bit the guy who fitted perfectly the job he was doing. He was muscular, athletic and when he was taking a PE class, he wore shorts which made the cocks of lads like me start to stir; I wondered what the kit beneath that alluring, bulging crotch which he sported, was actually like. I fantasised to myself that I was stripping him naked and running my hands over his beautiful muscles and, what I imagined to be his perfectly formed cock; in a word I secretly idolised this guy, whom I saw as the acme of muscular and sexual perfection."

"But although Robin was a really good teacher, he was a hell of a stickler for discipline and regularly thrashed boys either with a leather belt, which seemed always to be in his hand during PE periods or, more formally in his office, with a cane. He always referred to it as my office and never as my study. But office or study, if you were invited to participate in a command performance there, you always left with what was commonly referred to as a well beaten arse. And it was one fateful day, early in the first term of my last year at school when I was just eighteen, that I found myself standing outside his office at around eight-thirty one evening, waiting to be called in to meet my fate. I knew I was in for a monumental beating, but as I stood there, waiting to be told to enter, I and no idea that this encounter with Robin would change my life forever; and his too, as it turned out. But neither of us knew at the time what was in store for the pair of us."

"How it came about that I was there waiting to get my arse beaten, was on that same day, after the PE class, I had flicked Robertson, one of my classmates, on his arse with my towel in the showers; he slipped, sprained his ankle and had to be carted off to the sick-bay. Now to be fair to him, Robin had, several times, warned all of us against such tom-foolery, as there was a danger of the recipient slipping on the wet floor and injuring himself, which was exactly what had happened. But of course, his warnings had gone into one ear and out of the other and were unheeded; and as a group of naked lads does, we regularly fooled about in the showers. So Robin had felt duty bound to conduct an inquest, which was how I, the perpetrator of the accident, now came to find myself waiting outside his office at eight-thirty that same evening. I had no illusions, none at all, as to what my fate was to be. I knew that I was going to get my naked arse whacked; not only whacked but whacked very hard, which was, of course was what I deserved; but deserved or not, I can tell you that I was not looking forward to entering Robin's office. I had never before had the very doubtful pleasure of being caned by Robin, but several of my class-mates had; and the way they described it was tantamount to a fate worse than death; in the caning stakes, Robin was reckoned to be up there with the best of them: in the first league, so to speak. But as I had had, on two separate occasions, beatings from the Headmaster himself, after which I had not been able to sit down comfortably for three days, I felt very apprehensive about the forthcoming onslaught on my arse."