♥ Site recommended story ♥
Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” my man Evan asked me.
It was a fantastic location. A veritable desert strand of a beach, a beautiful headland, and nearby a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), or Safleoedd o Ddiddordeb Gwyddonol Arbennig (SoDdGA) as they say here in Wales! The tide was out, but the salty smell of the ocean was still in the summer air, and the song of the gulls echoed all around.
Rather incongruously, there were a couple of concrete pillboxes along the beach. Obviously relics of WW2 rather than the Cold War, they had seen better days. Indeed, the shifting sands had meant both concrete structures were well out of true level. We made our way towards the larger pillbox, and a small gang of teenagers rushed away as we approached. Perhaps the sight of two leather-clad bikers walking hand in hand gave them the willies? No matter, I always think an absent teenager is an ideal teenager.
We ducked as we made our way into the pillbox. Guys must have been shorter in those days, I told myself. The octagonal interior of the little concrete building was a little disconcerting at first. Piles of sand had encroached quite a lot, but there was just about sufficient height for us to be able to stand. The place smelt a bit of piss, of course. These places always do! There were beer cans – local bitter, strangely – and empty Sterling fag packets. Someone must have bought a job lot!
“Well?” he asked again, somewhat impatiently, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yes, I think so!” I laughed, “This would be a great place for a seedy fuck!”
“Yes, dead right it would be, loverboy! And for some discipline too! No room to swing a cane, but we could bring the leather strap,” he laughed as he said it, “Hot and well-shagged bottoms tonight! Here, take this plastic bag and clean the place up, boy! We don’t want any accidents or incidents while we’re on the job do we?”
It wasn’t a particularly pleasant task. In the end the bag contained tin cans, fag packets, some broken glass and even a human turd. I tied the handles up tight and we took the bag with us, depositing it in the bin in the car park where Evan’s Triumph Bonneville awaited us.
That evening we packed my backpack excitedly. A can of Carlsberg for me, an energy drink for him. A packet of heavy duty condoms and a tube of our favourite lube. A couple of battery torches and our mobiles. Finally, pride of place for our brown leather spanking strap. We both enjoyed a bit of the leather from time to time, although I was the sub more often than not.
I felt quite excited as we headed back to the beach. The vibrations from the engine of the Bonneville throbbed around my thighs as my cock stiffened inside my leather chaps. I held onto Evan for dear life as he threw us around the corners of the long, winding coastal road. This time we parked near our chosen pillbox. We kissed passionately at length before he led me back through the brambles to our venue. It was now late evening and fortunately, no-one else was around. We flashed our torches to examine our surroundings again. I moved some fresh cans and crisp packets out of harm’s way. The place stank of piss even more than earlier on. We stuck our torches upright in the piles of sand covering the floor. We needed a little illumination for what was to come next!
“Drop them!” he ordered. I complied, pulling my leather chaps right down. I bent down on all fours, jockstrap still in place and my head only just above the sand-covered floor. “Fifty!” he announced.
I should explain that our leather strap is heavy duty. It must have cost Evan a fortune to buy. It was a hard thrashing. The strap lashed and lashed again. I gasped, groaned, writhed and cried out. Fifty strokes was a hell of a lot. All the noise the strap and I could make was muffled by the sound of the crashing waves, now that the tide was in. My arse was aflame, sore and I wasn’t sure a shagging after my beating was a great idea at all. Evan was sure, however, and his sheathed cock was soon persuading me that all was not lost. I was turned on by our seedy surroundings, my throbbing arse cheeks and the rhythm of my lover’s cock exploiting my most private place. We were both sweating profusely in our leathers and soon he came noisily inside me.
I slumped right down, my arse and my brain exhausted by our exertions. My boner was as stiff as a surfboard, aching and dying for relief. I wasn’t sure that he’d want me to reciprocate, as he’d been in one of his more dominant moods that day. He smiled at me in the faint torchlight, as he removed the condom from his shrinking cock. He tossed the rubber aside saying, “Let’s leave something for the next occupants to clean up!”
I was a little shocked. I picked up my can of lager and tugged at the ringpull. “That was great, thanks,” I sighed, still recovering from the hard beating and fuck.
He grabbed at his can. Those energy drinks don’t half smell strange, but then so did the pillbox. I traced my fingers through the sand, and then a little later he whispered, “Want some revenge then?”
“You bet!” I said, staggering to my feet and pulling my leather chaps up properly. This wasn’t an opportunity I got very often! I undid his belt and slid his leather jeans right down. Evan’s bottom was magnificent! A little puppy fat, but rather hidden by thick, dark matted manhair. I sniffed at his arse. Wonderful! I picked up the strap and lashed it down on my lover’s mounds, before he had time to change his mind.
“ARRRGH!” he cried immediately. For a sometime dom, he could be quite a wimp when the tables were turned. I intended him to have a full fifty too, but lost count around the thirty mark! Eventually, I threw the punishing strap down and in my most assertive tone ordered him to put a rubber on my swollen cock. The lube squelched rudely out of the tube as I rubbed the stuff all over the condom. Soon I was home in his hot hole, thrusting for dear life. At times like this, Evan can become quite submissive and docile. I fucked him roughly.
Afterwards, we laid in each others arms for a while. He said he wished he had a cigarette, and I told him he wasn’t taking up that filthy habit again! We kissed again and again. That late evening, I felt the balance in our relationship had altered subtly, with me taking on a more equal role. We would return to that pillbox, and its smaller neighbour just along the beach, on a regular basis from then on.
Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne
All rights reserved.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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