Date: Sat, 9 Sep 2000 09:53:29 +0100 (BST)
From: Thoby Johnson <thobyj@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: "Sweat! (5)"

SWEAT! (5)
This contains the usual: gay pornography, disciplinarian
fetish, and suitably idiotic situations - so if, by chance,
you *shouldn't* be reading this, or *don't want* to be
reading it, then please *don't* read it. Simple!

Thanks so much to those who emailed me after episode 3 and
episode 4. I really like getting comments. My address is
thobyj@yahoo.co.uk.

The story so far is that Marmaduke is a right sexy little
so-and-so and is subsequently being subjected to some harsh
athletic training and discipline from Frank Wrath -
Etonesque triathlon coach. And all for our lecherous benefit
too. Also, something about a guy called Eric who's older
than Marmaduke and has a thing for Marmaduke's Speedos. Or
something. Oh, dear. Anyway, we find Marmaduke where we left
him last time. . .

. . .feet splashing in the shallow, flea-infested bog. The
surf-ski he was carrying across his back weighed him down
into the mud. It was knee-deep, then waist-deep, and then
suddenly chest-deep, and he wallowed in the brown murk. The
soft mud rose again underfoot and he ran on. On horseback,
clear of the spraying, dirty water, Frank wielded the
Lite-Carbon buggy-whip. It whistled - and with remarkable
accuracy, scored a second, thin, red stripe across
Marmaduke's little rump.

*"KER-RACK!!!"*, it went.

*"OWW!!! SHIIT!!!"*, Marmaduke went.

"Shut the fuck up! You whiny-arse cry-baby!" went Frank.

Marmaduke increased his pace. The burden across his
shoulders unbalanced him and caught awkwardly on tree
branches and vines. Something underwater snagged on his
jocks and ripped them off.

"Let's go, faggot! Show uncle Frank what you're made of!"
yelled the mounted coach cheerfully. For a third time, the
stinging whip whistled and neatly popped the backside of the
youth with a loud *crack!*

Marmaduke wanted to curse, but could only grunt with effort
as he fell into another submerged hole. Eventually, they
began skirting the whole swamp. In the shallows, Marmaduke
could run properly without needing to half swim, his
dangling cock slapping against his thighs - and Frank could
direct a well-aimed swish at the naked lad's tail-end. The
lithe, muck-slick youth slip-slopped along resolutely,
disturbing frogs and attracting mosquitoes.

They made grinding, unpleasant progress. If only *this part*
of his training ordeal could be gotten through, Marmaduke
thought, the rest wouldn't be so bad. *Couldn't* be so bad.
He pushed on, his arms aching with strain and his legs
humming with effort. His breathed wheezed. A slight stumble
a momentary slowing of pace and . . .

. . . *swish*. . .*KER-RACKK!!!*

. . . the smack of man-made whipcord on bare, wet skin. He
didn't hear what Frank yelled. His own twisted mouth
bitterly grunted a curse and his bottom lip quivered in pain
and outrage.

The disgusting morass underfoot gave way to grass, then to
sand. They were heading back, the tortuous run due for
completion. With Frank's house in sight, Marmaduke put on a
spurt of speed and outdistanced Kiara's thudding hooves.
Every muscle screamed for relief. He mounted the grassy
embankment and plonked the surf-ski onto Frank's lawn. As
Frank and Kiara arrived, he was leaning on his knees trying
to get breath back into his lungs.

"Not bad, lad. You might just have the right kind of
stamina. Not a bad effort at all," said Frank kindly as he
dismounted. Marmaduke looked pleased. "And get rid of that,"
Frank continued, nodding in passing at a half-turgid
erection on the boy. "If you've got that kind of energy left
in you, it means we're not training you hard enough!"
Marmaduke's thick, fleshy appendage twitched horizontally -
half-heartedly seeking attention, then quickly drooped,
embarrassed.

Marmaduke was shown a short piece of hose protruding from
the exterior laundry wall. He showered under it, hurriedly
but blissfully, rejoicing in the cool, splattering wetness.
Then he was allowed to retrieve his jeans and t-shirt from
where they had been dumped on Frank's living-room floor.

Still wet, but dressed at least, Marmaduke found that he had
more to learn. He cleaned the dirt and mud from Kiara's
saddle and tack, and applied a coat of pH conditioner and
fat. It rubbed in smooth and greasy, making the leather
supple and shiny. Only when Frank was satisfied that the
entire leather riding kit was cleansed of the damaging
water, was Marmaduke allowed to go home for the rest of the
day. He hotfooted it back to Eric's, tired limbs feeling
hollow.

He was also horny. Back at the house, he peeled off his t-
shirt and Eric saw how quiveringly agitated he was.

"How was it, Pumkin'? You look fit enough to bounce off the
walls!"

"Yeah. OK."

Marmaduke's breath was shallow and hot. His chest heaved
excitedly. Eric's hand went there, to find the boy's skin
warm and only very slightly moist. He pinched one of the
delicate nipples - it was as hard as bubble-gum. The hand
traced down lightly to the darling melon of the narrow
tummy, and four fingers slipped easily into the waist of the
wet jeans. Eric pulled the boy to him, and Marmaduke
complied, supple and ready. The head of the lascivious lad
bent-backwards exposing an expanse of throat where Eric
placed his face and breathed in the beautiful, milky aroma
of fresh, young skin and flesh.

The hand at Marmaduke's jeans fumbled - a little desperate
now - with the metallic buttons.

"Jesus, Kiddo! You're trembling. What did Frank do to
you?!"

"He whipped me."

"Ha! You wish! You little brat!"

"No. He really did. . . Fuck! Get my jeans off! I'm gonna
come!!"

An over-excited young cock jumped forth from the its denim
opening. The cut, purple end of it dribbled clear fluid and
Eric could see the big, blue vein down its side, pulsing.
Now, the whole organ was starting to jerk.

"Relax! Relax! Don't come, Pumkin'!" entreated Eric, a
little worried.

Marmaduke moaned; "Ohhhhh Nooo! Ohhhh Shiiit!"

"Don't grab it! Just relax! Relax and push. As if you're
doing a piss!"

Poor Marmaduke bit his lip and shut his sweet eyes. The
spasms subsided. He had not come.

"It worked!" he gasped.

A sticky glob of clear juice squeezed out from the eye of
his engorged penis and bungee-jumped slowly to the carpet on
the end of a long strand. Eric gently held the boy's head
and sucked on his supple, rubbery, lower lip. He let go.

"Alright. Now get your pants off, Sexy," Eric said, softly
". . . Holy shit!"

"What?"

"He *did* give you a whipping!"

"I told you he did! But did you believe me? Nooooooo!" sang
Marmaduke precociously.

"Oh, shutup! Brat!"

Marmaduke's bare rump was cross-hatched with a number of
skillfully placed, thin lines of a rather attractive, rose
coloured hue. Eric's hand reached out, fascinated, - but
didn't touch.

"You can feel it if you want. It doesn't hurt," said
Marmaduke nonchalantly.

Eric cocked an eyebrow and placed his palm, ever-so-lightly
on the twin, rounded, red-lined buttocks. Together, they
were no wider than the span of his hand - and were as hard
as marble. There were little dimples in the skin just above
each smooth orb.

"That bastard!" said Eric, amazed but not angry. "My word!
Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt, Eric. It's all part of the training. Don't
worry about it! Now come and play with my dick!"

Eric knelt down on the carpet before the boy's outstanding
prong - and came close to it. It was shiny and glazed with
pre-semenal fluid. He touched it. It was slippery and fat,
and throbbed visibly. He placed a hand on each of the boy's
bony hips and began to gently lick. His tongue darted in and
out, tasting and tantalizing. He licked the underside of the
upstanding shaft, tasting sweet sweat, musk, and oily
effusion.

Marmaduke groaned. His dick twitched and throbbed, smacking
quietly and wetly into his belly. Eric took the head into
his mouth and nibbled gently at the edges of the glans. His
tongue probed and twiddled, burrowing into the v-shaped
recess where the underside of the head joined the skin of
the shank.

Marmaduke groaned again. Eric let the blood-stiffened meat
pop out of his mouth. He put his cheek - then his lips -
against the tidy and hairless skin of the thigh, where he
fancied the muscles twanged like guitar strings. His fingers
tickled the back of the boy's knees, then slid upwards,
dancing lightly across the hard, little muscles at the back
of the thighs, until his hands cupped the buttocks in a
firm, fleshy grip.

Eric stood up and brushed away Marmaduke's hand, stopping
the boy from stroking himself.

"Don't touch it. It'll be better if you hold off."

Marmaduke seemed less sure. Almost sobbing, he moaned, ever
so softly; "I'm gonna come I'm gonna come I'm gonna come I'm
gonna come. . ." his soft lips pouting in sexual distress.

"Think about racing cars."

"Oh, fuck. . ." Marmaduke whimpered pathetically.

Tiny beads of sweat prickled Marmaduke's bare skin. It
seemed that his insistently throbbing penis could erupt at
any moment. It strained and arched, begging for attention,
refusing to be ignored.

"Come into the kitchen," said Eric, dragging the naked and
highly aroused stripling by the wrist. 

"Why?"

"I'm going to rub some moisturizer into your backside. Those
welts look rather disfiguring."

"Fucking hell! Don't worry about it!"

In the kitchen, Eric had produced a huge plastic bottle
(which had been conveniently at hand) of a UV factor +15
skin-care product, popular in sunny climes. He waved it
happily at Marmaduke, as if to say; "look what I've got for
you!"

"Eric, why are you messing around with that large bottle of
globby, creamy, cool, lubricating stuff which would make me
oily and greasy if applied liberally, when I'm standing here
on this easily-cleaned linoleum kitchen floor, hot and
naked, and desperately in need of servicing?" Marmaduke
asked in a single, uncharacteristically complex sentence.
"Why don't you just place it precariously on the edge of the
table here. . .?"

Marmaduke snatched at the bottle, grabbed it, and
momentarily struggled with Eric. The lid inexplicably flew
off and of course, the UV factor +15 moisturizer went
everywhere. It slopped down onto Marmaduke's head,
shoulders, and chest, and spattered over everything else.

"*Now* look what you've done!"

"*I* didn't do it! Give it here!"

Eric grappled with the lubricious teenager and attempted to
tickle him - but Marmaduke, nude and covered in great gobs
of the runny fluid from the bottle was as slippery as a
greased swine.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! - WHOOOOOPS!!!" Marmaduke squealed
like a girl.

They both skidded over onto the floor, Eric on top. Their
lips continued the struggle, desperately. Marmaduke tasted
of the bottle's contents; tea-tree oil - calendula -
chamomile - hypericum - rose oil. Shit! It was an expensive
product they'd just sprayed everywhere! Eric's hands slid
over the writhing boy's slick flanks and around his torso.
He sneaked an oily finger into Marmaduke's anal passage.
Marmaduke flinched, shuddered, and moaned; "Oh shit I'm
gonna explode I'm gonna explode!" Eric grabbed his supple
little waist and flipped him over easily. The boy complied,
awkward limbs all clumsy angles. Now, Marmaduke positioned
himself on his elbows with his bottom in the air. His knees
slipped on the greasy floor as Eric grabbed his hips and
hoisted them further upwards.

Eric unzipped and breathlessly unholstered his primed cock.
Marmaduke's pink hole puckered in waiting. He leant over the
boy and gently nudged the hard, rounded end against the
tight, little quoit, testing the resistance. Then he
penetrated, smoothly and adroitly. Marmaduke opened and
accepted and they both moaned in unison and flattened to the
floor, Eric breathing into the kid's ear while he bored from
above - slow and controlled.

Eric held him, deeply shafting in and out. In the quiet of
the kitchen, their hard breathing and the soft, wet *smack,
smack* of their well-lubed fucking could be heard. Marmaduke
skidded on the floor a few times but braced himself, moving
in rhythm. Presently, Eric came and withdrew his prong.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he moaned in post-coital
relief.

Marmaduke flipped over, his glabrous, shiny young body taut
and ready to go. He arched his back off the floor as Eric
reached for the purple erection straining against the excited
youngster's belly. The oily hand stroked gently,
bringing him off. When Marmaduke came, it was with a long,
long spurt of white, boy-juice, shooting horizontally over
his shoulder. It was prolonged and audible - like a healthy,
white piss. Marmaduke grunted and unloaded in hot, streaming
jets, one after the other. Uncontrolled, muscular spasms
jerked his body. His jism mixed with the creamy stuff
already all over the place and he sank back, exhausted, onto
the wet floor.

"You can have the first shower, you little grub," Eric said
affectionately to the expended, still groaning boy stretched
out on the filthy linoleum.

Dripping gunk, Marmaduke made his way to the bathroom,
steamed himself clean under the nozzle and put on a decent
set of clothes. The pair of them cleaned the kitchen and
spent the afternoon in the warm sun - Eric reading
Plutarch's 'Lives' and Marmaduke complaining that he didn't
have his computer with him.

"Frank said you wouldn't have time for any of that stuff,"
 Eric said, referring to Marmaduke's repeatedly voiced
preference to be playing 'Gran Turismo'.

Eric scratched the boy's bumpy back and admired his
twisting, droopy shoulders. "Don't whine like a brat,
please, Marmaduke. Maybe I'll buy you a new computer. If
Frank lets you have one."

"Hmmmmmmmm," said Marmaduke, remembering that Frank wanted
him ready for training quite early the next morning, but
that will wait 'till next episode.