Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2002 14:25:21 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Training The Marine, Part 9

Part 9 of the saga which you're kindly posting in
authoritarian and military.

Pete

TRAINING THE MARINE - Part 9

By Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

It always seems as if 50 or so of my aides and
advisors want to accompany me when I head towards the
USA, and they justify this by claiming that they are
going to brief me on the aircraft.  Whilst I do have a
conference room on board (I need to be able to show
the whole thing is designed for business in order that
I can take it as a business expense) I really hate
listening to them going on and on.  Actually, I can't
stand these briefings at all, so having them whilst
we're flying is even worse.  I think it's about time
for a new purge - last year I restricted all
presentations to a maximum of 20 minutes, and allowed
no more than six overhead foils.  But this last month
or so I see they have been gradually creeping up both
in length and in terms of the number of foils.

After we had taken off, therefore, I sat down to
listen and after exactly 20 minutes dismissed the
speaker - and he was still going on about the
co-operation he had had from others, and had not even
got to the meat of the thing!  The second one left
after I told him no more foils after number six!  And
after that my staff got the message and the rest of
the briefing programme was cancelled - my senior PA
just came and we talked about the really key points I
needed to address in the USA, and it only took us
twelve minutes in total!

That left the whole of the rest of the journey for my
pleasure, and anticipating this I had had a new slave
loaded into the containment cages at  the rear.  I
retired to my private suite of rooms, and sent for the
slave.

I have a dealer who I particularly trust, and
occasionally he sends me details via my PC of slaves
who he thinks will certainly appeal to me.  He's like
those really high class car dealers - the ones who
sell Ferraris and Maseratis - he relies on a small,
rich clientele who are prepared to pay for the best,
and who have little personal time to make a choice for
themselves.  He does not abuse the privilege of access
to his clients by sending them details of every piece
of merchandise he has for sale, but when a
particularly excellent "model" comes in to his
"showroom", he invites just those clients who he knows
will appreciate it to consider a purchase.

Four weeks ago he sent me details of a Russian who had
been newly enslaved, but who had taken well to an
initial period of training.  My dealer thought that he
might appeal to me as the man was tall - taller even
than me - with a body that was extremely well made.
Not overly muscled, but powerful and strong, with legs
and body properly proportioned - so often very tall
men have overly-long legs, I find.  His hair was a
dark blonde, and his entire body was covered in a very
fine coat of body hair, lying appealingly flat on his
front and back, but with just a hint of curl on his
arms and legs.  He had sharp, chiselled features,  and
seemed to smile and laugh a lot.  Everything about him
seemed perfect from the detailed shots I called up
onto my screen - prominent nipples on big aureoles,
flat belly, extremely muscular ass carried high, and a
long, thick cock and low-hanging balls.

The dealer assured me that he was fertile, as he had
sired two sons, and told me that he had no previous
experience with men.  He had been sold to the Eastern
network by the Russian Mafia, to whom he had failed to
repay a loan.  Having been "retired" from the Russian
special forces when the financial crisis hit the
country, he had tried to go into business importing
scarce Western goods, on borrowed money, but it had
failed.

I didn't have time to inspect the slave personally,
but, as I said, I trust this dealer.  And in spite of
the quite outrageous price I had bought him.  After
all, if you work hard, you deserve to be able to play
hard, and my hobby probably costs me a lot less than
those adopted by some rich men - if you go in for
ocean racing, for example, the running expenses are
huge and the boats themselves actually depreciate.  A
good slave, on the other hand, usually appreciates
whilst I own him as the next buyer know that he will
be acquiring an exceptional slave who had been
properly schooled in all the arts of serving a master.

Whilst I generally like to attend to the training and
decoration of these slaves myself, I was particularly
busy at the time and so I had told the dealer to have
him marked with my house brand, get him circumcised,
and to send him to sex school before delivery to me.
Whilst it's fun occasionally to teach a new slave
about being fucked, and I was enjoying doing this to
the marine, sometimes it's just good to be able to use
the slave immediately and know that he understands
what his role is.  The sex school we use is excellent
- they take a slave and quickly get rid of any shame
or inhibition he has in doing anything a master might
want to with his body, whilst managing to retain
something of that air of surprise and innocence that
previously straight men still sometimes exhibit so
engagingly.

I was reclining on a couch when he came in, and
immediately I could tell that my dealer had again not
failed me.  There was that  indefinable "something"
about him that promised delight and pleasure - you
know how it is, sometimes you just catch a glimpse of
something going on inside a man's head that makes him
truly special.  Some men can just enter a room and all
heads will turn to look at them - not just because of
the beauty of their bodies, but because they have
about them an aura of confidence and charm, and this
slave was just such a one.  He stood there looking at
me, and I felt myself going instantly erect - that's
relatively rare, as I see so many naked slaves all of
whom are generally very presentable - and I believe it
was this combination of masculine beauty and general
aura that did it.

Unlike so many of the newly enslaved, he didn't look
cross, or sad, or downtrodden, but had a pleasant,
open grin on his face.  It's so good to see a happy
slave - so often they have been trained to show no
emotion at all.  I suppose I ought to have commanded
this one to kneel, or to cast his eyes down in
respect, but the chance to see a slave daring to look
at me almost as if he was an equal was in itself quite
exciting.

He just stood looking at me, and his eyes never left
mine.  He was totally unashamed of his nakedness -
indeed, he almost flaunted it - and he obviously knew
why he had been brought into my private room.

I got up, and went over to him, and started to examine
him as I would any new purchase.  Usually I'm pretty
methodical about this as you know, starting at the top
and working downwards, but on this occasion his cock
looked so tempting it was the first thing I reached
for.  He was instantly erect as my hands touched him,
and then, to my utter amazement, he was fumbling for
my cock through my robes!

He found it, and as I fondled him, he fondled me.  It
was almost as if one of my oldest friends was with me,
rather than a slave!  Then he leaned over and pressed
his lips to mine.

I am a master, but, more than that, I am a "top" and
an aggressive one at that.  It's always me that "makes
the running" when I'm with another man, whether free
or enslaved, and I am completely unused to another man
taking an initiative in this way.  I knew I should
have the slave punished for daring to attempt to touch
me without my permission, but something inside me said
"what the hell", and I decided to let the scene play
itself out.

Within seconds his tongue was deep inside me, and his
arms were wrapped around me running up and down my
back with urgent passion.  His leg was in-between
mine, and he was rubbing his erect cock up and down
against where mine still nestled under my robe.

Breaking off after a minute or two, he stood back a
pace and literally tore my robe off me so I too was
naked, then flung his body back against mine so we
could again kiss and hug each other, and stab our
rampant cocks into the other's pubic area.

I really had no time to think, and for the first time
in a long time, I didn't even want to think!  My body
was being flooded with waves of pleasure from the
aggressive stroking and hugging we were doing, and I
sensed that this is what my marine must have felt when
I first started to aggressively caress his body.

The slave was now biting my lower lip, and
intermittently breaking off to force his head against
my shoulder blades so he could bite and nibble at my
shoulders and neck.  And he would occasionally drop
further, to suck and bite at my nipples.  I actually
heard myself groaning and crying with pleasure,
something I rarely do.  For me sex had become
something rather mechanical, which you do of course
perform well;  but now I was being swept along on a
tide of passion, the sort of passion I had last felt,
I think, as a young man taking my first pleasures with
slaves of different sizes and shapes.

We were both sweating intensely, and as we rubbed
against each other I marvelled at the feel of his skin
against mine - all hot and wet.  And already he was
giving off those wonderful masculine scents that only
come when a man is truly aroused and his sweat glands
are pouring out all sorts of pheromones to attract a
mate and raise his level of sexual readiness.

He pushed me backwards on to my bed, and now moved his
head down my body, toying with my nips again so I
shouted with pleasure and arched my body to try to get
away from his insistent mouth.  I clutched at his head
as he moved it down, constantly licking at me and
probing into my navel.  And then of course he started
to tease and play with my cock with his hot, moist
tongue.

It was almost more than I could bear, but then it all
stopped.  With an athletic bound he sprang off the
bed, then back on again, kneeling between my legs.  He
spread his legs, using the force in his powerful ass
and thigh muscles to force mine wide apart, then put
his hands under my ass and raised it in the air!  The
next instant I felt the hot touch of his cock pressing
against my ass hole.  Ahhhhh!

I don't really like to label people as "tops" or
"bottoms", or "active" or "passive", and I never cease
to be amazed when I see Western men obsessing over
these terms when I bother to scan the Internet.  Men
should just do to each other what each wants, and I
suppose it's easier if you have a "top" and a
"bottom".  But as an aggressive top, I suppose it is
sometimes, just occasionally, fun to just lie back and
let it happen to you!  It's really good, occasionally,
to give up trying to make things happen, and just to
let things happen to you.

Whether it was because I was tired, or because I had
felt "something" for this slave, I decided just to
turn off (as much as I am able), and the next thing I
experienced was that feeling as a cock slides into
you.  I suppose this happens to me  this eight or nine
times a year, generally with very old friends when we
are doing "turn and turn around", but never before
have I had a slave start to fuck me!  Actually, you
can't tell, of course - if I closed my eyes there was
no way of knowing that a big aggressive slave was
pushing his way into me, as it felt much the same as
when a friend does.  But when I opened my eyes I knew
at once it was a slave - there was no doubting the
superb musculature and the rugged good looks that were
the reason why I had bought him in the first place.

The slave was almost as good a lover as I am.  He had
pushed my legs up to sit on his shoulders, and was
thrusting away deep into me in a most expert way - if
he had been supposedly straight before enslavement
only those few weeks before, then straight men must at
last be learning how to do things properly.  He had
that instinctive ability to slide in and out gently
and regularly, almost in time with my breathing, then
suddenly, without warning, to draw out almost
completely and plunge in hard so his pubic bone
slammed into my pubic area.  My moans of pleasure
turned to cries of pain whenever he did this (well,
not exactly pain - you know what I mean - that amazing
feeling of pure unadulterated pleasure, verging on
unbearable pain.  You cry out for it to stop, but
that's the last thing you want to happen).

He was breathing hard, and as his body pistoned in and
out small drops of sweat were flying off him.  I was
moaning and crying in time to his strokes as I have
said, but one part of me was watching the scene
intensely analytically:  I could see the slave
watching my face, then timing his regular strokes and
his sudden thrusts to coincide with my breathing, and
my moans of joy.  He only thrust hard when it looked
as if I had completely relaxed and was not expecting
another, and in-between each hard thrust he gave me
several gentle strokes to allow me to "recover".  This
is exactly what I do when I'm fucking, and, like the
slave, I always prefer to fuck men on their backs
precisely so that I can watch their faces.

With a great shout of his own he came, and I could
feel him pumping his seed deep inside me.  At once he
fell forward onto me, and to my amazement, almost as
if by reflex, I crossed my legs behind his back as if
to hold him in, whilst pulling his body even closer to
mine, if that was possible, with my hands on his back.

His head was beside mine, and I could feel his lips
lightly kissing my shoulder.  He was moaning something
quietly and softly, but I guess it was in Russian as
it was not one of the languages I speak fluently.  He
could have been the master, and I the slave!

After a few minutes he rolled away from me so that we
were side by side on our backs, then, realising his
cock was covered in my crap, he leapt lightly out of
bed and went into my bathroom - all without asking my
permission!  It was interesting to see how such a big
man could move so lightly and smoothly:  it was if he
was some sort of big jungle cat, and I delighted in
seeing the muscles in his body move as he almost slid
across the floor.

When he emerged a few moments later, I expected him to
fall to the floor and start reacting like a slave, but
instead he vaulted on to the bed, and rolled over so
that he was again lying on his back, next to me.  He
pulled my arm under his head, and cradled my head in
his arm, and reached down with his other hand and
started to masturbate me whilst kissing me
passionately!

I couldn't have broken off even if had wanted to, and
to my surprise it only took a few strokes of his hands
before I shot a huge load of my cum all over my
stomach.  Actually, I wasn't totally pleased about
this as I planned to fuck him next, and I didn't think
I would have time to recover.  But before I could say
anything, he had sat up and had bent over to lick my
cum up from my belly and chest, causing waves of
pleasurable sensations to flow through me again.  He
then lay back, and kissed me deeply, and I could taste
my own cum intermingled with his own delicious spit.

We must have lay for at last half an hour recovering
from this massively enjoyable session, just lying
there languidly kissing, fondling each others cocks
and balls, and indulging in mutual fun nipple play.
We did nothing to excess, so there was no need to
writhe or moan, and just experienced the gentle warmth
and touch of a lover intent on prolonging his
companion's  sensations.

I really wanted to fuck the slave next, as I was
looking forward to probing his lovely ass myself and
ramming my cock up his hole.  I knew that I could
return that mixture of pleasure, passion and pain that
I had experienced, and really wanted the slave to
enjoy it.

But, irritatingly, the "Vitally urgent" light had been
flashing on my phone for over half an hour already,
and I decided the real world did need to intrude a
little.  Even so, it was another half hour before I
was ready to take the call - we washed each other in
the shower, revelling in examining and playing with
each other's wet, soap-slicked bodies.

This had been such a deeply passionate experience for
me that I thought of taking the slave with me into my
hotel in Washington.  But I could tell that "real
world" was intruding as my innate caution said "no",
reminding me of what happened last time I took a
newly-enslaved man in to the USA.  He tried to escape!
 Or, rather, when he was presenting his manufactured
passport to the immigration officer, he started to
shout and cry out about being captured and enslaved!

The US courts didn't believe him of course, and so
ordered him to be deported.  But it took ages - at
least a year.  He was, as you would expect, deported
to the country he had come from, my own, and on
arrival he suffered the inevitable penalty for slaves
who attempt escape.

I didn't want to risk something similar happening to
this magnificent animal, as I wanted to enjoy him many
more times. So I ordered him to be taken and locked
back into his cage until we returned home.  Or, I
mused, there was always the long flight back....!

Actually the "vitally urgent" call was quite serious,
so it was probably as well I stopped then.  However
rich you are, you hate to see your self losing money,
and the fools on the West Coast had managed to
completely fuck up a project with which they had been
entrusted.  The press and the courts had become
involved, and there was talk of class action  suits
that could tie up some of my US assets for years!  I
did see one potential "fix", but it was not something
I wanted to get the incompetents who had got us into
the mess in the first instance to do.  So I wearily
told my PA that we would fly on to LA after
Washington, and that therefore I could only see the
lieutenant the next day, and only then at lunch time -
the rest of today had to be spent in the meetings, and
at the formal dinner, that were the ostensible reason
for my trip in the first place.

The meetings went well - but again they were of those
self-congratulatory kind where the "chiefs" were
supposed to shake everyone's hand and thank them for
making it all possible - the essence of the deal had
all been done already by phone.  I hate big formal
dinners, even when they are in the White House, and
made my excuses to leave as early as decently
possible.

One of the presidential aides had obviously been
briefed to "take care" of me if I left early, and
sidled up and said that perhaps that this was because
I was interested in seeing some of Washington's "night
life"?  Actually, that did seem like a good idea -
with my slave locked in his cage on board my aircraft,
I faced a lonely bed that night.  But the US
intelligence services had obviously stumbled
somewhere, because the enthusiastic aide took me to a
vile place where the air was full of cigarette smoke,
and half-drunk men were standing around watching naked
women disport themselves!

How completely disgusting:  smoking, drinking, and
naked women.  No wonder the USA is in crisis.  And it
was so tame - the women were just dancing, and were
not even being made to go down on each other with
dildos.

I strode out of the "club" in fury, and the
presidential aide was obviously worried.

"I'm sorry, sir, if we have offended you or your
religious principles!"  (Religious - me?).

"On behalf of the President, please accept our deepest
apologies."

"That's perfectly all right.  I'm sure you meant well.
 So many of your country's actions are meant to be
right, and few succeed, so I am used to these
failures."

"It's just, sir..... Well, I don't know how to put
this....  It's just that our information was that you
had a..... a, shall we say, healthy interest in sex!"

"So you think I'm a eunuch!  Is there no end to your
insults!  Of course I have a healthy interest in sex!
Every man does.  If you thought that, why did you take
me to see that pornography - naked women disporting
themselves like that!"

"I'm sorry, sir...  But that's one of Washington's top
sex clubs...."

"In that case, it's no wonder your country is in a
mess.  It cannot be healthy to have men standing
around in that smoky atmosphere, drinking, and
watching pornography.  Do I understand that as it's
one of the capitols top clubs, that most of the
clientele are leaders of government and industry?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

"Well, that proves my point.  Leaders should be doing,
not watching; they should be fucking away, not
watching women dancing!  You can redeem yourself by
taking me to a proper sex club, where real men indulge
in the true pleasures of sex.  Surely there is such a
club here?"

"No, sir.  I don't think there is.  Our laws forbid
men and women getting together in clubs to...."

"Fool!  Do you persist in your perversion?  Why would
a man want to watch a man with a woman?  Women are for
breeding, and whilst it is necessary to use them for
this occasionally, there is no requirement to have to
watch that animal act taking place!  If I want to see
breeding going on, I'd rather watch my stallions on my
stud farm.  No, by sex I mean proper sex - men fucking
men.  And as a leader and most important person
present, I naturally do not want to watch, but to
initiate action and to take part.  Take me to wherever
it is in this capital that that takes place!"

"Sir, I... I don't know!  In all my time in the Office
Of Protocol, no one has ever made such a request!"

"Well then, you have failed in your mission to
understand the needs of, and to cater adequately for,
your guests.  Once again, your country has
disappointed me deeply."

"Sir, so I understand that you want to spend the night
with a man..."

"No!  Not necessarily, only if he pleases me.  I want
to fuck a man as I invariably do before retiring, and
if he is particularly pleasing, I might choose to have
him share by bed all night."

"Thank you for your candour, sir.  The US Government
does not, I am afraid, procure men for its guests."

"So you will risk my displeasure?  There is still that
final meeting tomorrow morning.  Do you want me to
arrive cross, and frustrated?"

"Sir, please.  Remain calm.  Whilst we do not procure
men, I do have a colleague with whom I used to work
who is now in the Pentagon, in the Navy department.
If you would allow me ten minutes, sir, whilst we
drive around.... I might be able to do something."

"Very well!  It's  a long time since I was in
Washington - get the driver to take me on a tour of
the monuments."

The man looked relieved, and spent the next minutes in
frantic phone calls - he was bending low into his cell
phone, and evident understood, as do so few users,
that you do not need to shout to make yourself heard!
So I had no idea who he was calling, or what about.
But he did seem pleased when he put down the phone.

"Sir, my friend would like us to join him for a drink
in his apartment.  He has located a member of the US
Navy, a junior officer, who will also be joining us.
This sailor is, I understand, handsome and, shall we
say, not averse to enjoying the company of men...."

"Excellent!  Drive us there quickly."

The apartment was one of those expensive ones near the
key government buildings, where those officials who
were clawing their way up aspired to live in order to
impress.  There was a vast marble and glass atrium,
uniformed doormen, and fast, silent elevators. The
apartment had a stunning view of the skyline and out
to the Potomac, and was furnished in the tasteful
whites, beiges and taupes that screamed "expensive
interior decorator".

The host was clearly also a diplomat, as he greeted me
warmly and offered me a drink.  There was no sign of
the promised naval officer, and we were running out of
polite small talk - never my strong point even at the
best of times, as you will by now know - when we were
saved by the sound of the door buzzer, and the arrival
of a stunningly handsome man in his early thirties.

"Sorry I am late, sir! ", he said.  "I had this call
from the Admiral to come here, and not even to bother
to change.  But I could not leave the duty room until
my replacement arrived as I have responsibility for
the overnight monitoring...."

"Quite...", my host cut in.  "Did the admiral mention
why you were asked.....?"

"Oh yes, sir.  He sounded considerably embarrassed,
but I understood what is required."

He turned and looked at me, grinned, and said, sort of
to the others, but quite clearly aiming his remarks at
me

"And, if I may say so, sir, I think it will be a
pleasure if this is the gentleman who is to be
entertained."

I could see that this officer had all the makings of
an eminently suitable bed companion, but did not want
to have any false expectations or misunderstanding.
As he was evidently being provided for me, I looked at
him squarely and simply said

"I want to assure myself that it will be a pleasure.
Take off your clothes, so I can inspect you."

I heard the two diplomats gasp, but the sailor just
smiled again - I like a man that smiles, as you know.

He quickly took off his entire uniform, and stood
there in white cotton boxer shorts.  I thought that
like so many men he would stop at this point, but he
did not - still looking at me and smiling, he put his
thumbs under the waistband and shucked them to the
floor.  He was not at all ashamed to strip in front of
three men - perhaps that's what you learn when you are
confined in the close quarters of ships.  I of course
enjoyed it, as I always like to see the shape of the
ass as a man bends to release his trousers over his
feet, but both diplomats looked highly embarrassed -
had they never seen a naked guy in their drawing room
before, I wondered!

 He did that little "flick" of the cock that we all do
to shake a confined cock clear of the balls, and said

"Do I meet with your approval, sir?"

"Yes, you do.  You will accompany me back to my
hotel...."

"With respect, sir, I think you would perhaps enjoy
coming to my barracks more.  I have a comfortable room
in the officers' quarters, and once there, if you
would like some additional company, there are a number
of my fellow officers who might be, shall we say,
equally pleased to entertain you?"

I laughed, and said to him "Excellent!  A man who
really understands how to entertain a guest.  Get as
few of those clothes on as can prevent these gentlemen
from remaining embarrassed, and let's be off."

Turning to the diplomats, I went on "You should
recruit this officer to the diplomatic corps! He shows
more understanding of the needs and requirements of
real men that do any of you diplomats!  I assume we
can continue to use the official car for the rest of
the evening."

Then, with a heavily ironic tone, I finished "Please
don't feel the need to accompany me further.  I know
we have another morning of negotiation tomorrow, and
you should probably go home to rest.  I am confident
that this officer will be a proper ambassador for your
country, and can explain to me some of its customs in
more - shall we say - intimate detail.  And I am
greatly looking forward to meeting some of his
friends, too."

Much to the surprise of the government driver, I used
the journey out to his barracks to thoroughly explore
the officer's body, as did he mine, and we left two
pools of cum on the rich carpets.  That night, after
some eight officers and 'enlisted men' had got
together, we really did have fun.  You know, once out
of their uniforms you could not tell the officers and
the 'men' apart, except that the 'men' tended to have
more tattoos.  It shows how superficial these
distinctions that are imposed by society are.

But this is a memoir about my relations with a US
marine, and only peripherally about my relations with
the US Government.  And it's not at all really about
interesting sexual encounters at a naval base -
although the eight men did have some amusing
variations I must remember to have my slaves perform
for me.  So I will dictate those to a separate file
and have them stored for my autobiography.

It was fortunate that the meetings the next day
finished before lunch, as my PAs had determined that
the lieutenant came off duty about then.  They
arranged for us to meet initially over lunch, but I
instructed them to keep my diary clear for the
afternoon.  We would only fly on to the West Coast for
a load of shit-shovelling when I had satisfactorily
concluded my liaison with the young man, even though
it was becoming clear that the earlier I intervened,
the better.

I collected him at the staff gates of the White House
as he came off duty - the car only had to drive around
from the "official" entrance we had just left, and I
was glad he was still in uniform - military dress
uniforms are after all designed to enhance the
features of the male body, and in his, he looked very
desirable.

Although not eating out often, I do of course like the
best, and a table had been booked at the
internationally famous "Le Doyen De L'est".  It's
always said that this is difficult to reserve at, and
that they take reservations months in advance.
Fortunately, like so many expensive restaurants, the
chef-proprietor had recently moved to even more
magnificent new premises, in an even more expensive
and fashionable location than that he had been in
previously (and used the move to help justify a 20%
increase on his already rapacious prices).  He had
financed this by a multi-million dollar business loan
from a bank in which I have a minority, but still
sizeable, share holding.  My PA was thus easily able
to get to speak to the man himself when his maitre d'
proved unhelpful, and pointed out the wisdom of making
space for me that very day at his very best table.

We arrived and went in, and I could sense the
Lieutenant stiffen with embarrassment as he looked
around the room.  All the other diners were much older
than us, and looked to be the cream of the Washington
establishment - one could hear the word "senator"
being muttered discretely at several tables.  There
were military there, too, but other than the
lieutenant, no one less than a four star general!

"Fear not, Lieutenant", I said as I commanded the
maitre d' to take us to our table straight away. "Just
remember that I am probably the only one here paying
for his lunch personally.  And that we are paying for
most of the other lunches, too, as they are
undoubtedly being charged to government expense
accounts funded by us, the taxpayers."

The maitre d' tried us to sit opposite each other, but
I decided to sit next to the Lieutenant on the
banquette that ran along the wall.  I wanted to be
physically close to him when we started to talk
seriously, and I also wanted us to share a common view
of what else was happening in the restaurant.

The lieutenant seemed to be overawed by the mass of
waiters and assorted flunkies holding our chairs,
shaking our napkins, and presenting the menus.  And he
was totally unable to understand the menu - "Le Doyen
De L'Est" still continues that ridiculous practice of
writing its menus only in French.  I really do not
understand why these restaurants seem to go out of
their way to attempt to intimidate the customers, but
it is of course quite amusing: I detected at least
three errors in the French, and pretended not to
understand those lines of the menu because of the
failing in the grammar. When I tried to discuss this
in my completely fluent French with the maitre d', he
was quite unable to answer me in the same terms, as he
had only got high school French himself and his accent
was as phoney as the rest of the place!

To save time, and to prevent further embarrassment to
the lieutenant, I suggested that I order for him -
actually, of course, by taking this choice away from
him I was subtly starting him on the road towards
complete subjugation to my will.  When the wine list
came, he was  blushing when he told me that he really
only liked beer, so that "any wine would do, as I
can't tell one from the other".  I really don't
understand why this should cause him to blush - beer
is, after all, just as good an accompaniment to food
as wine is, and those that do not recognise this are
themselves the gauche ones.  However to my
astonishment, the sommelier confessed that the
restaurant did not serve beer.

 I had to command him quite sharply to send one of the
waiters to the hotel across the street and bring one
back for my guest - several of the diners at adjacent
tables seemed to be surprised to hear these tones in
the otherwise hushed calm of the room. But servants do
need to be kept firmly in place and their failings
pointed out to them if they are not to become dominant
over their masters. I rarely drink alcohol, but to
keep the Lieutenant company I ordered my favourite
Chateau Palmer (the 84, the only one in the
restaurant's cellar, is adequate but not exceptional).

Whilst the first course was coming, I commented to the
lieutenant about the waiters, telling him how much
better it would be for us if we could enjoy their
bodies properly instead of having to try to guess what
they would look like without their silly uniforms of
tight black trousers, white shirts, and short jackets
(which looked as if the designer had been trying to
emphasise their asses, by cutting them off just at the
base of the spine).

I told him how in my town house and at my estate
waiters are always handsome, and always totally nude
except for tiny white silk posing pouches.  Of course
they are totally shaved, as I would not want there to
be any risk of a pubic hair fluttering down onto the
table, or into the food.  But I have found it is also
necessary to make them wear the tiny pouches to avoid
any unseemly drops of precum dripping from their
cocks.  As it is, my guests and I always laugh when
one of the waiters has been aroused - he can't hide
it, as the pouch is so small it is pushed away from
his body by the rampant cock, so weak and translucent
that you can see the erection in complete detail
through it, and the precum clearly shows up as a
small, damp patch where the tip of the cock is pressed
against the silk.

Before we got down to the serious business of talking
about his needs, I went on to ask him about his own
taste in men.

"So what do you prefer - short or tall, blonde or
black or red head, white or black skin, cut or
uncut....?"

"Sir, I... I... I hadn't really thought about it."

"But you must, Lieutenant.  You must become a
connoisseur of the male form.  You never know when a
quite exceptional piece of male flesh might cross your
path.  If your senses are not finely honed to
appreciate it, you might miss it totally.  And you
know, sometimes it takes only a flash, a glimpse....
In less than an instant, a casually seen face, or
tight Jeans stretched over a nice ass, or a strong
hairy arm emerging from a T.... All these can prompt
you to take a closer look, and often you can see the
most astonishing men in the most unlikely places.
Building sites, offices, on the subway, in the street
- there are good looking men everywhere, if you tune
yourself to look."

"Now", I continued, "There are six waiters serving us.
 Which one do you prefer?"

"Prefer, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant.  If you were going to bed one of
these young men, which one would you take first?"

He was blushing furiously now.  I suspect that it was
because this was the first time he had ever had such a
bold conversation with another man about his
preferences - it can be difficult to overcome years of
conditioning, and start to talk about such things
openly.  Or perhaps it was because of holding this
conversation in these surroundings. Or perhaps he
thought that the waiters might have heard my question.
 Who knows?

"Well, sir.  I suppose... I suppose...  It would be
the young guy with the black hair and that cute
smile..."

"Excellent choice!  Mine, too. He obviously takes care
of himself - when he comes back, observe how is just
that bit more muscular than the rest - not overly so,
but just enough so that you can see through his
uniform that he's well defined, and lean, not fat.
And have you smelt him?"

"Sir?"

"Yes - you are not yet trained!  As he leans over you,
smell him.  There's no trace of stale sweat, of course
- you wouldn't expect that in a waiter in an expensive
restaurant.  But most importantly, there's no smell of
deodorant or cologne either.  He doesn't mask his
maleness by artificial perfumes:  I think you'll find
that he has an attractive 'maleness' about him - I
would imagine he washes thoroughly with soap, then
stands under the shower for several minutes to wash
all trace of it away.  Very sexually attractive men
often do this, without realising why:  their bodies
are ensuring that their male pheromones can get
through, and attract other men to them."

As I was speaking, I put my hand on the inside of his
thigh, and started to move it up, towards his crotch.


"Sir.... Sir...."   He was bright red with
embarrassment now.

"Lieutenant, you told me on the phone you wanted my
body again.  And now, when I start to caress you, I
believe you're trying to tell me to stop.  At least
your mouth is trying to tell me to stop - I can feel
from the reaction I am getting that at least one other
part of your body wants me to continue..."

"But sir, it's a public place..."

"So?  No one can see, as my hand is now caressing you
under the starched white linen cloth.  And even if
they could, their brains would deny what their eyes
are seeing - men just do not stroke other men in
restaurants like this, you know!"

I had lowered the zip on his dress uniform trousers,
and my hand was now inside.  I probed through the slit
in the front of his boxers, and curled my fingers
around his cock - it was hot and moist, and it only
took a very small effort on my part to make it rear up
so that it was unrestrained and free, poking through
his open fly.

I had to stop then, as the sommelier brought my wine
and went through that silly ritual of offering me the
cork to sniff, then a small quantity of the wine to
taste.  This is all so pretentious, and I told the man
so - he had, after all, tasted the wine himself a
moment ago, and was he not an expert?  Surely he would
not presume to offer me wine that his own taste had
not assured him was in first class condition?

I was eager to continue my exploration of the
Lieutenant's genitals, and so told the sommelier to
pour me a glass, and go away.

I teased my fingers up and down the lieutenant's cock,
rubbing my thumb quite coarsely around his flange -
especially the sensitive underside.  He wanted to try
to wriggle out of my way, I know, but of course he
could not without risking exposing himself to the
other diners.  I wondered about jerking him off, but
thought better of it as I wanted him fresh for an
enjoyable afternoon in bed.

I withdrew my hand again as our first course arrived,
and I was keen to sample it to see if the
chef-proprietor's reputation was all that the glossy
magazines claimed.  But that did not stop us talking.

"So, lieutenant, all is not well with your career.
And your marriage plans have been cancelled.  And you
have not yet found another man to service you and
excite you sexually.  So you call to me to come half
way around the world to pleasure you....."

"NO, sir.  It's just that you were the first man who
has ever been with me, and the first man who made me
realise that I want to experience the joy and pleasure
of being with other men.  No one else will ever be as
good as you are, no one else can make me feel the
ecstasy I felt when you fucked me, no one..."

"Nonsense, lieutenant!  Let me tell you this, from my
vast experience.  The first man always is special, and
you will always remember him.  And I am a skilled
master, well used to fucking men of all sizes and
shapes, under all sorts of conditions.  Of course you
thrilled to the touch of my body, and enjoyed that
special sensation as my cock slid up your ass for the
first time:  any man would who has me as a  sex
partner.   But you will find other men who thrill you
just as much, if not more.  And you yourself will
derive pleasure in turn from fucking other men.... Now
that is another occasion you will remember, the first
time your cock is inside another man."

"You need to get out there, meet men, and fuck with
them.  Forget all this nonsense about only wanting me,
or even of thinking about only wanting one man.
Initially, you want quantity - have a different man
every night, two if you can find them.  Fuck them, get
them to fuck you.  Experiment - do you like your
nipples tortured?  Do you like a man to rim you, or do
you like to rim him? Do you just want to jerk each
other off, or do you want to fuck?  You can't have too
many men, and try too many things.  Only when yo are
exhausted with 'the new' should you sit down and try
to determine what you really like doing, and with what
type of man."

"Sir, I couldn't.  I couldn't approach another man...
"

"Yes, you could, lieutenant.  Most men are
approachable if you ask them in a clear and straight
forward way.  And they can only say 'no', after all.
If you don't ask, you don't get."

"But sir, I have no experience.  I just can't go and
ask a man to come to bed with me..."

"Watch this, lieutenant!"

I signalled to the young waiter that we had both
singled out as being our best pick, and he came over.
As well as noticing that he was exceptionally well
built and handsome, he had that air about him that we
all recognise - although not noticeable to the general
population, he was, to the observing and discerning,
gay.

"Can you help me, please?".

"The Lieutenant here has dropped a fork - could you
retrieve it for us from under the table, please?".

"Certainly, sir".

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the lieutenant start
to struggle and make a frantic effort to try to get
his cock back inside his trousers.  But I gripped his
wrist with my hand, and he was unable to do so just
using the other.  The waiter bobbed his head under the
table, and took what would, by any standards, be a
very long time to retrieve a fork, even had there been
one there!

He got back to his feet, and looked hard at me.

"I'm afraid I could not find the fork, sir.  I will
fetch you another one."

"No matter, please do not bother.  But you were a long
time looking, thank you.  It must have been
interesting under there..."

"Indeed, sir, yes."

"So could you assist me further?  I want the
Lieutenant here to have a truly memorable meal at this
restaurant, one he will remember for a very long time.
 I believe he needs to go to the rest room shortly,
and you could perhaps render a special service.... A
very special service?  Will you accompany him, and
gratify him sexually?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good.  Then when the lieutenant goes to the rest
room, I would like you to follow him and suck him off.
 That erection he has is quite spoiling his
concentration on the meal.  You would, I take it, like
to have that magnificent cock of his down your
throat?"

"Sir, at Le Doyen De L'est we pride ourselves giving
all our guests a memorable time..."

"Thank you.  Keep a close eye on us, as I feel certain
the Lieutenant will be moving soon..."

"Sir, of course".

As he moved away, I looked at the lieutenant who was
simply open mouthed with amazement.

"Off you go then, lieutenant.  You're about to have
your second sexual adventure!"

"But sir...."

"But nothing.  I heard you agree with me that you
thought he was handsome, and that he was s the one you
would most like to bed.  Well, the bedding is a little
impracticable in the circumstances, but I'm sure that
those lips of his will do a very satisfactory job on
that erection of yours.  Now zip yourself up, and off
you go.  Then when you come back I will require you to
tell me everything."

I made a dismissive gesture, and sipped my wine
thoughtfully.

That lieutenant really was a handsome devil, even
though he was slouching a little as he made his way
across the restaurant - it was as if he was ashamed of
being there, instead of standing tall and proud as any
man would who had a body like his.

The restaurant has the effrontery to say that patrons
cannot use cell phones, but I decided to check up on
the West Coast.  I signalled to one of my Pas who had
been waiting in the bar area, and he came over with
the number already dialled for me.  The situation was
worsening, and it had the potential to spoil my day!
Of course no one said anything bout my phone call -
the maitre d' started to come over, but even my PA was
able to quell him with a single glance!

I smiled to myself as the waiter out of the rest room,
and the lieutenant emerged only a very few seconds
later.  As soon as he was back at the table, I
started:

"Well?"

"Sir, I can't believe it.  I can't believe this is
happening to me!"

"Well, it's just as I said.  If you ask, you may
receive.  Were you passive, or did you actively fuck
his face?"

"Sir... I don't know.... I can't say...."

"Come on, lieutenant.  There can be no secrets between
us.  Did you just stand there and let him blow you -
funny how you Americans use that expression, isn't it,
when the actual process is quite the reverse.  Or were
you more active, and thrust your cock into and out of
his mouth?"

"Sir, initially I was scared, and just stood there
whilst he unzipped me and put my cock in his mouth.
But once he had started, I wanted to be in control.  I
grabbed his head, and started to thrust my hips so I
went in and out of him - I had to hold him quite tight
at one point as he was gagging and wanted my cock out
of his mouth, but I didn't want that to happen."

"Excellent!  But enough of this.  We have serious
business to discuss.  Tell me what you like most, and
what you like least, about being in the marines."

"Well, sir, the things I like most are being with my
men.  Commanding them, building them in to a team, and
then going on operations where we are all guys
together, sharing the same risks and the same
hardships.  And I like the physical training, to keep
me in good shape."

"The things I like the least are all the senior
management bullshit, and the need to 'keep a distance'
from my men - when I've worked with those guys all
day, and we're going off on an operation some time
when we might be killed together, I think I should be
allowed to interact with them socially, too.   But the
corps frowns on that, and says officers should drink
together, and the men should drink together, for
example."

"I see.  And I take it, from your inexperience, that
you never 'socialised' with your men to the extent
that you experienced any sexual contact with them?"

"NO, sir!  Absolutely not!  That's completely
forbidden.  It's hard enough to go out for a few beers
with any of the men, let alone get to know them well
enough to be able to ask them that."

"And you're convinced that your career is now going
nowhere?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, lieutenant, would you like to come and work for
me?   Here's the deal:  I need a commander for my
private guard."

"Currently I only have about fifteen guards, and
they're mainly used to control my slaves - actually,
most of the slaves are pretty docile, as they're
farm-bred and know no other way.  So the guards are
only need occasionally, when we have a 'wild' slave
who has yet to be broken.  I don't intend to change
these men, as they operate perfectly satisfactorily."

"Slaves, sir?....."

"Oh, yes. I haven't explained the customs of my
country to you, have I.  Well, that can come later.
As I was saying, I don't intend to change the current
arrangements.  But there is a need for an elite guard
for me - business grows ever more dangerous, and
businessmen are being assassinated and captured every
day, even in the West.  There are many in my country
who are envious of my power, wealth and position, and
I also have made many enemies along the way who may be
plotting revenge.  I have decided that the time has
come that I need a corps of bodyguards - guards who
will be fanatical in my defence."

"And there is a second purpose - our King is old and
becoming feeble, and his sons are pampered, idle and
feckless.  When he dies, I intend to seize power.  Our
laws forbid any citizen from having a 'private army'
of more than 50 men, as such revolts and putsches have
not been unknown in the past.  Sitting there smugly in
the royal palace, the sons believe that they can
always quell any uprising by only 50 troops."

"But I know better.  I remember the story of how 300
Spartans defeated the whole Greek Army.  And do you
know why?"

"No, sir"

"It was because every one of those 300 was the lover
of at least one of the others, and no man likes to
appear to be weak in front of his lover.  Those 300
fought like tigers, both to impress their lovers, and
to protect them.  The power of the sexual attraction
between these men, a most basic primal instinct, was
harnessed to turn them into one of the best fighting
machines the world had ever seen."

"So I want you to do this for me.  I want you to
recruit and train 50 of the world's top fighters - you
can select them from your own marine corps, the
British SAS, the French Foreign Legion, mercenary
armies... Anywhere.... Scour the globe.  You need 50
fit, tough, strong brave men, who like the military
life and who are not afraid to die.  You can offer
them anything - any luxury, any money, anything.  But
I suspect that the sort of men we are looking for will
come because of the life they will live, and not for
financial gain."

"Then you will train them - completely and to
exhaustion every day.  You can, of course, have
unlimited money to spend on the latest weapons and
weapon technology.  But the real training will come in
teaching them to be lovers.  Each of those 50 men is
to sexually bond with at least four others in the
group, you included.  I want an elite troop of men who
really know each other, in the way that only men who
have endured both tough rigorous training, and the
pleasures of the bed, can."

"With 50 such well trained, well equipped, totally
loyal troops, I can take the country, when the time
comes."

"Any questions?"

"You want me to select them, and train them.... And
get them to fuck each other?" - he sounded somewhat
incredulous.

"Yes, why not?"

"Well, I'm only a lieutenant.  I don't know anything
about international recruiting.  I....   I....
actually, I don't know much about fucking men!"

"I think it's that last problem that's stopping you,
lieutenant!  You are an ambitious man, and you have
already demonstrated to me your concerns for your men,
so I know you would be a good commander.  Now you have
admitted to yourself that you want sex with men, it is
only a matter of giving you a little more experience
and practice, and you'll be fucking along there with
the best of them!  Come on, what do you say?"

"Yes, sir!  I will.  You will have the toughest
fighting corps the world has ever seen."

"Good.  Now, to be practical.  You must resign from
the marines.  If they do not accept your resignation,
or if there are any problems, call me and I will tell
the President to let you go immediately.  But in the
next two days, before you put in your resignation,
take a look with your newly-opened eyes at the men in
your own barracks - are there any there who are
candidates for this?  If there are, be bold and
approach them:  get them into bed first, then when you
are lying together, after your sweaty passion, tell
them about the life they could be leading."

"I hope they will let you go immediately, so that
within two weeks you can go an a world-wide recruiting
drive - my secretaries and aids will contact you with
flights, money, and  so on.  But leave two spaces in
your corps - I know two candidates already."

"Now we must pay the bill, as I have to fly to the
West Coast...."

"But sir, I thought we were going to spend the
afternoon together...."

"We were, Lieutenant - although perhaps I will now
start to call you Andy as you are my employee.  But I
must go there now, as a vital project is at stake and
my idiot subordinates have completely messed up."

It was difficult for me to say this, as I really would
have enjoyed the almost innocent young, hard body
again.  But my phone call had set some alarm bell
ringing, and, some times, you should give up pleasure
in pursuit of gain (providing it does not become a
habit!).

"I did want to take you again, as I enjoyed our first
encounter, as I now know you did.  But after hearing
about you and the waiter, I anyway think it better
that you strike out on your own - I do not want to
simply fuck you and increase your reliance on me.   I
want you to be brave and fierce, and find out for
yourself the pleasures of your new sexuality.  You
must seek out men, and do all the things to them that
I did to you.  It will increase your self confidence,
and let you discover your own power as a master, which
I sense is currently buried within you.  Then the next
time we meet, we will be more as equals."

"Sir, I see what you mean.  But I don't know how to
get started in this city..."

"This is the last advice I am going to give you, Andy.
 You are going to have to go into some strange places
to locate the men we need, so you had better learn how
to approach new situations and encounters.  So do two
things, as a start:  firstly, as we leave, go up to
that waiter and demand his number.  Then call him
during his afternoon break, and insist he presents
himself for you to fuck when he leaves here in the
early hours of the morning.  Both demanding his number
in this public place, then issuing your instructions,
will be good experience for you.  Secondly, here is
the number of a man in the Department Of The Navy.
Call him, mention my name, and tell him you are to be
invited to join his jolly little crew of ratings when
they play their evening fuck games tonight!  I think
you need quantity, as I said, and I personally found
the bodies of those young ratings highly desirable, so
I expect you will, too.  Don't you marines always
think that you are superior to the navy - well, here's
your change to demonstrate it!"


I did not want further debate with him, so I summoned
the waiter for the bill.  Of course I never carry cash
or credit cards - my PA who had been hovering in the
bar area of the restaurant hurried over to pay the
bill as soon as it appeared.

I got up to leave, and saw Andy approaching the
handsome waiter.  They whispered together, but I
thought this was unsatisfactory.  So as Andy came back
towards me, I put my arm around his shoulder and as we
walked out together asked him, in a voice that could
be clearly heard by the other diners

"So did you fix to fuck that handsome lad tonight,
Lieutenant?"

He had.  Progress was being made!

End Of Part 9