Date: Thu, 17 Oct 2002 16:53:03 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alan Knight <moonspender2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Welcome Home, Soldier by Knightspanked (historical Anal Spank Oral)

Usual disclaimers apply.

The year was 1945. A veteran of the Desert
Campaign, I was delighted to once again be on
Australian soil. Actually, I only had to walk a
few yards from the troop ship tied to a wharf in
Sydney harbour to a train which was waiting on
the wharf. While I walked, I breathed in the
clean, fresh air and felt the warm sunshine on my
face. It was good to be home.

The sleeping car attendant showed me to my
compartment. He was full of apologies.

"I'm very sorry, Sergeant but there has been a
mix up in the ticketing. Instead of two single
berths we only have this double".

He looked at me anxiously, worried I might get
angry or something.

"Not your fault", I said calmly.

"We will be picking up the remaining passengers
at Sydney Central".

"Just get me home to Melbourne, some time
tomorrow, OK?" I handed him a ten shilling note.

"Yes, Sir! Thank you!".

He hurried off down the corridor and a few
minutes later the carriage gave a lurch. The
locomotive, belching steam and fire, set off on
the long journey.

I found a locker labelled 'Sgt. Harrison' and
stowed my kit. The other locker was marked
'Mast. Piers Lyon'. I shrugged and sat down on
the comfortable Pullman seat. The reflection in
the window of the now fast moving train was that
of a 35-year-old man in uniform. The image
vanished in the bright sunlight. Sometime later
the train pulled into Sydney Central.

The platform was a sea of people. I watched the
passing throng until there was a tap on the door.
The attendant ushered in a handsome boy in school
uniform. I felt my dick harden at the sight of
him.

"Sergeant Harrison. Master Piers Lyon".

I stood up and we shook hands. The boy who had a
firm grip looked me in the eye. When he spoke his
voice was deep and respectful.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir".

The attendant explained about the mixup with the
bedding arrangements. The boy was not the least
bit put out. The attendant disappeared and Piers
sat down beside me. Shortly afterwards the train
started off again.

The boy explained that he was a boarder at Sydney
Collegiate, on his way home to Melbourne for the
summer holidays. While he was talking, I glanced
down at his firm, smooth legs. I thought Master
Piers must have grown that term because his
shorts seemed to be too small for him. He said he
was 16 years old.

When the dinner bell rang for the first sitting I
took Piers to the dining car. The waiters were
surly, some things never change, but the meal was
passable and at a reasonable cost. I found myself
telling my young companion about the Desert
Campaign. He took in every word, hero worship
lighting up his face.

We walked back to our sleeping compartment. The
attendant had made up the double bed.

"I think I'll turn in", I said. "Can't wait to
get out of this heavy uniform".

Slowly, I stripped to my underpants, stowing my
clothes in the locker. The boy did the same.

Then Piers sat on the side of the bed with me. I
showed him where a sniper's bullet had penetrated
my chest and come out my back.

"Missed the heart by an inch. You can touch them
if you want"

Gentle fingers explored the scars while I told
him about the gruff surgeon in the field hospital
who had saved my life.

Piers innocent touching of my chest made my dick
fit to burst.

"We'd better turn in", I said.

The boy got into bed and wriggled across to the
window. He lifted a curtain and looked out at the
darkness. Then he snuggled down under the sheet.

I lay on top of the sheet with my head turned
away from my companion. My first night back in
Australia and my mind was in torment. For I was a
man who loved males younger than myself. The army
had pinned a bunch of medals on my chest but this
'hero' knew he was nothing more than a dirty
arse-bandit.

The click of train wheels usually soothed me but
not that night. Cruel fate had put me in bed with
a most desirable but untouchable youth. How
different it had been in the desert towns! I
thought of the first village urchin who, for a
few paltry coins, had let me up his skinny little
bottom. How he had squealed when my manpole
skewered his hot, tight chute!

After him, there had been other young males who
provided much-needed release. It had been so
matter-of-fact in the desert. Violent death could
have claimed me at any second so I took my
pleasure when and where I could.

I got up from that bed and the youth whose
singular beauty would have tempted a saint.

"What's the matter?" Piers voice was full of
concern.

"Go back to sleep".

"I'm not sleepy".

He flicked a switch and light flooded the
compartment. He sat on the side of the bed and
looked up at me. I turned my face away from him.

"The truth is Piers, I can't lie in bed with
you". I swallowed. "Because you're too damned
a--attractive". I looked at my feet.

A warm arm went around my shoulders.

"Come to bed", he said.

We lay together on top of the sheet.

"What would you like to do?"

"Give you a good root up the behind".

There was a silence.

"I'm queer", the boy said quietly. "That's why I
was sent to a school so far from home. My father
and various housemasters have all tried to flog
my un-natural tendencies out of me. I'm still
queer, though".

We lay together on that bed.

"One of the prefects lets me suck his smelly old
dick. He tried to bum me but couldn't get it in".
He paused. "I'd really like you to do me".

Lust overpowered my reason. I got up and stripped
off my underpants. The boy's eyes widened when he
saw the size of my engorged dick which slapped
against my belly. But then he stripped as well.
His dick stuck out from its small bush of pubic
hairs. He turned around and I saw his glorious
bottom. The firm, taut flesh was marked by six
raised weals.

"Who did this?" I asked, gently touching the
painful-looking welts.

"The housemaster, last night". Piers laughed
sardonically. "He never gives up trying to make a
man out of me".

I placed two pillows on the bed and the youth lay
down on them.

"He caned you on the bare bum?"

"Yes, And he had such a big tent-pole ridging the
front of his trousers afterwards, it's a wonder
his flies didn't burst".

"Hypocrite".

In my kit I found a small vial of the unguent
which had made entering the desert boys easier.
I smeared some on the tip of my finger and
massaged it into Pier's little brown hole. He was
ever so good, even when my finger penetrated his
tunnel he didn't complain.

"That feels good".

"This will hurt", I warned, "Being your first
time and all".

"Doesn't matter".

So, I coated my dick with the unguent and
positioned its bulbous head at the boy's secret
entrance. Then I forced my manmeat right inside
his tunnel until my nuts were brushing the cheeks
of his bum.

"You OK?"

"Give me .. a minute ..", he begged.

I waited for Piers to get used to the strange,
new feeling of being joined to another male in
this most obscene and intimate way. The muscles
inside his arse swirled around my dick, his
sphincter pulsated on the shaft. Slowly, he
relaxed.

"Do me".

I thrust into him as though he was an Arab street
urchin and not an Australian schoolboy. He
whimpered at the relentless, almost brutal
assault on his anal cherry. I grunted like an
animal. I 'did' him, alright.

After an age, my nuts churned until my dick fill
his rectum with a big load of spunk. I pulled out
of him with a plop.

I cleaned his bowel juices off my tool with a
handkerchief.

"Sorry if it got a bit rough.." I started to say.

He looked up at me, eyes shining.

"It was great!"

I inspected his dick which was still erect.

"Your old fella looks a bit neglected. Lie back
on the bed".

I took his member into my mouth. I tongued the
head and shaft until he made a little sound and
his seed ran down my throat. I swallowed every
drop.

"Now lets get some sleep". I cradled him in my
arms and we slept until morning.

When I awoke it was already daylight. Piers lay
sleeping on his tummy. The purplish-red cane
weals were slashed across his perfect white
buttocks. I inspected his brown hole. It looked a
bit swollen which was only to be expected
considering what I had done to it.

I had never woken up with a boy beside me before.
After I had rooted the desert street urchins they
promptly disappeared into the rabbit warrens they
called home. None of the boys had been virgins,
unlike sweet Piers.

Yawning, I spashed some water from a pitcher onto
my face.

"Good morning!" Piers greeted me from the bed.

He got up and performed his morning ablutions. He
watched me shave with my trusty cut-throat. He
had a few wisps of hair on his adorable face
which I ceremoniously removed. Then we got
dressed and went to the first sitting of
breakfast. The waiters were still grumpy.

Afterwards, we walked back to the compartment
which had been transformed by the attendant. Our
bed had been converted into a comfortable seat
again.

"Did you ever get whacked at school?" Piers
asked.

"No, I did not". The visionary headmaster of the
small bush school I had attended, was not in
favour of corporal punishment. My widowed mother
shared his views. So, unlike most boys in those
years, I survived boyhood without so much as a
hand smacking my bottom.

At ten o'clock precisely the train pulled into
Melbourne Central. Piers introduced me to his
parents.

"Hope the boy behaved himself?" his father asked.

"No trouble at all". If only he knew!

They said their goodbyes. I watched Piers until
he disappeared from sight. My heart was heavy.

A porter handed me a message. My sister had been
unavoidably detained and would be unable to pick
me up until later that afternoon. I screwed up
the paper and checked my kit in at the Left
Luggage Office.

The air outside the station was already warm. I
found a cab and told the driver what I wanted. He
made the Sign Of The Cross before driving me to a
quiet suburban address.

The proprietor of the establishment agreed to
provide the service I required. While he was busy
making the arrangements, his stable of boys
entertained me. Not one had the cheeky enthusiasm
of a street Arab or Piers' ineffable sweetness. I
shooed them away.

Sometime later I was escorted into a make-believe
school room. The proprietor now wore an academic
gown and mortar-board. A selection of canes was
beside a desk. One of his employees, a surly
looking youth came into the room.

"Thought you might like to see this", said the
proprietor. "Jack was rude to a customer and must
be punished for it".

"Not my fault", Jack whined.

"You know what to do", the proprietor said.

Jack undid his braces and his trousers fell to
the floor, followed by his underpants. He bent
over a desk with his legs apart. The proprietor
pulled Jack's bum-cheeks apart, exposing the
anus.

"Hardly been used". the man looked at me
hopefully. I shook my head.

The proprietor picked up a cane and inflicted a
hard stroke to those waiting buttocks. I was
fascinated to see a thin white line which almost
immediately turned into a fat, painful-looking
weal. Five more followed before Jack was allowed
to get up. The youth pulled up his clothing while
casting a baleful look in the direction of the
proprietor.

"I got worse at home", he said and then he left
the room.

As arranged, it was now my turn to bare and bend.
The wooden desk top retained some warmth from
Jack's frail body. I confess to feeling
apprehensive. Still, I wanted to experience at
first hand the schoolboy ritual which was part of
Piers' life.

The cane struck my bare arse and for a second
nothing happened. My stars! What felt like a thin
line of angry wasps working in unison, stung my
virgin behind. It was all I could do to stop from
crying out. Five more waves of stinging wasps
viciously tortured my flesh and then he stopped.
Tears pricked my eyes. I was a man, dammit - not
a schoolboy.

"Another six. No, make it a dozen", I ordered
through gritted teeth. "And this time, really lay
them on".

The man was powerfully built and a sadist. He
delighted in causing more pain to my buttocks
than I could have ever imagined.

Afterwards, I lay across that table, my
hind-quarters in flames. When I got dressed again
I thought of my darling Piers and how much more
the cane must have hurt his poor bottom, being
half the size of mine and infinitely more tender.

"Anything else?" asked the proprietor, hopefully.

"An hour with Jack", I replied.

Delighted, the man showed me to a private room.
The youth sidled into the room and looked at me
sitting in an easy chair. Mechanically, he
stripped off his clothes and stood there naked,
awaiting my instructions.

"Come here", I said quietly.

"Turn around".

I inspected the six welts slashed across his thin
buttocks and then touched those blazing cheeks
with my hands. My own mounds throbbed painfully
all the while.

"Lie face down on the bed".

Jack whimpered but did as I asked. I picked up a
basin of cold water and a flannel from the
washstand. Gently, I bathed the boy's wounds. He
sighed his appreciation when he realised I wasn't
going to hurt him. The water touched his swollen
brown hole and Jack flinched. I carefully cleaned
the boy's swollen, badly encrusted fundament.

"A customer gave you a tough time", I observed.

"He was big - and mean", Jack said. "After doing
THAT to me, he complained to the boss".

"And that's why you got the beating?"

"The customer's always right", Jack replied,
bitterly.

I gently patted the youth's sore mounds with a
towel until they were dry.

"Put your clothes back on".

He quickly dressed again.

"Thanks".

"Were things really that bad at home?"

The youth blushed.

"No", he said softly. "I wish I'd never come to
this cursed place".

I questioned him further and discovered that he
was almost a prisoner in the brothel. I gave him
money, much more than his train fare home, and
helped him out a narrow window.

"How can I ever thank you, sir?"

"By staying out of places like this in future".

He touched his cap and then ran off down the
street. I lay on the bed and was soon fast
asleep.

Sometime later, the proprietor came into the
room. I told him Jack must have run off while I
was having forty winks and paid the furious man
my dues.

Eventually, I made my way back to the station and
met my spinster sister. She took me in her Morris
to the graveyard where our parents were buried.
Mum had died while I was overseas.

That night, the fire in my flogged buttocks had
dwindled to a pleasant, warm sensation. I got
undressed ready for bed. It was my habit to turn
out all of the pockets of the clothes I had been
wearing. A piece of railway cardboard fluttered
to the floor. 'Mast. Piers Lyon' was inscribed on
it. I picked it up and turned it over. '45
Meadowbank Avenue, St Kilda. Yours for ever,
Piers'. I held the cardboard to my lips and vowed
to visit him the very next day. My heart was
full. It was good to be home !

>From Knightspanked. moonspender2@yahoo.com