A Long Overdue Tryst - The Marine Plays With Royalty

A Long Overdue Tryst - The Marine Plays With Royalty

or also titled: One Count, Two Cocks and LOADS of CUM!

"Show him in," the familiar crystal-clear, accented baritone voice from my past echoed out into the hall where I was waiting. I felt it - again, as I had those years ago - in my nuts.

The echo was because I was in a vast expanse, an entry hall worthy of a grand ball reception in some bygone age in this townhouse mansion. There was ornate furniture and décor everywhere - a gargantuan crystal chandelier above lighting a mosaic of marble on the floor and richly polished wood all around, gilded frames on silk-covered walls under carved cornices and, basically, way too much to take in - and even more too much for a simple jarhead.

"This way, sir," the well-tailored young butler called to me quietly from across the expanse, next to the now open carved double doors through which he'd silently disappeared before.

"Thank you," I tried not to say stiffly, though I was stiff in my posture as I marched toward him, my cover tightly between my right elbow and my lats.

As I passed into an expanse that seemed to defy the constraints of the London townhouse I was in - this room was another vast space with numerous seating areas, large console tables, a fireplace you could park a Chevy in, a wall of sheer-curtained windows looking out over the park I'd passed on the walk here - I felt even more out of place than I had in that grandiose entry hall. I did take note of the tall, wide double-doors being gently closed behind me as my shoes went from marble to a rich rug that I had no doubt was priceless.

"Captain James?" the same voice that once again peaked my nuts' interest called, drawing my attention to a wing chair in a corner to my right.

"Sir, yes sir," I answered formally, not bothering to correct him on my rank, which was now one higher than before.

He up and was out of the chair as I approached but remained standing there - striking, handsome, perhaps more so than before. I walked to him, my entire body reacting - again - to his tall, wiry-muscular body, his broad shoulders silhouetted within expensive tailoring that also accentuated his narrow waist, taking in his well-chiseled Aryan features. He was looking directly at me, following me as I made my way across the expanse, until I was in front of him. He put his hand out to shake and looked up at me, roughly eye-to-eye. If I hadn't known he was blind and that his amazing blue eyes were directed by his keen hearing and sense of me approaching, probably enhanced by his memory of my height, I couldn't have told. When I was close enough he put out his hand to shake mine, again on perfect cue despite his sightlessness. "Thank you for accepting my invitation, Captain," he told me, though it sounded more like Zahnk you vor accepteen mein invitazon, with his accent, which was as tantalizing as the rest of his presence.

His hand was warm, and his grip was tight and strong. His face went to a smile as our hands touched and warmed into a familiarity that was infectious. The handshake didn't help the sparks that were already flying from my nuts, and I feared for the seams of the crotch of my uniform pants. "I appreciate the invitation, Count von Aarondahl," I replied, genuinely appreciative of the opportunity to see him, not pointing out that I was the one who'd contacted his secretary about meeting him, once I saw on the diplomatic security roster that he was in town. The handshake went on longer than it needed to, but not as long as I'd have liked. I didn't mind, except for the inappropriate stimulation, made no move to withdraw my hand, knowing he couldn't see the ever-more-obvious reaction below my waist.

"Zeeet, do zeet," he urged finally, gently releasing my hand and gesturing with perfect accuracy at the wing chair opposite him.  And only then, for the first time, did he belie his blindness when he went to sit again himself, and he swiped behind him momentarily for the arm of his chair to guide himself. Then his elegant posture that had turned me on so much before was evident again, one long, folding effortlessly and athletically down into the chair, moving one muscular leg over the other at the knee, shoes that probably cost more than my month's pay glistening in the light from the wall of windows.

"This home is beautiful," I said, lamely, not immediately realizing my mistake, uncomfortable with my own interest in him and feeling the need to fill the space with another topic to divert my thoughts.

"Yes, I'm told it is," he responded, and then I realized that he might not have ever seen it - likely not in fact, though his voice held no regret, no pitiable quality. "It is a residence the Ambassador keeps for guests of my country here, more comfortable and private than staying in the embassy residence itself." His deep intonation stressed the part about privacy, and my thoughts spun, wildly inappropriate. Somehow I'd lost awareness of his accent in the words themselves as I heard them, more as an added aroma of his appeal that was somehow in the background.

"Are you here for long?" I asked, a renewed attempt to get my own thoughts diverted to anything other than my lewd thoughts of him, of him and me together, of us sweaty and fucked-out and . . . I quickly stopped myself and adjusted myself in the chair in a futile attempt to make more room in the crotch of my uniform pants.

"I will be staying for this week. I haven't decided beyond that time yet," he disclosed as if staying in a huge townhouse mansion in London owned by his government was the most normal thing in the world. Hell, I was in a first-rate hotel, but only because of the officers I was traveling with, whose ranks merited far better lodging than mine would have. None of them were royalty, though.

His grace was, truly, royal - something we, from the USA, both appreciate in European aristocracy and loathe for its classism. My attraction to him had been instant, as had my initial disdain for the moneyed, privileged, entitled way I perceived his life and him as a person that first meeting.

                    - - - - - - - - - 6 years before - - - - - - - - -

I groaned when my CO gave me my orders. Seriously, me, RECON first then MARSOC, now "awarded" the thought-to-be-primo by everyone but me apparently assignment to the Embassy, babysitting diplomats in London? His severely reproachful glance was enough to squelch any thought of expressing my groan of protest with words. "We're assisting MI5 on this," my unapologetic CO offered in an uncharacteristic explanation, not easing my protest.

And seriously - just because he was a visitor, in London where I was posted for these brief weeks while my charges from my Embassy, in Paris, were visiting, why would I have to babysit a German royal . . . when they didn't even have valid royalty anymore, did they? Didn't that all go out with the Reich?

When my CO barked "Dismissed!" my mind swung back to the matter at hand. I wasted no time saluting, turning tail and striding more quickly out of his office than I'd intended to. It wasn't like I was looking forward to getting to the Count. WTF was a Count, anyway? When I'd been stationed at the French Embassy there had been many of them, as well as Dukes. I'd never had to learn what one was versus another, how they got to be one, what it meant in modern day, why anyone cared. They were mostly rich; I figured that was why people cared. And then there was that strange fascination by me, an American, because we didn't have anything like that and it intrigued us in a way that embarrassed us to admit.

Before I could get back to my own small allotted space on a lower floor of the huge cube that was our Embassy - unlike my CO, mine with a view of a side street, not overlooking the park in Grosvenor Square - I was intercepted by one of the clerks in our section who handed me typed instructions to report immediately to the Claridges Hotel to accompany the Count to a meeting at the Israeli Embassy. This time I did allow my protest to be verbalized with an under-my-breath FUCK ME, eliciting a grin and eye-roll from the clerk. "Sorry, sir. Orders," he commiserated. Another groan, and I snatched my cover from the hook in the cell that was called my office and strode out.

The morning walk the few blocks from our building to the hotel was all I anticipated to be positive about this day. In truth it calmed me a bit. I'd strode through Grosvenor Square after leaving our Embassy with my anger fuming. But the beautiful, sunny day and being outside in the air calmed me during that short minute or two when I traversed that exclusive green space and proceeded the few narrow blocks. When I got to the hotel, though, a couple of suits by a Land Rover contemptuously greeted me with barely-concealed Cockney. "You the Yank we couldn't do without?" one of them challenged. The other smirked.

"Captain James, United States Marine Corps," I barked back, snapping to attention though not saluting, answering their challenge.

"Yeah, it's him," the one who'd been silent before said to his mate.

They were suited up, but they were still rough-looking. Whatever happened to MI5 being more like MI6 and James Bond? Still, they were both exceptionally well put-together inside their cheap suits, and it didn't escape my notice that the one who initially challenged me had a nice ass contained within those suit slacks. EYES ON THE GAME, JAMES! I reproached myself.

"Don't know what this Yank MARINE," the first one said the word with a verbal sneer that made me want to pound his face, "Is needed for. Some German toff going to a meeting." He actually pffffft'd.

"We all have our orders, don't we? Just like you two suits - a driver, and what - someone to make sure the driver doesn't lose the car?" I shot back at them, looking with my own contempt from one to another.

The stronger of the two, the second to have spoken as it turned out, stood impassively, his smirk now full of amusement. But his cohort actually adjusted his crotch and then took a step in my direction with a tight fist at his side. "Easy, Stanton," the first one signaled, putting his hand out to Stanton's arm to stop any further advance. I'd stood my ground, my body having reflexively gone slack and ready. "Don't mind him," the leader told me. "He's got some issue with the Krauts, and it's spilling on you. His gramps or something. Go figure! I'm Howard; he's Stanton. Guess we'll be putting up with each other for a few days, James," he added by way of introduction.

Neither Stanton, whose posture hadn't changed much, nor Howard, despite his friendlier end to the exchange, had put out his hand to shake, so I didn't either. I just nodded and headed on toward the doorman, whom I noticed had been watching with an attempt to not show his amusement. "Bloody Yanks," I heard Stanton growl to his partner in a low voice behind me, obviously intended for my ears. "For a bob I'd-" Even over the light early-morning traffic noise I heard a hand smacking fabric and knew Howard had silenced his buddy. That seemed to accentuate the doorman's amusement. He must have great hearing, too.

I was directed by the Concierge to an exquisite upper floor suite, the doors answered by another suited male, this one German and blonder than I, and about my age give or take. "Zee count vill be ready for you in eighty meenutes," he told me, in practiced but heavily accented English. "You may make yourzelv comvortable in ziss room, or return. Eeet eeez your diskreshoon."

His delivery was that of one used to giving orders to subordinates on behalf of his superior, and he was comfortable with it. I was equally comfortable taking orders . . . and opportunities. "Thank you. I'm Captain James and-"

"Vee vere made avare of whom you are, Captain, by your zuperiorz who azzigned you to zee Count," he cut me off. Obviously courtesy and amiability was not in the cards. And they call the Brits 'stiff-assed!'

"I will return in seventy-five minutes, Mr. . . " I waited for an introduction and got none.

"Zat vill be vine," he told me, going the few steps to the suite doors and opening them again.

"I will be in the hotel lobby should the Count - or you," I stopped for emphasis just as I was almost out the door and in the hall again, "Require me before then."

There were no wasted words to acknowledge my offer, just the door shutting firmly behind me after an almost imperceptible and curt nod. If this late-twenties lackey was any indication, the Count was going to be a real stuck-up arsehole, as the British would say. I'd just say a privileged dickwad.

I generously told the two MI5 men the timeline. Stanton again had his big paw on his crotch, smirking at me. Howard thanked me for the information and said he was going to take a walk and told Stanton to make sure he was back by the car in an hour, effectively giving him leave to wander as well.

Back in the hotel's plush lobby, I was about as at home as a lobster in a restaurant's tank. I briefly revisited my decision to return inside, thinking instead I could take a walk to Hyde Park or to Leicester Square along Regent Street and Picadilly Circus in the opposite direction in the time I had. But before I could act on those thoughts, Stanton came in and surprisingly came up to me. It seemed he had a lot of trouble with his crotch - his hand was on it again, again adjusting. "Shite work, this," he growled and gave his package another tug. "Boring," he added.

His eyes took a quick up-and-down of me, and I snapped out of my work mode and into my man mode and realized what the crotch-jockeying had been about. I looked down pointedly at his and found mine and made a more forceful gesture, taking advantage of him blocking anyone in the lobby behind him from seeing me grab the outline of my big cock. His tongue slipped over the side of his upper lip briefly in response. My turn to smirk.

Without any more words I moved around and past Stanton and went down the stairs to the hotel's ballroom level. The men's room there at this time of morning would likely have less traffic than the lobby-level ones. I took the farthest stall - no ADA in this grand old hotel, so it was going to be tight - and remained standing so that my height would easily allow Stanton to know where I was over the top of the stall wall.

He didn't waste any time. I heard the door to the men's room open moments after I'd stepped inside the stall, and he pushed open the door to find me standing facing him, my feet planted wide, my zipper open and my big cock already out. He looked a little surprised - either at my boldness, at the size of me or maybe just that I was wasting no time - but the surprise went to a grin and he reached behind him to awkwardly throw the bolt on the stall door without letting my cock out of his sight.

"Thought all you Yanks were butchered," he growled, now looking up at me from his knees, his hand slowly moving the loose hood over the head of my stiffening fuckrod.

"Yeah, well, I'm not like most, not in that respect nor in . . . " I trailed off as his big hand was struggling to fully encircle my horsecock, no need for further elaboration of my point.

Stanton brought his face to my cock, still stroking it through my skin-sleeve. He inhaled at the tip and then down to the base, his nose nudging my pants, inhaling deeper there. In encouragement, I unbuttoned my uniform pants and opened the unzipped fly more, exposing my bush as I'd pushed down my briefs rather than pulled myself out through the fly when I'd unzipped. My big bull balls bounced out, too, and a groan of excitement escaped Stanton as his face ground into my bush, his inhalations loud and appreciative.

He went at me with gusto and urgency. He was on my engorged cockhead and swallowing several inches of me expertly within moments. This Brit had some training with big-cocked tops I could tell. I had one hand clamped over the top of the stall wall for balance and the other on his curly-haired head for leverage, pumping into him HARD and forcing my cock into his throat with every thrust. "You probably don't often know if they're uncut or not, probably you get used doggie style with your head down and ass up and just fucked until they're done and leave," I taunted him, and judging from his urgent moans I was probably right.

Stanton boldly took a tight grip on my big nuts, which ratcheted up my inner boil, and that made me bring my other hand down to clamp on his head, using both to savagely face fuck him harder and harder. I would SHOVE down his throat and then hold him there until he first gagged and then struggled and then finally let him pull off, but only momentarily, then I'd plug him again. About the tenth major gag, and I went over the edge and began to blast a torrent of my seed directly down his throat.

The MI5 cocksucker suckled my cock until I couldn't take it any more and shoved him backward with my shoe. It was then that I saw he'd had his cock out and had shot his own wad down on my shoes and the floor, thankfully missing my uniform pants. "Clean that up!" I barked down at him as he struggled to catch his breath. When he reached for the toilet paper on the side wall I clarified. "With your tongue, bitch!"

He did as he was told and began tongue-bathing my freshly polished standard-issue black Bates oxfords. He apparently liked what he was doing, because he was jacking his stubby-fat cock again. "Okay, enough. Just wipe them down, and let me out of here." He again did as he was told, at first tentatively reaching for the toilet paper - of course with the TP, what else would I have him wipe my shoes down with? - then doing a good job to restore the high-gloss shine I'd put on them last night.

When he was done, he was still on his haunches, still jacking. I reached over top of him, flipped the latch on the stall and kicked it open, then I just stepped over him without a word. I checked myself quickly in the mirror as I walked out. Stanton had swallowed every blasted drop of my seed and hadn't spilled a drop of cum or spit on me, and fortunately my wide stance had left his drool to puddle on the floor between my shoes. I briefly wondered how he'd shot his spooge on both my shoes, concluding he had to have done it on purpose, probably to make me force him to lick them clean. I chuckled as I went up the stairs.

I checked my watch and saw I had another twenty-five minutes before I was to be upstairs again, so I nonchalantly picked up a ridiculously-oversized Times and took a seat on one of the plush sofas. Twenty-two minutes later I went to the elevator and was at the door of the suite again as promised. The lackey admitted me with the same cheer as before. "Zee count should be ready," he told me, brushing past me toward a door on the opposite side of a vast sitting room.

But before he got to the door, it swung open, and an amazingly handsome man strode into the room. His height was near mine, his build was incredible under an exquisitely tailored suit, his eyes were startlingly blue in compliment to his dark blond hair and swarthy complexion, but it was his smile that had my freshly drained nuts jumping up and yelling PICK ME PICK ME.

"You must be Captain James," he said brightly, approaching and putting out his hand.

"I am, sir." I managed, though my body had gone hot with his touch as we shook. It was like electricity flashing through me. All the while he held my gaze with those piercing blue eyes and continued holding my hand in his.

I didn't usually succumb to those kinds of flashes, even from the hottest, most fuckable men. I could count the times it had happened to me on the fingers of my left hand, which would no doubt be covered with my cum when I jacked off later thinking of him. The force of the wave of desire that washed over me was tidal.

"I appreziate your prezenze," he said with feeling, his eyes locked with mine, exuding a depth of feeling that only later did I ponder and wonder about.

"My pleasure to serve, sir," I replied automatically, because that was all I could do - thought was not a functioning system at that point.

With a squeeze of my hand, "Ja, vell, I am nonezeless gratevul," he intoned, quieter, his baritone even deeper and richer than before.

Everything inside me moaned with desire for the count. Fortunately I remained motionless and absorbed the force of the electricity that went from his hand, eyes and voice in a triple-play jolt through me, converging in my nuts. When he released my hand I almost moaned out loud, though again I didn't, that time having to work to contain it, though. GET IT TOGETHER, JAMES! I admonished myself.

On the drive through narrow streets and then around Hyde Park and through Kensington, the MI5 duo, one driving, the other in the passenger seat on the left of the Range Rover, told the Count how it would be when we got to the embassy. By their plan, they would clear things with Israeli Embassy security, and then Howard would accompany the Count inside to his meeting. I wasn't entirely certain what his intention was for me, but after the Count listened politely, he then informed them of his plan. Despite their grumbling, when we arrived and were admitted to the Embassy courtyard, I cleared the Count's entry with the formidable Israeli security force and then accompanied the Count inside.

Despite the Embassy's exterior, which was a Victorian - I think, anyway - I'm no expert - mansion, inside it was far more utilitarian than ornate, though nothing like the personality-less interior of our own, venerable institution on the other side of the park. The Israelis were considerably more sophisticated - and serious! - about security, that was apparent. We were re-cleared twice after I brought the Count inside, before we could proceed to the meeting the Count had arranged with the ambassador and a few others.

Instead of my impression of the "luncheon meeting" the Count had filled me in about during the remainder of the brief drive after he'd set the MI5 men straight, it was actually six other aristocrats from various parts of the globe who had arrived while the Count and the ambassador had a brief private meeting. After that private meeting, we were all in a meeting room before lunch. All the important men and women were around the table, the ambassador at the head. Each of them had a lesser person attending, sitting away from the table along the wall behind our respective more important boss. The ambassador had two - he was the host, after all. I was, of course, behind the Count wondering what the fuck I was supposed to be doing other than sitting stiffly, pretending I knew why I was there.

The meeting ended at about eight minutes after noon, with lunch to be served at twelve-thirty. I rose as all those at the table had, most of them in the process of filing out, though the Count turned toward the wall of second floor - first floor as the Brits called it - windows that looked out toward the mansion converted into flats next door. As I was standing aside him, I reacted reflexively when the blast occurred, from sight before sound and impact. It was my training putting the visual clues together - before the car which contained the bomb to the side of the embassy was fully blown apart, I launched myself the six feet or so at the Count. As the windows exploded in, I was tackling the Count already, both of us horizontal and going toward the floor and away from the windows, then propelled on the force of the blast, with the sound of the explosion reaching us and mingling into the cacophony with the shattering glass and a continuing cry from the Count. When we hit the wood floor with a thud and a bit of a skid, the Count was moaning loudly.  

"Stay down!" I shouted, thinking only of the next wave coming, either another blast or fire through the destroyed wall. He couldn't have gotten up anyway, since my body was over his. I looked up and around cautiously and saw three others moaning but moving. When I looked at the Count, I saw his hands were bloody, as was his face. I reacted as my mind replayed those few moments before, and I realized that the Count had been looking directly out the window, so facing the glass, and as I'd launched myself at him I'd reflexively turned my head away from the window. I was suddenly aware of warm, viscous wetness at my neck - my head was still attached, so my own injury wasn't my priority.

About that time the doors burst open and several Israeli security personnel - Uzis at the ready, helmuts, full gear, really - WHERE THE FUCK HAD THEY COME FROM? - burst toward us. It was just then that I felt the Count go slack under me. When my head snapped back to him, I saw the pool of blood . . . and his bloodied face, with so many pieces of glass sticking out I was momentarily horrified. My senses were shocked into action, though, when I saw the large shard in his thigh and the blood flowing freely from it. I clumsily ripped my belt off - to the shocked looks of the Israelis - and then, when they saw me wrapping it around the Count's thigh, higher than the wound, the shock went to understanding.

"Extraction strategy?" I barked as I tightened the tourniquet, the Count inert beneath me. "And a defrib? NOW!" I barked, louder, more urgently.

One said something to another, and boots rushed out. The two remaining, one put a handkerchief to my neck, but I brushed him off impatiently and told him to help me with the Count, shouting now, "Extraction?! We need to get everyone OUT and get him to Kensington Medical - NOW!"

                    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"You are ztill zee silent, strong officer," the Count observed, bringing me back from the past.

I couldn't help but to chuckle, more from the relief of being back in the current moment, when the handsome man in front of me was not bleeding, his heart was beating and he was speaking casually. I looked into the warmth of his gaze, those startling blue eyes inviting, appearing undamaged, though I knew they were. Likewise his stunning face had been expertly attended to, without even the hint of the wounds he'd suffered. "I suppose I am at a bit of a loss for words, your excellency."

"Axel, please. May I tonight call you Vill?" he asked, both requests made humbly, my mind only processing his accent intermittently.

"Of course. And it's very good to see you, Axel," I confessed, giving in to my desire and chancing I was reading his right.

"I only wees I could zee you again, Vill," he told me. Obviously I hadn't read him wrong. And in that moment of reproach for his condition he'd also caused me to hear that accent again, as if the distance waxed and waned between us. But . . .

"Axel, I'm grateful that you're well," I told him, back-pedaling, not adding that he was even more handsome than the first time I'd seen him. His surgeons had done an amazing job - if only they'd have been able to repair his damaged eyes.

"Would you let me zee you, Vill?" I was startled by the question, and Axel must have sensed it without seeing my face because, of course, he couldn't. "Pleece to come here," he said, holding his well-manicured hands out toward me. His long fingers were familiar - I'd noticed them when I visited him in the private hospital and had thought were perfectly long and slender and would feel great wrapped around the root of my cock while his thick lips were swallowing my head.

I got up and took the few steps toward the Count, whose expression had brightened when he heard me get out of my chair and approach. I ignored the discomfort in my tightly-packed crotch as I tried to move gracefully. I was momentarily uncertain when I was right in front of him, within reach of him, then made my decision. Kneeling down, I placed my face against his fingertips and then pushed a bit farther toward him to give him easy access.

The count's fingers were soft but strong - my body reacted to the familiarity of the feel of him touching me after those many years, after only having held his hand while he was shaking as we got him to transport to the hospital and again a couple of times when he was in the hospital when I visited and gave him support.

I was glad I'd shaved again before I left quarters to visit him. He ran his hands gently around my face, his fingers rubbing along the contours gently, thoroughly. My sense of surroundings and details blurred as he touched me, becoming one with that moment only, the moment where we were connected . . . finally.

"You are more handsome than I remembered, Bill." His accent, so much a part of him, was essentially lost in my perception as the words penetrated my soul in a way very foreign to me. His compliment washed through me, again an unfamiliar feeling for me, one of joy at acceptance and admiration by him.

I had closed my eyes, but when he said that I opened them again, looking slightly up at his sharply sculpted chin, his patrician cheekbones prominent in my view from this angle, his eyes less dominant in the frame of my sight. The Count was breathtaking. His dark blond furred beard was shaven flawlessly, so only the vague shadow accentuated his jawline in the foreground of my view. His almost brown, curly hair, trimmed as flawlessly as his shave, was the backdrop, and his swarthy skin was a waiting paradise in between.

"Your excellency," I breathlessly attempted a protest, as he gently cupped the side of my face and even more gently pulled me toward him as he bent down.

"Axel," he reminded me in a near whisper.

"Axel," I nearly moaned, though I made no attempt to stem the nearing as our faces came together.

When the Count's face was so close I could feel his breath, he stopped momentarily to tell me, "This is our time, Bill, the time we have both awaited."

Our lips met, and my usual aversion to kissing was nowhere in evidence, as I eagerly pressed into it with him. His grip on my head became stronger, and he moaned loudly as I parted his lips and flicked my tongue into his mouth, him sucking it and dueling against it with his own.

Between the moan and him sucking my tongue, it ignited me, and all thoughts of gentility were gone. I was on my feet, having pulled him with me, our mouths roughly locked together and my arms around him pulling him tight to me. His body was as amazing as I'd confirmed when I saw him laying injured in the hospital - all wiry, hard muscle. We fit together and ground together tighter, both of us fully aroused, our cocks within our slacks jammed together and grinding into each other. My hands found the hard globes of his ass and pulled him tighter into me, my big hands owning that ass, the tips of my fingers teasing his hole through his fine slacks and briefs. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhh," he moaned in my arms, and his mouth went momentarily slack against mine as he sighed, his body more rigid than before.

"My butler has been told to retire. There is nobody else in the house," the Count told me huskily, his lips bumping mine as he spoke.

I reclaimed his mouth, and our hunger for each other was again expressed in groans, growls and moans, gropes, clutches and grinds, sighs, gasps and slurps. We hadn't moved an inch from our positions standing in front of his chair. I pulled back enough to ask, "Where?"

"Outside the doors and to the left sixteen strides then up the staircase and forty-seven steps from the top is the door to my suite," he replied, matter-of-factly. Without thinking about it more than for a second, I bent down and had him over my shoulder, fireman-style. "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas?" he blurted out in surprise in his native language.

He wasn't protesting, simply surprised. And to surprise him further I smacked his well-formed ass, hard, eliciting another yelp from the Count, surprise going to delight. And then, as I crossed the room toward the door, he laughed. I'd never heard him laugh before. It echoed through the vast drawing room in rich tones that stoked my boiling nuts even more.

It was a long walk with a near-two-hundred-pound man over my shoulder, even for a Marine, and apparently my stride was longer or more purposeful than the count's because 47 strides had me well between a set of double doors and another set that blocked the end of the hall at the top of the stairs. His description had been precise, and if he'd meant the doors at the end of the hall he wouldn't have needed to tell me the number of steps to his door. I didn't want to call attention to the necessity for his manner of direction in the first place - his blindness - so I made a decision.

"Sorry, I got carried away with the art on the walls when I should have been focusing on getting your hot ass to the bedroom." I reversed and started back to the door I knew must be his. Good cover, James!

Or, maybe not. "Bill, I can count your strides. Obviously your strides are longer than mine. Now will you get me to my room and fuck me?"

"Maybe I'm just in a hurry to do that and taking greater strides than normal," I countered. I laughed and smacked his ass again, harder this time.

"Acccccccccccccccccch!" he yelped and then laughed himself. "We have waited the long time for this, haven't we.

I restrained myself from kicking in his doors when I got back there, but I slammed them closed behind us and marched through an elegant sitting room into an even more elegant bedroom. Dark wood, deep tones, nothing excessively ornate, just all exuding the odor of furnishings more expensive than any I'd ever seen, all very manly or male-oriented. The bed was huge - easily big enough for two big men to enjoy - and I grinned to myself, having several ideas already flooding my thoughts as to how to use that space.

I throw the Count down on his back and enjoyed him bouncing and then coming rest on the bed. I grabbed his foot and yanked off an expensive oxford. "I'm going to strip you - something I should have done that first day I met you. You wouldn't have made that dreadful meeting!" I immediately realized what I said and regretted it.

The Count's senses were, again, formidable. "Do not deeeespair, mein herr," he told me with a compassionate smile, his accent again prominent in my consciousness, probably because of my faux pas and leaving the zone we'd been in. I wanted to get back there. "I am at peace vis my condition, Vill," he told me, and I was again struck by his ease of being, his natural grace. "Though the thought of you having fucked me that morning those years before in ninety-four would be a memorable event had it occurred." And then, I was back to undressing him, pulling off his thin, monogrammed socks and wrestling with garters on them, something I had no earthly clue about but managed to get them pulled over his well-developed calves and off, He added, with a smirk, facing me directly, "I imagine the wait will be well worth it."

I was unbuckling a belt that probably cost another month of my pay and had his fine suit slacks open, his thick cock bulging beneath very soft black briefs. I yanked those pricey slacks off him as soon as he raised his ass so I could, without the slightest thought to possible damage. I saw his briefs were boxer briefs, and his thick cock was also long, and there was a rather prominent wet spot over his left hip. I manhandled his suit coat off and flung it onto the floor and then almost ripped the buttons off his silk shirt, a deep blue exactly matching his eyes, getting half of them undone. When I tried to yank his shirt over his head, the cuffs wouldn't give, and then I wrestled with gold cufflinks, frustrating enough that when I finally freed his wrists I growled loudly as I yanked that shirt off and flung it, too.

The Count's reaction throughout was deep, heaving breaths and a gaze of pure desire, though I knew he was unseeing. I wondered if his sensory experience as to my touch - my ham hands groping his custom-tailored clothing - was heightened because of it. Then I surprised him by leaning down and pressing my face against his hardon, inhaling his manly scent, rubbing that lead pipe in his boxer briefs with my face and feeling the wetness on my cheek.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," he murmured, his head falling back against the bed for a moment as he enjoyed me.

I noticed, too, that his balls were enormous inside the pouch of those briefs. I'd had no expectations, but a bottom with a big cock and big balls was always a treat. I rubbed my face around more, and I let my hands run up his muscular thighs and then along his hips and up over his lightly-furred, heavily ripped and defined torso. All of that elicited more deep groans and moans from the count, and his hands were on my head rubbing my high-and-tight.

As I pulled on the waistband of his briefs, his cock raised from the confinement, and it was irresistible when the precum-slimy head met my lips. I licked broadly, savoring the sweet taste of him at his tip, where his foreskin was barely parted. His background moan was long and loud, his clenched fingers on my head tightening, his body going rigid with the pleasure of my attentions. Opening my mouth, I took his broadly-flanged head in and pressed my tongue between his skin and that head and swirled it around within that thick hood. Fucking awesome!

Apparently the count thought so, too, because he thrusted upward as I was licking his head. So I went to work. I grabbed those briefs and yanked them down, freeing his bull balls and grabbing them to get a hold on him while I took more of his long, thick, veiny cock into my mouth.

The Count roared, and he began thrusting his cock into my mouth, almost as vigorously as I was devouring his rod, every drop of his flowing precum like a delicacy. His enthusiasm shoved my intentions from enjoyment and exploration into determination mode. I sucked and licked and jacked that hard, tasty German sausage and enjoyed the writhing stud attached to it - his moans and gasps and thrusts.

"Bill, BILL!" he was crying out, but I had him pinned and had what I wanted and just kept going. His cries became more frantic, his writhing more frenetic, ultimately trying to push me off with protests that he was too close. I increased the pressure with my mouth and the grip I had on his nuts, pulling, squeezing and massaging them in my hand, showing him how much I wanted him to give me my reward for my efforts.

I felt his climax before he did, his thick cock even thicker and more rigid, the flange on his head broader. And just as his body went completely stiff, a long, loud growl accompanied his body going completely taut, and I pulled my mouth up so that my tongue could work overtime on his exposed head, having pulled his skin down some time ago. With that I felt the first muscle spasm and a thick, strongly ejaculated burst of thick, salty cum. "MMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" I groaned as several quick, heavier blasts followed, each an exquisitely tasty offering of manliness.

Swallowing only some, I kept sucking, swirling my tongue around in my mouthful of his cum around his cockhead. I delighted in his squirming and incoherent protests, not letting up until the Count finally yelled out loud and pushed me hard enough to dislodge my mouth from its object of pleasure. I didn't miss a beat, though, and I yanked his briefs off and yanked his ankles up high, diving into his ass face first.

"AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he cried.

I didn't stop. Instead I spit what was left of his cumload and my spit into his slightly-sweaty and VERY tasty hole and worked it in with my tongue. The Count was moaning loud and begging. "Ohhhhhhhh, JA!" he moaned repeatedly. "Oh, mein Gottttttt!"

It was difficult to believe that anything could taste better than his cock and cum, but the Count's ass was like dessert after a perfect meal . . . and I hadn't even passed the appetizer yet! I couldn't get enough of it. I was overcome with desire for him - to be deep inside him, to fill him with me, to mark him, finally. And I was also enthralled with the taste of his most intimate depths and wished I could go on eating his cunt forever. But my cock had other ideas.

Propping his right leg with my left shoulder, I got my zipper down and wrestled my raging bone out and spit into my hand and coated it. "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" he urged. I lined up and rubbed against his spit-and-cum-slick pucker and SHOVED. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he cried, but his hole which had blocked me at first then yielded, and I plunged in. His roar I swear rattled the windows, and his breathing was shallow pants. Stopping to give him a moment to adjust to the intrusion of my impossibly thick cock, he had other ideas and thrust back farther onto me. "FFUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK MEEEEEE NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

With a roar of my own, I shoved the rest of the way into him, balls-deep, feeling the skin on my cock protest the tightness of him and the scrape of his wet hole, without sufficient slickness to prevent the chafe. I just powered through it, as did he, and we pulled apart until I was almost out of him then PLUNGED inside him DEEP and HARD again. Our collision of my groin to his ass was jarring and brutal We set the pace that way - him matching me forceful thrust for forceful thrust.

I had the Count's legs high and back over his head, his ass high and angled up, and I was drilling down into him like a jackhammer into concrete. Axel was using his well-developed thighs and core muscles to fuck back up into me just as hard and needily as I was pounding his fuckhole. His very well developed cuntmuscles were also milking my cock and pulling me faster and faster toward the edge.

"GODDDDDDAAAMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNN you've got a hot fucking cunt on you!" I growled down at him, just as I felt him begin to react to my assaults on his prostate, his body jerking with every jab.

"Und you . . . haaaaaavveeee . . . und . . . mmmmmmmm . . . ahhhmaaaazzzzzinnnngggggg . . . cock, Vill!" he snarled up at me with difficulty forming the words as his body convulsed, his face contorted in exquisite agony. Somehow it seemed more like a struggle to speak than his accent that time, and the thought of him being speech-impaired because he was getting fucked really good was intoxicating and energizing.

I drilled him harder, SLAMMING my groin into his muscular bubble butt in devastating, jarring slams. "GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR," I groaned/growled/snarled/spat down over him, my body straining with the intensity of my need to breed that hot fucker, sweat already dripping from my brow.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Axel cried out in a long moan as his body went rigid beneath me and then erupted into spasmodic convulsions and cries that barely preceded his first cumblast right over his left eye and one after another strong, thick ropes of cum jetting out of him and painting his perfectly toned, lightly furred torso with striations of his thick seed. It was an amazing sight, particularly since it was his second in a relatively short time.

The Count's climactic spasms were strong in his fuckchute as well, and my nuts were ignited, too. "OHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhh FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK YEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" I shouted, more in a roar. I felt my entire body exploding with the force of my own climax like it ripped through me and felt the pumping of my seed into jetted spurts pass the long length of my cock and erupt from me DEEP inside Axel's hungry cunt.

"OOoooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he intoned as I pumped him full of my nutjuice.

We were both sweating and panting and still spasming after who knows how long, though that was receding. I'd lost myself in it, in him - DEEP in him in both depth and connection. I was startled in a good way when his hands touched me. First his left hand on my right biceps, and as if gaining orientation, his other on my shoulder. Both his hands ran up along my neck and cupped my head, only the gentlest urge in his fingers.

I leaned down, aware of a large dollop drop of my sweat falling off my nose and onto him, eliciting a very pleasurable groan from him as my lips neared his. Somehow kissing this stud substituted for us connecting by sight, and our kiss was neither hungry nor demanding, somehow knowing and satisfied and full of passion for each other. When it was enough for me I didn't know if I should pull away or not, but the Count - again with that uncanny sense for me and what I was thinking or feeling - pulled back enough for our lips to part.

He relaxed his entire upper body into the bed, bringing his well-muscled left forearm behind his head as he lay back. I let his legs loose of being pinned against my chest pushing them back into him and gently, rubbing the length of his sexy, defined calves and quads as I pivoted his right leg across and over me then both down until he was laying flat. Axel put his left arm out, his forearm flexing as he very subtly put his hand up to invite me into his embrace.

I'm not that guy - the guy who "cuddles" or falls asleep in a trick's bed, much less lays in his arms after I've fucked myself to a calm place, done or not done as might evolve but done for the moment. Question in my mind was: was I done with the Count? Had I had enough to let that be all if it was all?

I lay down next to him, not facing him but also on my back, my sopping neck in the crook of his warm, sweaty arm, my left side against his right. As I lay my head back and slightly against his shoulder I put my left hand on his thigh and found myself caressing it slightly as his arm adjusted, his hand coming down on my shoulder and doing the same.

The room was heavy with our sweat and cum, and the stench of us had my nuts tingling again. Again, with that bizarre sense of his, he pivoted enough next to me to reach across and take hold of me. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, zumvun haz not had enoff!" he observed. His accent again jarred me, though pleasantly. I was out of that zone, despite my cock still raging.

My cock was, in fact, still hard - it always takes me many minutes to deflate after the first round, if I do at all. And his big, warm hand was delaying any onset of Bill Junior going at ease. I almost blurted out: I could never get enough of you! but while that unexpected, incongruous thought blared in my head, somehow it didn't escape my mouth. Instead, I hedged. "Was I mistaken that you said we had all night?"

The count hummed contentedly and squeezed me with both his right arm on my upper arm and his left hand giving my cock a far more electrifying squeeze and quick stroke. "I may end zee night not valking," he joked.

I turned my body suddenly and faced him, knowing he couldn't see me but also knowing he'd know I gazed at him intently and appreciatively. "I'll carry you," I said huskily. And then my mind was flooded with a memory. "Anywhere. As I did once before."

My honesty and admission startled me, but Axel pulled me in close, now both arms holding me tightly. My hardon jammed by his nuts and against his groin and lower abs. I felt him hardening again, too. "Ve are here now, not then I am now here only because of you, but I am here with you nude and intimate because I have always wanted to be so."

Call it sweet-talk, call it reassurance, call it enticement to the moment, out of the darkness of memory. Whatever it was, it worked, and the Count and I were locked together, again, rutting against each other as if we hadn't just fucked each other into oblivion, our sweat and cum slicking us.

The Count got himself free of our clench and traveled down my chin and neck and collar bone with his lips and tongue, nipping me occasionally with his teeth. Each of those nips sent my body shuddering, and each shudder made him moan low, learning me and enjoying that discovery. When he got to my right pec, I whimpered. In response he took my still-heavy nuts in his grip - too gentle for my ultimate taste, but the combined sensation of lightning bolts from my nip under his practiced teeth and the burn of his hand holding my balls made me growl loud and try to take control. He stopped me with a firm clench on my nuts and a quick, too-hard warning bite on my nips. "NEIN!" he admonished me. "You vill let ME this time do as I please to you as you did to me!"

With my potency in his clenched grip, and, frankly, not minding the prospect, I let my body slack back into the bed in submission. It crossed my mind that I didn't know if I'd just given him the impression that I would let him fuck me with that big Aryan fuckmissile of his. Sighing inwardly with a bit of expectation, I thought that if it got to that, I'd subdue him and remind him how much we enjoyed the order we'd already established shortly before. Clearly he had enjoyed it - very much, obviously - and I'd no doubt I wouldn't have to convince him to take the same role again.

The Count's tongue and teeth-work on my nips went from one to another, seemingly endlessly, certainly relentless. All the while he worked my nuts in his grip, becoming more expert in the instrument that was my body to his virtuoso uses for it. My entire body would tense, rockets of sensation jetting and skyrocketed through me from one of his two contact points, and then he'd ease, and those electrical pulses would bounce until they simply hummed and tingled everywhere in and on me. I was moaning like a bitch in heat . . . and didn't have any qualms about it, couldn't have stopped if I had.

He edged me up and back relentlessly, without ever touching my cock. I'd feel like I was one heartbeat away from my nuts erupting once again, and he'd expertly change his attentions to me and ease me back to the brink just before that edge again. My cock was throbbing and bobbing and flowing as he continued with his bites and licks and squeezes and rubs elsewhere, and my precum had long started rolling off my abs where it had puddled after flowing . . . and flowing.

If I were to have been questioned at the time, I'd have had to admit that taking such a passive role - though foreign to me - for that LONG time that he worked my nips and nuts, interspersed with some licking to my sweaty pits, was liberating and decadently exciting. The edging had me moaning in pleas that, occasionally, rose to cries of frustration when he'd edge me back down just enough to forestall my climax again. The combination of a man I'd lusted for over a long time and the unexpected change in my usual sexual stance was tantalizing in and of itself.

When Axel left my nips and began to work my lats and abs with his lips and tongue, still working my nuts as aggressively if not more so than before with his strong hand, I was both exhilarated and disappointed. At least my nuts and pits were disappointed. But his murmurs of pleasure in his work offset any disappointment, as they intensified as his tongue trailed the ridges and mounds of my lats first and then my eight-pack. He sucked the fur on my washboard abs as he traced every rip and cut, and despite the only hot-spot contact being his hand on my nuts, I was close all over again.

"Axel," I moaned.

With his other hand, the Count rubbed over my ass and down my thigh and then clenched my quads as he simultaneously increased the pressure on my nuts with his other hand. At the same time he sucked and bit my groin, which I knew would leave a mark and just didn't fucking care, again completely unlike me. "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMM," he groaned as he marked me.

And then, when I was ready to bolt up and take him down he released that part of my skin and then with an effortless move swallowed the length of me, as if he was well-practiced and it was usual for him to swallow fat nine-plus inchers. "OHHOLYFUCK!" I cried out as my fat cockhead popped into his throat.

"MMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," he hummed around my cock, sending me careening toward the edge.

Axel sucked me purposefully, working my nuts while he did, the length of me, up and down again with his mouth. "Axel you're going to make me-" I couldn't finish and instead felt my body explode from my nuts radiating out through my torso and limbs and fingers and every strand of my hair. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA," I cried, as my body broke into spasms of ecstasy as my seed blasted through me once again and into Axel's hungry mouth.

"AAAAAACCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHH," he cried, smacking his lips as another blast doused his face in that moment. And then he was on me again, catching every drop of me.

I writhed and thrashed as he continued to suck and lick me, controlling me enough to keep me in his mouth by his grip on my nuts. When I couldn't stand it anymore and was beginning to laugh I pushed him off me, and he fell back, laughing too, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Zer gut!" he grinned in my general direction.

"That's good, right?" I joked, and to help him I reached out and caressed his handsome, cummy face.

"Ja, Vill," he said somewhat quietly.

I moved enough to wrap Axel in my arms and pulled him into me. He seemed a bit stiff at first, but I held on, and he relaxed into me finally.

We lay like that for a while. I finally gently moved and told him, "I need to . . . "

Axel laughed - a rich laugh. "It's twenty-seven steps directly away from that corner of the bed," he said, pointing to the foot of the bed on my side. I looked across the vast room and saw a door, which I assumed was the bathroom. Odd for me, once again seeing the world from his sightless perspective in that brief sentence.

When I'd pissed and returned to the bedroom, Axel was sitting up in the bed, back against the carved headboard, with his shoulders pecs and abs all displayed to amazing effect. He was a beauty - plain and simple.

"Ven do you hoff to go back?" he asked, as if he could see me standing there.

"In the morning," I said, maintaining position with my back propped against the bathroom doorway. "Zer gut?" I asked him, mocking him affectionately.

Axel laughed and grinned. "Zer gut, Vill. Danke."

The count and I managed to clean up without becoming dehydrated from our further exploits when we were in the shower, and we went out for a dinner that, frankly, I remember nothing of. What I remember is gazing into Axel's beautiful, bright eyes, knowing that he couldn't see me, wishing I'd been able to save him from that, wishing he could see how much I enjoyed the sight of him.

We spent that night together after I made a call to the Embassy, and I left before dawn to get back to my quarters and report to the Embassy office on time. The day was sailing by, and I was anticipating going back to that big house and hot German again for another night of carnal pleasure. Then I was delivered a message from the duty officer to call the Count. When I did, he said he regretted but he was needed in Bonn unexpectedly.

It was not closure but in another way it was for the more macro aspect of our mutual desire, for what had happened. I never expected to hear from him - unless our paths somehow crossed again - and I was not disappointed in that respect. And yet, I was.