Scamp duly had his come-uppance (or possibly cum-uppance). The man whom he had recently seduced was not happy and had passed a couple of sleepless nights after Scamp had had his wicked way with him and compromised his masculinity, by which he set great store. Eventually, he decided that retribution was called for.
This guy was not someone of whom one should lightly make an enemy. He was a shade over six feet, six inches. Adrian, as he was called, was the son of a regular soldier in the Green Howards who had married a blonde German Rhine-maiden while serving with the British Army on the Rhine (BAOR). Adrian (who was also known as "Big A") was enormous, brutally handsome, muscular, with high cheekbones, ice-blue eyes and ash-blond hair like his mother. He looked like a recruiting poster for the Waffen-SS. Since the Waffen-SS no longer existed, he had joined the TA Paras, which was how he had come to know Scamp. He swam, ran, played rugby and boxed. He towered above the mischievous Scamp and most other people. Basically a good guy; undeniably handsome in an intimidating way; as a bonus he also stripped well, showing a "fooking marvellous body".
He was also slightly scary. I had seen him at a distance. I knew the type. With "Alpha Male" almost stencilled on his forehead, he strutted down the middle of the pavement, exuding testosterone, leadership and disapproval of almost everyone else; especially of unfit, badly-dressed people, Big A was not queer; no Sir! Or rather he had not been until recently, when Scamp, who was usually up for a challenge, had got him drunk seduced him, He was far from happy about it now in the cold light of day, when Reason and Sobriety had resumed their respective thrones.
A day or two after his fall from grace, he decided to go and see Scamp to "have it out with him." Scamp, who was still convalescing from his concussion, the result of a parachute jump that had goine slightly wrong, had been in bed, bollock naked. He opened the door of his flat cautiously, on the chain. When it became clear that Big A was in a furious mood, he tried to shut it again. A large, trainer-shod foot was placed against the door; the chain was wrenched from its moorings; the door flew open and the big bad A was inside the flat.
Scamp asked him to calm down.
"I will not calm down, you horrible little perve! What you did was unspeakable! I wanna kill you!"
"If you do," shouted Scamp over his shoulder, as he dodged around the flat, trying to avoid Big A's grip, "You'll get Life, and what will Victoria do then?"
That was a mistake. Victoria was Big A's Sloane Ranger trophy girlfriend. That remark made Big A even more furious.
"Don't you dare even fucking mention her name, you little slime-ball!"
Scamp could not run outside, being naked. So inevitably Big A caught him, twisted his arm, threw him on the sofa and tied him up with some of Scamp's own silk neckties. Big A removed the belt from his jeans. It was a big, thick leather belt. Things were not looking good for Scamp at this point. He later admitted to me that he was by now sweating with terror.
Seconds later, Scamp's yells of pain caused the welkin to ring. Big A started to apply the belt to Scamp's taut, muscular ass with enthusiasm. Rather unwisely, between whacks, Scamp called Big A everything under the sun and promised to kill him at the next opportunity. He even shouted the worst insult in his Yorkshire vocabulary, which was:
"Lay off, you fooking daft Lancastrian wanker!"
Big A growled and made no reply but continued to apply the belt to Scamp's now red and sore ass-cheeks.
"Look, the minute I'm able to stand I'm going round to the fucking police station, where I'll file charges of assault!" shouted Scamp. Of course he said it in Yorkshire-ese but that was the gist. "I'll show them my injuries!"
This did penetrate to Big A's incensed brain. He stopped and surveyed his handiwork thoughtfully. In civil life Big A worked for a respected company. His firm might not view charges of assault with equanimity. Nor, possibly, might the TA Parachute Regiment, although this was less certain.
"You may have a point," said Big A ominously. "But don't think that your punishment is finished. I've only just started!" He sat down for a moment looking thoughtful. Then he stood up.
"Punishment should fit the crime," said Big A decisively. He stripped off, and then proceeded to rough up Scamp and fuck him senseless in every way he could think of. Finally he decided to deliver the coup de grace to Scamp.
This meant deep-fucking him; breaching the second sphincter and getting Big A's big cock right inside him, to thrust against the inside of his lower belly. Adrian spread Scamp's legs as wide as he could, and did it. Scamp threw back his head and screamed. His eyes stayed tight-shut; his mouth was open and gasping.
Adrian later remembered noticing how clean and white Scamp's teeth were. They were beautiful. Then he got astride Scamp: Adrian's hands immobilising Scamp's wrists; another great position for a deep-fuck. Adrian gave him the sexual equivalent of a pile-driver. Then he got Scamp on all fours, with his head down; arse up in the air. Adrian was kneeling on one knee, the other leg extended forward for better purchase, as he drove into Scamp's ass again. At one point he stretched his leg forward and placed his foot on Scamp's neck, to keep his head down, squashed into the sofa cushion.
There was not much that Scamp could do about any of this. Moreover, because Big A was so huge and so strong, he was able to do things to diminutive Scamp that he'd never even dreamed of.
Since Scamp had previously ridden Adrian like a stallion, Adrian now immobilised Scamp's legs as well as his arms, lay back and bounced him about on his cock like a fuck-toy. Scamp was shouting, swearing and screaming again. God knows what the neighbours must have thought, if they were at home. Big A was even strong enough to fuck Scamp standing-up. Adrian leaned against the wall, legs apart, held Scamp in his arms at the right height, thrust rhythmically and fucked him again and again in mid-air. Finally he came in Scamp's mouth. He then cleaned himself, got dressed, untied an exhausted and sore Scamp, looked down at him expressionlessly and then left.
"Back door broken in, all holes used/Leaves a boy dazed and confused"
But not for long: Scamp soon got on the 'phone to me to relate his latest adventure. He was standing, because he could not sit down. I was aghast, even though I was used to horrible revelations from Scamp. At least I was aghast, until I caught the chuckle in his voice.
"Though I was fooking scared, I loved every minute of it. It was fooking magic! It was the best S & M I've ever had! I could feel his anger as he was fooking me! It wasn't a punishment at all! It was like the ecstasy of Saint fooking Teresa!"
I had not thought of it in that light.
"And," continued Scamp, "he was loving it too. Nae question about that! I think I'm about ter mak' a fooking convert, Pal!"
For Scamp's sake I hoped that he was right. He was.
A couple of days later an embarrassed Big A came round before work with his cheque book to apologise and offer to pay for the damage to the flat. One should never underestimate the Scamps of this world. One thing led to another: before long Adrian was out of his dark suit and naked. Once more Victoria was forgotten and a triumphant Scamp was riding Adrian's cock like a steeplechaser. I had the strong instinct that, in the serious tug-of-lust that was developing, Victoria was likely to lose out.