It was my third year in Africa. I had been expelled from my school in England; it was being caught with two notorious twins, a year my junior, sucking my cock in the teachers’ changing room next to the gym during a lunchtime trampoline session that finally did it. My father, a diplomat, had then thought that the discipline of an African boarding school would benefit me, though, in reality, it just offered the opportunity for more sex and for corporal punishment which I had actively courted, usually by my refusal to wear regulation white underwear. I left by agreement as soon as I had turned 18. I had then taken up an apprenticeship in building, where I could keep fit and wear outrageously short shorts in the company of shirtless fit young men. My first proper job was with a sub-contractor on a huge industrial project in the heart of the country and I lived in the men’s single quarters, which, needless to say, offered endless possibilities for yet more sex.
After just over a year there, the project was nearing completion and so, about 6 months ago, I had moved-on to a new job down by the coast. I rented a one-bedroom holiday apartment on the eighth floor of a ten-storey block, really cheap out of season. The condition was that I moved out if the landlord had a holiday booking, so I then had to resort to camping or to the store huts on site. There were just a car park and some low dunes between the apartment block and the sea, but the beach here had no shark nets, so swimming wasn’t advised. It was about ten minutes run down the beach to a swimming area. The apartments, though busy during holiday periods, were otherwise very quiet with only a few, mainly old, permanent residents.
It was the last weekend of the month: pay weekend, so I did not need to work on the Saturday. The weather was going to be hot and sunny and I would be heading off to my favourite beach further down the coast. Saturdays were preferable to Sundays, as there were fewer families and more singles, making cruising that bit easier.
Finding sex with men here, especially a good fuck, was not as easy as in the closed environment of an essentially all-male construction camp. The beach that I was going to this weekend had proved to be fruitful before. There were open showers at the back of the beach and a toilet block close by. My cruising technique was to sun-bathe on my towel in my skimpy speedos, go for a swim in the ocean, a slow walk up the beach passing close to any interesting men, then a long shower, before adjourning to the piss tray in the toilet block with my cock fully erect, hoping to be followed in by someone with the same idea. I had sucked a few nice cocks in the cubicles over the summer so far, been memorably fucked on one occasion and twice been invited back to nearby hotel rooms for longer sessions, though, admittedly, one of these occasions was with straight married couple who wanted to spice-up their sex-life.
I was hoping that a guy I had tried to cruise before would be there. He was a little older and taller than me, but had a super-fit toned body of the type I aspired to as I put on more adult muscle and weight. Most attractively to me, he looked to stack a big package in his tight trunks. I frequently jacked-off to the thought of his big cock up my arse. He usually came to the beach with a mixed group of friends, but I detected that he watched me and was probably interested.
Three weeks earlier, my former dom, Jan, a Dutch guy who I had met the year before at the construction site had come down to stay. He lived on the other side of the country now, and I had not seen him for more than six months, but he was here visiting relatives up the coast. I had finished work early on the Saturday afternoon to meet him and he was going to stay on Saturday night. He was a total sadist and got off by degrading, humiliating and punishing me. I was sometimes reduced to tears by his actions, but equally I used to be disappointed if I wasn’t called for my regular punishments.
I met him at my apartment. I had specially bought a six pack of beers for him as I did not drink. We chatted for an hour, more of an interrogation about my sex life, who was I having sex with, where did I find sex, how often was I masturbating. He pretended to be disgusted by my promiscuity, not that he didn’t know about my sexual proclivities. I was told I was a slut and needed to be severely punished.
I had booked a squash court at four o’clock. We used to play squash at the construction site and he used to fuck me in the showers afterwards. I thought we might recreate old times. We went to the sports’ club in his hire car. He insisted I wore my sluttiest shorts, no underwear and a tight tee-shirt. I thought this boded well for a really good fuck, but I made the mistake of beating him in the game. That didn’t usually happen in the past, but I was much fitter and more in-practice than him now. He was not pleased. After the game, I was in the showers, cock straining, soaping my arse up in anticipation. He seemed to be taking his time joining me and when I eventually looked, he had gone, taking my bag, clothes, towel and keys with him, leaving me just my squash shoes and the little white cotton gym-shorts I had played in. The shorts, sweat-soaked after the game, were virtually see-through. It took me nearly an hour to run home in the late-afternoon heat by the quiet back lanes around the town. He had let himself in to my apartment and was waiting for me. He told me to take off my gym shoes, drop my shorts, and proceeded to punish my bare arse with one shoe, ten or twelve hard whacks. Still wearing only my slutty little gym shorts, he took me in his car to a nearby garden centre which, being after 1pm on Saturday, was closed. He ordered me to climb the high mesh fence at the back and steal some plant canes. I was nearly caught by a security guard.
Once back at home, I was ordered to strip naked and stand in the corner of the room facing the wall with my hands on my head. He swished the canes I had stolen, finding a couple that he liked. I heard him run some water into the bath and guessed he was soaking them for use later. I spent all evening in the corner, not spoken to, other than for sharp orders to stand straighter or keep me hands on my head. My penis alternately grew and shrank in anticipation, then fear, of what I knew was to come.
Outside on the balcony, he made the braai (barbecue) I’d bought meat for and he gave me just one piece of wors which I had to eat off the floor. He drank beer constantly; he had brought two six-packs with him, added to the pack I had in, and he watched a movie in a language I hardly understood on a portable tv set he’d borrowed from his family. I didn’t have a tv. The tv service had only been going about a year, there was only one channel with only half the programmes in English and I thought it was a waste of money.
At about 10.00 when the movie finished, I was given two minutes to masturbate on pain of my punishment being doubled. He knew full well that I could bear any punishment if I was horny, but I was a wimp once I had cum. I was forced to lick my cum from the tiled floor, he knew how I hated this, then I was positioned over the kitchen table and given fifteen brutal strokes of the thickest cane. He always made sure two or three strokes landed at the back of my upper thigh, so the welts would be visible when I wore my shorts. I screamed as those strokes landed. In tears, I was told to put my slutty white shorts back on. I was pushed to the floor in the bathroom where he emptied the entire content of his beer filled bladder on me. He stripped to his briefs, yanked my shorts down then cruelly fucked me in the pool of piss. Mercifully, he came quickly, filling my arse with his hot seed. I was ordered to mop-up the mess with my shorts.
Wearing only my piss-soaked see-through shorts, no shoes and with a big load of cum up my arse, he gave me three minutes to go and fetch his towel and squash kit that he had left drying on the washing-line in the yard down on the ground floor, no using the lift. The stairs wound their way round the lift shaft, flight, half-landing, flight, next floor, I raced down the eight floors almost jumping each set. On the ground, I sprinted across the car park to the washing line, grabbed the things on the run and turned towards the stairs. Taking three or four steps at a time, I bounded up the stairs, lungs bursting and muscles in my thighs burning. On the sixth floor I nearly flattened an old couple waiting for the lift and waving good-bye to the friends at the door of the apartment they had just left. Their friends were permanent residents and knew me. They would be reporting me to the janitor, who was undoubtably compiling a dossier on my behaviour. Reaching the eighth floor, I felt sure I had made it in time, but my apartment door was locked. I could hear he was taking a bath. After waiting ten or fifteen minutes and gently knocking repeatedly, it was clear he was not going to let me in. I left his things by the door and went down to the beach, stopping to rinse-off in the outdoor shower on the way.
I had spent an uncomfortable night in the sand dunes and when I went to try my apartment again at first light, the door was unlocked and Jan was gone. With some relief, but with a tinge of disappointment, as I was ready for another fuck, I jerked off in front of the bathroom mirror while admiring the vicious cane marks on my arse and thighs.
That was three weeks ago. The cane marks had all but faded. I had explained the three on the back of my upper right thigh by saying I had been stung by a jellyfish; one with particularly straight tentacles. I’d shaved my pubes and my tan-line was perfect. I had been giving facials to Steve, a new young apprentice at work. He really enjoyed that, but didn’t want to take it any further. I was in desperate need of some penetrative sex. It was a perfect day. I felt sure I would be lucky at the beach. I was going to cycle there. I sometimes had the use of a work bakkie (truck) but not this weekend. It was possible to run, being about 9km, but coming back in the late afternoon heat, hopefully after some good action, was not so good. I put on my navy-blue speedos, actually they were Arena nylon trunks with a faded white side patten, some blue, discount-store gym shorts, a size or so too small and a short black cotton vest, I oiled up my legs and arms; all a satisfactory compromise between athletic and slutty. With great effort, I had abstained from jerking-off since the morning before. My cock was already wanting to burst out of the speedos. I put my towel, sun-oil and water bottle in my back-sack. I didn’t actually own a bike, but there were several that the seasonal visitors used in a rack on the ground floor. They were locked, but I could spring some of the padlocks easily enough with a pin.
It was still quiet when I arrived at the beach. There were plenty of parking spaces on the sea-front. I ‘locked’ my bicycle to the railings. I set my towel down at my favourite spot which gave good sight of the door to the men’s toilets and the nearest pair of showers. The sand was clean and soft and the ocean looked very inviting.
I went for my first swim of the day, jumping through the breakers then swimming fast out to the shark-net buoys. Turning, I trod water while I viewed the beach. There was a family setting up a few metres away from my towel; there were the parents, what might be uncle and aunt, two young kids and a teenage boy. The teenager looked fit in his tight red trunks; worthy of closer investigation. I swam back, making sure to come out of the water at a point that would take me straight past my target on my way to the showers. A lovely, slim, fit lad wearing speedos with what looked like swimming badges sewn on; a bit too young for me, but in two or three years, what a catch he would be. I am sure he registered me passing by and as I took a shower, he was clearly watching me. I did a quick cock adjustment when I was sure he was looking.
There did not seem to be any other prospects around at that time, so I skipped going into the toilets and returned to my towel.
The warm sun on my back was lovely. I was day-dreaming about my previous encounters here. Admittedly, they were not as frequent as I would have liked. Most had happened when the tourists from up-country were around, but at least two of the cocks I had sucked were locals, both older, married guys. All my practice in the single quarters at the construction site had been put to good effect and they always left satisfied. I usually shot a big load myself when I felt their cum flow in my mouth. A young surfer-guy tourist was one of the best meets I had had and later we had gone back to his hotel room for a full night of action. It must have been cum-max night for both of us. I don’t know how he would have explained the condition of the bed sheets in the morning.
I thought about how I could improve my sex prospects. Going back to a construction camp was the most reliable solution, otherwise moving to the city might also be better. I could go back to England; at least gay sex was not illegal there, but attitudes were still bad, as was the weather. I had heard there were good gay scenes in New York and California, maybe I should aim for that. That first few weeks I lived in the construction camp were my maximum slut phase. I was spending all my evenings in the shower block sucking cocks sometimes four or five. I was regularly dragged out of my bed at night to service someone’s cock. Then at weekends the heavy stuff happened. I had all but stopped my regular sports activities and it was beginning to affect my work and my health. In reality, I did not want to resume that intensity. After about two months, three of the horniest guys left and at the same time, Jan took control of me, acting as my pimp. That improved my life considerably in one way, but made me subject to his devious sadistic punishments and indignities.
I was back in the camp shower block, completely naked. It was somehow different, an older building with roof beams. Jan was watching from the door; my boss and another big guy were dragging me by the arms. I felt I had been caught sucking cock and was being taken to be punished. We were now in another room, a kitchen, with a big old cooking range. The teenage guy with swimming badges on his speedos was suspended upside down from the roof beams, he looked delectable. We were to be punished together. I wanted him so much. My cock was straining. I could feel the heat from the cooking range on my back. I woke up with a start, the heat of the sun warm on my back.
As I turned over, I saw there was a dark slimy wet patch on the front of my speedos where I had been leaking pre-cum in my dream and my cock was hard. Fortunately, there was still a clear route from my towel position to the ocean. Just a couple of kids playing at the water-line to pass. I swam out to the shark-net again and quickly back, slowing to scan the beach as I approached the shallow water. There were still no obvious prospects, but then, as I was walking up the beach to the showers, I noticed a car pulling into one of the last remaining parking spaces on the sea-front.
This was surely the Adonis guy I had been fantasising about since I had first seen him a couple of months ago. As before, he came with two guys, who were not all that attractive and two fit looking women. I lingered by the wall at the back of the beach watching the group approach along the promenade, then as they reached the beach entrance by the toilet block, I ducked under the shower. I aimed to be my most sensuous as they passed by, running the water through my hair and glistening down my body, while keeping a half erection in my speedos. He was wearing a yellow tee shirt and denim shorts. I briefly caught his eye as they walked by, chatting. His look was inconclusive, halfway between a smirk and a smile. As they were about 20 metres past, the two women looked round at me, then the group seemed burst into laughter at some joke. I took a dislike to his friends and I was not now too sure about him. It was clear this was not the time for the toilet block, so I returned to my towel and applied some more sun-oil.
They set-up about 50 metres further down the beach to the left. I could see them if I sat up on my towel. In watching this group, I had failed to note that one of the guys whose cock I had sucked earlier in the summer had arrived with his wife and had spread their towels some way to my right. He was a nice friendly guy. I had seen him in town once or twice and he always said hello. Even when he was with his wife, he had greeted me. I am not sure how he explained how he knew me. He seemed happily married, but obviously liked having his cock sucked by men, or at least by me. He waved when he saw I was looking in his direction and I responded. I settled back onto my towel and to my day-dreams about past encounters.
I was not now too sure about Adonis man. The nice married guy seemed an altogether more realistic, albeit a tamer prospect. On past form, his wife used to go for tea at a hotel across the road at about 3pm and that was my cue for a toilet cubicle visit. It was still only about noon. In casual meets, I preferred sucking or jacking someone off. Despite my fantasies, I had mixed feelings about being fucked. The first time I was fucked was when I was still at school in England. It was a similar situation as with adonis guy now. I’d seen this fit looking guy, a few years older than me at the local swimming baths and in the following weeks coordinated my visits and swam in the fast lane with him. After a few encounters in the showers, one day he signalled we should go into a cubicle. I had only expected to jack-off together as I did with some of my friends, but he spun me round and slid his cock into me. He had to put his hand over my mouth to stop me screaming. I hated it. It was a couple of years before I tried again and it was at my boarding school that I became used to it at least with boys my own age.
I sat up to check on Adonis man. He was not with his friends. I could not see him in the ocean. I stood up and scanned the beach for him, then saw him come out of the tickey box (public phone) near where they had parked their car. He headed back to his friends using the steps further along the sea-front.
It was becoming really hot now. I took another swim, a shower and a quick visit to the toilet block, though not with the expectation of any action at this time, and there wasn’t. I nodded to nice guy on my way back to the towel, applied some more oil and carried on with my sun-bathing.
On my very first night in the single quarters at the construction camp, I had heard two guys having sex in the next room. The walls were just a sheet of plywood; you could hear everything. My cock wanted some of that action. I spent a lot of time visiting the toilet and shower block wearing only my skimpiest shorts or even just my briefs. My teeth were cleaned to perfection. It was not long before the first invite into a cubicle and then news soon spread of my cock-sucking capabilities. Sex activity then rapidly developed with guys coming over from other accommodation blocks to seek out my services. It had stopped being fun. At weekends many of the older and family guys, who were a controlling influence over the others, were away, leaving mostly the horny single men. It was then that things really got out of control. I was forced to another accommodation block where there was a dining room with a big table and the door was lockable. Things happened there that I find it hard to look back on.
I looked up. Adonis man was there taking a shower. He looked amazing in his grey trunks, with water coursing down his fit tanned body and athletic legs and more to the point, a serious bulge in the front of his trunks. I jumped-up from my towel and almost ran over to the adjacent shower head. Facing away from the beach to avoid giving the punters a view of my growing bulge, but turning towards him from time to time and adjusting it to make my intentions clear he appraised me up and down and I felt sure he liked what he could see. As our eyes met, he smirked and licked his lips, which I took to be a good sign. But he continued with his shower. He was taking a long time; other people were beginning to show signs of irritation at waiting. Someone, had to make a move. I made a slight gesture with my head towards the toilet block and headed over there. I glanced back; he was still showering but watching me.
I was at the far end of the piss trough, the front of my speedos lowered holding my cock horizontal. Surely, he was going to join me. My cock was straining to its full 18cm. One careless extra touch and it would be shooting spurt after spurt of cum into the trough. What was taking him so long? I imagined his beautiful cock, thick and erect displayed for me, as we would nod and gesture towards the cubicle and then the terrific fuck we were going to have and the masses of cum that would be discharged up my arse. There was a sharp whistle from outside, like the warning the local guys used at work when there was danger. Then footsteps in heavy shoes, not right for the beach. Something was wrong. I instantly stuffed my cock into my speedos and as I turned away from the trough, simultaneously grasping to tie the tie-cord, I was faced by a cop with a camera and the bright light of the flash gun, followed rapidly by another cop.
‘Get on the floor, face down, hands behind your back.’
I hesitated, not quite believing the situation. He whacked me hard with his truncheon on my butt. Wow that really hurt. I sank to my knees, half in pain and half in compliance.
‘On the floor, face down, now.’
The floor was wet and smelled of piss. He shoved the back of my head and I sprawled forward, my nose on the stinky floor.
‘Hands behind your back.’
I complied, stretching my arms back until I felt my thumbs meet. There was a metallic rattle and handcuffs were attached to my wrists. Handcuffs were a favourite instrument of Jan’s that I was only too familiar with, and nothing good ever happened once they were attached.
‘Get up.’
This was near impossible from the position I was in. I tried to slide my knees forward, then decided the only way to advance was to turn onto my side. At this point I was yanked to me feet.
‘Move.’
Still dazed with shock, I could hardly comprehend.
‘Move.’
Another hard whack of the truncheon was applied to my backside and I stumbled forward towards the entrance. Outside, I was hit by the brightness and heat of the day. A small crowd had gathered. There were murmurs and whistles. A guy only in skimpy speedos, tie-cord loose, being led away from the toilet block by the cops only had one explanation. In the sea of faces I saw the gorgeous adonis guy. His arms were folded and had his usual smirk on his face. I was led over the sand and gravel at the beach entrance to the brown police truck. It was a standard vehicle, basically a ‘bakkie’ (pick-up truck) with a covered mesh cage on the back for prisoner transport. Anyone looking closely could see who was in the back through the open mesh. My mind was just spinning. I wanted to shout that I was just having a piss, but didn’t want another whack from the truncheon, so stayed silent. What about my bag, my towel and my clothes. The tailgate was lowered and I was shoved into the cage. The handcuffs were secured to a shackle forcing me to sit uncomfortably on a low metal bench. As the cage was being locked and the tailgate closed, I saw the teenager in red speedos with swimming badges heading to the toilets being followed by adonis guy.
...to be continued
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