Who Said British Food Was Dull

I looked at all the tan, muscular bodies in the room, sweating and lifting, reflected over and over in the mirrors on the wall and wanted to bite down on the cyanide pill. I didn't have a cyanide pill, though. I had juice, which would have been a fucking sight better with tequila. I didn't have that either. I had a brand new exercise outfit, fresh out of the box sneakers, a pale, plump, out-of-shape body and an attitude that had gone from bad to worse. I felt a hand on my elbow and looked up. I tried to prevent myself from sighing in agony, and didn't make it. He smiled at me with the deepest compassion. He was about 6'3', very solid and well built, with an intelligent face, piercing blue eyes and a captivating smile. A T-shirt that said 'Frank -Staff' had been asked to encase the incredible chest. It was doing its best. The shiny shorts had thrown in the towel regarding concealing his cock.

'Bit intimidating at first, isn't it?' he whispered. I could hear the British accent. I just nodded at him dumbly. He smiled again, that warm compassionate smile, then firmly led me over to stare at the wall. At first I thought I'd been sent to the corner. Then I focused on the row of photos. 'Before and after' pictures. The 'after' pictures made me look like shit, but compared to the 'before' pictures, I was a fucking Adonis. He tapped a photo standing alone, of a man who could have been a balloon in the Macys' Thanksgiving Day parade. 'Me,' he said simply. I expressed disbelief, then peered at the photo. Son-of-a-bitch, it was.

'You'll be up there before long, Samuel,' he said quietly, in that incredible accent. That was the last soft thing he said as he launched upon a campaign to kill me.

I kept going back. I knew it was good for me, I knew he knew what he was doing...and I lusted for him with every fiber of my being. I did the damned exercises until I was blinded by sweat, pain and exhaustion, I ate the shitty food, I walked past every fattening, unhealthy thing that jumped in front of me, and I cried the day at work when I stood up out of my chair and my pants didn't. Not from embarrassment, but from an almost orgasmic joy. Frank took me aside that night and asked if he could treat me to dinner to celebrate my pants falling off my slimmer hips. There was a twinkle in his eye, I thought...I hoped, and I know I grinned like a fool as I accepted. We went to a health food restaurant, and as we grazed through dinner, he told me about his life, first in England, then in the States. Being obese, then not being obese. Trying to be straight, then finally admitting he was gay. Being a proper training instructor, then falling for one of his students.

By the time we fell through the door of my apartment, we were half-naked, hard as rocks and had been engaging in exotic foreplay since before we left the restaurant. I had never experienced such blind, uncontrollable 'fuck me NOW!' lust before. He bent, wrapped an arm around my waist, hoisted me up and stripped off my pants and briefs. He dumped me on the bed, grabbed an ankle in his big hand, and one shoe and sock went flying. He did it again with the other ankle. His eyes burned into me, and he didn't give a shit where the shoes landed. His shirt buttons argued with him, so he just yanked the thing off, sending buttons dancing all over the room. My shirt never got a chance to argue. He just grabbed the front and pulled his hands apart. Suddenly he was naked beside me on the bed, his mouth taking mine, his hand gripped around my cock. He said a lot of things directly into my mouth, his accent going impossibly thick. I thought I picked out shag, arse, spunk and bonk, but I wasn't sure. I stopped thinking about British slang, because I suddenly had a mouthful of British cock. The uncircumcised beauty was a good 8' long, very thick and pouring precum. He had a knee on either side of my head. I reached up, grabbed his tight ass and pulled myself up, swallowing him as I went. He let out a pained moan, said something about dreaming about my prick, and went down on me like he was starving. We sucked each other with a demented fury, hard and deep, going faster and faster, causing the bed to rock and slam into the wall. Finally, we came together, howling and choking as we poured cum into each other's greedy mouths. He simply collapsed on me. I moved my nose out of the way of his balls so that I could breathe, thought about how I should really get all this cum off my face. Then I heard myself start to snore. Or maybe it was Frank.

When I awoke, I heard noises from the kitchen so I stumbled in that general direction. Frank had found my acquisitions from the imported food store. The Earl Gray tea, the teaball, the tin of English biscuits. He gave me a moist-eyed look I felt, and smiled. 'Looks like you're expecting a Brit,' he said softly. I swallowed hard. 'Never expecting,' I said. 'Just dreaming.' He kissed me gently and smiled. 'Have a wash,' he said with laughter in his voice. 'You're a disgrace.' I scrubbed my face clean at the sink, then we sat and had tea and biscuits and the most civilized post-sex conversation ever. Frank cleared a few things, and I suddenly found myself on my back on the table, gripping my knees, as he licked and nibbled all over my ass. Or 'arse' as he called it.

Whatever you called it, the damn thing was in heaven. He was teasing me, letting his tongue stray close to my crack before dancing it away. I was determined I wouldn't let him know how insane he was making me. That determination lasted for a whole five minutes. Then I was moaning 'eat me!' helplessly. I heard him chuckle. He put a hand up and started to massage my balls as he licked my ass. He rolled my balls between his fingers and nipped at my ass cheeks. Then he took his other hand, and with thumb and forefinger spread my cheeks apart. He exhaled warm breath on me as he moaned. 'Oh,' was all he was able to say. He danced his tongue around my hole, getting closer and closer to it without touching it. I couldn't control the helpless writhing of my hips or the twitching of my ass muscles. Finally, after an eternity, he thrust his tongue in my ass and I almost shot my wad on the ceiling. His tongue was long and agile, sliding in me deeply, wiggling around...fucking me. He tongue-fucked me totally and completely, one hand playing with my balls, the other gently stroking my ass. My cock was so hard again it hurt.

He put me on my hands and knees on the table, chuckling softly as he did. I felt silly and exposed and helplessly turned on. He rummaged around in the refrigerator for a minute. 'What are you doing?' I asked, my head down, my ass in the air. He laughed. 'Getting kinky on the first date,' he chuckled. I raised my head to see what he'd gathered from the refrigerator. Aerosol whipped cream, margarine, a large carrot and a frozen fruit juice bar. 'Is this some kind of weird British thing?' I asked, smiling. He grinned. 'Nope. This is a weird 'me' kind of thing. Saw it in a film once, and have lusted after it every since.' I put my head down and felt my cock twitch and ooze precum. I'd seen the same damned movie.

He carefully inserted the whipped cream can in my ass and filled my hole with whipped cream. The smooth cold drove me wild, as did the warm tongue scooping it out. He filled my ass again, ate it out, filled it once more and ate it out again. By then I was having muscle spasms effecting my entire body. I couldn't stay on my knees anymore. He helped my lie on my back and pushed my thighs up, humming. He squirted cream on my balls and licked it off, then decorated my cock, and licked and sucked that off. I heard the can sputter finally. 'Buggers,' he said mildly. 'All out.' He opened the plastic bowl of margarine and scooped out a fingerful. He grinned at me. 'Steady,' he said cheerfully. His index finger gently prodded my asshole. Once again, the cold was an odd pleasure/pain that drove me wild. He finger fucked me good, my ass relaxing to take his finger, and the second one he added. I felt wild and wicked, lying on my kitchen table, legs up in the air, being fingered by happy British fingers coated with margarine. He held the carrot up for me to watch as he coated it, then slid it into my ass and fucked me with it. It felt great He put on a solemn face as he fucked me with the carrot that made me laugh. I felt silly and free, something I'd never felt completely before. 'My ass is being fucked by a carrot!' I announced in tones that rang off the walls.

When he replaced the carrot with the frozen juice bar, my voice rang off walls all over the street. He slid it in and out of me, as I howled. 'NO! Shitfuck, it's too cold, I can't take it, DAMN, this is fucking incredible, more, MORE, I want more, Frank, FRANK, fuck me, STOP, oh, fuck me more, DEEPER, shit, shit, SHIT, damn this hurts so fucking good, so GOOD, fuck me...' And so on. Finally, he grabbed my legs, pulled me forward and sank his uncut rod into my whipped cream, margarine, fruit juice coated ass. My legs were on his shoulders, and he looked at me with an incredible intensity as he humped me for all he was worth. I've never had my ass fucked like that. This was flat out, uncontrolled, cum-or-die SCREWING. I had to clench my teeth to prevent them from chattering something loose. His breathing got hoarse and ragged, and I swear his eyes started to roll back in his head. His cock felt as if it had swollen to inhuman proportions, and frankly, so did mine. I held on for as long as I could, hands gripping the edge of the table to prevent myself from being fucked right off the damned thing. Then, all of a sudden, my manic, pounding partner whispered 'Samuel!' in the softest, most loving tone. I had one stunned second feeling my heart swell before my cock erupted cum all over him. I felt the hot flood of his cum in my ass. We spasmed together for a long time. Eventually, we ended up in the bathtub, but I have no idea how.

Frank puts me through my paces every morning at the gym. And thanks to a certain kinkiness he fucked loose with a carrot, I put him through his paces every night. Our friends have learned to stay out of our refrigerator.