Misdelivered Mail Male Sex Training

"While the general and admiral confer at one end of a conference table, you and I have exchanged needy looks at the other end of the table. I slip under the table and give you a blow job. The general and admiral, although their presence heightens our arousal, don't know what's happening under the table. It's a fantasy; they don't need to know. You then carry me to the BOQ and have your way with me. Every position you take me in—and they should be athletic and exotic—I'll give you a different form of a Cowboy ride.

"We will count the times we come."

With Jack groaning the effects of anticipation of this role play, Allen quickly completed the blow job. "One for you."

In the bedroom, fully invested in the role play, Jack tied Allen's wrists together with a belt while Allen protested that he didn't really mean for his teasing to go as far as a cock the size of Jack's up his ass—and Jack just laughed at his protests. He then tied the other end of the belt to one of the legs of the bed at its foot. Allen's body was stretched up the bed, and Jack moved Allen's left thigh over his right leg, giving a reclining Jack access to Allen's hole. Jack moved the butt crease strap of the jock strap aside and ate out Allen's ass until he was begging for more. Slipping the jock strap off Allen then, Jack turned him, returned the favor of the blow job, alternating with the sucking of Allen's cock. He finger fucked Allen's hole while sucking him off.

"One for you," Jack announced at Allen blew his load with a jerk and a whimper.

"Number two coming for me," Jack declared. Pulling Allen up to his knees, his ass high in the air, Jack mounted and rode him high in a bulldog fuck.

Maintaining Jack's interest, Allen rode his cock in a reverse Cowboy, Allen riding a reclined Jack while facing his feet. Taking advantage of reverse positions, Jack put Allen on his belly, couched Allen's head between his feet, grabbed Allen's ankles with his hands, and fucked Allen's passage in reverse.

Number two for Jack; numbers two and three for Allen.

They fucked through dinner. They fucked through the Army-Navy game. They fucked through twilight and into the night.

They slept in starts and stops between fuckings, but Jack never suggested they leave the bed to do anything else—other than Jack fucking Allen on top of his dresser and, again, with Allen belly down on an ottoman.

They lost count, and by morning, they didn't give a shit how many times it had been for either of them. They just knew they both liked playing this game with each other.

"What can we do next time?" Jack asked.

"I'll see if a can scare up pirate captain and cabin boy outfits," Allen answered, knowing already that Sam's Costume Dreamland stocked them.

"Saturday after next again?" Jack asked, his face showing a puppy dog expression.

"How about next Saturday?" Allen said.

"Even better," Jack responding, doing a convincing version of a dog pant.

Allen was exhilarated. He was getting what he wanted from Jack now. This should satiate him, he thought.

But on Monday morning he went to the mailbox on the street in front of his house only to pull out another misdelivered envelope addressed to Sam Strang on Oak Street. Down in the corner on the flap side were written the words, "Three on one hiker." Under that was written, "Belleview Park parking lot, Wednesday, 5:30 pm."

Three? he thought. Sam, Jamil, and Phil? Out in the woods. All of them on me? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. I can't wait.

And, indeed, when, at 6:45 on Wednesday night, when Jamil pulled out of him and turned him onto his back in the mossy patch between two oak tree roots and Allen, his hiking shorts gone and his hiking shirt torn to shreds on his body, looked up at the twice-spent cocks of the other men standing over him, Sam and Phil, Allen could only purr and bend and spread his legs to beg for thirds.