The Aviators

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So that he didn't have to think of Pete on top of the diminutive Nigel, Alex thought of himself writhing under the body of the crude gardener as he had writhed under the body of the neighbor he had done gardening for in Georgia. No more acting like a prince, but reverting to the pauper he himself was underneath it all. Taking a cock—a huge cock as he somehow knew the gardener would have from the assurance with which the man carried himself—and being taken cruelly, totally, the brute only thinking of his own pleasure and satisfaction—but, in that, heightening the pleasure and satisfaction that Alex took from the encounter.

Flicking the spent cigarette out onto the stones, he rose and walked, deliberately, into the house.

It was as if Angela expected him to push open the door to her bedroom, bang it shut, and stride to her. She had been at her table, brushing her hair. She was wearing a diaphanous robe, open and flowing down from each side of her, and nothing else. Her breasts pushed up and out, the nipples taut, of the open robe and also could be seen in the reflection in the mirror. Alex stood close behind her and kneaded her breasts with his hands as she turned her face up to his for a deep kiss. He ran one hand down and over her pulsing belly, down lower, two fingers sliding between her folds, with one curling inside her and the other continuing on to her clit. She shuddered and moaned for him.

She laughed as he laid her on her back at the foot of the bed, and she opened her legs to him and barely winced as he thrust inside her strongly and began to pump. She arched her back, dragged her sharp nails across his bare back and cried out, "Yes. Harder. Deeper. You're a stud," as he furiously fucked her. Deeper and deeper, faster and harder he fucked her—letting it all out, all the tension and resentment he had inside him. All it was to these people—and to Pete—was sexual release. He was just a cock and a bung hole to them all. To them, this was all just a game of fear of the unknown, a frenzied response to the horrors of war and the threat of a force named Hitler.

The more frenzied and more cruel and brutal he got—thick, long cock pumping her hard, punishing her channel walls, making her flop around like a rag doll, conquered, dominated, mastered, the more she cried out for him to do just that—conquer, dominate, master—her. She dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades and bucked against him, laughing and crying at the same time, screeching, "Yes. Oh, god yes! Pound me!"

Curt must have expected this visitation too, as only moments went by after they moved into uncontrollable frenzy before he was saddling up behind Alex, working his way into the blond aviator's ass with his cock, and taking over control of him fucking Alex and Alex fucking Angela. Collapsing on top of Angela with a deep groan, Alex went spongy and soft inside, feeling Curt reach deeper up inside him—thickening and hardening inside him—as Alex went completely submissive, conquered, dominated, and mastered by the actor's pounding shaft. "Oh shit, yes. Punish me. Pound me!" he cried out as Angela held steady now, gripping his shoulders in a death grip, sending her channel walls to clutch at and shimmer over his throbbing cock just as Alex was making his channel walls undulate over and make love to Curt's demanding shaft, and took his seed—spurting once, twice, thrice, subsiding only as Curt's explosion commenced.

* * * *

Pete came out of the washroom, a towel around his waist. The bedroom of Nigel's flat—more a pied-à-terre than a residential flat—was small. There was nothing in it but a single bed, a bureau, a nightstand, and an overstuffed chair. What was there was very good quality, however. This, after all, was a viscount's bedroom in his university town retreat flat. The furniture, oversized for the rooms, probably came from a palatial manor house. The washroom itself had been small, barely accommodating Pete's hulking body and set under the eaves so that a man Pete's height couldn't stand up straight to shower or pee. Nigel was much smaller than he was—delicate, almost effeminate, with the grace of a ballet dancer—so no doubt all of the space looked bigger to him and fit his body more easily.

There were two lamps on the bureau, both with red shades that cast a rosy glow across the room. The color of heat, hot sex. Pete was hard in anticipation. He was looking forward to fucking the shit out of this hot little piece who had avoided going to war. Nigel was a strawberry blond—all the way to the bush, as Pete had found while he was kissing the dancer in a standing clutch of exposing and revealing before he'd broken and growled that he wanted to take a shower to clean the effects of the earlier sex from his body before he started again. Nigel's strawberry-red bush, closely trimmed in tight curls, turned Pete on. He was keeping a separate count of the redheads he'd spiked—more women than men, so Nigel essentially was a bonus for him.

Nigel already was naked, stretched out on his belly on the white sheets of the bed, the red chenille bedspread puddled down to the floor at the lower three sides of the bed, when Pete emerged from the washroom. He was trembling slightly. His head had been turned to the wall when Pete appeared, but now he turned his face toward the other man. Pete dropped the towel to the Oriental carpet. Nigel's eyes went large and his moan was audible.

"God, you're big," he murmured, the sound coming out in a whimper.

"I think it's because your flat is small," Pete said, with a smile.

"No, it's because you're huge."

"And getting bigger," Pete said, wagging his cock at the young man and giving it a couple of stretching and thickening strokes.

"And you're hairy; your chest is pelted with curly, black hair. I'd seen it on your forearms before—"

"Does that put you off? Do you want me to wear a shirt when I fuck you? Do you want to shave my body before we do it?"

The "when I fuck you" might have gone a bit too far at this point, Pete was afraid. Nigel seemed to withdraw into himself, but what he said showed that it had been more his arousal at what Pete said than what Pete had said that had affected him. "No, I have fantasies about hairy men. And are all Americans that big?" What was that in his voice? Was his banter covering something? Fear, reluctance? Less experience with men than had been rumored?

"Yes, we're all monsters. We split our men asunder and leave them unable to feel Englishmen inside them ever again. It's a service we do. It's our present to the young men of England."

"I don't know if I can . . ." Nigel moaned again. "Please, be good to me." Nigel turned his face to the wall again. He was trembling more, and Pete could hear him panting. Pete almost laughed when Nigel raised up on his knees, lifting his tail in a sign of a dreaded "just do it."

Pete's need to dominate and punish drained out of him. This one was young, and not nearly as hardened and experienced as he'd thought he would be. Curt Taylor had exaggerated both his experience and wantonness. But Pete was here and had his needs. He also sensed that it was something Nigel wanted. He'd have to readjust his usual "take 'em fast and hard" technique, though.

He went to the bed and sat down beside Nigel's thighs. He laid the palm of his left hand on Nigel's plump left butt cheek and felt the young man tense up. But Pete did so just to let Nigel know he could go flat, that this wasn't going to be a hard and fast taking. They would get there, but Pete would prepare him for it. The size of him and his reaction to seeing Pete naked told the aviator that Nigel probably couldn't take him without extensive preparation. But Pete was determined that the young man would be open for him. He wasn't in the mood just to walk away and call it an unfulfilled night. Nigel was too much of a luscious piece for Pete to deny himself. But he had to move carefully here. Who knows what trouble one of these royals could raise if he was taken by force and didn't like it? This one certainly was sending mixed signals.

The fingers of his other hand went into the red curls of the young man's head, and Pete played there for a while, waiting for Nigel's tension to lessen, which it did. He let the hand come down to the back of the young man's neck and he massaged that and Nigel's shoulders. Nigel turned his face back and gave a sigh.

"That feels good," he murmured.

"I'm going to make you feel a whole lot better," Pete answered. He felt the young man tense up again slightly. He was skittish. Pete wondered just how many times Nigel had done it before—and how expert, big, and virile were the ones he'd done it with? Maybe it had mostly been a façade.

Using his left hand now, Pete stroked softly and slowly down Nigel's spine, stopping when the young man tensed and only starting again when he had relaxed. Pete put his right hand down next to Nigel's face. He stroked Nigel's full lips with his thumb and, almost without realizing it, Nigel sucked the thumb into his mouth. Pete's arousal built and he went harder at the feel of the soft, resilient skin overlying the steel of the well-toned body, alabaster marble white—the body of a Michelangelo's "David," the skin glimmering in contrast to the tanned, curly black hair covered hand of Pete's as it glided across the skin. Pete lowered his face to the crease between Nigel's shoulder blades and breathed in the honeysuckle scent of him. A kiss there caused Nigel to moan and tremble. Pete knew the intoxicating, fresh scent of the young man contrasted with his own, which he was aware, from what conquests had told him earlier, was musky, masculine.

The process of tensing, relaxing, progressing continued as Pete softly stroked and then more deeply massaged Nigel's buttocks with circling strokes following the curves of the mounds, taking care to separate them to expose the bud of his entrance. From time to time Pete leaned down to blow on the hole to watch it pucker for him. The young man was relaxing more, trembling less as Pete took his time with him. The thumb wasn't just in his mouth, Nigel was sucking on it.

Pete turned the young man slightly and ran a hand down his belly and into the strawberry-blond bush. Nigel moaned as Pete let his fingers play in the curls there, occasionally descending as far as the root of the cock and lingering there. Nigel's moans became deeper, and Pete watched the young man engorge and then shudder as Pete ran his fingers down the top of the young's man's cock and then back up the vein on the underside.

Turning Nigel back onto his belly, Pete stood, hovering over the trembling young man. He reached over for a couple of pillows and Nigel answered his nudge and raised up on his knees for Pete to push the pillows under his belly. As he finished doing that, he let a finger run down Nigel's perineum and down the line of the young man's cock again, extending out from below his belly, between his slightly spread thighs. The young man's cock stiffened rock hard to the touch. Nigel moaned and tensed up but when Pete pulled his hand away, he immediately relaxed. Pete was crouched over Nigel. He pulled his thumb from Nigel's mouth and cupped the young man's chin with that hand, moving Nigel's head to the edge of the mattress so that he was facing Pete's hard cock, the bulb resting on the mattress, almost touching Nigel's lips.

The butt cheeks were kneaded some more and rhythmically pulled apart, and Nigel involuntarily spread his thighs more and began to move his pelvis with the rhythm. He didn't notice at first the finger descending to rest on his rim, but his eyes went big and he moaned when he felt the first penetration. Pete moved his pelvis more into the bed, the bulb of his cock now pressing on Nigel's lips. Nigel opened his mouth and took the bulb in. He knew how to suck, Pete was happy to find. He may not have taken many shafts up the ass before, but he'd given blow jobs.

Two fingers were in his ass, spreading him open, vibrating and increasing the sway of his hips. A finger tip found the young man's prostate and rubbed, causing Nigel to tremble and groan with each rub on the hard mound. His stance widened even more, inviting, whether he knew it or not, deeper, thicker penetration, and another of Pete's finger tips pressed on the prostate. Nigel tightened his lips' hold on the base of Pete's bulb, his flicking tongue licking at the precum he found there.

It was Pete's turn to groan. He hadn't realized how arousing slow and sensual long foreplay could be.

Pete was taking the young dancer slowly, Nigel hardly noticing how quickly they actually were progressing. Pete moved his hips forward and Nigel took three more inches of the cock inside his mouth, closing tightly over it.

But then he seemed to awaken to the seduction and he moaned, pushed the cock out of his mouth, and raised himself on his elbows as if he was contemplating rolling off the bed and away from Pete. Pete didn't allow him to escape, though. He sat down on the side of the bed, twisted Nigel's torso around to where they were chest to chest, embraced the young man strongly with his right arm around Nigel's waist and took his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. Pete's left hand, slid through the strawberry-blond bush again, grasped Nigel's cock and, holding the young man captive, Nigel gasped as Pete's index finger went to the young man's urethral opening, pressing it and rubbing it, insisting on it opening to the tip of his finger, which, with a moan from Nigel, it did, moistening Pete's finger with precum.

Pete stroked him slowly, rhythmically, determinedly, to an ejaculation. Nigel struggled against him at first but soon settled down and gave up his seed with a sigh. The fingers of Pete's left hand went back to Nigel's ass opening, which Pete worked with one, two, three, and finally four fingers slick from Nigel's own cum, once again paying attention to the prostrate, while Nigel groaned and produced a second, weaker ejaculation, and Pete possessed his mouth in a kiss.

Nigel was spent, but Pete was just beginning. Nigel also was mellow, completely under Pete's control now and, his flexible little body was fully responsive to Pete's manipulation. The young man was purring.

At length Pete rose back off the bed, let Nigel go down onto his belly, all the time with four fingers up the young man's ass, and, when he pressed on Nigel's lips with his cock this time, Nigel took him in almost to the hilt and, although gagging, lay there docile, taking him deep, as Pete face fucked him.

Nigel gave no more than a groan and a "Please be good to me" plea as Pete moved up onto the bed, mounted over him, extracted his fingers from Nigel's ass, and started penetrating him with his hard cock, the soft walls of the young man's passage only reluctantly giving in to the invading shaft despite the effort that had gone into opening him up. He may have been fucked before, Pete thought, but not by a real man.

With a gasp at the first penetration, Nigel reached up and grabbed the brass rungs of headboard and whimpered, as Pete slowly possessed him deep and started a slow pump. Nigel groaned and moaned, the knuckles of his hands white and bruising as the headboard started to rhythmically grate on the wall from the forward and back motion of the fuck.

Pete took him fully but gently that first time and then lowered himself on Nigel's back, kissed him on his neck, and Nigel turned his head for a more passionate, deeper kiss. After they'd come out of that, Nigel whispered, "Fuck me again. I want you to fuck me again. I won't fight you; I know I can take it now. Stay on top of me all night."

"Oh, yes," Pete answered in a low, guttural voice. "All that and more."

Pete went up on his knees and slowly turned Nigel over on his back, repositioning the young man's hips on the pillows. Nigel looked up at him with awe and want in his eyes, risking a tentative smile, his lips forming the whispered words, "Fuck me; make love to me," as he raised his legs up and straight out from his body, grasping his lower calves with his hands. Hovering over him, between his stretched legs, Pete buried his fists on either side of Nigel's shoulders and lowered his lips to the younger man's mouth, which hungrily opened to him, Nigel sucking Pete's tongue inside.

Nigel gave a little jerk when the bulb of the cock breached his sphincter muscle again, but he had been well opened before and the shaft slid right in. He arched his back and set his own passage wall muscles and his pelvis in motion as the deep stroking commenced. Pete, who usually drove it right in to savor his partner's gasp and the total dominance that this represented—and had fully intended doing that with Nigel for the second penetration—moved instead up into Nigel's passage slowly, enjoying the feel of his hard shaft rubbing over shimmering channel walls and the series of small gasps and deep moans and Nigel's whispered, "Yes, yes, deeper. Yes, just like that. Possess me. I am yours. Oh, God, I've never been taken like this before."

Taking it slow and easy and showing some regard for his partner was a totally new experience for Pete. He'd never fucked a man this slowly before, focusing on the progress of the hard cock up through the soft sponginess of the man's channel, opening him up, stretching his walls, exploring into new territory. This was something beyond animal sex. This was affection—maybe something deeper even than that, something that Pete could not, would not, voice. Nigel enhanced the experience by murmuring, whimpering, and sobbing of his own pain-pleasure wonderment of being penetrated, invaded, conquered, fully possessed by a mammoth, throbbing cock deeper, thicker, harder than any man in his limited experience had gone before.

Being with Nigel was something strange and new too—something special. Nigel had expressed it as "making love." Pete had never thought about it like this before, but now he did. Now, with Nigel, that's what he thought he was doing—making love. All this time trying to deaden himself to face his dangerous life as a fighter-bomber aviator in war—going up every other day to the prospect of never coming down in one piece again—and suddenly now he felt totally alive again.

They both gave a little jerk and then a long, harmonious sigh as Pete's ejaculate flowed, bathing Nigel's channel deep. Pete held the smaller man tight and both sighed a second time as Pete released more seed—and then again. "Oh god, oh god," Nigel whimpered.

Oh god indeed, Pete thought. He drew his cock out to the rim, but then took another long, deep slide. "Oh god! Oh shit! Oh FUCK!" Nigel cried out as he let his legs sink to the mattress and collapsed in complete surrender under Pete. Another withdrawal and long slide, the dancer's passage now completely open to and measured to this specific cock. "Oh, fuckin' shit, Peter!" and then a hold deep inside Nigel as his channel walls rippled over the hard shaft, slightly moving still in the lubrication of his cum. Not withdrawing, Nigel turned them both onto their sides, pulled the little dancer's body into his, buried his lips into the hollow of Nigel's throat, and gave a long sigh of satisfaction, continued his deep-probing movement as Nigel whimpered and moaned.

"Don't leave me; don't ever leave me," Nigel murmured.

"I have to return to Duxford tomorrow," Pete responded, with a low laugh.

"Never take your cock out of me again," Nigel whispered.

Pete went to sleep, his mind for the first time, thinking of flying out over the channel to deliver death and destruction on the continent and, for the first time, fear creeping into where he'd only allowed the thrill of the flight to live before. For the first time that he could remember, he had something—someone—to live for.

Light was streaming through the small room's one window, when Pete woke, Nigel's body spooned into his, Nigel's buttocks nestled into Pete's crotch, Pete inside him, hard, but Nigel's torso twisted around so that he was able to stroke Pete's nipples and run his fingers through the curls of Pete's black chest hair. He had a fascination with the swirling patterns of Pete's hairiness and couldn't get enough of running his fingers through the curls and licking them into a swirl around the man's nipples.

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