Travel forms E-Book

Le Fou

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 537

Beschreibung

Not everyone who has taken a chance on a chance acquaintance or a previously unknown travel companion reports travel experiences like the ones described here. The individual accounts of these special journeys make for spicy and hearty reading, but they will certainly not appeal to everyone's taste. But who knows beforehand what will really excite them when they try to imagine themselves in the shoes of these individual travelers and their chance acquaintances.

Leseprobe

Table of contents

Prologue

Angelino

Meeting

Papillon

Regulars' table

Weekend Trip

Shanghai 2000

Opportunity makes thieves

Turkish fruit

Substitution

Winged

Boat tour

Kalispera

Legion

The matrix

Piccolo morte

Sahara

Ski week

Blondie

Oriental roulette

Epilogue

Prologue

Perhaps the punch had been too strong after all, because suddenly the old man was telling various tales from his life and could no longer be stopped. But what listener really wanted that when he thought of his own youth and the lost opportunities, all the pleasure and all the missed experiences that he could have had if he hadn't been too provincial, too prudish, too cowardly, too unadventurous back then? So he reported:

The ICE train to Dortmund was ready to depart. Sitting in the Business Class compartment, judging by his appearance in a suit, was a 50-year-old manager. In front of him was the Frankfurter Allgemeine, at the seat next to him the Stern and the Kronenzeitung. Everything bore witness to the meticulous preparation for a long train journey.

Also on the table in front of him was the case of his reading glasses, apparently a purely functional model with a zero-eight-fifteen frame of the cheapest kind, probably even bought in a Turkish store for 5.99 euro. It revealed his penchant for design and expensive frills, as well as his disregard for his appearance and the first impression he made on others.

You could see his unruffled self-confidence, because in addition to the cheap goods on his nose, he was wearing a light gray tailored suit, which was obviously due to his non-standard, medium-sized, yet still rather slim figure, like a wool-white tailored shirt with the finest blue stripes for the same reason. He had his elegant tie hanging below the top open button, an obviously expensive silk model, presumably from Hermes, but again chosen with a certain nonchalance.

His Timberland shoes, on the other hand, shocked the observer, the rough brown-red outdoor model once worn by timber rafters in Connecticut and the surrounding area, as described in the company's advertising. They were also a dark shade of red and by no means polished, possibly not even shined.

On his right wrist he wore a special Swatch that resembled the standard model of the German station clock of the former Telenorma, Telefonbau & Normalzeit, in every detail, as a quick glance out of the window proved. As a mobile phone, he used a model that was probably four years old, which he immediately put back in the inside pocket of his jacket after he had briefly and succinctly dismissed the caller with:

"I'm on the train, unfortunately very poor reception. I'll let you know when I get to the hotel". With that, he hung up and turned to his newspaper.

As the ICE slowly started to move, the door opened and a young man asked if there was a free seat. "It's a free country," he heard in reply, accompanied by a quiet smile.

"Thanks." The boy put his rucksack in the luggage rack and sat down. The suburbs flitted past the window until, after the long tunnel, the train meandered through the Vienna Woods, which in the late morning, with its light-flooded, blooming forest meadows under budding trees, offered itself seductively for a visual stroll.

The train attendant made a brief appearance, offered drinks and magazines, checked the tickets and disappeared with a polite greeting. Sometime later, the boy followed him, presumably in the direction of the buffet car. When he returned, he smiled at the gentleman and politely told him: "You and I are alone in this carriage".

"As usual on Tuesday," came the reply. "Passengers won't be boarding until Linz".

"Kind of boring".

"Newspaper to read? FAZ or Krone"?

"Rather the star, thank you".

"If you read fast enough, I'd love to. I need another hour or so for the two sheets, then I'd like to have the star back.

"All right. But why don't we have a little chat? Where are you going?

"As far as Düsseldorf, then west".

"Towards the sunset, into the Wild West," smiled the younger man, "my name's Ian".

"Scottish name? Dual nationality"?

"Tunisia and Germany, the grandparents, then Scotland the mother and the father from Belgium - a patchwork of nationalities like a quilt".

"Ian, which namesake do you like better: Janus, the two-headed one who sees into the future and the past at the same time, the dichotomy personified, or John, with the Hebrew meaning, the Lord has shown mercy? I like the Roman version better, God of the beginning and the end. Am I boring you already"?

"What makes you think that, I didn't even know about Johannes".

"Your attitude, your behavior and your attempts to disguise what you are up to".

"What do you mean?

"The entire carriage is empty. You went through to the end first, thought about it for a moment and then came in here as if by chance. Why?

"I thought it would be more fun to have a travel companion than to sit alone in a compartment gaming or dozing on my cell phone."

"Did I give the impression that this would bother me"? The scrutinizing look said a lot.

"No, not really".

"Why then, what attracted you to come in here?"

"I find you kind of interesting".

"I don't think so. If you don't have a better excuse, then don't tell this story. What was the real reason, tell me"!

"I don't know."

"Yes, I do. I know it, you know it and we both know exactly why a guy about 30 years younger is approaching me. You want to gain experience, make use of it and tap into it wherever and whenever possible.

"Somehow I do".

"Well, you see. What kind of experience do you lack?

"I'm studying electrical engineering. Perhaps you know a lot about that"?

"Rubbish with sauce. You are looking for older people because you want to find out something that is close to your heart. But don't you dare say it. Straight talk, my boy, now"!

"What do you mean by that? I don't understand"!

"Yes, you do, you certainly do. You're trying to find out whether an older guy wants to and can make clear to you what you've been looking for and wanting to experience for a long time, but haven't dared to ask for. Are you looking for enlightenment about yourself?

"But..."

"You'll only find them if you get involved in the whole package. Not just to provoke, with the vague chance of becoming a little smarter".

"What should I want to know about myself"?

The older man looked at the boy with a smile in the corner of his eye, who couldn't bear the piercing gaze for long and looked away, embarrassed. "I wonder if it could and would be me," the words came very quietly from the manager's lips who added. "I was baptized Hartmut, therefore nomen est omen."

"What do you mean"?

"Hard, strong, firm and determined, tough and with the courage to do what he has set out to do. To offer you the chance to decide. Either you move to another compartment now, or you find what you may not have unconsciously been looking for in this form, believe me"!

"I don't want to go".

"Your choice. It's my rules from now on. That of a gentleman to a cheeky lad. Go or drop your pants, like all cheeky boys, because they need education".

"Who do you think you are"?

"The guy who's kicking your ass, little boy, as you seem to need it. Otherwise you would have disappeared long ago with your rucksack, into the next compartment and insulted me angrily".

"Why should I do that"?

"Because you want to stretch your ass towards me, feel my hand on your bare skin, you're curious about that like nothing else. Do I have what it takes to spank you, to bend you over and teach you who will be the ruler of your ass from now on?

"Are you out of your mind"?

"Drop your pants, boy"! He slowly pulled the belt out of his trousers, twirled it around a little by the buckle and smiled grimly as he pointed to the seat opposite: "Every cheeky boy's ass gets a real good tug. Kneel up there and show me your bottom. So come on, out with you or down with your pants"!

The eye contact lasted forever until curiosity won the day, the hesitant boy's fingers fiddled with the buckle until he had it open like the zipper. The pants sank theatrically to the floor.

"The shorts, get rid of them. I want your bare ass"!

"You'll have to do that yourself"! The cheeky reply was provocative. The boy turned on his side and, as instructed, knelt on the slightly pulled-out reclining seat, somehow expectant, it seemed, but hesitant about the unexpected that might be in store for him.

Without clapping loudly, because of the underpants, the strap pulled a wide strip across his ass, twice, three times, until he paused. "I've got time and desire; the fun doesn't really start until your pants are down. Drop your pants or you'll regret it." The boys' provocative grin ended with two strokes, which immediately made his ass dance. A few moments later, the fabric slipped down to the back of his knees, revealing his now slightly reddened buttocks, hairless and slightly quivering.

Rosy-eyed, they willingly stretched out towards the old man. "Bottoms up, youngster," he muttered and pulled out. The belt hissed, ending any further debate. Regularly, with long pauses in between, the manager tanned the cheeky lad's fur, putting welt after welt that took their toll and forced the lad's increasing respect.

"La danse de la croupe d'une poupée. C'est la mienne, mon cherie," smiled the old man. He gave him a little pause, opened the door, looked to both sides and then closed the curtains. "We want to remain undisturbed," he grinned, before picking up his belt again. "Cheer up, boy, you'll learn to obey".

The session lasted for minutes, with long pauses in which the deep red, striated ass cheeks continued to dance. "Turn around," he then ordered. Ian obeyed, his red head in front of the educator's hips. "Play me the song of sweet death, flautist!" The hands opened the fly of his pants, his cock sticking out. A considerable hard-on pushed itself between the boy's lips.

With a quick grab to the back of his head, the manager ended his hesitation and doubts and took his mouth. He now stood in front of the boy and ordered: "You swallow everything you are given, then you lick me clean, got it"!

The boy sucked while the belt continued to fall vertically onto his ass cheeks. It also fell between his thighs, where it paid a brief visit to his rosette. The belt hissed and left no doubt as to who had now become the master of the house. "Turn around," he ordered again, put his cock in place and conquered the boy with a short, quick jerk.

The gate surrendered willingly when the master of the house applied the appropriate key and demanded entry. Shortly after St. Valentine's, the first battle was fought. Ian only now really realized what this meant for him. He had been chosen as the bride and the game would not end on the train. He had been allowed to gain rail-high instead of mile-high experience. Düsseldorf would become his personal key location, where not only the lock pick would leave its indelible mark.

The time between Linz and ‘D-Dorf’, as the manager called it, passed almost too quickly for the lad on horseback. "It starts in Linz," the old man quoted an old saying, before making it clear to the lad that he would be his companion for three days. There they immediately took a hotel room at the station, where the senior proved to the junior why Düsseldorf was called that, because he shaped his goofball there for the next few days, dominated him and rode him appropriately.

With hot welts on his ass and a still quivering rosette, he led his new boy into the restaurant and ordered him to sit still. Dinner was followed by the bridal night, in which what might once have been a wet dream became reality. The senior returned to Vienna with his hand-tame companion in his virtual luggage, completely soothed and highly satisfied.

He had mercilessly driven out any unruliness in the boy, immortalized himself in and on him and signed a special relationship contract, the signature of which would have to be renewed regularly, according to which the partner had to be stamped and sealed anew and freshly each time, whose nickname became Dominik.

Angelino

This is what the old man called the first experience, which involved a tiny but momentous journey. The blonde angel had always been fascinated by big machines. The roaring engines on the country road as the horde of bikers passed by made him tremble, his backside shake and involuntarily forced him to hold his breath. Mustafa means chosen in Arabic, and that's how he felt from his youth onwards, chosen to roar through the countryside on a motorcycle, like the Hells Angels he admired in US films.

He turned 22 before his wish was to be fulfilled, for the most part at least. He had steeled his youthful, athletic figure in several disciplines, although his appearance still seemed angelic and he himself was rarely considered to be over 16. His meagre scholarship did not allow for much luxury, but he had invested the few German marks he had saved in a dark red leather jacket with skin-tight trousers, under which he wore matching boots as a recreational rocker at the weekend.

Dressed like this, he strolled along the street and was finally lounging by the village fountain when he heard the familiar humming sound, which rose to the expected roar. This time, however, the bikers stopped their ride unexpectedly and rested, took a cool drink from the clear water and looked around. The leader's dark-haired adlatus, a medium-sized, sturdy figure, turned to him and whispered briefly, pointing at Mustafa, who didn't notice, his curious eyes fixed on the engines and the bikes.

"What's your name? Do you want a ride?" The gang leader's voice knocked Mustafa's socks off.

"Musch..., Mustafa," he stuttered, completely torn from his thoughts. "Yes, yes, I'd love to".

"That means the Chosen One, right? Well, then I guess that fits," grinned the nobleman, pointing to the leader who had addressed him. "My name is Fatih, the Conqueror, and he calls himself Aslan, the Lion. It's telling how our fathers chose our names. Come on, swing your hooves and get on, let's go for a ride"? He proudly pointed to his Honda XBR 500, a road bike in metallic burgundy to match the outfit of the curious youngster, and handed him a helmet.

In front of him, the Lion mounted his blue FZS1000 Fazer, a sports touring bike in deep purplish blue metallic, as the factory calls this color, and set off. They both sped through the countryside at lightning speed, leaning into the bends so that Mustafa could clearly feel every bump in the road surface in the back of his cheeks, for around 15 km in one long lap, before the Yamaha suddenly turned off into a narrow dirt track towards the forest and came to a leisurely stop in a clearing in front of a small pond.

They both mounted their bikes and left them behind, turned to the mini-lake and quickly dropped their helmets, gloves and biker-boots as well as the leather overalls before diving into the crystal clear water to wash off the sweat and cool off. Mustafa followed hesitantly, as he didn't want to embarrass himself. The two of them joked and laughed in a language that was foreign to him, scrambling to the other bank and back, before the adjutant was the first to enter the meadow and take a quick look around the edge of the forest.

There he spread out the pillion rider's dark red leather jacket. In the meantime, the leader had taken a closer look at the blond angel and also found him quite suitable. He led him to his colleague, who translated his words for him: "Fatih doesn't have a pillion yet. Angelino, Angelino, he likes you and you can take his place. But he also has to be a conqueror, which we will do right now, because our tour today will last another two or three hours until he brings you back.

He grabbed the confused little angel by the upper arms, turned him and pulled him on his stomach over the tree stump on which his leather jacket lay spread out. Fatih pulled the wide dark brown belt with the shiny brass-colored belt buckle out of his blond-haired Angelino's trousers, looked closely at the six-petal flower shape with the edelweiss in the middle and mumbled something incomprehensible about the Gothic ornament. Fatih simply translated it for him: "In addition to the term for a rather revealing brat, buckle means the genitals of a bitch in hunter's language. The previously stuttered nickname Mush is more suitable as a nickname for a biker's pillion, reminding of the German word ‘Muschi’ for a female cat as well as for cunt.

"That fits well, because you first introduced yourself with your alias Mush, abbreviated for as still currently valid: My inexperienced pillion, from which I will now begin to form it: My submissive cock girl, after I have trained you to be one. Don't worry, only you and I will know the true meaning of "pussy"; ‘musch’ means "man" in Bulgarian.

While the lion continued to hold his hands, his adjutant began to quickly and extensively groom the fair-skinned blond ass. The scene became far more erotic as the lion's manhood developed, his erection pushed against his chosen one's lips and demanded entry. He only realized that Mustafa was producing a hard-on himself when the belt paused briefly and fingers closed around it, with Fatih nodding to his boss that the pillion was ready for his first sperm donation. He stepped up his strokes and explained that a mounted partner also had to spoil her partners musically, which he was now allowed to practice. The flute should be carefully juiced, not a drop should be lost otherwise it would be time to increase the intensity of the strokes.

Mustafa understood and obeyed, still somewhat reluctantly. Soon afterwards, the remains of the generous donation dripped over his lips and he was allowed to lick the tight cock clean before the lion got back on his bike and drove off.

His hands had been handed over to the adjutant, who continued to hold them, intending to pay tribute to his name and the promise it contained. Fatih became the aforementioned conqueror of his pillion, taking her in the proffered doggy position. Cautiously at first and later to the hilt, he pushed his mighty boner into his now softly moaning buckle, which, the usual dimensions of the lion before in her vague imagination, could not at first explain what had penetrated her virginal rosette as powerfully as a Swiss halberd.

Fatih gave his new sissy-boy time to get used to these dimensions and didn't move. It took minutes before the newly deflowered bride stirred and moved slightly against her fiancé. They both rocked back and forth a little at first until a slight thrusting movement slowly crystallized between their bodies. It became faster, more violent and finally Blondie Mustafa gasped and moaned his now highly passionate lust loudly into the forest.

The conqueror congratulated himself on his idea of getting this pillion with his boss, after months of all the women who were initially interested being put off by the rather unusual size of his lance. The lad would love to play his pillion, as he had seen his blue-green eyes light up at the sight of the machines. Even on the pillion seat, he had snuggled up to his back as a matter of course and not disturbed the flowing movements of the machine. Now he would feel every single pebble on the road in his sensitively reddened buttocks and realize that he could become a part of the whole.

The first load virtually flooded him, the semen lubricating the dilated love canal. The second time, Fatih waited for his bride, let her come and exploded before he finally celebrated his victory and pushed the conquered virgin into seventh heaven. Then he dragged Mustafa to the pond and they both washed the traces of their lust from their bodies. The conqueror briefly tested his right to rule, waving to the belt and the tree stump. The boy obeyed immediately, willingly offering him his ass.

He let him suck on his cock while he gave his red-striped bottom the final glow, his reddened globes dancing to the beat of the brisk strap. He pushed the once again erect stallion's cock into his back door and was welcomed. The rosette milked him heartily and the sissy boy became his willing boy toy as planned. The day had been a truly incisive experience for both of them and their relationship was to last a long time.

Back with the horde, which they met again in the next but one nest in a country inn, Mustafa was welcomed. As the adjutant's companion and knowing his mighty member, the blonde was regarded with pity. Bets were placed as to whether she would turn up the following weekend, as all of Fatih's other women had previously disappeared without greeting.

The lion had made the biggest bet and wanted to see it confirmed. He had gambled that the bride's education would be sufficiently advanced for Miss Blondie to suck them both off at the same time. He asked his aide and his pillion to take a few steps away from everyone. They turned their backs to them and Fatih waved his finger briefly. Obediently, Mustafa opened both of their pants, knelt down and played both flutes as requested.

The roaring applause was for the conqueror when they both rejoined the horde after a while. Mustafa was welcomed with strong pats on his leather-clad backside and drunk to him. Now he was off-limits to everyone as long as the pair felt united on the bike. He could already see a few people interested in succeeding him, so he wouldn't have to complain about a lack of applicants. But he suspected that this mighty cock would not be found in anyone else, which gave him the immense advantage that Fatih would never be aware of it.

A week later, they were a truly matched pair. The simmering pot had found its lid and his firm buttocks were regularly given the careful grooming that a true female needs to remain obedient. The leather boy loved his new role, because he had actually become the mascot of the horde and no outsider had any idea of his passionate lust and all the fun he had with the foreign language love games in bed, because he looked so innocent that they had christened him Angelino.

Meeting

Horst was a middle-distance runner in the junior class and was doing quite well athletically, but in his last year as a junior. The simple question then arose as to whether he could also succeed in the general class with his performance. Only a few athletes make this step, because instead of only about 3, more than 14 age groups are represented and especially in the longer running distances, the kilometers eaten up so far in life count pretty much the most, unless you were born in East Africa and thus genetically favored, as on the other hand also the sprinters, whose top athletes consist almost exclusively of colored people with the genetic origin from the West African area.

The last competition had taken place in Germany, a kind of international competition at university level. Due to the strain on the competition facilities, one of the showers had broken down, so that only those who were not too shy in front of the opposite sex were able to enjoy themselves, which primarily disadvantaged those ladies who were sometimes too prudish or did not want to show themselves naked to a stranger or even a foreigner.

Most of the experienced female athletes didn't give a damn about this, as normally only highly successful athletes take part at this performance level, who have a good chance with both men and women and who already know from their own experience what the flowers and bees are all about. Only a few ladies showered in a swimsuit or bikini. You could almost say that it was better for them or that the red aunt was visiting.

After all, the 18 to 25-year-olds were usually pretty uninteresting for the ladies of the same age, as an age difference of 3 to 5 years is the average in Germany's marriages. If these lads needed to get a closer look, they should, there's more to see on any nudist beach. The challenge of seeing a student naked is more easily satisfied in any dormitory sauna, with the same problem of carrying signs of too much interest visibly and measurably.

Horst was busy wiping the sweat from his body and took little notice of everyone else, with the exception of one sprinter whose perfect physique he had already secretly admired when she won the race.

The sports facilities in Germany are generously equipped even in smaller towns and the female athletes are increasingly prettier, as there are many more of them, as he had to admit in fairness. However, their performances also stand out from the average in other countries, which is probably due to the history of the GDR on the one hand and the state's support for sport on the other.

He himself had done well in the competition with third place and close to his best time of the year and was highly satisfied with the day. He felt great and therefore confident. Nevertheless, he remained too shy to approach the graceful woman, whose almost equal age meant that he would have absolutely no chance. So he followed her shower from the corner of his eye and enjoyed the visual pleasure of seeing such a gorgeous girl at close range. He followed her bottom as she went into the dressing room and realized that no one and no one else was looking anywhere else, everyone and everyone with an easily interpretable expression on their face.

"I suppose you like her a lot"? The question from the corner to his left surprised the boy.

"Of course. She has an absolutely gorgeous build and on top of that, she won her race beforehand in an outstanding manner. A top bride, I would say".

"She's my sister".

"Too bad for you, on the one hand, but on the other hand you are to be envied".

"Why?"

"Well, boys often have an equally pretty sister and that makes it easier for many an approach to get to know her. Without risk, arranged by the sister, who recognizes any lack of opportunity in advance and saves her brother a lot of pointless effort".

"How do you know if that could ever work"?

"Because my brother was set up like that".

"Okay, an insider. Do you like my sister"?

"She is beautiful, a fantastic sportswoman, probably the target of all males from 12 to 100 in the entire city and the surrounding area, as well as presumably all female sex partners whose interest does not exclude this version of a relationship".

"Captured. But she became curious because you had previously beaten up one of her admirers, which particularly annoyed him. She wants to get rid of him for good because he's really getting on her nerves and she's too clever to make that clear to him. Besides, you're a foreigner here and therefore particularly suitable, because you'll be history in two days. If you play along, I'll introduce her to you.

"This question is similar to: 'Do you want a lottery ticket, Horst?

"Peter, see you soon".

Horst was already dressed in his club tracksuit in the checkroom, ready for the award ceremony. From there, they walked back to the stadium together and joined the Peters club, who had set up camp with a tent outside the finishing curve. The other athletes watched them curiously. The beauty's brother seemed to have a good relationship with all of them, but Horst couldn't remember which discipline he had competed in.

Everyone smiled at him, like the sister in question, who had previously been rummaging around in her sports bag for something and now looked up when her brother spoke to her: "Daniela, this is Horst. He's studying in Vienna. We just met in the shower, when he was ogling you from afar.

"Why is that?" Her eyes looked curious and suspicious.

"Because you, may I say you? Because you're not necessarily a figure to look away from and you won impressively in the 100 meters beforehand".

"What was more important to you"?

"You may be exceptionally pretty, but hardly any model with a coat-hook figure can run really well, and certainly none as fast as you".

Peter remembered: "Look at him, old Viennese school, means a real charmer who embellishes his sometimes spicy compliments with convoluted statements. He beat Rainer by dozens of meters".

She smiled mischievously: "First of all, thank you. Every girl likes to hear compliments like that and yes, I can't get rid of Punch as an admirer and I don't want to offend him with a direct confrontation", to which her two friends who had joined her nodded in agreement, while they eyed the Austrian critically but not unimpressed.

"I'll be honest," the athlete began: "If you can help me get rid of this mongoose for good and discourage him, I'll be extremely grateful. But everything must remain a game; I don't want to offend you, but you are far too young for me.

"I'm leaving by train tomorrow afternoon as I don't want to go to Vienna with the club but to visit my parents. Of course I'm going to play along because, to be honest, I'm already benefiting a lot from it, as my club colleagues over there are biting their noses because they see me chatting to you. However, I still need accommodation for the night because our hotel is far too expensive and I don't need a double room on my own. Do you know of a cheap guesthouse in the area?"

"No problem," Peter interjected, "My roommate is out of town this weekend. You're welcome to stay with me. That gives us the freedom to plan the evening to help Daniela.

"It's a shame you're leaving so soon," interjected the little brunette, who had introduced herself as Rita.

"She likes wiry boys," continued Sandra, the somewhat plump blonde who was the second of the three female musketeers at the meeting.

"But especially those who are on the ball," added the interviewee, making this clear.

"Let's all go for a meal together after the award ceremonies, it's only for the men," Peter suggested, "We have this habit at meetings when they take place at home.

"I just have to let my club know that I'm leaving".

"Wait!" Daniela smiled: "I'll do something for you now, but don't take it seriously, okay"! She leaned against Horst and kissed him for quite a long time and so extensively that there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she liked him. With sparkling eyes and a radiant, mischievous smile, she waved him away with: "It may not help you with your girls, but it certainly won't hurt you"!

He almost stumbled as he tried to find his way, as his coach looked on in total amazement. He stayed with his team for the award ceremony, then said goodbye to his club colleagues and gave no information about the young lady, as he was a gentleman. The mouths of his peers were still open as he walked away.

Daniela grinned at him, the mischievous laugh suiting her very well, as she pointed out: "The two dark-haired girls in the red skirt also seem to want to get to know you better, if that should ever interest you", to which the blonde interjected: "Like the little blonde in the green tracksuit. You seem to attract quite a few people.

The brunette smiled at him and said: "It's a shame that you're leaving tomorrow and I'm not coming to Vienna.

"A young man with considerable potential," grinned Daniela, "that fits very well. Come on, let's go, the pizza is waiting"!

Later, Horst found himself in Peter's room in the student house, which he looked at enviously and compared in his mind with his own. The run-down dump in Vienna versus a palace would be a fitting comparison for his Kate with a salon like this. Bright, modern and friendly. The university buildings were laid out in a kind of campus, close to the district town, a de facto paradise had been created, with sports facilities and everything that goes with the idea of modern studying.

They hung their sweaty sports gear on the clothes horse on the loggia, which could be accessed from the hallway and belonged to several rooms. They stayed in their tracksuits, as agreed, and met the girls in the lobby. From there, they strolled towards the Pizzeria Cardinale, a restaurant nearby that offered a non-smoking room.

There they met other athletes from the university, as it was a popular meeting place. Horst recognized the group by their familiar light blue club suits, although some of them had already changed into the international university uniform: T-shirt and jeans. He noticed that well-trained girls had changed into summer dresses and were showing a lot of skin. Perfume, that messenger substance for bees and bugs, was in the air, recognizable even in this absolute confusion of smells between kitchen fragrances, deodorants and perfumes.

"The Churchis, our only competition with the boys," Daniela explained, pointing to another group. "They're primarily fashion-dependent, vain, bitchy, simply following the traditional cliché of femininity, and they're beaten with superficiality and considerable arrogance. A chick like this is actually the female pedant to a macho man".

"Cloth horses" is what the British call such shag-wearing wannabe models, as well as real mannequins, clothes hooks by my definition, nicknamed "Hunger hooks".

The sportswomen shrieked with laughter. "Funnily enough, their attitude towards desirable boys is strictly geared towards successful athletes, while their motto is: No Sports. As Winston the Churchill put it, they owe their alias here to him. They are surprised that their chances of a longer relationship with their targets usually end after a one-night stand.

"The lads bet on who's going to get laid and by when, because most of them don't want a girlfriend who lives on mineral water and salad and puts them off hearty food and exercise. Their running joke is that they sometimes like to donate protein for the hungry chicks, but they still don't know that". The plump blonde grinned meaningfully at Horst.

The brunette interjected: "Although I'm not as good as the others, they don't know what training means, they can't understand why someone spends 2 or 3 hours a day alongside their studies, for example, eating up kilometers or doing gymnastics and weight training instead of getting drunk at the so-called parties and playing Miss Cool".

"Here in Vienna, the distribution is more favorable for them," Horst explained, "the pretty girls hardly do any sport either and that's why there's the same dilemma, except that many talented boys stop playing competitive sport from the age of 20 because otherwise the relationship will break up."

"Own experience"?

"Of course. My main problem is also," he smiled at Rita, "that my demonstrable fans are mostly shot-putters or discus throwers, all weigh over 70 kilos, and my prey scheme ends at around 60, based on girls who match my size.

"Then I would also have a real chance," Sandra flirted with him.

"Everyone," Horst assured her, "you should travel to Vienna for a while. Otherwise I'd probably get into Daniela's pants and upset Rita, because my role is to play cock of the walk and get engaged to Peter's sister".

She leaned towards him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She laughed brightly at his involuntary gesture with her fingers: "I don't wear lipstick, only lip gloss for chapped skin after a competition. You stay clean with me".

"Hopefully," he smiled and then grinned brightly at her, "Another secret? How do you tell what makes a girl tick?"

"Tell me!" He had three interested-looking women in front of him, along with Peter.

"You simply throw the young lady into the water, preferably at the lake or swimming pool, before she has changed her clothes. Firstly, the clothes stick to her body and you know how she is really built without all the aids to be largely safe from unpleasant surprises, secondly, everything blurs a little that is artificial and color and you see her without make-up or at least whether and how much she is plastered.

"At this age, that would be an unparalleled warning signal, which can be so revealing, because at these adolescent ages, water and shower gel are completely sufficient according to the boys."

Rita laughed out loud and added: "At least that's what it looks like when the young lady masters her craft.

"Thirdly, you can feel how seriously she takes this and that by her resistance and you can see from her reaction what makes her tick when she snaps. If she hisses at you and fights with you, she likes you. Otherwise, it's pretty certain that any further effort will be pointless.

"Oh, a real womanizer," the three of them shouted, while Peter looked at him from the side with interest.

"Has that ever worked before?" Sandra was genuinely curious.

"Of course not! But I was quick enough each time that she and her friends didn't catch me when I ran off in fright. That's how my talent was discovered, when a very nimble girl ran a long way behind me. Horst lied brazenly, knowing that no one would believe him anyway.

"You're running away from women"? Daniela leaned forward so that Horst had to admire the bursting T-shirt before his eyes.

"Yes, as Fritz, the Schiller, already knew what was required when the Holden was obsessed with cleaning:

It is dangerous to wake the lion,

The tiger's tooth is pernicious,

But the most terrible of horrors,

Is a bride in her scrubbing madness!

In a marriage, this horror continues in much the same way:

Everyone is running, saving, fleeing, the night is clear as day,

Behind Horst, with the club, Dani runs with howling".

At first he was met with silence and somewhat suspicious looks, then Peter joined in with a grin: "Yes, our philippic about an engagement ends with: Daniela the club woman. Women turn into hyenas when it comes to cleaning. But who cleans behind a bell founder? That's why our version was very short:

Hole in the ground, bronze in.

Bell ready - bim, bim, bim".

Horst added to the satire: "In Russia, the prisoners of war once rhymed appropriately:

Hole in the ground, bronze in.

Sabotage - no bim, bim, bim".

He had the laughs on his side, or so he thought, until Rita asked him cheekily: "More precisely please! Bell or clapper broken?"

Then it was his turn to stare at her, the girl was really flaxen! He looked her in the eye for a long time and then quoted in the very best frontal teaching style: "Yes, in the old days, chaste women worked diligently as housewives; they also spun flax: the prettiest girl was chosen to be the rough chick back then".

"No excesses in moral relations next to your fiancée", Peter reprimanded and added: "You'll be tearing your hair out over this bride, that's for sure"!

All the lads in the restaurant were staring at their table because they were fooling around so boisterously and the cheerful girls were shouting at the top of their voices, which the troupe of chicks took note of with pique.

"If I catch you," Daniela looked at both Rita and him with wide eyes, shouting loudly on purpose, "if I catch you, you'll be set for the night"!

"Nietzsche didn't do her any good," Rita yelled back: "She thinks all women have the same right over men as they imagine. That's why it's not a club in her hand and his howling becomes honest because she's wielding a whip. That's why he's running a new record tonight".

Now everyone was having fun at Horst's expense. But he gave it back with interest: "Yes, old Fritz, he wrote it more brilliantly:

So test he who bind himself forever,

Whether the heart finds its way to the heart!

The regret is long, the madness is short,

When a fart escapes the bride at night".

This time it was mainly the boys who roared, as it was already very boisterous, which is why he gave in: "I don't know what would be smarter," and continued with a quick glance at Daniela: "Getting caught or running away for all I'm worth."

"It's not a question of reason", Sandra interjected: "It doesn't work with women in a rage".

"Why run," Horst heard and knew at the same moment that this mentally handicapped called one, who was to be put down, must be the questioner and the one Daniela detested so much.

"Because otherwise I won't be able to train for a day. Once she's let go, she can't get enough of getting me down and winning again and again." He therefore added.

"Wow, Dani, you're so bad with young men from the south," Sandra and Rita screeched in a duet, "now we finally know why you like foreigners so much"!

"Whoever puts themselves in danger will die or be killed. It is and remains the role of the spider, but one that carefully weaves its web, can wait persistently and chooses with relish who it eats the morning after the bridal night. You don't want to spoil your appetite and eat second-rate food," she replied succinctly.

"You see," Horst turned melodramatically to the girl duo from before: "I've arrived by chance from Vienna and will fall victim to a flesh-devouring beast if I'm not very careful. A real Venus trap. Don't you have any suitable prey for this beast?

"No, mostly just junk food eaters who can't run fast enough," Daniela replied: "But they don't appeal to a desirable spider. What was already desirable to the ancient Aztecs still is: muscular thighs and the conquered heart of a brave warrior offer the most desirable parts at the slaughter".

"Ergo, I'm right," Horst judged: "With the club, I mean. Just imagine it pictorially, even vividly in real life: Daniela, with a man's club in her hand, a partially gnawed thigh in her grasp, rushing after me with flashing eyes, dripping with sweat and panting, as an illustration of true love and burning jealousy at the same time".

Now the applause was his. Somehow he was pleased that she was staring at him, slightly flushed, with a strange look that now irritated him. There was something new there. "I think we've understood," Peter intervened: "There's something wild about our guest from the deep gorges of the Balkans that apparently makes some women curious. To protect my sister, I'll have to sit between the two of them before she starts gnawing on him in public.

No sooner said than done. Horst's new neighbor sat opposite Sandra and Rita, so his Daniela had disappeared from Mongo's field of vision and grinned cheerfully at her brother: "Thank you, now I feel much more at home. This boy from Vienna obviously has the charm that precedes this cosmopolitan city and its inhabitants.

"Tyrolean, not Viennese," he quickly corrected, "experienced women know the difference: We simply deliver what the Italians promise by arias singing. That's why it's a destination for Germans looking for a rest stop on the transit roads to work up an appetite beforehand and then, if they've searched in vain on the Adriatic, they can find l'elisir d'amore in lederhosen and sometimes return to their homeland with l'amour fou in their hearts".

The banter with words continued incessantly until the food was served. The troop of chicks fell silent with bread envy, sitting in front of their salads, as the girls dug into their fully loaded plates of pizzas or spaghetti and gleefully cracked the cheese crusts. When the first people left around nine o'clock, the place emptied out pretty quickly. The inhospitable admirer had left early when he finally realized that even his own friends had dismissed him from the race.

The goal had obviously been achieved and Daniela kissed Horst in front of everyone in the restaurant with: "Why Italy, when the good is so close? On the other side, Rita had joined in with: "Do you think it's true what they say about the wild mountain people?

"What?" Daniela played along, looking innocent and mischievous.

"That they can keep going like a Duracell bunny when everyone else has stopped running".

"No comment, I declare myself biased," Host concluded this last public scene, thoroughly enjoying the crude fun in the dark-haired woman's words.

Everyone said their goodbyes in the deserted lobby of the home, as the girls had an excursion planned for the following day, which was due to start early in the morning. So they fooled around for a while until it was time to end the day. They slowly dispersed in all directions and headed for their apartments. Daniela kissed Horst goodbye once more, but asked mischievously, playing on naïve curiosity: "You would really run away from me?

"Crawling away with your last ounce of strength would probably be the more illustrative approach and far more appropriate for a morning farewell. Besides, we say: if you've done well, you’ll get breakfast," Horst countered and his reply was accompanied by the three young ladies laughing uproariously.

"Too bad you have to leave already," the trio mourned and invited him to drop by if he ever came to these parts again or if a trip happened to take him near this town. With that, they disappeared to their floors of the home.

Peter smiled: "Parting hurts".

"It wouldn't be so bad for me if a vagina hurt," Horst grinned back suggestively, "thanks for this evening. The three of them are great, I had a great time".

"Thank you for Daniela and ditching her mongoose. I'm going to give you a massage in return, because you've hardly been able to run out enough and your muscles need stretching. My training is almost finished, so don't be afraid of that. You never know what your sports studies will ultimately lead to. This second track allows me to continue my hobbies, either as a coach or gym teacher or as an active massage therapist.

The same applies to my javelin chances. You suffer a serious injury, perhaps to your arm or elbow, and everything goes out the window at the same time. My personal performance horizon is still written in the stars, but everyone needs a massage and if you're really good at it, you won't have any patient problems. And you always get paid because they need you and usually in black, cash on paw, the real-life BAT pay scale, not that of IG Metall, our trade union.

"An irresistible offer," Horst grinned. He knew the prices for this service all too well, as he had to pay for everything himself when he occasionally needed help with tense muscles. But there was another problem, namely finding a masseur who was really good and didn't just want to earn money by stroking muscles. Sports massage is special and the two or three experts he had met so far usually worked for one of the national teams.

The two of them entered Peter's room, where he laid out a kind of futon on the floor - a Reiki mat, as he explained. He did not have a foldable massage table, so he had seen this solution at a colleague's who offered a Reiki massage and found it useful.

Furthermore, a table would be an indisputable indication that he wanted to earn money with it illegally and without a valid license, which could lead to criminal tax proceedings. This in addition to all the questions about why he didn't want to serve everyone at a better price.

I declared this to be my camping base, an emergency guest bed for occasional overnight stays by fellow students, and everyone swallowed it.

Horst lay on his back, undressed as usual, and waited with double anticipation. Only when the incipient pain dissipated after Peter had expertly gripped his calf muscles did he attest to his professionalism and leave himself to his expert fingers.

After his calves and thighs, his shoulders were the most tense, which must have been due to the student's intensive work on his laptop, as hardly anyone that age owns or uses ergonomic furniture. After the chest muscles had also received their treatment, Horst really relaxed completely and let himself drift into the flow that anyone who has ever dozed off and started dreaming during a massage session knows.

"Turn around", the command came from somewhere far away, but Horst turned involuntarily and obediently in his deeply relaxed position. This time Peter started from the shoulders, knelt in front of Horst and loosened the still somewhat cramped back muscles before changing sides and kneeling by the toes, which he began to knead and continued on the calves. The hearty grip on his thighs and buttocks loosened the last of the tension, after which he moved on to his lower back and worked his way back to his shoulders.

"Of course it's much easier with you, because normally I have full-fat guys who have hardly any intact muscles due to all the fatty tissue, no trace of sport and complain to excess that they don't feel any relief afterwards after refusing the massage strokes beforehand".

During his speech, Peter had prepared the last session and now had the back itself on the spine as the final piece of work ahead of him.

With both thumbs on the spine, starting at the base of the thighs up to the shoulders, Peter massaged the back muscles on the spine with powerful strokes, from bottom to top, kneeling behind the runner and using all his strength. The oiled body squirmed with pleasure under the expert hands, which finally broke the remaining tension and kneaded the supple muscles.

The thumbs stroked each time over the inner thighs, over the furrow of the buttocks to the middle of the waist and thus curved the buttocks enticingly towards the masseur, whose now erect member illustrated Peter's erotic interest in his patient without his knowledge.

The next time he took his hands back, he stroked the sides of Horst's chest, incorporating these muscles with the nipples into the flowing movement.

"What you said Daniela is probably true, about crawling away," he whispered into the runner's ear. With the next stroking movement, his thumbs and index fingers lay on the nipples, which he took between them, whereupon Horst felt a slight pain and reacted by wincing until he suddenly cried out loudly, because Peter had squeezed so hard that both areas emitted a pain signal that shot through his entire body. He was surprised himself, because most men aren't that sensitive there.

Horst squirmed under the grip, trying to escape when he realized that it had all been a distraction. The masseur's firm hard-on had drilled into his bottom and conquered his rosette. Fixed at three strategic points, each of which was currently extremely sensitive, he immediately stopped resisting, refraining from squirming and struggling as the pain in his ass instantly subsided.

"But you won't crawl away just yet, because my club has caught you," he heard Peter whisper. "Shh, don't move," his conqueror warned him, advice he quickly followed. Minutes later, Horst realized that his bottom had become accustomed to it and little more than a strange feeling remained where a bulging cock had found a new home.

Especially when he started to move, while the fingers left the nipples and intertwined with his own, which were now both lying on the pillow above his head, fixing the position. The masseur with his spread thighs lay above him, his hard-on fully engulfed in the guy, who lay on his stomach, his arms stretched forward, with the guy inside him, just waiting to take him as his wife in this position.

He felt the power of the spear thrower in his grip as well as in his thighs, his knees cushioning the incipient movements and gently but steadily driving the tail carefully and cautiously into the Viennese like a connecting rod shaft.

The rosette had become accustomed to the intruder and had absorbed the entirety of the piston. With every movement, the certainty increased that nothing else would save him from this situation apart from crawling away, which is why he tried. The result was that he drove the cock deeper and deeper inside him until it was fully inserted and he now felt what it meant to be taken by a guy whose rough pubic hair he could feel against his buttocks and whose testicles also occasionally touched him during the piston stroke.

"You agreed to the massage," Peter whispered in his right ear, "so beware: these walls here are paper-thin," he continued, warning him de facto and he realized that the club he had been given understood its work. "My spear has been looking forward to you and your extraordinarily pretty ass all evening, which has obviously not been explored often enough, if at all. Ever since I watched you, there in the shower room, casting lustful glances at Daniela, I knew that it would be all mine this night.

I got to you through her and you will admit that you had a lot of fun, which will now be continued in a different way, but will please you no less, if you let me. We will have a lot of fun together until you crawl away in the morning and return home as my Viennese Mitzi, aka Josefine Mutzenbacher, with the unforgettable memory of me and my spear up your ass. You are welcome to make literary use of this special event, as Felix Salten once did, for example under: Travel Experiences of a Genuine Viennese Popscherl, told by himself.

The Federal Constitutional Court in Karlsruhe made an exemplary ruling in such cases years ago: Art is the "result of free creative design, in which impressions, experiences and fantasies" of the artist "are brought to immediate view through the medium of a specific formal language." Your novel, which is the subject of the proceedings, should exhibit these characteristics, which will then enable you to "tell this scene here officially porn-free".

Horst remained speechless - for two reasons really. Firstly, this cheekiness was really amusing and secondly, his inner self announced: keep it up, it can be fun the way it feels so far. He was admittedly quite aroused by the new feeling of being subject to the dominance of the pole that completely filled his rosette and at the same time having to endure it without any chance against his submission. There was really only the option of trying to enjoy it, as Peter was striving to do, who obviously knew exactly what gentle movements were appropriate to give pleasure.

The last of the tension disappeared and suddenly he realized that he was completely open, allowing the cock access to every last corner of his body as his muscles closed around that erect member, milking it as he would have liked his girlfriend to do.

They fell into a rhythm determined by the rider, uniting their movements in a kind of beat. With his hands as a fixed point in those of his mate, his movements were restricted only by the spread triangle of his thighs as he knelt above him, so that only his hips and buttocks could rise and fall, he could push him forwards and backwards and pull him back, along with twisting and wriggling, which came closest to crawling away and developed very beautiful feelings in him, which is why he did it again and again when the stimulus of his sensual desire drove him to it.

Peter seemed to be an experienced riding master, because he never lost his grip on the saddle, even when he was re-oiling the rosette, preparing it for repeated visits and re-lubricating the door hinges. No matter how far he stretched his amplitude, he always knew what was opportune at any given moment, and rode his new little horse into shape for the night, plowed his field carefully and prepared it with strength in time for further tilling.

The boner then left the familiar rosette several times to present itself again and ask for welcome entry, which was granted to it without objection. To occupy the conquered terrain again and again, to leave it and let the cock conquer it again, that had its merits for lust, Peter had earned the Blue Max, the Order Pour le Mérite.

His hussar ride was a successful, daring venture that required a high degree of boldness and daring in addition to the ability to lead Horst to make decisions on his own responsibility in order to subjugate him. He heard himself groan and was warned again whether he wanted to watch or even invite fellow contestants, which would not remain a question of morality on this floor of the home with such a sweet bottom.

He surrendered to the expert guidance and his soft, panting, hoarse moans told Peter that it was time to start his par force ride and enjoy it to the last before he realized from the uncontrolled muscle twitching on his cock that his bride was experiencing what was possibly her first ever anal orgasm with a guy. Further convulsions told him that Horst was pouring himself unrestrainedly into the sheets.

He rode his little horse unperturbed in the direction of Athens until he later emptied himself with a shot, into that tight ass in several spurts, which he repeated with relish until he poured his last drop into the extremely pretty ass, as he had been dreaming about all day. He finally lingered there and enjoyed the movements of the mounted man, who was obviously satisfied and content with his feelings of pleasure.

"Total massage, as we discussed," Horst heard him whisper in his ear. He wasn't yet able to properly classify his own feelings, but realized that he had poured himself fully into the sheet when his climax took him completely by surprise.

The cock in his ass he now enjoyed, letting himself fall, feeling the power and heat emanating from that flesh in his meat.

Was he gay? He immediately dismissed this idea, otherwise Daniela wouldn't have been so attracted to him. So he remained bisexual, which I guess anyone can be if the other person is right. Okay, why not, who is clearly defined if not stubborn bucks and jerks who don't try anything, he thought and squirmed with pleasure under the erect member.

He wanted to experience this feeling of being taken again and not want to miss it in the future, whatever that meant, because it had been hot and extremely satisfying. Exploring both sides of the coin was something special and it had done him a world of good to have come almost together with the expert javelin thrower. Being thrust firmly, hard and relentlessly to orgasm was something completely new, unknown and awesome.

Deflowered, opened, conquered, mounted, inseminated. The cock inside him had already grown back to its former size and was obviously ready for a close encounter, so he was looking forward to a da capo. He was granted it. In the end, two testosterone-loaded boys lay naked in the same bed, both as hot as the neighbor's lump and not yet completely exhausted from the insatiable game.