Dolphin

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“Edwin Thomas,” the ambassador said. “Minister of Agriculture, Fisheries and Health.” The man he was introducing was a tall, gunmetal-skinned man in his early 50s. He was making the introduction because I had recently arrived in this former British colony in the Caribbean and I was a fairly well-known retired farmer and local politician from the UK. I had acquired a bit of recognition late in my career when the news channels needed a veteran figure to talk about the latest indignity in the life of the struggling agriculturist.

“People call me Dolphin,” Thomas said. “But you can call me Ed.”

Apparently Dolphin Thomas was a famous name in the island for his aquatic prowess as a young man, but now that he was a politician he was revising his image. He wore the trademark shiny grey suit that all the local politicians wore, but for most of them that was about the extent of it: get elected, buy a suit and relax: ambition achieved.

My conversation with Ed led me to believe that he was more serious than his peers. He had studied in England, then worked in Europe and the US before returning to his homeland.

We must have talked for half an hour, occasionally interrupted by swaggering fellow bigwigs and flirty women, all of whom thrust forth a hand and gushed “Dolphin!” before they grabbed a few seconds of his time.

This was one of those late afternoon/early evening “cocktail” parties where you stand around with a glass of vile cheap wine and try not to feel like a fish out of water, so finding someone to talk to for more than a few minutes was a relief.

“Are you doing anything this evening?” Ed asked me. I shook my head. I wasn’t doing anything most of the time, in fact. I didn’t know many people and those locals I did know regarded “liming”, i.e. hanging around outside a bar with a beer after work, as the pinnacle of social life, and clearly I wasn’t that kind of guy.

So Ed invited me to his house to discuss agricultural matters (I assumed) and I followed his low-slung black Mustang in my functional Nissan to a large house down a long dirt track next to a beach.

His housekeeper had prepared a goat curry and some rice, so we tucked into that in the kitchen as he told me stories of the local growing casino oyna and farming community. I tried to make intelligent comments without sounding too dry and serious, but I felt I had failed when he suddenly put his fork down and said.

“You remind me of one of my tutors in Brighton.” I braced myself for a comparison which would paint me as a tweed-suited academic, and was pleasantly surprised when he said, “Yeah, lot of fun, old Archie. Too much jazz and not enough reggae, but at least he knew how to relax.”

We moved into the lounge and sat together on a bulging sofa while Ed skimmed through files on his laptop until he found a picture of himself and Archie, a flushed, sweating figure at a party, with Ed standing next to him with an arm around his shoulder.

“Jack,’ he said seriously. “You’re a man of the world. Have you ever had feelings for another man?”

Taken aback, I mumbled, “Well, I suppose at school I had one or two little fantasies. But feelings, no.”

“Archie and I got along real well,” he continued. “Spent a lot of time together.”

I told him a bit about my life and how it all changed when my wife died a couple of years ago.

“So no one special now?” he probed. I shook my head. Then to my astonishment Ed leaned over and took me into his arms. I had never been taken into anyone’s arms before, and it felt wrong, but when he kissed my neck I felt a flash of something like desire and when he kissed me I quickly found myself kissing him back.

He put a hand on my crotch and squeezed me gently. Then he sat back and calmly unzipped his trousers, then undid the clip, delved into his underpants and pulled out his cock. It was long and thick, even when soft, and the reason I know that is that I was looking at it. I couldn’t help myself. The knob was large and elegant, almost decorative.

“I want you to suck me,” he said quietly.

I wanted to, so badly, but was still somewhat shocked.

“Suck my cock, Jack,” he urged confidently. “You know you want to.” My hand reached over and held his shiny dark tool. I almost reluctantly lowered my head – almost reluctantly, because I was quickly losing the battle between my staunchly heterosexual former self and this young upstart canlı casino within me that wanted to do what this man said.

I lifted his cock so it was vertical and took it into my mouth. It tasted like my own cock smelled, and of course every man has occasionally put his fingers in his mouth instead of washing after taking a leak or adjusting himself.

“That’s cool,” he said softly. “That’s very fine. Suck my cock.” I found it very exciting to be spoken to in this way, as I had spoken to women sometimes, knowing they liked it.

Within five minutes I was in Ed’s bedroom, on a huge bed, naked and waiting for him, as instructed. My whole body was surging with electricity and my mind was a blank, or rather it contained one thought only: a thrilling apprehension about what was going to come next.

Ed entered the room wearing only underpants, which were tight and skimpy, black of course, and containing a package of goodies that were obviously intended for our mutual enjoyment. He stood by the bed and gestured for me to go to him.

“On your knees,” he said firmly.

I leapt to the floor and knelt before him as he eased his underpants down and pulled them off, his hand balancing on my head.

I licked him under his balls and then took each one gently in my mouth, just to taste his scrotum. It was savoury and slightly salty.

Then I took his cock in my mouth again. It was tall and thick with a pronounced bend from halfway and I wondered how that must feel for the recipient. Would it stimulate one side of a woman’s cunt, or, as I rapidly moved on, a man’s asshole? My asshole? It was a relevant thought because I knew that was going to happen. I wanted it to happen.

He pulled me to my feet and pushed me back on the bed, then raised my legs a little. I got the idea and raised them further and he took a little jar of Vaseline from the bedside cabinet. Taking a fingerful, he smeared it on his cock, then got some more and his large middle finger lubricated my crack and pressed wonderfully into my hole.

I was still basically in two minds about the whole thing, but something inside me had switched off and handed control to him. Maybe this would be just an experiment, and for an experiment to be worth anything kaçak casino you have to allow it to happen.

I lay, stark naked and vulnerable in my milky white middle-aged skin as this big black man with a huge erection and homosexual intentions towards me positioned himself between my legs. He looked at me piercingly as he lifted me slightly. It was breathtaking to be manoeuvred in such a way, knowing what was coming.

Ed’s cock was at my entrance and I was terrified and transfixed. Then he started to press it in and it hurt much less than I had feared. With this knowledge I quickly relaxed and welcomed his eight inches of firm, bent gristle into my asshole. Fucked by a man, at my age. I loved it.

Ed pumped and pumped inside me and finally unloaded his cum into me and it was a key moment in my life. I adored it.

That night I stayed in his palatial bed with its black satin sheets. I sucked him again, then he rolled over and ordered me to lick his ass. And I loved it. His crack was smooth and shiny and wickedly sexy. Then he put me into a doggy position and fucked me again.

We were both panting and monosyllabic by the time he had finished and we fell asleep.

We awoke at around seven in the morning and he ushered me into the bathroom to shower, while he used the room next door.

Back on his bed I got straight into doggy and he lubed me up and fucked me again, replacing the last traces of last night’s spunk with a fresh load, which I had to deal with before I left and went home.

But I was back again that evening and I sucked his cock in the kitchen and he fucked me standing up, me bent over a table like a serving wench ravished by the master of the house.

In the coming weeks rumours spread about Dolphin and his English advisor, as we emerged from our love nest and had dinner in public, doing our best to be discreet and businesslike while we both knew the meal would have to be quick because we had sex to be having as soon as possible.

“You know what we’re doing has a name?” he asked one night as we sat in a sports bar, watching cricket.

“You’re breeding me,” I replied, having looked up the technical term for a dominant man repeatedly flooding his sub’s ass (or pussy, as they called it) with his semen.

“Exactly,” he said. “And you like it?”

“I love it,” I said, feeling the familiar slight soreness in my anus that was simply evidence of the recent attention of Ed’s cock.

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