The Choice by Taylin Clavelli

 

Damn, what a choice, play cards in the sergeant’s mess, or take a trip into Bournemouth?

 

Eanie meanie minie mo,

I’ve got a choice, now where to go,

Beat the Army on home turf,

Or a trip to sea, sand, and surf.

 

As appealing as beating the butt of Army sergeants was, I’d already had my fill of them. My fellow Navy Officers and I were on a course at a base in Blandford; a small place between the squaddie ruled Salisbury and the seaside town. I couldn’t call Bournemouth Navy central; our domain was further up the coast.

Anyhow, we were on a five-week systems course, with no women around for distraction. Not that a woman would have distracted me. I was more interested in the tutors. Heavens, I loved a man with a brain. That aside, brawn was good, occasionally. Who I went after depended on my final goal – relationship, one-night-stand or something else. To that end, I had a few inter British Forces observations.

On the whole, there was a general type between the seduction techniques of each. My take on it was:

The Army was wham bam onto the next.

The Navy would ask politely, seduce and say, thank you after.

The RAF was capable of the candles and seduction line. However, the true brain boxes would invariably talk you into submission, or ask a bloody stupid question to gather your intelligence factor first, buggering up any chance of getting laid.

Maybe, I was doing them all a disservice, but I could only speak from experience. One thing was for sure – every force looked stunning in uniform.

It made me laugh whenever there was a woman on one of our courses. In that scenario most of the men, regardless of discipline completed press-ups outside her mess window and walked via her room wearing only a towel and a pumped-up chest. No doubt their goal being, the hope she’d open her door and fall to her knees, or join them in the shower. There was more likelihood of me doing that than anyone and I had a strong sucking action.

Having had enough of the course opening weeks pissing contest, I headed into Bournemouth for some heavy music and a touch of surfing.

I abandoned my car close to Commercial Road and ambled around the Triangle until I found a place which took my fancy.

Once inside I found the closest thing to a quiet corner while I nursed my only alcohol of the night – a WKD. When in a club, I never ordered anything in a glass, as stuff could be slipped into it far too easily. I wasn’t about to take any chances with my health or career. While holding a bottle, my finger was always wedged in the neck. The only time it was removed was when it was at my lips or finished.

Around an hour in I was sufficiently buzzed from the beat of the music and hormones flying through the air. They were shouting, “I’m free and ready to be fucked.” I undid my shirt buttons, revealing a tight white vest, which showcased my physique perfectly, and made my way through the throng of bodies to the centre of the floor. There I lost myself to the music.

I closed my eyes and focused on the beat letting my body move at will. It was a form of release to me. Being in the forces was absolutely fabulous, but letting go on the dance floor was where I was free.

Two tracks in and my ass had been fondled more than a few times. I didn’t mind. I welcomed it. I even pushed back into the odd one that had a particularly nice touch.

Four tracks in and the music changed to something slower. I felt a hand on my shoulder and breath on my ear.

“Do you mind?” Came a deep, strong voice which dripped seduction.

I had to see if the face matched the voice.

Damn, holy trombones…

“Sir.” I squeaked.

“We’re not in the classroom now Owen. I’m John here.”

“Yes Sir… erm John.”

Still in shock at seeing the head tutor in a gay club, he was able to take control, whereas I was usually the one taking command.

Chest and back sandwiched together, John wrapped his arms around my waist. We moved slowly in undulating circles as the music choreographed our dance.

The dominating hold John had on me was intoxicating.

His hands slowly, strongly caressed my abs working his way to my neck. My head fell back to his shoulder in complete compliance as his teeth nipped at my ear.

I wound my hand around the back of his head encouraging him to feast. And feast he did. With every suck and graze, I grew harder.

Panting heavily I released my vest from my jeans. I grabbed his hand and pushed skin to skin. John responded enthusiastically with a growl. His palm caressed my abs before making its way north. The painful pinch of my nipple between his fingers made me gasp and reach for his mouth with mine. I lost track of the music. All I knew was that we were still rocking to something. I didn’t care about a public display. I was in heaven.

One of John’s hands held me at mercy with a vice like grip a nipple clamp would have been proud of while his other dipped below the waistline of my jeans.

Damn the man had a reach.

He held my balls and attention-seeking snake, rolling them like dough. All the time his own python felt as though it was making a zipper out of the seam in the ass of my Levi’s.

He asked with a nip and kiss to my ear, “Would you like to come back to mine officer? I guarantee you won’t be late for class tomorrow.”

Hell, this course was going to be very interesting, indeed.

 

The end.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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