Welcome Home, Soldier

The year was 1945. A veteran of the Desert Campaign, I was delighted to once again be on Australian soil. Actually, I only had to walk a few yards from the troop ship tied to a wharf in Sydney harbour to a train which was waiting on the wharf. While I walked, I breathed in the clean, fresh air and felt the warm sunshine on my face. It was good to be home.

The sleeping car attendant showed me to my compartment. He was full of apologies.

"I'm very sorry, Sergeant but there has been a mix up in the ticketing. Instead of two single berths we only have this double".

He looked at me anxiously, worried I might get angry or something.

"Not your fault", I said calmly.

"We will be picking up the remaining passengers at Sydney Central".

"Just get me home to Melbourne, some time tomorrow, OK?" I handed him a ten shilling note.

"Yes, Sir! Thank you!".

He hurried off down the corridor and a few minutes later the carriage gave a lurch. The locomotive, belching steam and fire, set off on the long journey.

I found a locker labelled 'Sgt. Harrison' and stowed my kit. The other locker was marked 'Mast. Piers Lyon'. I shrugged and sat down on the comfortable Pullman seat. The reflection in the window of the now fast moving train was that of a 35-year-old man in uniform. The image vanished in the bright sunlight. Sometime later the train pulled into Sydney Central.

The platform was a sea of people. I watched the passing throng until there was a tap on the door. The attendant ushered in a handsome boy in school uniform. I felt my dick harden at the sight of him.

"Sergeant Harrison. Master Piers Lyon".

I stood up and we shook hands. The boy who had a firm grip looked me in the eye. When he spoke his voice was deep and respectful.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir".

The attendant explained about the mixup with the bedding arrangements. The boy was not the least bit put out. The attendant disappeared and Piers sat down beside me. Shortly afterwards the train started off again.

The boy explained that he was a boarder at Sydney Collegiate, on his way home to Melbourne for the summer holidays. While he was talking, I glanced down at his firm, smooth legs. I thought Master Piers must have grown that term because his shorts seemed to be too small for him. He said he was 18 years old.

When the dinner bell rang for the first sitting I took Piers to the dining car. The waiters were surly, some things never change, but the meal was passable and at a reasonable cost. I found myself telling my young companion about the Desert Campaign. He took in every word, hero worship lighting up his face.

We walked back to our sleeping compartment. The attendant had made up the double bed.

"I think I'll turn in", I said. "Can't wait to get out of this heavy uniform".

Slowly, I stripped to my underpants, stowing my clothes in the locker. The boy did the same.

Then Piers sat on the side of the bed with me. I showed him where a sniper's bullet had penetrated my chest and come out my back.

"Missed the heart by an inch. You can touch them if you want"

Gentle fingers explored the scars while I told him about the gruff surgeon in the field hospital who had saved my life.

Piers innocent touching of my chest made my dick fit to burst.

"We'd better turn in", I said.

The boy got into bed and wriggled across to the window. He lifted a curtain and looked out at the darkness. Then he snuggled down under the sheet.

I lay on top of the sheet with my head turned away from my companion. My first night back in Australia and my mind was in torment. For I was a man who loved males younger than myself. The army had pinned a bunch of medals on my chest but this 'hero' knew he was nothing more than a dirty arse-bandit.

The click of train wheels usually soothed me but not that night. Cruel fate had put me in bed with a most desirable but untouchable youth. How different it had been in the desert towns! I thought of the first village urchin who, for a few paltry coins, had let me up his skinny little bottom. How he had squealed when my manpole skewered his hot, tight chute!

After him, there had been other young males who provided much-needed release. It had been so matter-of-fact in the desert. Violent death could have claimed me at any second so I took my pleasure when and where I could.

I got up from that bed and the youth whose singular beauty would have tempted a saint.

"What's the matter?" Piers voice was full of concern.

"Go back to sleep".

"I'm not sleepy".

He flicked a switch and light flooded the compartment. He sat on the side of the bed and looked up at me. I turned my face away from him.

"The truth is Piers, I can't lie in bed with you". I swallowed. "Because you're too damned a--attractive". I looked at my feet.

A warm arm went around my shoulders.

"Come to bed", he said.

We lay together on top of the sheet.

"What would you like to do?"

"Give you a good root up the behind".

There was a silence.

"I'm queer", the boy said quietly. "That's why I was sent to a school so far from home. My father and various housemasters have all tried to flog my un-natural tendencies out of me. I'm still queer, though".

We lay together on that bed.

"One of the prefects lets me suck his smelly old dick. He tried to bum me but couldn't get it in". He paused. "I'd really like you to do me".

Lust overpowered my reason. I got up and stripped off my underpants. The boy's eyes widened when he saw the size of my engorged dick which slapped against my belly. But then he stripped as well. His dick stuck out from its small bush of pubic hairs. He turned around and I saw his glorious bottom. The firm, taut flesh was marked by six raised weals.

"Who did this?" I asked, gently touching the painful-looking welts.

"The housemaster, last night". Piers laughed sardonically. "He never gives up trying to make a man out of me".

I placed two pillows on the bed and the youth lay down on them.

"He caned you on the bare bum?"

"Yes, And he had such a big tent-pole ridging the front of his trousers afterwards, it's a wonder his flies didn't burst".

"Hypocrite".

In my kit I found a small vial of the unguent which had made entering the desert boys easier. I smeared some on the tip of my finger and massaged it into Pier's little brown hole. He was ever so good, even when my finger penetrated his tunnel he didn't complain.

"That feels good".

"This will hurt", I warned, "Being your first time and all".

"Doesn't matter".

So, I coated my dick with the unguent and positioned its bulbous head at the boy's secret entrance. Then I forced my manmeat right inside his tunnel until my nuts were brushing the cheeks of his bum.

"You OK?"

"Give me .. a minute ..", he begged.

I waited for Piers to get used to the strange, new feeling of being joined to another male in this most obscene and intimate way. The muscles inside his arse swirled around my dick, his sphincter pulsated on the shaft. Slowly, he relaxed.

"Do me".

I thrust into him as though he was an Arab street urchin and not an Australian schoolboy. He whimpered at the relentless, almost brutal assault on his anal cherry. I grunted like an animal. I 'did' him, alright.

After an age, my nuts churned until my dick fill his rectum with a big load of spunk. I pulled out of him with a plop.

I cleaned his bowel juices off my tool with a handkerchief.

"Sorry if it got a bit rough.." I started to say.

He looked up at me, eyes shining.

"It was great!"

I inspected his dick which was still erect.

"Your old fella looks a bit neglected. Lie back on the bed".

I took his member into my mouth. I tongued the head and shaft until he made a little sound and his seed ran down my throat. I swallowed every drop.

"Now lets get some sleep". I cradled him in my arms and we slept until morning.

When I awoke it was already daylight. Piers lay sleeping on his tummy. The purplish-red cane weals were slashed across his perfect white buttocks. I inspected his brown hole. It looked a bit swollen which was only to be expected considering what I had done to it.

I had never woken up with a boy beside me before. After I had rooted the desert street urchins they promptly disappeared into the rabbit warrens they called home. None of the boys had been virgins, unlike sweet Piers.

Yawning, I splashed some water from a pitcher onto my face.

"Good morning!" Piers greeted me from the bed.

He got up and performed his morning ablutions. He watched me shave with my trusty cut-throat. He had a few wisps of hair on his adorable face which I ceremoniously removed. Then we got dressed and went to the first sitting of breakfast. The waiters were still grumpy.

Afterwards, we walked back to the compartment which had been transformed by the attendant. Our bed had been converted into a comfortable seat again.

"Did you ever get whacked at school?" Piers asked.

"No, I did not". The visionary headmaster of the small bush school I had attended, was not in favour of corporal punishment. My widowed mother shared his views. So, unlike most boys in those years, I survived boyhood without so much as a hand smacking my bottom.

At ten o'clock precisely the train pulled into Melbourne Central. Piers introduced me to his parents.

"Hope the boy behaved himself?" his father asked.

"No trouble at all". If only he knew!

They said their goodbyes. I watched Piers until he disappeared from sight. My heart was heavy.

A porter handed me a message. My sister had been unavoidably detained and would be unable to pick me up until later that afternoon. I screwed up the paper and checked my kit in at the Left Luggage Office.

The air outside the station was already warm. I found a cab and told the driver what I wanted. He made the Sign Of The Cross before driving me to a quiet suburban address.

The proprietor of the establishment agreed to provide the service I required. While he was busy making the arrangements, his stable of boys entertained me. Not one had the cheeky enthusiasm of a street Arab or Piers' ineffable sweetness. I shooed them away.

Sometime later I was escorted into a make-believe school room. The proprietor now wore an academic gown and mortar-board. A selection of canes was beside a desk. One of his employees, a surly looking youth came into the room.

"Thought you might like to see this", said the proprietor. "Jack was rude to a customer and must be punished for it".

"Not my fault", Jack whined.

"You know what to do", the proprietor said.

Jack undid his braces and his trousers fell to the floor, followed by his underpants. He bent over a desk with his legs apart. The proprietor pulled Jack's bum-cheeks apart, exposing the anus.

"Hardly been used". the man looked at me hopefully. I shook my head.

The proprietor picked up a cane and inflicted a hard stroke to those waiting buttocks. I was fascinated to see a thin white line which almost immediately turned into a fat, painful-looking weal. Five more followed before Jack was allowed to get up. The youth pulled up his clothing while casting a baleful look in the direction of the proprietor.

"I got worse at home", he said and then he left the room.

As arranged, it was now my turn to bare and bend. The wooden desk top retained some warmth from Jack's frail body. I confess to feeling apprehensive. Still, I wanted to experience at first hand the schoolboy ritual which was part of Piers' life.

The cane struck my bare arse and for a second nothing happened. My stars! What felt like a thin line of angry wasps working in unison, stung my virgin behind. It was all I could do to stop from crying out. Five more waves of stinging wasps viciously tortured my flesh and then he stopped. Tears pricked my eyes. I was a man, dammit - not a schoolboy.

"Another six. No, make it a dozen", I ordered through gritted teeth. "And this time, really lay them on".

The man was powerfully built and a sadist. He delighted in causing more pain to my buttocks than I could have ever imagined.

Afterwards, I lay across that table, my hind-quarters in flames. When I got dressed again I thought of my darling Piers and how much more the cane must have hurt his poor bottom, being half the size of mine and infinitely more tender.

"Anything else?" asked the proprietor, hopefully.

"An hour with Jack", I replied.

Delighted, the man showed me to a private room. The youth sidled into the room and looked at me sitting in an easy chair. Mechanically, he stripped off his clothes and stood there naked, awaiting my instructions.

"Come here", I said quietly.

"Turn around".

I inspected the six welts slashed across his thin buttocks and then touched those blazing cheeks with my hands. My own mounds throbbed painfully all the while.

"Lie face down on the bed".

Jack whimpered but did as I asked. I picked up a basin of cold water and a flannel from the washstand. Gently, I bathed the boy's wounds. He sighed his appreciation when he realised I wasn't going to hurt him. The water touched his swollen brown hole and Jack flinched. I carefully cleaned the boy's swollen, badly encrusted fundament.

"A customer gave you a tough time", I observed.

"He was big - and mean", Jack said. "After doing THAT to me, he complained to the boss".

"And that's why you got the beating?"

"The customer's always right", Jack replied, bitterly.

I gently patted the youth's sore mounds with a towel until they were dry.

"Put your clothes back on".

He quickly dressed again.

"Thanks".

"Were things really that bad at home?"

The youth blushed.

"No", he said softly. "I wish I'd never come to this cursed place".

I questioned him further and discovered that he was almost a prisoner in the brothel. I gave him money, much more than his train fare home, and helped him out a narrow window.

"How can I ever thank you, sir?"

"By staying out of places like this in future".

He touched his cap and then ran off down the street. I lay on the bed and was soon fast asleep.

Sometime later, the proprietor came into the room. I told him Jack must have run off while I was having forty winks and paid the furious man my dues.

Eventually, I made my way back to the station and met my spinster sister. She took me in her Morris to the graveyard where our parents were buried. Mum had died while I was overseas.

That night, the fire in my flogged buttocks had dwindled to a pleasant, warm sensation. I got undressed ready for bed. It was my habit to turn out all of the pockets of the clothes I had been wearing.

A piece of railway cardboard fluttered to the floor. 'Mast. Piers Lyon' was inscribed on it. I picked it up and turned it over. '45 Meadowbank Avenue, St Kilda. Yours for ever, Piers'. I held the cardboard to my lips and vowed to visit him the very next day.

My heart was full. It was good to be home!

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written by moonspender2