Norwegian Stallion

At another time, when my wife and I had joined an embassy personnel outing for the day to a combination pool, bar, and outdoor dining area above a beach on the island’s rugged northern coast, Svend and some of his fellow soldiers were also there. And after exuding charm in introducing himself to my wife and my ambassador for the first time and having passed himself off as a casual tennis partner of mine at the Elian Club, Svend coaxed me to follow him at a distance into the sea. Standing there together, he close in behind me, in water up to our chests but within sight of those frolicking around the pool bar, including my wife and the ambassador, he pulled my butt back onto his engorged tool and held my hips to him with his strong hands as he fucked up into me in the water with local swimmers moving all about us.

I could say that these intrusions and this controlling of not only my body but my responses of being thickly fucked irritated me to the point where I put him in his place. But that, of course, wasn’t the case at all. I was mesmerized by him—as much by his grinning bear attitude as by his superb cocksmanship. I loved the surprise and danger of it as much as he did, and he was so well equipped that I obsessed with accepting that the proper place for him was burying his thick rod inside me in inventive positions and unseemly circumstances.