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Training a Lover

A well-off but broken young man is sent into the training of an elite school of the erotic arts
AN ENDING

“My life is over!” I yelled to my aunt the day she came to discharge me from the convalescent center.

With my parents being claimed by a car crash almost eight years ago, I had striven to be a careful driver since then — despite my having bought a silver BMW convertible thanks to my folks’ insurance proceeds and estate. But I almost bought the farm, too.

My fiancée wasn’t so lucky.

It was evening on a quiet stretch the coast highway northwest of Los Angeles, next to the ocean. The top was down, rock music was playing, and Sheila had another of her ideas.

“Eyes on the road,” she said, her fingers unbuttoning my blue shirt while the breeze stripped it from my torso, pinning it against my black leather seat on either side. Leaving my seat belt attached, she then unzipped my khaki shorts, fondling my flaccid manhood.

“Sheila, you’re gonna get us in trouble,” I sighed, as I drove on nonetheless.

“Well,” she replied beginning to work and pump my cock nicely to erection, “I’ve had a bachelorette party, but you didn’t have a bachelor party . . . so I’m giving you one.”

I just smiled in acceptance, sneaking a quick glance her way. The breeze was rippling her light sundress with her nipples pressing tightly against the fabric.

My fiancée twisted herself further towards me. “I love you,” she said, then diving her head towards my lap, running her tongue around my cock while breathing on it. Sheila could give me head like no one else, knowing how to play my manhood like a fine instrument.

“Luuu-huuuve you, too,” I sighed, warmly stroking her bared shoulders and blonde hair with my right hand.

I tried to detach my brain from my body as I drove, while enjoying perhaps the most intimate gift a woman can give a man. As she continued feasting at my stiffening cock, I could see a signal light ahead. I prayed it would stay green so we wouldn’t have to stop, only to have someone pull up in the next lane and see my girl giving me fellatio with abandon. I was also praying that Sheila wouldn’t stop. Running her tongue around my shaft while stroking the rest of my manhood with her mouth and hand, she got me on an orgasmic edge — one that she could maintain in me for minutes . . . or in this case, miles. My pulse was racing right along with the music.

The light ahead was now red. I slowed the car down. But Sheila wasn’t. I continued resting my right hand on her sweet, blonde head as she bobbed it up and down on my loins with incredible skill. I then saw other headlights approaching in the right lane behind me.

“Sheila . . .” I now said in a cautionary tone, beginning to brake my swelling orgasm like I was braking our car.

“Finishing,” she assured, pausing without looking up, before plunging her talented mouth right back onto my penis. While now stopped at the light, I released the brakes off my manhood, allowing myself to start spasming and erupting generous flows of cum into her mouth as she began to forcefully suck and swallow every spurt.

Somehow, we finished just as the light turned green, a car pulled up beside us and together, we appeared as innocent as we could be, just out for an evening drive.

I smiled at with admiration as she now simply took my hand as we then passed through the intersection under the green traffic light, my eyes caught a pair of headlights off to my right.

They weren’t stopping.

“SSSHHHEEEEEIIILLLAAAA ! ! !” I yelled in slow motion as another car now slammed into us on the side my fiancée was occupying.

I remember letting go of the steering wheel and grabbing her, trying to throw my body over Sheila to protect her. Her passenger door seemed to slice between us however, forcing her down as it forced me up. My legs were now feeling crushed, but I didn’t care. I was ready to die — expecting to go right with her, wherever she was going.

But I woke up in a hospital bed, while Sheila was laid to rest . . . in a casket.

I wanted to join her, so badly; trying to yank the I.V. tubes out of me as I lay in that cursed I.C.U. bed more than once. The nurses watched me like hawks though. They became my enemies.

Life became my enemy.

— — — — —

Now, several months later, I was being discharged from convalescence.

“Sorry,” I said, apologizing for my outburst.

“Lance,” my aunt gently replied, “you’re twenty-four, with so much life ahead. And, if you weren’t my sister’s son,” she added quietly, “I’d be fucking you.”

That made me crack a smile. “Thanks,” I relented as we embraced sitting on the bed. “You’re sexy enough to make me want you, too.”

“I have something better in mind for you though,” she added. “I’m sending you to the Erosian Centre.”

“Aunt Monica,” I sighed, “no more rehab.”

“This isn’t rehab,” she replied. “It’s a challenge . . . for a man.”

THE CENTRE

After an eight-hour first class flight, I was being driven in a town car through the gates of this Erosian Centre on an isolated side of a lush Polynesian island in the South Pacific. I doubted if I could appreciate any woman now though. I still loved Sheila. I couldn’t help it. At least she had died giving me a gift that said love itself.

It was now after dark as I arrived. All seemed to be quiet. The town car stopped under the portico of what looked like a grand villa from ancient Greece, surrounded by palm trees.

My right passenger door opened. “Lance Knox?” I heard a female voice say.

“Yes,” I unemotionally replied, looking straight ahead.

“Welcome to the Erosian Centre,” she greeted.

“I’ll need the chair . . . out of the trunk,” I said, remaining seated and continuing to look forward in deep embarrassment; once again wishing I was dead.

“Of course,” I heard.

Glancing, I saw a shapely pair of legs topped by short, white fabric now disappear. The trunk popped and my wheelchair was soon snapped into position. At least it was stylish and sporty — silver framed with black leather seating, just like my car had been, plus inwardly cambered main wheels for sports or working out. Still, I felt like a useless cripple in it.

“Would you like assistance?” my greeter offered.

“Nope, I got this, ” I replied, still not looking at her, as I swung myself into the chair.

“Would you like me to push, or walk beside you?” she then thoughtfully asked.

“I’ll wheel myself,” I said, resolutely looking forward again. “Just show me where I’m supposed to go.”

“This way to Evaluation then,” she offered, gesturing towards a wide, doorless entryway.

“Evaluation?” I inquired, finally looking up at her as I wheeled.

She was around twenty, with shoulder length red hair in long waves, and dressed in a light garment that seemed right out of ancient Greece, just covering her hips and revealing her nicely freckled cleavage.

“Not every candidate is necessarily admitted,” my greeter replied.

“Well,” I said, stopping almost as soon as I heard that. “I might as well turn around right now.”

“What makes you think we won’t admit you?” the redhead beside me replied.

“Just look at me,” I said with more than a little frustration at myself.

“I am,” the young woman replied, looking at me. “Your evaluation room is over there,” she continued, gesturing with her hand.

So I compliantly wheeled myself into the softly lit room that had a king-sized bed, but nothing else. I brought my chair to a halt at the foot of the bed as the redhead and I were now joined by another young woman. This second woman was tanned, with long straight, jet-black hair, seeming to be perhaps Polynesian. She wore the same type of revealing Greek garment, carrying a clipboard.

“Please move onto the bed, and undress,” the redhead now instructed, looking again at me.

Undress?” I replied, astonished.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “undress. Normally, we ask candidates to stand, but we know you cannot, so please move onto the bed, and undress.”

The redhead now proceeded to remove the fabric of her garment from her shoulders, allowing it to just fall to the floor at her feet. Her body was a little Rubenesque, but utterly wonderful. And those pale breasts of hers with their oblong, rose-colored nipples . . . damn!

“Wh-What’s this?” I stammered.

“Your evaluation,” the dark-haired girl replied this time, still dressed in her white garment though as she stood next to the naked redhead. “Would you like assistance?” she offered.

“Look,” I paused, still in my wheelchair, “ . . . my fiancée, the woman I loved, died in the car accident that did this. I-I’m not sure I want to do . . . anything.”

The tanned girl made a few notes on her clipboard.

“It’s alright,” the redhead gently assured me though, lowering to her knees in front of me. “I lost someone in a crash, too,” she said, gently taking my left hand. “Your fiancée would want you to go on. You can here. Let us help.”

“You’re not ‘evaluating’ me then?” I wondered, looking at her nakedness.

“We are,” she gently smiled. “But I think you can pass . . . if you want to.”

“What do I do?” I sadly laughed, glancing down at her pronounced nipples again.

“Get on that bed, and get undressed for starters,” she encouraged, still holding my hand.

“Alright,” I accepted, nodding with a subtle smile as I hefted myself onto the bed, shedding my blue shirt over my head.

Fortunately, I had done two things right during my recovery; I had eaten lightly, and had worked out in physical therapy. Really worked out — unleashing my crushing sadness and anger pumping barbells and hand weights, trying to break my undamaged upper body. As a result, even I had to admit I looked good without a shirt.

“Want help with your pants?” the redhead then asked.

“Got that, too,” I assured, laying back and hoisting my ass off the bed with my upper thighs, shoving my grey slacks and black boxers off, revealing my flaccid but not insubstantial manhood.

I then sat up, briefly hesitating before I pushed my pants the rest of the way down, revealing the damage the accident had done. I proceeded to unstrap the prosthetic limb that was now my lower right leg, as well as revealing scarring on my left.

“How far down are you able to function normally?” the dark-haired girl asked.

“As far as my upper thighs now,” I calmly responded. “Although docs say I should regain full function in my left leg.”

“Normal sexual function?” the dark-haired woman followed up.

“I . . . I haven’t tried, since my accident,” I said quietly, looking down again.

“The evaluation is mainly to assess sexual function,” the dark-haired female said. The redhead now moved in front of my legs, parting them to further expose my manhood.

“No,” I stopped her, “ . . . not that. Please.”

The redhead looked up at me, her hands resting on my thighs. “She used to do this for you?” she gently guessed.

“Yeah . . .” I sniffed.

“Wouldn’t she want you to know pleasure again?” the redhead suggested.

I could barely nod, now voluntarily parting my thighs. This redhead then reverently took my cock in one hand as she lowered her face to kiss it, before taking it inside her mouth and beginning to suck on it.

I leaned back, bracing myself and taking deep, shuddering breaths. My head swam with a flood of renewed sensations. I then leaned forward, appreciatively taking this young woman’s bobbing red head between my hands as I began to fuck her mouth, as she embraced her arms around my pelvis, continuing to feast at my manhood.

“I-I don’t want to cum in your mouth,” I sighed amid sharp breaths. “That was just for her . . .”

The redhead now stopped and looked at her colleague. The dark-haired woman nodded back, as the redhead then rose up beside me.

“Just pull out and release your cum on my pussy, so we can assess your quantity,” she invited, sitting next to me now. “So . . . how would you like to take me?”

I now only found myself able to turn, pushing the redhead backwards on the bed. With my toned trunk and arms, I powerfully mounted over her abdomen and breasts. I managed to smile, feeling her hand pull my erect penis against her labial folds, then jerking with my pelvis, penetrating into her.

Ohhh man . . . did this redhead’s warm, wet, steamy cuntal passage feel good around my cock as I began working it inside her. I now put my arms about this female’s bare, freckled shoulders. I was fucking a woman once more, rutting myself into this redhead splayed beneath me! Warm skin was slapping against warm skin. Breasts were moving with my chest. My long, hard penis was being surrounded, even squeezed by tight, feminine flesh as I pistoned in and out.

I felt sensations of approaching orgasm that I had almost forgotten. But I wanted to enjoy this redhead, just as she had invited . . . at least a little. So I tried remembering how to pace myself as Sheila had encouraged with books. We would look at those lying nude together, sometimes just on a rug . . . trying things out, usually laughing as we did.

I saw her again . . . lying nude on that plush, sheepskin rug, laughing in my arms . . .

Sheila . . . she had been so good to me . . .

“Lance, what is it?” I heard.

“N-Nothing,” I stammered, snapping myself back, sensing that both my thrusting and even my cock had been flagging. At least it was now giving me some more fuck time with this redhead though as I began to rebuild towards climaxing.

Just fuck who you’re with, I thought, re-establishing my rhythm into this delightful female who had given herself to me for my first fuck again. Kissing her once more, I bore into this redhead fervently, feeling her arms and legs wrap themselves tightly around me as she moaned.

“Pu-Pu-Pull out as you c-cum,” she reminded me amid my hammering of her. I redoubled my efforts even further as our increasingly sweaty bodies slapped rapidly together.

“Aaah-Aaah-Aaah . . . AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” she cried out as she came powerfully.

Despite the orgasmic pleasure her enticing vaginal recesses offered my pulsing cock, I willed myself to pull out of her as I then thrust and humped my throbbing manhood hard against the crease of her thigh and pelvis instead, erupting the first exquisite shots of my seed since Sheila had died.

“ Hhhmmmppphhh . . .” I convulsed, collapsing on this redhead with unfathomable gratitude.

Surprisingly, she then held me tightly against her naked body, rocking me gently in seeming appreciation.

“Don’t you want to see how I did?” I finally said, able to rise up and look at her eyes as we embraced.

“Of course, Lance,” she replied, warmly kissing me again, before allowing me to roll off. Generous, flattened patches of my milky, translucent cum were now spread across the right side of her red-furred mound and pelvis.

“He qualifies,” the redhead sighed, still looking warmly at me as we loosely embraced.

Even her seemingly serious dark-haired colleague was now subtly smiling as she wrote on her clipboard, having watched everything.

— — — — —

This redhead soon helped me dress, and then showed me to my suite, which boasted a deluxe kitchen and black-marbled bar, as well as a king-sized bed, along with a sofa group and plush chaise longe. Plus there was a bathroom with a black-marbled shower alcove and Jacuzzi tub.

The redhead now insisted on helping me to undress and settle in for the night — after asking to brush my teeth for me.

“We provide all necessities and services,” she explained while I relented. It was admittedly nice just resting my head against her clothed bosom in the bathroom, sitting in my wheelchair and letting her do the work.

But once she got me into bed, instead of undressing herself again as well, she rose to leave.

“Can’t stay?” I invited.

She shook her head with a regretful smile while nonetheless moving to kiss me one more time. I couldn’t help running my right hand under her garment across the skin of her back and side though as we kissed.

“You were good tonight though,” she said as our lips parted. “Don’t forget that.”

I sighed as she closed the door. After months of recovery, I was now wanting women again.

Like a guy though, I had forgotten to ask this redhead her name.

SERVICE AND SELECTION

The next morning, the dark-haired girl greeted me this time in my room, carrying a white garment in addition to the one she was wearing.

“Please put this on,” she requested, “as your only clothing now. It’s called an Exomis in ancient Greek.”

“Am I admitted?” I queried, sitting up in bed nude.

“You will find that out shortly,” she assured. “But would you like assistance this morning?”

“Yeah,” I decided to accept, “ . . . showering.”

The young woman smiled as she now let her garment drop to the floor, revealing an athletic and completely tanned body.

— — — — —

Thank God my wheelchair was waterproof, that its wheels were practically level with the seat, and that the thing had brakes.

This bronzed woman now straddled herself facing me on the chair as torrents of warm water poured upon both of us from a large showerhead above within the barrier-free black marble alcove. While she could work herself upon my cock by rocking her pelvis on mine, neither of us could move much against the other. We didn’t have to though.

I was drowning my face against her wet, glistening flesh as the water poured down our embracing bodies. I lowered my mouth to nurse at her taut, subtle breasts, drinking the water streaming on one dark, erect nipple as if it was her milk. Her rocking on me now became more urgent as she embraced my head feasting at her flesh. I pulled her body tighter as I willed my thighs and pelvis to drive my manhood deeper into her drenched, feverishly working loins.

“NNNNYYYYAAAAAAAAAHHH!!” she cried, throwing her head and slick, long hair back, welcoming both the water cascading upon her and the equally drenching orgasmic release within her, as I now grimaced, erupting myself into her as well.

She then reached behind me, slapping the shower handle off. “Mind if we breathe here for a minute?” she asked, taking a needed gulp of air as we embraced on my chair.

“No problem . . .” I gasped, catching my breath, resting the left side of my face against the almost hot, slick skin of her upper chest, both feeling and hearing her intense heartbeat and breathing as I still clutched her body against mine and convulsed my final releases into her.

She now drew my face upwards into a passionate kiss. “Would you like to wash now, sir?” she then asked. “You do have to be at the assembly shortly . . . as much as I would enjoy continuing this.”

“Of course,” I agreed, savouring her warm, wet body still draped around me for as long as I could. “But this is the best wake-up service I have ever known.”

My pleasure,” this brunette emphasized, giving me another deep kiss.

— — — — —

Caringly dried, dressed and groomed by my attendant before we parted, I was soon lining up with a dozen males in a sheltered courtyard. We were all wearing our exomi, some with hands self-consciously folded across our crotches, as these white garments covered just the pelvis and left shoulder. They not only left our chests, but potentially our manhoods easily exposed — especially with me as I, unlike the other men, was sitting down. All of us were average to well built, but I was the only one sitting in a wheelchair.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the Erosian Centre,” an authoritative African woman now addressed us, wearing a long, white garment wrapped about her, revealing one of her dark shoulders, and a nice figure. “You have joined us to become more than what you have been.

“You shall no longer be mere men,” she continued. “You will become masters in the erotic arts, trained for stamina, and schooled to satisfy any woman’s desires. You shall not be treated here as ordinary men. Like the Olympians of ancient Greece, you will be treated like prized athletes . . . stallions among men. That is what we will call you — the title you will value.

“But you do not choose who will develop and look after you,” she declared. “We do. Our trainers will now select the stallion they will take on. So hands at your sides, please,” she added , “ that includes you, Mister Knox.”

I moved my hands back onto my wheels.

A group of young women, all dressed in short, white Greek attire, then stepped forward, eyeing each of us carefully. Coming in various shades and hair colors, all of these women were beautiful. But a few caught my eye more than others.

Some even lifted the fronts of our exomi to evaluate what we had down below. With me though, they just needed to lean down a little, or stand further back. I ceased trying to hide what I had however with my thick, relaxed cock, keeping my legs loosely parted as I sat in my chair. I was even allowing my right stump to be clearly on view, having left my prosthetic leg in my suite.

One by one, other males either side of me walked off with trainers taking their arms. I just looked down.

“Giving up so soon?” I then heard, looking up to see an attractive, slender Caucasian woman now standing before me with her brown hair drawn back into a ponytail.

“No, m’am,” I said.

“Good,” she replied. “Come with me.”

This woman seemed all business for the moment as I wheeled beside her. I noticed she wore her white garment hiked up about her chest more than the others though, showing not even much skin below her neck. While she might not have stood out much to other men, something about her had made her one of the ones I hoped would choose me.

That I was not the last to be picked though really made me smile.

DISCOVERING TRAINING AND TRAINER

The first task for us males was to demonstrate our fitness around a jogging track. And, just like ancient Olympians, we ran in the nude, except for running shoes. I was soon wheeling in the nude as well, wearing cycling gloves to protect my hands. Our trainers ran alongside us though, judging and coaching us. While they wore sport bras for comfort, they now otherwise wore nothing else besides running shoes. It was almost enough to get me off watching all those jogging female bodies with their rippling asses and flexing furred pussies around me as I pumped my wheels hard around the track. Curiously though, my trainer wasn’t running beside me. She was still fully clothed in her Greek attire, assessing me from the infield and occasionally yelling instructions.

When I felt that I had more than proved myself by lapping everyone else around the track, some more than once, I finally pulled onto the infield grass in front of her.

“Why aren’t you stripped and out there with me, if I might ask?” I inquired.

“’Cause I had a car accident, okay?” she snapped, burying her nose in her clipboard, making notes.

“I’m sorry, so did I,” I gently replied. “It’s a bear, ain’t it.”

“It can be, yes,” she quietly agreed.

“But what’s everyone doing now?” I now wondered, looking at the others around us as they stopped running, too . . . but were doing things that my trainer and I weren’t.

“We reward our stallions after good performances,” she answered, writing on her clipboard.

Sure enough, the males were lying down upon the infield grass. Their trainers, now stripped nude, were either massaging or even straddling and fucking their men, bouncing up and down on them.

“Was my performance not good enough then?” I asked, looking at all the erotic action.

“You were fine,” my trainer replied, still looking at her clipboard, “even great. Look,” she then said, looking away sadly, “I can give you a massage on tables in the shade over there, or . . . Ohh, just never mind!” she then suddenly finished, storming off.

Despite being tired, I wheeled off in pursuit. She didn’t run, but she was a fast walker.

“Hey!” I called as I pumped my wheelchair, still nude. “I don’t even know your name! But slow down. What gives?”

She ducked into a room along a corridor away from the track, slamming the door against my chair’s footrests as I wedged them in anyway. The door then yielded. I gently opened it, finding her standing in a dimly lit suite with its day curtains closed. I then quietly shut the door behind me.

Get out!” she angrily said, continuing to face away from me. “You’ll just get another trainer, alright?”

That shocked me.

“Folks could have given up on me,” I replied, “even rejected me here. I could have quit on me — I wanted to a while back. But I’m still here. So why are you quitting, Trainer?”

“Because I was crushed, burned, and reconstructed,” she said sadly, looking away from me. “I was about to be a trainer here when it happened. They invited me back anyway, after I got out of hospital. But we’re all just kidding me. Even myself. I don’t belong here. Not the way I am.”

“Folks think I belong here, the way I am,” I replied. “So why not you? Let me see.”

She turned a little towards me, but then stopped, shaking her head.

“You’re not gonna give your stallion a chance to sew his oats?” I posed from my chair.

That got her to crack a smile.

“Come on,” I gently invited, wheeling closer, “let me see.”

Still with her back towards me, she hesitantly dropped the white fabric off one shoulder, and then the other. So far, nothing but wonderful feminine perfection.

I said nothing as she dropped her garment further, revealing a scar on her back. Now it seemed like a Great White shark had bitten a huge chunk out of her left side, and that she had then been put back together like a car with a mismatched fender. The lighter grafted skin clearly differed from her own more tanned skin elsewhere, as a scar delineated a clear boundary down her back.

She bravely continued dropping the garment past her hips. Even her left asscheek looked slightly different and paler than the right, but they both looked beautiful to me. She then let the garment fall the rest of the way. I hadn’t noticed it before, but her legs were subtly scarred.

Then she slowly turned around, her arms covering her breasts and pubis, looking almost like Botticelli’s painting, ‘The Birth of Venus’. Her breasts were no bigger than B-cups, but I liked them. And here, too, her left was somewhat different from her right — paler, and smaller.

“You’re beautiful,” I admired.

“I’m hideous . . .” she broke down.

“No,” I assured, then wheeling myself to a nearby bed. Hefting and moving into a semi-reclining position, my stump leg in plain view, I propped my nude self up on my left elbow and extended my right arm towards her.

“This stallion wants you, as his trainer,” I now said with total conviction. “And I don’t want to wheel, learn, or fuck for anybody but you.”

She looked at me, stunned.

I kept my right hand outstretched, continuing to look at her.

Finally, she came over, sitting down at the foot of the bed, removing her running shoes with one hand while keeping her left arm over her breasts. She then laid down on her side next to me, both hands nervously in place again against herself.

“I can sew my own oats,” I gently assured, then imitating an equine snort with my lips to my trainer’s sweet laughter. “Come here,” I invited.

I drew her into my arms, looked into her eyes. Slowly, she removed her hands from her breasts and vaginal mound. I couldn’t help glancing down . . . it was the man in me.

“My left one’s a reconstruction,” she admitted. “They said they’d give me a new nipple there, eventually . . . but I can feel.”

“Would you allow me to kiss and suck your breasts? Both of them?” I asked.

She convulsed with tears, rolling onto her back and drawing my head towards her chest with both hands. I chose the reconstructed one first.

“So soft,” I breathed, brushing my lips against its smooth skin, undisturbed by a nipple.

I sucked its pliant flesh into my mouth, ever so gently working and gnawing it with my teeth. I felt her back arch in response under me, urging it further between my lips. Drenching it with saliva, even leaving subtle teeth marks upon its flawless skin, I progressed to her right breast, savouring its different, darker skin, and its protruding brown nipple. I teased and sucked that nipple until it rose, standing even taller at the summit of her healthy breast.

“I have a choice of breasts,” I sighed, poised over that one nipple. “How could any guy be happier?” She hugged my head, pressing my face into her subtle cleavage, convulsing with quiet sobs of joy.

But I was just getting warmed up. I then moved, trailing kisses and slow, sensuous licks, down both sides of her abdomen, exploring both light and more tanned skin, right across that red scar.

“You don’t want to go down there,” she breathed nervously. “Half of it doesn’t grow hair. I should have shaved.”

“Two kinds of pussy?” I admired moving my head still lower over her. “Let me at it.”

Sure enough, her right half was gently furred, even down beside her vaginal folds, while the left half was as smooth as silk. I just let my mouth and tongue go right to work. Sheila had trained me well. Now, I was prayerfully thanking my departed fiancée for her patient guidance as I worked upon the womanhood of my trainer. As I probed within her labia spread before me with my mouth . . . I realized I still didn’t know this woman’s name.

But now was not the time for that formality.

Amid it all though, my legs and ass had somehow slid off the bed into a heap on the carpeted floor. My trainer was close to cumming however as her breathing quickened, her pussy salivated more, and both her hands were gripping and pulling through my wavy brown hair. So my naked ass would just have to stay on the floor for now.

“Ohhh you’re trained,” she admired breathlessly. “Ohhhh mmmyyy GAAAWWDD you’re trained!” she cried out as her pelvis began bucking against my mouth, while I resolutely kept it pressed against her loins. I now slurped her tangy juices as she came and came beneath my head, before I felt her relaxing.

“Oh my God, Lance,” she then exclaimed looking down at me, “you’re on the floor!”

“I just wanted some rug burns to go along with my other scars,” I smiled with a wet grin now. “Why don’t ‘ya come on down here and join me?”

“I should help you up,” she said now shifting and sitting her nude self up at the bottom edge of the bed.

“No,” I gently countered again, “you should fuck me on the floor, or allow me to fuck you . . . if you’re able,” I qualified.

“Lance . . .” she now sniffed, both of us sliding off the bed onto the carpet.

“Will you tell me your name?” I asked.

“Samantha,” she replied.

“Samantha,” I echoed warmly. “Anyone ever call you Sam?” I wondered as we sat on the floor, facing each other.

“At times,” she admitted.

“Sam and Lance,” I said. “Sounds like a pretty good team.”

“You think you’ve found a pretty good team here?” Samantha asked. “With this trainer?”

“Definitely,” I replied as the door to the room opened.

A trim Asian trainer then walked in with her own blonde stallion, both nude. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam excused with embarrassment. “I’m just rewarding my stallion here. Guess we picked the wrong room. My mistake.”

Samantha soon helped me back into my chair before proceeding to don her white garment once more.

“Nope,” I decided, stopping her though, “I want you nude. It’ll even out your tan. Plus it’ll be part of my reward . . . and you don’t want to deny your stallion his reward, do you?”

Samantha couldn’t help cracking another smile.

“’Cause this stallion’s proud,” I continued, “very proud, of his trainer. He wants to show her off.”

“You got him?” the other female trainer remarked out loud, almost with envy.

— — — — —

For the first time since checking out of the convalescent center, I allowed someone else to push my wheelchair. It was the only way Samantha and I could hold hands as I reached across and behind my left shoulder with my right hand. She walked with unbelievable courage along through the hallways and commons areas, totally nude behind me except for her shoes, invariably drawing a few stares. I would just pat and squeeze her left hand with my right though in reassuring admiration.

That night we settled into my suite together as trainer and stallion were supposed to.

“You still owe me a climax from our interrupted reward,” I reminded her.

But Sam made me work for it.

“Come on, ride me! Let’s see what you can do!” she urged underneath me, as we fucked together in bed. I pummelled my cock forcefully into her, letting myself fly, beginning to imagine galloping along like a stallion . . . the other kind. “Hold off cumming,” my trainer coached under me, “but fuck me! Hard as you can! Come on!

The pounding built and built. Both our hearts and bodies thundered harder and harder, as we breathed fiercely. I wanted to both hold and spew myself at the same time. The tension made my head swim. She made my head swim. This was the most disciplined fucking I had ever experienced. God, could I do it? Could I both keep fucking her hard and not explode?

Come on! Yah!” she yelled, swatting my behind with her hand, urging me faster. She was underneath me; I was a man, fucking her — yet she was riding me! Just like a damned stallion!

I strained and strained. I could hear thundering hoof beats in my head as if they were my own. But I was coming up against a wall.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!” I exploded, arching my back, roaring upwards as my loins fired incredibly powerful jets of cum into the flexing cunt of the woman who was riding me from underneath.

“Gooood boy!” Samantha praised as I collapsed down onto her, my thrusting coming to a stop. “Very good boy!” She was even gently patting my back and ass like a rider would a horse after a hard ride.

I had never been so utterly drained in my life as I lay upon her body for a moment.

“Is . . . Is this stuff deliberate?” I was finally able to ask, weakly raising my sweaty head.

“What stuff?” she asked.

“Treating me like you’re riding a damned horse!” I said.

“It works, doesn’t it,” she observed.

“Best sex of my life,” I sighed in surrender, flopping down on her again.

“The sex will get even better,” she assured. “Come though, let’s get you and I cleaned up, and a drink to cool us down . . . along with a nice massage for you.”

“Okay, I’m your horse,” I breathed.

“No,” Sam corrected. “You’re my stallion.”

WORKING FOR PRIVILEGES

The next morning, I awoke with what felt like the most wonderful gift . . . a nude woman against me in bed. Every waking sensation I had ever savoured and appreciated with Sheila — Sam was giving all of it to me again.

Samantha was still sleeping on her right side though, nestled with her nose resting on my left shoulder as I lay on my back. Her left arm was crooked on top of my torso, and her left leg was draped across both of mine.

Soon, she was awakening. I simply enjoyed Sam’s body as she stretched herself against me.

“Morning,” she yawned. “Ohh,” she then hesitated, covering her mouth.

“I don’t mind ‘morning breath’,” I knowingly assured, turning my whole self towards her, not only moving in for a kiss, but for a mounting as well.

“Nuh, uh,” she said though. “You’re in full training now. Sex is a reward for good performance, as well as a developing skill to be worked on under disciplined conditions. It’s not a freebee.”

“Not even sex as we shower?” I asked, remembering what I’d shared with one of my evaluators the previous morning.

“Shower, okay. But sex in the shower means you do something for it, like working out,” Sam stipulated.

“Showering with you without fucking, or working out straight from bed to get shower sex?” I said. “That is a terrible choice.”

“Them’s the apples you got,” she maintained.

“Would you stop that!” I sighed, smiling though.

“Come on, you like it,” she cajoled.

“Being a stallion?” I finished.

“A stallion of a man,” she sighed, looking at me with desire.

— — — — —

It justifiably might be classified being ‘pussy-whipped’; but I found myself wanting a shower before working out enough to forgo shower sex with Sam. She did allow me to content myself watching her put on something of a show though as she washed herself next to me, letting suds fall down her nicely drenched skin — just not straddling me in my wheelchair.

But having dried, fed, and even put my cycling gloves on for me, Samantha did do one more thing . . . briskly walking around the track beside me, totally nude except for running shoes.

“Extra laps though,” she said, speed-walking with me, “for going at this pace.”

“Alright,” I decided, “I am lapping you, lady.”

“Yah!” she exclaimed, looking at me while slapping her own thigh and walking a little faster.

Off I went!

Within days, she was jogging. But as she started running, I found myself no longer wanting to lap her.

“You are beautiful, running nude,” I’d admire beside her from my chair, as we’d go around that track. Samantha then decided to continue not wearing a sport bra on the track, just for me. “A reward,” she told me. I couldn’t get enough watching those orbs of hers, one nippled and one without, bounce up and down so enticingly as we worked out.

And if I didn’t want my rewards in the shower, Sam would help me out of my chair afterward in the infield, straddle my already swollen cock, lower herself down upon it, as we fucked the living daylights out of each other on that grass. Thanks to her nudity, her left side was now tanning nicely. I started teasingly calling her ‘One Tone’ for that, to her delight. Both her scars and mine became less noticeable as well, and I rarely wore my leg prosthetic. Samantha said I simply looked sexier without it. That was all it took.

But sex wasn’t all play for me . . . it was work, too.

“Hold it,” Samantha said as she straddled and fucked me on my cock during nightly sexual training sessions on our bed. “Don’t release your cum,” she firmly said, “and do not lose your erection.”

It was a delicate balancing act for me, especially with the ‘woman on top’ position. I could easy allow things to flag and go soft. But if I focused too much on the sensation of her fucking me, I’d erupt and cum into her.

“Shit, this is hard!” I’d exclaim with chagrin when I’d fail in either direction.

“Let’s try again,” Sam would then calmly say as she moved off me and fellatioed my cock back to life. “There’s an apple in it at the end for you,” she sometimes teasingly added as she remounted me.

I just snorted, ready to go at it again.

Samantha also continued to insist on doing everything from washing me, to brushing my hair, even my teeth.

“Them’s the rules,” she would say. “I take care of you.”

Amid all her attentions though, it finally dawned on me one night.

“Who takes care of you?” I asked as she massaged me on our bed after I lasted up to sixteen minutes inside her during another of our evening sexual training sessions.

“No one, right now,” she said as she worked on me.

“Well, that’s not fair,” I replied.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed, kneading my shoulders. “Trainers don’t pay to be here though,” she added, “so we work. But good trainers take care of their prize charges, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do,” I admitted, resting my chin on my arms. “But this is driving me nuts!” I continued, turning over underneath her nude self. “Ever since I became handicapped, nobody is letting me do anything.”

“ . . . For yourself,” Samantha noted. “I understand though. After all, I’ve been impaired, cosmetically,” she said, moving to rest her hands on her knees, “ . . . and it was a bitch,” she said with some bitterness.

“Sam,” I invited, “come down here.”

She laid herself down without a word, relaxing her naked body against me as I embraced her.

Something was going on here.

“Sam, would you like a massage?” I asked.

“Yes, I would,” she said, lying on top of me. “Just be gentle with my grafted skin.”

I began gently rubbing her back as she looked at me, subtly smiling.

Something obvious now hit me.

“Would you like me to take care of you?” I asked.

“Yes, Lance, I would,” she replied.

“No rules against that?” I double-checked, continuing to gently rub her back.

“None whatsoever,” she confirmed. “But you get checkmarks on your progress record.”

“Checkmarks?” I queried. “For what?”

“For growing as an Erosian Stallion,” she said.

“So I can take care of you as much as you and I want?” I wondered.

“As much as you want,” she quietly emphasized as I continued to rub her.

I had my answer.

Samantha was not permitted to brush her own teeth or hair anymore, even though she had to have it done while kneeling nude at the bathroom sink, making her look funny and utterly sexy. We could barely get her teeth brushed that first night, laughing so hard. And, as long as I washed her in the shower, I got shower sex whenever I wanted!

Damn, I love loopholes!

Washing each other now, as she sat straddling and fucking my cock on my chair together in that shower — God, was it fun! Plus she got daily rubdowns from me, even as I remembered to be careful with her grafted skin.

Good stallions had their privileges, and I was claiming mine.

THE TEST

Whether it was massage, cunnigulus, tantra, communication, or even cooking a la flambé, I now seemed to breeze through the Centre’s training — with Samantha being the lucky and envied recipient among trainers of my successful studies, and achievements in prowess and stamina.

“You still at it?” we heard one evening as I was engaged in fucking Samantha outdoors on a courtyard massage table, maintaining a good pace, rhythmically pistoning myself upon her. I was sweaty, but it was good.

“Just seeing how long I could keep going,” I replied as I breathed, maintaining that sweet spot on the edge of an orgasmic wave that I could just keep going and going as I lay thrusting myself juuust right on my trainer. I was riding her now, really riding her.

“Why not bring it ‘into the barn’?” Samantha invited beneath me, sweaty from orgasms that I had been giving her, as our onlooker left. With a smile, only then did I allow myself over the edge of that ‘wave’, laying deep into her and granting my now well-disciplined loins their sweet and staggering release at last, bathing her feminine recesses with exquisite surges of cum.

“Gooood boy!” Sam praised as usual, patting my ass with her legs remaining ‘mounted’ around me from underneath. “Such a good boy!”

I lived for that now.

— — — — —

While we males worked with our own trainers through the program, we were tested by others. Having grown used to conventional standards of feminine beauty though, some of the other males balked at testing with Samantha — especially when it came to breast worship or cunnigulus. But bless her, Sam would quietly pass them anyway. It was I who would reward her when we were reunited after such tests.

But I could tell she wasn’t looking forward to the threesome and couple swapping tests that marked the final hurdles in my training.

“We don’t have to do those,” I offered one day. “I’ve gone as far as I need to.” I didn’t quite yet want to tell her why, but I think she knew.

“You got me not to quit, so no quitting now,” she replied, seeming to be as devoted to doing things right as I was.

We then compromised, deciding to take both tests in one evening. The next night, we were assigned a trainer for the threesome portion that I would have normally drooled over. This trainer was young and African, with straight, jet-black hair and a flawless body capped by perfectly ovalled breasts with black, exquisitely defined nipples. When Tamica confidently walked nude into our suite after Samantha greeted her at the door, even Sam noticed my reaction and clear, involuntary anticipation of taking this African.

“So, I hear you’re pretty good,” Tamica up and said standing in front of me with her hands on her ebony hips, getting to the point. “Let’s see how good, before my stallion joins us.”

“Let us take you on the chaise,” I invited from my chair. “It’s closer to the floor and I can move around you better.”

So Sam and I sat Tamica down on the side of the padded bench. Positioning ourselves either side of our guest, we began to fondle and caress her dark-skinned body as she alternated kisses between my female trainer and I. Ohh, how I loved touching and stroking this African’s dark, inviting body, especially with Samantha exploring her as well.

Then laying our guest back on the chaise, Samantha and I each nursed ourselves at this woman’s achingly flawless breasts, those succulent brown mounds yielding beneath our feasting mouths and swirling tongues as we teased her dark, stiffening areolae and nipples. Then, I migrated down this African woman’s oh so well toned abdomen towards her furred sex, lifting her slender, ebony legs either side of my head. Samantha now shared a kiss with our guest again, embracing the African openly as her hands fondled and massaged Tamica’s perfect orbs and sides. The sight of white feminine hands fondling equally feminine dark flesh and breastmeat was utterly erotic to me.

But my test here was consummate pleasuring, not just enjoying even verrry pleasurable sights. So I focused on the equally enticing task of mouthing our female guest’s black, blossoming cuntal folds, running my tongue along each yielding, fleshy crease as I worked my way to that grasping vaginal hole, causing it to quiver under my ministrations. Samantha was now possessively dominating Tamica’s upper body, no longer hesitating to mash her differing tanned but white breasts against the African’s much darker ones, the four soft orbs of flesh yielding to one another.

I probed my way around our guest’s willingly offered clitoral hood and shaft as I sawed two fingers into Tamica’s vaginal maw while hooking them upwards, stroking her hidden, walnut-textured G-spot. Together now, Samantha and I brought Tamica towards a consuming, full-bodied orgasm. This African beauty began gutturally crying out as her dark body writhed beneath us, her back arching off the chaise as her hands grasped for powerful release. Kissing her fellow trainer passionately while I orally serviced Tamica’s surging pussy, both Samantha and I rode out our guest’s overwhelming orgasm, clutching ourselves tightly around this African’s body, before her convulsive throws of ecstasy eventually subsided.

We then heard a knock at our door.

“Come in!” I called, kneeling over the foot of the chaise, tightly embraced by Tamica’s legs with my head still at her pussy. “Perfect timing,” I then noted, seeing my fellow stallion, a toned African male with a well defined, shaved torso and close-trimmed pelvis. He entered, nodding to us politely as Samantha and I released his trainer from between us.

“Shall we move to the bed?” I then offered, hefting myself into the wheelchair, before crossing over and shifting to the bed.

“Look,” Samantha hesitated to our male guest, standing up and noticing his reluctance as he remained apart from the rest of us, “I know how I am. If you want to just do a threesome with Tamica and Lance, I won’t mind. I could use a rest.”

“No,” Tamica countered to our surprise. “Rowan needs to pass the couples swap. So, we swap. Besides, Lance, you haven’t fucked me yet.”

“I’d rather have the threesome,” Rowan now said, speaking up for himself.

I could see Samantha looking down. “Why don’t you three just get started?” she quietly offered. “I’ll get us something from the kitchen,” she added just walking away.

“Sam . . .” I said, calling to her as she passed.

“Just . . . please,” she haltingly replied with her imperfect back to us, spreading her hands apart in a tensed plea to end the discussion.

“If she won’t, Rowan, I will fail you,” Tamica now warned him. “Go and take her — in the kitchen, from behind, I don’t care.”

Samantha quietly sniffled in the kitchen as Rowan sucked it in and dutifully moved himself behind her there, placing his hands on her hips as he weakly began fondling and preparing her for fucking.

“Sam . . .” I called again as Tamica drew my face to look at her on the bed. This African, while beautiful, was no longer looking so appealing.

“This is a test situation,” my ebony partner reminded me. “If I’m not satisfied, you don’t pass.”

I almost felt like slugging my test companion for that instead of fucking her. But I now channelled both my love for Sam, and my irritation at Tamica, into deciding to fuck this African hard, while vowing to give Samantha even better lovemaking later.

“You wanna fuck?” I now posed to the woman on the bed with me. “Let’s get it on.”

Knowing Sam and myself had already made Tamica cum powerfully just moments ago, I now simply pinned this fuckmate down onto the bed, moving myself onto her. Holding both her upper arms with an iron grip and tensing my pelvic muscles just right, I now unerringly thrust my cock right into Tamica’s already opened and worked-over cunt on the first try.

“Yah!” I grunted loudly, slamming myself home into this African female, collapsing onto her as I embraced her body, pinning her arms against our sides. I spread my legs apart, forcing Tamica’s even further apart as I began hammering my swollen but disciplined manmeat deeply, forcefully kissing her while I fucked her hard enough to make the bed shake. She forcefully kissed me right back though. It seemed Tamica liked the rough stuff, so I just poured it on. Grinding myself against this African woman’s taut body no longer mattered to me. Hell, I didn’t even want to ejaculate myself into her anymore. My seed was now for Samantha, and Sam alone!

“Cum, you bitch!” I grunted, channelling myself into fierce carnal aggression.

“Ooohhh . . . Lance . . .” Tamica cooed beneath me, enjoying the fuck of her life now. That frustrated me all the more. Even when I was angrily screwing a woman in spite, I was still apparently making her wildest sex dreams come true.

Continuing to pound into Tamica, I briefly turned to look at Sam. At least Rowan was now tepidly fucking her from behind with his hands on her hips. Samantha was leaning forward, gripping her hands firmly against the counter, her body accepting but not returning his weak pummelling.

I . . . love . . . you, I silently mouthed to Samantha, locking eyes with her. She tearfully smiled back at me, then redoubling her focus on getting through her own fucking as I resumed fucking the life out of the selfish bitch I was stuck on top of at the moment.

Fortunately, Tamica was now moaning in my ear as her restrained hands clawed at my sides, her legs locking with an iron grip around my pelvis. I surged myself into her all the more. Samantha was now moaning, too as she stood, braced against the counter. At least Rowan was decently fucking her after all . . . or maybe Sam was faking it, as much for his sake perhaps as anyone else’s. Both women now cried out in unison as orgasm overtook them, while Rowan grunted his quiet relief into my mate’s proffered backside.

Mate? I wondered as I hammered Tamica right through her orgasm without the slightest interest in cumming inside her. Mate. That’s what Samantha was to me now.

“Oh. Wow,” Tamica marvelled beneath me as she came off the second all-consuming orgasm. I now ceased my sweaty, animalistic slam-fucking of this woman as her arms and legs relaxed around me. I had not released a single globule of my seed into her though . . . perhaps the ultimate achievement as a consummate Erosian stallion.

“I pass?” I wondered, catching my breath and faking a smile towards Tamica.

“Oh yeah,” she assured, looking wide-eyed at me.

“Thanks,” I said, giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before I dismounted her and rolled towards Samantha . . . unfortunately right onto the floor.

“Lance!” I heard Sam cry out as she broke off from Rowan.

“I’m okay,” I quietly assured lying on my back, as she kneeled beside me, “ . . . so long as you're here with me.”

Samantha tearfully straddled me right there on the carpet. We both then reached down together to insert my still hard penis into her more than willing vagina as she wrapped her body tightly around mine. The difference between fucking and lovemaking was like night and day to Sam and I now. My legs felt stronger than ever as I humped myself up into her from beneath!

As Tamica and Rowan left, I held Sam’s sweet body, flawed to everyone else except me, as she savoured my body against hers. Her left foot was even lovingly caressing my stump of a right leg as we mated . . . really mated.

“Release yourself,” she knowingly whispered, “into me,” as her quickening staccato breaths and rippling loins betrayed the orgasm I was already inducing deep within her.

I let go the well-honed brakes within my loins and just let it happen. My entire body then convulsed, pumping forth floods of the milky issue that my trainer alone deserved from me, her stallion.

It was over for Samantha and I, everything . . . our pain, our trials and training, and our searching. It was all over now.

“Goood boy,” I heard gently spoken, along with that welcome patting on the side of my ass. “Very good boy tonight.”

I kissed Sam passionately. Our mating just wouldn’t have been complete without it. But then . . .

“Goood girl . . . such a good girl,” I praised in genuine admiration for her, too, as I patted and rubbed her ass, feeling like an equal ‘rider’ now.

Samantha then kissed me even more intensely, quietly convulsing with joy.

“You could have had that all along,” she whispered. “An Erosian Mare . . . for your stallion.”

“I have it now,” I said, claiming her as just that. “I have you.”

GOING HOME

Samantha and I married just two days later. With death having come so close to each of us before, we didn’t want to wait.

I walked beside her wearing my prosthetic leg in a beachfront ceremony the following sunset, nude, bracing myself with just her firm grip of my arm. I moved Samantha even more though when I took her into a slow dance during the reception thrown for us by everyone at the Centre . . . also nude, of course.

But, as I saw other trainers lovingly sharing apples, carrots and cake with their males at the reception, I could see other weddings taking place soon. Sam and I had been just the first.

This Centre wasn’t about training wealthy males to be merely accomplished lovers and charmers. That was just how they reeled us in — through our penises. It was about training and bonding mates . . . in a unique and likely lasting way. Samantha was all I wanted now. I was her stallion, and she was my mare.

— — — — —

As I brought my bride home — clothed — my aunt met us at the Los Angeles airport.

“Your uncle,” Aunt Monica said to me, “he was my stallion . . . trained him twenty one years ago.” She then paused, with tears in her eyes. “The last thing he suggested as he passed from cancer was to, ‘Go train a new mount.’ They’re about to screen an older crop at the Centre now,” she sniffed, “and seeing you've discovered happiness with Samantha . . . finally, I can go.”

I hugged my aunt tightly, before she proceeded to catch the same plane Sam and I had just arrived on.

“Know that I will always be grateful to Sheila . . . for sharing you with me,” Samantha said, turning to me in her light and proudly low-cut sundress.

I could have taken Sam right there, on the floor of that arrivals hall. Both of us were quite used to fucking in front of other people anyway.

But I quietly pressed my loins against her as we kissed, giving myself to her once more, then and there. Soon, I was walking out of that airport proudly with my wife as she smiled . . . sporting a large wet spot on the front of my grey slacks.

It was just my way of branding myself — as Samantha’s stallion.

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