Pursuit at Sea

[Spiritual_Camera]

Part One

The HMS Dauntless sliced through the slate-grey waves of the North Atlantic, her engines a low growl beneath the howl of wind. It was November 1942, and the war churned relentlessly, with U-boats stalking convoys like wolves in the deep. For Lieutenant Alexander Harrington, newly commissioned at nineteen, this was his first taste of the sea’s unforgiving embrace. Raised in the manicured estates of Surrey, son of a viscount, Alexander was a vision of upper-class refinement—tall, slender, with golden hair swept neatly under his officer’s cap, blue eyes that sparkled like cut sapphires, and skin as smooth as porcelain. His uniform clung to his lithe frame, epaulets gleaming with the weight of his Dartmouth training. Yet beneath the polish lay an innocence untouched by the world’s coarser edges. He’d kissed a debutante once, a perfunctory peck at a ball, but the stirrings in his chest remained a mystery, locked away by propriety and expectation.

The Dauntless was a cramped, steel world of men from every corner of Britain, thrown together by war’s necessity. Alexander’s cabin, shared with another junior officer, offered a sliver of privacy compared to the enlisted men’s hammocks below. His duties were routine—navigation checks, gun crew inspections, and shadowing Captain Warrick, a grizzled veteran whose voice boomed like cannon fire. It was during one such inspection, on the third day out from Scapa Flow, that Alexander first noticed *him*.

Tom Brennan, Ordinary Seaman, age twenty-four, from the gritty docks of Portsmouth. He was everything Alexander was not—rugged, broad-shouldered, with a jaw shadowed by dark stubble and eyes like storm clouds over the Solent. His body was forged by years of labor: thick arms corded with muscle, a chest that strained his jumper, and legs solid as oak. Tom had joined the Navy at sixteen, but his education in life began earlier. Orphaned at ten, he’d clawed his way through Portsmouth’s underbelly, learning to fight, steal, and survive. By fourteen, he’d discovered desire’s raw edge—quick trysts with dockside girls, stolen moments with lads in shadowy pubs. He fucked with a hunger that knew no bounds, men or women, taking pleasure where it was offered. War only sharpened that appetite.

Alexander paused by a gun turret, clipboard in hand, as Tom hoisted a shell crate, muscles flexing under sweat-damp fabric. Their eyes met, and Tom’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. Alexander felt a jolt, a heat creeping up his neck. He muttered about checking alignments and hurried on, but Tom’s gaze lingered like a brand.

That night, in his bunk, Alexander couldn’t shake the image—Tom’s broad hands, his easy confidence. The ship’s pitch and the engine’s hum amplified his restlessness. Why did the sailor unsettle him? It wasn’t admiration—it was something deeper, a pull he couldn’t name. His body stirred, a hardness he tried to ignore, but sleep came slowly.

Tom, meanwhile, lounging in the mess deck’s clamor, sipped tea and grinned to himself. The lieutenant was a prize—posh, pretty, and ripe for plucking. Those wide blue eyes screamed curiosity, a hunger waiting to be awakened. Tom knew the type: sheltered boys who didn’t know their own desires until someone showed them. Rank and class meant nothing at sea; the ocean leveled all. He’d take his time, tease the boy until he begged for it.

Tom’s campaign started subtly. Over the next week, he made himself unavoidable. During deck drills, he’d position himself in Alexander’s line of sight, rolling his shoulders as he scrubbed the deck, jumper clinging to his frame. He’d offer casual comments, just shy of insubordinate. “Rough seas today, sir. Hope you’re steady on your feet.” The words were innocent, but his tone dripped with suggestion, and Alexander’s cheeks flushed each time.

Alexander tried to maintain his composure, issuing orders with clipped precision, but Tom’s presence gnawed at him. One evening, as he reviewed charts in the navigation room, Tom appeared with a stack of logbooks.

“Captain’s orders, sir,” Tom said, setting them down. He leaned against the table, too close, his scent—salt, sweat, and tobacco—filling the air.

“Thank you, Brennan,” Alexander said, eyes on the charts, pulse racing.

Tom didn’t move. “Long nights out here, ain’t they, sir? Makes a man think things he shouldn’t.”

Alexander’s pen stilled. “I’m sure you keep busy, sailor.”

Tom chuckled, low and rough. “Oh, I do. But sometimes, it’s the quiet ones that catch my eye.” He brushed past, his arm grazing Alexander’s. The touch was electric, and Alexander’s breath hitched.

Alone again, Alexander pressed a hand to his chest, heart pounding. He told himself it was the stress of command, but his dreams that night were filled with Tom’s smirk, his rough hands.

A week later, a storm battered the Dauntless, waves crashing over the bow. Alexander was on the bridge, soaked and shivering, when Tom appeared with oilskins for the officers.

“For you, sir,” Tom said, handing him one. Their fingers brushed, and Tom’s grip lingered, his eyes locked on Alexander’s. “Stay warm. Be a shame to catch cold.”

Alexander nodded, unable to speak. That night, restless, he wandered to the stern, the storm’s roar muffling the world. Tom was there, leaning on the rail, cigarette glowing in the dark.

“Couldn’t sleep, sir?” Tom asked, exhaling smoke.

Alexander hesitated. “Just... clearing my head.”

Tom stepped closer, the cigarette’s ember casting shadows on his rugged face. “Sea does that. Strips away the nonsense. Leaves you with what’s real.” He flicked the cigarette into the waves and closed the distance, his body a wall of heat against the chill.

“What are you doing?” Alexander whispered, but he didn’t retreat.

Tom’s hand cupped his jaw, thumb tracing his lower lip. “What you’ve been wantin’ since you saw me.” He leaned in, lips brushing Alexander’s—soft at first, testing. Alexander froze, then melted, kissing back with clumsy hunger. Tom deepened it, tongue claiming his mouth, rough and possessive. Alexander moaned, hands clutching Tom’s jumper.

When they broke apart, Alexander was panting, lips swollen. “This is wrong. My rank—”

“Fuck rank,” Tom growled, kissing him again, harder. “You want this. Say it.”

“I... I do,” Alexander admitted, trembling.

Tom grinned. “Good boy.” He stepped back, leaving Alexander aching. “More soon, sir.”

Tom’s pursuit intensified. He left tokens—a polished pebble on Alexander’s desk, a note: “For luck, sir.” During inspections, he’d stand too close, his breath warm on Alexander’s neck. Alexander’s resistance waned, his nights filled with fantasies of Tom’s touch.

Two weeks later, they were alone in a storage locker, restocking signal flags. Tom locked the door and turned, eyes predatory.

“Been thinkin’ about me, haven’t ya?” Tom said, crowding him against the bulkhead.

Alexander swallowed. “I shouldn’t.”

“But you do.” Tom’s hand slid to Alexander’s waist, then lower, palming his growing erection. Alexander gasped, hips bucking. “Let me show you somethin’.”

He guided Alexander’s hand to his trousers, unbuttoning them. Tom’s cock sprang free—eight inches, thick and veined, already hard. Alexander’s eyes widened, his mouth dry.

“Touch it,” Tom ordered, voice low. “Stroke me.”

Alexander hesitated, then wrapped his fingers around the shaft, marveling at its heat and weight. Tom groaned, guiding his hand in slow, firm strokes. “That’s it, pretty boy. Just like that.”

Alexander’s movements grew confident, his own arousal straining his trousers. Tom’s hand covered his, speeding the rhythm. “Fuck, you’re a natural. Gonna make me come.”

When Tom climaxed, hot seed spilled over Alexander’s hand, the sight and feel pushing him over the edge without a touch. He sagged against the wall, mortified but exhilarated.

Tom wiped his hand on a rag, smirking. “Knew you’d like it. Next time, you’ll do more.”

The anticipation built over days, Tom’s teasing relentless. A brush of hands during drills, a whispered “Soon, sir” in passing. Alexander was a wreck, his duties a blur against the constant ache for Tom.

It happened in the engine room’s shadows, late at night. The hum of machinery masked their sounds as Tom pulled Alexander into a corner, kissing him fiercely. “On your knees, officer.”

Alexander sank down, heart racing. Tom freed his cock, guiding it to Alexander’s lips. “Suck it. Show me what that posh mouth can do.”

Alexander hesitated, then took the head into his mouth, the taste salty and overwhelming. Tom’s hand fisted in his hair, guiding him. “Good boy. Take it deeper.”

Alexander gagged at first, but Tom’s groans spurred him on. He bobbed his head, tongue swirling, learning the rhythm. Tom’s hips thrust gently, praising him. “Fuck, you’re perfect. My pretty lieutenant.”

When Tom pulled out, he hauled Alexander up, spinning him to face a pipe. “My turn.” He yanked down Alexander’s trousers, exposing his ass. Alexander gasped as Tom’s tongue lapped at his hole, hot and wet, circling the tight ring. The sensation was electric, filthy, and Alexander moaned, pushing back.

“God, this tight young hole,” Tom murmured, tongue probing deeper. “Virgin, ain’t ya?”

“Yes,” Alexander panted, gripping the pipe.

Tom ate him out with relish, fingers spreading him wide. “Gonna make you ready for me. Gonna fuck this boy cunt soon.”

Alexander whimpered, cock leaking, lost in pleasure. Tom stood, pressing against him, cock nudging his entrance. “Tonight, I’m gonna carve you open, make you mine—”

The klaxon blared, battle stations called. Torpedoes had been sighted. Tom cursed, pulling away. “Fuck. Hold that thought, sir.”

Alexander scrambled to dress, heart pounding as they ran to their posts. The Dauntless rocked under depth charges, the battle fierce. Afterward, in the chaos, their eyes met across the deck—Tom’s promising more.

The war pressed on, their dance unfinished, but Tom’s pursuit had claimed Alexander’s body and heart, leaving him yearning for the moment they’d collide again.

 

[Spiritual_Camera]

Part Two

The HMS Dauntless carved through the North Atlantic’s iron-grey waves, her hull shuddering under the weight of November 1942’s bitter gales. The war was a relentless grind, with U-boats stalking the convoy she escorted, their torpedoes a constant threat. For Lieutenant Alexander Harrington, nineteen and newly commissioned, the ship was a crucible of duty and desire. Born to a viscount’s privilege in Surrey’s rolling hills, Alexander was a vision of aristocratic beauty—tall and slender, with golden hair swept neatly under his officer’s cap, blue eyes like polished sapphires, and skin smooth as alabaster. His tailored uniform, epaulets gleaming, marked him as an officer, but beneath the polish lay an innocence untested by the world’s raw edges. A chaste kiss at a debutante ball was his only brush with intimacy, leaving the deeper stirrings within him a locked vault of confusion.

The Dauntless was a microcosm of Britain’s wartime melting pot, her crew a mix of grizzled veterans and green recruits, officers and enlisted men bound by necessity. Alexander’s shared cabin offered a sliver of privacy compared to the enlisted men’s hammocks below, but the ship’s steel walls pressed close, amplifying every tension. His duties—navigation checks, gun crew inspections, and shadowing Captain Warrick, a bulldog of a man with a voice like thunder—kept him busy, but nothing could distract him from Tom Brennan.

Tom, a 24-year-old Ordinary Seaman from Portsmouth’s gritty docks, was a storm in human form. Broad-shouldered, with a jaw shadowed by dark stubble and eyes like the Solent’s storm clouds, his body was sculpted by years of labor—thick arms corded with muscle, a chest that strained his jumper, and legs solid as oak. Orphaned at ten, he’d survived on the streets, learning to fight, steal, and fuck with a hunger that knew no bounds. By fourteen, he’d bedded dockside girls and lads in shadowy pubs, his desire indiscriminate. The Navy, which he joined at sixteen, only sharpened his predatory edge. Now, aboard the Dauntless, his gaze had locked onto Alexander, the posh lieutenant ripe for conquest.

Their last encounter—in the engine room, Tom’s tongue probing Alexander’s hole, his eight-inch cock poised to claim him—had ended with the klaxon’s wail, battle stations saving Alexander from crossing an irreversible line. The memory haunted him, a mix of terror and yearning. He was an officer, a gentleman, not some sailor’s plaything. Yet Tom’s touch lingered like a brand, and Alexander resolved to pull away, to bury his desire under duty. Tom, however, had other plans, his pursuit a calculated game of seduction that would unravel Alexander’s defenses over weeks.

Alexander threw himself into his role, doubling his focus on charts, drills, and reports. He avoided Tom’s gaze during inspections, kept his orders crisp, and stayed on the bridge during off-watch hours. The Dauntless’s routine was grueling: dawn watches, depth charge drills, and the ever-present threat of U-boats. The crew whispered of wolf packs circling, and Captain Warrick’s barked commands kept everyone on edge. Yet Tom was inescapable, a shadow woven into the ship’s rhythm.

During deck drills, Tom positioned himself in Alexander’s line of sight, scrubbing the deck with deliberate slowness, his jumper clinging to sweat-slicked muscles. He’d catch Alexander’s eye and smirk, a silent challenge. In the mess, he’d brush past, his hand grazing Alexander’s hip, murmuring, “Lookin’ tense, sir. Need a hand?” The words were innocent to others but laced with promise, sending heat up Alexander’s spine.

At night, in his bunk, Alexander wrestled with himself. His body betrayed him, hardening at the memory of Tom’s tongue, his rough voice. He’d touch himself, quick and shameful, imagining Tom’s hands pinning him down. Afterward, guilt crashed in—sodomy was a court-martial offense, a scandal that would disgrace his family. He vowed to resist, but Tom’s presence gnawed at his resolve.

Tom, meanwhile, savored the chase. In the mess deck’s clamor, amid dice games and ribald jokes, he nursed a mug of tea and planned his next move. The lieutenant was a prize—pretty, sheltered, his blue eyes screaming a hunger he didn’t yet understand. Tom had broken boys like him before, coaxing them into submission with patience and pressure. Rank and class meant nothing at sea; the ocean stripped away pretense. He’d have Alexander begging before they reached Halifax.

Tom’s tactics grew bolder. He left tokens—a polished shell on Alexander’s desk, a note in rough scrawl: “Dream of me, sir.” During inspections, he’d stand too close, his breath warm on Alexander’s neck, whispering, “Bet you’re thinkin’ about my cock right now.” Alexander’s blushes and stammered replies only fueled Tom’s fire. The crew noticed nothing, chalking Tom’s familiarity to sailor’s cheek, but Alexander felt the noose tightening.

One evening, as the Dauntless pitched through a storm, Alexander stood at the stern, rain lashing his oilskins. Tom appeared, cigarette glowing in the dark, his broad frame cutting through the wind.

“Rough night, sir,” Tom said, voice low. “Sea’s got a way of stirrin’ things up.”

Alexander gripped the rail, avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine, Brennan. Return to your post.”

Tom stepped closer, his body a wall of heat. “You’re runnin’ from me, but it ain’t workin’. I see it in your eyes—you want what I can give ya.” His hand brushed Alexander’s, a spark in the cold. “That tight hole of yours is beggin’ for me, ain’t it?”

Alexander’s breath hitched. “You’re out of line. This stops now.”

Tom’s laugh was a rumble. “You say that, but your cock’s hard right now, ain’t it?” He leaned in, lips grazing Alexander’s ear. “I’ll wait, pretty boy. You’ll come to me.” He walked away, leaving Alexander trembling, rain mixing with the heat on his cheeks.

Tom’s pursuit turned psychological, a game of teasing Alexander’s mind as much as his body. He’d linger during drills, flexing his arms as he hauled ropes, knowing Alexander watched. Notes multiplied—“Want you on your knees, sir” or “Your hole’s mine soon”—each burned by Alexander but seared into his memory. The tension was unbearable, Alexander’s nights filled with fevered dreams of Tom’s touch, his days a battle to maintain composure.

Ten days later, they were alone in a storage locker, restocking signal flags. Tom locked the door, his grin wolfish. “Got you now, sir.”

Alexander backed against a crate, pulse racing. “This is insubordinate, Brennan—”

Tom silenced him with a kiss, rough and claiming, pinning him to the crate. Alexander resisted for a heartbeat, then surrendered, kissing back with desperate hunger. Tom’s tongue explored his mouth, hands gripping his hips, pulling him close. When they broke apart, Alexander’s lips were swollen, his eyes dazed.

“Please,” Alexander whispered, voice breaking.

Tom’s hand slid to his crotch, palming his erection. “You want my cock, don’t ya? Been dreamin’ of it.”

Alexander nodded, shame burning through him. “Yes.”

“Beg for it, then,” Tom growled, unbuttoning his trousers to reveal tight navy briefs, the outline of his eight-inch cock obscene, a damp spot at the tip. “Tell me you want to touch it.”

“Please, Tom,” Alexander pleaded, hands trembling. “Let me touch your cock.”

Tom smirked, grabbing Alexander’s wrist and pressing his hand to the bulge. “Not yet. Smell it first.” He pushed Alexander to his knees, grinding his crotch against his face. The musky scent—sweat, arousal, and Tom’s raw masculinity—flooded Alexander’s senses. He inhaled deeply, moaning, his own cock throbbing in his trousers. Tom’s hand fisted in his hair, guiding his nose along the length, the fabric warm and slightly damp.

“Good boy,” Tom groaned, rubbing himself against Alexander’s face. “Breathe it in. That’s all you get for now.” He pulled back, tucking himself away. “Keep beggin’, sir. I’ll give you more when you’re ready.”

Alexander staggered to his feet, humiliated but aching, his briefs sticky with pre-cum. Tom’s laugh echoed as he left, the door clicking shut.

Tom’s teasing grew relentless. During inspections, he’d whisper, “Your hole’s clenchin’ for me, ain’t it?” or brush Alexander’s thigh in passing, each touch a promise. Alexander’s resistance frayed, his dreams a blur of Tom’s hands, his filthy voice. He avoided the sailor’s gaze, but it only sharpened Tom’s pursuit.

One stormy night, in the chart room, Tom cornered him again. Rain battered the portholes as he locked the door. “Missed you, sir,” he said, pulling Alexander into a searing kiss. Alexander melted, hands clutching Tom’s jumper, the coarse fabric grounding him. Tom’s fingers slipped under his shirt, tweaking a nipple, making him gasp into the kiss.

“Gonna make you feel good,” Tom murmured, hand sliding into Alexander’s trousers. A callused finger circled his hole, teasing the tight rim. Alexander whimpered, clinging to Tom as the finger pressed in, slick with spit. The intrusion was strange, electric, stretching him in a way that made his knees buckle. Tom’s finger curled, stroking a spot inside that sent sparks through Alexander’s body.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Tom groaned against his lips. “This hole’s gonna be mine, pretty boy.”

He fingered him slowly, one digit sliding in and out, then two, scissoring gently. Alexander moaned, rocking against the pressure, his cock leaking in his briefs. Pleasure built, dizzying, but a crewman’s shout outside broke the spell. Tom withdrew, kissing him once more. “Soon, sir. You’ll be beggin’ for my cock.”

Alexander sagged against the table, body thrumming, mind a tangle of want and fear.

### The War’s Shadow

The Dauntless pressed on, her mission fraught with peril. U-boat sightings multiplied, and depth charge drills rattled the crew. One night, a torpedo grazed the hull, the explosion rocking the ship. Alexander manned the bridge, issuing orders with a steadiness that belied his racing heart. Below, Tom hauled ammunition, his face grim with focus. Their eyes met briefly in the chaos, a silent promise amid the danger.

Off-watch, the crew’s camaraderie offered fleeting relief. In the mess, Alexander overheard Tom’s tales of Portsmouth—bar fights, quick fucks in alleys—told with a grin that made the other sailors roar. Alexander envied their ease, their freedom from the class constraints that shackled him. Yet Tom’s gaze always found him, a reminder of their unfinished dance.

Alexander’s internal struggle deepened. He was an officer, bound by duty and honor, yet Tom’s pull was primal, undeniable. He prayed for strength, but his body betrayed him, hardening at the sailor’s mere presence. Tom’s notes kept coming—“Your arse is mine, sir” or “Can’t wait to taste you again”—each one a dagger to his resolve.

 

[Spiritual_Camera]

Part Three

After weeks at sea, the Dauntless docked in Halifax for repairs, the crew granted two days’ leave. As Alexander packed his kit, a note slipped into his pocket: an address on a seedy street, with the words, “Be there or you’re dead. —T.” His heart pounded. He should burn it, stay in the officers’ quarters, preserve his dignity. But Tom’s scent, his voice, his promises haunted him. He paced his cabin, torn between fear and desire. Duty screamed no; his body screamed yes.

He went. The boarding house was a dilapidated clapboard structure in Halifax’s dock district, reeking of coal smoke and cheap gin. Alexander stood outside for thirty minutes, cap pulled low, nerves fraying. Passersby eyed his officer’s uniform, and he felt exposed, a gentleman in a den of vice. Finally, he climbed the creaking stairs and knocked on the landlady’s door.

“Room for Brennan,” he mumbled, avoiding her knowing smirk.

“Upstairs, third door,” she said, her gaze lingering.

Alexander’s knock on Tom’s door was barely audible. It swung open, revealing Tom in trousers, a tight vest, and braces, his thick arms bare for the first time—corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair, veins prominent under tanned skin. Alexander’s mouth went dry, his cock twitching in his trousers.

“Come in, sir,” Tom said, voice warm but commanding, a predator welcoming prey.

The room was sparse—a chair by a small fire, a single bed with a sagging mattress, a bottle of whisky on a scarred table. Tom poured two glasses, handing one to Alexander. “Drink. You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

Alexander downed it in one gulp, the burn grounding him. He took another, the warmth spreading through his chest, dulling his nerves. Tom sat in the chair by the fire, patting his lap. “C’mere, pretty boy.”

Heart hammering, Alexander perched on Tom’s lap, their bodies pressed close, Tom’s heat searing through his uniform. Tom’s hand cupped his neck, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. Their tongues tangled, Tom’s stubble scraping Alexander’s smooth skin, the taste of whisky and tobacco intoxicating. Alexander moaned, hands gripping Tom’s shoulders, the hard muscle under his fingers a stark contrast to his own softness.

Tom’s hands roamed, unbuttoning Alexander’s jacket, peeling off his shirt, then his trousers, until he sat in tight white briefs, his erection straining the fabric. Tom sucked on Alexander’s finger, his tongue swirling, then guided it to his lips. “Get it wet for me.” Alexander obeyed, slicking it with saliva. Tom’s hand slipped into his briefs, teasing his hole with the wet finger, circling the tight rim before pushing in. Alexander gasped, rocking against the intrusion, the stretch both strange and thrilling.

“Fuck, so tight,” Tom groaned, his finger curling inside, stroking that sensitive spot. “This hole’s beggin’ for me.”

Alexander whimpered, clinging to Tom, his cock leaking into his briefs. Tom’s other hand pinched his nipple, sending sparks through him. “You know why you’re here, don’t ya?” Tom asked, voice a low growl.

Alexander nodded, breathless, his face flushed.

“Good. I’m gonna cunt you tonight, pretty boy. Carve a pussy between those beautiful legs and breed you deep. You won’t be a real man after this—your purpose’ll be to serve men, to get ‘em off. Understand?”

Another nod, Alexander’s eyes wide with fear and want, his body trembling.

“Good boy,” Tom said, kissing him again, slow and possessive. “On your knees now. Suck me off first. I’m too fuckin’ horny to last long enough to break you in proper.”

Alexander slid to the floor, knees pressing into the worn boards. Tom unbuttoned his trousers, freeing his cock—eight inches, thick and veined, the head glistening with pre-cum. Alexander’s eyes widened, his mouth watering despite his nerves. He leaned in, taking the head into his mouth, the taste salty and musky, overwhelming. Tom’s hand fisted in his hair, guiding him gently at first. “That’s it, pretty officer. Suck it good.”

Alexander gagged as he took more, his lips stretching around the girth, but Tom’s groans spurred him on. “Fuck, your mouth’s perfect. Keep goin’, boy.” He bobbed his head, tongue swirling, learning the rhythm. Tom’s hips thrust slightly, fucking his mouth with controlled restraint. When Tom came, hot seed splashed across Alexander’s face, dripping down his cheeks and chin. Tom scooped it up with his fingers, feeding it to him, the act filthy and intimate. Alexander swallowed, humiliated but aroused, his briefs soaked.

Tom caught his breath, then lifted Alexander effortlessly, carrying him to the bed and laying him face-down. He tugged the briefs down just enough to expose his hole—pink, hairless, impossibly tight. “Fuck, look at this,” Tom murmured, voice thick with lust. “Prettiest little hole I’ve ever seen.” He dove in, tongue lapping at the sensitive rim, circling before probing inside. Alexander moaned, gripping the sheets, his body arching instinctively. Tom’s tongue was relentless, licking and sucking, darting in and out, the wet heat driving Alexander wild. He pushed back, desperate for more, his cock throbbing in his briefs.

“Please,” Alexander begged, voice shaking, his hole clenching around Tom’s tongue. “More.”

Tom added a finger, slick with spit, stretching him gently. “So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned, working it in and out, then adding a second, scissoring to open him up. Alexander whimpered, shoving back, the pleasure-pain mix dizzying. He was putty in Tom’s hands, his resistance gone, his body begging for what was coming.

Tom flipped him over, kissing him deeply, their tongues tangling as Alexander clung to him. “It’s time, baby boy,” Tom said, pulling back. He grabbed a jar of Vaseline from the table, scooping a generous amount and spreading it on Alexander’s hole, pushing it inside with two fingers, then three, the stretch making Alexander gasp. Tom coated his cock, the thick shaft glistening, veins prominent under the slick sheen.

“Listen to me,” Tom said, voice firm but gentle. “When I push in, you push out. Relax your hole. It’ll hurt at first, but you’ll take it like a good boy. Understand?”

Alexander nodded, eyes wet with fear and anticipation. Tom pushed his legs up, briefs still covering his cock, and positioned himself, the blunt head pressing against Alexander’s hole. He pushed in slowly, the stretch burning, splitting Alexander open. Tears welled, and he cried out, “It’s too much! Please, Tom!”

Tom slid a finger into Alexander’s mouth, silencing him. “Shh, baby boy. Breathe.” He leaned down, kissing him softly, tongue soothing as he pushed deeper. “Open up for me. Spread those legs wide.” The pain was intense, a white-hot stretch, but Tom’s kisses and whispers grounded him. “Such a good boy. Takin’ my big dick so well.”

Inch by inch, Tom filled him, the thick cock stretching his hole to its limit. Alexander’s tears fell, but the burn began to shift, pleasure creeping in as Tom bottomed out, his balls pressed against Alexander’s ass. “Fuck, you’re tight,” Tom groaned, holding still to let him adjust. “Look at you, my pretty officer, takin’ my cock like you were made for it.”

Tom began to thrust, slow and deep, each movement sending sparks through Alexander’s body. “That’s it, baby. Feel me carvin’ that pussy between your legs.” He angled his hips, hitting a spot that made Alexander moan, his cock twitching in his briefs. Tom’s hands gripped his thighs, spreading him wider. “You look so good under me. Made to take this dick.”

The pace quickened, Tom’s thrusts growing harder, the bed creaking under them. Alexander’s moans filled the room, his body rocking with each impact. Tom’s dirty talk was relentless. “Open up for me, baby boy. Let me breed this tight cunt. You’re mine now, ain’t ya?” Alexander nodded, lost in sensation, his hole clenching around Tom’s cock.

Tom shifted them, pulling Alexander onto his side, one leg hooked over his shoulder. The new angle drove deeper, hitting that spot relentlessly. “Arch your back, baby,” Tom ordered, hand spanking Alexander’s ass lightly, the sting adding to the pleasure. “Fuck, you’re takin’ it so good. My perfect boy.”

They moved again, Tom flipping him to his stomach, pulling his hips up. “Spread those cheeks for me,” he growled, and Alexander obeyed, hands trembling as he exposed himself. Tom thrust in, the position allowing him to pound harder, his balls slapping against Alexander’s skin. “This pussy’s mine now. Gonna fill it up, breed you deep.”

Hours passed, Tom’s stamina endless, his years of fucking giving him control even after coming once. He flipped Alexander onto his back again, pushing his legs to his chest. “Look at me, baby boy. Want to see your face when you take it.” Alexander’s eyes locked onto Tom’s, the connection raw and intense. Tom’s cock drove into him, each thrust a claim. “You were made for this, weren’t ya? My little officer slut, takin’ my dick like a whore.”

Tom pulled him up, guiding Alexander to straddle him. “Ride me, baby. Show me how much you want it.” Alexander hesitated, then moved, sinking onto Tom’s cock, the stretch easier now but still overwhelming. Tom’s hands gripped his hips, guiding him. “That’s it, bounce on it. Fuck yourself on my cock.” Alexander did, moaning as he found a rhythm, his hole clenching with each rise and fall. Tom’s hands roamed, pinching his nipples, spanking his ass. “So fuckin’ good, baby boy. Keep ridin’.”

The pleasure built, Alexander’s cock still trapped in his briefs, soft at first from the pain, now hard and leaking. Tom’s relentless thrusts, the constant pressure on that spot inside, pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re gonna come for me, ain’t ya?” Tom growled, thrusting up hard. “Gonna milk my cock with this new pussy.”

Alexander’s orgasm hit without warning, a hands-free explosion that shook his body, his hole clamping down on Tom’s cock, pulsing rhythmically. The briefs were soaked, his cock untouched but throbbing. The sensation pushed Tom over, and he roared, flooding Alexander’s hole with hot seed, breeding him deep. “Fuck, take it all, baby boy,” Tom groaned, thrusting through his climax, filling him until it leaked out around his cock.

They collapsed, panting, Tom’s cock softening inside. Alexander’s briefs were still pulled down, his hole tender and slick. Tom kissed him softly, tongues lazy now, the intensity giving way to tenderness. “You did so good, baby,” Tom murmured, stroking his hair.

Alexander stirred, panic rising. “I need to go. Where will I sleep?”

Tom pulled him back, arms tight. “You’re sleepin’ here, baby boy.” He spooned him, bodies pressed close, and kissed his neck. “You’re mine now.”

They slept until dawn, the fire’s embers glowing, the war a distant rumble beyond the walls.