Kurt
I’d never been to Germany before, and I liked the countryside immediately. I rented a modest house in a small village a short distance from an army base, and spent the days wandering around getting to know the locals, and watching the troops – initially from a safe distance. There were several hunky farm workers in the village who provided me with nutrition on a regular basis, but whenever I saw those soldiers’ jackboots I got a hard-on. I’d more or less decided to investigate them more closely - but as it turned out, I didn’t have to: one day they came to me. More accurately, soldiers came to search the house – someone had noticed I was an outsider and the troops had come to investigate.
There were four of them, and they came one afternoon in an open-topped truck. I saw them arrive and as they jumped down out of it, rifles in hand, I smiled: they were all wearing leather jackboots.
I watched them through the window as they looked around the outside of the house then walked up to the front door and hammered on it. They were boys – seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old, something like that. They were all nice-looking lads, but one of them was particularly sexy.
I was not very good with the language, but I could get by, having known several German guys over the years. The soldiers asked for my papers; they asked who I was, where I was from, what I was doing in that village – all kinds of things. I politely and plausibly answered their questions, while suggesting mentally that I really wasn’t worth their effort. But the sexy one received a few additional thoughts from me. I couldn’t use pheromones as they would have flattened all of them, but mental suggestion was enough. That, and a very sexy smile from me when the others weren’t looking.
They searched the house in a kind of half-hearted way, and then prepared to leave, satisfied that there was no-one hiding in the attic. The sexy one’s eyes didn’t leave mine as the truck pulled away - His name was Kurt, I knew - and I had the feeling that I’d be seeing him again very soon.
I did. There was a knock at about eleven o’clock that night. I put my book down and opened the door. The boy stood there, still in his uniform and looking gorgeous.
To be truthful, the suggestions I’d given him had been a little on the kinky side – even though at that time I didn’t know much about kink. I’d thought ‘leather’ and ‘boots’ at him – all I’d been able to think of.
I invited him in, and smiled. He was a bit flustered – he really had no idea why he’d come back. I stood for a moment just looking at him. Apart from his jackboots, which he’d polished up to a mirror shine, the only leather he’d been able to lay his hands on had been a pair of lederhosen (which I suspect he’d borrowed from somewhere, and which he’d also polished). He was carrying those in a paper bag. I let loose some pheromones and watched him melt.
He looked amazing in the leather shorts. They were black and shiny and tight over his round arse. I started by getting to know his jackboots very well indeed, but they didn’t quite go with the lederhosen – and anyway it seemed to me that it would be more interesting if it were I who were wearing the boots, so I put them on.
Keeping close telepathic control over him, I spread-eagled him on the bed and stood astride him. Then I raised one foot and slowly ground the heel of the boot into his crotch. I could see the shape of his cock under the leather. The sight of this boy soldier in black leather shorts lying on the bed beneath my booted feet sparked feelings in me I hadn’t experienced before. Part of me wanted to cause him erotic pain, and another part wanted to kiss him for a very long time.
In the end I did both. I put him over my knee and spanked his shiny leather arse with one bare hand, while playing with his cock through the shorts from underneath with the other, and later I lay on top of him on the bed and kissed him for ages. Apart from fucking him (which I fully intended to do very shortly) I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was more I wanted to do with him, but at that time of my life I hadn’t been able to think exactly what. I licked his shorts, and the smell of the leather was intoxicating.
I pulled them off him and fucked him slowly for a long time. His skin felt warm and smooth as I reached under his chest and stroked him all over. The feel of that naked soldier boy under me was wonderful - he was moaning and sighing, and although I needed to cum badly, I made sure I didn’t.
Eventually I knew I’d have to stop doing that or, in spite of my proverbial self-control, I would cum. I got off the bed and stood there just looking at him. So far he’d been well under the spell of my mental control, but then I released him completely. I thought there was a good chance that he’d got sufficiently into what I’d been doing to him (he did have a stonking hard-on, after all) that he might have some suggestions of his own to add to the party.
I was wrong: he had suggestions all right, but not the ones I’d been hoping for. A couple of seconds after I released him he jumped up off the bed, shouting unintelligible German far too fast for me to understand – though by his tone I got the distinct impression that he was not pleased. With a howl of rage he launched himself at me, fists outstretched, and I only managed to get him back under control just in time. We landed on the floor, him on top of me.
The look of fanatical hate on his face gradually disappeared, to be replaced by the one of wide-eyed worship I was more used to. I crawled out from under him, got him back onto the bed and immobilised again, then stood there looking down at him. It was very clear that the boy (a) was not gay, (b) hated the very idea, and (c) would do anything to prevent that sort of thing happening to him again. The more I thought about (c) the more I started to smile.
A few minutes’ search in the cupboards of the house produced rope, with which I tied him tightly to the bed, and a strip of cloth – that would make a good gag later, I thought. I’d left him restrained on the bed by suggestion alone, and I could gag him like that as well, of course, but the trouble is that I can’t see the mental restraints I put on someone as clearly as real ones, and sometimes the sight of a physically restrained boy can be a huge turn-on.
I released my mental hold on him completely.
He looked up, puzzled, for a moment, then he remembered where he was and snarled at me, spat, and tore at the rope restraints, shouting and swearing in German again. Although my house was detached from the neighbours’, I was a little worried at the volume of the noise he was making and so I took the strip of cloth I’d found earlier, and carefully gagged him with it – although he fought like fuck against it. His eyes were staring daggers at me while I was doing this.
The sound level was much lower now.
“I’m afraid my German is not good, Kurt.” I hoped I’d said that right.
He looked at me sharply when I used his name – I could see him wondering how the fuck I knew it.
“You are a sexy soldier boy. I like sexy soldier boys. And I am going to make you cum. But not yet. First I am going to play with your body.” I sat on the bed at the side of him and ran my fingers slowly up his naked legs. His cock had gone soft, but I was interested to see if that could be changed by physical touching alone. The higher up my hands got, the more he struggled. Now they were just below his balls. I teased the insides of both thighs for a while, then very obviously moved my fingers up onto his balls themselves. They were nice balls – almost hairless, warm, and round. I played with them for a few minutes as he yelled into the gag, the old bed creaking alarmingly as he did everything he possibly could to get away from me.
I stood up, stripped, and pulled his boots onto my feet. Although there was something of a look of confused desire on his face, this boy appeared to be the only one, apart from Phillipe, who was not completely incapacitated with lust at the sight of me naked. That was interesting, I thought.
I lay on the bed on top of him, and smiled. On an impulse I pushed my hands into his armpits and tickled them for a moment. What happened was not what I’d been expecting: every one of his muscles suddenly tensed, he squirmed and tore at the restraints desperately, screamed, and screwed his face up. Clearly, this boy was insanely ticklish.
Never let it be said that I don’t take advantage of opportunities when they’re thrust into my face. I suspect an evil gleam came into my eyes. I’d never even thought of tickling as a torment before, or that I might enjoy subjecting someone to it, but right then I realised that it could be a brilliant one. I tickled his armpits again, then ran my fingers down his sides and over his upper body.
The human mind is a strange thing: I’d touched him in all of those places already, but now the possibility that I might actually, intentionally tickle him there had occurred to him, his body suddenly became horribly, panic-inducingly hypersensitive. And I made the most of it. Recalling what had been worst on the rare but horrendous occasions when I’d been tickled myself when I was younger, I explored between his ribs, pushed stiff thumbs into his sides and kneaded, attacked his armpits again, pressed my fingers into his pecs and abs, walked them up and down his chest and stomach.
I jumped off the bed so that his entire body was available to me and I went to work on him like a demon. At some point I made him believe he was blindfolded, and was amazed to see that his ticklishness suddenly increased many times. I must remember that, I thought. His feet proved to be two of his most vulnerable spots, so I made him unable to move them an inch, then spent some time raking the bare soles with my fingernails and tickling him unbearably between his toes. After a while they began to desensitise, so I exploited his inability to see where my hands were by tickling him unpredictably all over his madly twitching body.
I have no idea how long I kept this up – I was having a ball – but eventually I stopped and let him have a rest. His chest was heaving as he panted, groaned, and whimpered. I removed his virtual blindfold and climbed back on top of him. Even though he could see again now, and I wasn’t doing anything to him at the moment, his body jerked in panic at every movement I made.
“Relax, Kurt. I’m not going to tickle you any more,” I said in what I hoped was understandable German. It must have been: I felt his muscles slowly get less tense.
The feel of the jackboots on my feet was horny. I slid the leather sensuously over his legs, and kissed his eyes, his face and his gagged mouth. Even through it he tried to bite me, and he continued to swear into the cloth. I ran my fingertips over his face and sucked his earlobe gently. He smelled of fresh sweat and boy.
Very slowly I began to work my way south, licking him, spending a long time sucking his nipples and biting them gently, brushing my lips lightly over his muscular pecs and his firm, flat abs. When I got to his cock it was soft. That was Ok – in fact that was good. I took it between my lips and began to work on it very slowly. He swore at me through the gag and tried to piss in my mouth, but I stopped him. Soon I felt it begin to harden slightly. Enough for now. I continued downwards, stroking and licking his legs, until I got to his feet.
I slid off the bed, and pressed my hard cock against his left sole. He jerked his foot away from it like it was red-hot. I did it again, and so did he. Smiling, I got onto the bed again, the opposite way around to him, this time with my booted feet either side of his hips. Then I brought them together and clamped his cock between them. Leaning back on my elbows, I slowly began to wank him with them. His restraints prevented him from getting his cock out from between them, and I enjoyed his impotent struggling as I worked the boots up and down his cock.
Leather jackboots, it seemed, were not a big fetish for this boy. At least they hadn’t been. I sent him a very precise suggestion, and voilà, they were. He looked down at his cock held between the black leather boots and immediately it began to get hard very quickly. He frowned, but now it was more a frown of need. I removed my feet from him and shuffled up the bed at the side of him, then stroked both boots over his face. I could see he was trying to lick them through the gag. His cock and mine were now both steel rods sticking up between our thighs. I teased the end of his lightly with the fingers of one hand, and it jerked urgently in response.
I placed a cum-block on him, and then sandwiched his cock between the leather jackboots and began slowly tossing him off with them again. He’d been getting increasingly desperate since they’d first touched it, but when I did make him cum I wanted it to be very slow. I wanted him to struggle against it.
I worked on his cock leisurely with the boots for some time, keeping him close but not too close to the edge, just enjoying his moans of need.
Rearranging myself on the bed, I looked at him. “Now, I’m going to suck your cock,” I said very slowly. “And remember: it is not a girl doing this to you, it is a gay boy .” I smiled evilly at him. “What would the Fuhrer think of that?”
At those words, and no longer feeling the jackboots, his fury was renewed. He went ballistic as he watched a guy’s mouth slowly approach his erection – but then, as I raised one foot and lowered the leather boot onto his face the muffled yells turned into quiet groans of lust and I could feel him moving his head so that the boot stroked over his cheek. I smiled to myself – the power of fetishes.
Still with the cum-block on him, I worked on his cock properly, taking the entire organ into my hot, wet mouth, sucking and using my tongue on all the spots I knew so well. The urgency of his groans increased rapidly.
I stopped, and removed the boot from his face. “Do you want to cum? Do you want another boy to make you cum?”
The poor lad didn’t know whether to beg me to let him cum or to tell me to verpiss dich.
I knelt at the bottom end of the bed and leaned forward so that he could get a much better view of me sucking him off, then I released the cum-block, and went back to working on his cock, but much more slowly.
I was fucking with his mind, and he knew it. He needed to cum very badly indeed, but – as I’d intended - the absence of the boot in his face now and the short breather I’d given him when I was moving to my present position had allowed him go off the boil just sufficiently to let his old prejudices re-assert themselves. He was staring at me wide-eyed, covered in sweat, his muscles tensed, not sure whether to try to tear the ropes off the bed and kill me, or to thrust his cock further into my sucking mouth than it already was.
I took pity on him. Without warning I suddenly sucked him hard and fast – deep-throating him mercilessly. My reward came in seconds flat: gush after gush of hot German soldier boy spunk. It was delicious.
I let him recover for a few minutes, then used my mental abilities to cover his face and naked body with jackboots while I fed twice more.
When we were dressed and downstairs again, I reluctantly made him forget everything that had taken place. I thought about removing the jackboot fetish from his mind as well, but then I decided to leave it there – it might be the source of some interesting episodes for this boy, surrounded as he would be every day by hunky soldiers wearing them.
I said goodnight to him, and closed the door.
*
The War was long past and things had settled down. I stayed in Germany for quite a while, happily wandering around the country, even climbing some of the smaller mountains – I found that fun - enjoying the local beers and the local men. On a visit to Berlin I met a couple of other Vees, Carlo and René, in a bar. I knew they were Vees as soon as I set eyes on them – René was young and very beautiful, and Carlo looked like Bela Lugosi – complete with extremely long canines and black cape. They’d met in Czechoslovakia a long time ago, and Carlo had transformed René some twenty years back. I asked Carlo about the teeth and the cape, and he laughed. He took the canines out and put them on the table. They sat there, two large teeth connected by a wire frame. He gave me a conspiratorial look from below bushy eyebrows. “Many men are excited by a Vampyre – even a harmless one.” He saw my confused look. “My dear boy, I’ve found that these days the best way of being left alone is to look eccentric. The few that know the old legends are afraid and keep away; the younger ones that don’t know them just think I’m mad, so they keep away too. Until I want them to come closer...” He grinned lecherously at me, then put the teeth back in. “These help.”
I wasn’t convinced by that, but they’d been in Berlin a long time and they certainly seemed to be doing all right.
I asked him if they weren’t afraid of the pitchfork hoards. He smiled indulgently and shook his head. “Where these days is it possible to buy pitchforks?”
In spite of Carlo’s appearance, both he and René were semenivores, like I was. They took me into the city and showed me the best places to find interesting men to feed from. They were a nice couple, and they invited me to stay for a while. As I did everywhere I went, I asked about Dominic, but they’d never heard of him.
I liked Germany, and there were indeed many sexy guys in Berlin, but by the time six months had passed I was getting itchy feet again. I thanked them for their hospitality, hugged them goodbye, and set off for England, promising to visit them again if I came back to Germany.
Slowly I made my way across the country and into the Netherlands, exploring parts of Belgium on the way. I especially loved Bruges, and stayed there for a time. The docks of Rotterdam proved to be very interesting indeed, but it was Amsterdam that I fell in love with. The canals reminded me of my Venice. I thought sadly that Dominic would have loved it here, and I wondered if he’d ever been, before he’d met me. I rented a little top-floor flat overlooking the Herengracht. It had a small balcony and I spent the evenings sitting there and looking over the rooftops. I loved it. I stayed there until mid-summer, enjoying the Dutch boys very much, but then I decided it was time to continue my journey towards England.
I’d never been to England before either, but it was one of the places I’d wanted to visit, if for no other reason that back in Venice I’d known a Vee, David, who was moving here and he’d invited to me go see him if I were ever in the area.
But there were distractions. Very soon after landing in the UK I became aware of two startlingly fascinating phenomena: bikers, and black leather jeans...
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