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I whispered into the mike:
“Sierra Five Zulu, this is Four Delta Quebec. Do you have visual on targets? Over.”
A little further down the valley, George, my opposite number in 2nd platoon, pressed his transmit button twice in rapid succession. The clicks in my ear confirmed that he had indeed seen the Taliban commanders we were waiting to intercept. They were obviously close enough for him to avoid talking. It was a few hours before day break in the mountains of south Afghanistan. It looked like 2nd platoon was set up in the right pass that night. I didn’t need my radio to hear the flash-bang stun grenades. Within a minute George was back on the air in his calm voice:
“Four Delta Quebec, this is Sierra Five Zulu. We’ve tagged and bagged them. Out.”
I let out a relieved breath knowing that our opponents were being dusted off by the Chinook that was picking us off the mountain as well. It was a good start of just another day in the life of a Marine Corporal Signalman.
Soon both our platoons were back at base camp and we washed the sweat and stress off. I was the only one not needing to clean my face of night camouflage paint. My parents had migrated to Liverpool from Tanzania in the sixties, so I am as black as they come. My military ID lists me as 193cm tall and I like to keep my fitness well above the Marine requirements, mostly through running and, more than anything, cycling. My pride and joy is my carbon fibre bicycle. Being single, I didn’t have anybody to object to the price tag.
Later that morning after debrief and breakfast, George and I were taken aside by Daniel, an embedded civilian consultant for our new radios.
“Josh, George, how was the kit last night?” He asked in his chipper voice.
Not bothering to wait for an answer, he continued:
“Spectrum from the interceptor was excellent. Traces during your conversation were couple dB below background noise.”
We both knew what he meant. The radio equipment was virtually undetectable to those without the right key. I reassured him.
“Quality was great, and latency minimal. I’d say within operational parameters.” George nodded.
It was a few weeks before I bumped into him again. This time he looked a lot gloomier than usual.
“Hey Dan, s’up?”
“Bit of a pickle, I am due to teach a course on our little toys but my coordinator double booked.”
He looked at his boots and gave me a sideways glance.
“You almost at the end of tour, aren’t you?”
“Yep, rotating next week.”
His face brightened and he gave me a crooked smile.
“You know as much as I do about these babies. Perhaps we can help each other?”
A morning in class
Dublin 06:30. I don’t know how Dan talked me into it, but the Friday after, I found myself getting off the night train at Grand Canal station in Ireland’s capital city, carrying my precious bike on my shoulder. In my rucksack was a laptop with a well-rehearsed presentation on the civilian version of the new radio system. I was going to give Dan’s course to one of his customers and we would split his fee 50/50. I’ve always been a soft touch.
Having never set foot in Ireland before, I studied the map outside the station. I quickly found and memorised my route. Marines never get lost. The sun was coming out and life was good. I cycled briskly through the awakening city, exchanging pleasant banter with shopkeepers, a postman and other early birds.
As I headed south, to the outskirts of town, I spotted a tall cyclist climb the hill ahead of me. I was intrigued by the long flowing red hair that seemed to struggle against the containment of the cycling helmet. I hoped sincerely that the front view would not show an equally red beard. Similar disappointments have happened to me before.
I pedalled a bit harder to catch up and check. It turned out that I didn’t need to worry. As I got closer I got the outline of a shapely set of distinctly feminine hips on top of long and equally shapely legs, rounded out by a smooth round ass. By the jiggle of the cycling jersey as she went over some traffic-calming ridges, I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra but should be.
For the next few minutes, I stayed on her wheel until she turned around and said in an unmistakable local tongue:
“Maybe it’s about time you catch the wind for me?”
“As long as you can keep up. Where you heading?”
She gave the name of the office park where I was scheduled for the course.
“That’s where I’m heading. We’ll take turns.”
Our casual chat made the journey fly by. Her smile was warm, but I couldn’t see her eyes since they were behind wrap-around reflective sunglasses. In the office park, I counted the buildings until I stopped at the one where I was to teach. To my surprise, she stopped as well.
“You don’t have to show me the way. I’m here.”
“So am I, this is my office. Boy, am I glad I made it. Doing some training today.”
I smiled casino şirketleri but said nothing. Unless there was more than one course today, I would be sure to see this fit Celtic beauty again. She took a last long look at me.
“Might see you around.”
While she headed for the bike shed, I went to reception to sign in. The jiggling breasts and the vivacious personality of my bike companion had somewhat enlarged the normally already distinct bulge in my shorts.
Now, I should mention that the size of my penis was true to every story you have ever heard about black guys. If MythBusters came to check it out, they would be able to write Myth Confirmed on it with ease. If Kari Byron did the writing, she could even autograph it.
While I got my visitor pass, I could swear that my peripheral vision picked up a twitch in the curtain across the atrium. Having secured the bike in a cupboard, the receptionist pointed me to the shower room where I washed and changed.
Refreshed, I followed directions to the S&M office. That is Sales and Marketing. This turned out to be the same room where someone had sneaked a peek at me. The sales manager was a pin-striped petite curly-haired brunette whose desk name tag said Siobhan. Careful to look at her pretty face only and not wander down to her ample breasts, I proceeded to mangle her name. This got me a second Irish laugh that morning.
“Say it like Shh, Yvonne.”
She brought me some coffee and helped me set up my laptop with the projector in the training room. The sun had made a proper appearance by this time and was streaming through the large window next to the screen. Siobhan pulled a cord and a set of vertical blinds darkened the room. She left to get her marketing assistant and fellow class mate.
“S h e l a g h, as in Sheila. Australian for female.”
As I suspected, she came back with my cycling companion who had changed into a blue pleated skirt with her breasts still visibly unrestrained under a long sleeved, peach angora top barely thicker than her cycling jersey. Without the sunglasses I was treated to a sparkling set of green eyes framed by strawberry blonde eyelashes and eyebrows. Shelagh’s freckled face dimpled into a warm smile as she recognised me from earlier. After formal introductions, both sat down at tables in the front row, and I started my presentation.
The material was less than riveting and my skills as a teacher were consistent with the little experience I had. Even though I made up with enthusiasm and knowledge, I could feel I was losing the girls. Shelagh had been forced to get up earlier than usual, and she was gradually dozing off. She started to slouch in her seat while more and more of her red locks were falling in front of her face. A few beads of sweat formed on my brow, but not from the heat. The main cause was the skirt riding up before me which was showing much more of Shelagh’s classically shaped legs than her cycling shorts had before.
A sudden breeze from the open window disturbed the curtain, allowing a pillar of bright sunlight to fall on the girls. Still half dozing, Shelagh let her left leg flop sideways. In the otherwise dimly lit room, it looked like a ball of fire was lit under the skirt. There was a bright red-orange glow. I stopped in mid-sentence and froze as it was plain to see that Shelagh was a true redhead because she wasn’t wearing any underwear. It was just as well that the light was behind me because I couldn’t take my eyes off the red bushy triangle. She must have really left in a hurry that morning. That was the kind of commando I liked much better than my Marine colleagues.
The sudden interruption in my discourse had the effect of startling both girls back to attention. Siobhan took pity on my supposed teacher’s block and suggested that we should break for an early lunch. As there was no canteen in the building she decided that we go to a nearby pub to eat.
Siobhan had also cycled into work so we all changed back into Lycra and set off. The thin, body hugging cycle gear made it easy to compare my students’ figures. As I had seen that morning, Shelagh was tall and athletic. Her body hair was so fair that she didn’t bother shaving her legs, giving them a halo glow in the bright sunshine. Siobhan was small and compact by comparison. Both had well toned bodies from cycling, with great figures and almost equally sizeable breasts.
“It must be something in the water,” I thought, “or perhaps the Guinness.”
All these observations brought on the return of the bulge. Being restricted by my cycling posture, it proceeded to inch its way sideways to my hip. Pretty soon, it looked like I was bringing family-sized salami to lunch. I couldn’t say for sure, but I thought both girls were sneaking appreciative glances over their shoulder and raising eyebrows at each other. It’s hard to tell with sunglasses.
At the pub we enjoyed some freshly made sandwiches, washed down with pints of sparkling water. The bright day and fresh air had lifted our spirits casino firmaları considerably and the conversation got rather flirty and as far removed from radio systems as you can get. At one point Siobhan asked me the age-old question:
“What animal would you be if you were re-incarnated?”
I half closed my eyes and let a few pass my mind.
“A horse, definitely. I would love to be strong, running free through the fields. Not a care in the world.”
For some reason, this produced the same reaction in both girls as I had had in the training room when Shelagh unwittingly flashed her charms. They were open mouthed for so long that I was afraid that I had said something wrong. I had seen a few horses roam Dublin’s outskirts that morning. Perhaps they were like the sacred cows of India and I had offended them.
Nothing could be further from the truth. The girls soon recomposed themselves but remained slightly flushed. Both gave me a strangely seductive look.
“Josh,” Siobhan said, “you like horses, right? How about a horse race? We can read up on your radio some other time.”
Since Siobhan was the boss, and I would get paid regardless, I quickly agreed to change the curriculum for my training day.
“Sure, I’m game for anything.”
This caused more barely subdued excitement in my students. Siobhan made a quick hushed call on her mobile phone and we set off on our bikes again.
A day at the races
Dublin suburbs 12:10. The race course was a short distance south of the city. As we went downhill, we made good time and were there in twenty minutes. Although not a regular at horse races, it looked like no course I’d ever seen. Instead of the usual open design, the course looked completely enclosed by high walls. There was a large sign giving the name as Aristotle, hardly an Irish name. I shrugged as I followed the girls inside. They showed me the men’s shower room where I could get another wash. Strange thing was, I didn’t see any other spectators.
“Maybe we’re early.” I thought.
Since there seemed to be no rush, I enjoyed a long shower. When I got out, I was surprised to find that my clothes and bag had disappeared. As I was standing dripping wet and naked, a side door opened and Siobhan briskly walked in. Shyness is not encouraged in the Marines and I made no attempt to hide my body. She had changed in jodhpurs, boots, white blouse, riding helmet and blue riding jacket. As I was taking in her changed persona, she took an equally long appreciative look over my body. She snapped out of her obviously lecherous thoughts and put on a serious face.
“Josh, you can play my horse, if you still want to.”
I smiled and thought “Going on all fours with a small girl on my back, could be fun.”
I wanted to see how the Irish do role-play games and said that I was still game. This caused the stern look to be briefly replaced with a warm smile. Siobhan produced a short riding crop and pointed to the door she just had come through.
“Your things are in here.”
I followed her into the next room, which turned out to be a stable. On the wall were a small bridle, blinkers and a black horse hair fly swatter with a strangely curved handle. On the floor were four black shiny mugs and in the corner was a racing sulky with large wheels. I was glad I wasn’t going to wear a saddle on such a hot day.
Siobhan slapped the crop on her boot and told me to stand still so we could prepare for the race. I had to stoop down for her to get the bridle over my head with a thick rubber bit in my mouth. It meant I could no longer speak and the blinkers restricted my peripheral vision. She clipped on a length of black hair to the bridle at the back of my head since my hair was too short to pass for a mane. As she brought them over, I could see that the mugs were imitation hooves made from glossy leather. Two slightly smaller ones which she laced on as boxing gloves and the two high heeled shoes enclosed in black leather. Walking on my toes didn’t bother me, as I often run barefoot.
She then dropped the bars of the sulky over my head, and before I knew what happened, my front hooves were clipped parallel to the bars in front of me. Due to my size and the angle of the sulky, I had to bend forward. Siobhan stood in front of me and fished a small bottle of clear hand soap out of her cleavage. The bottle had a pump at the top and she put a liberal amount of soap in one hand.
“I’ve been keeping this warm for you.” she said in a low, sexy voice and the smile lit up her face again.
She walked to the sulky behind me so I lost sight of her due to the blinkers. I heard her pick up the fly swatter and swish it through the air.
“Relax.” she said.
She put the hand with the soap up my ass and spread it liberally in and around the hole. It felt good. More oily than soapy and I relaxed as she tenderly massaged the whole area.
The largest surprise of that most unusual day came when I felt something being gently pushed into my well lubricated güvenilir casino hole. The bulge soon got past my sphincter and settled in more comfortable than I expected. When Siobhan let go, I felt hairs lightly tickle the backs of my legs. The fly swatter was a butt plug with attached tail.
She walked back into my field of vision and took her mobile phone from her jacket. She slid it open and pressed a few buttons. I was pleasantly surprised when if felt the plug vibrating gently against my prostrate.
“Bluetooth is my carrot.” She explained grinning. “I do sell radios, you know.”
Since I’m not a great fan of raw carrots, I was glad for her high-tech reward system for horse training. She looked me over once more and said:
“You make a great black stallion. About time I take you to race.”
She opened a set of double doors and let the sunlight stream into the stable. She climbed onto the sulky, gave the reins a slight tug, clacked her tongue and we slowly trotted out. I loved the sun warming my skin and it was more than a bit of a thrill to be naked outdoors with only a few bits of leather and metal on me. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the race, but I was curious.
Walking on my toes in the high heeled shoes made my hips sway like a catwalk model. This caused my tail to swing from side to side which produced a nice sensation with the buzzing plug massaging erogenous areas I never knew I had. Soon my penis grew semi-tumescent but still pointing down.
I enjoyed the feeling of it lazily rolling from leg to leg. The warm shower and the hot sunny day had relaxed my scrotum and my balls were joining in a four way swinging motion with my penis and tail. I looked every inch the prancing steed and felt like one.
The slight breeze on my damp skin brought the sparkling water from lunch into sharper focus and I started to feel pressure in my bladder.
“What would horses do?” I thought.
It was kind of obvious, so I stopped, put my feet as wide apart as the bars allowed and groaned as I let go with a relieving stream onto the grass.
“Very good.” Siobhan exclaimed excitedly, pleased with my role play.
After I finished my impromptu irrigation she watched me wiggle my hips to try and shake the last drops, since I couldn’t use my hands.
“Let me get that.” she said.
I heard her slide her phone open once more. The plug pulsed at a much higher volume and its powerful vibrations shook my penis dry.
Once my eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, I could see two other racing sulkies inside the enclosed track. Both were drawn by near naked people playing as horses, just like me. I studied the competition with interest.
One sulky was pulled by a deeply tanned man with blonde hair and blue eyes. A matching blonde mane and butt plug with blonde tail completed his horse outfit. I noticed that the tail hairs on the plug were set at an upward angle, giving the impression of a horse eager to run. It also assisted the anatomically formed handle to add pressure to the plug’s massage action.
The effect was not lost on him as his thick penis had attained a good length and its angle was similar to mine. It was hanging prominently from his big sack and an expanse of coarse blonde curls covered his underbelly. A similar pelt matted his chest, legs and forearms. Aristotle certainly liked their stallions well hung.
He was a little less tall than me but equally muscular, especially his legs. When he saw my physique however, I could see him mouth Holy Shit behind the bit. He was rigged to a sulky with a small blonde, although not as petite as Siobhan. She was dressed in the same outfit as my driver. The blonde had an equally stunned expression as her bronzed horse, but with an added twinkle in her eyes.
“No lies Siobhan, outstanding equestrian specimen.”
The other sulky was pulled by the most wonderful vision of a play horse. My erstwhile sleepy student Shelagh was as naked as us two stallions and kitted out the same, but with different colours. She wore the same light tan hooves as the male and her hair fell halfway down her back as a red mane. Her butt plug had a long tail matching her hair colour. Her smooth skin was so light that it clearly showed off the freckles all over her rump. Her big breasts hung down like they had done on our three bike rides together, but this time there was no jersey to obstruct my view. The large light pink areolas were topped off with proud nipples. They gently swung from side to side as she stepped sideways and turned her sulky to take a good look at me.
Even though the blinkers kept her green eyes in the shade, I could see their whites clearly when she involuntarily opened them wide as she saw my naked stallion body. Her hardening nipples and puckering areolas gave more proof of her unconscious reaction. She absent-mindedly lifted her left hoof and rubbed the inside of her right leg, which squeezed her red triangle between her crossing thighs. A slight blush crept up from her neck when she realised what she was doing. I didn’t need a horse whisperer to guess what was on her mind.
Her sulky carried a small man dressed as a jockey with a bright red-white checked silk shirt. He broke the sexual tension in the air with a cheerful:
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