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“Wait for it, lad,” Graham Morris whispered to Benji, as they both watched the hulking young man being pulled in multiple directions by five Cavalier King Charles spaniels in Graham’s direction across a patch of grassland above the Tauranga beach. It was Saturday morning and the bit of parkland adjacent to the New Zealand coastal town’s beach was designated as a dog exercise area on Saturday mornings.

Sitting in the shade of an open-sided café between beach and park, Graham knew about the Saturday hours. He also knew that the strapping young man, David Kauea, had a big bunch of spaniels. Graham couldn’t have told you they were Cavalier King Charles spaniels, though, or that four of the ones that Kauea had had been New Zealand national champions. But he knew, from research, that Kauea brought them here on Saturdays. Graham was proud of the research he had done since the first time he’d seen the hunky New Zealander.

Beyond that, he knew what Kauea’s sexual preferences were, that they complemented his, and that he wanted to try the young man out. Graham was an American, displaced to New Zealand by a frowning family in Baltimore because it was as far away in the world as they could send him. He was content to leave the States and stay in New Zealand because of the checks they regularly sent. He thought the joke was on them, though, because New Zealand’s north island was a whole hell of a lot better place to be than Baltimore, Maryland, was in his estimation. And New Zealand men were a lot hunkier.

His eyes slitted as he saw the young man struggle across the parkland in his direction. The five spaniels that were dragging him along—surprisingly good at dragging as small as they were individually and as large as Kauea was—each had a different idea where they wanted to go. The young man’s body was magnificent, nearly bursting out of his shorts and T-shirt with bulges of finely formed muscle. Graham wondered how much native Maori was in him. It seemed to be enough to give him bulk and a slightly mean look that belied a gentle temperament until he was lost in want, without making him prone to the big belly that seemed to characterize the more genetically pure Maori.

Benji was a spaniel too. But he was an English spaniel rather than a Cavalier King Charles spaniel. Graham could tell there was a difference, but he didn’t really care. He didn’t even care whether or not Benji was as pure bred as Kauea’s dogs were. A dog was a dog and a spaniel was a spaniel to him, and he was counting on one spaniel being highly interested in meeting another one.

“Now, Benji,” Graham said as he leaned down from the seat he was occupying at the fringe of the café and unleashed Benji.

As designed, the English Spaniel was off in a flash. And mere seconds later, Kauea’s spaniels no longer were in a disagreement where they wanted to go. As soon as they saw Benji bounding toward them, they all pulled together in that direction. This nearly knocked David Kauea off his feet, despite having feet the size of boats, and he was dragged along toward the café.

Graham made a half-hearted attempt to rise and follow Benji, and he cried out in fake distress, as Benji disappeared in a pile of wriggling dog flesh.

It took David and Graham several minutes to get the dogs separated, during which David was profusely apologizing and expressing the hope that Benji wasn’t damaged. Of course he wasn’t. The dogs just wanted to do a meet and greet. But Graham did his best rendition of being frightened and concerned for his poor puppy.

“It’s not your fault, of course,” he said, doing what he could to make his voice sound shaky and unconvinced. He knelt beside Benji and felt the spaniel all over for damage that he’d have no idea what to do about even if he did find any. Benji panted and licked Graham’s face, happy for the attention. Graham had a passing thought that he’d like the young Maori hunk to be doing that. “This leash has been giving me the slip. I’ll need to get a new one.”

“Here, let me check him over.” David knelt down beside Graham and laid his hands on Benji. The spaniel liked his touch even better and turned his tongue on the young man. Graham made sure that his hand brushed on David’s a couple of times while they both checked Benji over, and he liked the smile that David gave him in return.

“There doesn’t seem to be any damage—to your dog at least. You seem a little shaky, though. Can I help you back to your table?”

You certainly can, you big hunk, Graham thought, but he actually answered with a weak, “That would be very kind.”

Truth be known, Graham didn’t give a shit about Benji. Benji wasn’t Graham’s dog. He belonged to some bird named Jill, who lived near a bar Graham frequented and who managed to be coming out of her condo building whenever Graham was parking his red sports convertible across the street from her building—and who was too dumb to realize that the club Graham frequented was a gay bar. She obviously liked the look of Graham, Osmanbey travesti though—and Graham was, indeed, very easy on the eyes for his age. She was the first one Graham had thought of when he heard that David Kauea raised spaniels. Graham thought of her because it was a spaniel she was always pretending to walk when Graham was parking on her street.

It was a piece of cake for Graham to get the young David to help him back to his chair in the café—and then to sit with him and to share a cup of coffee. In fact, hooking up with David proved to be very easy indeed. Graham almost regretted that he’d done so much scheming to set up the meeting.

The man was randy, open, and forward, obviously very casual about his sexuality.

In addition to coffee, they also shared a discussion of what brought them to the seaside town of Tauranga on New Zealand’s Bay of Plenty, to the south of the main city of the north island, Auckland. David Kauea was born and raised nearby, a good many of his ancestors having been Maori warriors, as indigenous to the island as anyone had ever been. He was an accountant and raised and showed Cavalier King Charles spaniels. He had eight of them. He’d only brought five of them out today. He was gay, a top, liked to fuck casually, and he thought that Graham looked just fine.

Graham, in contrast, was about as foreign to New Zealand as he could be. Banished by his stodgy old-line-Maryland family in the United States for being devil may care about his sexual proclivities, he had washed up on the shores of New Zealand with a pile of cash and a taste in wine. Bored in New Zealand doing little but seducing muscle-bound tops in gyms, he had combined his cash with wine and now owned a winery, Morris Estates, along the coast to the north of Tauranga. His taste in good wine, better wine than he produced, almost—almost—competed with his taste in hunky men to cover and ride him. Neither man seemed to be holding anything back in their discussion.

Tauranga was in the well-established Gisborne wine region, notable for its Chardonnay, Chenin Blanc, Gewürztrammer, and Riesling wines, all of which Graham enjoyed drinking more than he did creating, bottling, and selling. Luckily, he had bought his vineyard lock, stock, vines, bottling room, vintner, and tasting room inclusive and the vineyard operations more or less took care of and paid for themselves.

Just to get it out of the way, Graham voiced a concern: Whereas David was in his late twenties, Graham recently had hit forty. Graham enthusiastically responded that he liked plowing men in Graham’s age bracket.

Switching to beer from coffee, the discussions between the two deepened to even more intimate levels than their respective occupations and their mutual love for spaniels and to their deepest, darkest secrets and what they preferred to do in bed. Positions, bareback or condoms, favorite toys, frequency, and where to deposit cum. David proved to be even more devil may care about revealing his sexual proclivities than Graham was. Graham found the sensual openness of the young man both refreshing and highly arousing.

“You look familiar,” Graham said, sitting back in his chair and feigning a look of contemplation and scrutiny. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

“Perhaps at Pauli’s? I must admit I’ve seen you there.”

“Ah, yes,” Graham answered, knowing full well he’d seen the young man at that gay club. “Now I remember. I’ve seen you with Andrew, one of Pauli’s dancers, I believe.”

“Yes,” David admitted. “Andrew is a sweet fuck. And I believe I’ve seen you with the construction worker, George. He receives good ratings. I trust he does you well.”

“Right,” Graham responded.

“I’ll bet I could do you better, though,” David said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Graham nearly sputtered in his beer. Who was supposed to be seducing who, he wondered. Why the fuck did he think he’d need the dog subterfuge? It took no more than that for the two to square away not only on sexual preference but on sexual role. Andrew, the dancer, was a bottom and George, the construction worker, was a top.

David leaned down and patted Benji. “A fine spaniel you have. I raise and breed spaniels.”

“Which is why you have five of them, I suppose,” Graham said, using his most attractive smile, and he gave what he hoped was a loving look at the five slobbering spaniels sniffing around Benji with continued interest. Benji was sniffing a couple of them back. Graham assumed these were the bitches.

“I actually have eight.”

“Do tell. You must be a very good breeder.”

David lowered his face and gave a little smile. Graham chose to imagine that the gesture was meant to move his attention to the young man’s basket, where something was straining mightily at the material of his tight shorts.

“My family would have no dogs if they couldn’t have spaniels,” Graham said in a low voice. It wasn’t a lie. Graham’s family had had nothing Ayrancı travesti but cats.

Of course, for David Kauea’s part, that Graham was a claimed lover of spaniels sealed the deal when push came to shove—although neither found anything in the looks of the other or in a quick and guarded grope that dissuaded either from being interested in the other.

The grope was preceded with Graham rather boldly bringing the conversation to a head by saying, “Yes, I believe you must be a superior breeder. Is it only dogs that you breed?”

And then when David raised his head and gave Graham “that look,” Graham continued with, “I admit openly that I would be very interested in your breeding technique.” He took David’s hand in his and placed it on his crotch. David didn’t withdraw the hand. “Would you mind terribly if I touched you too?” Graham asked.

“No,” David answered, turning a steely gaze on Graham. “Would you mind terribly if I fucked you? The truth is that George told me you were a really good lay and that you liked to take it hard and deep. I like to give it that way.”

Graham melted at how straightforward the New Zealander was.

Agreeing with Graham that Graham’s vineyard was probably too far beyond Tauranga to assuage the heat they’d worked themselves into, Kauea took Graham back to the rather large lot but decidedly small house for one man and eight dogs in a suburb of Tauranga overlooking the Bay of Plenty and, bedroom door closed to barking dogs, David fucked Graham to slobbering oblivion just as the American had carefully planned he would do.

As Graham would have guessed, David preferred fucking doggy style, with Graham bent over the bed, resting his weight on his elbows and forearms, while David held his hips in a strong grip with his hands and fucked him in long, hard, deep thrusts. Graham loved it. David seemed to like it enough to do it three times that day before a grinning Graham limped home after delivering a happy Benji back to a not completely happy Jill, confused on why an offer to walk her Benji had spun out to six hours and didn’t end with anything more than a “Thanks.” Benji was also looking quite pleased with himself, having left three of David’s bitches glassy eyed and whimpering.

Graham was around nine weeks later when two of the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel bitches produced pups that weren’t fully pure bred. David wasn’t wild about that idea, but since he’d happily kept Graham’s eyeballs swimming in cum and Graham had been paying most of his bills for those nine weeks, David went with the flow.

The touchiest moment came when David offered Graham one of the puppies. “To remember your poor, lost Benji with,” he had said. Graham had had to weave a story of Benji having suffered his demise under a bus a few days after they had initially met.

“I couldn’t possibly yet,” Graham answered. “It takes me a long time to get over the loss of a pet.”

“But the best way is to acquire another one,” David said.

“But I have all of your lovely dogs to compensate.” Graham nearly choked on that. He’d had David’s yapping dogs almost up to the level of the cum David had pumped in him. When the levels met, Graham thought that would be all he could take despite how divinely and forcefully the young Maori cocked him.

This led to another conversation, though. Graham really liked David and being fucked regularly by David, but Graham was getting antsy about being confined to New Zealand’s north island.

“I’ve been thinking of traveling some—in Southeast Asia and maybe even in Europe. I don’t want to go alone, though. I’d like you to go with me. I’ll pay for everything, of course.”

The mention of Southeast Asia caused David to pause. He’d often thought he’d like to travel there if he were free to do so. He had a fetish for small Southeast Asian men—thoroughly enjoying stuffing his big cock in the tight channels of small, brown men to listen to them puffing hard to accommodate him. But he wasn’t free. “I couldn’t possibly go anywhere for even an overnight. I’ve told you that’s why we have to meet here,” David answered. “I’ve got eight dogs to take care of.”

“You could leave them in a kennel.”

“There are no good kennels in the Tauranga area. And the cost of kenneling eight dogs would be astronomical.”

“I told you I’d pay for everything,” Graham said. “And I’d really like for you to travel with me.” What he really liked was having David’s cock inside him and he’d like to have that while he traveled too.

“Well, as I said, there are no kennels here I’d entrust my dogs to. It’s a real failing of this area.”

Graham came from a business family. He heard the “Ka-ching” of possibility immediately. “You could open a kennel yourself. Set it up to your liking. Hire someone to do all the shit work and to watch over it while you’re traveling.”

“It’s a thought, but—” David said, obviously giving it a thought.

“I’d partner with you. I’d supply Cebeci travesti the start-up capital.” Graham really liked having David’s cock inside him.

“Well, it’s a thought.”

“I know how you could get someone both cheap and reliable. A Thai or a Filipino would be just the ticket. Provide them with work permit employment here, and they’d work like a slave for you and be totally grateful.”

“Well . . .” David’s imagination went to holding a small Thai or Filipino man under him in a tight embrace while he worked his supersized cock inside a small hole and listened to the impassioned squealing. He hadn’t told Graham about this fetish, though.

“I have connections through the international winery association in both countries. I’ll be happy to make enquires for you,” Graham persisted.

“Well, it’s a thought.”

“While you’re thinking about it, could you fuck me again?”

“Of course.”

* * * *

Mr. Crozier called me from the main house and told me he wanted me to come there and see him. I knew what that meant. I was only half way through feeding the dogs and mucking out their cages, so he told me to come when I was done. I could tell he wasn’t pleased I couldn’t come right away. Neither was I. I was trembling in anticipation. The dogs—six German Shepherds—were restless, though, and when they were like this, I had to be very careful.

They were usually good with me. I handled the guard dogs well, the dogs that guarded the tapioca warehouses at the company plantation near Khon Kaen, upcountry from Bangkok. But sometimes the dogs could sense when I was keyed up, in a hurry to be finished with them. They rarely got human affection and craved it—so they didn’t like when I didn’t spend as much time with them as usual.

It was nearly dark when I approached the main house. Mr. Crozier lived here alone. He managed the plantation and the warehouses for the company, the only Farang—foreigner—here. The other workers were scattered around in huts across the plantation. Only the housekeeper and the cook were allowed in the main house—and me.

Mr. Crozier was like a god in our enclosed little world here. Whatever he told one of the workers to do, they did. The wages were very good for upcountry Thailand, and the local government supported this foreign enterprise in whatever it wanted to do. But like anywhere else in Thailand, there were those who owned and those who were owned. I was one who was owned. Mr. Crozier had told me what my duties were in addition to taking care of the kennels for the guard dogs—and I did what he wanted without question. It was strange and painful at first, but now I wanted it as much as he did.

I moved silently up the ladder to the house. The house was much the same as any Thai house upcountry. Just larger. They were all lifted up on stilts, both because the area flooded and to keep most of the jungle wildlife out of the house. The housekeeper, Lek, lived under the house. She, of course, knew that I visited Mr. Crozier. But neither of us ever mentioned it. I knew what Mr. Crozier sometimes did with Lek too. But neither of us ever mentioned that either.

Mr. Crozier could do whatever he pleased. Over time, it came to please me too.

He was sitting on the side of his bed in the dimming light when I entered his bedroom. He was wearing just a sarong around his waist. His heavily muscled torso always made my breath catch and come in small ragged gasps. He had a dragon tattoo on one side of his chest, the tail of which went up to his shoulder and wound down around his arm. I liked tracing the tail of the dragon when I was lying under him. He was drinking bourbon straight from the bottle, and when he saw me at the door to his bedroom, he leaned over and put the bottle on his nightstand, turned back to me, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and motioned to me.

“Come in, Chumphon. Come here. You have made me wait.”

He had a gruff tone, but I knew he wouldn’t beat me as a Thai master displeased with me would do. He would do something else altogether. He was motioning me with his hand to come to him, and I moved across the teak boards on my small bare feet. I too was wearing just a sarong around my waist. But his was raw silk and mine was cheap cotton.

“Sorry, Mr. Crozier,” I answered, meekly and with some trepidation. “The dogs were restless and difficult this evening.”

“No matter, lad,” he said. “You’re here now. Waiting just made me harder.”

He pulled me into him, between his spread thighs, and embraced me. His mouth was on my belly, kissing it, and the palms of his hands went to my buttocks. He was massaging them as his lips moved around on my belly. I felt the cotton of my sarong drift to the teak flooring as the bare flesh of his hands cupped my buttocks. Kneading them and spreading them. I moaned deeply as the index fingers of both hands found the rim of my anus. He laughed at my little gasp when they entered me.

Then his hands were lifted to my sides and he was pressing me down on my knees between his legs. I unknotted his silk sarong and let it fall to either side. He was hard. Our manager, Mr. Crozier, was aroused—for me. That always made me feel special—and privileged to be able to serve him in this way.

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