Shifting a little to get the perfect grip, Wilkes then began to masturbate Balkhi, in long, steady strokes, squeezing just a little harder as he got to the base, releasing the tension as his hand traveled up the length. Then he reversed the technique, playing around to see what Balkhi liked best, what made him gasp, what made him moan. Everything seemed to have the desired effect, so Wilkes picked up speed and grew rougher with his strokes, delighted when more clear liquid beaded at the dark purple head.

Unable to resist, he stuck out his tongue and tasted it. A hiss escaped from between Balkhi’s teeth. Wilkes did it again, and again, poking his tongue deep into the slit, pulling out more of the salty liquid and drinking it down eagerly. God, he wanted to make him come in his mouth, make his cock throb between his lips and his balls empty their load down his throat.

Making sure his mouth was plenty wet, Wilkes licked his lips then sunk them onto Balkhi’s cock. It tasted good, so fucking good. Clean, musky, salty. Masculine. Wilkes had barely started and already he was hooked. Concentrating on the head for a while, he got it soaked with saliva, letting it dribble down the shaft and onto his fingers. Then he used his hand to pump the base while his lips, teeth and tongue teased the tip, gradually working down and down until he needed to move his hand out of the way. Continuing on, Wilkes pulled in a deep breath through his nostrils, willing himself to relax as the head of Balkhi’s cock flirted with his gag reflex. Pushing through the initial discomfort, he swallowed, taking it in, gratified to hear Balkhi’s yelp, and feel desperate fingers grip his scalp.

Fuck, he felt powerful and vulnerable all at once, and it was perfect. Utterly perfect.

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relax and let his brain do what it wanted. Naturally, it veered straight back to Balkhi. Balkhi as Wilkes had first met him, in dish-dash and flip-flops. Balkhi in British Army uniform and sturdy boots. Finally, Balkhi in nothing but a smile, his long, lean body hard and tempting. His dark skin shone in the light, shifting over muscles and sinews as Balkhi waited for Wilkes to make a move.

“Touch your cock,” Wilkes said in his fantasy, while in real life his hand tugged down his boxer shorts and released his own. “Touch it for me. Stroke it. Squeeze it.” Each sentence mirrored his own actions, and within seconds his shaft was as hard as fantasy-Balkhi’s, which was now tipped with pre-cum.

Balkhi did as he was asked, his long fingers wrapping firmly around his dick, shifting up and down. The skin around his knuckles paled slightly as he obeyed the last command—squeeze it. His pupils were so large that his eyes looked almost black, and his bottom lip jutted out temptingly as he panted. Wilkes wanted to nip it between his teeth, make Balkhi gasp with the sharp bolt of pain, then pull the plump flesh into his mouth and suck it all better.

Remembering it was all in his head and that he could do whatever the hell he damn well wanted, Wilkes acted on his impulse. Balkhi tasted and felt as good as he looked, and Wilkes pumped his cock harder and faster, wishing he didn’t have to keep quiet. Not that anyone would do anything if they noticed what sounded like come-noises emanating from the boss’ tent, but no doubt he’d have the piss taken out of him at some point for being heard tossing off. And, knowing his luck, they’d bring it up in front of Balkhi, and then Wilkes would die of embarrassment on the spot.

Dropping to his knees, Wilkes hurriedly shoved Balkhi’s hand away from his shaft and took a moment to study it. Just like the man it belonged to, it was not too big, not too small, and yet far from average. Circumcised, the head was fully visible; nothing was hidden beneath folds of skin. Reaching out, Wilkes wrapped his fingers around it, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face as it hardened further beneath his touch.