White Balance – Chapter Eight

White Balance – Part One (Chapters 1-6)

White Balance – Chapter Seven

“Anything?”

“Anything Martin. I’m yours. But could it at least involve your mouth on my dick for a tiny part of it?”

I smiled, feeling very relaxed and relieved after my outburst and subsequent orgasm. “There’s nothing tiny about that option.”

“Hardy har. Look who’s got his sense of humour back. And all it took was a blowjob.”

“You want me to suck you, I’ll suck you.” I said, pulling my pants up and buckling my belt. “But I want you naked.” I felt more like myself now.

Jeremy’s eyes widened as I tucked my shirt in the rest of the way and tightened my tie.

“But you’re going to stay dressed?”

I nodded, combing my untidy hair with my fingers so it sat a little nicer.

“Should I call you Mr. Lewis?” He teased.

“That would be a good idea, Mr. Trask. Since we’ve only just met.”

His jaw dropped open, then closed. “Okay then,” he said, quickly removing his tie and shirt while I sat in the armchair and watched.

“I see you’ve gotten over your squeamishness about perving on me.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, well, you made a good point.” I eyed his groin. “And we’re just playing.”

“Mm. I like this game,” Jeremy said, dropping his clothes on the floor as he stripped off his jeans.

“Slowly.”

“Yes, Mr. Lewis.”

My cock had hardened again already and I felt it throb when he said those words.

When he’d finished undressing he crossed his arms and stood before me, eyebrows raised. “Now what?”

My eyes raked down his form, pausing to take in his long cock standing at attention for me, then moving down his thighs to his calves and feet. He was exquisite.

I shifted in my seat.

“Turn around.”

He stared at me for a moment, then huffed and turned.

“Mr. Trask, your ass is magnificent.”

“So I’ve been told many times, Mr. Lewis.”

“By who?”

“By you, Sir.”

“But we’ve only just met.”

“Then it must have been in my dreams.”

I smiled. “Bend over and grab your ankles, Mr. Trask. I need to see if you are, in fact, suitable for this job.”

I wasn’t sure he’d do as I asked, my request depraved and objectifying. I sat up straighter as he bent at the waist and reached for his ankles. He was actually able to do it, being much more flexible than I.

He gazed at me from between his legs, short hair framing his head like a brown halo. “And what job is that, Mr. Lewis?”

My eyes moved from his face up to the slightly parted cheeks of his ass and the seductive dark cleft there. I shuddered.

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

He let go of one ankle and reached between his legs to cup his testicles, one finger sliding up between those perfect globes, pointing toward Heaven.

I gasped. “Fuck!

Jeremy straightened, swallowing a laugh. “I figured that’s what the job was. I’m sure I’m quite suitable, Mr. Lewis.”

He walked forward and straddled my lap, knees pressing into the soft fabric either side of me. “In fact, I’m quite certain I’m a perfect fit for this position.”

His mouth find mine and I moaned into it, my arms enveloping him and pressing him close. “Jeremy…”

He kissed me harder, then pulled back, hands working at my tie. “Are we on a first name basis now?”

I nodded. “I think that would be best.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Lewis. I mean, Martin. That is your name isn’t it?” He murmured, pulling my tie off and working the first few buttons of my shirt free.

“Yes, that’s my name. And you’ll be screaming it soon. So you’d better practice it,” I panted, helping him get my shirt off while we kissed like we would never stop.

“Martin, Martin, Martin,” he repeated, pushing his pelvis forward against me. “Forget the blowjob. I want you to fuck me, Martin.”

My hands drifted down his back and clutched his buttocks, spreading him while he undid my belt and zipper and took my cock out. I was hard as a rock again. Already.

“Oh Jesus, Martin, that didn’t take long, did it?”

I moaned. “Looking at your ass. Calling you Mr. Trask.” It was all I could say. But that was what had lead to this.

He kissed me again. I slid my fingers between his cheeks and pressed gently.

“We’re gonna need some lube, Martin.”

I nodded, breathless. “Left pocket.”

He laughed, digging into the wrong one.

My left,” I said. “You’re right.”

He found what he needed.

“Give it to me.” My voice sounded rough.

I spilled some quickly into my hand and reached around him, rubbing it into the crack of his beautiful ass while he moaned into my mouth. He gasped when I pushed a finger, then two, inside him.

“Fuck yes!” He exclaimed. “More.”

I obliged, adding a third, delighting in his squirms and grunts. “I like your initiative,” I said, trying to get back into our game. “I’ll write a note in your file.”

He groaned. “Thank you. It’s nice to get credit where it’s due.”

I laughed but it came out like a growl. “I’ll give you credit where it’s due…”

Withdrawing my fingers I spread his cheeks and pulled him forward, guiding him over my cock. He grabbed the lube and squirted some into his hand, applying it to my erection and sinking down onto me in a series of quick and efficient movements.

“Jeremy!” I yelled as my cock disappeared into the heat of his body.

He caught my mouth again and silenced me with his tongue. We moved together, trying to keep up with the sensations, the emotions, vying for dominance. I felt at once vulnerable and powerful, my cock inside him while he controlled everything. I couldn’t get deep enough.

Finally, he got down to business, taking my wrists and holding them down while he fucked me at the pace he wanted — relentless and unstopping — until he made me come with a guttural cry and a deep shudder that didn’t stop for a whole minute. Then he grabbed his cock and stroked it quickly, once, twice, until he spurted onto my chest and belly with a long groan.

He collapsed forward against me, breathing hard and coming down from a great height. My cock slipped out of him and I felt some of the fluid of my release follow.

“God. Martin.” He sounded shattered which satisfied me in a fundamental way.

I pulled a hand free of his grip and slid my fingers between his cheeks again, smearing the fluid there and kissing him with gratitude and love. And perhaps something else. He was mine and I’d claimed him, yet again. For always.

*****

“Let’s go shopping,” Jeremy said, after we’d rested and changed into jeans and t-shirts.

“Yeah? Want to?”

“Yeah. We’ve got souvenirs to buy and I want to look for a cool pair of boots.”

“Jeremy. You have four cool pairs of boots already,” I bemoaned. “Plus, eight pairs of runners, six pairs of sandals, four pairs of dress shoes and three sets of bedroom slippers.”

He stared at me with his mouth open. “Wow.” Then he counted on his fingers while his eyes widened. “That’s alarmingly accurate.”

I nodded, with a smug look.

“And pretty creepy.”

“Excuse me? It’s creepy that I know you have a foot fetish – for yourself?”

Jeremy looked like he was going to burst out laughing. “Well… okay. Got me there.” He stood up and walked up to me, kissing me and then pulling back to face me squarely. “I still want new boots. I don’t have any UK boots. I want UK boots.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “What baby wants, baby gets.”

“Fuck you.”

“Again?”

There was a Doc Marten’s store on Neal Street, next to Covent Garden, so we took a taxi. It was only a little further than Trafalgar Square. Staying at a central hotel in London was definitely paying off in time and affordable taxi fares.

We got there around four thirty. Jeremy took some phone shots of the outside of the place since it was quite grand with archways and brick. He’d been wearing Doc Marten’s since he was about fifteen so he was very excited. Which became an understatement once we actually went into the store.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Martin! Look at them!!!”

I nodded, inwardly delighting in his enjoyment but needing to keep a level head. “Imagine. Doc Marten’s in a Doc Marten store.”

“So many of them! How am I ever going to choose?”

I shook my head in commiseration. “I have no idea.”

“Can I help you?” said a young guy about Jeremy’s age with a modern undercut hair style shaved up the sides and back and left longer and floppy on top. He was cute.

“Yeah, for sure. But I don’t really know what I want.”

“He already has two pair at home,” I said.

The guy smiled. “You can never have too many Docs.”

Jeremy grinned. “Exactly. Thank you. See, Martin? He understands me.”

“He also wants to sell you a pair of boots.”

The lad grinned. “True enough,” he held out his hand. “Name’s Graham. Where are you blokes from? Not here, obviously.”

“Jeremy. We’re from across the pond. Canada, to be exact.”

“Excellent. Welcome to London.”

“Thanks. The boots are kind of going to be a souvenir, so I’d like something that screams London, if possible.”

“Union Jack? Sex Pistols?”

“Oh, hell yeah!”

While Jeremy went off with Graham to look at boots, I hung back and sat down on a bench by the door. He was in good hands and I wanted to do something.

After all my jealousy over Kureck and the fantastic make-up sex Jeremy and I’d had earlier, I really wanted to get this London wedding planned and executed. Call it partly calculating but mostly romantic, I figured once he was actually my husband – officially, on paper, in the eyes of the law – I’d feel a lot better. But that meant we had to organize the thing for sometime in the next eleven days, preferably before we headed off to our camp-out in the New Forest. Which gave me all of six days.

Since Google has the answer to everything I typed in How to get married in London England.

After about ten or fifteen minutes perusing the results it became apparent that our dream of making it official in London had hit a snag.

I looked up and saw Jeremy and Graham in the back corner of the store discussing a pair of Docs with the Union Jack flag on the front, and tried not to let my disappointment get a hold on me. We would figure something out. We had to.

He saw me looking and winked, which made me smile. Right now all that mattered was that Jeremy got the boots he wanted. We could talk about the technicalities of marrying in a foreign country afterwards. I wondered what people did when they eloped? I had heard so many stories of couples taking off and getting hitched, and not having to file any papers beforehand. At least, I don’t think they’d had to.

I bookmarked the page and looked up in time to see Jeremy waving me over to where he stood before a mirror with the Union Jack boots on.

Putting my phone away, I walked over, checking out how sexy he looked in his skinny jeans and the very British boots.

“Get them. They’re perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jeremy gestured to another pair of boots on the bench nearby. “But I like those ones too. I can’t decide.”

The ones on the bench were printed with random graffiti in a multitude of colours. I could picture Jeremy wearing them with jeans or shorts in the summer. They were lighter and more playful than the black and red Union Jack ones.

I shrugged. “Get them both.”

“You’re joking, right? They’re a hundred pounds each. That’s one fifty Canadian.”

I walked past him picked up the graffiti printed ones and put them back in the box. I closed it, picked it up and carried it to the cash.

“Martin, what are you doing?” He followed me and tugged on my sleeve.

“I’m buying these ones. You can pay for the others,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Really? You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. Consider it an engagement gift.” I smiled at him, conveying how very much I wanted to do this for him.

His faced flushed and he kissed me quickly on the lips, so fast that Graham might not have seen.

“Thank you. I love you so much.”

I leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Just promise to wear them around the hotel room for a bit, okay? Maybe wearing only your briefs? They need to be worn in properly, you know.” When I pulled back I gazed at him meaningfully and he laughed.

“Your wish is my command, Sugar Daddy.”

Now I was blushing and Graham seemed to be a little red as well as he came around the cash, but he was smiling.

“Awesome choice, man,” Graham commented as he rang up the graffiti boots and Jeremy took off the Union Jack ones to put them back in the box. “They’ll last forever.”

We strolled around the well known shopping district for about an hour, buying sandwiches at a café to take back to the hotel for a light supper – we were so full from lunch we knew we wouldn’t want a full-on restaurant meal. The rain had stopped and the sun even poked through the clouds a couple of times.

On the drive to the hotel, in the back of our cab, Jeremy just about climbed on my lap he was so happy. “You are the best, you know that?”

“I try.”

“And you said I had too many boots.”

“You can never have too many boots. Especially when you look so hot in them. And I can look at you. I bet they’ll look fantastic with those blue and white striped boxer briefs.”

“Ah, I see the logic of your decision. I will not be beholden to all your crazy perversions just because you shelled out a hundred pounds on me.”

I raised my eyebrows, with a small smirk.

“Okay, fine. You probably won’t be able to get me out of them for at least a week anyway.”

When we got back to our room, Jeremy immediately took out his boots to stroke and admire them. He took some photos for his blog. He’d started a free WordPress website to chronicle our journey and it was good to know there would be a record of where we went and what we did. Plus, it was easy for our family and friends back home to keep tabs on us and know a bit of what was going on.

We put on our pyjamas early and lounged around. Jeremy surfed the internet and I went back to researching our wedding options.

“Hey, Jeremy.”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know my big idea of getting married here in London?”

He looked up at me from his computer. “Yeah? You don’t want to?”

“Of course I want to, but it looks like there are more rules about getting officially hitched here than I though there’d be.”

“Damn. That sucks.”

“There’s a mandatory 28 day waiting period once they post the bans in the registry office.”

“Poop.We can still have a ceremony though, right?” He said hesitantly. “Like, worry about the official paperwork when we get back to Canada, but have a small wedding ceremony here? Is that possible?”

I nodded, pleased. “I don’t see why not. It’s something we’d always remember.”

Jeremy grinned. “I think I’d remember it wherever we had it. But it would be cool to do something here.”

I nodded. “Okay. Let me research some places we could do it. Might be an idea to ask Abbey and her husband for some suggestions too.”

“Then in Ottawa we just do the paperwork and go to city hall to make it official. I really do want to make it official,” Jeremy said.

I felt moisture threaten at the corner of my eyes and looked away quickly, then back at him. “I love you. I want to make it official too.”