Life With AlphaChapter 9 Beta Bayonetta
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THIRTY-ONE DAYS...PART 2 free porn video
CHAPTER FIVE
Saturday. Time for kickoff. Inauguration night for the big sex quest. Our regular bar, the Double Eagle, was packed and I didn’t have to work until Monday morning. I planned on getting a double to start this little competition with a bang. One before midnight. One after midnight.
Our town was indeed a hick town, but it was party bar central for a large geographic area. We had nine decent pickup bars to choose from. Country, rock and roll, dance, metal, a cougar bar, everything in between, and most of them were jumping from Thursday to Saturday.
My first pick was Lisa. I did Lisa back in grade twelve. Fumbling, awkward exploratory, useless sex. Teen sex. Stupid sex. She wasn’t much to look at back then, but she had morphed into something much better over the past seven years. Medium height, medium looks, but a stone killer curvy body. A combo I found attractive, because medium look chicks always put out more than the super hotties. Most super hotties were on the lazy side. Their looks had propelled them through their entire lives. Effort was foreign to them. Even in the bedroom. They expected pampering, and caressing, and wooing, and people telling them how pretty they were.
Lisa was wearing a tight sweater, short skirt and nice, expensive, brown boots. I always loved the boots and the heels. Any kind of high footwear. The high heels tried to say control, power, confidence, decisiveness. Chick psyche. The high heels actually said something else. Off balance, tottering, adventurous, out of control, not responsible for what comes next. Guy psyche. There could be nothing hotter than a teacher or librarian wearing five inch spikes.
On the attractiveness scale, Lisa was a solid six. Actually, tonight I am going to give her a six point five. For the body and the boots. She had always been a super nice girl, and was currently working the classy chick angle. Good effort all around.
Lisa had been gnawing at the bone ever since graduation to revisit the magical, cherry popping night. She carried a torch for me because I was her first. I knew I could take advantage and cash my chips with Lisa. I was already scouting ahead for number two. I would take my time with number two, have some fun. I had a damn good idea who number two was going to be.
A few beers for me, a few drinks for Lisa, lots of small talk about the good old days. Her fire rekindled quickly. We were sitting on my couch at thirty minutes before midnight. The usual petting and groping, me keeping an eye on the clock. At a quarter to midnight we snuggled back into my bedroom to do the deed. It was fun and sweaty and good, it was straight forward, and it was done. As I blew my load into her, a number ticked off in my head. The number was one. What a strange sensation.
Check. One up, one down. Thirty to go.
This was going to be no problem.
The clock on the bedside table ticked past midnight. Sorry honey, no time for small talk or cuddling. We will talk about ‘getting back together’, or ‘hooking up again’, later. Much later. You have no idea what you have become a part of.
Welcome to the legend.
The legend of me.
It was time to grab number two. I drove Lisa home. She wanted to kiss and hug and kiss some more. Wow. Let it go girl. There won’t be a ring exchange any time soon.
After dropping Lisa at her place, I returned to the bar. The boys and girls had continued their steady drinking.
Why wouldn’t they?
They were all there to get laid.
Number two was as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. Number two had arrived at the bar with Lisa, and was in fact, one of her best friends. Love the best friends. I was excited about this one. Jenna was her name. Tall, skinny, freckled, long hair dyed black. The black hair had crazy red flaming tips. Again, not a pretty girl, probably a six, and no tits, so she would be a definite tiger in the sack.
Surfboard chicks always made up for their sad chests with effort. They either loved to eat dick, or they were fuck pigs. I was gunning for the fuck pig angle. Jenna wore tight, faded low rider jeans, a perfect showcase for her perfect ass. Those small tits were hidden under a half tee shirt, her white flat belly showed below. Some kind of belly button jewelry was attached to her navel. The jewelry was probably bigger than her tits. Jenna was a no brainer. My cock was already hungry. I was going to split this skinny bitch in two.
By one in the morning, Jenna was back at my place, on the same couch Lisa had been on. I felt about one second of guilt, as I smelled Lisa and our sex all over the condo.
You know what?
Jenna could probably smell it too. She wasn’t retarded.
Jenna and Lisa were buddies. They wouldn’t screw each other over a guy, would they?
Of course they would. Because Jenna watched Lisa and I walk out of the bar, sixty minutes ago.
A happy thought ran through my mind. A double.
What if I did a double? How would it count?
I smiled to myself. I would nail down a double on this quest, for the hell of it.
Back to Jenna. Since I was getting an early start on number two, and would be off duty until Monday, I will give Jenna something to remember. After the prerequisite necking and fondling on the couch, I managed to peel those skin tight jeans off her ass. Looking at her teeny, tiny, almost not there panties, my knees weakened and down I went. I tore the panties off, shredding them onto the floor. My legendary tongue worked the poor girl into a frenzy; she was panting and begging, a true dog.
Isn’t ‘Fuck me please’ the best line ever?
When a guy hears those words coming out of a chick’s mouth, it is our call to duty.
I turned the dripping Jenna around, pushed her down onto the couch, onto her knees. Ass out. Facing away from me. Remember, she wasn’t a pretty girl. She threw her hands up on the back rest, knowing what was coming. I pulled out my rock hard dick and fed her doggy style, slowly at first, then slamming her over the couch. Of course, negligent me, I had completely forgotten to close my living room curtains, and a single light burned on an end table. Bad, bad me. The picture of me fucking her was perfectly framed by the bare window. A couple of passersby on the street were thoroughly enjoying the show.
I didn’t mind.
The voyeurism was something I was beginning to get into. I had contemplated setting up video cameras in the living room and bedroom. One day I would see this through. I couldn’t think of anything hotter than watching myself in the sex act. Sweating, straining, popping musculature all over, my thick, gorgeous cock in all its glory. Wow, too much.
Then I could pause, rewind, freeze frame it all. Grabbing handfuls of these girls hair, slapping their asses, pounding their pussies, folding them up into pretzels and bringing the hammer down. Yes indeed, this would make for some fantastic porn. Only, it wouldn’t be stoned chicks and boring actors.
It would be real. It would be me.
Anyhow, super ass, skinny Jenna was number two.
Check. Two up, two down. This was too easy. It was only one thirty in the morning. I had the rest of this Sunday off to refill my balls. Tomorrow was Monday. The Wing Hut Bar and Grill would be hopping with thirty cent wings and pitchers of beer. Lots of guys would be eating and drinking, lots of girls following the guys. Number three should be no problem. I wonder how the other boys are doing, on this inaugural night of our mission.
CHAPTER SIX
I nodded my agreement.
“Ten minutes then,” I say and begin to move away from the table.
How did Stevie know what room I was in?
It must have been him shoving his crotch through the hole in the wall. Christ. I had my fingers on his crotch. Talk about embarrassing.
I am out of the bar room and back into the maze. I am trying to follow the numbers on the directional signs. The hallways are thick with men. I must rub against them as I pass. All of the men have white towels wrapped around them. Not all of them. Some of them are buck naked. I work hard to avoid looking at these creatures.
A lot of pot is being smoked. A lot of pot. I am getting stoned by just being in these hallways. Above the music, I can hear rutting and moaning behind some of the closed doors. Slurping and lip smacking. Exaggerated sounds, as if a show is being put on. A show, mocking those men in the hallway who aren’t ‘getting any’. Who aren’t good enough. Who aren’t hot enough. Same crap as the regular world. These sounds are ugly when a female isn’t present. I wince at the thought of these old bastards lip smacking each other. Disgusting. As Stevie said, the action is heating up.
A few errant hands brush against my crotch and ass as I continue to work through the maze. Kind of, ‘excuse me for touching, but these hallways are extremely narrow’. I wanted to drill some of these bastards. All of these bastards. Probably not the right place to do it. Definitely, me against the world in here.
Besides, these assholes are hardwired for this, they can’t help themselves. Not me. I have got to find my room, wait for my new buddy to show up, and get this stupid collar removed. Then get the hell out. This is not going to be the night, after all. There was never going to be a night, in this kind of place.
I was sure of it.
I finally find my room. I key the door and go in. Close the door behind me. Safety.
How many hands had groped my crotch and ass? Hungry, hopeful, wanton hands?
Gross.
Talk about a meat market out there. Not a comfortable sensation. I felt bad for the girls I had treated poorly. Especially the last six or ten of them. Hell, all thirty-one of them. While I am on it, most of them in my entire career. I didn’t care about their needs, did I?
I assumed I was feeding them exactly what they wanted.
What a demeaning, helpless feeling it must be, knowing the brute man pig wants a piece of you, solely for the curves of your body. Or your tits. Or your ass.
Or, my immediate situation, your pectoral muscles, or your cock, or your ass. I couldn’t imagine going down the ass road with another male. The ass road had been prevalent among my ladies. Yes, it had.
I hear tapping on my door. I can hear the tapping because the music has been turned way down. I am not sure why they would turn the music down. I would be turning it up to drown the rutting sounds of the fags. I carefully open my door, hoping it is Stevie the leather pants boy. It is. Stevie slips into my room and bumps the door shut with his ass. He toggles the light up. He is fishing in his pocket for something. He pulls out a small blue vial. It is the color of a Vick’s Vapor Rub bottle. It has a nozzle on the top. It appears to be a nasal spray of some kind.
Allergy problems? Perhaps. Who cares?
After more pocket fumbling, he finally pulls out a metal key. It must be the key to my collar.
Stevie looks at my crotch.
“Feel good to get touched out there?”
What is he talking about?
Stevie is still looking at my crotch. I look down. My crotch is bulging.
What the hell?
A full on boner is nearly bursting the front of my jeans. How uncomfortable, especially in front of this fag. I put my hands over my crotch, a pointless attempt at cover. I try to will the erection away. Concentrate. Think of something disgusting. Fat chicks, or old fags in towels. Not working, not working at all. I felt numb down there. My cock control switch has been turned off.
Stevie’s long, white fingers were on his bulge.
Why was he bulging? Was he thinking of me?
“Wanna play a bit before you go? Do you want to touch me here? Again?”
It was his crotch I had felt through the hole in the wall. The sneaky little touch of my fingers running across the mirror glass.
What was he asking?
Do I want to touch him? Is he serious?
I could only stare with confusion. I didn’t think I could speak, as the strange tingling sensation from the orange peel was confusing my mouth and tongue. I felt swollen there, as swollen as my cock.
Stevie smiled at me.
“Here, you need to relax.”
Stevie handed the nasal spray to me. I took it. In his other hand, he waved the magic key. The key to my freedom. The key to making the correct choice. The key to walking out the door, for good.
“Take a sniff. It will make you feel better. Then I will get this collar off you."
Yes, the collar. I needed the collar off. I needed to leave. A definite priority.
I was looking at the key in his hand, and the blue bottle in mine. My mind drifted. Came back. I felt tired all of a sudden. My erection seemed to be draining everything out of me. My erection felt different than it usually did. It felt wooden. Deadened. But holy crap, was my cock ever full. I stuck the bottle in my nose, pressed the pump top and inhaled. A strong smell of chemical and illicitness flooded my senses.
“Keep it in,” Stevie advised. “Suck it back, nice and deep, back into your brains.”
I did. Good. Everybody happy?
Now it’s collar time.
I handed the bottle back. The smell of the chemical was a mixture of nail polish and paint thinner. The smell had ‘headache’ written all over it. I recognized the smell from the hallways of the maze.
Stevie stepped in close. Took the bottle. Put it in his pants. He reached his hands around behind my neck to get at my collar. As he did, I sensed more blood rushing to my full cock. My cock began to throb. I swear it was throbbing through my pants. I felt pressure on my cock. I looked down. The pressure was from the bulge in Stevie’s leather pants. Our crotches were pressing against each other.
How sick? Why was he rubbing against me?
A flush of surrender flooded through my brain and body. My core temperature shot up ten degrees. My eyes glazed over as my knees began to buckle. I put my hands on Stevie’s hips for support. I was able to steady myself. I began to drift.
What was happening to me?
Stevie whispered in my ear.
“Go ahead. Feel my ass. Touch the leather. You want to.”
What?
I looked up to see what he was talking about. When I did, I could see nothing but thick, wet lips. Slick lips. Glossy lips. Girl lips. I had kissed many, many sets of similar lips. I had loved and cherished lips. Long, long ago. My hands were already moving of their own volition, coming to rest on the curve of this leathered ass. It was a nice chick’s ass. Tight and round.
My cock was engorged, pounding, as never before in my life. I pulled the ass towards me, mashing our crotches together. My cock leapt in my pants and our lips met.
We began to kiss. I felt a tongue probing. I parted my lips. The tongue snaked into my mouth, finding my own tongue. Our tongues danced and wrestled for dominance. I heard moaning. Passionate moaning, two voices. One of the voices belonged to me. I didn’t care, it felt so good. It was exaggerated moaning, similar to the moaning I had heard in the hallways. Advertising to all, I was ‘getting some’.
Fucking perverse, right?
Finally, after twelve long, interminable months, I was hot again. Hot, able and horny. Not hot, but smoking hot and good to go. Lost in this passion and unbelievable arousal. Lost in the drama of the face sucking session, not thinking of who or what I was doing.
Hands were unbuttoning my shirt. I felt fingers brushing across my nipples. I thought my cock would explode. My nipples were rock hard. Erect. My cock was rock hard. Erect. Trying to rip through my underwear and pants. Trying to break free of the clothing restraint, to punish and destroy some needing, fortunate pussy. The shirt slid down my arms, tangling at my hands. Our embrace was severed and I staggered, my knees were weak. My shirt fell to the floor, helped by Stevie.
What was happening to me?
Through my blurred vision, I could see Stevie peeling off his shirt. We were both shirtless. We could be the two guys in the porno video playing on the ninety inch screen.
Stevie was scrawny. Pale. A bone rack with black leather pants, and big black stomping boots. I loved the pants. I loved the boots. I needed to get me some of these. The chicks would dig it, big time.
Would they?
The room seemed brighter. The light must have been turned up. I could see large metal rings pierced through Stevie’s nipples.
What was with the piercings?
The shiny metal looked hot as well. I could go for this look. I knew of at least a dozen chicks who would love the piercings. At one time, anyway. A long time ago. Couldn’t be sure today.
I would hold the line on the collar I was wearing. Collars were for girls. Or dogs. Collars meant kept, as in pet. Or debased, as in slave. Or kinky girl, as in punk rocker. Or Charlene.
Why was I thinking about Charlene?
Charlene. The queen of me. The end of me. The bitch.
Forget about her, too much was happening right now, right here.
I am hard and ready. I am back. Sexy back.
Wait a second. Wasn’t something supposed to be happening to my collar?
Stevie’s hands were on my shoulders. I felt pressure, and my knees simply folded beneath me as I collapsed to the floor. His bulging crotch was mere inches from my face.
“Touch it,” he said, reaching down with his hand to take mine. “Touch it again.”
‘Touch it again’?
He knew it was me?
Of course he did. He knew what room I was in. One twenty-nine.
Stevie pulled my hand over his crotch, pressing it onto his bulge. He moved his hand away, leaving my stupid hand on the supple leather.
I couldn’t explain it. I was watching my hand rub and knead at his bulge. It was as if I was stuck in an out of body experience. My thumb and index finger found his zipper, and began to tug it down.
Why was I doing this?
Curious?
Of course.
Excited?
Couldn’t be. Not for this. Because it was totally wrong. Illicit. i*****l even, for me anyway. For my rules of engagement and code of conduct.
I fumbled up with my other hand, trying to pop the top pants button. Everything behind this button and zipper was packed tight.
What could be causing this crazy tightness?
My coordination was in question.
What was happening to me?
Why was I doing any of this?
My hands were in complete disconnect from my brain.
My cock pounded in rhythm with my skull. My body and motor functions continued to deteriorate. I heard a ripping sound. The zipper was finally down. The button was undone with a loud, popping snap. My vision swam in and out, a camera desperately trying to focus.
Why was I thinking of hot wet pussy?
Waiting behind this tight zipper and snug button?
With his long white fingers, Stevie folded the front of his pants down, exposing a long, pale cock. Capped with a heavy, purple bell. I gasped aloud. This was no pussy.
What was I expecting?
Certainly not this.
Had I not been necking with a chick, the thick soft lips and beautiful features, the hot curvy leather ass?
Every heartbeat in my chest sent energy to the shaft of my cock. Draining the rest of me, nearly completely. I tried to think, but not much was happening up there either. I no longer had any idea what was happening to me.
How could this punk have such a giant cock? How?
My hands had fallen limply to my sides, unable to push off or resist. There was not a hope I could stand up. My legs had become jelly.
I felt Stevie grasping a strong hold of my thick hair, guiding me forward, towards his bell. No way, I thought. No way am I going to…
I tried to protest but the strange numbness in my mouth and tongue would not allow words. I felt the firm heat and weight of his bell slide past my lips. Push over my tongue.
My tongue!
Holy fuck!
My cock continued to pound inexplicably, strangled in my shrinking jeans. My cock was a traitor to me, and the perversion which was being inflicted upon me.
Was the cunt from last New Year’s Eve correct, after all?
The latex bitch?
Was she?
My arms and legs and torso were dead. My numbed mouth was working. My mouth was working over his long, white shaft, without me even thinking about it. As if I had done this many times before. As if this was a natural thing. To my amazement I was sucking on his cock, sucking as a little whore would. I could taste the heat and musk of his manhood. I was thoroughly disgusted. My sucking and slobbering sounds filled my ears. Filled the room.
How mortifying?
Everybody in the building could probably hear. Especially with the stupid music turned down.
Great, I was really getting some now.
How the fuck did this happen?
Me, on my knees, shirtless, with a dog collar around my neck, sucking on a faggot’s cock.
How wrong. How debasing. How stupid was I?
I thought I was leaving. Getting the collar removed.
What happened to my simple plan? Why was my cock so hard?
My cock was drawing energy from my entire body. I was flushed. I could feel the sweat pouring off my temples, running down my back, soaking me completely.
“Now, put your hands on my ass where they belong.”
What?
Not going to happen. Never. I couldn’t tell if my hands were even attached to the ends of my arms, or if they had fallen off, let alone move them to satisfy his stupid request. Stevie released his grip on my hair as I continued sucking.
Why couldn’t I stop sucking?
He lifted my two hands to his ass. Then he returned his hand to my head. I felt him twist my hair, tugging hard, pulling my mouth deeper over his cock. His bell hit the back of my throat as he pumped at my face. My hands on his ass picked up his rhythmic movements, the movements I had used on many, many girls. Grab the bitches’ hair and pump their throats.
Stevie’s bell continued to hit at the back of my throat, bringing bile up my esophagus. I was near vomiting when his bell punched clean through my gag reflex.
My eyes flew open!
I did vomit.
Not a lot, but sour liquor and orange peel and beer flooded his cock-head as tears poured from my eyes.
He pulled completely out, leaving me gasping for air and spitting vomit.
I was thankful to get the air in.
My eyes were slits against the growing brightness in the room.
Christ sakes, was he dialing the lights up? What on earth for?
I spit and dry heaved some more. I tried to speak. To tell Stevie I had enough. I couldn’t go on with this sick gay behavior. It was over, and I was done, a terrible, terrible mistake. He had been right all along; I was definitely in the wrong place.
Stevie was supposed to remove my collar and send me packing.
Why did he have me kneeling before him, and why was he face-fucking me so badly?
My malleable, non-conforming mouth would open but not send out the words. With my mouth hanging open, Stevie must have taken this to mean I wanted more. He obliged by pushing his dripping cock back into me. He ran it deep. To the back of my throat, past my gag reflex. Into my gullet. Eight inches of white cock, topped with a thick bell. Buried to the hilt. I sensed his scratchy pubic hair on my swollen lips. Not only was I sucking my first cock, I was deep throating it.
The cock swallowing was brutal. My jaw was stretched to the limits, I heaved mightily against him, trying to expel. He ground both hands into my skull, I could feel the tearing of my hair. I tried to move my hands from his ass. My hands were not responding. Tears were pouring from my eyes, I was unable to breathe. Guttural choking sounds filled my ears.
I began to panic as stars swam in front of my eyes.
I was suffocating on his cock!
I was going under.
I felt the base of his cock begin to twitch. I heard Stevie grunt and felt the power of his thrust. The hot liquid sprayed from his bell and flew down my heaving throat. My whole body convulsed as survival instincts tried to kick in. I was both drowning and suffocating.
Mercifully, he pulled out of my throat as I heaved and spit back his cum. His cock was nowhere near done. More spurts of white liquid splashed against my open mouth and face. I felt it stinging my eyes and dripping across my nose. I finally managed to stop heaving. I started breathing.
“Clean me up,” I heard him command.
His slightly softening member was back in my mouth. Sliding over my tongue. His rigidity was waning. I tasted the disgusting cum, inhaled the disgusting cum, it was everywhere. The out of body experience continued. My mouth sucked away, my throat swallowed and most of Stevie’s load went down my obedient gullet. I felt his hands release my hair as he pulled out. The stars left my vision and I could see again.
Stevie tucked his cock back into his leather pants, zipped and buttoned himself. He lifted one of his black stomping boots and nudged my crotch. My crotch was soaked. Warm, sticky and wet. I must have blown my load into my jeans while he was shooting down my throat.
What the hell?
My pants were still full.
Had I blown my load and gone immediately hard again?
This had never happened to me before. Not with such lightning speed of recovery.
I sensed the lights dimming in the room. I opened my eyes and saw Stevie smiling down at me. In his hand he held the collar which had been around my neck. He hung it back in its place on the wall. Then he grabbed my arms and lifted me to my feet. I was pretty unsteady. He helped me shrug back into my shirt. I felt numb and mute. Totally embarrassed. Mortified. Stupid. Retarded. Pathetic.
A pathetic cocksucker.
Stevie began to button my shirt. As he did, he brushed his fingers over my nipples. I felt my knees weaken immediately.
What the hell?
Stevie continued brushing my nipples, staring into my eyes. Watching to see what I would do. I felt my cock pounding in my pants again. He lowered his face to mine. Ran his tongue over his thick lips. He leaned in and brushed his mouth against mine. I folded into myself. My mouth opened for him again, and his tongue slipped in. This time, I was able to find some strength, and I managed to push him back against the wall. My hands were back on his ass, groping, kneading and feeling him through his leather. All I could think of was girl. Girl lips. Girl leather. Girl ass. My cock thudded as our crotches ground together. Our mouths were locked in a death grip of ridiculous feral lust.
Stevie pushed me away. We were both panting. He looked surprised at my aggression. As was I.
Where did this rude passion play come from? Where?
Never mind why it had happened. Why any of tonight had happened.
Stevie smiled at me. With his big boots, and lanky frame, he was at least four inches taller.
“I think you will be coming back, after all,” he smirked.
He pulled open my door and slipped off into the dark maze, his shirt balled up in one hand. The door closed behind him, leaving me alone and strangely, feeling empty. As if there was something more to be had. A totally irrational feeling, because the only thing I wanted to do was get the hell out of here and drive to the motel.
My strength was returning, flowing back through my perspiration soaked body. Another weird sensation, because my strength had been concentrated in my cock. My cock was still thick in my pants, but not the ‘all or nothing’ feeling of the last hour. I had just shot my load, and I wasn’t sure why things remained active down there.
My vision and senses re-sharpened. I tasted the repulsive cum. Strong. Pungent. I spit and spit again, trying to clear my mouth. Crap city.
The fog was clearing rapidly. I knew exactly what I had done. I had sucked a guy’s cock. Not any guy. A scrawny, shirtless, leather pants clad, full bore faggot. Talk about wrong. A legendary pussy hound such as me? Sucking cock? I nearly dry heaved at the thought.
A worse thought?
Some of the bastard’s cum had shot down my throat. Was deep in my belly. Not some of it. Lots of it. Most of it. Jesus H. Christ.
It really was time to go.
[To be continued……]
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Saturday. Time for kickoff. Inauguration night for the big sex quest. Our regular bar, the Double Eagle, was packed and I didn’t have to work until Monday morning. I planned on getting a double to start this little competition with a bang. One before midnight. One after midnight.
Our town was indeed a hick town, but it was party bar central for a large geographic area. We had nine decent pickup bars to choose from. Country, rock and roll, dance, metal, a cougar bar, everything in between, and most of them were jumping from Thursday to Saturday.
My first pick was Lisa. I did Lisa back in grade twelve. Fumbling, awkward exploratory, useless sex. Teen sex. Stupid sex. She wasn’t much to look at back then, but she had morphed into something much better over the past seven years. Medium height, medium looks, but a stone killer curvy body. A combo I found attractive, because medium look chicks always put out more than the super hotties. Most super hotties were on the lazy side. Their looks had propelled them through their entire lives. Effort was foreign to them. Even in the bedroom. They expected pampering, and caressing, and wooing, and people telling them how pretty they were.
Lisa was wearing a tight sweater, short skirt and nice, expensive, brown boots. I always loved the boots and the heels. Any kind of high footwear. The high heels tried to say control, power, confidence, decisiveness. Chick psyche. The high heels actually said something else. Off balance, tottering, adventurous, out of control, not responsible for what comes next. Guy psyche. There could be nothing hotter than a teacher or librarian wearing five inch spikes.
On the attractiveness scale, Lisa was a solid six. Actually, tonight I am going to give her a six point five. For the body and the boots. She had always been a super nice girl, and was currently working the classy chick angle. Good effort all around.
Lisa had been gnawing at the bone ever since graduation to revisit the magical, cherry popping night. She carried a torch for me because I was her first. I knew I could take advantage and cash my chips with Lisa. I was already scouting ahead for number two. I would take my time with number two, have some fun. I had a damn good idea who number two was going to be.
A few beers for me, a few drinks for Lisa, lots of small talk about the good old days. Her fire rekindled quickly. We were sitting on my couch at thirty minutes before midnight. The usual petting and groping, me keeping an eye on the clock. At a quarter to midnight we snuggled back into my bedroom to do the deed. It was fun and sweaty and good, it was straight forward, and it was done. As I blew my load into her, a number ticked off in my head. The number was one. What a strange sensation.
Check. One up, one down. Thirty to go.
This was going to be no problem.
The clock on the bedside table ticked past midnight. Sorry honey, no time for small talk or cuddling. We will talk about ‘getting back together’, or ‘hooking up again’, later. Much later. You have no idea what you have become a part of.
Welcome to the legend.
The legend of me.
It was time to grab number two. I drove Lisa home. She wanted to kiss and hug and kiss some more. Wow. Let it go girl. There won’t be a ring exchange any time soon.
After dropping Lisa at her place, I returned to the bar. The boys and girls had continued their steady drinking.
Why wouldn’t they?
They were all there to get laid.
Number two was as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. Number two had arrived at the bar with Lisa, and was in fact, one of her best friends. Love the best friends. I was excited about this one. Jenna was her name. Tall, skinny, freckled, long hair dyed black. The black hair had crazy red flaming tips. Again, not a pretty girl, probably a six, and no tits, so she would be a definite tiger in the sack.
Surfboard chicks always made up for their sad chests with effort. They either loved to eat dick, or they were fuck pigs. I was gunning for the fuck pig angle. Jenna wore tight, faded low rider jeans, a perfect showcase for her perfect ass. Those small tits were hidden under a half tee shirt, her white flat belly showed below. Some kind of belly button jewelry was attached to her navel. The jewelry was probably bigger than her tits. Jenna was a no brainer. My cock was already hungry. I was going to split this skinny bitch in two.
By one in the morning, Jenna was back at my place, on the same couch Lisa had been on. I felt about one second of guilt, as I smelled Lisa and our sex all over the condo.
You know what?
Jenna could probably smell it too. She wasn’t retarded.
Jenna and Lisa were buddies. They wouldn’t screw each other over a guy, would they?
Of course they would. Because Jenna watched Lisa and I walk out of the bar, sixty minutes ago.
A happy thought ran through my mind. A double.
What if I did a double? How would it count?
I smiled to myself. I would nail down a double on this quest, for the hell of it.
Back to Jenna. Since I was getting an early start on number two, and would be off duty until Monday, I will give Jenna something to remember. After the prerequisite necking and fondling on the couch, I managed to peel those skin tight jeans off her ass. Looking at her teeny, tiny, almost not there panties, my knees weakened and down I went. I tore the panties off, shredding them onto the floor. My legendary tongue worked the poor girl into a frenzy; she was panting and begging, a true dog.
Isn’t ‘Fuck me please’ the best line ever?
When a guy hears those words coming out of a chick’s mouth, it is our call to duty.
I turned the dripping Jenna around, pushed her down onto the couch, onto her knees. Ass out. Facing away from me. Remember, she wasn’t a pretty girl. She threw her hands up on the back rest, knowing what was coming. I pulled out my rock hard dick and fed her doggy style, slowly at first, then slamming her over the couch. Of course, negligent me, I had completely forgotten to close my living room curtains, and a single light burned on an end table. Bad, bad me. The picture of me fucking her was perfectly framed by the bare window. A couple of passersby on the street were thoroughly enjoying the show.
I didn’t mind.
The voyeurism was something I was beginning to get into. I had contemplated setting up video cameras in the living room and bedroom. One day I would see this through. I couldn’t think of anything hotter than watching myself in the sex act. Sweating, straining, popping musculature all over, my thick, gorgeous cock in all its glory. Wow, too much.
Then I could pause, rewind, freeze frame it all. Grabbing handfuls of these girls hair, slapping their asses, pounding their pussies, folding them up into pretzels and bringing the hammer down. Yes indeed, this would make for some fantastic porn. Only, it wouldn’t be stoned chicks and boring actors.
It would be real. It would be me.
Anyhow, super ass, skinny Jenna was number two.
Check. Two up, two down. This was too easy. It was only one thirty in the morning. I had the rest of this Sunday off to refill my balls. Tomorrow was Monday. The Wing Hut Bar and Grill would be hopping with thirty cent wings and pitchers of beer. Lots of guys would be eating and drinking, lots of girls following the guys. Number three should be no problem. I wonder how the other boys are doing, on this inaugural night of our mission.
CHAPTER SIX
I nodded my agreement.
“Ten minutes then,” I say and begin to move away from the table.
How did Stevie know what room I was in?
It must have been him shoving his crotch through the hole in the wall. Christ. I had my fingers on his crotch. Talk about embarrassing.
I am out of the bar room and back into the maze. I am trying to follow the numbers on the directional signs. The hallways are thick with men. I must rub against them as I pass. All of the men have white towels wrapped around them. Not all of them. Some of them are buck naked. I work hard to avoid looking at these creatures.
A lot of pot is being smoked. A lot of pot. I am getting stoned by just being in these hallways. Above the music, I can hear rutting and moaning behind some of the closed doors. Slurping and lip smacking. Exaggerated sounds, as if a show is being put on. A show, mocking those men in the hallway who aren’t ‘getting any’. Who aren’t good enough. Who aren’t hot enough. Same crap as the regular world. These sounds are ugly when a female isn’t present. I wince at the thought of these old bastards lip smacking each other. Disgusting. As Stevie said, the action is heating up.
A few errant hands brush against my crotch and ass as I continue to work through the maze. Kind of, ‘excuse me for touching, but these hallways are extremely narrow’. I wanted to drill some of these bastards. All of these bastards. Probably not the right place to do it. Definitely, me against the world in here.
Besides, these assholes are hardwired for this, they can’t help themselves. Not me. I have got to find my room, wait for my new buddy to show up, and get this stupid collar removed. Then get the hell out. This is not going to be the night, after all. There was never going to be a night, in this kind of place.
I was sure of it.
I finally find my room. I key the door and go in. Close the door behind me. Safety.
How many hands had groped my crotch and ass? Hungry, hopeful, wanton hands?
Gross.
Talk about a meat market out there. Not a comfortable sensation. I felt bad for the girls I had treated poorly. Especially the last six or ten of them. Hell, all thirty-one of them. While I am on it, most of them in my entire career. I didn’t care about their needs, did I?
I assumed I was feeding them exactly what they wanted.
What a demeaning, helpless feeling it must be, knowing the brute man pig wants a piece of you, solely for the curves of your body. Or your tits. Or your ass.
Or, my immediate situation, your pectoral muscles, or your cock, or your ass. I couldn’t imagine going down the ass road with another male. The ass road had been prevalent among my ladies. Yes, it had.
I hear tapping on my door. I can hear the tapping because the music has been turned way down. I am not sure why they would turn the music down. I would be turning it up to drown the rutting sounds of the fags. I carefully open my door, hoping it is Stevie the leather pants boy. It is. Stevie slips into my room and bumps the door shut with his ass. He toggles the light up. He is fishing in his pocket for something. He pulls out a small blue vial. It is the color of a Vick’s Vapor Rub bottle. It has a nozzle on the top. It appears to be a nasal spray of some kind.
Allergy problems? Perhaps. Who cares?
After more pocket fumbling, he finally pulls out a metal key. It must be the key to my collar.
Stevie looks at my crotch.
“Feel good to get touched out there?”
What is he talking about?
Stevie is still looking at my crotch. I look down. My crotch is bulging.
What the hell?
A full on boner is nearly bursting the front of my jeans. How uncomfortable, especially in front of this fag. I put my hands over my crotch, a pointless attempt at cover. I try to will the erection away. Concentrate. Think of something disgusting. Fat chicks, or old fags in towels. Not working, not working at all. I felt numb down there. My cock control switch has been turned off.
Stevie’s long, white fingers were on his bulge.
Why was he bulging? Was he thinking of me?
“Wanna play a bit before you go? Do you want to touch me here? Again?”
It was his crotch I had felt through the hole in the wall. The sneaky little touch of my fingers running across the mirror glass.
What was he asking?
Do I want to touch him? Is he serious?
I could only stare with confusion. I didn’t think I could speak, as the strange tingling sensation from the orange peel was confusing my mouth and tongue. I felt swollen there, as swollen as my cock.
Stevie smiled at me.
“Here, you need to relax.”
Stevie handed the nasal spray to me. I took it. In his other hand, he waved the magic key. The key to my freedom. The key to making the correct choice. The key to walking out the door, for good.
“Take a sniff. It will make you feel better. Then I will get this collar off you."
Yes, the collar. I needed the collar off. I needed to leave. A definite priority.
I was looking at the key in his hand, and the blue bottle in mine. My mind drifted. Came back. I felt tired all of a sudden. My erection seemed to be draining everything out of me. My erection felt different than it usually did. It felt wooden. Deadened. But holy crap, was my cock ever full. I stuck the bottle in my nose, pressed the pump top and inhaled. A strong smell of chemical and illicitness flooded my senses.
“Keep it in,” Stevie advised. “Suck it back, nice and deep, back into your brains.”
I did. Good. Everybody happy?
Now it’s collar time.
I handed the bottle back. The smell of the chemical was a mixture of nail polish and paint thinner. The smell had ‘headache’ written all over it. I recognized the smell from the hallways of the maze.
Stevie stepped in close. Took the bottle. Put it in his pants. He reached his hands around behind my neck to get at my collar. As he did, I sensed more blood rushing to my full cock. My cock began to throb. I swear it was throbbing through my pants. I felt pressure on my cock. I looked down. The pressure was from the bulge in Stevie’s leather pants. Our crotches were pressing against each other.
How sick? Why was he rubbing against me?
A flush of surrender flooded through my brain and body. My core temperature shot up ten degrees. My eyes glazed over as my knees began to buckle. I put my hands on Stevie’s hips for support. I was able to steady myself. I began to drift.
What was happening to me?
Stevie whispered in my ear.
“Go ahead. Feel my ass. Touch the leather. You want to.”
What?
I looked up to see what he was talking about. When I did, I could see nothing but thick, wet lips. Slick lips. Glossy lips. Girl lips. I had kissed many, many sets of similar lips. I had loved and cherished lips. Long, long ago. My hands were already moving of their own volition, coming to rest on the curve of this leathered ass. It was a nice chick’s ass. Tight and round.
My cock was engorged, pounding, as never before in my life. I pulled the ass towards me, mashing our crotches together. My cock leapt in my pants and our lips met.
We began to kiss. I felt a tongue probing. I parted my lips. The tongue snaked into my mouth, finding my own tongue. Our tongues danced and wrestled for dominance. I heard moaning. Passionate moaning, two voices. One of the voices belonged to me. I didn’t care, it felt so good. It was exaggerated moaning, similar to the moaning I had heard in the hallways. Advertising to all, I was ‘getting some’.
Fucking perverse, right?
Finally, after twelve long, interminable months, I was hot again. Hot, able and horny. Not hot, but smoking hot and good to go. Lost in this passion and unbelievable arousal. Lost in the drama of the face sucking session, not thinking of who or what I was doing.
Hands were unbuttoning my shirt. I felt fingers brushing across my nipples. I thought my cock would explode. My nipples were rock hard. Erect. My cock was rock hard. Erect. Trying to rip through my underwear and pants. Trying to break free of the clothing restraint, to punish and destroy some needing, fortunate pussy. The shirt slid down my arms, tangling at my hands. Our embrace was severed and I staggered, my knees were weak. My shirt fell to the floor, helped by Stevie.
What was happening to me?
Through my blurred vision, I could see Stevie peeling off his shirt. We were both shirtless. We could be the two guys in the porno video playing on the ninety inch screen.
Stevie was scrawny. Pale. A bone rack with black leather pants, and big black stomping boots. I loved the pants. I loved the boots. I needed to get me some of these. The chicks would dig it, big time.
Would they?
The room seemed brighter. The light must have been turned up. I could see large metal rings pierced through Stevie’s nipples.
What was with the piercings?
The shiny metal looked hot as well. I could go for this look. I knew of at least a dozen chicks who would love the piercings. At one time, anyway. A long time ago. Couldn’t be sure today.
I would hold the line on the collar I was wearing. Collars were for girls. Or dogs. Collars meant kept, as in pet. Or debased, as in slave. Or kinky girl, as in punk rocker. Or Charlene.
Why was I thinking about Charlene?
Charlene. The queen of me. The end of me. The bitch.
Forget about her, too much was happening right now, right here.
I am hard and ready. I am back. Sexy back.
Wait a second. Wasn’t something supposed to be happening to my collar?
Stevie’s hands were on my shoulders. I felt pressure, and my knees simply folded beneath me as I collapsed to the floor. His bulging crotch was mere inches from my face.
“Touch it,” he said, reaching down with his hand to take mine. “Touch it again.”
‘Touch it again’?
He knew it was me?
Of course he did. He knew what room I was in. One twenty-nine.
Stevie pulled my hand over his crotch, pressing it onto his bulge. He moved his hand away, leaving my stupid hand on the supple leather.
I couldn’t explain it. I was watching my hand rub and knead at his bulge. It was as if I was stuck in an out of body experience. My thumb and index finger found his zipper, and began to tug it down.
Why was I doing this?
Curious?
Of course.
Excited?
Couldn’t be. Not for this. Because it was totally wrong. Illicit. i*****l even, for me anyway. For my rules of engagement and code of conduct.
I fumbled up with my other hand, trying to pop the top pants button. Everything behind this button and zipper was packed tight.
What could be causing this crazy tightness?
My coordination was in question.
What was happening to me?
Why was I doing any of this?
My hands were in complete disconnect from my brain.
My cock pounded in rhythm with my skull. My body and motor functions continued to deteriorate. I heard a ripping sound. The zipper was finally down. The button was undone with a loud, popping snap. My vision swam in and out, a camera desperately trying to focus.
Why was I thinking of hot wet pussy?
Waiting behind this tight zipper and snug button?
With his long white fingers, Stevie folded the front of his pants down, exposing a long, pale cock. Capped with a heavy, purple bell. I gasped aloud. This was no pussy.
What was I expecting?
Certainly not this.
Had I not been necking with a chick, the thick soft lips and beautiful features, the hot curvy leather ass?
Every heartbeat in my chest sent energy to the shaft of my cock. Draining the rest of me, nearly completely. I tried to think, but not much was happening up there either. I no longer had any idea what was happening to me.
How could this punk have such a giant cock? How?
My hands had fallen limply to my sides, unable to push off or resist. There was not a hope I could stand up. My legs had become jelly.
I felt Stevie grasping a strong hold of my thick hair, guiding me forward, towards his bell. No way, I thought. No way am I going to…
I tried to protest but the strange numbness in my mouth and tongue would not allow words. I felt the firm heat and weight of his bell slide past my lips. Push over my tongue.
My tongue!
Holy fuck!
My cock continued to pound inexplicably, strangled in my shrinking jeans. My cock was a traitor to me, and the perversion which was being inflicted upon me.
Was the cunt from last New Year’s Eve correct, after all?
The latex bitch?
Was she?
My arms and legs and torso were dead. My numbed mouth was working. My mouth was working over his long, white shaft, without me even thinking about it. As if I had done this many times before. As if this was a natural thing. To my amazement I was sucking on his cock, sucking as a little whore would. I could taste the heat and musk of his manhood. I was thoroughly disgusted. My sucking and slobbering sounds filled my ears. Filled the room.
How mortifying?
Everybody in the building could probably hear. Especially with the stupid music turned down.
Great, I was really getting some now.
How the fuck did this happen?
Me, on my knees, shirtless, with a dog collar around my neck, sucking on a faggot’s cock.
How wrong. How debasing. How stupid was I?
I thought I was leaving. Getting the collar removed.
What happened to my simple plan? Why was my cock so hard?
My cock was drawing energy from my entire body. I was flushed. I could feel the sweat pouring off my temples, running down my back, soaking me completely.
“Now, put your hands on my ass where they belong.”
What?
Not going to happen. Never. I couldn’t tell if my hands were even attached to the ends of my arms, or if they had fallen off, let alone move them to satisfy his stupid request. Stevie released his grip on my hair as I continued sucking.
Why couldn’t I stop sucking?
He lifted my two hands to his ass. Then he returned his hand to my head. I felt him twist my hair, tugging hard, pulling my mouth deeper over his cock. His bell hit the back of my throat as he pumped at my face. My hands on his ass picked up his rhythmic movements, the movements I had used on many, many girls. Grab the bitches’ hair and pump their throats.
Stevie’s bell continued to hit at the back of my throat, bringing bile up my esophagus. I was near vomiting when his bell punched clean through my gag reflex.
My eyes flew open!
I did vomit.
Not a lot, but sour liquor and orange peel and beer flooded his cock-head as tears poured from my eyes.
He pulled completely out, leaving me gasping for air and spitting vomit.
I was thankful to get the air in.
My eyes were slits against the growing brightness in the room.
Christ sakes, was he dialing the lights up? What on earth for?
I spit and dry heaved some more. I tried to speak. To tell Stevie I had enough. I couldn’t go on with this sick gay behavior. It was over, and I was done, a terrible, terrible mistake. He had been right all along; I was definitely in the wrong place.
Stevie was supposed to remove my collar and send me packing.
Why did he have me kneeling before him, and why was he face-fucking me so badly?
My malleable, non-conforming mouth would open but not send out the words. With my mouth hanging open, Stevie must have taken this to mean I wanted more. He obliged by pushing his dripping cock back into me. He ran it deep. To the back of my throat, past my gag reflex. Into my gullet. Eight inches of white cock, topped with a thick bell. Buried to the hilt. I sensed his scratchy pubic hair on my swollen lips. Not only was I sucking my first cock, I was deep throating it.
The cock swallowing was brutal. My jaw was stretched to the limits, I heaved mightily against him, trying to expel. He ground both hands into my skull, I could feel the tearing of my hair. I tried to move my hands from his ass. My hands were not responding. Tears were pouring from my eyes, I was unable to breathe. Guttural choking sounds filled my ears.
I began to panic as stars swam in front of my eyes.
I was suffocating on his cock!
I was going under.
I felt the base of his cock begin to twitch. I heard Stevie grunt and felt the power of his thrust. The hot liquid sprayed from his bell and flew down my heaving throat. My whole body convulsed as survival instincts tried to kick in. I was both drowning and suffocating.
Mercifully, he pulled out of my throat as I heaved and spit back his cum. His cock was nowhere near done. More spurts of white liquid splashed against my open mouth and face. I felt it stinging my eyes and dripping across my nose. I finally managed to stop heaving. I started breathing.
“Clean me up,” I heard him command.
His slightly softening member was back in my mouth. Sliding over my tongue. His rigidity was waning. I tasted the disgusting cum, inhaled the disgusting cum, it was everywhere. The out of body experience continued. My mouth sucked away, my throat swallowed and most of Stevie’s load went down my obedient gullet. I felt his hands release my hair as he pulled out. The stars left my vision and I could see again.
Stevie tucked his cock back into his leather pants, zipped and buttoned himself. He lifted one of his black stomping boots and nudged my crotch. My crotch was soaked. Warm, sticky and wet. I must have blown my load into my jeans while he was shooting down my throat.
What the hell?
My pants were still full.
Had I blown my load and gone immediately hard again?
This had never happened to me before. Not with such lightning speed of recovery.
I sensed the lights dimming in the room. I opened my eyes and saw Stevie smiling down at me. In his hand he held the collar which had been around my neck. He hung it back in its place on the wall. Then he grabbed my arms and lifted me to my feet. I was pretty unsteady. He helped me shrug back into my shirt. I felt numb and mute. Totally embarrassed. Mortified. Stupid. Retarded. Pathetic.
A pathetic cocksucker.
Stevie began to button my shirt. As he did, he brushed his fingers over my nipples. I felt my knees weaken immediately.
What the hell?
Stevie continued brushing my nipples, staring into my eyes. Watching to see what I would do. I felt my cock pounding in my pants again. He lowered his face to mine. Ran his tongue over his thick lips. He leaned in and brushed his mouth against mine. I folded into myself. My mouth opened for him again, and his tongue slipped in. This time, I was able to find some strength, and I managed to push him back against the wall. My hands were back on his ass, groping, kneading and feeling him through his leather. All I could think of was girl. Girl lips. Girl leather. Girl ass. My cock thudded as our crotches ground together. Our mouths were locked in a death grip of ridiculous feral lust.
Stevie pushed me away. We were both panting. He looked surprised at my aggression. As was I.
Where did this rude passion play come from? Where?
Never mind why it had happened. Why any of tonight had happened.
Stevie smiled at me. With his big boots, and lanky frame, he was at least four inches taller.
“I think you will be coming back, after all,” he smirked.
He pulled open my door and slipped off into the dark maze, his shirt balled up in one hand. The door closed behind him, leaving me alone and strangely, feeling empty. As if there was something more to be had. A totally irrational feeling, because the only thing I wanted to do was get the hell out of here and drive to the motel.
My strength was returning, flowing back through my perspiration soaked body. Another weird sensation, because my strength had been concentrated in my cock. My cock was still thick in my pants, but not the ‘all or nothing’ feeling of the last hour. I had just shot my load, and I wasn’t sure why things remained active down there.
My vision and senses re-sharpened. I tasted the repulsive cum. Strong. Pungent. I spit and spit again, trying to clear my mouth. Crap city.
The fog was clearing rapidly. I knew exactly what I had done. I had sucked a guy’s cock. Not any guy. A scrawny, shirtless, leather pants clad, full bore faggot. Talk about wrong. A legendary pussy hound such as me? Sucking cock? I nearly dry heaved at the thought.
A worse thought?
Some of the bastard’s cum had shot down my throat. Was deep in my belly. Not some of it. Lots of it. Most of it. Jesus H. Christ.
It really was time to go.
[To be continued……]
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Clover
- 18.02.2022
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