Gay Club DJ free porn video

Gay Club DJ By Robin O. The author welcomes comments at [email protected] You might say I went straight from high school to a gay nightclub. The key word there is "straight." At least that's what I thought. When I was in high school in South Carolina, I played the guitar in what you would probably call a boy band. It was a bunch of us from school -- all reed-thin except for our portly drummer -- all of us with long hair and androgynous features, just like the big-time rock bands. None of us, unfortunately, with much talent. After high school, the band dissolved, and we were probably the only ones who noticed. We all went our separate ways. For me, that meant college in upstate New York, which I have to tell you was quite a departure, weather-wise, from what I'm used to in South Carolina. I love my folks dearly, but I felt like if I didn't get out of that small town, I would burst. The college had a good music and theater program, and was about a four-hour ride from New York City. That's where I wanted to perform someday when I got good enough at the guitar. I didn't see any reason why I couldn't be a star someday. I was voted "best-looking boy" in my high school senior class, and even though there were only about 50 boys graduating that year, I still got my picture in the yearbook under "Best Looking." I'm about 5-foot-8, very thin, and I haven't cut my straight, blond hair since junior high. I usually wear it in a pony tail, and it goes down past my shoulder blades. Other than my lack of great talent, there is one other thing that could hold me back. My name. It's Wendell. Granddad was a big Wendell Wilkie supporter in the '40s, so he named my dad, Wendell. Dad somehow thought it would be a great idea to name me after him, so I became Wendell Jr. It wasn't so bad growing up, because everyone in town knew me as "Junior." But going off to college with a name like Wendell was tough. Once I got to college, I looked around for a part-time job to help make ends meet. It wasn't easy, because all I know is music. I looked all over, but the only place hiring was McDonald's. Nothing against flipping burgers, but it wasn't my dream job. Then I noticed a small classified ad in the local newspaper for a disc jockey to play music each weekend at a local club. It seemed perfect. If there was one thing I knew a lot about, I thought, it was music. I called the phone number in the ad, and someone with a gruff voice told me to come by that afternoon and gave me directions. It was a good thing, too, because I never would have found the place. It was about 25 minutes from my campus, out in the middle of nowhere, a lone, large building off a hilly country road. As I parked my car in the spacious lot, I wondered what kind of business the club could be doing at such an out-of-the-way location. The door was open, and I was pleasantly surprised when I walked in. There was a hallway with large photo portraits of movie and music stars like Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand and Madonna. I peeked into the ballroom. It was quite large, and I could see that it had modern lighting and an expensive sound system. Off to one side was the DJ's station with what looked like an impressive collection of CDs and a microphone. Not far from there was a spacious bar with lots of glasses hanging up in front of big mirrors. Down the hall from the ballroom entrance was a heavy door with a sign reading, "Private." I knocked, and soon I heard footsteps. The door opened, and I was greeted by a tall, heavyset man who very well may have had the saddest face I'd ever seen. It was hard to tell how old he was, but he looked at least 60. (I was later to learn he was 62.) He was bald on top, with brown-gray hair on the sides. He had combed a few long hairs over his bald area in a vain attempt to cover up his baldness. He had three or four jowly lines that ran from his plump cheekbones to his double and triple chins. He was dressed nicely, though, with expensive slacks and a golf shirt under a button-up sweater. He looked at me a bit disapprovingly. "You're ...?" "Wendell," I said. "We talked on the phone about a job?" "Right, kid," he said. "C'mon in." I was led into a well-furnished living room in what was obviously his apartment. He told me his name was Les Blanchard, and he was the owner. "So," he said. "you're a DJ, huh? How old are you, kid?" I told him I would be 19 in a couple of months, and he asked me about the music young people liked nowadays and what I thought of it. I told him I liked most of it. He said he liked Sinatra, Tony Bennett, '50s music and songs with words you could understand, but that "the young folks today, they like to listen to crap, so that's what we give them while they dance and work up a thirst" to buy drinks at the bar. The pay wasn't great, but he said if I did the job well, I'd get lots of tips. I would work from about 6 p.m. until the place closed at 2 a.m. every Friday and Saturday night. He noticed what he called my Southern accent (actually, I don't have an accent -- everybody up North just talks funny), asked about my background and told me he needed a DJ right away because the last one had gotten a job out of town and quit without giving notice. "If you can start this Friday night, kid, the job is yours until you screw up, OK?" I told him I wouldn't screw up, and thanked him for the opportunity. I asked him how I should dress, and he advised me that the less I wore, the better my tips would be. I looked at him with what must have been a puzzled expression. He smiled for the first time. "Kid," he said, "you do know this is a gay club, don't you?" I felt my face start to get very red. "Uh ... gay? Oh ... sure. Sure, I knew. I ... I guess I'll see you Friday night. Bye." I walked quickly out to my car. I had no idea it was a gay club, but I guess it made sense. On the drive back to the college, I wondered what it would be like to work in a gay club. I have nothing against gay people. With my long hair and slim build, I'd been hit on several times by gay guys when the band had a gig. They were all pretty nice, understanding when I told them I was straight. A couple of them had said what a waste it was, telling me how pretty I am. When I got back to the freshman dorm, my roommate was out, probably with the girlfriend he brought with him from his Long Island high school. With my door locked, I removed my shirt and took off the rubber band holding my hair in a pony tail. My hair cascaded over my bare shoulders as I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered if any gay men would be hitting on me while I worked at the club. My features were almost feminine, with soft, but toned, arms, no chest hair, and, as I stood in profile, a pronounced concave from my rib cage to my very thin waist. If you had seen me from behind, with my long, blond hair and curvy figure, you'd have assumed I was a shapely, pretty girl. "I'd better stop," I said to myself with a rueful smile. "I'm starting to turn myself on." I showed up at the club early Friday night. I decided to wear khaki pants and a plain, white T-shirt. My first night really was a lot of fun. For one thing, the place was mobbed by 8 p.m. Obviously, this was the kind of club that didn't need to advertise. Every gay person for miles around must know about it. There were all kinds of people there. Gays, lesbians, even some straights. Nobody hit on me, although a few men in their 20s or 30s tried to make eye contact with me. The tips weren't great, but not bad. People would come over and put dollar bills in a big glass in front of me, particularly if they had a specific music request. As the music played over the gyrating throng on the dance floor, I started to get into it and did a little gyrating myself. Les tended bar with two bartenders, Derek, in his 50s, and Don, in his late 30s. I found out later that they were lovers and lived together. After we closed at 2 a.m., Les retired to his apartment to count the receipts while Derek, Don and I picked the place up a bit. The main cleaning crew, I was told, would be in the next afternoon to get the room ready for Saturday night. I was back that night and every weekend for several weeks. I got to know Derek and Don a little bit, talking to them as we cleaned up and walked out to the otherwise-deserted parking lot. Derek, I learned, had worked for Les a long time. "I helped him move into this place 13 years ago." Derek said one night. "It was about a year after his wife died. Car accident. She was a lot younger than he was. I never knew her, but my, how he must have loved that woman. The second bedroom in his apartment is filled with all her stuff -- dresses, shoes, pictures, everything. He doesn't ever talk about her, but he's never gotten over her. I haven't been in that room since I helped him move in, but I saw her picture, and she was a pretty woman, very trim and tall. Les wasn't a bad-looking guy back then, either, when he had some hair and was much thinner than he is now." As the weeks went on, I got to be more and more comfortable working at the club. It was a nice change from my classes at the university, and I got to know a lot of the regular customers. My tips got a lot better because they seemed to like me, and also, I think, because I started dressing differently. My normal outfit was a cut-off sweatshirt that revealed my midriff from my ribs to my cut-off shorts that I wore low on my hips. The top of my sweatshirt was cut widely enough to bare one of my shoulders as I bopped around to the music. After an hour or two, I'd usually really get into it and let my hair out of the pony tail to bounce around on my shoulders. Men were making eye contact with me all the time now, and I would usually smile and hold their gaze for a few seconds before turning away shyly. OK, so maybe I was flirting with them just a little to get them to put money in my tips glass. Sometimes, Les would look over at me from the bar, holding up a Pepsi for me to come over and take with me. When he caught my eye, I sometimes found myself pushing my bare shoulder forward and smiling gratefully at him. This flirting thing was new to me, and maybe I was subconsciously doing it to the old man. Anyway, his sad face never indicated that he thought I was flirting, which was a good thing, because if I didn't find all the young, muscular men on the dance floor attractive, I certainly wasn't going to have my first gay experience with my elderly, portly boss. I got pretty friendly with two lesbians who frequented the club. Beth was what you would call your classic bull dyke. She was about 5-foot-6, very short hair, round-faced, heavy, and always wore a black motorcycle jacket. Her girlfriend, Amanda, was one of the most beautiful and feminine women I have ever seen. Tall, with a regal neck and beautiful figure, her long, straight brown hair fell softly around her trim shoulders. She had the sweet face of an angel and a personality to match. Beth was very possessive of Amanda, always with her arm around her. They made an incongruous pair. One night when Beth went to the bathroom, I just had to ask Amanda what the attraction was. Amanda's beautiful green eyes sparkled. "You want to know why I'm with Beth?" I nodded. "Well, for one thing, men smell bad, they make gross noises when they eat and when they digest what they eat. And one of them," she said as her eyes got a little glassy, "raped me when we were on a date. Beth has never done anything like that to me, and she is very dominant in a gentle way. "Besides," she said, taking a sip of her drink, "I don't like penises. They're disgusting. Do you like penises, Wendie?" Everybody at the club called me "Wendie." I kind of liked it. At least it was better than "Wendell." Meanwhile, I didn't know how to answer Amanda's question. "I like penises," I said, shrugging. "I mean, I like my own penis. I don't know any other penises." "You could," she said. "You could know a lot of them. I've heard men around the club talking about you. Half of them want to fuck you. The other half want to give you a blow job." Beth came back from the ladies room, dropped a five-dollar bill into my glass, put her arm around Amanda and guided her to the dance floor. Amanda smiled mischievously at me over her shoulder as she was led away. I had been so busy playing CDs and talking to Amanda that I hadn't noticed Les trying to get my attention so he could give me my nightly Pepsi. For the first and only time, he delivered it to me. My back was to him as he moved around me in the close quarters, and he casually placed his hands on my bare waist to steady himself. I wasn't sure whether he was copping a feel, but I didn't think so. Les had never come on to me, and based on what Derek had told me, I wasn't even sure Les was gay or even bi. What I was sure of is that my whole body tingled when sad-faced Les put his hands on me. I didn't like what I was feeling when he touched me, and the next day, a Sunday, I made it a point to chat up Linda, a cute girl from my dorm who seemed to like me. We drank a lot of wine, one thing led to another, and before too long, we were naked in bed together. Then, for the first time in my young life, I couldn't get it up. It was so embarrassing. Moreover, I was starting to have feelings of sexual ambiguity. I couldn't possibly be gay, but an hour after Linda, who was really very nice and sympathetic, left my room, I got an erection while masturbating. I found myself fantasizing about being taken by some man I couldn't quite picture. "I wasn't gay," I told myself. Still, I couldn't get it up for a pretty girl like Linda, and I was feeling more and more like a sex object for all the gay men at the club. It bothered me a little that I so easily fit into the gay atmosphere at the club, even though I was straight. I would compare myself to some of the young, svelte men on the dance floor and subconsciously wonder whether I was more attractive. "You're a guy," I told myself. "You're straight. If you're prick- teasing, it's because of the tips." And so it was. The weeks went on, and the weather turned very cold and snowy. Still, the crowds came and danced every Friday and Saturday night, and I was making a lot of money for a college freshman. I found myself liking most of the people who came to the club, and I had come to terms with my sexual feelings. Basically, I had none. After Linda, I decided to cool it for a while with the girls on campus until my head was totally straight. At the club, I flirted mildly, then went home with my tips. One seemingly routine Saturday night, Derek, Don and I walked out to the parking lot to go home. Since there were two of them and only one of me, they finished brushing the snow off their car before I did mine. I gave them a wave as they drove off, leaving me alone in the parking lot. It was cold, because although I had a long coat on, I was still wearing shorts and just a sweatshirt underneath. I finally finished with the snow- removal, settled into the driver's seat, turned the key and ... nothing. The car revved, but wouldn't start. I let it rest for awhile, but it still wouldn't turn over. Finally, the battery started to drain, and I knew it wasn't going to turn over. I trudged back to the club entrance and knocked on the locked door, hoping that Les could hear me. After awhile, the door opened, and I told Les about my situation. I told him I wanted to call Triple A to see if they could get me started or tow me somewhere near the campus. Les told me to use the phone in his suite because the one near the entrance was a pay phone. When we walked into his living room, I noticed the dining room table had two settings with fine china and two ornate candlesticks with unlit candles. I was too upset about my car to wonder who he might be expecting at 2:45 in the morning or whether he was just expecting a guest tomorrow. I called Triple A and was told it might be an hour because of the snowy weather and it was the middle of the night. I told Les about it and said I might as well go to the ballroom. I figured I could reorganize the CDs and pass some time while I waited for the tow truck. Les said to go ahead. I was in there for about 40 minutes before sad-faced Les came in carrying a CD. I had taken off my boots and overcoat, so I was there in my sweatshirt, shorts and socks. He had changed into a pair of comfortable slacks and a loose-fitting, button-up shirt over his heavy torso. "How ya doin'?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. I kinda shrugged, and my one side of my sweatshirt slipped off to reveal a bare shoulder. I let it stay there. "You ever hear any Buddy Holly?" he asked. I told him I had. "You know," he said, "I see all you young people doing what you think is dancing every week, but I don't think you'd know what to do with real rock 'n' roll like what Buddy Holly used to sing." I looked up at him and smiled. "I don't suppose that's a Buddy Holly CD in your hand right now?" I said. "It is," he replied. "Give it here, then," I said. Imagine him thinking I couldn't dance to Buddy Holly. It was time to put the old boy in his place, boss or no boss. He handed it to me, and I put it into the CD player. It began playing "Oh Boy," maybe Holly's most lively song. I had the whole ballroom floor to myself, so I really was able to let loose. I guess I had a lot of pent-up energy and frustration, what with college classes, the end of a long week, the lousy weather, my impotence with Linda, and now my car problems. I began to gyrate all over the floor, my blond hair flying, I was shaking and twisting around as if trying to physically expel all my mental demons. I was so into it, I had almost forgotten that Les was there, watching. And when the song ended, I was so out of breath that my chest was heaving up and down over my bare midriff as I slowly walked back toward Les, who had a sad, sardonic smile on his heavily lined face. "Not bad," he admitted. "But let me show you how we used to do it in my day." The next song on the CD was "True Love Waits," a hauntingly beautiful, but very slow, song. "Les opened his arms. "Come here," he said with an assuring expression on his face. I hesitated, puzzled, not knowing what to do. "Come here," he said. "Please. ... I won't hurt you." I moved closer to him. He put his right arm firmly around my bare waist, and engulfed my smallish right hand with his meaty left one. I could feel his hefty belly as he held me close. I put my left hand on his shoulder because I didn't know what else to do with it. I felt small and frail next to his big body. Then we started to dance. It was a little strange, having never danced with a man before. He was surprisingly graceful as he led me in little circles. He began to sway side-to-side and released my hand. "This is how we used to do it," he whispered in my ear, and ran his hand down to my tiny, bare waist, holding me there now with both big hands. My sides tingled from his touch almost as if I were being tickled. My mind was in kind of a blur. He wasn't being rough. If anything, he was tender and strong at the same time, but I felt inexplicably overpowered. I placed both my hands around his neck while he moved me from side-to- side. Then, he leaned down so we could dance cheek-to-cheek. Soon, the song ended. A fast rock tune would follow. Les kept his hands on me and looked into my eyes. "Rewind it, Wendie," his deep voice said firmly. "Play that same song again." He let me go. I turned to the CD player and pressed the appropriate buttons. "True Love Waits" began to play again. Les opened his arms, and still in kind of a daze, I walked into his embrace. His arms went around my waist. Mine went around his neck, raising the bottom of my sweatshirt higher on my rib cage. His big hands slowly explored all my bare flesh, up and down on my sides. As we started to sway again, his lips brushed against my right ear. "You've been driving me crazy, Wendie," Les whispered as he held me tighter. "I've been watching you from the bar every weekend. I can't believe how beautiful you are." He kissed my bare shoulder. His lips felt big and wet. I shimmied the shoulder, but not too violently. His prominent nose moved some of my hair off to one side, allowing his wet lips to move to the nape of my neck. My whole body shuddered while he held me tightly in his arms. "You've been teasing me with your dancing, your sexy Southern accent and your smiles ever since you started working here," he said. "I've been obsessing over you and this smooth, young body of yours. You're the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. I've been jerking off while picturing you in my arms, and tonight, I want you for real." His mouth came down to mine while his heavy arms held me in a tight embrace. My thoughts were racing. "What the hell am I doing?" my mind silently screamed, but my body arched into his. "I'm being kissed by Les, for chrissakes! He's older than my father, and he's maybe the homeliest man I've ever met. And I'm kissing him back! I've gotta do something." I broke off the kiss and leaned back in his arms, placing my hands lightly but defensively on his big chest. "I ... I've gotta go," I said. "The Triple A guy will be here any minute." "No," Les said, confidently, "he won't." "Yes, he will," I said, trying to catch my breath. "When I called, they said he'd be here in about an hour, and I think it's been about an hour now." "It may be an hour, my little Southern belle," Les said, pulling me closer, "but what you don't know is that right after you left my apartment, I called Triple A and canceled your request for a repair truck. So, you see, Wendie, you've got all night. Actually, WE'VE got all night." I was so surprised, my mouth fell open. Les took immediate advantage of that to thrust his tongue into my young mouth. "Mmmmph!" I said, or something like it. I struggled to get away from him, but he was too strong. When his long, thick fingers grasped my bare shoulder, I surrendered ... totally. It was a new sensation for me, a teenager, being in a man's arms -- a much older man's arms at that. It turned me on to know that someone that mature had been masturbating while thinking of me. I liked what his hands were doing as they despoiled my firm, white flesh. I found I liked even more surrendering my mouth to his. He was treating me just like a woman, and I was loving it. The song ended, but he kept kissing me and kissing me, sensing perhaps that each time his mouth touched mine, it tore away more and more of my resistance and willpower. His mouth finally moved down to my bare neck. He was getting a little out of control, breathing very hard. He began chewing on my nape, harder and harder. "Les!" I cried. "You're hurting me." He stopped biting me. His arms loosened around me, and his eyes slowly lost their maddened look. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Wendie, I wouldn't hurt you. I would never hurt you." With that, he swooped down and picked me up, one arm under my legs and the other around my back. My arms found themselves wrapped around his thick neck, and my long, straight blond hair hung straight down. He started walking me out of the ballroom, but he was breathing so hard, I didn't think he'd make it. I only weigh 147 pounds, but Les was, after all, over 60 and not in the best shape. But I found that I loved being carried. It made me feel so helpless, feminine and totally in Les' control. He managed to carry me into his apartment. A door was partially ajar, and he hurriedly kicked it open and half-placed and half-dropped me on a single-sized bed. He stood there for a few moments, catching his breath and looking down at me. Finally, he spoke. "This is my wife's room," he said. "She was never here, but this is where I keep her things, her clothes." He pointed to a pink dress on the dresser. "I thought we might have a late dinner," he said. "I think that dress will fit you. I'd love to see you in it." I had been propping myself up on one elbow, listening to him. He leaned over and lightly kissed my lips. "Please," he said. "Put it on and then meet me in the dining room." Then he left the room, closing the door behind him. I didn't know what to do or what to think. Absently, I walked over to the dresser, picked up the sheer, pink dress and held it in front of me in the floor-length mirror. I was mesmerized by what had just occurred to me. I felt weak, disoriented and confused. I was a man, a straight man, and I had just been kissed, felt-up and dominated by my fat, ugly boss. And yet, I had never felt so sexually appreciated. As I began to slowly take off my sweatshirt, I told myself that I was trapped, snowbound at an out-of-the-way place with no way to get back to campus, but as I took off my shorts, I couldn't help but notice that my penis was erect. The dress was dignified, but very sexy. It was worn off-the-shoulders, revealing most of my chest, then curved tightly to my torso before it loosely billowed out over my bare thighs, just barely reaching my knees. I wasn't wearing anything underneath. I saw a brush on the dresser, and used it to tidy up my hair, which cascaded down my bare neck and shoulders. I looked at myself in the mirror, put my hands on my thin hips and slowly shimmied my bare shoulders. "Gorgeous," I whispered to myself. Barefoot, I walked toward the door, hesitated for a moment, then opened it and walked into the dining room. Standing by the table was Les. He took one look at me and sharply drew his breath in. "Wendie, you are more beautiful than I could imagine," he said, slowly shaking his head, "and believe me, I have imagined you in that dress more than once." He took my left hand in his massive left one and gently led me to the now-candle-lit table, where he held a chair for me as I sat down. He settled his heavy frame in a chair opposite me. He had filled our wine glasses and raised his for a toast. I picked up my glass with one hand and lightly ran my fingers over the rim with the other as I looked into his dark eyes. I don't know why I did that, except feeling that if I was going to be wearing a dress and dining with my boss, I might as well play the part as femininely as I could. "To a beautiful dinner companion," he said in his toast. My voice was strangely soft as I continued to stare into his eyes, seductively shimmied my shoulders and replied, "and to a wonderful host." We drank our wine, then two more glasses during dinner. Les was indeed a wonderful host. I offered to help, but he insisted on serving me. First, there was a delicious vegetable soup, then cold strips of chicken in a salad. He told me about how he started the club, where he grew up, and basically dominated the conversation. That was fine with me. I felt like a woman, allowing a man to talk about himself. He seemed to like that. All during the quick meal, I noticed his eyes furtively feasting on me in that beautiful dress. But he was well-mannered, and I could tell he respected me. I felt so pretty, so much a special prize. I was being courted and being treated as this man's lovely date, an equal, even though he was more than 40 years my senior. After dinner, he walked around the table and politely pulled out my chair as I stood. Then, I felt his hands on my bare shoulders. He was tender, but his hands felt rough on my soft skin. His mouth went to the nape of my neck and very slowly licked and nibbled while his strong, callused fingers kneaded my shoulders. Waves of pleasure pulsated through my body. "Ohhhh," I murmered. I shimmied my shoulders in vain resistance. Les' belly was pressed against my back. My eyes were closed as I slowly shook my blond locks. "Les, please," I whispered in protest as I involuntarily writhed my thin back into his wide body. He turned me around by my shoulders, looked straight into my eyes and said nothing. Instead, his head descended toward mine. He took his hands off me, and our bodies were inches apart. "I want to kiss you, Wendie," he said. "But I won't if you don't want me to. I'm an old man, and you're a beautiful, young thing. It's your choice, Wendie." I was actually trembling. I was standing there in a pink dress with my jowly old boss wanting to kiss me and who knows what after that. For a moment, my head cleared and I decided to tell him "no." Then I saw our reflection in the dining room mirror. Les was right. I was beautiful. Tears started to well up in my eyes. "Kiss me, darlin'" I said with a little extra South Carolina accent. "Please kiss me." Les smiled, his jowls moving in unison, he bent over and -- without touching me anywhere else -- gently kissed my waiting lips. His tongue slowly entered my mouth and entangled itself in mine. It was so sensuous, my body started to undulate, impatient for his embrace. I didn't have to wait long. His hands and mouth were suddenly everywhere on me. I never felt so helpless and feminine ... and so turned-on. I was his. He was my boss in every sense of the word. I don't know how long I stood there in abject surrender while he plundered my mouth and despoiled my bare, young flesh. As he took more and more possession of me, I noticed a change in his attitude. No longer was he the thoughtful suitor. He was sneering at me, becoming demanding, almost surly. Not that I cared that much at the moment. I was having a wonderful time being ravished. Finally, he reached down and picked me up like he had done in the ballroom. With my thin arms wrapped around his thick neck, he carried me into his bedroom. He wasn't gentle when he dumped me onto his bed. He half-dropped me, and I fell backwards for a moment. When I straightened up, Les was undoing his belt and taking off his pants. He was breathing hard as his pants dropped to the floor, revealing a fat, soft penis in a bush of brown, mostly gray hair. "Suck it, Wendie," he growled. "Suck it good." I had never even touched another man's penis. I thought about what lesbian Amanda had told me weeks before. She was right. It looked disgusting. I looked up at Les and shook my head, "no." Les' face turned deadly serious. Like he looked when one of the bartenders broke a bottle of Scotch. I started to become frightened. He stood in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed. "I told you to suck it, bitch," he shouted. He grabbed my long hair and roughly pulled my face into his crotch. I didn't like the smell. I tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let go. "Suck it, Wendie," he shouted. "Suck that cock." I reached up with my right hand and gingerly grasped his fat member. It felt kind of clammy. Les' fingers tightened on my hair, and it hurt. My bare shoulders were hunched toward my body as my boss pulled my face closer and closer to his penis. It started to throb as I brought it near my mouth with my hand. He was the dominant male. I was ... I was ... his overpowered, beautiful woman, helpless to do anything but obey him. His penis entered my mouth, sliding over my tongue. It began to harden as I wet it with my saliva while his fingers tightly in my hair made me bob back and forth. I don't know how big his dick was, but it felt huge in my mouth. It seemed as if I sucked for hours, but it must have been about 20 minutes. Les had released my hair and was grasping my bare shoulders as he pumped in and out of my mouth. I don't know at what stage I started to enjoy myself, but after awhile I felt pretty, desired and happy that I could give a grown man so much pleasure. I reached under Les' shirt and caressed his big, hairy belly. When he finally pulled out of my mouth, I seductively began to unbutton his shirt from the bottom to the top, shimmying my bare shoulders and rubbing my body against his. When I unbuttoned the last one, I reached up and gently kissed his lips while pulling his shirt off over his hairy back. "You like sucking cock, eh?" he sneered. My voice was gentle and soft, almost timid. "I liked sucking yours. I had never done that before." Les roughly took me into his arms and kissed me, hard. He pushed me down onto the bed, and soon was on top of me, grinding his fat, naked body into my dress and my bare skin. His big belly on my trim one made it hard for me to catch my breath. He put his mouth around mine and seemed to be trying to suck the air out of my lungs. I desperately struggled, but it was no use. He could suffocate me if he wanted. I felt faint, stopped struggling and lay back, his hands holding down my wrists on either side of my head. I thought I was going to die. But I didn't, although I guess I did sort of pass out for a few moments. When I regained my senses, Les was reaching under my dress and rubbing something gooey into my anus. It was intrusive, but it felt kind of good at the same time. "Now you're ready," he said, "when I'm good and ready." He lay down next to me and kissed me over and over, his wet tongue doing what it wanted in my compliant mouth. His hands seemed to love caressing my bare shoulders and rubbing my bare chest. I have to admit, I loved him doing it. I moaned into his mouth and put my arms as far around his belly as they would go. When his mouth went to where my neck joined my right shoulder, I was in ecstacy. His body lumbered on top of mine. I was so powerless as his mouth on my nape sent tingles through my body. His hands slowly worked the top of my dress down from my shoulders, kneading my virgin flesh every inch of the way, finally revealing my nipples. For some reason, that made me feel exposed and self-conscious, but all I could do was writhe under Les' massive weight. His teeth nibbled on my right nipple, gently at first, then harder and harder while his right hand pinched my left nipple. "Les," I said with alarm, "please stop. You're hurting me." But he persisted, biting and pinching harder and harder. I couldn't even thrash about because he was so heavy." "Please stop," I was sobbing, crying like a girl. "You said you'd never hurt me." That only made him bite harder. I stopped struggling and surrendered to the pain and to him. Soon, although I could still feel the pain, it stopped hurting so badly, and started making me feel more and more ... sexy. I was being used and abused, and I was hoping he wouldn't stop. "Mmmmm, Les," I moaned, and caressed his nearly bald head with my fingers while he worked on my nipples. I could feel my penis rock-hard under my dress and up against his body. Les felt it, too. His mouth left my nipple and quickly went under my dress and took in my long, thin penis. I had never felt anything like that. His fingers reached up and pinched my nipples but I barely felt them because his mouth was doing wondrous things to my penis. It didn't take long before I screamed and shot my load into his conquering mouth. I think I saw every color in the rainbow as I felt the longest, most intensive orgasm in my young life. Exhausted, I sank back into the pillow, my dress hopelessly tangled around my wrists and my thin waist, my hair a mess. After I reach orgasm, I lose all sexual desire, so I felt a little silly being in that dress, and embarrassed that I had sex with Les. Les had kind of a funny look on his face as he peered down at me. He bent down to kiss me. That was the last thing I wanted to do. After cumming, the thought of man-to-man intimacy seemed gross and perverted. Still, it somehow seemed impolite not to let him give me a last kiss. Wordlessly, Les grabbed my bare shoulders and put his mouth on mine. I tried to make it a quick peck, but he held me fast and worked his lips into mine. When my mouth opened to his, out oozed all my cum. He hadn't swallowed it, and now I was forced to taste and swallow my own cum after it had been in this fat, old man's mouth. I shuddered in disgust, but I did it. He forced his tongue onto mine and spent a long time dominating my mouth and squeezing my arms. I hated him. Finally, I was able to manuever off the bed and straightened up my dress. "Thanks, Les," I said. "I'm going to go change back into my clothes now, OK?" He got off the bed and stood next to me. In his nakedness, he seemed gigantic next to me in that pink dress now once more properly just off my bare shoulders. "No, Wendie," he said. "It's not OK." He took me into his arms and tried to kiss me, but the thought repulsed me. "Please, Les, no," I said. "I've lost the desire. That happens to me when I cum." Les didn't let go. Holding me tight against him with his right arm, he grabbed my hair with his left and pulled my head back. He kissed me, violently, viciously, then as I struggled less and less, more and more tenderly. I realized that even though I had lost my sexual desire, he believed I was still his woman. He picked me up and gently placed me back on the bed. He looked down at me as I lay there so vulnerable with my arms on either side of my head. My soft, white shoulders bare, my waist so thin, the hem of the dress riding up to expose my bare thighs. "Wendie," he said, "you are so beautiful. Too beautiful." With that, he moved his knees between mine and lifted up my legs. The bottom of my dress slid up to my waist as he moved up, cupping my butt cheeks in his massive hands. I felt his cock at my anal opening for a moment, then came a violent flash of pain as he entered me quickly. I cried out, but he shushed me and kissed my lips as he slowly moved in and almost out of me. I tried to just lay there and not move, figuring if I couldn't stop him from raping me, then I could at least be a lousy lay. But he was too powerful. I began moving as he did. His mouth attacked my neck, and I wrapped my trim legs around his thick waist as far as they would go. My thin arms were still impotently on either side of my head as my trim body wracked with his movements. Les was breathing like an ancient steam engine, but one look into his face as he looked into mine revealed his ecstacy. He had been waiting to do this to me for weeks and weeks, and now, I was his. That thought turned me on, if only a little. Les kissed me hard on my lips, and as I tore my mouth away from him, I noticed my blond hair moving about my bare shoulders. My thin, pretty body in this beautiful dress was being plundered by this huge ugly brute. If a beautiful victim was what he wanted, then that's what he'll get. I shimmied my shoulders and moaned his name over and over. I crossed my arms around his neck and screamed, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Les pounded my poor butt like he was trying to go right through me. His eyes bulged and it looked for a moment that he was going to explode. Then, he appeared to consciously calm himself down and began to slow his thrusting into me. "No, Beautiful," he gasped while he tried to catch his breath. "I've waited too long to cum too soon." He placed his huge arms on either side of my thin frame and pushed his upper body up where he could look down at me. He seemed so big, and his fat cock still pumped slowly in and out of me, pinioning me to the bed. Then, wordlessly, his teeth returned to my very-sore right nipple. "No, no, please Les," I cried as I helplessly tried to maneuver my breast away from his teeth. "Please, no. Please, no!" I was crying. Les moved his hands to my tiny waist, giving him more control as he pumped into me. My supple body was being ruthlessly plundered and his teeth on my poor nipple heightened his control over me. Finally, he mercifully moved his teeth from my nipple. His thick tongue traced its way up my chest and neck to my lips. "Thank you," I sobbed into his mouth, kissing him for all I was worth as I flung my arms around his neck. "Thank you, darling. Thank you. Thank you." He seemed content to keep kissing me, occasionally running his tongue in and out of my mouth. I writhed into him and tried to make each of his thrusts into me special. His hands moved up to my bare shoulders and chest. "You are so soft," he grunted into my mouth between thrusts. "So beautiful." I began to hump into him harder as he thrust into me. My mouth found his right earlobe and nibbled on it. "Oh, Les," I moaned with a very exaggerated Southern accent. "You're soooo big. I want you soooo much. Give it to me, baby. Please, you fuck me soooo good." I gave him a slow, very-sensuous kiss, lightly biting his lower lip and clinging to it momentarily as our lips parted. He was getting close, pumping me harder and harder. I moved my arms so they were helplessly on either side of my head. I shimmied my shoulders seductively. He was so close. Then I reached up and grabbed the back of his head with my right hand and thrust his face back onto my raw, tortured nipple. "Fuck me!" I screamed. "Oh, fuck me, Les! Fuck meeeee!" "Awwgh!" Les yelled, then bit me so hard that I thought my nipple would come off. My arms went around his neck and my legs tightened around his ample mid-section. His jowly face was very red and his eyes bulged. We both screamed while he orgasmed into me again and again and again. I think I passed out for a few moments. The next thing I remember was lying there limp as Les' big body lay on me. His mouth was on my bare left shoulder, his tongue making little circles. After a long time, his cock slowly popped out of me, and he moved his mouth to mine and kissed me, holding our lips together as if he never wanted to move them away. I saw light coming through the bedroom window. I looked at the clock. It was 6:05 a.m. "I'd better call Triple A," I said as I wriggled out from under Les. He looked at me as I straightened up my dress. I sort of enjoyed how he was looking at me as my long hair cascaded over my bare shoulders and my hands moved to my either side of my tight waist. He had just cum, and I was still turning him on. "That won't be necessary," he said. "But I have to get home," I said. "My car won't start, remember?" "I remember," he said, getting up slowly and moving his naked bulk over to his dresser. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a black wire. "It connects to your distributor cap," he said with a smile. "That's why your car wouldn't start." So that was why he had his table set for two. Les had planned the whole thing, from sabotaging my car to this very moment. "Well darlin'," I drawled, shimmying my bare shoulders, "aren't you clever. Was your evening all you desired?" "Oh yeah," he said, walking toward me and taking me into his big, thick arms. "All I wanted and more." "Then be a dear," I said, pausing momentarily to kiss his lips, "and put that silly wire back on my car while I change clothes." I walked toward the smaller bedroom, pausing to look back at him over my bare shoulder. He looked at me wistfully, shook his head and started to get dressed. About 10 minutes later, he knocked on the bedroom door and came in. I had retrieved my overcoat from the ballroom and I was ready to go. Les walked me to the front door, opened it and took both my hands in his. He told me he had replaced the wire and even brushed all the snow off my car. "Will I see you next Friday?" he asked. "You are coming back to work, aren't you?" I withdrew my hands from his and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I guess I'll have to come back," I drawled, untying the strap on my overcoat, and letting the coat fall the floor. "I thought I'd wear this beautiful dress home. That way, I'll have to come back, if only to return the dress." I shimmied my bare shoulders. "You don't mind," I said in my best Southern accent, "do you, darlin'?" Les looked stern. "Come here," he said. I dutifully walked to him. Les grabbed my soft shoulders and drew me to him for a long, soul- wrenching kiss. I writhed into him and mewed in the back of my throat. When our lips finally parted, I turned, picked up my overcoat and walked out into the cold morning air. I felt the brisk wind on my bare shoulders and legs as I got into my car. I turned the key, and it started right up. I looked out the window at my overweight, thick-faced boss standing in the doorway, waving to me. "See you Friday," he called out. "We'll see," I said as I drove away. "We'll see." The End. The author welcomes comments at [email protected]