Mike clung to the arm of Larry, the older man he’d met just earlier in the day but who was everything to Mike at the moment, as, one of six men concentrating on their cards, a pall of smoke hovering over the table, Mike won another hand of poker. He hadn’t even played much poker before now. And he’d never been in a place like this before now, either.
The poker table was in the corner of a smoky, boisterous barroom with a small stage, where a young black man in a puffy-haired black wig, sparkly red bra, and gold lamé G-string was dancing a pole to music being piped in from somewhere and men were shuffle dancing with other men–and kissing and fondling each other.
Mike had been curious and he admitted readily to himself that he’d taken to the beach in the morning in a micobikini to test out the possibilities, but he’d never been where he was now. And he’d done what he’d done that afternoon for the first time. He almost connected winning at poker at this table with an affirmation of a new lifestyle. If he wasn’t so sore, he’d be giddy. And if the man on the other side of him, a tall, muscular man in cowboy boots and shirt who’d said to call him Tex didn’t keep pushing the toe of his cowboy boot up the hem of Mike’s trousers and rubbing Mike’s ankle under the table. It wasn’t that Mike was disgusted about that; it was more that it aroused him and worried him about whether he was going to be promiscuous now that he’d crossed through the beaded curtain. It made him snuggle closer to Larry.
Ashamedly, that made Mike think of big cocks. The cowboy obviously had one, as could be told by the faded denim of the area stretched over his cock that Mike had spied as the poker players settled at the table. Mike knew it was vacuous to obsess on big cocks, but he always had. He’d just never been in a situation before where anything could come of the obsession.
Larry, although not totally ignoring Mike, was sending most of his attention across the table to another older guy, probably in his late thirties, named Clinton, who was in a wheelchair and who had a twenty-something thin, almost effeminate and androgynous attendant flitting around in back of him. Clinton kept giving Larry looks that raised a sense of trespass on Mike, a sensation he couldn’t figure out the source for.
But then he could. Larry had come to the beach that morning and settled his towel next to Mike. Although older, Larry was strikingly good looking and in great shape, and Mike was intrigued by the pattern of hair on the man’s chest and trailing down to the waistband of his bathing suit, setting off fantasies in Mike’s mind of where the hair went from there. Mike had come to Florida and onto the beach to build up the courage to hook up. He’d never done it before, and it had become an obsession that he’d never done it. Larry’s bathing suit was a tight one, and as they talked, Mike could see that Larry increasingly was aroused. So was he, and he couldn’t hide it.
“See that house over there?” Larry had said. “The three-story one with the red tile roof.”
Mike did see it. Quite a mansion.
“That’s mine. Would you like a tour?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
“My bedroom is especially nice,” Larry had said. “I’d like to fuck you. I’d be willing to pay. Say $100? You probably were hoping for a younger guy, weren’t you? But I have experience a younger guy wouldn’t have. And a younger guy isn’t going to pay you for it.”
Now that it was here, Mike was scared. He babbled out that he’d never done it before.
“$200 then,” Larry had said, smiling and nearly licking his lips. “You came to the beach for this today, didn’t you? I can tell from your behavior on the beach. I watched you for a while from my house before coming down here. You came here for a hookup, didn’t you? You’ve decided you want to try it out, haven’t you? I’ll make it so that you’ll want it again.”
Mike couldn’t say that Larry was wrong about why he’d come to the beach–why he’d come in a bathing suit that hid practically nothing, and why he’d walked the surf line, exhibiting himself.
In the master bedroom of Larry’s beach house, Larry had taken it slow. Sensually, lying on top of Mike, front to front, kissing Mike and moving his pelvis, causing his dick to drag against Mike’s belly and rub against Mike’s dick. Mike had come then. He apologized in embarrassment, but Larry had just laughed, saying it was proof to him that Mike was a virgin and excited him even more.
“You’re young and virile–a beautiful body. You’ll be able to come again when I’m ready to take it from you.”
Larry moved down Mike’s body, kissing and nipping on the way, as Mike moaned and trembled. For the first time another man had his mouth on Mike’s cock and then his balls and then, for several minutes, lapping at his asshole, enticing his channel to open up. Mike came again while Larry was deep-throating his cock and moving fingers in and out of Mike’s channel. Then, reversed and hovering over him, Mike received his first taste of a man’s cock, gagging, but eager to experience and learn now that he actually was doing it.
The pain of the first penetration, Mike on his back at the foot of the bed, and Larry crouched over him, holding Mike’s legs spread and raised, was initially almost unbearable. But Larry took this slow too, wedging the bulb of his cock just inside the entrance until Mike calmed down and opened to the inch-by-inch invasion, huffing and panting all the time, while Larry gave him words of encouragement, of how nice Mike’s body was, and of gratefulness for letting Larry be first. When Larry had pulled Mike’s legs in, fully bent against Larry’s chest, as Larry covered Mike close from above and took the younger man’s lips in his and simply rocked back and forth on top of Mike, sending his cock rubbing across Mike’s prostate, Mike was sighing and in seventh heaven.
“Can you take more?” Larry murmured.
“Yes, fuck me, daddy, fuck me hard,” Mike whimpered. These were words he’d practiced for this occasion, taken from all the porn movies he’d watched. He was here, he already was undone. It wasn’t a time to be shy. Everyone had told him that the pleasure would increasingly overshadow the pain each time he took a cock.
Larry rose again, hooked Mike’s legs around his waist, and pushed his cock in deep. Once Larry’s cock was buried and his pumping attained a slow rhythm, Mike’s awe and relief that it was done–that a man’s cock had bottomed in him and he’d taken it–took over and he let the pleasure of it sweep over him. As he pumped the young man’s channel, Larry was pumping Mike’s cock with a fist as well, and Mike came again, up his belly. He just lay back then as Larry moved on, pumping faster and deeper, to his own ejaculation.
They had been right. There was less pain in the pleasure each successive time. Of course Mike had only known the one cock as yet, but he wasn’t thinking at the moment of there being bigger cocks. He’d certainly thought about that when Larry stood before him naked, though. He’d initially been disappointed the cock wasn’t bigger, even in full erection. He just didn’t know then how talented Larry was in wielding it.
When Larry invited Mike to stay with him and go out with him that evening, Mike was pleased at the thought that he must have performed for the first time well enough. It was well enough that, in the sultry high hours of the afternoon, with the windows open to the beach and the sea and a ceiling fan wonk-wonking overhead, Larry coaxed Mike up on all fours on the bed, mounted him, and fucked him harder and faster than he had the first time. This time was more possessing, but it still was sensual, and Larry was all attention to Mike’s needs and level of pleasure-pain–and applied massive amounts of lube.
Larry wanted to take the chance of barebacking a claimed virgin, though, so condoms weren’t mentioned. Mike was too dumb on the subject to bring that topic up.
For the first time, Mike was being well taken care of. Larry was older than the men Mike had imagined he’d go with, but, with age, had come experience and the willingness to treat a virgin right.
Now, at the poker game, as the chips mounted up in front of Mike, Mike was obsessed with wondering who Larry would be taking home–or going home with. Mike was of two minds about continuing with Larry. He’d come to Florida and out on the beach today to rid himself of his male-male virginity, which he had. He wasn’t all that excited with falling immediately into a relationship, especially with an older, rich man who was dominating. Mike was on a post-high school fling. He didn’t plan on staying in Florida.
Larry’s body was good, but Mike had seen men in the gym showers; he knew that Larry didn’t have a cock to be especially proud of, and Mike’s obsessions had all been for big cocks. He fully appreciated that a smaller cock was a good beginning, though.
He wanted a bigger cock–a much bigger cock–before going home, however.
He couldn’t help looking to the other side at the Texan . . . at his lap below the glass-topped table. Now that was a huge bulge, made prominent by the area being more faded than the denim around it–evidence that the Texan rubbed himself there frequently. It was an image that Mike found arousing–he suffered the urge to be in a position to rub the guy’s basket himself. The Texan gave him a wink and lifted his boot heel to Mike’s crotch. Shuddering–not entirely unpleasantly–Mike moved in closer to Larry’s side. But he also spread his legs and moved a hand under the top of the table to hold the Texan’s pressuring boot heel to his crotch.
The other two men–in their late twenties–at the table obviously were a couple. They only had eyes for each other and they had their hands all over each other. Much of Mike’s winnings at the table probably came from their inattention to the game. Both hunky blonds, they looked like they’d just come off the surfing beach. They did, though, both look close to aging out of that scene. They had identified themselves as Frank, the taller and more muscular and evident dominator of the pair, and Rich. Mike looked at them with pleasure–not just because they were both handsome and well-built all-American athlete types but also because they obviously were a satisfied couple. They gave Mike hope that he would fall into something like that in a decade–with someone of his own age. At least that’s what he had always thought. Being initiated this afternoon by a rich, older man had also been arousing. This big Texan on the other side of him, the one with the big bulge in his crotch, was arousing too. Being aroused by so many possibilities was disturbing.
It was especially disturbing when the Texan, moving back to the table after getting another beer, put his mouth close to Mike’s ear in passing when Larry was exchanging words with the guy in the wheelchair across the table, Clinton, and whispered, “If you can break away from the old guy afterward, go with me. I can show you a good time.”
Mike blanched and then blushed. He gave no answer; he just pulled closer into Larry’s side. But he felt himself go harder. The Texan felt it too, because he’d paused beside Mike, put his hand on Mike’s crotch, squeezed the hardened tube he could feel inside, and gave a little laugh. He muttered, “You want me, yes you do. I can fuck you so you know you’ve been fucked.”
With a trembling hand, Mike moved the Texan’s hand away, and he concentrated on the short conversation between Larry and Clinton. A hunky, topless Hispanic waiter, wearing suspendered tight pants pushing a bulge at his crotch forward, was moving around behind those seated at the table, swapping out empty beer mugs for full ones, and Clinton’s attendant was behind Clinton and rubbing his shoulders. The waiter paused behind Mike and put his hand on Mike’s shoulder, which caused Mike to flinch, because he’d been looking at the attendant massaging Clinton’s shoulders and thinking thoughts of Clinton being massaged elsewhere by the flighty attendant, who was more beautiful than handsome. The waiter leaned down and whispered in his ear, “You’re a real cutie. The man you’re with is too old for you. If you want a real man, look me up later.”
What a wild, wooly new world this was for Mike.
To prevent the waiter from getting a false impression of the touch, Mike looked up and smiled at him. The waiter squeezed his shoulder and smiled back, but then he carried on with his waiter duties, making sure that he bumped Mike’s arm with a bulbous butt cheek as he moved on.
Mike was beginning to hyperventilate. He was only eighteen, entirely out of his environment and depth, and had had his virginity fucked out of him just that afternoon. Still, he felt like a moth circling the flame. He had no interest in leaving the scent of musk and looks of lust surrounding him. If he’d been looking for a new lifestyle, he’d found it in spades.
In a louder voice than was necessary, Clinton was saying, “Then you are just five houses down from me on Beach Road.” Mike assumed he was talking to Larry. “We’ll have to get together for a barbecue . . . or something . . . one of these days. Time to go home now, though. Brad has the night off after he tucks me in. With my condition I stay on the first floor, so my bedroom is right off the patio to the ocean front. Love the sea breezes, so I keep the French doors open to the patio. I’ll be alone all night.”
Mike doubted he had any more trouble deciphering that invitation than Larry did. He wondered if Larry would bite. But he found he didn’t care. He wasn’t really up for more sex with Larry tonight or with becoming one of Larry’s possessions before Mike had time to try out his new lifestyle with others.
If he was interested in more sex, which was more appealing to him in theory than actuality, he’d like to try out the Texan or the waiter.
Having plopped back in his chair across the table, the Texan had raised the heel of his boot back up between Mike’s thighs and was grinding it into Mike’s crotch.
“I’m in too,” Larry was saying, as he stood up and started to leave. “You need a ride anywhere?” he turned to Mike and said.
That was a pretty obvious signal too, Mike knew. Their hookup was over. “Naw, I need to the walk. I’m not going far.”
“Be careful walking alone, then,” Larry said, smiling to show he wasn’t all that serious. “You were the big winner tonight. You might be able to buy a car with that, if you don’t get mugged.”
“I’m in as well,” the Texan said, as he stood up and up and up from the table. He had to be at least six six, Mike thought. And standing, his crotch was at Mike’s eye level. And the bulge was bigger than ever–and obviously hard. This guy has got to be horse hung, Mike thought, and hard–hard for me. And he felt embarrassed again to be thinking of that.
“I’ll walk you to wherever you’re going,” the Texan said, turning a smile on Mike.
“Uh, thanks. I can manage it alone,” Mike answered. Now that it was an actual offer–and he knew the Texan wasn’t just talking about walking him anywhere–that bulge in the Texan’s jeans was scaring him.
Everyone was moving away from the table now. Even the Siamese twins, Frank and Rich, were standing up from the table, but, surprise surprise, they were moving in different directions, Frank toward the stage, where the young black transvestite was showing admirable flexibility on the pole, and Rich toward the long bar, running all the way down one side of the room.
“Gotta take a piss,” the Texan said. “Anyone else want to go back with me?” He was giving Mike a meaningful look.
Mike indeed needed to piss, but there was no way that he was going to go into the back rooms area of a gay bar with the Texan. He realized that there was a gap between what he dreamed of and what he, in reality, was ready for.
* * * *
Mike walked north on Beach Street and turned west on 8th, headed into the darker and seedier part of town. He was staying in what almost was a flop house. It was all he could afford. This was a trip to the beach just for himself, coming out of high school. His parents hadn’t approved, but they’d said nothing when he insisted he needed to do this, although of course he hadn’t told them what exactly he thought he needed to accomplish on the trip. He was eighteen, his own man now. They were just pleased that he’d stuck with the academics and not completely obsessed himself with soccer. They couldn’t deny that that obsession had gotten him a scholarship to college, though.
He hadn’t realized how dark it could be at night a few blocks off Beach Road. He was apprehensive and a bit keyed up. He’d never drunk as much beer as he did tonight. But then he’d never been fucked before as he was that afternoon. Yes, a few mutual hand jobs and beating off together with a vid running. Even only slightly veiled offers from his soccer coach, who flashed him with a big cock occasionally. But never all the way, and it didn’t really count, he didn’t think, that, after the hints and flashing from his coach, he had to go off and beat himself off.
Of course now he was eighteen, no longer in high school, no longer a player for the soccer coach, and initiated.
The actual fucking with Larry had been better than he had imagined, and he knew this was a lifestyle for him from now on. He’d probably even go back in and visit his soccer coach after this trip and let the coach do to him what he wanted to do. The coach was cut and he was hung. Mike knew that from the showers and the flashings. He had to admit that he was thinking of his coach off and on while Larry was fucking him. Larry was experienced. But he wasn’t hung.
If Larry had been hung like the soccer coach was, maybe Mike would have felt he’d done enough. But he wasn’t.
As he walked, Mike’s mind wandered to going into the high school gym after hours and finding only the soccer coach there, coming, naked, out of the showers, his manhood hanging low, but rising as he sees Mike standing there, also naked. Mike on his back on a massage table, the ankle of one leg hooked on the coach’s shoulder and the coach holding the other, as he forces that big cock inside Mike’s channel and Mike arching his back and panting hard. The feeling like Larry gave him in penetration, but taxing his walls to open to it more, digging deeper, more possessive in the stroking, more one with the soccer coach in the rhythm of the fuck, much, much more . . .
Were those footsteps behind him? Mike turned onto Main and then zagged onto 9th. The footsteps were still there.
“Dark out here, isn’t it? Bet you are thinking now that you’d like to have someone walking with you.”
The tall, muscular Texan, Tex. Mike murmured something as the Texan came up beside him, but even he didn’t know what he was saying. He began to hyperventilate, though, as the Texan put a strong arm around him and virtually propelled him down the walk . . . and then into an alley.
The Texan grabbed Mike’s crotch, and laughed, no doubt thinking Mike’s hardness was for him rather than in fantasizing about the soccer coach. But then as the Texan rubbed Mike’s crotch hard, and Mike shuddered, thinking of the Texan’s boot grinding his crotch back at the poker table and Tex’s whisper of the good time he could show Mike, and the image of the man’s hard cock pushing against the faded material of his jeans, the hardness did turn to being for him.
“Hard for Mr. Big, ain’t you,” the Texan muttered.
Mike’s answer was lost in a moan.
Tex pushed Mike up against a cinderblock wall in an alley so dark, that the darkness out on the street now seemed to be light. He had his hands all over Mike and was pulling Mike’s T-shirt over his head. The Texan already had his cowboy shirt unbuttoned and pulled out of his jeans. His chest was massive, his nipples taut in prominent, dark aureoles.
“You want me. We both know that,” he growled. “Teasing me at the table like that. Once you’d held the heel of my boot to your crotch, the deal was set. You’re a saucy little piece.”
“Here, you can have the money,” Mike said. “Just let me go.” The “just let me go” was a bit half hearted, as Mike was thoroughly aroused at this rough treatment.
Tex laughed like he knew Mike was only struggling because he was innocent to this. “I don’t want your money,” he answered. “I want your mouth and your ass. And you want my dick.”
He grabbed Mike’s hand and shoved it between his legs. Mike whimpered at the massiveness of the bulge and at the realization that he could actually feel the line of the hard cock through the material. “This is for you. Nine inches of it,” Tex said, proudly.
The Texan pushed Mike down on his knees, his heavy body still pressing Mike against the wall. His fly was open and his hard dick was out. Mike resisted but to no avail, as Tex got five inches of it stuffed into Mike’s mouth. “You treat it right now, boy, and it will treat you right.”
The shaft was huge in girth as well as length, and Mike’s eyes watered and he gagged as Tex started to move it in and out of his mouth, penetrating ever deeper down his throat. The Texan held Mike’s head between his hands, holding Mike prisoner in that position and guiding the pumping. They both settled down to a rhythm. Mike’s moans of pleasure and the voluntary attention he gave the cock betrayed him.
Tex laughed. “I knew you wanted it.” And, as embarrassed and disgusted as Mike was, he realized that he did want it–that he’d been fantasizing about it for years. What he had dreamed of in his imagination was here for him in the flesh. He settled down, palmed the Texan’s buttocks, and took over the rhythm of the slide of his mouth on the cock. Laughing, the Texan released his head and let Mike do the work for a couple of minutes.
Content that the fresh piece had surrendered to him, Tex pulled him up by the hair, reversed him to where he was facing the cinderblock wall. Mike’s arms were being raised above his head, Tex’s fists grabbing his wrists. “Hold them there and jut your butt out to me,” Tex commanded. Tears in his eyes, Mike responded as directed. He didn’t want this. He did want this.
“God, don’t be hard with me,” Mike whimpered.
“I’ll be very good to you,” Tex answered, and laughed. “You’re getting it all, baby. Daddy’s gonna give it all to you.”
Tex pulled Mike’s jeans down, leaving him only in his sneakers, and went for the crevice in his buttocks with his lips and tongue and latched onto Mike’s cock and balls with one hand, while holding Mike’s pelvis away from the wall with the other hand palming his belly.
Mike shot his load. Tex laughed. “Pretty boy really wants it.”
The young man’s eyes were watering and he was panting and groaning hard, his cheek plastered against the cool cinderblocks, one of his arms–with no objection from Tex–lowering so that he could fist and beat his cock, as the Texan slowly worked his mammoth cock inside Mike’s ass and pumped him hard and deep. Mike ejaculated again. A weaker production, but an explosion of emotion anyway.
Tex pulled out, turned him, back to the wall, muttered “Climb my hips,” which Mike dutifully did with his knees, and Tex penetrated and began pounding his ass. Mike settled in completely with the fuck, with Tex chortling when Mike set his own pelvis into motion to receive the thrusts of Tex’s cock and moaned a “Yes, yes, fuck me, daddy. Go deep. Yes, again and again.” Memories of the porn movies again and what Mike assumed the Texan wanted to hear–both anxious that Tex continue stroking him and disgusted with himself for wanting it.
When Tex wanted to kiss, Mike opened to him. When Tex pushed Mike’s face down onto his chest, Mike sucked his nipples. Tex pounded and pounded, until . . .
He too ejaculated, in an arcing stream up Mike’s belly, having pulled his dick out at the last second. Tex didn’t use condoms either. Having shot off, though, he pushed his dick back in, through the lube of his cum and slow fucked Mike until, with a sigh, Mike came again in just an afterglow.
With a laugh, Tex let Mike sink to the ground. He presented his cock for cleaning, and Mike dutifully sucked it dry.
“You wanted it. Yeah, you wanted it bad,” Tex muttered. Then, reaching down for Mike’s jeans, he fished around in the pockets and pulled out the roll of bills Mike had won at poker.
“Guess I will relieve you of this after all.” He zipped up and sauntered off to the mouth of the alley and was gone.
Mike huddled there, still panting hard and checking in with all of his body parts for an assessment of damage done by the brutal fuck of the horse-hung cock. He was ashamed to admit it, but admit it he did. That’s the way he wanted to be fucked–and with a huge cock like that. That’s what he’d look for in a hookup.
It was worth losing his poker winnings. He’d won in another sense. He could go home now. Soccer coach, here I come, he thought.
* * * *
“Stop fussing. You have the night off. Just go.”
Brad, Clinton’s attendant was fluttering around the bed. “Sure you’ll be all right? The urinal jar is just there on the nightstand.”
“Yes, of course,” Clinton answered through clinched teeth. It wasn’t really Brad he was irritated with. It was good that the urinal jar was nearby. What irritated him were these legs of his that just didn’t work. And what irritated him the most was that it had interrupted an active sex life. Brad was no help with that beyond full-body massages and the occasional blow job.
Brad was very much a bottom–and his effeminacy and androgynous looks turned Clinton off anyway. He wanted a man–a man like Larry at poker tonight. Imagine that he lived just five doors away. Clinton had had to buy men from a local gay dating service to come in and service him. Just once he’d like the excitement of someone showing up unexpectedly and fucking his lights out. Someone strong and good looking. Larry was older than he was, but he looked fit. Clinton hoped Larry had taken the broad hints he’d laid down at poker. He’d been thrilled when Larry had let that young, sweet-looking piece who had been hanging onto him know they wouldn’t be going home together. If he only had taken the hint.
“So, I’ll be off then. You want the lights off or on?”
“Off, please.” They went off and Clinton listened to Brad flit around the living area for a few minutes and then leave. He turned his face toward the open French doors, open out onto the patio and then the beach and the Atlantic Ocean. He could hear the relentless surf lapping up on the beach, and it lulled him to sleep.
The next he knew he was being blindfolded and gagged with a ball gag and his arms were being pulled up above his head. Velvet-lined handcuffs were attaching his wrists to the slats at the corners of the headboard. He was on his belly. He had no idea where his legs were. They were useless to him. He couldn’t feel them–hadn’t felt them for years.
The man coming down on the bed on his knees beside him was turning Clinton’s shoulders toward him. He knew it was a man, because the ball gag had come out, to be replaced by a hard cock filling his mouth and pushing toward the back of his throat. Clinton knew how to give head. He opened his mouth cavity to the cock, pulled back his teeth to give the cock depth, and made an O with his mouth. His lips closed tight over the cock. He didn’t mind giving head at all. Larry had taken the hint. If only he could reach his own cock with a hand. He certainly had feeling in his body down to his cock and balls. His balls ached for attention.
And just as he was thinking this, his pelvis was turned on a hip, a hand closed over his cock and gave it a few pulls. Then it descended to his balls, laced fingers through them, and distended and squeezed them. Clinton moaned his pleasure and hummed on the man’s cock, obviously, from the sound he heard, giving the man pleasure too.
The cock was so big. It was reaching for Clinton’s tonsils. But Clinton didn’t care. He knew, to the pleasure of his assailant, how to deep throat even a thick, long cock.
The fist returned to Clinton’s cock, and just the thought of the sex he was having–and not having to pay for–keyed Clinton up to the point that he shot his load.
The man pulled his cock out of Clinton’s mouth and put the ball gag back in. He pushed Clinton over on his stomach and then was below him, eating Clinton’s ass out, while Clinton panted and moaned and groaned. The groaning increased as the mouth was replaced by a lubed finger, then greased fingers–two three, four–up to the knuckles. Fist fucking Clinton’s ass up to the knuckles.
Would he go deeper? The whole fist? Clinton writhed from the waist up. Couldn’t do it from the waist down, of course. He panted heavily, crying out for the stretching of his ass by knuckles to be replaced with a nice, big, juicy cock.
His wish was granted. He heard the snap of the condom being put in place and then he was covered close above by a heavy body. All muscle and vigor, pounding his ass with a cock almost as thick as the knuckle fuck had been–and much deeper inside him.
Clinton tried to talk, to scream, through the ball gag. He wanted something, something more.
As if understanding, the man pulled the ball gag out long enough for Clinton to mutter. “Yes, yes, fuck me. But I need to come again. My balls are aching. Can you–?”
The ball gag was replaced, but the man had understood. He pulled pillows over and stuffed them under Clinton’s belly, pointing his ass toward the ceiling, but also pulling him up on his useless knees, lifting Clinton’s pelvis off the bed so that his cock and balls could dangle. The man mounted Clinton again, covering him close, but now a hand went under his belly and milked Clinton’s cock to another ejaculation.
Clinton was in heaven.
The snap of the condom again and then the man ejaculated, on Clinton’s back. He left the bed and Clinton could hear him moving around the living areas. He returned after a half hour or so, though, and turned Clinton to his side, signaled another crowning with the snap of a condom, lifted up one of Clinton’s numb legs, slid his cock inside Clinton again, and fucked him to another mutual ejaculation.
Exhausted, Clinton drifted off to sleep with the man still embracing him from behind and his cock going flaccid inside Clinton’s channel. He was long and thick enough, though, that the cock didn’t lose position inside Clinton.
When he was sure Clinton was asleep, the Hispanic waiter at the gay bar moved off the bed. He checked the pillow case full of loot he had pulled together from the living areas between fuckings. He was wearing skin-tight gloves that he wouldn’t take off until he was well away from the house. He carefully removed the ball gag and blindfold from Clinton, waiting again for the man to settle down into deep sleep before slowly releasing him from the handcuffs. The waiter had brought all of these toys and probably would be needing them again–maybe even to come back here. The paralyzed man had seemed to enjoy the fucking so much that maybe he’d forget–or forgive–that he’d been robbed as well.
In any case, that wasn’t Manuel’s problem. He’d gotten what he’d come for multiple times. He hadn’t done a crippled man before. It was kind of exhilarating. The man couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it. His ass and cock and balls were just as sweet as if he could use his legs. It was fortuitous that the man had been so pointed at the poker table about where he lived, that doors would be open, and that he’d be alone and defenseless.
* * * *
Larry was standing, leaning back on his Lexus coup in Clinton’s driveway, arms folded over his chest, when Brad came out of Clinton’s house.
“Mr. Caldwell is in there, in bed, alone, if you–”
Larry interrupted Brad. “I didn’t come for Clinton Caldwell. I came for you. Did you think I was signaling him back at the poker table? I guess, since you were standing just behind him, you might have thought that I was interested in him.”
“You were signaling me?”
“Sure. You’re cute and sweet and sexy.”
If it hadn’t been dark, Larry could have seen Brad blush. Brad wasn’t exactly experienced. Most of his friends were girls and most of his activities were girlie. He might even have more girlfriends if he wasn’t more beautiful than most of them were.
“You want to take a ride with me?”
Brad didn’t know what to say. He’d planned to take in a late-night movie, alone, tonight and then work on the scrapbook of photos of his trip to Miami with some of the girls a few months ago. And then to bed with his Teddy bear.
“Have you had sex with a man before?” Larry asked, being persistent.
“Sex?” Brad asked, almost swallowing the words.
“You attend Clinton Caldwell, and he obviously has his needs and likes men. Do you jack him off when he wants it.”
Brad looked away, but he did answer. “Sometimes.”
“Do you give him blow jobs?”
Brad didn’t answer, but he didn’t say no. Larry didn’t ask him if he rode Caldwell’s cock, because it was obvious that they both were bottoms.
“Does he pay you extra for those services?”
“No.” A pause and then and almost indignant, “But he pays me well.”
“I’ll give you $50 for a blow job if you’ll come in my car with me.”
Brad didn’t answer; he was too busy examining the tops of his sandals.
“Get in the car, Brad,” Larry said, opening the passenger door of the Lexus.
Brad hesitated, but only for a moment. He was accustomed to following orders. Larry drove only as far as the carport of his own house five doors up the beach. He held Brad’s head between his hands as he sat in the driver’s seat and Brad hunched over from the passenger seat and sucked his cock. Brad was good enough at it that it was clear he had done this for Clinton Caldwell often enough–and maybe for others, as well.
When he was done and had licked Larry’s cock clean, he sat up and pressed his body against the passenger door. He undoubtedly knew what Larry was going to say next.
“You ever been fucked by a man? I want to fuck you. I’ll give you another $50 to go with me now.”
“Fucked. By a man?”
“Yes. Fucked in the ass. I bet you have a sweet little ass.”
“No . . . no . . . never. Not that.”
Larry whistled and smiled. Bonus day. Two virgins in one day. “But you’ve thought about it . . . wanted to do it. Right?”
Brad didn’t answer. There suddenly was something on the glove-box door that he had to examine.
“I’ll give you $150 more to be the first one to use your ass. I’m very good at it, I assure you. You’ll be glad that I was first. You’ve just been shy and frightened about it. I’ll handle you right.”
Larry fucked Brad on a blanket on the beach below his house, just beyond the line where the lights of the house reached and far enough off the water and in between two beach dunes so that anyone strolling the water line this late wouldn’t see them. Maybe hear them, but not see them.
Brad would have been a screamer at being spiked if Larry didn’t keep a hand over his mouth most of the time. But Larry hadn’t lied. He was good at taking a young man’s virginity and was expert at making a complete job of it.
Brad was on his back, knees drawn up to his chest, butt turned up to the sky, with Larry covering him close, his cock inside Brad’s ass channel, a hand over Brad’s mouth, Brad’s eyes wide with pleasure-pain, while Larry rocked their bodies, the bulb of his cock rubbing back and forth over Brad’s prostate. Brad didn’t hold out very long before he creamed Larry’s belly.
Larry took his hand away from Brad’s mouth and replaced it with his own mouth, Kissing Brad deeply through one, two, three ejaculations into Brad’s channel. Larry didn’t like using condoms on virgins and Brad hadn’t mentioned the need for one.
Taking his mouth off Brad’s and looking into Brad’s still-wide and glazed eyes, Larry whispered, “Was that too painful for you?”
“Yes . . . no. I never imagined . . . fuck me again, daddy. Can you? . . . you’re so big.”
Larry knew he wasn’t big at all and that, after him, Brad was likely to learn what big was. But Larry was experienced, and that was what Brad needed at this moment.
“Oh, yes, I certainly can fuck you again . . . and will.” Brad had such a sweet ass. Men didn’t just lose their virginity to another man and that was it. There were levels of initiation. A man’s cherry could be popped in so many ways and on so many levels by another man. Taking Brad up the levels would be a distinct pleasure. Before the night was through, Larry would be on his back and Brad would be riding his cock and fucking himself. “Let’s go into the house,” he said, and then added, “What do you feel about being bound?”
And indeed he could take a malleable and willing Brad up several levels before the night was through . . . and did.
* * * *
The couple that had been plastered together at the table, hardly paying attention to the money they were losing to the ripe-looking strawberry blond youth clinging to Larry, parted not six feet from the poker table. Frank, the taller and more muscular of the almost-twin blonds moved to a seat just below the stage, where the former Nathan and current Natalie was displaying “her” wares in a sensuous winding around the pole to the increasingly insistent music of “Bolero.” The thinner and shorter of the two, Rich, made a beeline for the bar, where there was barely enough space for him to fit between two big, black bulls, who watched him approach and licked their chops.
Natalie’s eyes went straight to Frank as he came close and sat in front of the stage. If anything, Natalie’s movement became more suggestive and just at this point she lost her bra, leaving her clothed only in the gold lamé of a G-string that, though she had melon breasts, made no effort to hide the line of a dick inside the pouch.
She slitted her eyes and blew Frank a kiss. He spread his legs, put a hand suggestively on his basket, and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. The question in his eyes was met with a smile and a nod. She hadn’t contracted with another customer for after the dance. Frank rose and leaned into the stage. Natalie’s dance moved her toward the edge of the platform, and Frank tucked the fifty-dollar bill in the waistband of her G-string and he kissed a star tattoo on her thigh. The deal was sealed.
In Natalie’s small dressing room, large enough however, to include a studio bed, which was the most necessary item in the room, Frank lay, naked, on his back, his arms crossed behind his neck, his shoulders and head raised enough for his lips to reach the rouged nipples of Natalie’s pride and joy melons, while the dancer danced on his cock, riding him hard in gyrations that were a memorable part of her act. Doing a pole dance on Frank’s hard pole.
Watching Frank follow Natalie back through the beaded curtains to the warren of rooms behind the barroom, Rich reached down and took the hand of Big Black Bull 1 from his thigh, but he made sure to check out the surprise and pleasure registered in the big black’s face when he moved the hand to his crotch. Big Black Bull 2 already was holding Rich in his lap as he leaned against a bar stool. The man’s cock was pressing into the cleavage of Rich’s buttocks, and even though Rich had not hooked up with these particular men before, he could tell that BBB2 was both horse hung and ready for action. BBB2 was possessively holding Rich by the shoulders, signaling that Rich was trapped. Rich had no intention of trying to escape, though.
BBB2 pressed his lips to Rich’s ear and said in a voice above a whisper, necessitated by the noise level of the music and crowd in the bar, “Can we buy you a drink, blondie?”
“Does it seem like I need a drink to let you two DP me?” Rich answered, in a voice loud enough for even BBB1 to hear. As he said this, he pressed his crotch into BBB1’s rubbing hand, showing the big black that he too was hard, and reached out to BBB1’s basket, letting his fingers trace the barely imprisoned cock all the way from bulb to balls, which proved to be a satisfyingly long journey.
Both BBBs smiled and snorted. “You think you can take us both?” BBB2 asked.
“We can certainly try. Are you, by any chance, into S&M too? You look the part.” And indeed they did. Both were of the biker genre and hard into leather, wearing nothing on their muscular ebony torsos other than black leather harnesses with silver studs. And both were in tight black leather pants with drop crotches and black biker boots.
“What you see is what you get,” BBB1 responded with a growl. “Scared?”
“Try me.”
They did, hanging a naked Rich from the ceiling by his wrists in the behind the barroom room–the one with padded walls and a drain in the floor. They whipped him and flogged him, with him groaning deeply through a ball gag. They raised his legs straight out from his sides with ropes tied to the side walls, and then BBB1 came close into him in front and BBB2 came close into him in back. They rolled his pelvis back for BBB2 to penetrate him from behind and then forward for BBB1 to work his cock in on top of BBB2’s, and then they counter pumped him mercilessly.
Later that night–really early the next morning–Frank and Rich met at home. They lay side by side on their bed, with a gay porn movie running on the TV at the foot of the bed. As Frank traced Rich’s welts with his fingers, they shared the arousing experiences they each had had, each having enjoyed his own separate fetish. Then, after kissing and fondling each other through a sex scene on the TV, they lay close beside each other, each blond jacking himself off as they worked to ejaculate in synch with each other and with the stars in the next sex scene.
* * * *
Hobbling bowlegged out of Larry’s house shortly before dawn the next morning, Brad pulled up in the driveway at the edge of the carport, trying to decide whether he had time to go back to his own small apartment to change clothes or if he should just walk down the street to Mr. Caldwell’s house.
He did neither.
Strong hands pulled him into the carport and fumbled with his clothes. Using Brad’s own T-shirt and belt, Tex gagged his mouth with the T-shirt and bound his wrists with the belt and hung his raised arms on a hook pounded into the brick above his head.
During the night Larry had informed Brad that he was lucky in his initiation, as later he’d meet men with bigger cocks and crueler fuck techniques. He had been right, but neither Larry nor Brad would have guessed that Brad would experience that as soon as he left Larry’s house.
Hooking Brad’s knees on his hips, Tex fucked him against the carport wall with a monster cock.
But Brad took it like a champ, and after taking him and pulling the gag out of his mouth, Tex muttered, “You wanted it, I could tell. I saw you eyeing me at the poker game.” Brad couldn’t claim this wasn’t so. “Do you want me to let you go here or take you down to the beach and pound the shit out of you.”
“The beach,” Brad squeaked in a gaspy voice.
The sun was coming up when Tex had Brad on his knees, his cheek pushed into the sand, and his hands scrabbling at the sand above his head, while Tex crouched over his hips and pounded, pounded, pounded.
Brad was moving quickly up the levels, and that was so all right with him.
* * * *
Mike was nearly all the way back to his hotel room when he discovered he didn’t have his room key. At first he thought he must have lost it in the alley where the Texan had accosted him, but then he distinctly remembered having put it on the poker table at the gay bar–and couldn’t remember having picked it up again. There was nothing to do other than to go back to the bar. Maybe it would be closed, but he had to try. He couldn’t count on the desk at the fleabag hotel to be manned this late–or for the desk clerk to believe that he was registered there even if the desk was open.
The bar was open, though, although the crowd had thinned out and the noise level had dropped a bunch of decibels. As Mike entered the barroom, he recognized one of the guys from the couple that had been all over each other during the poker game. He was standing at the beaded curtain to the back rooms and kissing a small black guy, who confused Mike at first. He had on a red robe, but it was slitted all the way down to show both melon breasts and a small cock. It struck Mike as funny that the guy from the game, Frank was his name, Mike thought, could be kissing a transvestite later in the night that he’d been Siamese twins with someone else.
But it had been one hell of a night. And the night wasn’t over yet, at least for Mike. He walked over toward the table where they’d played poker, but the table was cleared off. He turned to leave, dejected, when he heard a “Did you lose something? You were in the poker game earlier, weren’t you?”
Mike turned to see that it was the Hispanic waiter from earlier in the evening who was talking to him. He’d just entered the door into the bar from the street.
“Yes, I think I left a hotel key here, but it isn’t here now,” Mike said.
“Yes you did. My name’s Manuel. You’re a cute little trick, aren’t you?”
Mike didn’t quite know what to say to that. Manuel was leering at him. It barely registered that the waiter said he knew a key had been left.
“It’s in the office in back–the room key,” Manuel said, with a smile. “Come on back and I’ll get it for you. I wondered who you left with–the older guy you were plastered on or the tall Texan who had the hots for you?”
Mike blushed.
“Or did you take them together? Well, come along into the back rooms with me.”
He took Mike by the wrist and there was little Mike could do but follow him. They didn’t make it to the beaded curtain covering the door to the back, though. As they passed the bar, one of two big black studs in leather who were standing at the bar, put a hand out that was stronger than Manuel’s was and displaced Manuel’s hand on Mike’s wrist.
“Well, aren’t you a sweetie?” BBB2 said. “Saw you earlier and wanted to stand you a drink, but you left before we could do that. Pull on up to the bar. You can go to the back to be fucked by Manuel later.”
“Barkeep, a beer for our new friend,” BBB1 said, as he pulled Mike close into him. BBB2 quickly filled the gap on Mike’s other side. Manuel shrugged and continued on through the beaded curtain.
Later, Mike hobbled back to his hotel, without the key. But, luckily someone was at the desk, the same guy who had checked Mike in, and he gave Mike no trouble in providing a duplicate key. He even asked, with a voice tone of hopefulness, if Mike needed company in his room. But Mike was exhausted, bruised, walking bowlegged, and with stinging welts crisscrossing his back and chest under his T-shirt.
It was all he could do to shower in lukewarm water and to fall, naked, on top of the coverlet on the bed. He went to sleep instantaneously.
He woke, groggily and too slowly to prevent being blindfolded, having a ball gag put into place, and his wrists cuffed above his head at the corners of the brass-rod headboard.
He was on his belly. Manuel, having let himself in the room with the key Mike hadn’t retrieved at the bar, stuffed pillows under his midsection, climbed onto the bed, and straddled his hips. Mike’s body pulsed slightly under him in a weak, completely ineffectual struggle to resist. Manuel ran his fingers along the welts on Mike’s back, before plunging his cock between Mike’s butt cheeks, the cock sliding right in to the hilt. He laughed, admonishing himself for thinking the eighteen-year-old soccer player honey he’d lusted after in the club was a neophyte. He didn’t latch into Mike’s passage still being reamed wide open from the doubling the black bulls had given him.
Exhausted, Mike lay there and moaned as the Hispanic hunk covered his body close from behind, latched onto the skin at the base of Mike’s neck with his teeth, and pounded away at Mike’s ass. After a few minutes of pumping, Mike couldn’t resist moving his pelvis with the rhythm of the fuck and sighing and grunting through the ball gag. He went hard and even managed a weak ejaculation.
The hard cock and cum dribble didn’t escape Manuel’s notice, but, rather than chalking it up to the uncontrollable virility of a health, well-toned eighteen-year-old athlete, he muttered, “I knew you wanted it.”
He ran an arm down under Mike’s chest, arched the young man’s back up toward him, and then put them both into a forward and back rocking motion, pulling his cock out just enough so that his bulb rubbed across Mike’s prostate in the rocking motion. Mike moaned deeply and began to pant. Manuel took that as a signal of affirmation and wondered how many more ejaculations he could coax out of the young cutie tonight. He bet he could evoke more than that older man this guy had been draped over at the poker table had managed.
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