It was dark in the back of the van. I was stretched out on my side but also lying half on top of Roy, who was behind and slightly under me. We were both naked. Roy was a beefy, hirsute, older man, some thirty years older than my twenty-two. He was a farmer from the Stuart’s Draft area, on the western side of the Blue Ridge, in Virginia, across the mountains from Charlottesville. He was a widower and, I could tell, very lonely and out of step with his neighbors. That’s why, I’m sure, he had joined the club.
This van was obviously one that he delivered produce to markets. But it also was where he brought young men, when he could lure them, and where he fucked them—and not just fucked them. There was a mat on the floor. There also were other things—restraints and sex toys, which told me that he could go to extremes under the right conditions. The van was tall enough to stand in. The restraints attached to the walls were set so that they could fully restrain and spread-eagle a man, either facing the wall or the interior. There were restraints on the other wall, where a guy could be suspended between the walls. Chains dropped from the ceiling. A black leather sling that could be hooked up to them was folded in the corner. The man could do serious sex work in here. He hadn’t done that with me. He was quite polite to me.
So far, at least.
Well, other than he was stretched out behind and under me, embracing me with both muscular arms, with my left thigh lying on top of his, opening me up for him to be inside me. He was inside me. I’d stopped any form of struggle when he managed to penetrate me. Any resistance seemed wasted energy then. I relax, opened to him, and let him have his way with me. And he did have his way with me, filling and stretching—and working me with his possessing shaft.
“You like it good now, don’t cha?” he muttered.
The truth was that he wasn’t doing it badly and the whole scenario had me jacked up.
I had my right hand covering the one he was jacking me slowly with, his strokes matching the cadence of his deep thrusts in my ass channel. Those thrusts were more slides now, now that I was well open and well lubricated, and he was more making love to me than screwing me. His florid, bearded face was buried in the hollow of my throat, kissing me, and my left hand was raised, the fingers of the hand running through the reddish-gray map of hair on his head, holding his face into me. He was a heavy, but solid man, big cocked and heavy in the balls, a manual worker rather than an office worker. He wasn’t of my social strata, which made his domination of me all the more delicious. There was nothing that normally would attract me to him other then the size of cock and what he could do with it inside me. But now, in this moment, that was more than enough.
I was murmuring, “Yes, yes, like that,” in a low, quiet register to convey that I liked him taking me slow, easy, and deep like this rather than what I was afraid he usually did with young men in the back of this van. But I had mixed feelings about that. I had experience with and pleasure in what else he may like doing in this van. I just didn’t have time to take full advantage of the possibilities.
He was bull strong. He could be doing pretty much what he wanted with me now. But what he seemed to want is to make slow love as we parted and I moved on down the road weaving across the top of the world.
He was going off cadence, thrusting deeper, jerking before pulling back, panting harder. I was shimmering and shuddering, the muscles of my channel walls clutching at his moving cock.
“Shit, you take it good,” he muttered.
I was panting harder too, sensing his climax was coming, and knowing that mine was under his stroking attention. I moved with him, rocking back against him with his thrusts forward, trying to bring him back to a stead rhythm, having enjoyed him inside me. He groaned and snorted. I thought that marked his release.
“Take it, take it, take it,” was his droned mantra.
“Now, now. Come with me now,” I called out and then released, tensing and jerking, tensing and jerking. I had misjudged but by only a few strokes. He lasted for three more pumps and then went rigid and fired his wad into the bulb of the condom.
We both relaxed with a long sigh, and I think I surprised him by turning my face to his and moving into a deep, wet kiss.
“Thank you,” I murmured as we came out of the kiss.
I couldn’t see his face in the darkness of the back of the van, but I knew I had surprised him—both because I, far younger and fairer than he was, had initiated a kiss and because I had thanked him for the fuck. I was male whore, and he knew that I was. We were just finishing a transaction.
But were we really? I could go another round with him and as he reached up and turned on the lights in the back of the van, I could see that he was still hard. He’d pulled the spent rubber off and tossed it toward the front of the van. He probably hadn’t had any for a while. As he turned on the lights, he sat against the side wall of the van, his legs bent and spread. I rolled over in front of him, grasped both of his knees, and spread them. I could tell this aroused him as his shaft—a very nice, thick shaft—went to attention. I lowered my face into his crotch and took the cock in my throat.
That certainly surprised him as well. This was to be a one and done—for the ride he’d given us back up onto the parkway.
“Oh, shit, Matt. Oh, fuck,” he murmured, running his fingers through my auburn hair with blond frosting and cupping my head as I gave him head. He was on the rise again. I reached into an indentation to the side of him in which a supply of condom packets were stuffed.
His eyes opened wide as I slit open a packet and rolled the rubber on his engorging cock. I’d seen him pop the Viagra before we’d come into the back of the van. I knew he was good for another fuck—or two. And we were already beyond the question of whether he could do me good.
“You don’t have too . . . the deal was just once for the ride,” he stammered. “And with all you have to—”
“This is because I don’t have to . . . because I want to,” I answered.
He groaned and gave a low moan as I climbed into his lap, facing him, legs bent and the balls of my feet pressed into the floor boards to give me leverage. I would do the fucking this time. I reached under, encased his cock, and held it in position as I sank my ass channel on it. Both of us were moaning—him in a low register, me higher—as he grasped my waist between his hands and took my mouth with his for deep kisses. As I got a good rhythm going with the rise and fall on his erection, I disengaged the kiss and reclined back, pressing my fists into the floor of the van, while he held my waist steady with his left hand, slowly jacked me with his right, and lowered his face to devour my nipples.
From time to time I saw out of the corner of my eye him reaching for restraints, but pulling back.
“You want more, don’t you Roy?” I hissed. “Yes, do what you want. Do me. Do me hard. I won’t break.”
“You sure?” he queried.
“Yes,” I responded, immediately, definitively.
He grasped my waist between both hands, and I just lay back, his to master, and he pulled me on and off the shaft in long, deep slides in an ever-faster rhythm until I was flopping around on the cock and crying out, “Fuck, yes! Screw the hell out of me! You’re a stud! Drill me!”
I wouldn’t have opted to be a male prostitute if I didn’t like being fucked.
He was a big, strong man. When he was revved up, he could take what he wanted. He could do with me what he wanted at this point. My mind raced on the thought that he would be so hopped up at this point that he would do with me what I suspected he did with other young men he brought to the van—spread-eagle restrain me against the wall and bring out his sex toys. Something inside me half hoped he would do so. I had been there with men before. He didn’t, though.
He lifted me, turned me to the mat and put me on my back. Grabbing a bolster from nearby that I knew was for this purpose, he stuffed it under my lower back, lifting and rolling my pelvis up, providing perfect access for him when he was on his knees between my thighs. He grasped my wrists and forced them over my head.
I felt my hands brush against leather and I looked up, seeing that there were restraints for the wrists there. “Do it. Bind my wrists,” I begged. “Put me at your mercy. Make me your captive.”
He groaned in arousal, but he did as I bade him do—he restrained my wrists over my head. After he’d made me his captive he moved his cock into position, thrust up inside me deep, and immediately resumed the pumping. I hooked my ankles above his buttocks and moved with him, ever faster, ever wilder, crying out, “Fuck me! Screw me deep!” We collapsed together at the climax.
This was a great, initially slow, eventually wild, total fuck, and this time we came together. And this time it was an almost tearful Roy who said “Thank you.”
As we dressed and he was ready to release me from the van, he said, “You weren’t anything like I imagined you would be.”
“Neither were you, Roy. Neither were you.”
“If you’re back in the valley again, or if you’re on another club run—this was your first, wasn’t it—?”
“Yes, this was my first club run. And if you’ll give me your contact numbers, I’m sure I’ll be back.”
“You would take my contact info? You’re not shitting me? You’d let me do you again?”
“Yes, Roy. Give me your contact info. You did me great. I’m not shitting you. If there’s a next time, maybe we can use some of these other restraints or toys. You could restrain me spread-eagled at all points and make me suffer.”
He gave me a totally disarmed look with that underlying a surge of lust and a growl deep in his core. But he didn’t act on it then, and I didn’t have time to encourage him to. I knew, though, that he wouldn’t forget me and would masturbate to fantasies tonight of what we could be doing if I went back down the mountain with him.
But I didn’t have the time, and he knew I was on a schedule.
I wasn’t lying about either coming back to him someday or coming back for more of the fetishes he might have. I had a few of those myself. Considering all of the men who’d covered me so far on this run and in anticipation of all that still would, I think that Roy would come out as a highlight. He took his time with me, and he was grateful for what he got.
He had given me pleasure. I liked being fucked. I liked being fucked rough. I liked being tied up and taken hard. I wanted him to spread-eagle me and work me over with toys and a whip. That likely had something to do with me getting this gig.
* * * *
Roy let me out of the back of the van, closed the doors, and worked his way up front to the driver’s seat. I walked around to the driver’s window. He wrote out contact information on a pad of paper, backed by a clipboard, and handed it out the window. When our hands met, he didn’t release either the paper or my hand for a couple of extra seconds.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m sure to go through your area again. I’ll call.”
“I can be rough and cruel.”
“I’ve been in the back of this van. You don’t have to tell me that. I can see it.”
“And you’re not—?”
“It got me hard. I wouldn’t mind trying more.”
“You’ll a real find, Matt. The best guy the club had come up with so far.”
I took the paper and backed away from the van. I was aware that the women were standing on the terrace of the Big Meadows welcome center for the Skyline Drive, running along the tops of the Blue Ridge Mountains, north and south, in the center of Virginia. Roy had parked the van at the very southern edge of the visitor center’s parking lot and it wasn’t a busy day. All of the other cars were parked up close to the building. I figured it was good he’d parked that far away. There toward the end of the second fuck I could hear and feel the shocks on the van rocking and complaining. It was turn-on music to my ears.
I stood there until Roy had pulled out and then turned and walked to the women. We were all dressed in hiker’s gear to blend in. The Appalachian Trail went through here too, so there were hikers on the roads and at the various overlooks and parking areas along the hundred-mile Skyline Drive that met up with the Blue Ridge Parkway at its southern terminus. Then the Blue Ridge Parkway runs for another 470 miles down into the Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina.
We were here for business too, so we took a bow to being dressed sexy as well as hike ready. That meant I wore a tight T-shirt over my cut torso and tight, short shorts, with heavy socks and hiking boots on my feet. I shouldered a stuffed backpack on my back. The women I was traveling with included a light-chocolate mixed-race twenty-year-old buxom beauty, Charlene, who was a lot tougher than she looked, and Hazel, our blonde guide, who was into her forties, solidly built, and just as tough as she looked. Both women were dressed pretty much like I was, advertising very nice curves—nicer in Charlene’s case than Hazel’s, but Hazel, hard as nails, would be some men’s idea of a better ride. There wouldn’t be anything that Hazel wouldn’t know how to do. She was the worrier of our little threesome, but that was her job. Charlene and I were the different flavors of candy for this enterprise. The real standout were Charlene’s tits. I had learned early that men couldn’t keep their hands off them.
“You certainly took your time,” Hazel said, as I approached.
“And a good time was had by all,” I answered. “Our ride hasn’t arrived yet, has it?”
“I’ve been in contact. They’re only ten minutes out.”
“So, my timing is really good then. That must be them pulling in now.” I looked at Charlene who had been pretty silent. “You OK, Charlene?” I asked. “It was pretty rough in Waynesboro last night. You’ve had three nights of this, with more business than I’ve gotten.”
“It was fine,” she said.
And then a dark blue Honda Odyssey with tinted windows pulled up by us and four muscle guys, handsome devils, two my age and two older, one in his thirties and one in his forties, piled out, all joking and with big grins. The big grins were for Charlene and me. I knew they would be.
Introductions were made all around with the doors still open on the SUV, signaling we wouldn’t be staying around here too long. The guy in charge, Cliff, white, was the forties guy. The two young guys were absolute muscle hunks. The SUV driver, white, was Dex. The other younger guy, Nate, was white as well and was good-looking but thuggish and had a foul mouth on him. He also was all hands and had a hand on Charlene’s butt right off the bat. She didn’t seem to mind it being there, though. His eyes were on her tits. The Thirties guy, was black and a huge bruiser and the silent, glaring type. That was Jackson.
Cliff and Jackson were carrying fancy video cameras and took some quick footage of all of us meeting and greeting, but Cliff kept rushing people to get into and out of position. He obviously wanted to get back on the road quickly. When he passed me a couple of times, he took his time to squeeze my butt, though, so I figured out where his interest lay. As far as I could see it would be Dex and Cliff laying me. Dex put a possession arm around me in the video shots and had copped a feel already. Nate and Jackson had already as good as laid Charlene with their eyes, although Jackson had given me a good look too. They were getting the same privileges Roy had gotten with me. They provided transportation to and from the mountaintop parkway pickup points. For that they had privileges to lay Charlene or me, depending on their preference.
I already knew that there’d be some extra work at this stop. This was the fourth day of a six-day contracted trip from Roanoke to Front Royale on the parkways running across the top of the Blue Ridge, so I knew the routine—and I’d known countless cocks already, in their choice of holes. Charlene had taken more than I had, and she had one more available hole than I did.
“You decided where we’re going to do this up here before going down into Luray?” Hazel asked.
“Yes,” Cliff answered. “Whiteoak Canyon picnic area is just eight miles back. There wasn’t much traffic there, and there are trails leading off that and a stream going down the mountain. Looks like some good spots.”
And then we were in the SUV, headed north, back toward where the guys picking us up had come from. I sat up front with the driver, Dex, who kept giving me assessing looks. Cliff and Hazel were in the two seats behind us and the black guy, the thuggish guy, and Charlene were all the way in the back, Charlene in the middle.
We weren’t even out of the parking area before the guys in the back were doing Charlene. Both of the guys were leaning into her. I watched through the rear-view mirror. Charlene had that huge set of tits on her. The men loved playing with Charlene’s rack. That’s what they usually went for first, and they did so now. I could see that Nate was itching to get his hands on those even before we got in the vehicle. And now he did have his hands on them. He’d pulled her T-shirt up to above the tits and had his hands on them, squeezing them. He already was leaning down and sucking the nipples. That was a way to get Charlene in the mood. She was arching her head back, with her eyes closed, and was mewing. Give her five minutes of this and she’d let you slip your cock inside her cunt.
There was an aisle between the seats Cliff and Hazel were in, so I got a crotch shot of Charlene in the rear-view mirror. She was wearing men’s shorts and the black guy, Jackson, had the fly of those unzipped and a beefy hand inside cupping and playing with her cunt.
Charlene didn’t seem to mind. This was what she was here for. Sold on the idea of being laid right there in the backseat, she went to turning her head from one side to the other, kissing each of the guys who already were playing her ripe body with their hands. And she had jutted her pelvis out, pressing into Jackson’s hand. He had fingers in her and she was rocking on them. Dex must have been watching them in the mirror too even while negotiating the top-of-the-mountains winding and dipping road. He gave me a grin and reached over with one hand and traced how I was dressed inside my tight shorts. He went as far as to unzip me, but he found the road needed to much attention to go farther.
I just smiled at him. Like Charlene, I knew what we were here for.
“If you can keep it on the road, Sport, I’ll do the honors.”
“Go for it,” he growled.
I took the hint and unzipped him and freed a big slug of a cock. I slow stroked him as he drove. We didn’t have far to go. He managed to keep it on the road, but he was driving well under the speed limit.
Fifteen minutes and we were pulling into a parking area on the eastern side of the mountain, which had a cleared section under trees beyond the parking lot. A few wooden picnic tables were scattered around. There were a few cars parked there but no evidence of people. Trails led off in various directions. Hikers must have parked here and would come back eventually.
Well, most of us, piled out of the SUV. Cliff, Hazel Jackson, Dex, and I came out. Cliff and Jackson had the video cameras. The guys lit up cigarettes. Dex stood close to me and looked me over like I was his lunch. I surmised that I probably was. The others were showing interest in me. Cliff and Jackson were conversing about something that had to do with the fancy video cameras. I heard them talking about camera angles and positions and about one camera being careful not to get the other on in the frame. Hazel made a beeline for a picnic table, settled at it, and took out a pack of cigarettes and her cellphone. She was settled for a while.
Charlene and Nate hadn’t come out of the SUV. The sliding door on the side was still open, so I peeked inside. Charlene was on her knees in the aisle, facing the back of the vehicle. She was naked. Nate, his T-shirt off and his shorts down around his ankles, was mounted on her ass, fucking her in the cunt from behind in a doggy. He was hung. She was shuddering and swaying. His arms were wrapped around her, his hands working her tits. Her tits were almost too big for him to be able to cup, but he didn’t seem to mind.
I heard Cliff call out, “Let’s take a walk down one of the trails. Bring that bag, Dex. Come, walk with us, Matt.”
Dex was at my side, moving an arm around me to slide the Honda side door closed. I guessed Nate and Charlene wouldn’t be going on our walk with us. When his arm came back it was to go around my shoulder, turn me, and guide me in the direction that Cliff and Jackson, with their cameras, were walking into a trail opening. Hazel, at the picnic table, didn’t look up as we disappeared into the trees.
This was going by contracted plan with the Skyline Riding Club. The word “Riding” wasn’t about horses.
* * * *
Following Cliff into the forest, he and Jackson leading with the video cameras, then me, and Dex taking up the rear, we left the trail when we came upon a stream cascading down the mountainside toward the east, the Piedmont. We followed the bank of the stream until we were well away from the trail and Cliff found what he said would be a great spot for the filming.
I’d been told they’d film a porn scene while we were in the mountains and before driving down in the Luray, and I guessed this was it. Looking at Cliff, Jackson, and Dex in turn, I wondered which one of them was going to fuck me on film.
All of them, it turned out.
The “great” spot was in a bend in the stream, so that the stream would be in the background from three different film angles. In the bend, a large tree with bare branches extending from all sides and up the trunk from nearly ground level offered what Cliff called a “hanging tree.” I did worry a bit about that until it was clear how this was going to work out. I didn’t have much time to worry, though, because, while Cliff and Dex pulled various length of rope out of the bag Dex had been carrying and tied it to the tree branches at various levels, Jackson made me kneel in front of him and give him head. He was a black bull. The shaft was enormous. Working at servicing it took my attention away from what Cliff and Dex were doing.
It was going to be the tree. I was what was going to be hanging from it.
What they were doing was setting up restraints to use to hang me, naked, in the tree branches and each of them, after Cliff did some whip play on my back, buttocks, and thighs, with a hand whip he took out of the bag, found an interesting position in coordination with my spread legs and arms and exposed ass to fuck me, hanging from the tree branches. They had me arranged so that whether the stud mastering me was fucking me from the front or from the rear, there was good camera coverage available with forest and stream background.
They fucked and filmed for nearly an hour and I took each of them twice, with the other two handling the video cameras. I understood that I was supposed to give them a show of being taken hard and not by consent, so I put on a performance for them. I don’t know how much of my writhing and panting and crying out they thought was genuine taking—they did occasionally ask me in whispers if I was enduring it OK during the whipping and fucking—but it was, in fact, just fine with me.
In many ways it was what I would have willingly taken from Roy in the back of his van if we’d had time, although this was mild and I wanted more. The whipping was mainly for show, applied more lightly than the cameras would think, reddening the skin but not welting or breaking it. I had much more to take over the next two days. I wasn’t to be damaged for real. I was, at this point a well-used rent-boy. I’d taken more than two dozen cocks, I figured, up to now in this sex tour across the top of the Blue Ridge up from Roanoke, and routine fuck positions were not sufficiently satisfying me.
Being strung of in the low branches of a dead tree on the banks of a mountain stream and whipped and gangbanged for nearly an hour took me to high levels of passion and pleasure and completion. In many respects, that hour in the tree was the highlight of my week’s well-paid work up through the center of Virginia.
Eventually, Cliff and Jackson took the cameras and left me bound to the tree, with Dex using me hard in various positions, but the time came when even he couldn’t think of new ways to take pleasure from me bound to the tree and he released me.
After some recovery time while we talked about sports and Charlene’s tits, we returned to the picnic area, but we didn’t go back on the pathway. We didn’t want to meet unsuspecting hikers. Not long before emerging in the parking lot, we came upon other members of our party. We heard them—the sounds of vigorous sex—in the undergrowth under an oak tree. What I could see as we approached, was a couple fucking between the tree roots and on the moss. I saw the buttocks of a naked man—Cliff, I could tell. The buttocks were rocking forward and back, the buns contracting and expanding in the act of the fuck. Two shapely brown legs rose on either side of Cliff’s hips. Charlene. Cliff was fucking Charlene in a missionary. Cliff, at least among the men, was bi. I looked over Cliff’s shoulder, and, sure enough, he was sucking on her tits too.
One of the video cameras lay on a rock next to the fucking couple. Dex picked it up and started filming the sex scene. It was only then, when I moved to view the scene from another angle, that I realized that Charlene was being doubled—so it was a fucking threesome. Not only was Cliff fucking her in the missionary position in the cunt, but she was stretched out on top of Nate, who was fucking her in the ass. He was squeezing her tits while Cliff was sucking on the nipples. Charlene obviously was good with that. You gave Charlene’s tits attention and she was good to go.
After watching for a few minutes with no prospect that Cliff and Nate were going to finish Charlene any time soon, I walked on to the parking lot. The other video camera was sitting on the picnic table where Hazel had been smoking and checking her cellphone when we walked into the forest. Hazel wasn’t there though.
I could see our SUV rocking on its shocks and the sliding door on the side was open. I walked over there and looked in. Jackson, naked, was sitting in on one of the seats in the middle row. Hazel, also naked, was in his lap, facing him, feet dug into the seat bottom on either side of his hips and hands clutching the top of the seat back on either side of his shoulders. She was using the leverage of her feet to bounce up and down on Jackson’s black cock. Hazel didn’t have quite the shapely young curves and humongous tits that Charlene had, but she did all right for her age in both departments. Her tits bounced. Jackson was holding her waist between his hands and his mouth was working at capturing and sucking on her nipples as the tits jiggled and bounced in the cadence of the fuck.
Hazel did function as one of the hookers with Charlene on the party nights in the towns we stopped at while moving up the mountain chain from Roanoke, but this was the first time she helped pay for transportation up on the mountain parkways.
I don’t know how long I would have stood there watching the hard-as-nails white woman fucking herself on a black bull’s shaft—it was a delight to see the root of the black cock appearing and disappearing between the white folds of her labia—but the others came out of the forest and my attention shifted. Cliff embraced me from behind and fucked me right there, bent over and gripping my ankles, beside the SUV, and Dex laid Charlene out on a picnic table and banged her. Dex was walking around with one of the video cameras memorializing the event—a smorgasbord of three varied couples fucking in nature.
As far as I know, no one came upon us during this fuck scene. I guess it was a good thing that it was a middle-of-the-week, low-traffic-volume day on the Skyline Drive or when we went down off the parkway Luray, it probably would have been to go to jail rather than to the party houses where a couple of dozen men were waiting to bang us through the night.
* * * *
We drove off the Skyline Drive at Thornton Gap where Highway 211 crosses the Blue Ridge and descended into the upper section the Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. I’d been told the destination was the town of Luray, but Dex drove to it and then through it and, by a winding road west out of town reached the banks of the Shenandoah River. We crossed that on a narrow bridge and drove north on the western bank, turning into what was identified on the sign as a riverside camp grounds with cabins for rent. Apparently, the Skyline Riding Club had booked the entire camp for at least the night. We must be in the right place, I thought. There were flash cars parked all over the grounds.
This stop wasn’t that dissimilar from the other ones we’d made that week. This expedition was one of three set up by the Skyline Riding Club each year, one in each season except the winter, when the mountain drives were frequently closed due to inclement weather. It was, of course, a sex tour. One or two female hookers and one male prostitute were driven, over a week, down the Virginia portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive from Roanoke to Front Royal. They made a two-night sex party stop in Roanoke to begin with and then a private hookup at one of the park’s mountain resorts, the Peaks of Otter Lodge, for a night. After that, it was one-nighters in Lexington, Waynesboro, Luray, and Front Royal. The prostitutes were moved in relay along the mountaintop parkways, where police scrutiny was light, at best. And we didn’t have any trouble from cops on the run I took, so I guess the method worked out well. Those coming up to the parkway to escort them down into the towns were given a ride on the prostitute of their choice.
Except for the Peaks of Otter, there were some two-and-a-half dozen men at each one of the party stops who had paid big bucks to party with and fuck the prostitute of their choice. The general preferences of the men determined who was hired to provide party and fuck. They used fresh talent each time to give the johns variety and encourage them to sign up for another party.
Charlene was an exotic dancer and escort from Virginia Beach. I was the same, of the gay variety, in Richmond—although I could manage bi. I’d go out to escort and fuck women if the pay was good. I was young, virile, and perpetually horny—and I could take it rough. I could get it up at any time and any place—even for a woman. And I wouldn’t have become a male whore if I didn’t like being fucked.
We hadn’t gotten Hazel to say anything about her background. She was a Skyline Riding Club staff member. All we could get from her was that sometimes they hired two female whores for a parkway run, in which case the Skyline Riding Club guide would become the male whore. When we finally reached Front Royal, I was asked if I might want a job with the club—that I could do the male whore duties sometimes—but I put them off on an answer. If they could get a male prostitute who they thought might appeal to some forty different men, Hazel became the second female. I must have done OK. It did seem like I had forty cocks or more inside me over the week.
The one more private stop was at the Peaks of Otter, which had a motel-like lodge on a lake on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Hazel said this one night with just one person to service would make enough to almost cover Charlene’s and my fees for the week. I’m not much on celebrities, but I immediately recognized the guy I was paired with. He was an older movie star, a box office heart throb of some forty years early, who was a real celebrity and was loaded with money. I’d heard he lived in this area now and there had been hints that he was gay, but it was still a surprise to encounter him in this context. I could see why he wouldn’t want to do this with a crowd.
Our night was almost aborted and I had to work hard on him in a way I didn’t have to work for any guy for the rest of the week. He was wanting it well enough, although a little embarrassed he still wanted young guys and now had to pay for them, but he’d left his pills at home and Hazel hadn’t brought a supply, something she said they’d include in their kits in the future, although that didn’t do us a whole hell of a lot of good at the time. He’d paid the fee and I was sorry for him—and I thought it would be kicky to be able to say I was fucked by him—so I worked hard on him. And given time and effort, I managed to make him hard enough that I could straddle him and ride it and he could manage a bit of a lift off while I was acting like he was stretching me almost beyond limit. That energized him so that he could put me under him later in the night and get hard enough to penetrate and produce enough jism to claim he did me twice. He left declaring that what he’d gotten and how sexy I was justified the expense. That gave me a high.
I wondered about Charlene for the rest of the week, though. She serviced a middle-aged woman, not a man, and floated around the next day humming. It challenged my imagination how she could have been satisfied as she obviously was. Hazel said the woman was some sort of political leader in the state but would go no further in identifying her.
The Luray party was given in four cabins close to the riverbank and well away from the road. Each of the prostitutes was assigned to a cabin and the fourth one, which was larger than the other three, was for breaks when and if the johns got tired of performing or watching sex. A continuous barbecue meal was provided in the fourth cabin, and it was there, in the twilight, on a platform, with a pole, that had been brought in for the occasion, that Charlene and I danced the pole for the some thirty men who had shown up. It’s what we both were trained to do, so it was a good show. The whole day from late afternoon until after midnight, music was blared out over the camp, featuring both country and bump-and-grind music.
Charlene, Hazel, and I were on our backs for two sessions. Some guys wanted to dip their wicks before dinner, so we were fucked in the late afternoon in the bedrooms of our respective cabins. Then there was a communal gathering time after the usual dinner hour, where Charlene and I danced for the boys. Charlene was pulled off the pole and fucked by a burly John at the end of her act and then carried to a table and gangbanged before taken back to her cabin. I left and went back to my cabin before her performance ended, so that didn’t happen to me. From then on, until after midnight, though, I was on a bed, legs raised and opened, or on all fours, being fucked in sequence or double penetrated, and even a couple of times at the height of the session, being gangbanged. A good dozen of the men were there for me, and I’m sure that some guys made trips to all three cabins.
What was sort of disappointing, though, was that there was little variety to it. It was almost all some position variation of missionary or doggy. No one took his time or used exotic positions. It was all sort of frenzied. I was glad I’d gotten to do a kinky movie and frequently I thought of what Roy, with his van, at Big Meadows and I could have done, given the time to do it.
It was all over by one in the morning. The Skyline Club took as little risk of attracting the police to their club service as they could and they made all of the johns clear out by one in the morning. They’d come from all over the region, and the club didn’t want it to be noticed that a bunch of men were out driving the countryside long after local bars were closing.
We were permitted to sleep and recover to noon the next day, although I didn’t get all that much sleep. After I went to bed, Dex stole into the room and climbed into bed. He fucked me three times in the night, but since he used more inventive and taxing positions than a dozen johns had used the previous evening, I was fine with it. He was one handsome, muscular, and hung dude. The last time I straddled him and rode him in a Cowboy, which he claimed to like a lot. When we managed to drag out of bed in the morning, we were fed in the fourth cabin from the leftovers to the barbecue. Of those who had driven us down from the parkway, Dex, Cliff, and Nate were still there. They said that Jackson had to go to work in Luray that day. Nate had slept with Charlene and Cliff with Hazel. Nate left for work after we ate, and it was Dex and Cliff who drove us back up onto the Skyline Drive in the afternoon.
The guys we were being handed over to up on the parkway for the ride into Front Royal were named Billy and Tony. We connected with them at Skyland, the only Shenandoah National Park resort on the parkway. There was a restaurant and cabins there handing off the side of the mountain and overlooking the Shenandoah Valley. The guys had rented one of the cabins there, and our two new drivers took their privileges in the cabin bedroom, banging Charlene and me, while Hazel and Cliff sat out on the porch, smoking, chatting, and watching for cops. The two new guys were bi and instead of fucking Charlene and me separately, they fucked Charlene together while I watched and then fucked me in a DP while Charlene pampered herself in the bathroom.
Afterward, while Charlene and I put ourselves back together in the cabin, Hazel chatted with Billy and Tony about something.
As with Luray, we weren’t taken into the town of Front Royal, but, rather to a farm that had a barn, where all of the men gathered and Charlene, Hazel, and I took up our positions in three sections of the barn and the men roamed around, fucking the prostitute of their choice and otherwise being voyeurs and enjoying the open bar and catered food that was laid out.
That night we were taken to a motel on Highway 340 as it crossed the Shenandoah River and were put in a room with two double beds. I had a bed to myself, but not for the whole night. Hazel visited me in the night and rode me in a vigorous cowboy, her tits bouncing up and down until I grasped, squeezed, and worked them. I went with that for a while, but eventually, I rolled her over onto her back, slapped her legs open, covered her, and showed her what an inventive man could do with a cunt. By this time Charlene was awake and watching with lusty eyes. So, I left Hazel exhausted and moaning and went over to the other bed and made Charlene moan too. She’d shown she was sweet on me during the whole trip and that she regretted my role was a gay one. I took care of that regret.
I enjoyed squeezing her big tits and sucking on her nipples as much as any straight guy did.
At breakfast before the three of us went our separate ways, a lot richer and sorer than we had been at the beginning of the week in Roanoke, Hazel revealed that she noted I claimed to do bi work in my escort service job in Richmond and she was checking me out for a possible job offer in another club scheme the Skyline Riding Club was planning—one for bisexuals. When I asked if I’d passed her test, she just laughed and said we had the room until eleven, which would give us time for another fuck. It did, just barely.
I never did see Charlene again after that Skyline Riding Club trip. I did see Hazel again, though.
* * * *
Three months later, at twilight time, near Stuart’s Draft on the western slopes of the Blue Ridge, in the Shenandoah valley, he must have heard the sound of my motorcycle coming down his farm road, because Roy was at the door to his farmhouse when I pulled up in front of the porch. He had a shotgun with him but he put that aside when he saw it was me.
“Matt?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You’ve come for the van?”
“Yes,” I answered. I didn’t tell him why, but he knew why. Sex can become dulling in the life of a rent-boy. You can easily get to the point of not going into high arousal unless it is demanding and you are taxed to the limit. I had reached that point. I no longer felt it in normal sex. I needed to be taken to the edge—and beyond—to be fully satisfied. I wanted to be fully satisfied and was willing to do what it took to get there.
“I’ll get the keys. Do you want to come in for a beer first?”
“Maybe later.” I had thought of the need for it all the way from Richmond.
He laughed. “You may not feel like it later.”
“As long as I feel something,” I answered.
“I understand,” he said, and I thought maybe he did. I’d come to the right place. “We should shower first and you should clean yourself out. I’ll use you hard.”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Have you written your will?”
I didn’t respond or laugh at that.
Neither of us bothered to dress after showering, although we both wore hiking boots. Saying that he wanted to feel the role, Roy also strapped on a black leather chest harness and leather bands at his wrists. He drove the van down to a small patch of trees by the riverbank on the South River, well onto his land. No one would disturb us there.
We climbed into the back of the van and he turned the lights on. In contrast to when we were at Big Meadows on the Skyline Drive, he turned the sound on too, on high volume. “The Ride of the Valkyries” from Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen. I was surprised and impressed that he knew of that rousing song, with its strong, sensual, wild beat.
“Face against the wall. Raise and spread your arms,” Roy barked, taking on the role of dominator and tormentor.
With a low moan, I respondent and he lashed my wrists to hooks on the inner wall of the van, near the ceiling.
“Spread your feet and jut your ass back,” he commanded, and I did so. There were indentations in the floor of the van with cross bars in them. He restrained my ankles to those, with my ass jutted back into the van’s interior and my legs spread.
“Hold still,” he commanded, and I groaned as he laced the strings around my balls, separating them, and lowered the weights on the end of the strings that distended my balls, pulling them down toward the floor of the van. He unexpectedly pulled on the string and I cried out at the sharp pain from the balls distension. Roy laughed and pulled on the string again. Knowing it was coming this time, I just groaned. And then again, holding the string down at full extension until I groaned deeply and whispered, “Please. Fuck me, Roy. Screw me. Put it in me. Ride me hard.”
He covered me close from behind, snaked an arm around me, and grasped my cock in a hand. I felt his erection pressing at my buttocks, sliding into my crack, the underside of it rubbing on my hole. His hand went down to my balls. He squeezed them, causing me to yelp, and the returned the hand to my cock.
“Put it in, Roy,” I begged. But he didn’t, not then.
I could feel his hot breath and his lips on my throat as he slowly jacked me with his hand, the weights swaying below me, making my balls ache—but making me feel that this was really happening, that I was going to be completed.
He was patient, taking his time, but it took me several minutes to realize that this wasn’t just passing preparation, that he was going to get me off before moving on to higher level of using. I writhed under his attention, balls distended and aching.
“Uh, Roy, if you don’t edge off, I’m going to come,” I whimpered.
“Yes, yes, you are,” he answered. “Stop fighting it. Come for me—again and again until you are suffering blue balls.”
And then I did, shuddering and shooting off against the carpeted wall of the van, not the first cum stain to be applied there—and not the last, not even from me on this night.
He came around to my side where I could see his beefy, muscled, hirsute, mature body. He had popped Viagra in the house. His erection was huge. He would be in full, hung erection for hours. I would be, naturally, as well. He had a scarlet-colored hand whip with glitter-speckled leather thongs in his hand.
I moaned again.
“We begin,” he growled, moving to behind me and raising the whip over his head.
“Yes, yes. Use me. Beat me. Fuck the hell out of me! Take me totally! Make me feel it!” I cried out, turning my head to be able to see the scarlet strands of the whip going high in the air, and then I jerked and writhed within my bonds and gave another cry of pain-passion at the sting of the first strike of the whip. And then the next.
The whip was raised, the strands singing in the air, scarlet, speckled with glitter, sparkling in the beams of the pin lights along the van wall, whistling as they descended. The snap, the sting, the shock, the jerk. “Ahhhh. Shit! Fuck YES!” Twisting, writhing, in glory. I felt it. It was real.
His rough hands on my hips, saddling up from behind me. The feel of the bulb dragging across my buttocks, searching for the crack, finding it, positioning at my pulsating hole.
“Oh, my god, you’re huge! Give me time . . . Oh, shit. Oh FUCK! SCREW ME!”
Calloused hand gripping hips. Monstruous shaft digging, digging, spreading, sliding, stretching, forcing possession.
“Oh, my holy shit!”
One hand palming my lower belly, rolling my hips up to provide total, to the root, to the curly pubes access, and the fingers of the other hand gripping a hank of my head hair, arching my head back painfully into the silver studs of his chest harness. Thrusting. Both of us grunting, groaning with each thrust. Finding rhythm, attaining cadence. Thrust, thrust, thrust. “Yes . . . Yes . . . YES!” Heavy breathing in harmony, low moans. Grunts, groans. Hard at work. Hard at pleasure. Master and slave in harmony. Van swaying side to side, rocking on its squealing, grinding shocks.
“Take it, baby. Give it to Daddy!”
Still inside me, pumping, Roy reached around again and grasped my cock, immediately starting to beat me off vigorously, the weights banging together near the floor, sending shooting stabs of pain through my distended balls. In short order, I released, my cum hitting the wall above its first mark. Roy shuddered and came as well.
“Oh, fuck, YES!”
I had no idea which of us exclaimed that.
I went weak in the knees, slumping within my captive bonds at the wall. Turning my head, I caught the glittering of the flailing scarlet strands of the hand whip, rising over my head, and I cried out at the shock of the snap of them on flesh—my flesh. My shoulders . . . and then my back . . . and my buttocks.
He took me totally, gloriously . . . at great length. And then, later, again. And then again . . . through the night.
Did I get what I came for? Absolutely.