blow-job

2: Reality Tv Wannabe



This is my story. These are my exclusive true confessions.



You’ve been reading the gossip in the red-top tabloids. You’ve watched me on TV.



Now at last, I’m breaking my silence. These are my full, frank, and fearless real-life revelations of how it all began.



You know that thing the oldsters used to say about ‘all fur coat and no knickers’? – well, I guess you could say I’m half-way there. I’m doing the no-knickers thing. All I need is the fur-coat. Except it would have to be faux-fur. I don’t want no dead animal draped over me. I’ve had enough guys like that already, know what I mean? Sure you do.



How it happens is this. I’m sitting on his face, wriggling up and down, as you do. I told you I was living with DJ/Rapper Fifty Euro, didn’t I? I’m sure I told you that. I’m sure I mentioned it in passing. You’ve seen his videos on MTV, haven’t you? Well I’m here, living with him. And as I’m sat on his face, wriggling up and down, I’m watching TV, as you do. And they’re talking about a new series of ‘Celebrity Big House’, the Reality-TV show. You’ve seen it. Everyone has. And they’re selecting new celebrity house-mates. An eighties electro-Pop survivor from a forgotten group. One-half of a knackered comedy duo you last saw on ‘The Good Old Days’. The wife of a football player. Someone caught out by the tabloids having an affair with the England Football-Manager. And a couple of other non-entities. The kind of faces you could never tire of punching.



And I say ‘hey, I could be on that show’. What you need is no talent, but lottsa ambition. And hey, that’s me.



After all, Fifty’s a celebrity – isn’t he?, and I’m his partner, aint I? – we’ve been together for, oh, at least two weeks. That’s the longest committed relationship I’ve ever had. Well, since the last one anyhow. I did tell you I was living with DJ/Rapper Fifty Euro didn’t I? I’m sure I must have mentioned it in passing. Anyway, I was telling him all this stuff, although he’s in no real position to reply, his mouth full of pubes an’ all, and I guess he gets fed up of my rabbiting on ‘cos he flips me over, switches me around, and stops me talking with his big juicy spermy gob-stopper and the only sounds for the next half-hour or so are kind of moist slurpy ones.



But afterwards I get back into bickering him. Until he gives in, to an extent. He’s doing this high-profile gig. An Awards Ceremony guests-only special. And eventually he agrees I can tag along when he goes uptown to meet the event publicist – Cliff Maxford. You’ve seen all those celebtastic stories he’s brokered in the media, the Selma Pussy confessions, the Kimberley Thin disclosures, the screw-and-tell mistress of that disgraced Cabinet Minister…



It’s like – y’know, my life’s been a cheap back-of-the market-imitation for too long, rather than a designer Dior Christal watch. I deserve more. I’m sat there nude in front of the mirror this morning posing my tits, lifting them, squeezing them together, pushing them forward – yes, they look good.



But ‘do you think I need a boob-job?’ I say to Fifty, ‘do you think bigger tits would help me stand out more in my career?’



‘They look perfect as they are’ he grins ‘big enough to nicely over-fill my hands, big enough for me to rub my cock up-and-down between them.’



‘What about collagen injections? Bigger more pouty lips?’



‘Naw, they pout just fine when they’re wrapped around mah manhood.’



‘A new tattoo on me bum then?’, turning round and pointing below the bikini-line.



‘A tattoo there saying what? Two-way traffic? Double-Parking? Access all areas…?’And he just cracks up laughing at his own wit. See what I mean, no help at all.



Anyway, next thing we’re there in Cliff Maxford’s office. He’s an oldster with slick-back silver hair. But he’s well-cool. He knows stuff.



‘You have to be media-savvy, before fame fixes its fickle glaze elsewhere’ he tells me intimate-like. ‘The reality doesn’t matter that much, but there must be some basis to the story. A honeytrap with a photo… something to prove you were part of it.’



But if there is a story, if we can come up with one, if we can arrange for one to happen, then he’s gonna help me sell the story… it’s going to be great, watch the tabloids…!!!!



But now, there’s top bands on-stage, the Cunning Stunts, La Coque Sucres. It’s a mwah-mwah air-kissing feeding-frenzy. All the eye-candy in their spray-on clothes. Dosh and David Bexx are there too. Norma Simplants. Phil Uranus. All awash with expensive vino, studded with roguish charmers and charming studs, sprinkled with good-time girls and a good-time’s been had by all girls. All designer clad and nipped-and-tucked to perfection. It’s non-stop insania. I’m impressed, but trying hard to be snotty. Trying to be, yeah, it’s just like, so whatever… and those paparazzi photo-opportunity lights seem to stir something in my mind, as though they’re mix-pots of paint, blending my thoughts into streaks of colour.



We’re at the bar while Fifty’s waiting his slot on-stage. Then he’s on stage. He’s good. Great even – you have to admit. Just that I’d have enjoyed his street-smart urban skank more if it weren’t for Monique and Unique, his foxy backing vocalists in their dental-floss outfits with spaghetti-straps and choreographed bootylicious come-on. Of course, she’s not really called Unique. It’s Eunice. But that don’t sound quite so good. So she’s become ‘Unique’, and a unique pain in the butt.



People should’ve been looking across at me and going – oh yeah, ‘she’s his live-in partner, lucky bitch’ you know? But who’d believe that with them doing it near doggy-style over the speaker-cabinets? Later, we’re hanging around back-stage, and there he is – David Bexx, sat there in the alcove looking so chilled it’s just crazy. That close-crop, that shy weak smile, that single diamond stud-earring familiar from all those news-shots. This is so amazing. I’m never gonna get this close to him ever again.



What to do? Fifty’s got his camera-’phone. Do I go sit down beside him and get a photo? Ker-ching, I can give good face. That’s proof we were together on the night. But hey, any fan can do that. That’s no proof of anything else. That’s not going to splash the red-tops. So I know instinctively what I must do. What I’m made to do. I’m not wearing much. I slip into the Powder Room opposite. And a moment later I’m wearing even less. Nought-to-sexy in three-seconds. My frock comes off. No bra, natch. Less than a nano-second’s hesitation, and the thong’s gone too, flashing my bushy untrimmed foof.



Deep breath. Then I’m outta there, nude and shiny, Fifty’s there with his cam, Bexx looks up in shocked surprise… and a grin. And I’m legging it across towards him. Game-plan is to sit on his knee, kiss him, long enough for the photo-opportunity. That’s all I need. I can see him, he’s all I can see, all I’m focused on, and like some Olympic sprinter I’m on course – almost there. His mouth open, half amused-half-confused. I can tell he’s eyeing up the bounce of my tits, appreciating the wink-wink cleavage in the pubes.



Then – WHAMMO! Something hits, like a ‘Star Trek’ asteroid collision where everything’s impacted out of shape, and I’m jolted sideways, stumbling down. Nails attacking me, my hair wrenched around painfully – Dosh, the bitch, protecting her man. Where’s she come from…? He’s watching with a wide grin now as we’re both rolling around on the floor ripping and tearing and yelling and cursing and screeching, kicking and punching. She’s on top, her shoulder-strap comes loose and falls out of shape, we tumble over, I’m on top, naked as the day I’m born, but no longer even aware of it, just full of this crazy anger to get back at her. People stood around laughing and yelling encouragement.



Then there’s hands pulling us apart, spitting and sobbing like wild-cats, hauled off into our separate entourages. Someone’s jacket gets draped around me… and they’re gone. David and Dosh. They’re gone, and my opportunity for the tabloids gone with them, straight outta the doors. And we’re being escorted out of the place. Back down onto the city-street where it’s drizzling-cold, and all I’ve got on is someone’s jacket around me. I’m sadder than a song on Country Music radio. Fiddling the buttons until it looks… almost, stylish.



That’s when I start into taking out an inventory on my life, a stock-take check-list of plus and minus. And it’s not good. If I could sing like Aretha Franklin so intense and beautiful it makes you bleed. If I could do art-statements like Tracey Emin, or act my sweet ass off with the luminous grace and intelligence of Catherine Denueve, then I wouldn’t have to do this. But because I’m not wired to do any of those thing, does it mean I don’t I deserve my place, my moment, my acclaim? It’s my right, isn’t it? At least it’s my right to try my damnedest for it.



See all the Waynetta Slobs out there? – the check-out no-hopers, fast-food dead-enders, that’s not for me. I wanna be the kind of a girl who makes ‘The Sun On Sunday’. And I’ll use whatever extreme gimmicks I’ve got in my grab-bag of tricks to get where I wanna be. As all this deep-thinking flashes through my powerful mind, my thinking’s so aglow with twinkling inklings I almost miss out on what Fifty’s saying.



‘What? What’s that you said?’



‘Just about him, David Bexx, lounging there back at the Plaza, ‘cos she’s off doing the video, trying to re-relaunch her Pop career yet again…’



And I’m going ‘I don’t believe this, you know where he is now?’



And he goes ‘sure, the Plaza’



‘So why the fuck didn’t you say?’ Next thing we’re off in a warp-drive cab across town towards the Plaza. Four-wheel-drives and stretch-limo’s flashing by. What a palace. Wow. The kind of hotel you only usually get to see in ‘K.O.!’ and ‘Hi!’ magazines. We stalk into the foyer, trying to look as though we belong, but get no further. Escorted off the premises, for the second time tonight. Outside again we drift along the pavement, meander down the side-street, to where there’s an alley leading into the rear of the hotel. But how to get in? We hang around for a while, then he nudges me. A laundry truck.



‘There’s our way in.’



I don’t see the significance at first. ‘What you gonna do, bribe him?’



But Fifty steps out to block the way, and when the van slows to a stop he leans in and starts yakkity-yakking to the guy inside. They keep glancing across at me. At length the laundry man slides the door back. Fifty beckons me across. You know those ‘Benny Hill’ DVD comedy collections? The character he does called Fred Scuttle, the ludicrous cross-eyed git with the geeky grin and bent glasses, like he’s seriously-challenged in some department? Well – it’s him. Only the little creep’s sat there with his legs splayed, he’s got his hard dick out and he’s waving it at me expectantly. It’s then I realise the inducement that Fifty’s offering.



I take one step back. So it’s come to this, sucking-off strangers in back alleys. Then I think on what’s at stake. I get photos of me and Bexx together. That gets me into the tabloids. A touch of celebrity by association, I sell the story through Maxford. That’s enough to get me onto the ‘Celebrity Big House’ short-list. To do that, the first hurdle is to get into his hotel room. How much do I want that…? After all, what he’s asking is not a lot different to your Ibiza one-nighters, just that there you actually fancy the guy. Mostly. If you really care too much about that kind of thing after bingeing all that local cheapo-vino. The kind of guy you regret and try to forget, you wonder why the fuck did I fuck him, but hey – it soothes that raging holiday pussy-itch.



So what’s one more? What the hell? Fifty steps aside. Fred Scuttle grins so wide I swear he’s gloop-drooling. I can’t meet his eyes – mostly ‘cos they go in opposite directions, don’t even look at his face. He’s better endowed than you’d think, and when I go down on it he starts into this heavy-breathing snort-grunting, like he’s never had his cock sucked before. Perhaps he hasn’t. But when I suck a guy he knows he’s been sucked. And it goes on for some time.



Fifty even tells me to ‘hurry up’, like I need urging to get this thing over!



At last he gets his jollies, shooting gooey gloop across the roof of my mouth. He stands up and re-zips as I dab-wipe my lips with a hankie. He takes his white uniform jacket off and gives it to Fifty, gets another from the back of the van for me, then stands there looking forlorn and stupid in the alleyway. For him it’s probably the biggest night of his life, poor shit. Fifty drives the short distance down to the gate. There’s a brief exchange with the goon, he laughs at whatever tale Fifty spins him, and we drive in, stop. From there on it’s a doddle.



We haul two wicker-laundry baskets out of the van and no-one looks twice as we hump them in. A couple of cleaners or domestics even smile at us. Once inside we wait a bit. There’s a maid’s trolley with mops and aerosols, and a row of uniforms on linen cupboard shelving, even master-keys on monogrammed key-fobs. So next we’re sashaying along the corridors, as though we’re staff, navigating a trolley with a skewed wheel that won’t go where you want it to go. And y’know, it’s true, no-one notices the hired help. Probably they’re out-sourced from an agency anyway so there’s not even a recognition problem.



Fifty took note of the suite number earlier, and next thing we’re outside there. The key turns. The door inches open, and we’re in. Fifty’s got his digi-’phone out. He fades the lights up, but there’s no-one to see, yet. I lead through the en suit, into the bedroom, and he’s there, laid on that beautifully muscled back, asleep. That close-crop, that shy sleepy eyes-closed smile, that single diamond stud-earring familiar from all those news-shots. We’re just stood there gawping at him, like we can’t believe it. This is David Bexx, my ticket to fame. Until it’s me that moves first.



I’ve not got much on. The man’s jacket from the Awards. The maid’s uniform. Soon they’re together in an untidy pile on the expensive carpet. I reach out, almost scared to wake him, timidly grasp the top of the duvet and carefully draw it down, bit by bit, all the way. He’s wearing pyjamas with little cartoon ‘Roy Of The Rovers’ all over it – bless! I check to make certain Fifty’s ready. He’s ready. I slip the buttons open, one-two-three, folding it back over his chest, then untie the pyjama drawchord, and shrug it aside, down to his knees. What’s revealed is magnificent, a thickly-veined snake with its fat head laid clear up to his navel. It makes my teeth ache with anticipation just looking at it. All it needs is a little stimulation, and I can be very stimulating when the mood is on me.



Fifty starts snapping off stills as I lick and slurp at it, the foreskin hooding back so its single eye opens, regarding me appreciatively, I swallow it whole. It rises to attention. Forcing me to relinquish it bit by bit the bigger it gets. And as it gets big, it gets hard, harder than Japanese geometry. But I’m well-used to handling swollen goods.



He’s murmuring ‘Vicky Vicky’ low and husky, his hips moving up to meet my throat. I look up towards where Fifty’s stood, and try to smile for the camera, but smiling’s not easy when your lips are strained out of shape and your mouth is crammed with monster celebrity dick. I’m tempted to keep working at it, to taste its gift, because what’s in those balls is golden, the champagne of sperm, the nectar of sperm, the most desired connoisseurs sperm that eager girls would queue up round-the-block to swallow. But I grudgingly ease it out. Fist it into launch mode, straddle over him and squelch it all the way in bollock-deep. Snap, snap. Now I’m gliding up and down on it, slow and succulent, then speeding up, so good I almost forget what I’m here for. His head starts flipping from side to side. I feel its energy building. Same instant his eyes slam open. He starts spunking off deep inside me, my pelvis scrunching down to receive every last drop. He’s startled, confused, as you’d expect I guess, it must seem like some bizarre wet dream to him, waking to find a naked slapper impaled on his spurting throbbing dick. Reluctantly, and just as quick – I’m up off it with an audible ‘plop’. It slops back down across his toned gut with a wet slap.



‘Sorry, excuse me,’ and I’m scooping up my clothes, Fifty’s backing off, Bexx is rearing up, still half-asleep.



He slurs ‘here, what’s going on?’ in his wussy half-asleep voice, as we scarper for the door, Bexx verticals as lithe as his legend tells it, he makes a move to head us off, dick still stood out, waving red and impressively still-hard, glistening with my pussy-juice, his pyjama pants crumpled around his ankles, but he sharply falls forward, legs all tangled up in little ‘Roy Of The Rovers’ prints, head over arse. And we leave him there. Outside the room we’re grinning like we’ve won the Lottery as I pull what little clothes I’ve got back on. There’s no sound from the suite as we hare down the corridors, he’s not pursuing us, he’s not even alerting security, so we’re slowing to a fast walk so’s not to draw attention. Mission accomplished.



Some time later, back at the apartment I’m going ‘Hey Fifty.’



‘What Babe?’



‘Don’t you ever get, like… um, jealous?’



‘Wha’ you mean Babe?’



‘Jealous. What I mean is, don’t you ever get jealous, when you see some guy white-washing my epiglottis?’



‘Hey, each human soul is an independent entity.’ And he goes into this crapology about ‘we’re not property. We’re part of Heisenberg’s uncertainty continuum, particles moving along the relativistic curvature of space-time, drawn by the gravitation of event horizons, singularities or strange attractors, but that don’t mean we go in there and plant flags and claim territorial rights, we spin off into new orbits. We are not possessions of one another.’



Yeah thanks, a simple ‘no’ would suffice. And we all know what you mean about planting flags. But he’s transferring the photo-card to his lap-top and scrolling up the pictures. It’s then I realise, and it’s a sickener. Photo after photo, me with monster-dick in my mouth, me riding monster dick frame one, me riding monster dick frame two, my lady-fluff with an inch of dick protruding, two-inches, four inches… get the picture?



‘You dumbo Fifty, this is all useless porno-shit.’



‘Wha’ ya getting at, Baby-girl?’ He looks. But he still can’t see what I mean.



Till I yell it at him. Me, and cock. Anonymous cock. There’s no pictures of his face. Not one. Nothing to identify that this is me, with David Bexx. Nothing that proves an association. Nothing that can be any good at all to Cliff Maxford and the tabloids.



I slam the door on the way out. It’s over. The whole escapade has been for nothing. It’s morning by now. We’ve been up all night. I walk for an hour, perhaps more, stumbling into daylight as the streets come slowly to life around me. At last I go into a café-bar for a latte, sipping it long and slow, feeling both stupid and angry, without knowing which of them I’m feeling more. It’s only 8.15 in the morning and already my life is more absolutely dismal than it ever was before.



Until I notice the girl’s looking at me in a curious way. I look up. She looks away, then back.



‘It’s you isn’t it?’ she says. And flips out a newspaper. There it is – ‘MYSTERY NUDE BEAUTY WRESTLES DOSH AT AWARD CEREMONY!’ splashed clear across page-one. Me and her rolling over and over across the expensive carpet, my bits inadequately starred out. The paparazzi, of course, they never miss a trick. I read the caption, ‘who is the mystery nude? Speculation is rife. Who will be the first to name the naked-stunna…?’ It’s all here. Everything I need. Everything Cliff Maxford needs to market my story.

So far our six randy fuckers have enjoyed themselves. If you haven’t read the first few chapters, don’t worry, I believe that this next episode of their frolics will excite you without any background…enjoy!



*



“Ok,” Linda said, slightly more refreshed than she had been a moment ago, “same rules as before, two minutes max in the shower and we all are back here in ten, agreed!”



The rest quaffed what was left of their refreshers and headed off to the respective bedrooms. If any of them had been bothered to count then they would have realised that the actual time spent in the first half of the games in the various acts of a sexual nature was a mere thirteen minutes!



More fun was to follow, only it would only be eleven minutes this time still, the extras in between more than makes up for that, just like the first half only dirtier!



Ten minutes later they all reconvened around the dining room table. The ladies had all redressed to some point, Linda had a put on a black corset that trimmed her tummy and accentuated her large breasts, the base of which hugged her hips with only a thin strip of strategic lacing denying the men a full view of her knickerless pussy. Shirley had donned a pearl Basque that threatened to burst out on up top as she had, somehow, managed to push her impressive rack into the outfit that was at least a few sizes too small for her, her deeply brown areolas visible for all to admire. The outfit had matching pearl panties that were almost pointless, both in size and the fact that she had already managed to drench them with her sweet tasting cunt fluid. Julie, in the meantime, also made a fantastic appearance with her red Teddy that did nothing to hide her erect, and extremely large, nipples that threatened to tear the thin material that barely covered them. Her red strip of cloth that posed as knickers was now two-toned, with the front ‘v’ already a darker colour as she also showed her excitement in liquid form!



Tom, Bert and Paul all applauded as the women paraded in front of the. They had also dressed, if you could call it that, in fresh boxers (courtesy of Linda’s spare supply of them, where did she get them from?) and athlete’s vests. Tom wore black, Bert yellow, and Paul was wearing virgin white, although the use of the word ‘virgin’ might not be appropriate. Besides, the woman all looked leeringly at what was sprouting out from the boxers with three wet stains of pre-cum trying to match the ladies wetness, but not even coming close!



“Hello boys,” Julie was the first to speak as she fondled herself through the flimsy red lace that excited her, “Fancy some fun?” she said as her eyes concentrated on the burgeoning bulges that stretched the black cloth of the pants in front of her. She wasn’t alone as Linda and Shirley made no pretence at hiding their lustful gazes at the hidden shafts that greeted them.



To be fair, the reason for the sudden increase in the men’s ample appendages was all too simple; the sight of three, sexily clad, fuck-machines would have had a priest in a similar state, if he wasn’t too busy fucking an altar boy.



Five of them sat down around the table while Linda wiggled into the kitchen to fetch some more refreshments. She returned a moment later and replenished their glasses with the chilled wine before taking her place beside Julie and Shirley.



“Cheers,” she said as she raised her Chardonnay and clinked her glass, first of all with Julie but, within seconds, all six glasses made the lovely sound of celebration that echoed around the room.



Some small talk took place although, you won’t be surprised to hear, it was full of innuendo and comments about what they had all enjoyed in the first half of the games. As they chatted all of them were thinking about what was to come, what barriers were about to be broken?



With a tilt of her head Julie finished her glass of wine with a sigh of pleasure, allowing the men to admire her pert breasts that seemed to shout, ‘suck me!’



“Are you up for it?” she asked pointlessly, looking at the three studs in front of her.



The five other glasses were quickly drained and it was Shirley who made the first move over to the couches, quickly followed by three huge cocks and two, extremely moist, pussies. Before she got there, Linda intervened.



“I think that we should swap our seats.”



“Why?” Shirley asked.



“You’ll see,” said Linda with a naughty smile.



Shirley didn’t say another word and took her place on the couch where the boys had been sitting. She was promptly joined by Julie and Linda and they all watched as the men took their seats opposite them.



“Oh fuck!”



“Oh fuck!”



“Oh fuck!” all three of them exclaimed as their boxers were instantly drenched with the seepage that had soaked the couch from the previous session. Cunt juice was everywhere and the women laughed at the sight of the men squirming as they tried to make themselves comfortable.



“Thanks ladies,” Paul hissed as he felt his balls being saturated with the, now cold, fluid that had so recently flowed from the excited pussies that he gazed longingly at.



“Can you us a favour boys?” Julie asked, “Before we start again.”



“What’s that” Bert said cautiously.



Julie smiled before answering. “Can you all just stand up, turn around, and show off your beautiful butts for us girls!”



The guys knew better than to reject such an offer so, with reluctance, they all stood up and showed off their delectable asses to the admiring audience, Tom even wriggled his lovely bum at the appreciative audience!



“Oh fuck yes!” Linda whispered lasciviously as she leered at the three arses displayed in front of her, their saturated underwear leaving nothing to the imagination. Julie and Shirley joined her in their admiration of the men’s nether regions that were being shown to them, albeit it unwillingly.



“Ok boys,” Julie said with a hint of regret, “Put those delicious buttocks back on the couch and we can begin.”



It was with a sense of relief that the men returned their ogled rear-ends to the damp relief of the cushions below them. Their erections, however, belied the fact that they hadn’t enjoyed the experience.



“Game on” shouted Linda as she squeezed her legs together, “Let’s fuck!”



“Who’s to go?” asked Paul, his shorts barely unable to hide his excitement.



“Wait a minute,” interjected Julie, “How do we get the boy’s kit off?”



It was Shirley that suggested a solution, “Why don’t we just remove an item every time that their name is pulled out of the pot and every time that they are asked to ‘perform’ for us. They’ve only got their knickers and vests on so it shouldn’t be long before we see them naked!” she finished.



“Great, thanks,” Tom agreed, “but what about you girls, getting naked that is?”



“No need,” Julie said swiftly as she stood up and, unashamedly, put her hands down to the ‘v’ between her legs and pulled the red excuse for a gusset aside and showed off her engorged labia. “We’re all crotchless! Take my word for it.”



The men all gazed in admiration at the pussies that were being displayed for them, after all they had all had their cocks up each one earlier, and they couldn’t wait to feel the velvety feeling of the sweet vaginas wrapped around them once more. To further enforce her statement, Shirley and Linda also stood up and proudly exposed themselves down under, Shirley copying Julie’s display and Linda simply raised the hem of her corset up to reveal herself. “Satisfied?” asked Shirley innocently.



“Not yet,” Bert said in a dirty tone, “but I will be soon I bet!”



“Enough of that,” Julie remarked as she sat down, followed by the other two women whose seepage was already starting to ruin the new-found couch, “It’s time for the first pick. Who’s turn is it Linda?”



“I get to pull the first name out of the pot?” She asked as she stood up and showed off her black corset for everyone to admire, she cupped her breasts with both hands first before turning around and showed off her lace-covered ass. She felt the eyes leering at her and, as a result, she almost came there and then. With a reluctance to stop the moment of naughtiness she hurriedly pulled a piece of paper out of the third pot, or jar if you prefer.



“It’s Tom,” she announced before regaining her seat, all semblance of modesty depleted!



“Fuck yes!” Tom said with glee as he went to find out how many minutes of sexual bliss he was about to enjoy.



“Shit!” he swore vehemently, “It’s only a minute.”



“That’s still 60 seconds of fun though, isn’t it?” Shirley said encouragingly.



Tom took her point and changed his mind about his chosen fantasy. “Too true,” he said in a sinister way.



With that being said he stood up and approached the girls who looked so sexy in their outfits. He leant forward and grasped Linda’s arm and yanked her up onto the stained rug. Her black corset barely managed to contain her tits as she jumped up in anticipation.



Tom’s right hand went immediately into the moist opening between her legs and he started to finger-fuck her hard.



“Oh, fucking Christ!” she screamed as her vagina was assaulted and she bounced up and down trying to get more pleasure from the sexual attack.



Tom stopped.



“Oh fuck no!” Linda pleaded but it was Tom to speak next as he whispered into her ear.



“You know that you love a cock in your arse?” he asked rhetorically.



“Of course,” she breathed huskily, “After all, you’ve been up there often enough! But first of all,” she added, “let’s start to get you naked again!” With that she put her thumbs, on either side of his thighs inside the elasticated waist band, and started to pull his pants down. Soon she came across the obvious barrier that his nine inch erection caused, and she felt obliged to lower herself onto her knees to further enjoy the unveiling.



Julie and Shirley licked their lips in anticipation as they watched Linda play with the still hidden bulge, her tongue teasing the outline as he hands went to his rear and caressed his lovely butt. Tom squirmed in delight that was short lived unfortunately as, with one swift movement, his bare ass was joined by his bare front and his cock was finally released, bouncing in front of Linda’s face. What was she to do? Suck it of course!



“So,” Linda said after a few strokes as she stood up, a cock in hand, “You want to fuck my arse?”



“Well this time,” he continued as he returned his fingers to her pussy, “I want to watch.”



“Eh?”



“I want to watch you being fucked in the arse with my eyes only an inch away!”



“Kinky!” said Julie.



“But not illegal,” added Shirley.



Linda looked behind her, spotted Paul’s sexy eyes and then allowed her gaze to drop to his nine inches of magic that threatened to ruin the cloth that surrounded it, the penis that she had enjoyed up her arse earlier.



“…and,” Tom went on, “I want to watch you being ass-fucked by…”



Linda’s eyes, once more, leered at the fuck-pole that belonged to Paul.



“…Bert!”



“What?” Linda screamed, “No way, you can’t be serious? Put that monster up my arse? No fucking way, it’s impossible!”



Tom gave his own piece of advice, “Not really,” he said sympathetically, “Julie had it up her a few nights ago.”



“And she still can’t fucking walk straight!” Linda said sarcastically.



“You know the rule.” Julie said remorselessly.



“Of course I do,” Linda yelped, “After all I made it up but…” she stared at the can of beans that stood to attention, “…oh what the fuck!”



With that being said, she re-arranged herself so that she knelt on the couch, her backside displayed for all to see, especially Bert who was bursting to release his cock. He didn’t have to as Shirley sprung forward and yanked down the flimsy material, his manhood springing up into the air which she greedily began to suck.



“Wait a minute!” squealed Julie, “That’s not in the script.”



Shirley gave Bert another suck or two before apologising.



The next voice to be heard came from Linda. “Julie?”



“Yes?”



“Get the lube, and plenty of it, I think that I’m going to need a pint up my arse!”



Julie opened the bottle that was conveniently at hand and pulled the flimsy black corset aside and started to pour the soothing liquid down Linda’s ass cheeks. She then helped its destination by inserting first one, then two, then three fingers up the brown hole. Linda wriggled in delight as she felt her sphincter being penetrated by her friend.



“Give me some of that lube,” Shirley said to Julie, and she cupped her hands together as Julie duly obliged, dripping a generous amount onto the outstretched hands. “I’ll make sure that Bert is well oiled up for you Linda.”



“How kind,” was the caustic reply as she gazed behind to see that Shirley had both of her hands, fingers unable to reach one another, start to masturbate the ogre that was about to sodomize her.



“Oh fuck!” she whispered as she turned her head back and closed her eyes, waiting for the assault to begin.



By this time Paul had stood up and approached the others to improve his view, his cock still encased in its prison. “Now that is a sight,” he gasped, “that people would give good money to see!”



Julie’s fingers were still preparing Linda as Bert started to sidle forward, Shirley’s hands still wrapped around him. He was only an inch away from forbidden pleasure when Shirley took one last taste of him as she tickled his pee-hole with her tongue, causing Bert to wobble in delight, before she guided him to the very entrance that he lusted after.



Julie, reluctantly, removed her hand from Linda, her Teddy outfit being admired by the men, and wiped the excess lubrication on her own ass that now gleaned erotically in the soft lighting, a task that Shirley would copy momentarily on either side of her own sexy lingerie.



“I hope everyone has got a good view,” Linda said with a hint of sarcasm as she felt the thick cock touch her rectum for the first time. Everybody had!



“Start the timer then,” she pleaded.



“Not yet,” Julie held the phone in her oily hand, “He has to be at least halfway in and fucking you!” she said encouragingly.



Bert made his first, gentle, prod forward and Linda grimaced as the mammoth beast started to attempt to enter her. She did her best to relax her muscle defences and he was able to get his first foothold into the tight opening. He paused for a moment as he prised apart her sphincter, the barrier slightly giving way as she tried to get used to his size.



Another tender push and Bert watched as the first inch of his cock, glistening with the oil that Shirley had thoughtfully applied, disappeared up the tight anal passage causing another gasp from Linda. Once again he paused, waiting for Linda to show him that she was willing to carry on. It took many seconds for her to nod her head that Bert took for confirmation for him to continue which he did, but with consideration. He withdrew a fraction before leaning forward again, easing his engorged prick further up her arse.



“Jesus fuck!” Tom hissed, his eyes only inches away, as he watched Bert’s cock go further inside, almost half of its length now hidden from view.



Once more Bert stopped any movement, although the tightness that he felt wrapped around his manhood made that very difficult. He so much wanted to start shafting her but, again, he waited for Linda’s nod. It took a while but, eventually, he got the signal to continue.



Linda had made him wait as the pain that she had felt on his first penetration started to disappear, to be replaced by a type of perverted pleasure, and she started to enjoy the experience so, with the nod of her head being given, she felt him withdraw and re-enter her with more ease this time.



Four thrusts was all it took before Shirley spoke for everyone, “for fuck’s sake, he’s balls deep Linda!”



“Don’t I fucking know it!” she screamed, “Start the fucking timer!”



As Julie pressed the ‘go’ button Bert began sixty seconds of sheer delight and began, again gently at first, to move in and out of the lubricated chute. Linda’s screams greeted his every movement as he started to pick up speed.



“Fuck!” she squealed as he bottomed out in her again.



“Fuck yes!” she shouted as he repeated the manoeuvre.



“Fuck me!” she hollered repeatedly every time that he shagged her, harder and faster with each thrust, until she was just a continuous incoherent noise.



“Oh fuck that butt!” Julie added her encouragement that Bert didn’t really need as he was pumping her with all his might, the sweat streaming down his face to join his saturated chest.



“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” was all that emanated from Linda’s mouth as she got the pummelling of her life. What she had thought of as being impossible had turned into an erotic dream come true and she aided Bert’s abuse of her shit-hole by pushing back against the jumbo cock inside of her.



TING!



“Oh shit!” Bert hissed as he slowed down and, with remarkable self-control and tenderness, began his reluctant departure from Linda’s arse. When he did leave his audience all gasped in astonishment at the gaping gorge that he had left behind, her black corset still to the one side.



“Jesus!” muttered Tom from his vantage point, “You could drive a fucking bus up there!”



“More like a fleet of taxis,” was Paul’s contribution as they looked up Linda’s anus, joined by the amazed eyes of Julie and Shirley.



Bert had excused himself to clean up but was back within a minute to find that Linda’s ass was still on display, oiled up as were Julie and Shirley, and still her sphincter hadn’t returned to normal. She was moaning and groaning from her kneeling position on the couch, her thighs rocking her back and forward as she tried to calm down from the butt fuck of a lifetime.



Eventually the five observers could see that Linda was able to tighten her rectum but, as she did so, she felt another urge welling up inside of her. “Oh fuck,” she said, “I’ve got to go a place,” and with that she stood up awkwardly and waddled to the room that Bert had just vacated. She sat down in the nick of time as shite and pee came whooshing out of her uncontrollably. The ablution took a mere few seconds and Linda thought that was how having an enema must feel. She tidied herself up, flushed the toilet, and sat on the bidet and enjoyed the welcome warmth that eased her aching butt.



After that she padded her ass dry, washed her hands and, gingerly walked back to the quintet wafting her hand in front of her nose in a blokes’ manner before announcing, with her thumb pointing back towards the bathroom, “I’d give it five minutes guys!”



That got a great laugh and applause from the anxious quintet as Linda approached Tom and Bert and gave them a huge kiss each, whispering into their ears, “Thank you boys,” and went to take her seat.



“Not so fast,” Shirley interrupted her, “You have to pick the next name.”



“Again?” she questioned.



Nods appeared all round and she stretched forward to the pot containing the five remaining names hoping, all the time, that it wouldn’t be her. She needing some convalescence!



“It’s Paul,” she declared with a sense of relief.



“Knickers off!” shouted Julie as Paul rose from his seat, drew the paper from the third pot; it said two minutes, and threw himself onto the woollen rug in haste and laid on his back, his straining boxers on display for all to see.



“Fancy taking these off Shirley?”



She bounced, quite delightfully in her naughty lingerie that barely held her breasts, towards him and, sexily, started to remove the unwanted item of clothing from his body using hands, teeth and tongue. As the material was lowered his beautiful cock sprung up in the air to gasps of approval from the other two women who liked their men naked!



“What now?” Shirley asked as she grabbed the base of the familiar fuck-pole that she adored.



“Lick my balls and ass.”

She obeyed eagerly and, as she started her oral teasing by beginning her tongue movement on one ball, and then the other, before starting to rim him, just as she had done earlier with Julie, tasting his anus with relish, she heard him say.



“Julie?”



“Yes?” she replied in anticipation.



“Want a fuck?”



“I thought you’d never ask kind sir,” and, before the ‘sir’ was uttered, she had impaled herself on the long shaft that Shirley held upright, his cock sliding in through the slat in the red Teddy. “That feels so fucking good,” Julie panted as she took all nine inches up her pussy in one motion, forcing Shirley’s hand to release her hold.



She started to fuck him at once but Paul held onto her hips and forced her to stop temporarily as he looked up at the third, sexily clad, woman in the room.



“Linda?”



“What?” she asked in trepidation, still squirming on her seat from the amazing ass-fucking that she had just enjoyed.



“Why don’t you sit on my face, I would love to kiss your ass better!”



“I can handle that,” and she obliged by doing as requested and sat down to feel a soothing tongue wriggle its way past her corset defences and, throwing her slimy phone to Tom told him to start the countdown.



“Go for it Paul,” he yelled as he pressed the button, “Have a fucking good two minutes!”



Paul didn’t reply as his mouth was busy licking and sucking Linda’s arse hole.



Shirley munched greedily on his balls as she got fantastic view of his cock, covered in Julie’s juices, having a great time as he fucked her. Actually, Julie’s upper body was almost static and it was her thighs and ass that were moving nineteen to the dozen. Paul wasn’t fucking her, she was fucking him…and how!



This all gave Bert and Tom a vision of lustful joy as they watched Julie’s oiled ass pummel up and down on their buddy’s prick while, beside the sexy fuckers, another beautifully lubricated butt, enhanced by the pearl, crotch less, knickers that allowed a glimpse of pink pussy lips that had already leaked enough delicious cunt juice to make them almost transparent.



“Christ, would you look at that ass!” Bert whispered to Tom.



“Which one?” Tom replied in similar tones.



“Who gives a fuck?”



“I would, to both of them!” was the dirty response.



Julie sped up her humping of the fuck-pole inside of her, even adding a wiggle from side to side that brought gasps of approval from the two randy males that were her audience, and she knew it!



Then, accidentally on purpose, she lifted her ass just a fraction over nine inches and a well lubricated cock popped out of her. Shirley moved like lightning and grabbed the base, pulling it back towards her and, immediately, put it in her mouth and started to suck it furiously, tasting the mixture of the fornicators’ juices.



“That’s amazing,” said Bert with a leer as he watched the bobbing head swallow the long dick with ease, his eyes switching from that vista to the one where a wriggling pussy was dripping constantly above the cock-sucker.



“That’s enough Shirley,” Julie insisted, “put him back inside me, we don’t have much time.”



Reluctantly Shirley let the dick leave her mouth and, still holding onto the base, guided it to the right angle for Julie to restart giving Paul as much pleasure that she could in the allotted time, and pleasure was what Paul was definitely feeling!



He hadn’t been able to see the sexy scenario but even he knew the difference from a pussy and a mouth and the image that was conjured up in his mind almost made him blow his load right there and then. He managed, just, to control himself as he felt his cock, a hand on its base and the warmth and moisture of a pussy on heat being re-introduced, to a hot cunt.



He moaned and grunted as he increased his attack on the sweaty butt-hole that was crunching into his face and he could hear the muffled sounds of Linda’s passion grow when his tongue managed to slip up the relaxed sphincter and entered her anus as far as he could. The volume of her rapture increased dramatically and she thrust her butt down harder to maximise the thrill.



Tom and Bert couldn’t see what Paul was doing to Linda but the sounds of ecstasy that screamed out of her gave them a good idea!



“Fucking hell!” Linda swore passionately as she felt the penetration of Paul’s tongue slide up her dirty hole. She had closed her eyes momentarily at the first insertion but now they were wide open and glaring with desire as she got a randy wink from Julie who was only inches away. Lust took over her and she leant forward to give her friend an intimate kiss which increased to a passionate one that brought whelps of delight from the guys on the couch at the horny spectacle.



Linda broke from the kiss and whispered hoarsely to Julie, “He’s got his tongue up my…”



TING!



Four “For fuck’s sake!” came from sexual quartet and was echoed by the pair on the couch. “That was awesome you guys, fucking awesome!” Tom spoke for both of them as the bodies on the ground in front of them started to unravel, in no great hurry it has to be said. Shirley gave Paul’s balls one last nibble, Julie contracted her inner muscles around the stiff member inside her a few times, and Linda ground her ass onto his face to gain a final surge of bliss, before all three women crawled back to their couch and settled there with smug looks.



Paul was left all alone on the rug and it took a short time to regain his senses, and his breath, after 120 seconds of sheer delight. Eventually he rose and joined his buddies.



“What a fuck!” he rasped as he sat down, “The best fucking sex I’ve had without cumming!” he added.



“Lucky bastard!” Bert greeted him with a grin; “Still,” he went on to say, “you put on a good show for us poor sods up here. We just loved those oiled-up asses! What were you doing to Linda, by the way?”



Before he got a chance to answer Julie called out across the short space that separated them, “Come on stud, it’s your turn to pick.”



With slightly shaking legs Paul did as he was told and the next name to be announced was…



“…it’s you Bert.”



He sprung up like the frustrated beast that he was and ferreted out the piece of paper that told him that he also had two minutes of some sort of kinky sex to look forward to, but what was it to be? He kept the others waiting for what seemed like forever, but was merely seconds, before spoke.



“Em,” he started hesitantly, taking a quick look at Paul in almost an apologetic way before turning his gaze towards Shirley, “I don’t know if my fantasy might come true later but I’m not going to take that chance so,” again he paused, staring directly at the luscious boobs that were barely contained by the Pearl Basque and finished his sentence quickly, “I want to tit-fuck Shirley!”



She squealed with delight and bounced up to give a sensual kiss on Bert’s lips and then whispered in his ear, “I thought you’d never ask!”



“Off with his vest!” shouted Linda and Bert went to remove the sweaty item, still damp from the ass-fucking that he had given Linda.



“I’ll help,” Julie volunteered and shot up behind Bert and fondled his torso, her arms surrounding his midriff, and began, slowly, to roll the cloth up over his head. She held it for a second across his chest and, nonchalantly, let it fall to the floor, although it never got there as it landed on Bert’s thick erection and just lay there. The use of the word ‘flagpole’ would be quite an apt description of his cock!



She returned to her seat and Shirley took over, “How would you like to fuck me Bert, on my knees or on my back?”



“The first time that I saw you naked I wanted to be in between them, straddling you as you squeezed them around me…on the floor,” he finished.



“My pleasure kind sir but…” she paused with a lecherous look, “…I guess that I’ll have to take this off.” As she said this, her hands cupped her breasts and massaged them through the lingerie then, with gyrating hips; she started to remove her Basque giving Bert, and everyone else, a sexy striptease. She turned away from him, bent down to show off her ass, and began to unclip the retainers. As she unhooked the last clasp her hands went back to her breasts before the flimsy covering fell away and she held it up with her hands underneath her boobs, accentuating them even more.



Facing Bert again she teased him by allowing one areola to be exposed, and then she covered that up and showed her other brown circle with the nipple in the centre of it. Bert licked his lips as the show continued until, after more erotic taunting, she finished her performance to loud applause. She took a mocking curtsy before throwing herself on the rug, her sodden knickers still on but her labia available for all to see and appreciate.



“Somebody want to put some oil on these?” she asked as she played with her massive breasts.



Paul was the first to respond and he grabbed the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount over the boobs that he knew so well. He also knew that she loved to have them fucked and that Bert was going to have a rapturous two minutes ahead of him and he massaged the oil over both hillocks and the cleavage that separated them. He looked up at Bert, and his yellow flagpole, and said to him invitingly, “These tits are waiting for you, enjoy!”



He moved out of the way and was joined on the floor by the three others, all vying for a position where they could witness the fucking of Shirley’s tits by a can of beans!



Bert knelt down, his thighs on either side of Shirley, and whipped off his vest from his cock. He eased himself forward until he got into the ideal position and was just about to tell Linda to start the timer when Shirley shouted out, “Stop!”



“Eh?” said Bert whelped.



“Linda?” Shirley asked.



“Yeah?”



“Does that phone of yours have a camera?”



“Of course it has,” she replied nonchalantly before adding, “Oh I get it you naughty bitch, you want me to film this.”



Shirley nodded vehemently but went on to say, “Just the tits and cock, no faces understand?”



“Of course,” Linda replied innocently.



“Like hell,” Julie interrupted, “I can just imagine you with a pint, or two, of wine inside you putting it on Facebook or something like that,”



“That’s not fair!” she pleaded.



“If you are going to record this,” Paul was the next to speak, “Then I want you to send me a copy.”



“Me too!”



“And me!”



“Count me in!” said Bert.



“I need to see this again,” Shirley was the last to speak as she looked down at the massive cock that was about to give her a huge thrill. “It would come in handy when Paul wasn’t around and I was feeling randy,”



“I’ll get the settings,” Linda agreed eagerly and worked on her phone. At the same time she also asked, “Has anyone got a watch so that we can have the two minute countdown?”



“A watch?” asked Tom incredulously, “You want us to look at a second hand when we could be appreciating this?” He finished with his index finger pointing at the sexy scene in front of him.



“Sorry,” Linda apologised, “how’s about a phone with a timer then?”



“I’ve got one!” Julie squealed and sprung towards the dining table, her ass deliciously on display as her red knickers snuck up between her bum cheeks.



“There we are,” she declared as she made her way, more sedately, towards the others, “Time for some serious titty-fucking!” and she pressed the button.



Bert didn’t waste another second as he pushed forward and his rigid cock started to fuck Shirley’s massive tits with vigour. He looked down at his own handiwork and was amazed to find out that he couldn’t see any evidence of his cock at all. Even when he had been in the same position with Linda, many a time, her boobs had never been able to engulf him completely but now…



…now his dick was invisible, inside the huge rack that enveloped him. Christ, it was fucking sexy!



Shirley was in rapture and she felt the familiar signs of orgasm approaching as she licked the tip of Bert’s dick every time that he thrust forward. She tried to put her hands down around his thighs to touch her most sensitive spot but she couldn’t manage it. She had to cry out for help.



“Could someone touch my clit, I need to come off!” she screamed.



The race ensued with Paul, Tom and Julie all trying to grant her wish. Julie won!



She knelt down beside the bucking Bert and her hand found its way towards Shirley’s most sensitive spot, her fingers swivelling around the pleasure bud with gusto. The result of which resulted in an orgasmic explosion that flew out of Shirley’s pussy in spectacular style.



As she watched Shirley’s climax spout out through the hole in her panties and over her hand, drenching both Paul and Tom in the process, she tore her gaze away to kiss Bert passionately on the lips.



“She’s cumming,” she managed to say between mangled mouth attacks, “She’s cumming buckets!”



“So am I,” hissed Bert as he slipped his cock up the greasy tits. He had tried to hold himself off, hoping to keep his sperm for later but it was of no use; he knew it. He thought of every mundane thing that he could think of but, when a man’s orgasm started to approach, there was nothing on this earth to stop it.



Hearing that, Linda broke her promise, conveniently, and panned out the camera to capture Bert’s spunk that was about to explode all over Shirley’s face.



“Oh fuck!” he moaned as he realised that the point of no return had arrived. He could no longer slow down so he did the honourable thing and sped up his thrusts in to the dummy pussy with nipples on either side.



“Oh fuck!” he repeated as he neared his heaven. “Shirley, open your mouth!”



She did and, seconds later, Bert’s grey sperm came shooting out of his cock, missing her mouth completely, as it shot up into the air with the first burst landing on the couch three feet away. The remnants of the initial ejaculation, although, did manage to douse Shirley’s hair and forehead. The second burst, a fraction of a second later, did have more control as Bert, instinctively, found his own cock in the mountain of flesh that he was fucking and pointed it towards the gaping mouth in front of him.



Shirley took the impressive spurt of semen that flooded into her mouth and swallowed it as quickly as she could but, before she managed to digest the salty protein, another burst came towards her, then another, then another, as Bert released all the pent-up sexual excitement that he had controlled ever since he had ass-fucked Linda earlier.



His last few emissions were still impressive as he pulled himself away from the glorious tits and, using his own hand, gave Shirley an almost perfect pearl necklace.



“Oh fuck!” he rasped as he, once again, sought out Julie’s lips. He sucked, and licked, the wet mouth. Nothing was more erotic to him than making love to one woman and kissing another at the same time; pure rapture!



TING!



It took many seconds before anyone could speak coherently apart from grunt. Finally Shirley managed to gasp at Linda, “Did you get that?”



Linda pressed the ‘save’ icon on her phone and nodded, “Oh yes,” she confirmed, “and I’m going to enjoy watching it again and again!”



“Fuck yes!” Shirley whimpered as she let loose her bumps and threw her head back onto the rug, leaving Bert’s rapidly softening cock dripping its final emissions onto her as he fondled his foreskin back and forth as he continued to kiss Julie greedily.



“Wow!” muttered Paul, his erection so massive after watching the performance of both of them. “That was…” words failed him so Tom had to finish the sentence, “…so brilliant!”



As if to emphasise that Linda put her phone down and speedily lowered her head in an attempt to scoop up some of the goo that Bert had deposited on the busty Shirley. She was joined at once by Julie who, reluctantly, broke off her kiss from Bert and aimed her mouth at what was left of the necklace that had been created by his sperm. Within seconds both women had gobbled up the fragrant semen and turned their attention to the excited nipples that stood up hard and sucked them for all it was worth.



Shirley closed her eyes as she enjoyed sexual heaven once more.



A moment later Shirley had been licked clean, Bert had got his breathing back to normal, Julie and Linda had had their thirst consummated and Tom and Paul had returned to their seats, hard-ons abundant!



Bert managed to return to the couch flanked by Paul and Tom and waited for the women to do likewise. Eventually, after much grunting and groaning, the three ladies sat opposite the men, staring at the two rampant cocks on either side of Bert’s flaccid one, albeit impressive even when it was soft.



He spoke, “Wow Shirley that was so much of a turn on, I never intended to cum but…”



She put her finger to her lips to cut him off mid-sentence, “hush,” she whispered as she continued to squirm, feeling the afterglow of pleasure that still rippled through her.



Linda coughed, far too loudly, and went on to say, “Come on Shirley, it’s your choice for the next fantasy, pick a name.”



Shirley rose from her chair reluctantly as she was still in the throes of yet another mini orgasm and chose a piece of paper. Unravelling it, she read out the five letters that she had written earlier on. “It’s you Linda” she said, her voice trembling a trifle as she returned to her female companions. Sitting down you could almost hear a tiny squelch as her ass bore weight on the puddle of cunt juice that she had deposited there.



Linda grinned and selected the time that she was allotted, the paper had the number 1 scrawled on it. She smiled wickedly as she showed off the number to the others then, slowly, took her place on the centre stage that was the woollen rug. She looked at her three potential victims, who all had balls, and a look of pure lust shone out of her eyes. She turned to face Julie and Shirley and smiled a dirty smile. “You’re going to love this girls!”



Returning her gaze to the guys, who had bemused and excited expressions on their faces, she raised her right index finger and, with a ‘come-on’ motion, indicated for Paul to join her. ‘Willingly’ hardly does it credit as he stood in front of her a second later, his stiff cock standing a fraction over nine inches away from her as it brushed her lower belly.



Equally as quick, her hand grasped his beautiful dick and started to play with it, gently pulling his foreskin down before replacing it to its original position. This she repeated again and again, each time putting a little bit more pressure on the pleasure stick as she sped up her action.



Paul moaned as the expert hand caused wafts of delight throughout his entire body, and this was enhanced as she moved forward to mash her breasts against his chest.



Having put herself into this position she was able to whisper into his ear, in a whisper, that is, that everyone could hear, “Did you enjoy being up my arse today?”



“Fuck yes!” he answered hoarsely.



“Do you know how much I enjoyed it?”



“Em,” he struggled for a reply, “well you seemed to like it.”



“Like it?” she scoffed, “I fucking loved it!” her hand moved faster bringing Paul’s rapture to another level. She continued to wank him frantically for a few seconds before she slowed down and muttered into his ear once more, “…and do want to know what bliss it felt like?”



“Eh?” he responded, a glimmer of doubt in his voice.



Linda replied to his response by a sudden increase in the wanking department.



“I said,” as her hand became a blur as it masturbated the prodigious cock in front of her, “do want to know what bliss it felt like?”



“Em, tell me,” he answered queasily as the attention that his prick was getting from Linda was reaching a point where he thought that he might lose it.



All of a sudden Linda released her hand and took a step back. Paul wasn’t too sure if he should feel relief or regret as his stiffy fluctuated in fresh air, an occasional twitch occurring to the delight of the female voyeurs.

Part 3: In which I fall in lust, and face the consequences…



At last I’m free of Luis. I no longer need an ‘agent’. But I’ve learned enough from my time as a ‘Midnight Cowboy’ to go solo. I look at myself naked in the mirror, pose and preen, Wow, I look good, so hot. Look at me, look at me, the delicious curve of my arse, peach-round and just as succulent, the arrogant thrust of my prong, big enough to be tasty and desirable without being so big it’s scary, I like looking at my penis anyway — hell, it’s so perfect I’d love to suck it myself if only I could, it’s where my personality resides. It’s more me than I am. It controls, dominates and drives me. And the juicy sweetmeat fruit attached — you know those valentine’s-day cards with perfectly executed hearts? turn that heart upside-down, that’s the exact symmetry of my balls — are they too distended? do they hang too low where they should be tight and high? does that mean I’ve been cumming too much, too frequently? more than’s good for me?



Hell no, there are guys out there who’d really get off on this, there are wealthy guys who’d blow a thousand-watt fuse seeing this, hell even I’d do me if I could. The only commodity I have that they want is my sex. The only thing I have to trade is myself. So be it. It’s not even about being gay. To me, to be homosexual is the capacity to fall in love with your own gender. I’ve never loved, and been loved by anyone. Maybe that’s sad? Maybe it is, but that’s the way it is. What we do is just sex, just bodies, just gratification. Orientation doesn’t figure in that equation.



So we decide, me and my inner twin, that we prefer older men who look after me, take care of me, make my decisions for me. So increasingly we gravitate towards them, wealthy, more sophisticated men. Men have always taken advantage of my gullibility, of my trusting nature. Back then, I was younger, I thought all I had to do to attract a new patron was give a coquettish fuck-me smile. And it works. It’s almost like a job interview, which in a sense, it is. I’m offering my services, they’re weighing up whether I’ll be worth the running costs. Every boy has his price, I’m just more honest about the transaction than most.



I quickly learn how to get sympathy from men, while arousing them too. Men are stupid. Men are shallow creatures. Vain and self-centred. So long as you flatter, pleasure, or communicate with them through their genitals, you’ve got their souls. At least for a brief while. For long enough. I develop a number of elaborate hard-luck stories I tell to explain myself. Inventing autobiographies of deprivation, bereavement, cruel step-fathers, orphanages and institutions in which I was subject to bullying ordeals. The sexual betrayal and abusive relationships I’ve lived through. Of course, certain elements of what I say might be true. Sometimes I vary it to amuse myself, or to conform more to my confidante’s expectations. Until the real and unreal becomes confused in my mind and the borders of imagining are no longer clear.



I confide my fantasies with a genuinely convincing sob in my voice because, by now, I almost believe it myself. The emotions are real. My listeners — my targets are always volubly sympathetic. They’re moved by the deep wells of sadness in my eyes. And they are always aroused. At that moment they want nothing more than to be my benefactor, they want to save me and compensate for all the things I’ve endured. Even if, through my sensual gratitude, they benefit from being the agent of my salvation. The secrets I divulge advertise my skills and dexterity, and explain my need to be used and sexually dominated. When I get to go down on them, which I inevitably do, they know in advance that they’re going to get a superbly satisfying blowjob, and that I’ll get erotic and psychological satisfaction from giving it. Hence all parties are pleasured.



My stories are a kind of verbal foreplay. I repay my Sugar-Daddies in the only way I’m capable, and I give good value. Since then I’ve been ‘owned’ by a series of generous patrons who look after my material needs, merely on the understanding that I serve their sexual requirements. An understanding I consider myself fortunate enough to enjoy. I give good value, and they show their appreciation. Why work when you can play? Why seek gainful employment when everything about your nature is repelled by the very idea? Why worry about messing up the job-orders and getting bawled out by the line-manager in a disciplinary session? Why go through the meaningless pretence of enduring interviews for minimum-wage positions, faking an enthusiasm for the benefit of some dull grey little non-entity, as though your greatest life-ambition is to flip his burgers or stack his supermarket shelves, when there’s so many better, more pleasurable ways to live your life?



Don’t get me wrong, make no mistake about it, I like to fuck if the circumstances are right, it’s just that I prefer to be fucked. Perhaps that’s a kind of laziness? Not having to take the initiative. Not having to endure the humiliation of rejection or rebuff. This way, I don’t have to make the approaches, because it’s me that’s propositioned. I don’t have to seduce, I am seduced. I don’t pursue, I am pursued. I don’t persist, I yield. I don’t buy, I am purchased. I’m not competing, I am the prize. I can do consensual. Sure, when it’s something — or somebody, I really want, I can manipulate. But I can never be the predator in a relationship, I merely make it known that I’m available. That’s enough.



And as a result, I’ve travelled the world, stayed in villas and hotels, sucked the cocks of aristocrats, politicians, business tycoons and a TV-personality whose fans would never believe he enjoys the intimate attentions of joy-boys — but he does, he comes back for seconds, and thirds in the space of the same evening. He’s a degenerate’s degenerate. A Satyr in near-orange fake-tan. And I take every inch of him. Viewers of his TV game-show would never believe the games he puts me through. I’ve done it on yachts, in expensive cars, in private planes and Jacuzzis.



Was I a victim? Some might say I was. I never saw it that way. There was never a situation, not even of the most extreme nature, that I’d not actively contrived myself into, or was at least complicit in. In my saner, more rational moments, I accept there’s no-one else to blame, no-one responsible for the events of my life but myself. I never saw myself as a victim. The opposite in fact, I felt I was special. I was exploiting their need. For something as simple as an occasional blow-job, sometimes as infrequently as twice a day, by which time I’m impatient for some action anyway, it’s no big deal — hell, I’d be doing that regardless, somewhere else with someone different. And yet for so little, I was getting all this life-style.



I’ve loved every minute of it. When sex is a direct commercial transaction there’s none of that seduction awkwardness. None of that second-guessing his intentions, ‘am I taking it too fast or too slow? What will he think of me afterwards? Will he still respect me… blah blah blah’. It’s just, he tells me what to do, and I do it. Simple! Of course, some of my gentlemen have been more demanding than others, but they’ve been more exciting. For as long as I was their flavour of the month, I consider it all part of my duties. Things that, even months before, I’d have found bizarrely intimidating, now seem like voyages into exotic extremes. Part of my sentimental education.



I was doing all the fetish dressing up bit, and the bondage too — ‘bound to please’, when that’s what those of a more disciplinarian persuasion require. Not to sound pretentious, it’s almost what the Buddhists mean by ego-loss, or the old acid-head thing, to place yourself beyond yourself, to transcend your own needs, to put yourself totally at the disposal of another human being. Like a dancer, your body is your instrument, and you force it to whatever extremes are necessary.



For example, I was going through that phase when I was dating Raoul, a dominant chunky bear of a man. I spend time around his place. He is clothed. At his command, I’m soon stark naked. I like pubic hair, but at the time am totally shaved. Some clients like it that way, and I was becoming more attuned to their taste (in all senses of the term!). I wear a studded dog-collar, and tight amulets around my wrists, with links so my wrists can be affixed to my neck-collar. I’d also taken to wearing a tight cock-ring that restricts bloodflow and hence ensures a more enduring erection. It has a catch for fastening a leash to, also for the client’s convenient use, to lead me by. And yes, it’s fair to admit my hard-on was straining at the leash! All dirty-minded teenage boys are hormonally led by their cock anyway. I’d turned that tendency into a life-style, with the lead as a kind of metaphor.



I grovel to him, ‘Please sir, I’m bad. I need the badness fucking out of me.’



So he leads me into his special room by the lead, and I follow, pulled along by my erection. Sure, I’m a little butterfly-in-the-gut wary as he proceeded to strap me into a bizarre device located in this ‘play-room’, in a position making my goose-pimple naked body-parts vulnerably-available to his whim. A tight knot in my stomach, a foreboding of dark and strange thoughts, but what he’s doing hits something deep inside me I didn’t know was there. Something that lives in the dark of my mind.



This is all about his dominance over me. And more importantly, I need for him to get maximum pleasure from this. The aroused state of my cock tells him so, its colour deep-blushing into a rich crimson. It’s not a new device. There are stains on it, human stains. He’s had some other boy strapped into this before me. I’ll be better. Like the anonymous earlier boy, I’m secured into a sloping frame, head conveniently fixed at low overhung groin-height for ease of unrestricted oral penetration, legs securely splayed to their maximum spread-limit, hips uptilted and raised presenting cock, balls, and puckered purged well-lubed arse inescapably wide open for his total use.



Blindfolded too. An object for his absolute use, an arrangement of meat and orifices, relieved of all responsibility for what’s about to happen to me. Able to suck whatever is placed in my mouth, or use my anal muscles to squeeze whatever penetrates my bum, but nothing more. The feeling of being corrupted and led astray is a huge turn on. Any reservations I may have had evaporate quickly. It feels so good to be a slut.



The experience goes on for some time. Hours, probably, it’s difficult to tell. He doesn’t speak throughout, and I’m instructed to remain silent. I hear the rustling of clothes as he undresses. Then he slaps his cock sharply unexpectedly across my face, rubs its smeary-moist tip over my cheeks and nose, then fucks it crudely into my mouth deeply but briefly — he’s big, not the biggest I’ve ever had, but by now I’ve learned some tricks, I can take it like the whore I am. I feel a small amount of discomfort and panic. But it feels good. He’s obliging me that way. I suck it hungrily and messily. Then he withdraws, pivots me around, and takes long slow thrusts into my arse, sliding in deeply all the way, after which he leaves me alone for a short spell. A brinkmanship presumably intended to spin out the experience for as long as he can. Holding back his own orgasm.



Then he repeats it, over and over. At one point he’s totally impaled in me anally, and stays there perfectly still as he concentrates on bringing me off with his hands, none too gently. The double-sensation of full penetration, combined with the general weirdness, and him roughly groping my balls and squeeze-jerking my cock rapidly acts on me to produce an intense juddering climax, until I go off like a gusher. As my hips are positioned higher than my head, he directs the long squirts down over my stomach and chest until they subside. But the convulsions surging through me must be transmitting to his embedded cock, clenching and clutching at it, because I can feel its pulsing response deep inside my gut.



He withdraws it hastily, before the intimate attention sets off his own premature orgasm. Following ejaculation my scrotum is distended. His hand clamps around it, forcing the testicle-eggs to the bottom of their flesh-envelope, making them stand out round and red. He then proceeds to pull downwards to the extreme limit of its elasticity. The sensation is excruciating. Unable to move, I can do nothing other than endure his cruel attentions, gasping over the sound of my wild heartbeat.



Beads of sweat stand out on my forehead. He then forces my straining balls back between my splayed legs, as far as the crease of my arse. He can go no further, but rolls them back and forth across the perspiring skin. It’s only when he tires of the game that he releases it, and my aching scrotum retracts back to hang properly. My relief is short-lived as he switches his lascivious attentions to the shaft of my weeping penis.



I can’t be sure, but again I think I’m hearing whispered voices and suddenly I’m being fucked by what seems to be a different cock. I can’t be sure, there might even have been a third. It’s difficult to tell, these were both more frenzied fucks, and they unload deep inside me. While when Raoul comes, twice, he does it over my face and into my open mouth, dripping and dribbling over me like a leaky tap for long moments after the initial copious cascade has finished. I’m left spattered in cooling sperm I can’t wipe — my own as well as his, and lubricant, but the breathy constrained helplessness has got me all fired up. When he finally unstraps me I almost fall to the floor, jelly-legged but glowing.



Whatever, to me, these are just sex-games to unleash the libido, and make you incredibly horny. I appreciate that the visual aspect of sex is important, as every porn-addict knows. A guy can take you from the rear, and that can be great, but that means you never get to see it, or even properly picture it — like the maybe two other guys with Raoul. I couldn’t see, can’t envisage, can’t even be sure of them. I like to see what he’s going to fuck me with. I guess ‘A cock in the mouth is worth two in the ass.’ Do oral, and you’ve time to see every detail. I’m not always proud of the things I’ve done. I’ve taken it too far. I’ve been taken too far. But in society at large a significant number of women put up with abusive relationships with men rather than to survive alone, or endure exploitative sex purely for monetary gain. Saying that is not to legitimise it, far from it, it’s just to place it within some kind of context. The deal-breaker is the issue of consent. And I do consent. Frequently.



For example, I was living in a large house set in its own grounds out beyond the Periferique, with Georgio, a liberal lawyer who was faultlessly generous but neither sexually demanding or very well hung. He was frustratingly reserved, even when we were first making out he complains I’m making disgusting noises as I suck him, and can’t I do it a little quieter? I do try, but these things are natural, you know?



On another occasion I wake with a morning glory, a burning erection lost in that lazy bleary sexual fug of half-dreaming, he is sleeping on his back beside me, I pull the duvet back so I can see it lying limp across his gut, and I’m hungry for it, so almost without conscious thought I curl around, slither down, lick it and watch it stir in response, lick it again, all the way up and nuzzle its crown, flick it with my tongue, smiling as it squirms in reaction, tracing the contours of its rim with my tongue-tip, then slowly begin sucking at the bulb, as it stiffens to his full, if not vastly impressive size in my mouth, luxuriating in my sense of control, taking a little more of it with each downstroke suck. Enjoying the skill and artistry of my technique, I know how to do this, I’m a master of my craft. Feeling warm and indulged, rolling my own hips languorously so my genitals flip and slap up against my gut, sending smooth sensual radiations up from my groin, deliciously all the way up my body.



He’s sleeping. Breathing heavy and more raggedly laboured now. Uttering occasional disturbed mumbled grunts. His stomach undulating. Applying slight pressure to his cock with my teeth, feeling the tightness indent, and watching the teeth-marks heal back, a slow ooze of whiteness bubbling from its piss-slit, I lap it clean, tasting its blurry richness as it merges into my saliva and dissolves away. Dietary protein for me. Then I suck it again, deeper and more intensely. He wakes in response. Most men would be only too delighted to be woken in such a fashion. Not he.



‘What’s going on?’ he blusters, adding that he’s going out and wants to conserve his strength. Begrudgingly he allows it to continue. Then halfway through he orders me to stop, by now I’m so into it, it’s impossible to stop. Hell, I have needs he’s neglecting. I’m entitled to a sex-life. It’s a basic human right, enshrined in a United Nations charter, probably. I need release. I need an outlet for my teenage lust. I have a right to sex, and well, sometimes the slut in me just takes over.



Although he tries to squirm out from beneath me, I refuse to let him, feeling mischievously horny I keep sucking, my lips vice-tight around him, it develops into an absurdist tug-of-love for possession of his cock, with his whole body rigid as though he’s fighting the sensations I’m inducing in him, trying to resist the climax, until he loses control, and with no warning abruptly and messily fills my mouth with come, a lot of it for him, all the while moaning a despairing ‘no-o-o-o.’



‘You greedy little slut, I suppose you think that’s clever?’ he spits bitterly as I finally release it in a tiny explosion of exhaled breath, licking my lips, not spitting but swallowing. Actually no, it’s just whetted my appetite for more. I smile sheepishly.



But he’s genuinely annoyed, I have to apologise for my inconsiderate greed, in pleasuring him with a blow-job! Even so he sulks for a couple of days afterwards. So it comes as no surprise when I allow myself to be seduced by Bruno, his colleague. I’m well-intentioned, I want to be faithful to one man. I honestly do. But I’m weak. I’m easily led. A little flattery. A charismatic guy. And I forget monogamy.



When Georgio was away, as he frequently is on high-powered lawyerly-business, it was a big house to be alone in. How long can you watch day-time TV game-shows and chat-shows, or Sci-Fi DVD’s? How long can you jack-off four-or-five times straight surfing internet porn-sites? Oddly, at one point I happen across a site called ‘La Homme Libre’, and click on it out of curiosity. And yes, there’s grainy images of boys with short white towels around their waists entering massage cubicles where leering guys lasciviously await their attentions. Hell, I even recognise one or two of the masseurs. I’d always suspected there were hidden cameras.



Even more bizarrely, browsing along a scroll of clips, there I am! I click. It loads. I am entering the cubicle. A burly guy watches me. Next thing he’s lying on his back, we’re both naked, I’m crouched over giving him head. A big cock too, my lips slithering up and down its length with such obvious pleasure I feel embarrassed, but also aroused watching it. I can see my own cock nodding, bob-bob-bob as my head goes up and down. Is that really what I look like with a cock in my mouth? Is it so obvious I enjoy doing it? He ejaculates into my mouth, some of it trickles down my chin, I look like the cat whose got the cream. What’s worse is I don’t even remember the guy.



The next day I try to find the site again, but after a fruitless search I give up. There are porn clips of me out there on the internet, and I can’t even find them. I get bored. I need attention. I need to be kept well-fucked. Or my attention strays. Georgio has a bustling well-upholstered middle-aged house-keeper, Madame Bovery. She’s obviously used to finding naked young males in his bed, but equally doesn’t approve of my being there. She fussily tut-tuts pointedly in my presence at the large stains of boy-juice body-fluid on the sheet. I try to be polite and respectful, but her formal coldness tells me all I need to know about her disapproval, and after a while I do my best to avoid her and keep out of her way.

Whenever Bruno comes round and Georgio is there he acts cool and businesslike. But the moment Georgio leaves the room he begins flirting outrageously. And I was intrigued. I admit I was flattered too. He fondles me through the tight crotch of my jeans, and compliments me. Once he even fishes the head of his cock out and motions me to suck it. I pretend embarrassment, try to stay aloof, pretend not to look. But I look, secretly tempted.



Until one day he calls around when Georgio is out. Perhaps deliberately, just waiting for a chance to get me alone? I’m in a dressing gown, having just showered. He insinuates himself in and pours himself a martini from Georgio’s cabinet. Hands me one. I’m flustered, confused. I can’t even explain my confusion.



He’s already brusque and lewd. Begins into saying ‘so you’re nude under that gown. Bet you look hot naked’ then a little more cajoling ‘let me see what sweet treats Georgio has been enjoying’.



As he approaches me I back into an alcove corner. He laughs at my discomfort, ‘you go shy at the strangest moments’ he taunts, ‘and when you blush you’re almost cute.’



He reaches out, unfastens the sash and eases my gown aside so he can see, my cock springing up to greet its new master — I may have had reservations, it has none. I’m scared in case he doesn’t like it, if it’s not big enough. But when he begins touching me it’s electric, and the moment his warm insistent fingers close in around my shaft, taking firm possession, I lose control. Any feeble vestiges of resistance I may have clung to evaporate, my legs turn to mush.



I could have protested. I could have refused. But I don’t. Why, because Georgio has gone, and Bruno is here. That’s enough. My revenge on him for neglecting me. I can be wicked when I don’t get my own way, when my desires are frustrated. It’s not my fault, it’s just the way I’m programmed to function. That’s when my cock does my thinking for me. He’s jacking me casually with one hand, tugging his own pants down with the other. His self-assurance is compelling. I drown in his power, the latent power of the muscles rippling beneath his skin. He’s everything Georgio is not. Forceful. Dominating. By contrast I feel weak and effeminate. Trapped in his spell.



To demonstrate his authority, he squeezes my balls a little too hard, making me gasp in discomfort, my already weak knees buckle causing me to go down as though suddenly rendered boneless, he pressures me further, gently but insistently, onto my knees. I’m in awe of him, too scared to protest.



He murmurs ‘you suck Georgio’s cock. Suck on mine for a while.’



And how quickly caution and inhibition disappear when faced by the enormity and pure thrill of a new cock.



In my head it’s ‘no, wait, I’m not ready.’



But he’s everything Georgio is not, big, uncut, this is going to be like being fucked by an animal. I’m terrified by it, but at this exact moment I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life, already it’s force-nuzzling my face, force-easing my lips apart, so that he’s virtually ramming it into my mouth. I have no choice. It’s so thick my lips stretch to drape across it, curling in to clasp around the big plummy tip, sheathing as tight as possible around the shaft as it slides in as far as it can go. My heart pounding fit to burst, every nerve in my body firing off explosions.



I’ve totally lost it, surrendering to it, sucking voraciously, sprawled bare-arse on the carpet, back up against the alcove wall, my legs splayed wide, my own smaller cock red with burning arousal, but so bloated with blood it must be bigger than it’s ever been, so swollen and hard it almost hurts, swaying and quivering in my lap. An exquisite electric tingling in my balls, still tender from his squeeze, jiggling, extending, contracting and filling in poised anticipation.



He stands over me, his legs apart, thrusting his thighs into my face, his bigger heavier balls swaying pendulously up against my throat as he thrusts his thick shaft deeper and deeper into my maw. Merdé, it’s so raw and elemental, the force of his assault on my mouth so primal that all thought and consciousness gets fucked away until I’m a mindless thing. A servile appendage skewered on it. Incapable of unmouthing it, even it was possible. My hands come up submissively to cup his buttocks, holding him to me as I splutter, gurgle and squelch around solid cock, attempting to suck greedily at it.



He’s holding the back of my head all the while whispering ‘you dirty fuck-slut, you can’t get enough of it, can you? Has Georgio not been feeding you enough spunk?’ And I submerge in fierce tides of eroticism and physical sensation I’m incapable of controlling. His forceful totally-selfish sex dominates me and I have no other will than to serve. I suck meekly and compliantly as best I can, totally helpless. Groaning, I’m spunking off already in jets up my gut and across my legs, breathing in heavy gasps, moaning with pleasure. His thrusts became quicker and more violent.



For an eternity it seems to be lodged somewhere way down in the depths of my throat, I’m taking it all, his balls squashed up against my chin, my nose rammed hard up against his wiry pubic hair, I can’t breath but he’s holding my head tight in while forcing his hips further, I get a panicky terror, I have visions of suffocating on it, yet rather than extracting he’s still forcing deeper. My gag-reaction heaving in my gut, my eyes drown with tears. I hear the sounds of drowning, strangulation and murder, I can’t believe I’m making them. But the second he eases off I’m desperate for more, I’d rather that than be deprived of it.



‘Here it comes, bitch, get ready to drink your fill, I’m gonna choke you with spunk.’ At last he begins to draw back, slurpy gouts of saliva oozing out and over my chin, I feel it slithering up a long way, hard and hot between my lips, feel the semen racing up its length towards the spout-hole, towards my gut, then it pulses explosively and my warm hungry mouth is deluged with thick discharges of gooey sperm, at the same moment he rams back in as far and deep as he can go so the next jet splatters direct into my throat so I’m drowning in it, whimpering in an agony of sex-intoxication as its jerks and throbs seem to be wrenching my head out of alignment, spunk and spit drooling and slithering my chin. There’s so much of the stuff I swear it’s oozing out of my nose.



The ordeal of pleasure goes on. Then, after a long moment when I think he’s finished, it suddenly flexes and spurts another mouthful I’m not prepared for. Caught unawares I’m choking on it. I’d never before believed those porn-story never-ending comes that fill your mouth to overflowing and just keep on gushing. Everyone knows that your average ejaculation barely fills a lovin’ spoonful. He proves that sometimes, even porn tells nothing but the truth. At that moment, I’d never felt so lucky in my entire life. Never felt so blessed. At last I knew exactly what I wanted, more of the same.



We stay welded together in a weird calm as its kicking subsides in the back of my throat. It’s a wonder to me how it can be so hard, and yet so smooth and soft at the same time. Time stands still. We are fused into one single organism. As though conjoined. I can’t breathe in or out. In that suspended moment it seems an era goes by. And I know, this is where I was born to be. Only then does he extract by slow degrees, as I suck with renewed vigour, eager to retain it, more in control now he’s come. As he slides it out it’s like he’s ripping my soul out with it. At length it slops free and hangs in a curving arc to my chin, but I’m still connected to it by silvery saliva-strands. I seize it tenderly, begin daubing wet loving slobbery kisses over it, drawing it back in to suck it, then allowing it to slip free again. At that moment I’m totally in love with his manhood, like it’s an object of worship, I’ve never been face-fucked like that before, like a beast, I was doe-eyed with sated lust. I’ve heard of being shagged senseless, but it’s the first time it’s happened to me. At that moment he could have done anything at all to me, and I’d only have adored him more because of it.



He looks down at me through hooded eyes, sneering. As I squat there, my lust-filled face smeared messy with his dribbling sperm and my saliva, flushed with arousal as I lap his deep-maroon glans gluttonously, pumping my hand slowly along its length towards me, squeezing gently. In response, a drop of come wells up, starts to expand, getting milkier in color as I coax more of his teasing semen up the lengthy shaft bulging with veins. The globule expands and starts to distend towards my face. I gape the pouting orifice of my mouth eagerly and shift his cock slightly until the growing pearl of his creamy seed is hanging a hair’s-bredth from me. I continue slowly easing my gripping hand forward until the droplet swells and starts dripping down.



I swear I’m moaning out loud with my eyes locked on that teasing morsel of milky fluid. As my fist nudges up against his engorged crimson crown, the droplet extends still further down as it stays connected to his cock by a thinning web of his precum. It slowly drools its descent right between my lips until I feel it touch down on my tongue. The gob continues to grow and spread across my tongue as if fed by the clinging web. I can feel its warmth on my tastebuds, and moan even louder as the web finally parts from the head of his cock to fall across my tongue. To be rewarded with another glistening jism-morsel, quickly swiping it up with my tongue. It’s like a narcotic roaring through my body, I can’t control myself. Looking back up it him, lewdly, flirtatiously drooling spunk from between my lips, then drawing the shining manhood back into my mouth, and gulping. A sloppy mouth-fuck. My own messy cock still red and hard, oozing whiteness, stomach and legs glistening with a string of spunk-pearls where I’ve ejaculated all over myself.



‘You young sluts are all the same, you pretend coy, but once you get a taste of it, you can’t get enough’ he says, not unkindly, ‘Wipe your face, you’re a mess.’



I just smile stupidly, and half-heartedly wipe my chin, my fingers instantly slimy white, I can’t resist another suck at his cock, while gazing infatuated up at him. Shit, I must have looked love-sick stupid. Eventually he shoves me roughly out of the way and sits on the couch, his pants pulled back up, sipping a martini from Georgio’s cabinet. I’ve still not moved, sitting nude on the floor, not trusting my legs to support me. I concentrate on dabbing my body-stains with a crumpled handkerchief, in an agony of uncertainty. Was I alright? Did I do it the way he liked?



‘Do you have no pride?’ he says at length.



‘I take pride in what I do’ I answer defensively.



He shrugs, ‘not many guys are capable of taking it like you did. The next time I fuck your throat you’ll do it even better, right?’



I smile and nod with relief, as though I’ve passed some kind of test.



Sometimes, with a guy, I become besotted, obsessed with him. This was lust. Not affection or friendship, not even respect. It’s like I’m under an enchantment and can’t stop thinking about him. I’d swallowed the bait, and pretty much everything else. His cock is the centre of my universe. I was hungry for him. It’s not even as though it’s the biggest manhood I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. It isn’t. Make no mistake, it’s big, but not the biggest. It’s the way he uses it.



Soon, it becomes a regular arrangement. I follow him around like a pretty pot of glue. As soon as Georgio is away on business he comes around to fuck me. I’m incapable of resisting him. When he says ‘frog’, boy, do I get to jump! Even in bed, having infrequent and unsatisfying sex with Georgio, I close my eyes and can’t fight the imagine it’s Bruno filling my mouth, I get a hard-on just thinking about him, salivating in anticipation of the next time I’ll be with him, eagerly craving for it, jealously keeping our assignations secret. Thinking is for losers. Pleasure can smash things up. You can die, or kill for it.



Bruno phones me, ‘is Georgio there?’



‘No.’



‘Right, I’ve not got much time, no time for prelim or conversation. I want you in the bedroom, naked and greased, arse in the air ready when I arrive. No words will be spoken. I’ll fuck you, at the last moment you’ll flip over and take it in the mouth, suck me clean. Then you’ll say ‘Thank you’, that will be only the only verbal exchange between us. You’ve got that?’



‘Yes Bruno.’



In a kind of feverish anticipation I do as he says. Waiting in the bedroom until I hear the door. What if he’s set me up? what if it’s not him? What a sight I would present to greet a newcomer! I can see nothing, my head determinedly down in the coverlets, until I hear the zip slide, the rustle of clothes, then the familiar pressure forcing its way into my anus. He only rarely want anal, so I concentrate on enjoying the sensation.



On another occasion he phones me, ‘is Georgio there?’



‘Yes.’



‘Tough, I’m in the car on the strip below you. Make an excuse, I need you naked and down here now to suck my cock, OK?’



I was on the point of protesting ‘no, it’s impossible, I can’t do it, I’ll be seen’, but if I refuse he’ll only find someone else. He’s a charismatic guy, he could have any boy he wanted, I know I’m lucky for him to even favour me with his temporary attention. I’m too besotted to risk losing him. ‘Yes Bruno’ I say.



I cross to Georgio’s room. He’s doing some spread-sheet work on the big desk-top computer.



‘I’m going to use the pool’ I say.



‘Fine’ he replies over his shoulder, not really caring.



I go out onto the patio. On the far side of the pool there’s a low wall, then a long slope of grass and shrubs that leads someway down towards the road. I squint in the sun. I can just see Bruno’s Japanese car pulled in on the verge, not even directly below, but a distance further away. I gulp uncertainly. I’ve got to do this. I undress, leaving my clothes in a neat pile at the pool-side, and climb over the wall. Stupidly I’m already erect in anticipation so it flips and bounces. I start down, running in quick bursts from cover to cover. It’s not a busy road, but every now and then there’s traffic.



The moments extend as I run, for a moment I attempt to hide as a car goes by, but I’m certain the lady driver sees me, craning her neck to look so she almost misses the curve. At last I reach the verge, there’s a tangle of brown cassette tape caught up in the weeds, and a coke can. I glance this way and that. It seems to be clear. The car is still some way away, and I sprint towards it. It’s then I notice that Bruno is not alone, there’s someone else with him in the car. Again, my courage almost fails me, but I continue. He guns the window down, leaving me standing there.



‘You took your time.’



‘I’m sorry’ I stammer.



‘Never mind’ he brushes my apology aside, ‘this is Franz’, he indicates the car’s other occupant. ‘We’ve just met. Later he’s going to give me head, aren’t you Franz?’



The dark youth sniggers suggestively, ‘if you say so Bruno.’



‘So I intend demonstrating the standard he’ll be expected to equal, so you’ll suck me off while he watches.’



It’s only then, as a car screeches by, that he opens the door, and reclines the seat back, inviting me to do all the work. I glance at him, then at the smirking Franz, who is greatly enjoying my humiliation. I reach down, unfasten his pants, squat down on my heels, draw it out and start sucking it like the hungry animal I am. I can hear Franz giggling dirtily. OK, if I’m doing it, I’ll show him just how good I can be, and I take it deeper, then deeper still, caressing his fat balls gently all the while. Slide back, tease it with my tongue, slip my lips tight around the raised rim, then gulp it all down again, possessively, heightening the sensation by simultaneously pulling myself off. Despite all the weirdness I’d gone through with Luis, this bizarre situation — by the roadside in broad daylight, with an attentive audience, is a powerful drug. The furtive illicit nature of the assignation too, cheating on Georio’s claims on me. It goes on for some time.



Bruno notices what I’m doing with my hand, ‘don’t spurt your dirt on the upholstry’ so, without releasing him from my mouth for a moment, I dutifully draw my hips back and as the sensations hit me point it down so I jet long streams of white cum down my leg, across my toes and onto the warm tarmac. Some time later I sense he’s about to come too.



‘Don’t swallow it, show Franz first’ he cautions me as he starts coming off in my mouth. I follow his instructions. Holding it until the final pulse, then a little longer. Sliding up off it, facing Franz and opening my sperm-filled mouth.



‘Oh gross’ he smiles, as I swallow.



‘He’ll suck you off too if you want Franz’ invites Bruno.



I’m stunned by the suggestion, but await his pleasure. Franz is looking directly at my dripping drooling hard-on. I can tell by the tent-ruck in the groin of his pants that he’s turned-on by what he’s seen.



But he just sneers, ‘no thank you Bruno, I’m fine. I can wait.’



Bruno shrugs, ‘as you wish’, and without a word to me, closes the door, engages gear and drives off, leaving me nude at the roadside. Hastily I scramble back up the slope, over the wall, onto the patio. I swim one length of the pool to clean off dust, grass stains and sperm and, without pausing to dress, seek out Georgio. He’s still on the computer. He’s not even noticed my absence.



Maybe I’m feeling a little guilty, but I begin stroking my cock lasciviously, ‘you want to go mess around, Georgio, I’m feeling ever-so horny.’



He doesn’t even look up, ‘can’t you see I’m busy.’



‘I can crawl down there and suck you as you work.’



He sighs in exasperation, ‘don’t bother me. Go jack off watching a porno movie if you must, but leave me alone’.



At least I’d tried, but honestly, he’s only got himself to blame if I’m wandering. I think of Franz bending naked with Bruno sliding his big delicious cock into him, and I’m burning with jealousy. That should be me…



I want more than just furtive blow-jobs, I want what Franz has. And on another occasion, greatly daring, I make an excuse to spend a day with Bruno. I tell Georgio I want to visit my mother, and as always he’s kind and considerate. He even offers to drive me there. Bruno is fairly unpleasant in so many ways, but his sexual charisma is powerful. He picks me up in his car at a secret assignation around the corner from where Georgio dropped me. We’ve not gone too far across country when he pulls off the road into the shade of a copse of trees. He reclines his seat back. This is the moment I’ve most feared, and looked forward to.



‘And Georgio, has he trained you well? Do you do his bidding in each and every filthy way? Licking the underside of his balls, sitting on his cock and riding it like it’s a fleshy pogo stick?’



‘He is considerate of my feelings. He doesn’t want me to do anything I don’t want to do,’ I was surprised by the regretful tone in my own voice.



‘In that case you constitute a seriously underutilised resource. Your full potential should be immediately exploited. What is it you want to do?’



‘Everything, everything.’ I never feel quite at ease at moments like this. I’d been looking forward to being with him. Yet now I feel self-conscious and awkward in his company. Inadequate to engage his level of conversation. But then I feel that way with most people, timorous and dithering. I only feel competent when I’m engaged in acts I know I’m good at.



‘But if I’m going to spend my time with you, you’ve got to make it worth my while, you’ve got to prove you can take instructions’ less a request, more a condition.



I smile, ‘merci Monsieur, of course.’

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