[Mega] MAGA Super Trump Mega Thread
- Thread starter -SS-
- Start date
Maybe not, but you sure reeeeeeeeeeee'd
Triggered too. I don't even have to try anymorebro you literally just paste great swathes of text that are usually only vaguely related to the topic
even if anyone did care enough to read every single Fox article sucking Trump's dick (no one does) they would do it on an actual news website where it's easy to read and formatted properly
I'm not saying you should stop doing it, it's cute and I can tell it's important to you
but don't kid yourself that anyone is reading it all...the people who eat that content have already slopped it up from the same trough as you
Frankly I don't give a fuck what you like. You are going to have to man up and do better than that.
Now that is how you Alpha
Soo, putin is going to ruin America by "Shredding environmental regulation" that Russia itself and 100 percent of the third world doesn't have?
bro you literally just paste great swathes of text that are usually only vaguely related to the topic
even if anyone did care enough to read every single Fox article sucking Trump's dick (no one does) they would do it on an actual news website where it's easy to read and formatted properly
I'm not saying you should stop doing it, it's cute and I can tell it's important to you
but don't kid yourself that anyone is reading it all...the people who eat that content have already slopped it up from the same trough as you
Of course as evidenced by this threads 5300 pages
Take the last word alpha, make sure you bash your nuts in extra hard for good measure.
First of all, I am a 28 year old female with platinum blonde hair, hips
rather curvy yet still slender enough to warrent attraction from the
opposite sex, and a nice rack of boobs which I had artificially enhanced in
order to get more attention. Let's just say I've been around the block a
few times when it comes to dating men. When I was in high school, I was
much more heavy set and boys didn't go out with me primarily for this
reason. So I guess I always had this complex that I needed attention
whenever I could get it. By the time I got out of high school, I realized
that dieting, getting a boob job, and wearing lots of makeup seemed to help
the cause in a big way. The only thing I had going for me up until that
time was the fact that my hair was naturally platinum blonde, so I guess I
was off to a half decent start.
Anyway, most of the boys I dated outside of high school were rather
normal with the exception of a few. Actually there were two guys that were
a bit weird when it came to sex. One of them (Ted) was a real drunk. For
some reason he enjoyed worshiping my feet. As I mentioned, I loved
recieving attention whenever I could get it so I ignored his alchohol and
weird desires and catered to his needs whenever we had sex. Fighting
spelled the demise of this relationship and it broke off after about four
months.
Then there was Allen. He enjoyed spanking me whenever we were about to
have sex. I guess it was what got him going. I didn't particularly like
it at first, but he seemed to enjoy the feeling of control over me. I must
admit that I got used to it after a few months and even started to enjoy
the feeling of being dominated before the act of sex. So I guess you could
say that Allen and Ted sort of opened the door to the "unusual" aspects of
sex for me. Most of the other guys I dated were pretty normal - though
some of them wanted me to try anal sex which I eventually succumed to in
order to keep their affections. This too was a bit painful at first, but I
learned to enjoy it over time - yet I always felt kind of "dirty"
afterwards and rather cheap and sleazy. But I guess with all the makeup I
wore and the boob job I had, I looked like a rather trashy girl and I guess
that's why I attracted the kind of guys that liked doing things like that
to a girl. Of course none of them respected me after a while and those
relationships went the way of all the others. I didn't mind it at all
because I had lost a lot of weight and I looked quite attractive having
grown my hair way down past my shoulders. After a while, it seemed I never
had a shortage of men looking at me wherever I went.
Eventually, I fell into the wrong crowd while I was in college. A group
of men introduced my to marrijuana (pot) and soon thereafter, I was
experimenting with cocain and heroin. By the time I was in my sophomore
year of college I was fully addicted to crack and eventually dropped out of
school entirely. I found myself completely broke and resorting to having sex
with any guy I could find that had a "stash" on them. After a while, it
seemed natural for me to give sex in order to satisfy my need for crack.
Now by this time, I had lost much more weight and was down to about 125 pounds.
I was quite slim, but still with a little bit of meat on me. My hips were
still curvy as that was their natural state and I still had lovely hair and
boobs - though my face was beginning to look a little haggered from all the
drugs I was taking.
It wasn't long before I began to prostitute myself not only to a select
group of men for drugs, but to complete strangers for money to buy drugs. I
fell in with a group of "seasoned" hookers that taught me the best corners
to hang out on and the kind of clothes that men liked to see on a whore.
Most of them were drug addicts themselves and were pretty far gone when it
came to their faded looks, but I listened to them because I was quite
desperate for my next fix and had no money at all. I wanted to dress nice
and sexy so that I could get picked up as often as possible. I began
wearing black latex boots which I bought in used condition from an old
fetish place down the street. I also began wearing extremely short shorts
that revealed a heck of a lot more of me than I was used to in high school
and college. To top it off, I began wearing lots of "whorish" makeup of
the extremely sleazy variety. You know - the eye glitter, black mascara,
cherry red lipstick, and cheap plastic jewelry. I felt that I was much
more attractive than I ever was in college and the number of men that
picked me up off the street increased dramatically to reflect this.
Over a short period of time, it began to dawn on me that these strangers
were the wrong kind of guys. Yet I didn't care because I desperately
needed more and more crack just to feel "normal." One guy took me to a
cheap hotel and slapped me around and called me a slut. He spread my legs
and spat on my latex high heeled boots. Then he withdrew the largest dildo
I had ever seen and began ramming it up my cunt as far as it would go
without any lubrication. When he finished with me, he ditched me on a
street corner tired, spent, and feeling quite bruised and swollen down
below. He had given me $70.00 dollars which was more than enough for a
small bag of crack and a cheap dinner.
By the time I turned 27, I was quite used to being a slut and a whore.
My hair was still long, blonde, and beautiful, but I looked quite used. I
wore more and more makeup and became much more obedient and appreciative of
the men that picked me up. After a while, I began to accept less and less
money and began doing a lot more to earn it.
One night I struck gold when two business men picked me up in a limo and
drove me to a fancy hotel. Once inside, they introduced me to a third guy
who was also a business executive. They proceeded to lie me on the bed and
strap me down with ropes. They inserted a ball gag into my mouth and began
laughing and spitting on me while calling me all sorts of names like
"cunt," "white trash," and "piece of filth," to name a few. Then they each
took turns fucking me in the ass and cumming on my face and hair. They
smiled down at me and told me I looked real pretty this way and then
started taking pictures with their fancy digital cameras. When they
finished with me they had me clean up in the shower and escorted me down to
the lobby and hailed me a cheap taxi cab. They gave the cabby a nice tip
and told him where to drop me off. I guess the night was worth it because
they each gave me fifty bucks. I couldn't wait to get back to my drug
dealer Tyrone and buy some more rock. I was so happy to have so much
money. $150.00 dollars was a lot for one "date" albeit with three men at
the same time. Those business men were real nice to give me so much money
and I found myself hoping they would pick me up again.
This brings me to the present - well almost.
Last week around 9:30 in the evening an off duty police officer picked
me up. I knew who he was because I had many run-ins with him before. This
time he was very nice to me and told me how pretty I looked. Initially I
was worried that it was part of a police sting and that he was going to
bring me down town but he assured me that it wasn't a sting and that he was
off duty anyway. He told me how pretty I looked and that despite his job,
he secretly had his eye on me for a long time. I smiled and asked him why
he hadn't picked me up before and he told me that he didn't think that I
was "ready yet." I asked him what he meant and he told me quite openly that
he was waiting for me to become much more addicted to drugs and much more
"docile" and "obedient." He looked me over while he was saying these things
and I smiled back at him and assured him that I was "ready" and "very
willing." I opened my legs for him and told him I was all his for twenty
bucks. He snickered at me and drove me to a burger king and ordered lots
of food for me and told me to eat as much as I could. I was very hungry
and so I did as I was told. When I was finished he asked me if I had to
use the lady's room and - feeling quite full, I said yes. He smiled again
and told me "not yet" and took me to a cheap hotel on the other side of
town.
When we got inside, he opened a small bag and withdrew a pair of pink
cotton panties. He told me to strip down completely and put the panties
on. I smiled and giggled for him as he reached out and tweaked my enhanced
boobs. They were very round, pouty, pink, and succulant. When I finished
putting on the soft cotton panties, he told me to bend over while he placed
his face against by panty covered bottom and smelled me all over my hiney
area. He began planting kisses all over the back of my panties and telling
me how lucky I was that he was my "date" for the evening and even luckier
that he didn't arrest me. I was very respectful and appreciative of these
things. I felt kind of weird as the date progressed. He began pulling my
panties to the side and squeezing my soft round butt cheeks in a groping
manner. He told me how soft and sweet my bottom was and that it looked
nice, ripe, and pink - "just the way stupid cunt like your's should be" he
said.
I smiled and giggled appreciatively while he called me names and spread
my soft ass globes wide apart so that he could see my tight, crinkly brown
anus. I felt him burry his face inside my pink fleshy bottom and inhale
the soft, girlish, and dirty "brown" odors from within. He inhaled deeply
and began stroking his cock through his trousers.
Then the date got even more bizaar. He handed me another twenty dollar
bill and asked me if I could keep a secret. I giggled nervously and said
yes. Then he asked me to be a good little whore and do something "special"
in my panties. He told me he wanted me to give him some special "brown
candy" and be his "good little girl" while he watched from behind. I
looked at the twenty dollar bill he was offering as a tip and felt very
appreciative and respectful of this man. I was a good girl and began to
play the role he wanted.
I giggled and began sucking my thumb while I squatted down and bent over
a little. The police officer had already removed his pants and underwear
and was stroking his cock at a feverish pace. I wiggled my soft little
bottom for him in a seductive manner and squeezed my soft brown anus open.
Slowly, a small piece of greasy chocolate candy oozed it's way into my pink
girlish panties that the pervert had so graciously provided for me. It
wiggled and jiggled and plopped softly into the back of my cute little
undies. Another, much larger piece of chocolate poo began to slither and
worm it's way out of my stupid slutty bottom and make "plop plops" inside
the back of my precious little panties. The officer pressed his nose
against my hiney and mashed the soft puddle of mushy poo all over my sweet
soft tushy. I kept giggling nervously and sucking my thumb like a toddler
for him. This must of been exactly what he wanted because he was jerking
off very intensly. The room began to smell of dark mushy BM and he
wrinkled his nose and told me what a dirty little girl I was and that I was
very bad and had to be punished. I was expecting the kind of spanking I
had learned to enjoy from many previous dates, but this was not the case.
With his face still pressed against my poo smeared panties, he placed
his large hands on each side of the little lace undies and slowly began
pulling them down - exposing my soft, smelly little "poo accident." The
dirty smell must have been intoxicating for him as he bunched some of his
fingers together and gently began to press and smudge them between my soft
"potty coated" hiney area. Slowly he moved the fingers in circles -
gathering up large scoops, traces, and smears of my dirty deed and began
transporting them by wiggling his giant fingers toward by girlish, pink
shaven cunny. All five of his fingers were now inside my crotch working
their magic on me. They poked, prodded, smeared, and teased my trashy cunt
with soft brown "lady poo" and began smearing me all over so I smelled nice
and pretty for him.
Soon it was time to be treated like a "real lady." After teasing me
gently with soft and icky brown strokes with his tenticle digits, he told
me to lay down on the cheap hotel bed and lift my legs into the air with
the poop smeared panties locked around my ankles holding them together.
His fingers disappeared and quenched up into an evil balled up fist. At
first, he gently rubbed his fist knuckles against my smelly - mush covered
slit. Then I felt the slight feeling of pressure as the officer began to
shove his entire fist into the outer portion of my cheap cruddy vagina.
Then he began to push his arm even harder.
"Suck your thumb my sweet brainless cunt." He commanded as his fist
began to ease it's way inside me - deeper and deeper like a sick metalic
drill.
My slutty womb began to stretch nice and wide into a thick dirty bulge
of filth and stink. My stomach became all tied up in knots with
nervousness and excitment as I felt his strong and powerful invasion of my
soft and weak feminine body. Soon he began ramming his fist in and out of
me causing my cunt to expand and contract in even wider dimensions. It
felt sooo good! I was the luckiest girl in the world. His fist made
beautiful and sickening squishy squashy sounds as it plunged in and out of
my worthless vagina in violent fashion. My clit began to expand with a
perverse sense of pleasure that was now engulfing my entire womanhood.
As his fist entered in and out of my succulant cunt, so did the childish
mess I had made just for him. It was so dirty, smelly, messy, and special.
He kept telling me how mature I had become as a street girl and that I
finally become a "special kind of whore." I felt so good when he told me
these things. I felt even more special when he finished fisting me full of
soft girlish poop and told me to lie my head back over the edge of the bed.
He told me that good girls opened their sweet little mouths to recieve
"gifts of appreciation" for their respect and obedience toward men. I
giggled nervously and did as I was told. He told me to lie still and close
my dumb little eyes while keeping my mouth wide open for his "gift." I knew
then what he wanted to do, but I could no longer fight or resist what men
wanted of me. I had given up long ago - perhaps after my second year of
crack addiction. Besides, I didn't even think of it as being a dirty thing
anymore. I knew my place in the world and many men had told me that I was
meant to be treated this way. Soon I began to accept who I was and even
began to enjoy it. I liked being paid attention to by complete strangers.
I loved it when they showered me with semen, urine, and effection.
Now it was time to take the next step. I was now ready to become a
complete and total whore!
I lay completely still as my mouth opened up in a big wide "O" for this
very kind officer who had graciously treated my to an extra twenty dollar
tip. Soon I heard a faint soft crackling noise just above my face and
something sweet, full, soft and dirty slithered into my waiting mouth like
a tender snake. Once inside my sweet - cunt of a mouth, it began to expand
and proliferate causing my cheeks to puff outward like a stuffed animal.
His gift tasted soft, mushy, and bitter. It was such a special and
pleasant feeling inside my mouth as it coated my teeth, gums, and inner
cheeks. Soon I felt another "plop" inside my worthless opening. Then
another - and another. The mass of soft, beautiful filth was now being
crammed and pushed back toward my waiting tonsils. I felt so excited and
thrilled to be treated like the classy lady I was and I shivered and
quivered as his soft smelly gift oozed it's way down my throat and into my
stomach.
PLOP.......PLOP.....sssshhhhhPLOP!!!!"
"Mmmmmmm.....mmmm...mmmm...."
The kind officer smiled down at me and told me what a good girl I was.
He told me that he was going to pick me up again in the near future and
treat me to some other "exciting" dates. He told me I was special and that
I should not tell anyone about this. He told me to keep it a special
secret because he was a well respected police officer in the community and
that he was well liked by many citizens in the area. He told me if I kept
my mouth shut he would never arrest me again and that he would make sure
that the other officers left me alone so that I could get picked up and
make more money for drugs.
I was so happy that he was treating me so special. I wanted to hug and
kiss him right there, but my mouth was dirty and so was my cunt and ass.
He told me not to worry about it. He said that dirty street girls were
meant to smell like toilets and that being treated like filth was what made
whores like me so special and attractive.
I smiled at him. For the first time in my stupid little life I felt
like I finally had a purpose. I felt like I was being paid attention to. I
felt adored and admired by this man. I wanted to be admired and sought
after. And I couldn't wait for the word to get around about what a special
kind of whore I was. Soon I would become much more "popular" on the street
and men from far away -and in all walks of life would come to seek a
"special" date with me. Soon I would make lots more money and be the
luckiest girl in the world!
rather curvy yet still slender enough to warrent attraction from the
opposite sex, and a nice rack of boobs which I had artificially enhanced in
order to get more attention. Let's just say I've been around the block a
few times when it comes to dating men. When I was in high school, I was
much more heavy set and boys didn't go out with me primarily for this
reason. So I guess I always had this complex that I needed attention
whenever I could get it. By the time I got out of high school, I realized
that dieting, getting a boob job, and wearing lots of makeup seemed to help
the cause in a big way. The only thing I had going for me up until that
time was the fact that my hair was naturally platinum blonde, so I guess I
was off to a half decent start.
Anyway, most of the boys I dated outside of high school were rather
normal with the exception of a few. Actually there were two guys that were
a bit weird when it came to sex. One of them (Ted) was a real drunk. For
some reason he enjoyed worshiping my feet. As I mentioned, I loved
recieving attention whenever I could get it so I ignored his alchohol and
weird desires and catered to his needs whenever we had sex. Fighting
spelled the demise of this relationship and it broke off after about four
months.
Then there was Allen. He enjoyed spanking me whenever we were about to
have sex. I guess it was what got him going. I didn't particularly like
it at first, but he seemed to enjoy the feeling of control over me. I must
admit that I got used to it after a few months and even started to enjoy
the feeling of being dominated before the act of sex. So I guess you could
say that Allen and Ted sort of opened the door to the "unusual" aspects of
sex for me. Most of the other guys I dated were pretty normal - though
some of them wanted me to try anal sex which I eventually succumed to in
order to keep their affections. This too was a bit painful at first, but I
learned to enjoy it over time - yet I always felt kind of "dirty"
afterwards and rather cheap and sleazy. But I guess with all the makeup I
wore and the boob job I had, I looked like a rather trashy girl and I guess
that's why I attracted the kind of guys that liked doing things like that
to a girl. Of course none of them respected me after a while and those
relationships went the way of all the others. I didn't mind it at all
because I had lost a lot of weight and I looked quite attractive having
grown my hair way down past my shoulders. After a while, it seemed I never
had a shortage of men looking at me wherever I went.
Eventually, I fell into the wrong crowd while I was in college. A group
of men introduced my to marrijuana (pot) and soon thereafter, I was
experimenting with cocain and heroin. By the time I was in my sophomore
year of college I was fully addicted to crack and eventually dropped out of
school entirely. I found myself completely broke and resorting to having sex
with any guy I could find that had a "stash" on them. After a while, it
seemed natural for me to give sex in order to satisfy my need for crack.
Now by this time, I had lost much more weight and was down to about 125 pounds.
I was quite slim, but still with a little bit of meat on me. My hips were
still curvy as that was their natural state and I still had lovely hair and
boobs - though my face was beginning to look a little haggered from all the
drugs I was taking.
It wasn't long before I began to prostitute myself not only to a select
group of men for drugs, but to complete strangers for money to buy drugs. I
fell in with a group of "seasoned" hookers that taught me the best corners
to hang out on and the kind of clothes that men liked to see on a whore.
Most of them were drug addicts themselves and were pretty far gone when it
came to their faded looks, but I listened to them because I was quite
desperate for my next fix and had no money at all. I wanted to dress nice
and sexy so that I could get picked up as often as possible. I began
wearing black latex boots which I bought in used condition from an old
fetish place down the street. I also began wearing extremely short shorts
that revealed a heck of a lot more of me than I was used to in high school
and college. To top it off, I began wearing lots of "whorish" makeup of
the extremely sleazy variety. You know - the eye glitter, black mascara,
cherry red lipstick, and cheap plastic jewelry. I felt that I was much
more attractive than I ever was in college and the number of men that
picked me up off the street increased dramatically to reflect this.
Over a short period of time, it began to dawn on me that these strangers
were the wrong kind of guys. Yet I didn't care because I desperately
needed more and more crack just to feel "normal." One guy took me to a
cheap hotel and slapped me around and called me a slut. He spread my legs
and spat on my latex high heeled boots. Then he withdrew the largest dildo
I had ever seen and began ramming it up my cunt as far as it would go
without any lubrication. When he finished with me, he ditched me on a
street corner tired, spent, and feeling quite bruised and swollen down
below. He had given me $70.00 dollars which was more than enough for a
small bag of crack and a cheap dinner.
By the time I turned 27, I was quite used to being a slut and a whore.
My hair was still long, blonde, and beautiful, but I looked quite used. I
wore more and more makeup and became much more obedient and appreciative of
the men that picked me up. After a while, I began to accept less and less
money and began doing a lot more to earn it.
One night I struck gold when two business men picked me up in a limo and
drove me to a fancy hotel. Once inside, they introduced me to a third guy
who was also a business executive. They proceeded to lie me on the bed and
strap me down with ropes. They inserted a ball gag into my mouth and began
laughing and spitting on me while calling me all sorts of names like
"cunt," "white trash," and "piece of filth," to name a few. Then they each
took turns fucking me in the ass and cumming on my face and hair. They
smiled down at me and told me I looked real pretty this way and then
started taking pictures with their fancy digital cameras. When they
finished with me they had me clean up in the shower and escorted me down to
the lobby and hailed me a cheap taxi cab. They gave the cabby a nice tip
and told him where to drop me off. I guess the night was worth it because
they each gave me fifty bucks. I couldn't wait to get back to my drug
dealer Tyrone and buy some more rock. I was so happy to have so much
money. $150.00 dollars was a lot for one "date" albeit with three men at
the same time. Those business men were real nice to give me so much money
and I found myself hoping they would pick me up again.
This brings me to the present - well almost.
Last week around 9:30 in the evening an off duty police officer picked
me up. I knew who he was because I had many run-ins with him before. This
time he was very nice to me and told me how pretty I looked. Initially I
was worried that it was part of a police sting and that he was going to
bring me down town but he assured me that it wasn't a sting and that he was
off duty anyway. He told me how pretty I looked and that despite his job,
he secretly had his eye on me for a long time. I smiled and asked him why
he hadn't picked me up before and he told me that he didn't think that I
was "ready yet." I asked him what he meant and he told me quite openly that
he was waiting for me to become much more addicted to drugs and much more
"docile" and "obedient." He looked me over while he was saying these things
and I smiled back at him and assured him that I was "ready" and "very
willing." I opened my legs for him and told him I was all his for twenty
bucks. He snickered at me and drove me to a burger king and ordered lots
of food for me and told me to eat as much as I could. I was very hungry
and so I did as I was told. When I was finished he asked me if I had to
use the lady's room and - feeling quite full, I said yes. He smiled again
and told me "not yet" and took me to a cheap hotel on the other side of
town.
When we got inside, he opened a small bag and withdrew a pair of pink
cotton panties. He told me to strip down completely and put the panties
on. I smiled and giggled for him as he reached out and tweaked my enhanced
boobs. They were very round, pouty, pink, and succulant. When I finished
putting on the soft cotton panties, he told me to bend over while he placed
his face against by panty covered bottom and smelled me all over my hiney
area. He began planting kisses all over the back of my panties and telling
me how lucky I was that he was my "date" for the evening and even luckier
that he didn't arrest me. I was very respectful and appreciative of these
things. I felt kind of weird as the date progressed. He began pulling my
panties to the side and squeezing my soft round butt cheeks in a groping
manner. He told me how soft and sweet my bottom was and that it looked
nice, ripe, and pink - "just the way stupid cunt like your's should be" he
said.
I smiled and giggled appreciatively while he called me names and spread
my soft ass globes wide apart so that he could see my tight, crinkly brown
anus. I felt him burry his face inside my pink fleshy bottom and inhale
the soft, girlish, and dirty "brown" odors from within. He inhaled deeply
and began stroking his cock through his trousers.
Then the date got even more bizaar. He handed me another twenty dollar
bill and asked me if I could keep a secret. I giggled nervously and said
yes. Then he asked me to be a good little whore and do something "special"
in my panties. He told me he wanted me to give him some special "brown
candy" and be his "good little girl" while he watched from behind. I
looked at the twenty dollar bill he was offering as a tip and felt very
appreciative and respectful of this man. I was a good girl and began to
play the role he wanted.
I giggled and began sucking my thumb while I squatted down and bent over
a little. The police officer had already removed his pants and underwear
and was stroking his cock at a feverish pace. I wiggled my soft little
bottom for him in a seductive manner and squeezed my soft brown anus open.
Slowly, a small piece of greasy chocolate candy oozed it's way into my pink
girlish panties that the pervert had so graciously provided for me. It
wiggled and jiggled and plopped softly into the back of my cute little
undies. Another, much larger piece of chocolate poo began to slither and
worm it's way out of my stupid slutty bottom and make "plop plops" inside
the back of my precious little panties. The officer pressed his nose
against my hiney and mashed the soft puddle of mushy poo all over my sweet
soft tushy. I kept giggling nervously and sucking my thumb like a toddler
for him. This must of been exactly what he wanted because he was jerking
off very intensly. The room began to smell of dark mushy BM and he
wrinkled his nose and told me what a dirty little girl I was and that I was
very bad and had to be punished. I was expecting the kind of spanking I
had learned to enjoy from many previous dates, but this was not the case.
With his face still pressed against my poo smeared panties, he placed
his large hands on each side of the little lace undies and slowly began
pulling them down - exposing my soft, smelly little "poo accident." The
dirty smell must have been intoxicating for him as he bunched some of his
fingers together and gently began to press and smudge them between my soft
"potty coated" hiney area. Slowly he moved the fingers in circles -
gathering up large scoops, traces, and smears of my dirty deed and began
transporting them by wiggling his giant fingers toward by girlish, pink
shaven cunny. All five of his fingers were now inside my crotch working
their magic on me. They poked, prodded, smeared, and teased my trashy cunt
with soft brown "lady poo" and began smearing me all over so I smelled nice
and pretty for him.
Soon it was time to be treated like a "real lady." After teasing me
gently with soft and icky brown strokes with his tenticle digits, he told
me to lay down on the cheap hotel bed and lift my legs into the air with
the poop smeared panties locked around my ankles holding them together.
His fingers disappeared and quenched up into an evil balled up fist. At
first, he gently rubbed his fist knuckles against my smelly - mush covered
slit. Then I felt the slight feeling of pressure as the officer began to
shove his entire fist into the outer portion of my cheap cruddy vagina.
Then he began to push his arm even harder.
"Suck your thumb my sweet brainless cunt." He commanded as his fist
began to ease it's way inside me - deeper and deeper like a sick metalic
drill.
My slutty womb began to stretch nice and wide into a thick dirty bulge
of filth and stink. My stomach became all tied up in knots with
nervousness and excitment as I felt his strong and powerful invasion of my
soft and weak feminine body. Soon he began ramming his fist in and out of
me causing my cunt to expand and contract in even wider dimensions. It
felt sooo good! I was the luckiest girl in the world. His fist made
beautiful and sickening squishy squashy sounds as it plunged in and out of
my worthless vagina in violent fashion. My clit began to expand with a
perverse sense of pleasure that was now engulfing my entire womanhood.
As his fist entered in and out of my succulant cunt, so did the childish
mess I had made just for him. It was so dirty, smelly, messy, and special.
He kept telling me how mature I had become as a street girl and that I
finally become a "special kind of whore." I felt so good when he told me
these things. I felt even more special when he finished fisting me full of
soft girlish poop and told me to lie my head back over the edge of the bed.
He told me that good girls opened their sweet little mouths to recieve
"gifts of appreciation" for their respect and obedience toward men. I
giggled nervously and did as I was told. He told me to lie still and close
my dumb little eyes while keeping my mouth wide open for his "gift." I knew
then what he wanted to do, but I could no longer fight or resist what men
wanted of me. I had given up long ago - perhaps after my second year of
crack addiction. Besides, I didn't even think of it as being a dirty thing
anymore. I knew my place in the world and many men had told me that I was
meant to be treated this way. Soon I began to accept who I was and even
began to enjoy it. I liked being paid attention to by complete strangers.
I loved it when they showered me with semen, urine, and effection.
Now it was time to take the next step. I was now ready to become a
complete and total whore!
I lay completely still as my mouth opened up in a big wide "O" for this
very kind officer who had graciously treated my to an extra twenty dollar
tip. Soon I heard a faint soft crackling noise just above my face and
something sweet, full, soft and dirty slithered into my waiting mouth like
a tender snake. Once inside my sweet - cunt of a mouth, it began to expand
and proliferate causing my cheeks to puff outward like a stuffed animal.
His gift tasted soft, mushy, and bitter. It was such a special and
pleasant feeling inside my mouth as it coated my teeth, gums, and inner
cheeks. Soon I felt another "plop" inside my worthless opening. Then
another - and another. The mass of soft, beautiful filth was now being
crammed and pushed back toward my waiting tonsils. I felt so excited and
thrilled to be treated like the classy lady I was and I shivered and
quivered as his soft smelly gift oozed it's way down my throat and into my
stomach.
PLOP.......PLOP.....sssshhhhhPLOP!!!!"
"Mmmmmmm.....mmmm...mmmm...."
The kind officer smiled down at me and told me what a good girl I was.
He told me that he was going to pick me up again in the near future and
treat me to some other "exciting" dates. He told me I was special and that
I should not tell anyone about this. He told me to keep it a special
secret because he was a well respected police officer in the community and
that he was well liked by many citizens in the area. He told me if I kept
my mouth shut he would never arrest me again and that he would make sure
that the other officers left me alone so that I could get picked up and
make more money for drugs.
I was so happy that he was treating me so special. I wanted to hug and
kiss him right there, but my mouth was dirty and so was my cunt and ass.
He told me not to worry about it. He said that dirty street girls were
meant to smell like toilets and that being treated like filth was what made
whores like me so special and attractive.
I smiled at him. For the first time in my stupid little life I felt
like I finally had a purpose. I felt like I was being paid attention to. I
felt adored and admired by this man. I wanted to be admired and sought
after. And I couldn't wait for the word to get around about what a special
kind of whore I was. Soon I would become much more "popular" on the street
and men from far away -and in all walks of life would come to seek a
"special" date with me. Soon I would make lots more money and be the
luckiest girl in the world!
Trust me, I will
Uhh yeah, that's why it's a complete shithole.Soo, putin is going to ruin America by "Shredding environmental regulation" that Russia itself and 100 percent of the third world doesn't have?
Great argument buddy.
Jack drove out to the beach after work. The sun was just
setting; he drove west with his eyes half-blinded, but he knew
where he was going. Between two beachside mansions sat a modest
white house on stilts, and there was just enough space to park
his convertible Saab between the pylons and out of the next day's
sun. Bruce, his best friend, was waiting. Hopefully the beer
was plentiful and well-iced. And there was plenty of lube.
He had the entire weekend to himself plus a day. His wife left
that Friday morning on a plane, bound for the North Carolina
mountains and a rendezvous with her kin. She'd taken their two
daughters with her and had sadly kissed him goodbye at the
airport. Jack had lied and said he was too busy with work to
travel over three-and-a-half days, so he begged off and would
stay home. Which meant he'd stay at Bruce's and spend the Labor
Day weekend fucking.
"Ready to go?" Jack hollered up from his car. Bruce appeared on
the deck that surrounded the house, tanned and well-muscled in
his white linen shirt and khakis. He wore his hair in a ponytail
always, and he had distinguished-looking heavy platinum hoops in
both ears. There were hoops in his nipples as well, and Jack
could see their outline against the shirt as Bruce descended the
steps toward him. Bruce's brown leather sandals completed the
rich beach bum look, and as he slid into the seat beside his
longtime lover, Jack couldn't help but once again catch his
breath in the fresh revelation of how lucky he was to have found
such a classy, kinky stud.
"You look tired," Bruce said, reaching out and rubbing Jack's
knee as he backed the Saab out toward the narrow beach town's
main road. They were headed to a beachside bar at the far end of
the island, called "Ruck's", which served up the best gumbo and
smoked mullet on earth, as far as Jack was concerned. It was
just what he needed to set his mood straight for the weekend's
fun and to push back the scraping claws of fatigue that always
dogged him at the end of his week.
"I'm OK now," Jack smiled back, throwing the convertible into
gear and roaring them 2.3 miles north. Along the way, he said,
"I've been wearing them all day, you know," and he unzipped the
fly of his smart wool trousers so Bruce could see. A bright pink
pair of panties was easily visible between the teeth of the
zipper, but Jack reached in and pulled them aside to reveal the
black leather straps of the cock restraint he'd been wearing.
Bruce grunted his approval and leaned over, pinching Jack's right
nipple between his expert fingers for a good minute before
letting go and leaning back.
"That's the spirit!" Bruce laughed. "I bet that was some fun
having that on in court today."
Jack was a real estate lawyer. "How many times do I have to tell
you?" He rolled his eyes mock-dramatically. "I do real estate.
I don't have to go to court, man."
"Well, you might if somebody here sees you wearing it," Bruce
muttered, and Jack hastily tried to zip with one hand as he
steered into the crowded parking lot at Ruck's. Since they were
in a convertible, people heading into the restaurant could easily
see down into their laps as the walked past. It took a moment to
furtively yank his zipper the last few millimeters up, but then
all was well. On to dinner.
Bruce bought, as was his custom. Ever since selling off his
company in the mid-nineties, life had been good for him. The
majority of his profit from the sale got reinvested in the
market, and the tech boom that shortly followed reaped him
enormous reward. Still using the market to make money for him,
Bruce had now amassed a fortune that would keep him secure for
the rest of his life. As long as he didn't suddenly try to buy
Costa Rica or something.
"Pitcher of Bud, and let's say... eh, three Jack shooters each,
right?" Bruce announced to the waiter as soon as he arrived at
their table. "And a dozen oysters on the half-shell... and gumbo
for each of us... and then we'll do some real ordering after
that," he chuckled, "if we can still remember where we are."
The beer and the bourbon got both men plenty comfortable with
their Friday night, and they sat at their table by the window,
with its magnificent view of the Gulf of Mexico at twilight, and
played footsies. Bruce's shoes were off, and his bare toes
danced their way up and down the damp cotton of Jack's socks, his
feet long since out of his cramped but handsome loafers. It was
excruciating for Jack whenever his cock made to rise in arousal.
The restraint became a choking, painful instrument of torture,
and it caused him a great deal of squirming and shallow breathing
while he willing it to go back down. Bruce, of course, made it
worse by just staring at him as he agonized.
But the mullet was ordered, more beer consumed, and eventually
Jack felt the urge to piss suddenly come on him all in a hot,
pressing rush. He told Bruce, and they went ahead and settled
the bill, swinging by the tiny restroom on the way out. There
was one stall and two urinals all compressed within a room not
much bigger than a linen closet. The urinals were so close to
one another that there was no space between for the customary
short partition. The two men were alone as they entered, the
stall door hanging partially open, blocked by the jutting lower
bowl of the second urinal.
"Yeah... a nice, cozy piss...." Bruce murmured, as he sidled up
to the second urinal, unzipped, and let his water flood out.
Jack, standing right next to the door back to the restaurant, had
to wait and jiggle his cock a bit, trying to get it to soften a
little more so he could go. His eyes peered through their dizzy
fog at the urine cascading down beside him, and he couldn't help
but sigh. And as the last bit of that long breath died, he
suddenly felt his dick release, and his own gushing piss began to
thunder down onto the stained porcelain and the baby blue
deodorant cake.
"That's it, Jackie... nice, hot piss!" Bruce cheered, already
re-zipped and clapping him on the back. He leaned in close and
licked Jack's ear, breathed hotly into his neck as he kissed it.
Jack rolled his head ever slightly and moaned. Bruce nibbled on
his earlobe and whispered, "You know I love watching it,
remember?"
Outside the door, a waiter could be heard walking by, asking
someone else about a salad order. Something bumped the wall on
the other side of the urinal, jostling the door but not opening
it. Bruce stayed on Jack's neck and ear, kissing, licking,
nibbling, breathing so low and so slow. Jack's eyes were closed,
and all he did was feel it all. And then he felt the splash.
Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw Bruce's large, bronzed
hand playing back and forth through his still-rapid flow of pee.
As his lover danced his fingers across the jetting piss, hot
splashes of it rained back against Jack's front, pelting his
crotch, wetting his pants obscenely. Jack's nearly choked on his
sudden desire, his breathing came so hard; all he wanted to do
was lie down right there and let Bruce find a dozen other men to
come in and soak him in his clothes, from head to toe, with their
stinking, boiling piss.
Bruce chuckled softly, watching Jack jerk a little with pleasure.
"You little pig, you," he intoned, closing his fingers over the
head of Jack's cock as the urine stream weakened and then died.
He gave it one affectionate squeeze, then pulled up his hand and
wiped it back and forth several times across Jack's dress shirt.
It soaked in a few places large enough and deeply enough to see
the matting of his chest hair beneath. And its rich stench was
all around him, that glorious piss-stink he'd loved all his
life.
"Fuck," Jack muttered, then laughed. He got his cock back in his
pants and took care to give Bruce a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Thanks, stud," he smiled. "I owe you one."
Before Bruce could kiss him back or laugh or drag him into the
stall for a serious moment of cocksucking, the door was flung
open; three men attempted to bunch themselves inside the
claustrophobic restroom, much like idiots outside elevators often
attempt to enter before bothering to look inside it to see who
might be coming out. The first man ran right into Jack as Jack
stepped back away from Bruce in surprise. The other two men
attempting to follow the first piled all into each other, until
their combined klutziness pushed them and Jack straight back into
the stall's nearest partition and up against the sink. Bruce
laughed, "Whoa!" He had his hands out helping to catch and
steady any man he could reach.
"Jesus!" said one of the men, then, "Thanks." They all managed
to keep their feet and navigate their way around each other, Jack
and Bruce finally getting through them to the open doorway. In
those close quarters, pressed almost sensually up against the
strangers as he shuffled his way out, Jack smelled powerfully the
odor of piss; he caught one man as he passed sniff and glance
down dully at Jack's splotched shirt, but he stared openly as if
not at all comprehending what he saw, not able to add the stench
to the stains and come up with the obvious. It was clearly not a
leap the stranger was able make. He blinked in a dim sort of way
and awkwardly let Jack go on out the door.
A few moments later, Jack was slowly attempting to meander the
two of them home. He was at the very end of his tolerance for
alcohol, was just the perfect shade of drunk for the night, and
he could tell that Bruce was, too. They laughed even more,
touched even more. Talked even less about stupid, mundane
things. The car hummed along, almost seeming to drive itself.
The breeze that blew over them took away most of the piss smell
that still clung to Jack, but Bruce, ever Puckish, raised his
hand to Jack's nose from time to time as the went along, giving
his lover some sweet moments to inhale the scent of dried urine
that still clung to Bruce's unwashed fingers.
"Hey! Pull in here," demanded Bruce suddenly, pointing at a
brand new convenience store about halfway between his house and
Ruck's. "I need some smokes."
When he came out, Bruce was accompanied by a scrawny-looking kid
in baggy painter's jeans that barely hung onto his bony hips. He
wore a black Emerica t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and his
hair was shaved on the sides, long on top, and fine strands of
long blonde hair fell all about his head in a lazy way, stirred a
bit like spaghetti just thrown into the boiling water.
"Hey, Jack, look who I found!" laughed Bruce, who tossed a carton
of Dorals into Jack's lap and then graciously held the door open
for the boy. Nearly tripping over his own flip-flops, the kid
scrambled to get behind the seat that Jack hastily folded
forward. He glanced once at Jack and muttered something that
must've been a thank you, and then he glued his eyes to his own
hands, clutching a one-liter bottle of Mountain Dew in his lap.
"It's Raylene's kid, Cory," chuckled Bruce, settling in the
passenger seat. Raylene was Bruce's regular drinking buddy, a
divorcee with all kinds of money pouring in. She lived in a
house similar to Bruce's just a quarter-mile down the beach.
"You remember him, don't you? He used to be the guy wakeboarding
in front of my place 24/7."
Jack did a double-take, and Cory turned red. "Yeah,
matter-of-fact, I do remember him. Wow! You've grown up a
bunch, kid." Jack was lying. Except for the haircut, which had
definitely thrown him, everything else about the boy seemed the
same as it was the last summer, when he was hanging around their
beachfront, almost like a lost puppy, showing off his little
wakeboard tricks. "You off at college now?"
Cory cleared his throat and looked out the side as they rode.
"Yeah," he grunted, taking a swig of his Dew. "I'm up in
Gainesville."
"Well, congratulations, man," Jack smiled, remembering some good
times there. "That's where I went to school, too. I know you're
having loads of fun!"
"Yeah," said Cory flatly, and he rode on with them in silence.
Jack had to glance back over Cory's shoulder twice on that drive,
checking traffic behind, and he couldn't help but notice that
Cory's jeans were riding so low as he sat that nearly half the
white of his underwear was visible beneath his t-shirt. But it
was thick underwear, or baggy, or some kind of pair of shorts or
something he had on, because it was clear there was more bulk to
the undergarment than a normal pair of BVDs would show. Jack, in
his hazy brain, barely thought about it, though, and soon he quit
glancing back entirely and just kept on driving.
Bruce was trying to make conversation still, without much
success. "So where's your skateboard, Cory? I heard from
Raylene that you're skating more than ever now, got some kind of
traveling competitive thing going on sometimes too? Some kind of
skate club in Gainesville, right?"
"Yeah, well," muttered Cory, "it's more than a club, really....
But I'm just takin' a break down here this weekend. Tonight. I
guess. Didn't even bring down my board...."
As the boy's voice dully faded away, it was clear to Jack that
the kid was regretting accepting the ride. But Bruce would not
be Bruce if he didn't bull straight on ahead and force the boy to
talk some more. He grabbed a question from out of the blue and
let it fly: "So, Cory, you still smoking as much pot as you did
before, back when you were such a little dick-beater hanging
around my house all hours of the day?"
Jack couldn't suppress his short laugh, and he looked back
briefly, just in time to see Cory roll his eyes in a heartfelt
and spontaneous commentary upon the infinitely moronic ways of
adults. The boy shook his head in disbelief and then shrugged,
looking down at his Mountain Dew. "Yeah, dude. Of course.
What-the-fuck, right?"
They dropped Cory off in front of his house, a modest beachfront
frame home built in the sixties, raised up on a small forest of
twelve-foot wooden pylons, each one as thick as Bruce's
considerable chest. The boy shrugged his way out of the backseat
and mumbled his thanks to them for the ride, slowly threading his
way through the pylons and out toward the darkened beach, which
lay out of sight over the slight dunes. He was already fishing
in his pocket, pulling out a large joint, finding his lighter
with the other hand, the bottle of soda lidded and tucked beneath
his arm. As Jack's car backed away, Bruce reached over and
sharply slapped the horn. A short blare of noise shot all around
the underside of the house, making Jack jerk nervously despite
himself. Bruce laughed hard at him, but he watched Cory too; and
the boy never even flinched.
"What a burned-out little fuck he is now," chuckled Bruce,
lighting up a cigarette as Jack turned them back onto the road.
"We'll have to come down and visit his snotty little ass later
on. I really think we will."
By the time Jack had killed the engine beneath Bruce's house, his
fly was unzipped and his cock was being tugged free. Bruce was
done with his cigarette and bent over, slurping up and down his
lengthening rod, mumbling happy sounds to himself. Jack lifted
his ass off the seat and let Bruce pull his pants and Jockey's
all the way off, kicking free of his shoes in the process. He
lay the seat all the way down so he could angle his ass and legs
a little better, and soon Bruce's finger slid wetly up Jack's
musky asshole. Bruce poked at Jack's prostate in a delicious
rhythm that matched his sucking mouth perfectly. Jack just
closed his eyes and listened to the dim boom of the waves in the
distance. There was nothing as good in this world as sex at the
beach. Nothing.
The finger withdrew. The sucking stopped. Jack sat up,
startled. Bruce was getting out of the car and heading toward
the steps. "Well, come on," Bruce chided quietly. The sounds of
partiers on a nearby condo balcony echoed faintly among the
pylons. "Let's go get serious about it, why don't we?"
"No fair!" whispered Jack, gathering his clothing and scampering
up the steps. "You are a fucking cock tease, godammit!"
Bruce had the door open for him, and as soon as they were inside
they locked in a passionate kiss. Jack tasted some of his own
pre-cum in Bruce's mouth, along with the flavor of cigarettes and
a hint of their gumbo and oysters. His hands worked to get his
lover fully undressed, as Bruce did the same with him. Soon they
were both nude, pressed tightly together, hips working to grind
their cocks against each other's hard belly.
Jack withdrew this time, dancing away toward the wall of sliding
glass doors that faced the darkened beach below. He got down on
the Berber carpet on all fours, pressing his cheek to the rolled
fibers and swaying his back. His ass was high in the air, and he
knew how delicious his balls must look. The scant moonlight
coming into the darkened room was plenty for Bruce to see by, and
Jack was rewarded with a low whistle.
"Mmmmmm, Jackie," murmured Bruce, "Lemme' have a lick of those
sweet nuts...." And then Bruce's tongue was on his scrotum,
licking, slurping, tasting up and down on his sack, around each
shaved globe over and over, just delicately enough... just rough
enough... and Jack could only tremble and moan. Then Bruce's
tongue moved up his perineum, the delicious ridge of skin that
lead straight from the root of his balls to his asshole. Over
and over, the tongue caressed his ridge up and down, until his
sack was dripping with Bruce's saliva.
And then his tongue found the hole. Jack gasped and pushed his
anus back against Bruce's face, and his lover happily obliged by
driving his tongue even deeper into Jack's musky, loose hole.
Around and around the tongue went, licking hard against the
inside of Jack's tingling anal ring. Bruce's hand came up and
began to lightly stroke Jack's cock and balls. An agony of sweet
strokes and subtle squeezes, a little tug timed just right as his
tongue stabbed deeper than ever... and Jack had to pull away. He
fell forward upon his face, chest heaving, arms splayed out to
his sides.
"Oh God! Jesus!" Jack breathed. "Too much! Fuck!"
Bruce crawled on top of him, chuckling. "You look like you're
ready, eh, bitch?" His fat cock wedged between Jack's asscheeks
like an enormous crowbar. It was huge and hard and slimy at its
tip. Jack's anus spasmed; his ass humped reflexively against the
weight of it lying in his crack. His own cock plowed back and
forth upon the springy, rolled carpet, crushed beneath their
combined weight, quickly getting raw.
Bruce's mouth was on Jack's ear, nibbling, licking, breathing
hot against him. Bruce kissed his neck and bit his shoulders,
his teeth going in hard, chewing against his skin in time with
their slow, hard humping. Jack knew he'd have marks all over him
for a solid week, but he could find ways to avoid his wife
seeing. It took some care and some luck, but the inconvenience
was worth it. Between his cock scraping across the carpet,
Bruce's cock sliding up and down his asscrack, and the teeth
gnawing mercilessly at his skin, Jack was powerless to do
anything but grunt and buck and beg for more.
"Oh yeah, fucker, bite me!" Jack growled. "That's it, fuckin'
chew on me!"
Bruce bit down harder, grabbed Jack by the back of his hair and
ground his face into the carpet. He lifted his cock just enough
to reach in with his other hand and jam the head straight into
Jack's sloppy, wet asshole. In one searing thrust, Bruce's huge
cock sank to the root. Jack was powerless to move. He could
feel a rug burn grind itself into his cheekbone as Bruce
continued to smear his face into the berber. His shoulder felt
like it was bleeding.
"That's it, oh yeah, bitch," Bruce muttered, his hips twitching
as he settled his cock inside Jack as deeply as possible. "Way
down in that hot ass. Deep inside you, you goddamn faggot...."
Bruce then pumped his cock steadily inside Jack's ass, from head
to root, over and over, taking his time. He chose different spot
on Jack's flesh, biting down hard and unexpectedly. Sometimes he
slapped him viciously on his ass or the side of his head. He
then picked up his pace, reaching down to wrench back one of
Jack's arms, twisting it up brutally behind him in a police hold.
Jack screamed in agony and wept freely like a child. But his
cock at that moment spurted thick hot jets of come against his
belly and the carpet, and he couldn't help but choke out a
strangled "YES! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" even as his body writhed to
get out of the painful hold, despite his waist and ass spasming
joyously through his orgasm.
Bruce laughed cruelly, "Yeah, little fucker, cry like a baby and
come all over my fuckin' rug...." And then he suddenly released
Jack's arm and grabbed his shaking waist in both hands, hammering
his cock into Jack's wet asshole with all his strength. Jack's
prostate felt nearly crushed, its throbbing no longer rhythmic,
but constant, a sensory overload that shot straight through every
nerve in his body, strangely enrapturing and paralyzing him at
the same time, his neck and head and arms alternately stiff and
flopping about of their own accord. His cock continued to fire,
but no more jism was left; his gland shot off anyway, again and
again and again, painfully driving Jack even higher in his
twisted heights of pleasure.
As for Bruce, he jetted rope after rope of semen deep inside
Jack's ass, continuing to pound his cock to the full until every
ounce of come was spent. He bent forward then, breathing
heavily, and kissed Jack tenderly, over and over and over, all
over his back and shoulders and neck. He kissed the side of
Jack's face and licked up his messy tears. He kept his cock
inside until it was soft, and then he withdrew, still kissing and
petting Jack as the other lay there beneath him, exhausted, sore,
and euphoric.
For an hour the two of them slept there on the floor, wrapping
arms and legs together, still naked, unwashed, their sweat and
semen drying slowly. Jack had a dream that he was on a
merry-go-round, tied with his upper body hanging partly off the
side, so that his head was only inches above the rocky ground
that spun by below him. He was naked and his cock was pointing
straight up. Bruce flashed by every second or so, his strong
arms flinging the playground wheel ever-faster around and around.
Beside him stood the boy Cory, drinking a Mountain Dew. "He's a
dizzy bitch, ain't he?" Bruce said to Cory, but the boy only
shrugged and rolled his eyes. As Jack continued to spin,
helpless, in the dream, he saw flashes of the two like a zoetrope
animation staggering rapidly across his vision, a flipbook
tweening of moments that he craved to see more of... Bruce still
spinning the wheel, but somehow also getting his cock out and
letting Cory kneel to suck it... Cory suddenly naked, so scrawny,
but with a huge long cock, squatting himself over the bottle of
soda, fucking it slowly up into his own pink asshole... Bruce
pissing a fountain of golden rain from his cock, all over Cory's
upturned face and open mouth, the boy weeping in humiliation and
in need, his own cock spewing huge globs of come as he jerked on
it frantically....
"Hey, Jackie," Bruce whispered, and Jack was awake. He still
felt like he was spinning, but already the dream was forgotten.
His body was softly rocking as Bruce shook him tenderly from his
sleep. "Hullo, stud," Jack mumbled, smiling.
Bruce found Jack's mouth and kissed him, soft at first, then with
more heat, more tongue. Jack responded with his own rising
passion, letting Bruce roll over on top of him, lie full-length
upon him as he held off his weight with his gorgeous arms. Each
man felt the other's cock slowly stiffen against his belly; each
man groaned and kissed ever more deeply, their crotches rocking
back and forth, their cocks fucking hungrily against each other,
trapped inside the tight vise of their two hard abdomens, the
stickiness of dick-scum slicked and smoothed deliciously by the
fresh pre-cum that now leaked out of both slits, mingling,
greasing.
Bruce broke off the kiss, though, and stilled his hips. Jack
whined a little in his throat and looked pleadingly up at his
lover. Bruce couldn't suppress his laugh. "Jesus, Jack! You
really are a bitch!" He bent and kissed him once more, briefly,
then stood up. Jack, from his back on the floor, watched in
rapture as Bruce towered above him, all legs and cock and balls.
And drippy! A splotch of unidentified fluid landed messily on
Jack's throat, slowly sliding off onto the carpet, as he stared
hungrily up at his man.
"What?" Jack asked thickly. His hand went to his cock and
gently stroked; still a little sore from the carpet, but ready
for more....
"Well, buddy, I gotta piss," Bruce said, hands on his hips. His
cock bounced goofily as he talked, like it tried to mime the
words but was completely out of synch and utterly uncoordinated.
"But I'm too hard to piss now, thank you very much."
Jack laughed and continued to stroke himself. "Sorry, Bruce, but
you kissed me that time."
Bruce waved that off and looked away, through the sliding glass
door at the nearly pitch black Gulf of Mexico beyond. "Yeah,
yeah, whatever. Listen, what is it, like, midnight now? You
think anybody's still out there?"
Jack laughed again, but he stopped stroking and manfully got to
his feet. He only groaned once from the pain that lanced up into
his sore shoulder. "Fuck, Bruce, but you did get drunk tonight!
How the hell should I know who might still be out there? You're
the one who fucking lives here, remember? Not me!" But he came
up behind Bruce then and put his arms around him, letting his
rigid dick slide thickly against the hard crack of the bigger
man's ass. They stood that way, hotly pressed together in the
warm room, for a long time, Jack kissing Bruce's back and
shoulders just as tenderly as he had been kissed before. But
then finally Bruce broke away and turned.
"All right, that's long enough! Let's go down there and let me
piss on you out in the open air, OK?" Bruce nodded
enthusiastically at his own plan and immediately slid open the
glass door and stepped onto the deck. A drying rack stood nearby
with some swimming trunks clothes-pinned to it. He pulled off a
pair for himself and a pair for Jack, tossing them to him and
then stepping quickly into his own. "We need some camouflage for
the walk down to the water's edge, eh?" He grinned. Jack
grinned back and stepped into his trunks. His cock tented the
front outrageously, but he didn't care. It was dark, he was
horny. What the fuck.
setting; he drove west with his eyes half-blinded, but he knew
where he was going. Between two beachside mansions sat a modest
white house on stilts, and there was just enough space to park
his convertible Saab between the pylons and out of the next day's
sun. Bruce, his best friend, was waiting. Hopefully the beer
was plentiful and well-iced. And there was plenty of lube.
He had the entire weekend to himself plus a day. His wife left
that Friday morning on a plane, bound for the North Carolina
mountains and a rendezvous with her kin. She'd taken their two
daughters with her and had sadly kissed him goodbye at the
airport. Jack had lied and said he was too busy with work to
travel over three-and-a-half days, so he begged off and would
stay home. Which meant he'd stay at Bruce's and spend the Labor
Day weekend fucking.
"Ready to go?" Jack hollered up from his car. Bruce appeared on
the deck that surrounded the house, tanned and well-muscled in
his white linen shirt and khakis. He wore his hair in a ponytail
always, and he had distinguished-looking heavy platinum hoops in
both ears. There were hoops in his nipples as well, and Jack
could see their outline against the shirt as Bruce descended the
steps toward him. Bruce's brown leather sandals completed the
rich beach bum look, and as he slid into the seat beside his
longtime lover, Jack couldn't help but once again catch his
breath in the fresh revelation of how lucky he was to have found
such a classy, kinky stud.
"You look tired," Bruce said, reaching out and rubbing Jack's
knee as he backed the Saab out toward the narrow beach town's
main road. They were headed to a beachside bar at the far end of
the island, called "Ruck's", which served up the best gumbo and
smoked mullet on earth, as far as Jack was concerned. It was
just what he needed to set his mood straight for the weekend's
fun and to push back the scraping claws of fatigue that always
dogged him at the end of his week.
"I'm OK now," Jack smiled back, throwing the convertible into
gear and roaring them 2.3 miles north. Along the way, he said,
"I've been wearing them all day, you know," and he unzipped the
fly of his smart wool trousers so Bruce could see. A bright pink
pair of panties was easily visible between the teeth of the
zipper, but Jack reached in and pulled them aside to reveal the
black leather straps of the cock restraint he'd been wearing.
Bruce grunted his approval and leaned over, pinching Jack's right
nipple between his expert fingers for a good minute before
letting go and leaning back.
"That's the spirit!" Bruce laughed. "I bet that was some fun
having that on in court today."
Jack was a real estate lawyer. "How many times do I have to tell
you?" He rolled his eyes mock-dramatically. "I do real estate.
I don't have to go to court, man."
"Well, you might if somebody here sees you wearing it," Bruce
muttered, and Jack hastily tried to zip with one hand as he
steered into the crowded parking lot at Ruck's. Since they were
in a convertible, people heading into the restaurant could easily
see down into their laps as the walked past. It took a moment to
furtively yank his zipper the last few millimeters up, but then
all was well. On to dinner.
Bruce bought, as was his custom. Ever since selling off his
company in the mid-nineties, life had been good for him. The
majority of his profit from the sale got reinvested in the
market, and the tech boom that shortly followed reaped him
enormous reward. Still using the market to make money for him,
Bruce had now amassed a fortune that would keep him secure for
the rest of his life. As long as he didn't suddenly try to buy
Costa Rica or something.
"Pitcher of Bud, and let's say... eh, three Jack shooters each,
right?" Bruce announced to the waiter as soon as he arrived at
their table. "And a dozen oysters on the half-shell... and gumbo
for each of us... and then we'll do some real ordering after
that," he chuckled, "if we can still remember where we are."
The beer and the bourbon got both men plenty comfortable with
their Friday night, and they sat at their table by the window,
with its magnificent view of the Gulf of Mexico at twilight, and
played footsies. Bruce's shoes were off, and his bare toes
danced their way up and down the damp cotton of Jack's socks, his
feet long since out of his cramped but handsome loafers. It was
excruciating for Jack whenever his cock made to rise in arousal.
The restraint became a choking, painful instrument of torture,
and it caused him a great deal of squirming and shallow breathing
while he willing it to go back down. Bruce, of course, made it
worse by just staring at him as he agonized.
But the mullet was ordered, more beer consumed, and eventually
Jack felt the urge to piss suddenly come on him all in a hot,
pressing rush. He told Bruce, and they went ahead and settled
the bill, swinging by the tiny restroom on the way out. There
was one stall and two urinals all compressed within a room not
much bigger than a linen closet. The urinals were so close to
one another that there was no space between for the customary
short partition. The two men were alone as they entered, the
stall door hanging partially open, blocked by the jutting lower
bowl of the second urinal.
"Yeah... a nice, cozy piss...." Bruce murmured, as he sidled up
to the second urinal, unzipped, and let his water flood out.
Jack, standing right next to the door back to the restaurant, had
to wait and jiggle his cock a bit, trying to get it to soften a
little more so he could go. His eyes peered through their dizzy
fog at the urine cascading down beside him, and he couldn't help
but sigh. And as the last bit of that long breath died, he
suddenly felt his dick release, and his own gushing piss began to
thunder down onto the stained porcelain and the baby blue
deodorant cake.
"That's it, Jackie... nice, hot piss!" Bruce cheered, already
re-zipped and clapping him on the back. He leaned in close and
licked Jack's ear, breathed hotly into his neck as he kissed it.
Jack rolled his head ever slightly and moaned. Bruce nibbled on
his earlobe and whispered, "You know I love watching it,
remember?"
Outside the door, a waiter could be heard walking by, asking
someone else about a salad order. Something bumped the wall on
the other side of the urinal, jostling the door but not opening
it. Bruce stayed on Jack's neck and ear, kissing, licking,
nibbling, breathing so low and so slow. Jack's eyes were closed,
and all he did was feel it all. And then he felt the splash.
Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw Bruce's large, bronzed
hand playing back and forth through his still-rapid flow of pee.
As his lover danced his fingers across the jetting piss, hot
splashes of it rained back against Jack's front, pelting his
crotch, wetting his pants obscenely. Jack's nearly choked on his
sudden desire, his breathing came so hard; all he wanted to do
was lie down right there and let Bruce find a dozen other men to
come in and soak him in his clothes, from head to toe, with their
stinking, boiling piss.
Bruce chuckled softly, watching Jack jerk a little with pleasure.
"You little pig, you," he intoned, closing his fingers over the
head of Jack's cock as the urine stream weakened and then died.
He gave it one affectionate squeeze, then pulled up his hand and
wiped it back and forth several times across Jack's dress shirt.
It soaked in a few places large enough and deeply enough to see
the matting of his chest hair beneath. And its rich stench was
all around him, that glorious piss-stink he'd loved all his
life.
"Fuck," Jack muttered, then laughed. He got his cock back in his
pants and took care to give Bruce a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Thanks, stud," he smiled. "I owe you one."
Before Bruce could kiss him back or laugh or drag him into the
stall for a serious moment of cocksucking, the door was flung
open; three men attempted to bunch themselves inside the
claustrophobic restroom, much like idiots outside elevators often
attempt to enter before bothering to look inside it to see who
might be coming out. The first man ran right into Jack as Jack
stepped back away from Bruce in surprise. The other two men
attempting to follow the first piled all into each other, until
their combined klutziness pushed them and Jack straight back into
the stall's nearest partition and up against the sink. Bruce
laughed, "Whoa!" He had his hands out helping to catch and
steady any man he could reach.
"Jesus!" said one of the men, then, "Thanks." They all managed
to keep their feet and navigate their way around each other, Jack
and Bruce finally getting through them to the open doorway. In
those close quarters, pressed almost sensually up against the
strangers as he shuffled his way out, Jack smelled powerfully the
odor of piss; he caught one man as he passed sniff and glance
down dully at Jack's splotched shirt, but he stared openly as if
not at all comprehending what he saw, not able to add the stench
to the stains and come up with the obvious. It was clearly not a
leap the stranger was able make. He blinked in a dim sort of way
and awkwardly let Jack go on out the door.
A few moments later, Jack was slowly attempting to meander the
two of them home. He was at the very end of his tolerance for
alcohol, was just the perfect shade of drunk for the night, and
he could tell that Bruce was, too. They laughed even more,
touched even more. Talked even less about stupid, mundane
things. The car hummed along, almost seeming to drive itself.
The breeze that blew over them took away most of the piss smell
that still clung to Jack, but Bruce, ever Puckish, raised his
hand to Jack's nose from time to time as the went along, giving
his lover some sweet moments to inhale the scent of dried urine
that still clung to Bruce's unwashed fingers.
"Hey! Pull in here," demanded Bruce suddenly, pointing at a
brand new convenience store about halfway between his house and
Ruck's. "I need some smokes."
When he came out, Bruce was accompanied by a scrawny-looking kid
in baggy painter's jeans that barely hung onto his bony hips. He
wore a black Emerica t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and his
hair was shaved on the sides, long on top, and fine strands of
long blonde hair fell all about his head in a lazy way, stirred a
bit like spaghetti just thrown into the boiling water.
"Hey, Jack, look who I found!" laughed Bruce, who tossed a carton
of Dorals into Jack's lap and then graciously held the door open
for the boy. Nearly tripping over his own flip-flops, the kid
scrambled to get behind the seat that Jack hastily folded
forward. He glanced once at Jack and muttered something that
must've been a thank you, and then he glued his eyes to his own
hands, clutching a one-liter bottle of Mountain Dew in his lap.
"It's Raylene's kid, Cory," chuckled Bruce, settling in the
passenger seat. Raylene was Bruce's regular drinking buddy, a
divorcee with all kinds of money pouring in. She lived in a
house similar to Bruce's just a quarter-mile down the beach.
"You remember him, don't you? He used to be the guy wakeboarding
in front of my place 24/7."
Jack did a double-take, and Cory turned red. "Yeah,
matter-of-fact, I do remember him. Wow! You've grown up a
bunch, kid." Jack was lying. Except for the haircut, which had
definitely thrown him, everything else about the boy seemed the
same as it was the last summer, when he was hanging around their
beachfront, almost like a lost puppy, showing off his little
wakeboard tricks. "You off at college now?"
Cory cleared his throat and looked out the side as they rode.
"Yeah," he grunted, taking a swig of his Dew. "I'm up in
Gainesville."
"Well, congratulations, man," Jack smiled, remembering some good
times there. "That's where I went to school, too. I know you're
having loads of fun!"
"Yeah," said Cory flatly, and he rode on with them in silence.
Jack had to glance back over Cory's shoulder twice on that drive,
checking traffic behind, and he couldn't help but notice that
Cory's jeans were riding so low as he sat that nearly half the
white of his underwear was visible beneath his t-shirt. But it
was thick underwear, or baggy, or some kind of pair of shorts or
something he had on, because it was clear there was more bulk to
the undergarment than a normal pair of BVDs would show. Jack, in
his hazy brain, barely thought about it, though, and soon he quit
glancing back entirely and just kept on driving.
Bruce was trying to make conversation still, without much
success. "So where's your skateboard, Cory? I heard from
Raylene that you're skating more than ever now, got some kind of
traveling competitive thing going on sometimes too? Some kind of
skate club in Gainesville, right?"
"Yeah, well," muttered Cory, "it's more than a club, really....
But I'm just takin' a break down here this weekend. Tonight. I
guess. Didn't even bring down my board...."
As the boy's voice dully faded away, it was clear to Jack that
the kid was regretting accepting the ride. But Bruce would not
be Bruce if he didn't bull straight on ahead and force the boy to
talk some more. He grabbed a question from out of the blue and
let it fly: "So, Cory, you still smoking as much pot as you did
before, back when you were such a little dick-beater hanging
around my house all hours of the day?"
Jack couldn't suppress his short laugh, and he looked back
briefly, just in time to see Cory roll his eyes in a heartfelt
and spontaneous commentary upon the infinitely moronic ways of
adults. The boy shook his head in disbelief and then shrugged,
looking down at his Mountain Dew. "Yeah, dude. Of course.
What-the-fuck, right?"
They dropped Cory off in front of his house, a modest beachfront
frame home built in the sixties, raised up on a small forest of
twelve-foot wooden pylons, each one as thick as Bruce's
considerable chest. The boy shrugged his way out of the backseat
and mumbled his thanks to them for the ride, slowly threading his
way through the pylons and out toward the darkened beach, which
lay out of sight over the slight dunes. He was already fishing
in his pocket, pulling out a large joint, finding his lighter
with the other hand, the bottle of soda lidded and tucked beneath
his arm. As Jack's car backed away, Bruce reached over and
sharply slapped the horn. A short blare of noise shot all around
the underside of the house, making Jack jerk nervously despite
himself. Bruce laughed hard at him, but he watched Cory too; and
the boy never even flinched.
"What a burned-out little fuck he is now," chuckled Bruce,
lighting up a cigarette as Jack turned them back onto the road.
"We'll have to come down and visit his snotty little ass later
on. I really think we will."
By the time Jack had killed the engine beneath Bruce's house, his
fly was unzipped and his cock was being tugged free. Bruce was
done with his cigarette and bent over, slurping up and down his
lengthening rod, mumbling happy sounds to himself. Jack lifted
his ass off the seat and let Bruce pull his pants and Jockey's
all the way off, kicking free of his shoes in the process. He
lay the seat all the way down so he could angle his ass and legs
a little better, and soon Bruce's finger slid wetly up Jack's
musky asshole. Bruce poked at Jack's prostate in a delicious
rhythm that matched his sucking mouth perfectly. Jack just
closed his eyes and listened to the dim boom of the waves in the
distance. There was nothing as good in this world as sex at the
beach. Nothing.
The finger withdrew. The sucking stopped. Jack sat up,
startled. Bruce was getting out of the car and heading toward
the steps. "Well, come on," Bruce chided quietly. The sounds of
partiers on a nearby condo balcony echoed faintly among the
pylons. "Let's go get serious about it, why don't we?"
"No fair!" whispered Jack, gathering his clothing and scampering
up the steps. "You are a fucking cock tease, godammit!"
Bruce had the door open for him, and as soon as they were inside
they locked in a passionate kiss. Jack tasted some of his own
pre-cum in Bruce's mouth, along with the flavor of cigarettes and
a hint of their gumbo and oysters. His hands worked to get his
lover fully undressed, as Bruce did the same with him. Soon they
were both nude, pressed tightly together, hips working to grind
their cocks against each other's hard belly.
Jack withdrew this time, dancing away toward the wall of sliding
glass doors that faced the darkened beach below. He got down on
the Berber carpet on all fours, pressing his cheek to the rolled
fibers and swaying his back. His ass was high in the air, and he
knew how delicious his balls must look. The scant moonlight
coming into the darkened room was plenty for Bruce to see by, and
Jack was rewarded with a low whistle.
"Mmmmmm, Jackie," murmured Bruce, "Lemme' have a lick of those
sweet nuts...." And then Bruce's tongue was on his scrotum,
licking, slurping, tasting up and down on his sack, around each
shaved globe over and over, just delicately enough... just rough
enough... and Jack could only tremble and moan. Then Bruce's
tongue moved up his perineum, the delicious ridge of skin that
lead straight from the root of his balls to his asshole. Over
and over, the tongue caressed his ridge up and down, until his
sack was dripping with Bruce's saliva.
And then his tongue found the hole. Jack gasped and pushed his
anus back against Bruce's face, and his lover happily obliged by
driving his tongue even deeper into Jack's musky, loose hole.
Around and around the tongue went, licking hard against the
inside of Jack's tingling anal ring. Bruce's hand came up and
began to lightly stroke Jack's cock and balls. An agony of sweet
strokes and subtle squeezes, a little tug timed just right as his
tongue stabbed deeper than ever... and Jack had to pull away. He
fell forward upon his face, chest heaving, arms splayed out to
his sides.
"Oh God! Jesus!" Jack breathed. "Too much! Fuck!"
Bruce crawled on top of him, chuckling. "You look like you're
ready, eh, bitch?" His fat cock wedged between Jack's asscheeks
like an enormous crowbar. It was huge and hard and slimy at its
tip. Jack's anus spasmed; his ass humped reflexively against the
weight of it lying in his crack. His own cock plowed back and
forth upon the springy, rolled carpet, crushed beneath their
combined weight, quickly getting raw.
Bruce's mouth was on Jack's ear, nibbling, licking, breathing
hot against him. Bruce kissed his neck and bit his shoulders,
his teeth going in hard, chewing against his skin in time with
their slow, hard humping. Jack knew he'd have marks all over him
for a solid week, but he could find ways to avoid his wife
seeing. It took some care and some luck, but the inconvenience
was worth it. Between his cock scraping across the carpet,
Bruce's cock sliding up and down his asscrack, and the teeth
gnawing mercilessly at his skin, Jack was powerless to do
anything but grunt and buck and beg for more.
"Oh yeah, fucker, bite me!" Jack growled. "That's it, fuckin'
chew on me!"
Bruce bit down harder, grabbed Jack by the back of his hair and
ground his face into the carpet. He lifted his cock just enough
to reach in with his other hand and jam the head straight into
Jack's sloppy, wet asshole. In one searing thrust, Bruce's huge
cock sank to the root. Jack was powerless to move. He could
feel a rug burn grind itself into his cheekbone as Bruce
continued to smear his face into the berber. His shoulder felt
like it was bleeding.
"That's it, oh yeah, bitch," Bruce muttered, his hips twitching
as he settled his cock inside Jack as deeply as possible. "Way
down in that hot ass. Deep inside you, you goddamn faggot...."
Bruce then pumped his cock steadily inside Jack's ass, from head
to root, over and over, taking his time. He chose different spot
on Jack's flesh, biting down hard and unexpectedly. Sometimes he
slapped him viciously on his ass or the side of his head. He
then picked up his pace, reaching down to wrench back one of
Jack's arms, twisting it up brutally behind him in a police hold.
Jack screamed in agony and wept freely like a child. But his
cock at that moment spurted thick hot jets of come against his
belly and the carpet, and he couldn't help but choke out a
strangled "YES! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" even as his body writhed to
get out of the painful hold, despite his waist and ass spasming
joyously through his orgasm.
Bruce laughed cruelly, "Yeah, little fucker, cry like a baby and
come all over my fuckin' rug...." And then he suddenly released
Jack's arm and grabbed his shaking waist in both hands, hammering
his cock into Jack's wet asshole with all his strength. Jack's
prostate felt nearly crushed, its throbbing no longer rhythmic,
but constant, a sensory overload that shot straight through every
nerve in his body, strangely enrapturing and paralyzing him at
the same time, his neck and head and arms alternately stiff and
flopping about of their own accord. His cock continued to fire,
but no more jism was left; his gland shot off anyway, again and
again and again, painfully driving Jack even higher in his
twisted heights of pleasure.
As for Bruce, he jetted rope after rope of semen deep inside
Jack's ass, continuing to pound his cock to the full until every
ounce of come was spent. He bent forward then, breathing
heavily, and kissed Jack tenderly, over and over and over, all
over his back and shoulders and neck. He kissed the side of
Jack's face and licked up his messy tears. He kept his cock
inside until it was soft, and then he withdrew, still kissing and
petting Jack as the other lay there beneath him, exhausted, sore,
and euphoric.
For an hour the two of them slept there on the floor, wrapping
arms and legs together, still naked, unwashed, their sweat and
semen drying slowly. Jack had a dream that he was on a
merry-go-round, tied with his upper body hanging partly off the
side, so that his head was only inches above the rocky ground
that spun by below him. He was naked and his cock was pointing
straight up. Bruce flashed by every second or so, his strong
arms flinging the playground wheel ever-faster around and around.
Beside him stood the boy Cory, drinking a Mountain Dew. "He's a
dizzy bitch, ain't he?" Bruce said to Cory, but the boy only
shrugged and rolled his eyes. As Jack continued to spin,
helpless, in the dream, he saw flashes of the two like a zoetrope
animation staggering rapidly across his vision, a flipbook
tweening of moments that he craved to see more of... Bruce still
spinning the wheel, but somehow also getting his cock out and
letting Cory kneel to suck it... Cory suddenly naked, so scrawny,
but with a huge long cock, squatting himself over the bottle of
soda, fucking it slowly up into his own pink asshole... Bruce
pissing a fountain of golden rain from his cock, all over Cory's
upturned face and open mouth, the boy weeping in humiliation and
in need, his own cock spewing huge globs of come as he jerked on
it frantically....
"Hey, Jackie," Bruce whispered, and Jack was awake. He still
felt like he was spinning, but already the dream was forgotten.
His body was softly rocking as Bruce shook him tenderly from his
sleep. "Hullo, stud," Jack mumbled, smiling.
Bruce found Jack's mouth and kissed him, soft at first, then with
more heat, more tongue. Jack responded with his own rising
passion, letting Bruce roll over on top of him, lie full-length
upon him as he held off his weight with his gorgeous arms. Each
man felt the other's cock slowly stiffen against his belly; each
man groaned and kissed ever more deeply, their crotches rocking
back and forth, their cocks fucking hungrily against each other,
trapped inside the tight vise of their two hard abdomens, the
stickiness of dick-scum slicked and smoothed deliciously by the
fresh pre-cum that now leaked out of both slits, mingling,
greasing.
Bruce broke off the kiss, though, and stilled his hips. Jack
whined a little in his throat and looked pleadingly up at his
lover. Bruce couldn't suppress his laugh. "Jesus, Jack! You
really are a bitch!" He bent and kissed him once more, briefly,
then stood up. Jack, from his back on the floor, watched in
rapture as Bruce towered above him, all legs and cock and balls.
And drippy! A splotch of unidentified fluid landed messily on
Jack's throat, slowly sliding off onto the carpet, as he stared
hungrily up at his man.
"What?" Jack asked thickly. His hand went to his cock and
gently stroked; still a little sore from the carpet, but ready
for more....
"Well, buddy, I gotta piss," Bruce said, hands on his hips. His
cock bounced goofily as he talked, like it tried to mime the
words but was completely out of synch and utterly uncoordinated.
"But I'm too hard to piss now, thank you very much."
Jack laughed and continued to stroke himself. "Sorry, Bruce, but
you kissed me that time."
Bruce waved that off and looked away, through the sliding glass
door at the nearly pitch black Gulf of Mexico beyond. "Yeah,
yeah, whatever. Listen, what is it, like, midnight now? You
think anybody's still out there?"
Jack laughed again, but he stopped stroking and manfully got to
his feet. He only groaned once from the pain that lanced up into
his sore shoulder. "Fuck, Bruce, but you did get drunk tonight!
How the hell should I know who might still be out there? You're
the one who fucking lives here, remember? Not me!" But he came
up behind Bruce then and put his arms around him, letting his
rigid dick slide thickly against the hard crack of the bigger
man's ass. They stood that way, hotly pressed together in the
warm room, for a long time, Jack kissing Bruce's back and
shoulders just as tenderly as he had been kissed before. But
then finally Bruce broke away and turned.
"All right, that's long enough! Let's go down there and let me
piss on you out in the open air, OK?" Bruce nodded
enthusiastically at his own plan and immediately slid open the
glass door and stepped onto the deck. A drying rack stood nearby
with some swimming trunks clothes-pinned to it. He pulled off a
pair for himself and a pair for Jack, tossing them to him and
then stepping quickly into his own. "We need some camouflage for
the walk down to the water's edge, eh?" He grinned. Jack
grinned back and stepped into his trunks. His cock tented the
front outrageously, but he didn't care. It was dark, he was
horny. What the fuck.
Cory knew the honk was coming. If one thing never changed, it
was Bruce. Always with the horn, forever trying to get a laugh.
Fucking rich asshole, but at least he was good for free booze or
some pot whenever Cory ran out. And he never cared much about
closing his windows or locking things. Made it easy to get in
and snoop around. Spy.
Not that he needed to do that tonight. He'd seen enough of the
Jack and Bruce show on other weekends. It was all sweat and
teeth and muscles. A lot of jackhammer stuff, and Cory honestly
didn't know how Jack took it. How the hell could he even like it
that way? But whatever. Tonight was just not the night for all
that. Cory took a nice long drag on his joint, hitched up his
pants a bit, and headed out for the beach. He had other shit on
his mind.
Tyler was done with him. After nearly a whole year of doing
everything right, or at least trying to, Cory's boyfriend had
dropped him cold. It had been his first openly gay
relationship; since he was so far away at college, he felt like a
completely different person, free to be himself at last, and what
he'd wanted above all else was to just find a guy and not worry
about any of the stupid hometown stuff. No more talking in code
on the phone. No more playing it so stone cold straight at
school and at the mall and on the weekends. No more idiot
girlfriends to drag around and spend money on. He could give and
get blowjobs in his own room without worrying about a fucking
thing. He could ride as much cock as his ass could take, any
time he wanted, any way he wanted, and he didn't have to worry
that some chatty bitch would find out and spread it all over town
or worse, that his mom would stumble in and see her boy for
what he really was. That could fucking well end the money, at
the least.
He sucked again on the fat, sweet joint and suppressed a small
shudder. Thing was, Cory didn't really know how his mom might be
about it. Hell, her best friend most of the time was Bruce, who
didn't worry about anybody knowing his preferences. But, then
again, Bruce was this huge muscular rich guy who didn't need
anybody's approval. Plus, he could kick ass if somebody gave him
trouble about it. At the very least, his money could change a
mind or a mouth pretty fast. More than a few cops on the island
kept quiet the complaints about Bruce's beach adventures over the
years. But that was Bruce. Cory could only sit back and dream
about shit like that.
The warm breeze swept across him over and over like an endlessly
unfurling bed sheet, fresh from the drier. Waves murmured up and
back, in and out, across the shallow tidal sands, a pleasant sort
of conversation that Cory missed deeply when he was away at
school. The sound and the smell and the softly moving air, the
beach he'd grown up loving was in his blood too deep to deny, and
he couldn't help but like coming back home. Even if it was for
no other reason than what he was doing just then: sitting on the
sand, smoking, settling into himself, just finding a minute or
two with no seams whatsoever. Nothing but a sweet moment of
unbroken solitude, surrounded but serene, the sand and the waves
and the stars keeping him company and keeping everything else
away.
So Tyler had a problem. Big fucking deal. Cory shuffled out of
his slides and let his toes dig a little in the sand beneath his
house, then he set off toward the water and his regular spot.
The fine powder was good and cool and helped keep his anger down.
It was so hard to be pissed at anything on a night like this.
So hard to find enough fault with Tyler to truly miss him that
much. What was it worth anyway? Had he really thought his first
real adult love would last forever? He was a freshman, after
all! Think of how many more years, how many more men there can
still be before some next big change. Tyler's just the first,
but think of the next! Think of anything else, at least, but
Tyler's cock or Tyler's balls resting on your tongue, or his
ass when he danced, or his toes in your mouth, his fingers so
deep inside you....
"Fuck!" Cory exhaled, shaking his head a bit and reaching down to
adjust his pants again. Damn things slid all crazy now,
something he hadn't expected, but he'd remember from now on and
wear better-fitting jeans or something. He'd remember because he
knew he would do it again. Even though it had crushed his life
with Tyler, he had made a choice. Tyler could find someone else
now, but Cory had to keep becoming the adult he wanted to be.
The free man he deserved to be.
He sat in a weathered wooden beach chair, deepset, seat riding
the sand, with a high back and long armrests, his legs relaxed
out straight on the cool quartz powder of the shore just thirty
feet off the waterline. His ass squirmed and scooted until
everything felt just right. He'd been in that same chair
hundreds of times in his life, of course, but he took an
especially long time to settle into it just then. After all, it
was the first time he'd been in it wearing a diaper.
The mere thought of it stirred his cock, and he couldn't help but
feel for the dozenth time, at least, the outline of his penis
beneath the puffy layers of super-absorbent synthetic. What a
fucking miracle all of this was! How had he even thought he was
really free really even alive at all before realizing this
amazing fact about adult life? He could wear a diaper, all day
if he wanted, and nobody would notice, nobody would care. Even
if somebody did care, nobody ever had to know. The stores sold
them to adults just the same as to kids! And medical supply
stores sold even better kinds, and they didn't care at all if you
came in and bought a whole case at once. Online stores were
great, too, or so Cory had been told, but he didn't want to wait
for the shipping and he didn't want to pay extra for the fast
delivery. So he'd tried Wal-Mart first, and their adult brands
had been OK. But then he hit Tassler's Medical Equipment and
Supply, Inc., and their store was enough for him. He'd tried all
three of their major brands now and had finally settled on the
diaper maker and style he liked the best. All that had been left
were two things: wearing them 24/7 and letting Tyler know.
It was the letting Tyler know part that he'd tried first, after
his weeks and weeks of covert experimentations were through,
after he knew for certain how important this new part of his life
was going to be. He was ready to go toward wearing them
full-time, but since he had a full-time lover it would be
impossible, and stupid, to try to hide this crazy thing he now
loved. Tyler sat across from him for nearly an hour as Cory had
tried to explain. Tyler had been there, after all, when it had
all started. He'd gone with Tyler to that all-gay fetish party
on Halloween in the fall. Tyler had already gotten quite drunk
before they arrived (he was dressed as Captain Morgan), and he
more or less dozed the night away in a wicker patio rocking chair
while Cory in his "207-boned Skeleton" costume had been free to
roam, if not to romance.
A dozen or so of the guys had been wearing diapers; Cory, having
never thought about such a thing before, was thunderstruck. He'd
spent most of the night hanging out with the diapered guys (who'd
all sort of stuck together, their respective "daddies" bringing
them drinks or whatever throughout the night), and he even got to
watch several of them piss or shit their diapers. He felt the
warmth from the outside as it spread and filled the fibers. He
massaged the hot, heavy bulge as it sagged down between a guy's
thighs. He even got to see a couple of them get changed wiped,
powdered, the whole works. It tripped him out harder than any
drug had ever done. His entire perception of adulthood, of
queerness, of freedom, all of it changed. The diapered guys
talked about how they lived their lives in diapers. He learned
what it took to keep things discrete, to make it a real life's
choice and not just some occasional horny thing. He even learned
brands of diapers to look for, how and where to buy, what some
web sites there were that could help him learn more. And of
course he got their names and numbers, and he heard about their
local chapter of the GAB/DL Club. He made it to their next
party, the very next week, matter of fact.
It had been his first moment of broken trust with Tyler. He'd
told him he had to study, that he was hitting the library for an
all-nighter. What happened all night, instead, was that Cory had
gotten drunk, put on his first ever adult diapers, and let nature
happen. A half-dozen Kendall Wings later, there was no doubt.
He'd changed himself the first couple times, of course, being
shy; but the last several changes he had whomever was near take
care of him, and it only added to the thrill and the euphoric
rush of freedom that once again turned his perceptions inside
out. Not a hand touched his cock but to clean it. Not a finger
neared his asshole but to wipe it and powder it and keep it nice.
It was not cheating.
But that didn't matter to Tyler, of course. Who knew that even
gays could be uptight, close-minded prudes? Cory shook his head
softly, breathing more smoke into the night. Whatever. He was
gone. It would've happened sooner or later, anyway. Cory knew
that about himself now. He was always going to be different, and
shame - at least so far - wasn't a part of that experience. What
he liked was what he liked. He craved what he craved. How could
he help it? He didn't go looking for his lusts, after all. They
were already a part of him, and they felt as natural as his arms,
his legs, his beating heart.
As normal and as inevitable, in fact, as the urge to shit; Cory
shifted his ass slightly as the sweet sensation of fullness
rattled up from his colon. Then, with one long, gentle push, he
let the first fat turd pass through his pulsating sphincter and
come to rest, firm and warm, inside the snuggling safety of his
diaper. The kid took a deep drag on his joint, closed his eyes,
and pushed again... and again... until every turd was squeezed
out of his ass and squashed thickly inside his faithful Abena's,
with not a single seep into his jeans to worry about.
Sighing, truly happy for the first time in weeks, Cory gazed up
at the high, clear vault of stars and gently traced the outline
of his cock as it steadily hardened beneath the diaper.
was Bruce. Always with the horn, forever trying to get a laugh.
Fucking rich asshole, but at least he was good for free booze or
some pot whenever Cory ran out. And he never cared much about
closing his windows or locking things. Made it easy to get in
and snoop around. Spy.
Not that he needed to do that tonight. He'd seen enough of the
Jack and Bruce show on other weekends. It was all sweat and
teeth and muscles. A lot of jackhammer stuff, and Cory honestly
didn't know how Jack took it. How the hell could he even like it
that way? But whatever. Tonight was just not the night for all
that. Cory took a nice long drag on his joint, hitched up his
pants a bit, and headed out for the beach. He had other shit on
his mind.
Tyler was done with him. After nearly a whole year of doing
everything right, or at least trying to, Cory's boyfriend had
dropped him cold. It had been his first openly gay
relationship; since he was so far away at college, he felt like a
completely different person, free to be himself at last, and what
he'd wanted above all else was to just find a guy and not worry
about any of the stupid hometown stuff. No more talking in code
on the phone. No more playing it so stone cold straight at
school and at the mall and on the weekends. No more idiot
girlfriends to drag around and spend money on. He could give and
get blowjobs in his own room without worrying about a fucking
thing. He could ride as much cock as his ass could take, any
time he wanted, any way he wanted, and he didn't have to worry
that some chatty bitch would find out and spread it all over town
or worse, that his mom would stumble in and see her boy for
what he really was. That could fucking well end the money, at
the least.
He sucked again on the fat, sweet joint and suppressed a small
shudder. Thing was, Cory didn't really know how his mom might be
about it. Hell, her best friend most of the time was Bruce, who
didn't worry about anybody knowing his preferences. But, then
again, Bruce was this huge muscular rich guy who didn't need
anybody's approval. Plus, he could kick ass if somebody gave him
trouble about it. At the very least, his money could change a
mind or a mouth pretty fast. More than a few cops on the island
kept quiet the complaints about Bruce's beach adventures over the
years. But that was Bruce. Cory could only sit back and dream
about shit like that.
The warm breeze swept across him over and over like an endlessly
unfurling bed sheet, fresh from the drier. Waves murmured up and
back, in and out, across the shallow tidal sands, a pleasant sort
of conversation that Cory missed deeply when he was away at
school. The sound and the smell and the softly moving air, the
beach he'd grown up loving was in his blood too deep to deny, and
he couldn't help but like coming back home. Even if it was for
no other reason than what he was doing just then: sitting on the
sand, smoking, settling into himself, just finding a minute or
two with no seams whatsoever. Nothing but a sweet moment of
unbroken solitude, surrounded but serene, the sand and the waves
and the stars keeping him company and keeping everything else
away.
So Tyler had a problem. Big fucking deal. Cory shuffled out of
his slides and let his toes dig a little in the sand beneath his
house, then he set off toward the water and his regular spot.
The fine powder was good and cool and helped keep his anger down.
It was so hard to be pissed at anything on a night like this.
So hard to find enough fault with Tyler to truly miss him that
much. What was it worth anyway? Had he really thought his first
real adult love would last forever? He was a freshman, after
all! Think of how many more years, how many more men there can
still be before some next big change. Tyler's just the first,
but think of the next! Think of anything else, at least, but
Tyler's cock or Tyler's balls resting on your tongue, or his
ass when he danced, or his toes in your mouth, his fingers so
deep inside you....
"Fuck!" Cory exhaled, shaking his head a bit and reaching down to
adjust his pants again. Damn things slid all crazy now,
something he hadn't expected, but he'd remember from now on and
wear better-fitting jeans or something. He'd remember because he
knew he would do it again. Even though it had crushed his life
with Tyler, he had made a choice. Tyler could find someone else
now, but Cory had to keep becoming the adult he wanted to be.
The free man he deserved to be.
He sat in a weathered wooden beach chair, deepset, seat riding
the sand, with a high back and long armrests, his legs relaxed
out straight on the cool quartz powder of the shore just thirty
feet off the waterline. His ass squirmed and scooted until
everything felt just right. He'd been in that same chair
hundreds of times in his life, of course, but he took an
especially long time to settle into it just then. After all, it
was the first time he'd been in it wearing a diaper.
The mere thought of it stirred his cock, and he couldn't help but
feel for the dozenth time, at least, the outline of his penis
beneath the puffy layers of super-absorbent synthetic. What a
fucking miracle all of this was! How had he even thought he was
really free really even alive at all before realizing this
amazing fact about adult life? He could wear a diaper, all day
if he wanted, and nobody would notice, nobody would care. Even
if somebody did care, nobody ever had to know. The stores sold
them to adults just the same as to kids! And medical supply
stores sold even better kinds, and they didn't care at all if you
came in and bought a whole case at once. Online stores were
great, too, or so Cory had been told, but he didn't want to wait
for the shipping and he didn't want to pay extra for the fast
delivery. So he'd tried Wal-Mart first, and their adult brands
had been OK. But then he hit Tassler's Medical Equipment and
Supply, Inc., and their store was enough for him. He'd tried all
three of their major brands now and had finally settled on the
diaper maker and style he liked the best. All that had been left
were two things: wearing them 24/7 and letting Tyler know.
It was the letting Tyler know part that he'd tried first, after
his weeks and weeks of covert experimentations were through,
after he knew for certain how important this new part of his life
was going to be. He was ready to go toward wearing them
full-time, but since he had a full-time lover it would be
impossible, and stupid, to try to hide this crazy thing he now
loved. Tyler sat across from him for nearly an hour as Cory had
tried to explain. Tyler had been there, after all, when it had
all started. He'd gone with Tyler to that all-gay fetish party
on Halloween in the fall. Tyler had already gotten quite drunk
before they arrived (he was dressed as Captain Morgan), and he
more or less dozed the night away in a wicker patio rocking chair
while Cory in his "207-boned Skeleton" costume had been free to
roam, if not to romance.
A dozen or so of the guys had been wearing diapers; Cory, having
never thought about such a thing before, was thunderstruck. He'd
spent most of the night hanging out with the diapered guys (who'd
all sort of stuck together, their respective "daddies" bringing
them drinks or whatever throughout the night), and he even got to
watch several of them piss or shit their diapers. He felt the
warmth from the outside as it spread and filled the fibers. He
massaged the hot, heavy bulge as it sagged down between a guy's
thighs. He even got to see a couple of them get changed wiped,
powdered, the whole works. It tripped him out harder than any
drug had ever done. His entire perception of adulthood, of
queerness, of freedom, all of it changed. The diapered guys
talked about how they lived their lives in diapers. He learned
what it took to keep things discrete, to make it a real life's
choice and not just some occasional horny thing. He even learned
brands of diapers to look for, how and where to buy, what some
web sites there were that could help him learn more. And of
course he got their names and numbers, and he heard about their
local chapter of the GAB/DL Club. He made it to their next
party, the very next week, matter of fact.
It had been his first moment of broken trust with Tyler. He'd
told him he had to study, that he was hitting the library for an
all-nighter. What happened all night, instead, was that Cory had
gotten drunk, put on his first ever adult diapers, and let nature
happen. A half-dozen Kendall Wings later, there was no doubt.
He'd changed himself the first couple times, of course, being
shy; but the last several changes he had whomever was near take
care of him, and it only added to the thrill and the euphoric
rush of freedom that once again turned his perceptions inside
out. Not a hand touched his cock but to clean it. Not a finger
neared his asshole but to wipe it and powder it and keep it nice.
It was not cheating.
But that didn't matter to Tyler, of course. Who knew that even
gays could be uptight, close-minded prudes? Cory shook his head
softly, breathing more smoke into the night. Whatever. He was
gone. It would've happened sooner or later, anyway. Cory knew
that about himself now. He was always going to be different, and
shame - at least so far - wasn't a part of that experience. What
he liked was what he liked. He craved what he craved. How could
he help it? He didn't go looking for his lusts, after all. They
were already a part of him, and they felt as natural as his arms,
his legs, his beating heart.
As normal and as inevitable, in fact, as the urge to shit; Cory
shifted his ass slightly as the sweet sensation of fullness
rattled up from his colon. Then, with one long, gentle push, he
let the first fat turd pass through his pulsating sphincter and
come to rest, firm and warm, inside the snuggling safety of his
diaper. The kid took a deep drag on his joint, closed his eyes,
and pushed again... and again... until every turd was squeezed
out of his ass and squashed thickly inside his faithful Abena's,
with not a single seep into his jeans to worry about.
Sighing, truly happy for the first time in weeks, Cory gazed up
at the high, clear vault of stars and gently traced the outline
of his cock as it steadily hardened beneath the diaper.
The Gulf of Mexico was warm this time of year, even at night, so
it felt a lot like bathwater and less like ocean. Jack was sure
it would stimulate Bruce's bladder tremendously once the two of
them got down to the water's edge. Soon they were ankle-deep,
still holding hands and enjoying the rhythmic, muted scrape and
slide of the night-time Gulf's calm wavelets, the sound
surrounding them there at the wet ocean shore and creating a
sense of absolute unity, privacy, solitude... as if the two of
them were alone on the earth, enfolded, protected. Jack sighed
and squeezed Bruce's hand.
"Sentimental fucker," Bruce chuckled. "You're not going to start
quoting Thoreau again, are you?" He was enjoying the moment,
too, smiling serenely, gazing out across the dark waters at a
distant buoy, its signal light blinking in and out of sight with
the rise and fall of the far-off waves.
Jack shook his head. "No, this time I was thinking more of
Rembrandt." He could make out Bruce's profile in the midnight
gleam off the water. Bruce was rolling his eyes.
"Choose only one master," Jack grinned, "Nature."
Bruce snorted with derision, then spit the ensuing loogie far out
into the shallows. He squeezed Jack's hand, though, and looked
him dead in the eyes. "Who the hell gave you permission to
choose?" he sneered, all fuck-devil Top. His hand let go of
Jack's and went instead to the crown of Jack's head and pushed.
"Get on your knees, Jackie," and Jack quickly did, mouth open and
ready. Bruce's other hand was tugging his swim trunks down,
freeing his thick, piss-ready cock.
"All right, baby..." Bruce grunted, as much to Jack as to his own
penis, encouraging them both; then he sighed as the urine finally
came, a heavy, smelly, salty torrent that blasted Jack squarely
between his eyes. Bruce growled and played his piss-spray all
over Jack's face, the eager mouth of his lover straining back and
forth to catch it. Jack couldn't help himself, he mewled like a
lovestruck tomcat caught behind a fence. He wanted that warm,
strong drink; he craved to taste it, to swallow it, to bathe in
it. Finally, unable to stand being teased any longer, Jack rose
up and put his mouth around Bruce's cockhead, chugging as much
piss as he could, his cheeks distended, his mouth leaking urine
all around.
"Goddamn, I love how you want that so bad," murmured Bruce, and
he grasped Jack's ears as the last few spurts went down his
lover's throat. "You are such a nasty, nasty bitch, Jackie..."
Bruce moved his hips, fucking Jack's captive mouth as his cock
began to stiffen. Soon he was fully hard and happily ramming
himself down Jack's throat. It was usually a fifty-fifty deal
with Jack, as far as face-fucking went. Sometimes he could
handle it, sometimes not. And just then it was not.
Jack convulsed, shoved himself away from Bruce's crotch, but not
quickly enough. Before the tip of Bruce's cock even cleared
Jack's lips, he puked. A giant froth of piss, beer, and seafood
exploded from Jack's mouth, splattering Bruce from waist-to-toes
and back-splashing all over Jack's own face, neck, and chest.
Whimpering, beyond all control, Jack bent double and vomited
again; then again. The sand was thick with the chunky, rancid
remnants of Jack's appetite. His mouth was dripping as he
shuddered, bent over on his hands and knees, light-headed from
convulsing, his throat raw and sore.
"Aw, fuck it all!" Bruce flicked a small piece of Jack's puke off
his abdomen. Then he stroked his still-hard cock, cleaning off a
large blob of vomit in the process. He examined his messy
fingers, then flicked wet little bits at Jack's sagging head.
"You had too much to drink tonight, baby." Bruce, barely
considerate - but trying - managed to keep his chuckling mostly
suppressed. He did ask with complete sincerity, "Are you going
to be all right?" And then he went back to stroking his engorged
penis, expecting only one answer from his lover.
Jack nodded, still gasping for breath, and came back up to the
large, slick cock. It smelled like rotted cheese, fermented
orange juice, dead fish. Jack choked down another convulsion,
closed his eyes, and drove his mouth onto Bruce's throbbing dick.
He couldn't breathe anymore, though, since vomit had backed up
into his sinuses, too, packing in the mucous and sending a sticky
mess out his nostrils as he tried to catch his breath. He had to
pull off, once again, and went back down on all-fours.
"Sorry! Jesus, I'm sorry!" coughed Jack, waving a hand weakly a
few inches above the sand. "Just gimme a minute, Bruce, just
hold on..." and Jack spasmed again as a new fit of coughing
nearly had him retching once more. Bruce smoothed the back of
Jack's hair with his large, strong hand, bending down to him
tenderly.
"Hey, c'mon Jackie, let's just walk it off for a little bit. I
don't mind." He grabbed Jack beneath the arms and lifted him to
his feet, keeping a steadying arm around his lover's waist. "You
need some air, that's all." He kissed the top of Jack head, and
Jack, despite his puke-induced delirium, got yet another strong
jolt, deep in his heart, a pounding in his chest that marched him
even farther down the road of love than he'd already gone. Bruce
was his true mate - his one, deep, lasting love. Not Angela.
Never Angela. He thought she felt the same about him, in fact,
so it didn't really worry him. Theirs had never been a marriage
for love. It was something else. For show, perhaps. For fun,
maybe. They were steadfast friends, after all. Never fought,
laughed a lot, threw great parties. But nothing electric,
nothing primal and terrifying and absolute - nothing like the way
Bruce made him feel.
"Thanks, Bruce," Jack muttered, leaning into the larger man's
strong side, throwing both his arms around Bruce's still-naked
waist. "I'll be OK in a little bit, I promise." Jack's head
spun from alcohol and sickness and lust, and he felt nothing but
Bruce's warm, sticky body against his. There was the constant
reminder, too, that Bruce's cock was still out and ready; its
semi-hard length slapped rhythmically against his thighs as they
walked, a sound that finally stirred Jack's own dick, once again.
He turned his head, kissed Bruce's sweaty neck, and whispered,
"You don't happen to need to piss again, do you? I'd like to
wash this nasty taste out of my mouth...."
Bruce, who'd been looking inland, laughed softly and steered them
both to a stop. "As a matter of fact, I do." He grinned down at
Jack with a wicked hunger, "And I think I'd like to do it with a
little audience this time!" Bruce jerked his head inland, toward
a dark row of stilt-houses, and Jack strained to see something
that looked like people. There was a whole lot of varying darks
against dark, shadows upon shadows, moonlight not doing much,
starlight even less. But then he saw it: the cigarette. Someone
was about halfway between them and the houses, smoking. He
continued to stare, and finally he could make out the lean,
slouchy outline of a young man, casually puffing away and staring
straight up in the air, lost in his own private world.
it felt a lot like bathwater and less like ocean. Jack was sure
it would stimulate Bruce's bladder tremendously once the two of
them got down to the water's edge. Soon they were ankle-deep,
still holding hands and enjoying the rhythmic, muted scrape and
slide of the night-time Gulf's calm wavelets, the sound
surrounding them there at the wet ocean shore and creating a
sense of absolute unity, privacy, solitude... as if the two of
them were alone on the earth, enfolded, protected. Jack sighed
and squeezed Bruce's hand.
"Sentimental fucker," Bruce chuckled. "You're not going to start
quoting Thoreau again, are you?" He was enjoying the moment,
too, smiling serenely, gazing out across the dark waters at a
distant buoy, its signal light blinking in and out of sight with
the rise and fall of the far-off waves.
Jack shook his head. "No, this time I was thinking more of
Rembrandt." He could make out Bruce's profile in the midnight
gleam off the water. Bruce was rolling his eyes.
"Choose only one master," Jack grinned, "Nature."
Bruce snorted with derision, then spit the ensuing loogie far out
into the shallows. He squeezed Jack's hand, though, and looked
him dead in the eyes. "Who the hell gave you permission to
choose?" he sneered, all fuck-devil Top. His hand let go of
Jack's and went instead to the crown of Jack's head and pushed.
"Get on your knees, Jackie," and Jack quickly did, mouth open and
ready. Bruce's other hand was tugging his swim trunks down,
freeing his thick, piss-ready cock.
"All right, baby..." Bruce grunted, as much to Jack as to his own
penis, encouraging them both; then he sighed as the urine finally
came, a heavy, smelly, salty torrent that blasted Jack squarely
between his eyes. Bruce growled and played his piss-spray all
over Jack's face, the eager mouth of his lover straining back and
forth to catch it. Jack couldn't help himself, he mewled like a
lovestruck tomcat caught behind a fence. He wanted that warm,
strong drink; he craved to taste it, to swallow it, to bathe in
it. Finally, unable to stand being teased any longer, Jack rose
up and put his mouth around Bruce's cockhead, chugging as much
piss as he could, his cheeks distended, his mouth leaking urine
all around.
"Goddamn, I love how you want that so bad," murmured Bruce, and
he grasped Jack's ears as the last few spurts went down his
lover's throat. "You are such a nasty, nasty bitch, Jackie..."
Bruce moved his hips, fucking Jack's captive mouth as his cock
began to stiffen. Soon he was fully hard and happily ramming
himself down Jack's throat. It was usually a fifty-fifty deal
with Jack, as far as face-fucking went. Sometimes he could
handle it, sometimes not. And just then it was not.
Jack convulsed, shoved himself away from Bruce's crotch, but not
quickly enough. Before the tip of Bruce's cock even cleared
Jack's lips, he puked. A giant froth of piss, beer, and seafood
exploded from Jack's mouth, splattering Bruce from waist-to-toes
and back-splashing all over Jack's own face, neck, and chest.
Whimpering, beyond all control, Jack bent double and vomited
again; then again. The sand was thick with the chunky, rancid
remnants of Jack's appetite. His mouth was dripping as he
shuddered, bent over on his hands and knees, light-headed from
convulsing, his throat raw and sore.
"Aw, fuck it all!" Bruce flicked a small piece of Jack's puke off
his abdomen. Then he stroked his still-hard cock, cleaning off a
large blob of vomit in the process. He examined his messy
fingers, then flicked wet little bits at Jack's sagging head.
"You had too much to drink tonight, baby." Bruce, barely
considerate - but trying - managed to keep his chuckling mostly
suppressed. He did ask with complete sincerity, "Are you going
to be all right?" And then he went back to stroking his engorged
penis, expecting only one answer from his lover.
Jack nodded, still gasping for breath, and came back up to the
large, slick cock. It smelled like rotted cheese, fermented
orange juice, dead fish. Jack choked down another convulsion,
closed his eyes, and drove his mouth onto Bruce's throbbing dick.
He couldn't breathe anymore, though, since vomit had backed up
into his sinuses, too, packing in the mucous and sending a sticky
mess out his nostrils as he tried to catch his breath. He had to
pull off, once again, and went back down on all-fours.
"Sorry! Jesus, I'm sorry!" coughed Jack, waving a hand weakly a
few inches above the sand. "Just gimme a minute, Bruce, just
hold on..." and Jack spasmed again as a new fit of coughing
nearly had him retching once more. Bruce smoothed the back of
Jack's hair with his large, strong hand, bending down to him
tenderly.
"Hey, c'mon Jackie, let's just walk it off for a little bit. I
don't mind." He grabbed Jack beneath the arms and lifted him to
his feet, keeping a steadying arm around his lover's waist. "You
need some air, that's all." He kissed the top of Jack head, and
Jack, despite his puke-induced delirium, got yet another strong
jolt, deep in his heart, a pounding in his chest that marched him
even farther down the road of love than he'd already gone. Bruce
was his true mate - his one, deep, lasting love. Not Angela.
Never Angela. He thought she felt the same about him, in fact,
so it didn't really worry him. Theirs had never been a marriage
for love. It was something else. For show, perhaps. For fun,
maybe. They were steadfast friends, after all. Never fought,
laughed a lot, threw great parties. But nothing electric,
nothing primal and terrifying and absolute - nothing like the way
Bruce made him feel.
"Thanks, Bruce," Jack muttered, leaning into the larger man's
strong side, throwing both his arms around Bruce's still-naked
waist. "I'll be OK in a little bit, I promise." Jack's head
spun from alcohol and sickness and lust, and he felt nothing but
Bruce's warm, sticky body against his. There was the constant
reminder, too, that Bruce's cock was still out and ready; its
semi-hard length slapped rhythmically against his thighs as they
walked, a sound that finally stirred Jack's own dick, once again.
He turned his head, kissed Bruce's sweaty neck, and whispered,
"You don't happen to need to piss again, do you? I'd like to
wash this nasty taste out of my mouth...."
Bruce, who'd been looking inland, laughed softly and steered them
both to a stop. "As a matter of fact, I do." He grinned down at
Jack with a wicked hunger, "And I think I'd like to do it with a
little audience this time!" Bruce jerked his head inland, toward
a dark row of stilt-houses, and Jack strained to see something
that looked like people. There was a whole lot of varying darks
against dark, shadows upon shadows, moonlight not doing much,
starlight even less. But then he saw it: the cigarette. Someone
was about halfway between them and the houses, smoking. He
continued to stare, and finally he could make out the lean,
slouchy outline of a young man, casually puffing away and staring
straight up in the air, lost in his own private world.