The chemical crashed hard against me. My knees completely buckled, I fell back hitting the bed with my bare ass. The blood had left my extremities and was charging towards my skull and cock. My head pounded. I could see my cock throbbing. I was flat on my back, not a clue as to how I got here. The tipped up lighting slashed off the mirrors and blinded me. I felt my stomping boots being pulled from my feet. Then my leather pants were taken off.
Surrender was coming for me. I could barely see. I blinked to try and clear my eyes. The room was bright, the lights buzzing on overload power. I felt I might sunburn in here, it was so hot. I looked through squinted eyes. Stevie had a large tube of something in his hand. He was squirting liquid onto his fingers. With his black leathered legs, he pushed my bare knees apart. I felt a cool sensation on my ass.
Christ sakes! He was greasing me!
This was a blow job. A blow job. Him on me.
No. No way. I tried to take back some control, and pushed up on the bed.
I fell back, flattened.
My left ear was on fire!
What the hell?
Stevie had slapped me?
You scrawny son of a bitch!
I’ll show you. With what strength I had left, I tried to push forward. My head was reeling from the slap and the surrender chemical coursing through me. Overwhelming me. I lifted off the bed. Sort of.
This time, the faggot actually punched me in the mouth!
With a full fist!
My lip split and blood ran warm as I flailed back against the bed. I could see red spatters on my heaving chest.
What the hell was he doing!
Stevie yanked me up by the hair, pulling me forward into a near sitting position. His blue bottle was back in my nose. I heard the pump being activated, smelled the chemical, and felt a hand clamp over my mouth. I pulled at his hand, but inexplicably, I had no strength.
“Suck it in deep, Davey boy. Suck it in deep. Be a man.”
What choice did I have?
Inhale it, or suffocate at his hand. I inhaled, his chemical on top of mine, and began to float away into my cock. My cock seemed to be my only reason for being. What a phenomena. I was a human cock. Only seeking release. Only seeking pleasure.
Stevie reached to the wall to grab the dog collar. He fitted it around my neck. Clicked it shut. A mental draining sensation pulled the will out of me. Damn. The collar.
“There, same as last time.”
Stevie roughly threw me back against the bed. My head slammed against the glass wall. I thought the mirror would break. I felt no pain when my skull bounced off the mirror. The surrender was flooding me. Nearly drowning me. For a second I clawed at my neck, desperate to remove the collar. I didn’t want the collar. I couldn’t have the collar. Visions of Pit Bull Man filled my mind.
Not Pit Bull Man.
What if he saw me with this collar?
I stopped clawing at my neck and fell into full surrender. I felt the cot groan as Stevie climbed aboard. The cool swipe was back at my ass. I felt a probing. Following by an uncomfortable penetration.
“One finger,” Stevie cooed.
More penetration. Thicker this time.
Two fingers, girl,” I heard him whisper.
Who the fuck was he calling a girl?
More cool grease.
“Domination girl. Me over you, again,” he stated in a mocking tone.
He was pouring the grease to my ass. The penetration was thicker yet. Very uncomfortable.
“Three fingers. How do you like it?” Stevie asked, mischief in his voice.
My brain had a blip or two of sense left in it.
What was this?
He had three fingers in my ass?
He was calling me a girl?
Stop this! I was not a fucking girl!
“Stop. Stop it,” I tried.
I felt his bony fist crack my nose. Not much pain, but the punch from above rocked my head. There would be pain in the morning.
What was with the violence?
Why was I helpless to prevent it?
Or fight back?
What the hell was wrong with me?
Then it flew through my brain. S & M Club. S & M, asshole. This is what they do in here. Beat you and fuck you. You got out easy last time. Not this time.
Remember. You were warned. Twice. By the guy at the door, and by the guy who is turning you into a cunt.
My legs were pushed wide and back towards me. I felt his two hands on mine, moving my hands underneath my thighs. He slipped his fingers under my wet ass. A full on probe was pushing at my hole.
He smothered me with his body weight. All one hundred and forty pounds. The pressure on my throbbing cock was enormous. I was ready to blow any second.
Stevie’s hot breath was in my ear. Then his tongue. Goose bumps ran down my spine. The goose bumps ran straight to my cock. His tongue was on my lips, lapping at my spilled blood. Biting at my mouth, bringing fresh blood. He greedily sucked at my blood. A skinny white vampire. I tried to moan my pain. My mouth hurt like hell, but his tongue was in my mouth, and I kissed him passionately. Saliva and blood.
What was wrong with me?
Frenching this son of a bitch faggot who was beating the shit out of me?
I tried to move my hands from my thighs and raise them, tried to fight back, but my hands and arms were dead weights. My cock owned the night. My cock was everything. The rest of my beaten self was in full submission. This faggot ruled me. Owned my body and soul. The full court pressure on my sphincter said he was about to own my ass.
How useless and pathetic was I?
Why did I think I could go through with this?
Why the fuck had I come in here?
The sick kissing stopped as Stevie pulled away. I was left panting, slobbering, hungering for more. Needing more. Then. The most upsetting question of my life, was asked of me.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Davey?”
From the bottom of the submission barrel, what choice did I have? And why was this faggot calling me Davey?
Three fingers and a tub of grease had already been pushed into me. I had been slapped and punched and was unable to respond in kind. My stuttering brain came up with one word regarding this question.
I simply nodded.
Get it over with, you fucking queer.
“Do you mean yes?” he mocked.
I nodded again.
My cock pounded. If I didn’t get off somehow soon, I would either explode or get lost in my cock forever.
“You have to tell me what you want. You are a virgin pussy, Davey, you have to ask me for it. Otherwise, it would be rape.”
No way was I going to ask him for it. Not in an S & M Club. Not anywhere. I knew it was going to go down regardless. No way was I going to beg him to fuck me. It’s your stupid game, asshole. I am not playing. Mexican standoff.
I could feel the heavy pressure at my back door. He was poised and ready.
Abruptly, the pressure left my ass. I felt a wet, heavenly suction on my cock. I looked up to see why. I was able to see Stevie’s mouth, those thick, wet girlie lips, sliding down my over-stuffed shaft. I was taken aback at the sight of my cock. It was nearly purple. The veins stood out, ready to burst. Stevie was sliding down. Lower. Lower. I could see his throat bulge as my engorged bell was swallowed. Stevie kept going. His lips were kissing my bush.
He had all of me in his throat! Unbelievable. This was one professional cocksucker! The feeling!
Anything resembling resistance bled from me. Bled through the pleasure sensors in my cock.
“Fuck me. Yes. Fuck me. Please,” I moaned through swollen, bloodied lips.
There. You win.
Stevie pulled off my cock. His saliva and my pre-cum dripped from his mouth. The pressure immediately returned to my ass and ramped up. Pressure, pressure, and then a violent, tearing pop! His bell had pushed into me. I gasped in pain. Extreme pain. I was about to cry out when he cracked my face again. A near knockout punch. My head flopped to the side, ringing from ear to ear.
“Don’t you dare make a sound. Take it like a man.”
He clamped a bony hand over my mouth. To keep me quiet. The pain of the tearing, despite all of the lube, was monumental. Nearly unbearable. I could feel every millimeter of penetration as my tight hole clamped down on his cock. He pushed deeper into me. Christ. It felt as if his cock was a foot long, and a foot wide. He pulled back, and then went in even deeper. The sensation of being full, the sensation of exploding through my own skin, was unbelievable. I bit down on his fingers, to survive the searing pain.
“Uggggggggggghhhhh,” was what came out of my mouth.
“Listen to me Davey,” Stevie said, slapping at my face, commanding attention.
“Don’t fight it. In fact, push down on my cock. As if you were taking a shit. Push down and accept it. Otherwise, I will tear you to shreds.”
What was he talking about?
Whatever. It was either accept or die. The cool grease on my ass had become a full out fire-storm. I pushed down on his cock as he pushed in. I thought I would shit all over the place. I couldn’t, because his cock was plugging me solid. I pushed hard, his cock must have sunk six inches into me. A streak of pleasure shot from my ass to my balls and up the shaft of my cock. I would never have expected such a sensation, not in a million years.
Not entirely true. There was a bit of a track record.
As Stevie shoved his cock in and out, both the firestorm and those streaks of pleasure in-creased. My cock seemed to extend from my asshole to my knob. Sixteen inches long. Sickly, and mostly unaware, I was able to develop a rhythm to go with his thrusting. A survival rhythm. Push down and go with him, or have my ass shredded. I recalled this exact situation from my life before. Charlene and that asshole Danny.
My two old friends disappeared into a cloud of pain and pleasure. Stevie was pounding me hard enough to shake the cot. I hadn’t moved a muscle in the rest of my body since he had entered me, but my head and shoulders were bouncing off the back wall. I felt the sear of pain on my butt cheeks. Stevie had his fingers dug in deep and was actually pulling my hips forward to meet his thrusts.
I tried to open my eyes. They were both battered and swollen from his fists. I did manage to get one eye open. The light was searing around the room, blasting off every available mirrored surfaced. Stevie was mounted over me, fucking me into a pussy rag doll, my fast numbing ass slamming up against his groin. Which meant his entire cock was penetrating me. I saw my legs folded towards me, my own hands holding them apart.
The sounds coming out of my mouth?
I had heard those sounds many, many times. The sounds my women would make. When I was destroying their pussies, and their asses. Women in pain, sounds. Women in pleasure, sounds. Now, my sounds. Holy gay embarrassment. So damn loud, too.
A big show I was putting on for the hallway cruisers. Bragging to them all, I was being fucked by the leather pants boy.
I could barely see my cock. Pointing directly at me. Heavy and full. Slick and shiny, the knob was pulsing with my heart beat. I was mesmerized by the sight of my gorgeous member. I tried to look up, squinting again at the searing light.
Why was it this bright?
I vaguely remembered holes in the walls. There must be an audience to my depravity, prob-ably on both sides. Stevie’s head was thrown back, and when he looked down at me I could see only ecstasy on his face. He tugged on his own nipple rings. Tugged hard. Tugged harder. I thought he would pull the rings right out of his chest. He let go of the rings. He reached with his long arms towards me. He caressed my nipples, which caused me to cry out. In pleasure.
The pressure in my ass was beyond description. The pressure was pain, and the pressure was heat. The pressure was illicit and unexpected. The pressure was producing an unbelievable pleasure from a well massaged prostate gland. The pleasure was of being mentally and physically dominated by this skinny little faggot, who owned everything I was.
Stevie slid his hands around my neck, caressing my throat. The last thing I saw were his pillow soft lips, heading towards mine. My swollen mouth opened to receive him. I had his cock. I wanted his tongue. His tongue deep inside me. I felt more pressure around my neck and throat. Hard, constricting pressure.
I could not draw a breath!
My eyes flew open!
What the fuck was he doing?
Stevie’s entire body weight was bearing down on my throat!
He wildly bucked against my ass. He was pulling nearly all the way out, then slamming back into me. My loud grunting reverberated around the small glass box. Frightening me. A true animal sound. The cot and the walls of the room shook with his power. His power. Not mine. Stars filled my vision as this new pain, this new pressure, and this new pleasure, rocked my being.
I gasped and gagged for air, moving from fuck toy to basic survival mode. I thought I was madly thrashing at him, but I wasn’t. My dead hands were attached to my dead legs, keeping me wide open.
Stevie let go of my neck and the oxygen rushed into my chest. I heaved mightily, thankful for the chance to breathe again. My cock was teetering on the edge of explosion. I was bursting with erotic sickness. Stevie was caressing my soaking wet hair, brushing my forehead with his long fingers. His cock was buried in my ass. I was grateful for the relief. Both from his thrusting and his strangling. Jesus. I was grateful? Talk about a pathetic loser faggot.
His hands went back to my throat. Squeezed. The pressure returned. He pulled me off the cot towards him. My eyes began to roll around in my head. I was going over to the dark side. I did not fight him. I could not fight him. However it had happened tonight, he held the power over me. His grip was a serpent around my throat. I sensed a shaking, he must have been throttling me. I suddenly attuned to my ass. I actually felt his cock twitching deep inside me. Stevie was going to cum. I knew he wasn’t wearing a condom. The bastard was bare backing me.
I did not want his raw cum in my torn up ass.
My own cock began to spasm. The spasm started in my lower bowels, deep in my ass where Stevie’s bell was working.
Everything exploded and everything went to full dark.
Did the power go out?
Was I dying?
Thursday is bowling night. Yes, hard to believe. Our local bowling alley has the fancy black lighting, an excellent sound system and flat screens for sports. Pool tables, darts, table hockey, cheap food, cheap booze, it is a regular bar with bowling lanes.
The Four Amigos were together again. Rico was grumbling about his loss, but getting better. He was trying to find a way back in, but we told him he would have to gut it out until January before he could reset. ‘Fuck you all’, was Rico’s response.
Danny was kind of ticked at me. I reminded him it was totally his idea. Not mine. I wasn’t quite getting what the big deal was with. He hardly knew little Susie. We boys had passed chicks around before. Yes we had. My legendary night of six girls at one house party? All of the Amigos had participated with at least three of the girls. Only I had done all six of them.
I was thinking it had more to do with little Susie being on the rags. She wouldn’t let Danny into her, but I had pounded her bloody. When Danny saw the sheets a few days later, stained after doing laundry, well, the dead blood might be messing him up. Fine. I would even up with him at the first opportunity. I was already thinking of Charlene. I could do her a few more times, make her my girl. Then maybe offer her up to Danny. I could pretend to like Charlene, then Danny would be chomping at the bit to get into her pants and even the score. I would graciously allow it to happen. Pretend to be miffed. Danny would be happy. Then he could stop the wounded, moping, puppy dog shit.
One problem. I think I wanted this Charlene chick all for myself.
Meanwhile, Donny was flying high. He was matching me bang for bang. Last night had been tough for him. When I dropped the bomb about the Oriental chick, he went into a panic. By the time I finished telling the tale, he had less than sixty minutes to score. The window of opportunity was closing on the evening. The midnight bell was prepared to strike Donny from the competition. The ugly chicks and the fat chicks were in play.
Poor Donny. He had to go with the fat chick. His story was gross and disgusting, but as the evening went on, it became funny. The fat chick session became a badge of honor amongst us soldiers. Donny had taken one for the cause. He made it clear; he wouldn’t be taking any more for the cause. Lesson learned. Donny was starting early, on this night number six.
Darla was going to be my number six. Darla was my age, with a hot body and a pretty face, but she was black. I had never gone black in my life. Many new things were going to end up on my blood stained sheets before this journey was over.
Darla was a basketball chick, she was long and lean and tight. She was also bowling in my foursome tonight. I swear, when you get in a groove of something good, it attracts people. If you are grooving your way into money, or success or fitness or fame, or having tons of sex, certain folks know. They attract to you. Darla sensed something was up with me, and she was sticking close.
You know how flowers look before they open? Or a fifteen year old girl looks as her tits and ass start to bloom onto the world?
I don’t know where I am going with this train of thought.
All I know is, a chick comes within ten feet of me, my cock begins to stir. When this happens, I smile more, I am a little more outgoing, I flirt a little more and I am sugary sweet to the ladies.
Or, I was completely full of shit, I was twenty-six years of age, I was in my prime, and many girls wanted to take advantage. This was probably closer to the truth. Anyhow, the seeking is done and Darla is looking for action. I am thrilled with this development, if not over-whelmed at who it is. Don’t want to be prejudiced, but the dark chicks have never turned my crank. I am hoping tonight will change my perception. I want to be an equal opportunity pussy-pounder.
I am also thrilled because it is only eight thirty. Eight thirty means I can tee myself up for a double. Because tomorrow, I have a date. With Charlene. I tell myself it is to begin the Danny set up. To get my Amigo back on track. Not true. I think this Charlene chick is way more than what I have seen. Friday, I will find out. Friday is date night. This means I need one before midnight, and one after midnight. I must be free and clear for tomorrow.
Damn if Darla is not all over me, giggling and tugging on my arm. She is whispering in my ear, we should get out of here. No problem I answer. My eyes are already wandering, searching, searching for the next one.
I laugh out loud to myself. LOL. Because Saturday night, after my Charlene date night, is the big house party at Rico’s. Fuck central, fuck me. This whole thing is getting more and more ridiculous.
I ask myself. Why didn’t I start this a year ago? Why not?
I was certainly enjoying it. Actually, I loved it. This quest was becoming my reason for living. I thought about it twenty-four seven. The planning. The discipline. The challenge. The success. Hell, I might carry this into the New Year. I might set an unbeatable record. Unless your name is Hugh Hefner, or Tiger Woods.
Darla is a ‘her place fuck’. Good. Gives my sheets a rest. Wasn’t sure if I wanted her at my place anyway. I don’t know why I was thinking this. I followed in my car as she drove home. Her car would be safely tucked away, and when I was finished, I would be splitting in my car. No loose ends.
Darla lived in a bachelorette pad, small, clean and neat. Three floored building, about fifty years old. Quaint and nicely kept up. A girl friend lived with her, apparently sleeping on the pullout couch in the tiny living room. The girl friend would be home at ten. I had to be out by ten. Perfect. No after intercourse cuddling, or talking, or shit. It would give me two easy hours to find my midnight score. The World Fuck Record gods were obviously looking out for me.
The kissing was okay, not the best. Feeling her body was better. Long, lean and muscled from the sports. Beautiful. Getting her naked was the best. Her skin was dark but not deep. I had seen white chicks with darker tans. Darla was terribly inexperienced. Her large teeth and small mouth got in the way of anything remotely resembling a blow job. She was very uptight. Tense. Mechanical. Perhaps this wasn’t the right thing for her to be doing. I had gotten more action out of teenagers back in high school.
I actually clicked off number six before it was over. Twelve minutes later, I was walking out the front door. I had managed to cum, but barely. My balls were turning blue. The twelve o’clock girl was going to get a load and a half. I don’t think Darla came. I don’t think she was capable. I don’t know if it was a race thing or what. I am pretty sure it was a ‘no fuck’ thing. An inexperience thing.
As a matter of fact, I had only seen her around town with one black dude, another basket-baller. I had no problem doing her with my cock. I would put mine up against any black dude’s, any time. No matter, I was done. Bottom line was, six up and six down. Time for number seven. The scorecard would read Darla, seven and three. Yes, not a big deal. I anticipate a few dead fucks on this quest. Because most of the girls I had fucked thus far in my life were dead fucks. Inexperienced fucks. Awkward fucks. Painful to be with, swallow my load, then get lost, fucks.
Ten o’clock. Keep it simple, studly. Back to the bowling alley.
The other three Amigos were still there. Drinking, yapping and eating. I reported in and got high fives all around. Even from Danny. Danny and Donny had never done a black chick. Rico had. What was the mystery, the two white boys wondered? It was okay, I answered, but I wouldn’t be looking for it in the future. I appreciated the hotness of Beyoncé and the ‘When Love Takes Over’ singer, but yes, I could pass.
While I was out, Donny had cooked up a plan. His plan involved me. Donny was strictly doing one per night. The doubles I was pulling didn’t interest him. He had been sending drinks to a table for the last hour and a half. With my return, it was time for us to amble over for the big intro.
It dawned of me. We guys were pretty dense creatures. We only think girls want to fuck on the weekend. This is pretty stupid. All the guys pussy hunt on the weekends when there is tons of competition. Poor results, for most guys. Hey, there are five other days guys don’t look for it. The work week days. Do the math. What were the odds of scoring during the work week? The odds were astronomical.
I had to admit, some things I was still learning.
We went over and introduced ourselves to the ladies.
Lindsay was a college girl. About twenty years old, pert and perky. When she stood up I could she was tall and slim. With long skinny legs underneath a super short skirt. Our little town had a campus affiliated with one of the big city private girl’s schools. Hot chicks in hot uniforms. Crisp white shirts. Green ties. The green and red tartan skirts riding about eight inches above the knee. Yep, those.
Thursday night was pub crawl for the young ladies. A rented school bus cruised them from bar to bar. Spending about an hour at each place. They had one more bar to hit before signing back onto campus. Their curfew was midnight. Not good. I needed this bitch after midnight. I might have to let this one go.
Lindsay reminded me of a colt. Unsteady on her feet, gawky of limb. My cock was already stirring. My unclean cock. Unclean from Darla. My cock stirred some more. This skinny white colt was going to lick the black pussy off my cock.
Why did such a thought make me horny?
Lindsay was such a cutie. I would not be letting this one go.
These college girls were a good choice by Donny. I understood my pal would be a serious competitor in this game we were playing.
I listened to Lindsay talk. About what, I have no clue. School, or back home, or something. My mind was busy, plotting to score. I checked the clock on the wall behind the bar. Ten forty-five. The bus would be leaving soon. I told Lindsay I would catch up with her at the next stop. She giggled and hugged me as if we were long lost buddies. I felt her ass and smelled her per-fume. Sweet.
As the group of nearly twenty identically dressed girls left, a noticeable sag rippled through the bowling alley. I returned to my seat with the Amigos. Donny was perturbed. Not the smartest guy on the planet, he had already tossed the college girl plan out the door. He didn’t want to go bar hopping with the girls, and wasn’t convinced any of them would put out. What a waste of money, he complained. Nearly ninety minutes worth of drinks. Donny had less than seventy-five minutes left to score. I was already done for the day. I was thinking ahead, to midnight.
Midnight and Lindsay
At the next bar, I met up with her. We shared a few drinks and she ‘convinced’ me to show up at her campus at midnight. She would sneak out. She was the bad girl. This was getting stupid, it was so easy. Sure enough, two minutes past midnight the drunken college girl was sucking Darla’s pussy juice off my cock. In my Toyota. In the school parking lot. I came close to ejaculating, listening to the colt slobber away, unknowingly eating another chick out.
At the last minute, I pulled her mouth off my cock, lifted her ass and skirt, and set her down gently on the end of my pole. She was nice and wet, from the booze and from eating my stick. Another super tight fit, but I was going to make it happen. The girl bit back on the pain to accept her trophy. Her head slammed the ceiling of the car as I bucked. I thought she might break her skinny neck.
Five minutes later, I blew a nice load into her tight pussy. Jesus, my cock wasn’t even a third of the way into her. Oh well. Click. The counter turned over to seven. I lifted her off my cock and decided to return the favor. I had fucked Darla. Darla was all over my cock. Lindsay sucked Darla off my cock. I fucked Lindsay. Now I would suck me out of Lindsay. Made sense, didn’t it? Especially since I had spotted security walking in our direction and was about to give the old guard something for his spank tank.
I pushed Lindsay back against the door, lifted her little uniform skirt and crawled into her pussy. My legendary tongue found the mark as I tasted my own cum mixing with her juice. Kind of gross. But not. It was me after all. Genetic nectar.
My timing was perfect as the poor girl began to moan, running her hands through my hair, pulling me deeper into her. The legendary tongue of the town was hers.
Clink. Clink. Metal on glass.
The flashlight beam turned on. The windows were steaming, but the old guard got enough of an eyeful to light up his balls.
Anyhow, after letting him scold us about security violations and blah, blah, blah, and with me apologizing, the guard escorted Lindsay back to her dorm. The old bastard did turn and nod towards me as they walked off. I gave him a salute in return.
After all, we were on the same team. From different generations. I’m sure the old guy had memories of his own. At least I hoped he did. If not, I certainly gave him one.
Lindsay was on the scorecard as hole number seven.
Eight, for her young good looks.
Nine, for helping me put on a good show for the old timer.
This is the day I have been dreading. The brown package is sitting in my mail box when I arrive home after work. As promised, two weeks ago. No return address. I take the package out of the mail box and feel the size and shape of a DVD. Shit sakes. Here we go.
I unlock my condo door and go inside. To the bathroom to clean up. I take off my shirt and toss it in the laundry hamper. Wash my hands and face. Look at myself in the mirror. The black eye is nearly gone. The lip has healed and the swelling in the nose has disappeared. I can’t believe the skinny little bastard actually drank my blood. Faint finger marks remain lacerated in the sides of my neck. His finger marks. Marking me. I shake my head. Hopefully, after another week, these marks will be gone forever. Like Stevie. Gone forever. At least from the orifices of my body.
My mind was a different story.
When I stepped into the shower two weeks ago, on the morning after, I couldn’t believe the mess draining down between my legs. Cum and blood and grease and shit. I was bruised and torn deep inside. The bastard cored me out, big time.
I could barely walk those first few days. My ass had been unbelievably sore. I couldn’t shit for nearly a week. Lots of Ex-lax. When I did finally shit, I nearly cried, it was so painful. Concrete, impacted chunks. Impacted by eight inches of white cock. Driven home by a thick, bell hammer. Polysporin on the ass ever since. I was finally starting to feel better back there.
The worst damage was to my psyche.
The stupid House of God.
What the hell had happened in there?
Why did it happen the way it did?
What was I thinking? Or not thinking?
When I catch up with the leather pants faggot, and I will, I am going to lay such a beating on the prick. Am I pissed at him. Somehow, he took complete control of me, for the second time in two weeks, but this time, much more than a cock in my throat. He totally abused me. Collared me and beat me. Pathetic. Next time, I would be ready for him. Next time.
Really? I am going back there? To what? Take charge?
Damn straight. Going to even the score. Level the playing field.
Wasn’t that the plan for the last visit?
Never mind. The last visit was a total screw up.
How was he able to completely dominate me?
He was a hundred and forty pound skeleton. I could crush him like a fly. I am a big, strong, physically fit guy. I have boxed and wrestled and can hold my own in a bar fight.
Why didn’t I crush the bastard? Why?
Was there something at play in the sick underground world?
Did my ‘normal world’ skills not work down there?
This had cost me four lost days at work because of my aching ass and my beaten face. It was costing me nights of sleep because I couldn’t figure out why I was such a worthless piece of shit. Because none of this experience had been fun. Degradation, abuse, victimization. Weakness and submission. Remember, I keep telling myself, I asked him for it. I asked him to fuck me. Fuck me please. Please. A chill ran through me. My cock twitched.
‘Fuck me please’.
I actually said those words. Me, the big tough guy, the macho stud. I asked him for it. Talk about a mind fuck.
Wait a minute.
Who was I kidding?
Let’s be totally honest here. One part of the night had been, had been what?
Fun wasn’t the right word.
The swelling, aching pounding of my cock had been an unbelievable experience. My cock had become the center of my universe. From the depths of my ass to the tip of my knob, I was in cock heaven. When the domination and abuse and man rape was occurring against me, the island of pleasure called my cock had seen me through. My thick, giant, hard cock.
Indeed, talk about a mind fuck. The best orgasm of my life had been with a guy. Not with a gorgeous, perfect ten blonde. A domineering, faggot of a guy. I had been man fucked into sexual ecstasy. Too sick for words. Too true to ignore.
I don’t remember leaving the club. I returned to my senses sometime before noon on the following day. I was fully dressed and in my car. Leather pants back on. Zipper done up. Stomping boots on. The brown bottle in my pocket. In the parking lot across the street from the House of God. Freezing cold, with the January sun slanting through my windshield. Somebody had brought me out of the fag club and settled me into the car to sleep it off.
They had left me a note.
‘Davey. Thanks for the party. Two weeks from today, you will get your own personal video of your special night. Enjoy. See you again. And we will see you again.’
Signed, Disciple of God.
Disciple of God?
See you again?
I thought some more.
Yes, I would see you again. I had a major league score to settle.
Two weeks later, most of the second visit was fading away. The inaugural blow job night of four weeks ago was barely a memory. I was having a hard time putting myself in that situation. I certainly remembered the blatant acts clearly. I couldn’t remember my mind set or thoughts or experiences of those acts. I had given a blow job. I had kissed a guy. I had been drilled up the ass. I could only recall these as facts. Emotionless, empty facts. I wondered if I was compartmentalizing this stuff.
Or was my mind purposely discounting it, to save my own sanity?
A year ago, six months ago, if someone would have said I would be sucking cock, I would have killed them. Or told them to fuck off. Or laughed at them. Bad joke, dude.
Now, I had sucked a cock.
I hadn’t changed. I worked. Had my condo. My friends. Sort of. Family. Sort of. Not really. Job. The gym. Sports on television. The bars on the weekend. Not much anymore. In fact, not at all anymore. Laying low had been the way for me to go. The chicks were no longer dying to fuck me. A few of them might. The ones who missed out on the great December run.
What exactly was going on here?
I don’t lisp, wear makeup, wear panties under my jeans or wiggle my ass. I didn’t take up cooking or dress designing. I don’t listen to Boy George or George Michael, and I think Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry, and Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino, are the best movie performances ever. In other words, I am certainly no fag, and in no danger of becoming one.
Let’s make it nice and clear. I am not a fag.
All right then. Move forward.
Somebody from the House of God had taken the car keys from the glass mirror room and waved the FOB around until they found my wheels. Dragged me across the street and dumped me in the car. Found my wallet and checked my identification. They knew my real name, ad-dress, credit card number, and everything else.
Holy shit. They had everything on me. Including. A gay porno movie. With me as the star. Another reason why I wasn’t sleeping at night. A good reason.
What if this movie ‘showed up’ on YouTube or some internet porn site?
They didn’t have to edit or use Photoshop. It was me, in all of my stupid glory. What an idiot I had been, walking in to the House of God, as if I could handle whatever came my way. My entire fate being held in somebody else’s hands is not a good feeling. Someone I don’t know. In fact, it is a sickening feeling. Moving far, far away is becoming a strong possibility. A given, if this thing leaks. Because yes, it would go viral. Of course it would go viral. I was starring in it.
I grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from the kitchen counter. It is Friday night, no work to-morrow, no nothing. Dusk is settling outside, and I close the curtains. My first floor unit has a nice big picture window in the living room. I don’t think I want anybody seeing the movie I will be playing tonight. There was a time when voyeurism was way cool. Not any longer.
I am cooking up some Kraft dinner for supper. Something bland to absorb the JD whiskey I am going to be pouring down my throat. This might turn into a long night.
I slowly eat my supper, sipping the JD as I go. I have opened the brown package and spilled the contents on the table. A single DVD, nothing else, no note or letter or instructions. Simply place in DVD machine, push play, and wish you were dead.
I finish supper and rinse the dishes in the sink. I grab the disc and the bottle and shuffle into the living room. Insert the disc and click on the television. I sit down on the couch and wait for the screen to light up. It does. In blazing white light. The screen flickers between the white and darkness, finally settling somewhere in between. Images begin to show up. Images of people. Two people. I hit the pause button. Take a big gulp of the whiskey. I feel the warmth flood through me. I already know the camera was in the next room. Room one twenty-eight. The lens up tight, carefully pointing through one of the three inch holes.
I might as well go back to the moment. Properly. Self-immersion.
I take the bottle with me as I walk to my bedroom. Strip the rest of my clothes off. Every-thing goes. Into my closet, I select the leather pants off the rack. Slip them on. Nice and tight. Form fitting. They look good.
I bend down and grab my boots. They have been shined and polished back to brand new condition. I tug them on over my feet. I look at the full length closet door mirror. I don’t need a shirt. I check on the top shelf and find my brown bottle. I haven’t touched the thing in two weeks. Frankly, the chemical scares me. It is part of the evil mix. What part, I am not yet sure. The evil mix of beer, vodka, the brown bottle, the blue bottle, the leather, the stomping boots, the hands on the ass and crotch, the blazing vortex of mirror light, my thick swollen cock, and who knows what else. The evil mix that is killing me. Or at least, screwing me up royally.
Twelve months and four weeks ago, I finished chick number thirty-one, in the thirty-one days of December. A complete year of abstinence has followed. Enforced abstinence. Inability to perform, abstinence. However, in the time span of two weeks, I had blown a fag, and then been brutally corn holed by the same fag. Two weeks later, I have the video proof.
How does anyone make this journey?
I finger the brown bottle. I have done more research on this shit. Amyl nitrate. Poppers. Joy Juice. Brown Betty. Whatever. A blood thinner. An illegal blood thinner. It thins your blood, makes you feel light headed and relaxes your muscles. Big deal. It doesn’t cause erections, or maintain erections, or buckle your knees, or make you pour sweat, or make you suck cock, or kiss men.
What is causing all of this to happen?
Do I want to contemplate the possible answers?
Why am I wearing leather pants and stomping boots as I get ready to watch my own degradation?
Will I get some sort of satisfaction or thrill out of watching?
Will I pretend it is someone else getting debased?
Will I pretend it is me on top, the alpha male of the species?
I am dressed up in my power outfit, drinking liberally from the JD bottle, fingering my poppers. Standing in front of my closet. I will definitely be pretending something. Christ, the movie hasn’t yet started, and I am already way out in left field.
I head back to the living room. I turn off the tall corner light, and the small table lamp. Once again, I ensure the curtains are tightly closed. I shut off my cell phone and chain the front door. I am taking no chances. This DVD is evil. This DVD could ruin my job, my life, me. Everything. A simple piece of plastic. Unbelievable, thinking this disc could bring my whole world crumbling down.
I sit back down on the couch. The couch is dark green leather. The couch crackles under my weight. I am sitting on a leather couch wearing leather pants.
Why am I pleased?
The JD bottle is one third empty. I better slow down. The poppers are on the couch beside me. Ready, in case I need a helping hand. I grab the remote. I notice a fine bead of sweat on my chest. My mind is already cycling back to the House of God. My back is stuck to the green leather of the couch. I stare at the frozen image on the screen. My first starring role.
Let me see what I can no longer remember.
[to be continued.......... For the entire 164,000 word text, download the EBOOK from BARNES & NOBLE, KOBO, SONY, APPLE, FLIP KART or SMASH WORDS]
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