A young man engages in sex with 31 different women before fallling into the dark, gay underworld.
I napped most of yesterday afternoon, fatigue catching up on me unexpectedly. I worked my day shift today, and was hungry for chicken wing night. I was more than ready to move forward on my quest. Far from being tired or worn out from nine consecutive calendar days of sex, I felt as I had back when I was a young teen, the non-stop jerk off year.
Energy and excitement bounded through my veins. I felt an awakening. I was meant to do this. This could be a truly excellent, full time job.
Rico had brought up the possibility of getting this onto to the net. We weren’t quite sure how to do it, but Rico was sure there was money to be made.
Well, no matter to me. Paid or for free, this was too much fun. The great white huntsman was ready. The thrill of bagging the ‘next one’ was tingling through me. I could see the counter sitting at nine, itching to click over to ten.
Patience, Mr. Counter, patience.
Monday night always started with wings and draft. It was a tradition with us boys. Seven o’clock and the Four Amigos were dipping in. Donny dropped the big bomb on us. He had fallen. His Sunday efforts had been in vain. His Saturday night conquest lasted well into the morning. In fact, the chick slept over. A major faux pas for a fuck stud.
She took more out of Donny when he woke up. She didn’t leave his place until near dinner time, and our boy was beginning to falter. Sunday evening was the slowest night of the week. As the night began to shrink, things began to look bleak. Again, the specter of fat and ugly reared its head. Not worth it to Donny. He was toast.
Donny’s post mortem showed my double up method was definitely the way to go. Congrats to me. Donny was an eight and out. Too bad. Only I would be carrying on. With nine holes completed, I was already the winner from our little group, but I had a long way to go.
Danny continued to hold the grudge. Simmering below the surface. Idiot. The Charlene deal was definitely off the table. Thank Christ I hadn’t told him about it. A few more fucks with Charlene and I might be serious about her.
What a sacrifice it would be to hand Charlene over to Danny.
Should I do it?
The big even up project?
Should I turn it on again?
Or leave it off?
On again? Or off?
What to do?
Bros before hoes.
One problem. I don’t know if Danny would go for Charlene. He wouldn’t admit it, but I think he was dating Susie again. Dating the chick that screwed one of his best friends, after re-fusing to screw him. Ouch. Danny’s balls were shrinking. He needed my help to man him back up. Charlene might be the one to do it. Especially if I opened up to him about how amazing she was, and about how much I liked her. Damn. Too much thinking.
The number ten swam back into my mind. Ten. The first double digit fuck. A milestone. The number the big white hunter was gunning for tonight.
I spotted number ten, sitting four tables over. Traci, a waitress from the country and western club, the Gin House, was enjoying a night off in a different bar. Party it up, girl. Traci was plain as day, her face was lucky to be a five. A six with makeup. Wow, was she ever painted up tonight.
After spending time with the ten known as Charlene, was I dropping to a six?
Not quite, because Traci more than made up for the plain Jane face with the legendary mega rack and the tiny hips. She was wearing tan leather chaps, the official uniform of the Gin House, and the ever present cowboy boots. The boots made her three inches taller. After slumming with the dirty girls at Rico’s house party, I was going to slum with super tits. I knew she was easy; in fact, two of the Amigos had done her before.
My plan was to spread the makeup all over her plain face and fuck her between those giant tits.
The ‘I am interested in hooking up, I mean, fucking you’ signals had passed between my table and Traci’s for the past hour. It was only eight o’clock and I was more than ready. As was she. When the boys moved over to shoot pool, Traci appeared at my table. The usual hellos and what are you up to and bam, we were out of there. Not a word was given to any of our table-mates. Off to the magic sex pad for me and the human rack. I had to see these things in the flesh.
In the kitchen of my condo we drank beers. Drank them fast. It was easy to forget about Traci’s face. Because up this close, she was smoking. The boots, the chaps, my hands were on her tiny hips in no time. We kissed and grabbed and my cock grew hard. I wondered how I was going to get her shirt off. It was tight, a second skin. I bent my head and went for her tits. Sucking at them, finding her hardening nipples through the material. Good girl, no bra. I guided her to a kitchen chair, then dropped to my knees. Sucking and licking at her protruding nipples. Her shirt was soaked by my efforts. I bet a lot of guys had spent a lot of time on these wonders. I was no different.
She was reaching for my crotch, trying to work the zipper. I stood, found the bottom of her shirt and peeled it up and over her head. I stopped breathing.
The biggest, most perfect, most incredible tits I had ever seen, proudly jutted out from the dog face’s chest. I dropped back down and began to worship these things. My hands, my mouth, my tongue, my teeth, everything I had was brought to bear on her glorious knockers.
My cock was at full attention as I groveled on my knees. I thought of the sweet pheromones oozing from Charlene’s pussy, and how I had cum while going down on her. The same might be happening with Traci’s tits. This was awesome. This chick needed to be in Playboy. This chick needed to be on my shitty video camera system.
I pushed away and stood up, took her by the hand. Escorted her into the bedroom. We kissed, standing in front of my big bed. Traci pulled away as my hands got busy on her tits. She left the room, promising a surprise when she returned.
I would love chaps forever. Because when she returned, she was wearing only her chaps and her cowboy boots. Bare ass, bare pussy, bare tits. She slid onto the bed, back against the headboard. I crawled on, lasering for her knockers. Her nipples were bigger than the Meagan Teagan duo’s entire tits. I was sucking them again, getting lost in the sensation of being nursed. It would be nice to be a baby again.
I sucked and licked and nibbled and plastered those nipples with my saliva. The smell of pussy began to fill the room. The titty girl loved the titty work. I felt her hands on my shoulders, edging me down. I hoped her pussy was better looking than her face. I relinquished the pristine nipples and let her be the guide. Of course, she wanted the magic tongue.
I followed the scent and the heat, my tongue leading the way. Wet and hot. On first contact, she began to squirm. Her orgasm was right behind. Strange moaning sounds left her mouth as she came hard and fast.
She began to squirt, an experience I was not familiar with. I was still learning new things, and it was only day ten. I opened my mouth and took her all. She face washed me with her soaked pussy, grinding hard.
Traci let go and collapsed back against the headboard. Her shoulders and tits and belly were soaked. I was glad I left the light on. The war paint was running all over, smearing and covering the plain mug, a true Halloween mask. I found it creepy and ugly and sexy at the same time. A woman with a fake face. A woman with a mask. Interesting.
I was able to get my pants and underwear off, freeing my groaning cock. I mounted her face, ready to return the oral favor. Rubbing my cock head all over, smearing the paint even more. Her lips trailed my cock, sucking for it, trying to get it into her mouth. Finally I let her have it, pushing my bell into her smeared yap. She sucked hard, wriggling beneath me. I pulled out of her mouth and aimed my cock at her wet tits. I slid into her tight cleavage, lubricating on her body sweat. My deeply colored cock looked incredible between her hard, milky tits.
I pushed in and out, slowly fucking her tits. I gasped to myself, as my cock disappeared completely, then reappeared, angry and redder every time. I found myself thrusting, Traci bending her head, trying to suck at my bell as it pushed upwards. I pulled my cock out and laid it across her tits. Ran my bell over her raw nipples. This brought more strange moaning sounds from the painted girl. The betraying twitch began in my balls.
When I remembered, if I dump a load between her tits, it doesn’t count. I had to get this giant cock into her pussy. Now.
Another good idea!
I flipped Traci over onto her hands and knees. I pulled her back towards the foot of the bed. Got off the bed and stood. Pulled her bare ass against me. Grabbed my engorged cock and pushed it up against her sopping pussy. Shoved into her. Listened as she yelped, or barked. I ran my hands over the tan leather on her thighs, ran my hands down her leathered calves, ran my hands over her tight boots, my fingers fondling her heels. Reversed these movements, inhaling deeply, the euphoria of leather and pussy filling the air. The damn animal leather was doing it to me. I watched as Traci pushed her pussy over my huge cock. Those magnificent tits were hanging down, but rock hard and tight, they had to be fifteen pounds each.
I thrust deeper into the painted leather girl, the yelping/barking thing was happening again. I wasn’t sure what it was, but she was squirming, trying to take me. I mounted the bed with my knees, and was able to reach around and grab those slick, hall of fame tits. As I did, I pushed in further, further, finally sinking all the way. Traci arched her back, giving me full access to her tits. My hands weren’t big enough and I didn’t have enough of them to do what I wanted. Her tits were completely overwhelming me. This was one chick I would surely want to do again. There was way too much of her for one session.
My balls began to twitch again; it was time to start pumping. I let go of those tits and grabbed her waist. I began to pump. The sound of wet slapping began to compete with the barking sounds coming from the paint face girl. My pumping became pounding, I was driving into her pussy, hard and deep. Splattering on full contact. The girl was for sure barking, the sound overtaking the yelping and moaning. Leather-assed, guttural barking. A wild dog. A fucking dingo.
I pounded her good. Obliterated her pussy. Hit her hard and fast, a god damned jack hammer. We slid across the bed as we fucked. Suddenly her skull was slamming full on against the headboard.
I thought I might break her neck, but the barking continued. I was fucking Traci the dog as if there was no tomorrow. Finally my balls let go, blowing streams of cum into the depths of her pussy. The barking had become a wolfish growling, and I felt her pussy clampdown on my emptying cock, shredding at my member, trying to squeeze it down to nothing. We collapsed on the bed, me on top of her, me inside her. She was panting, the barking was over, the growling was over. A soft mewing was coming out of her mouth. Animal sex, indeed.
The counter clicked to ten. The face was plain. The tits were legendary. The pussy sprayed. The chick was an animal. Her hide was rich leather.
What number would she get?
Hole number ten. Traci. Seven point five for the chaps and the tits and the painted face. Eight point five for the effort.
This is night number three since receiving the DVD. I have watched the entire movie four times, from start to finish. I am now ‘reviewing’ the highlights.
What the hell? Is this movie consuming my life?
I have managed to drink only two beers during this review session. I am trying to reign in the runaway drinking, and the brown bottle snorting, and the jerking off to gay porno bullshit. Because none of it is okay. Because it is simply wrong.
I didn’t see the timer the first time I watched my movie. Or the second time I watched. Or the third time. I did pick it up on tonight’s viewing. In the bottom left hand corner. Tiny little numbers. I gleaned some very disturbing information from those numbers. Stevie’s cock was in my ass for thirty-seven minutes. Thirty-seven.
How was this possible? What kind of a stud was he?
Thirty-seven minutes. No wonder my ass had been raw. I had never fucked anybody this long. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, maybe twenty-five, tops. Usually with a break. The break being me pulling out of a pussy, jamming into a mouth, and then finishing back in the pussy. Or in the ass. Or some combination of.
Variety, I had called it.
The entire time Stevie’s cock was in me, my own cock had grown to legendary proportions. On the screen, the thing was gigantic. Sick. Twitching, and leaking pre-cum, and twitching some more. Flexing and veined and straining and engorging. At the time of eruption, despite being heavy and full and weighted, my cock was standing straight up.
Another bit of disturbing news. My cock was not only the biggest it had ever been, it blew the biggest load I had ever experienced the furthest distance and for the longest time. It blew while being untouched. Not stroked, or sucked, or licked, or squeezed by a little ring covered girly hand. Not plugged up in a tight pussy, or a tight ass.
No, my cock blew solely because another cock was in my ass. Plain and simple.
The prostate gland was a powerful ‘G’ spot for some males, according to the internet. Yet, this had been more. Much more. Me the pussy pounder, flat on my back. With the shit punched out of me. A dog collar clasped around my neck. Bleeding from the mouth. Sweating. Humiliated.
Womanized. Destroyed. Dominated. Dominated by someone half my size, wearing leather pants and big black boots.
As good as my cock looked on the video, Stevie’s cock looked equally good. Yes. I said it.
Maybe. Okay, for sure.
But if you are a body builder and you see another guy with a great build, can you not say he has a nice body? Why not?
I happen to have an incredible cock. If I see a guy with a nice cock….? Never mind. Way too faggy.
There are five long minutes on the video, dedicated to exclusive close up work. Shots of Stevie’s long, white cock, sliding in and out of my dripping ass. I can tell he is performing for the camera. A true showman. Pushing in, nice and slow, pulling out, nice and slow. The sound is prime. The sucking pressure and the crackling of the lubricant as he saws in and out of my ass is clearly audible. My hole is flaming red, raw with the abuse. His cock head is purple, and his shaft is alabaster white. What a remarkable contrast of colors.
I move the video ahead to the choke out scene. A losing, ass-whipped, mixed martial arts fighter. There is no tapping out in this match. Son of a bitch.
My stupid hands glued to my legs, holding them apart.
The entire bloody time!
Disgusting and beyond reason.
What does it say about me? What? I can’t hope to explain.
Way to defend yourself, asshole.
It’s not on the camera, but I remember the joy, the bliss, the power in Stevie’s eyes as he destroyed me. I could appreciate this. Because the fourth time I watched the movie, I watched it from his point of view. I morphed into his role. The top. The conqueror. The victor. The hunter. It made me horny to assume this role. I am rubbing my nipples just thinking about it.
I might as well go to the absolute worst thought imaginable. As I finished my fourth viewing, I began to wonder. Wonder about Stevie, and what kind of god he is, for giving me the biggest orgasm of my life. As fucked up as this sounds, it is true. He made me cum ropes and ropes of the white power juice. He made me explode.
After I had been choked out, Stevie crawled up over my body and began to lick up all of my semen. Starting at my cock, deep throating the spent, twitching monster. Licking up my belly. Licking my protruding nipples while I was out cold. This had been nauseating to watch. A guy eating up another guy’s cum. I had watched this particular clip three times.
I hit the stop button. Rewound. Hit stop again. Took a quick sniff from the nitrate bottle. The throbbing in my cock started up on cue, as I hit the play button. Stevie’s thick lips are dripping in cum and he is climbing up, heading towards my nipples. My head and cock are pounding, and the temperature in my body is rising.
Why don’t I have my leathers on?
Why am I thinking about quickly changing into them?
Stevie is spending a lot of time on my nipples. My nipples are hard little buttons. My nipples have become an extension of my cock. Damned sensitive and erotic. On the TV screen, my chest is heaving, as if I sense his presence in my unconscious state. In my living room, my cock is out and in my hand. I am thinking of pausing this to change, but I fear I have gone too far. Stevie is at my neck, finding ropes of thick cum. Licking, sucking it up into his mouth. I can see cum globs on my own mouth and Stevie moves to these.
I can’t help myself, I am pumping my meat. I grab a breath, anticipating his kiss, because I have watched this before. The camera work is incredible. All I can see on the screen are two sets of lips. They meet, the top set pressing on the swollen lower set. Pressing hard, I see the semen slither from my lips into his mouth. For good measure, he snakes his tongue into my stupid, open mouth. I cannot respond, for I am out cold.
Choked out, cold.
I think to myself. He could have done anything to me. He could have spray painted me green. Or brought his buddies in for a gang bang. Or shit in my mouth. Or called on the Pit Bull Man. I shudder at the thought. The thought of the naked Pit Bull Man nearly brings me to a full stop. I released my throbbing meat. Gulped some air and slowed the hell down. Slowed to a stop.
Stevie and his leather pants and his big boots. Hot.
Me in my leather pants and big boots. Hot.
Domination or submission. Hot.
Pit Bull Man. Freezing cold and disgusting.
My cock settled, as did the thumping in my skull.
I thought about the final insult.
I was having a hard time believing Stevie did it.
Why would I think he didn’t?
He beat the shit out of me. Somehow mind-fucked me. Then ass fucked me. The trifecta. Of course it was him. His final act of total domination.
Why was I giving him the benefit of the doubt?
Because he had given me the biggest orgasms of my life?
First, when I blew him, and second, when he fucked me?
The first two orgasms with another human being in a year?
Was I giving him too much credit?
No. Not probably.
For sure I was.
Because Stevie, or somebody……had tattooed my ass.
The second part of the note, left for me in the car. Instructions for care and management of a new tattoo.
On the left cheek of my ass.
I must have been out cold for an hour. Or two.
When he did it. Or they did it.
Somebody fucking did it.
Those three words.
House. Of. God.
There it is.
Bad enough the bleeding asshole and the cracked nose and the bloody lips and the swollen eyes and the ligature marks on the neck. The stabbing pins and needle fire coming from my ass cheek was something else. Damn painful. It woke me up the next morning, in the front seat of my car. It had been nearly impossible for me to drive home with half my ass lifted off the car seat. The days following, of washing and salving and covering the damn thing. The real reason I missed those work days. A permanent reminder of my visit to God’s house.
A fucking tattoo.
On my ass.
What was I supposed to do?
My mind had been working hard, trying to find an explanation. How to turn this tattoo into something good. I wouldn’t be showering at the gym for a while. The boys would sure be wondering. Thank Christ, this was the decade of stupid tattooing. If I thought hard enough on it, I could come up with a reason for the damn thing.
But I couldn’t. At least not off the top of my head.
This is why I looked up tattoo removal. Painful. Expensive. A waiting period. Especially after a new inking. I was now a card carrying member of the House of God, and I didn’t have a clue who God was.
My other potential permanent reminder of my visit. My bleeding ass. Stevie’s raw cum. No condom. Breeding they called it in the gay world. Good old internet again. Bare back fucking. Breeding. Spraying your dominant semen into a bottom’s ass. Not giving the bottom a say in the ritual. Raunchy. Risky. Unprotected. Unhealthy. H.I.V. unhealthy. A little bit of Russian roulette with your life.
Along with the tattoo, had Stevie bestowed upon me a death sentence?
Or at least, a lifetime of fear and ill health?
I only had two people to thank for this. Him and me.
‘Please fuck me’.
Mainly me to blame, I understood. Stevie had been going with the flow. The flow of me.
For the hundredth time in this very month, what in the hell does this all mean?
Don’t ever go back idiot, is what it means.
Torn, bleeding ass. Punched out. Fucked out. Embarrassed, schooled, dominated. Belittled. Bare backed and bread. Abused, for damn sure.
The souvenir DVD, waiting for YouTube.
The souvenir tattoo, from the House of God.
What a mistake.
What a colossal, fucking mistake.
How could there possibly be an exception?
The orgasm was magical. My cock in the video was magical.
Since the age of fifteen, my cock had guided me. Guided me to some very special places. Some very fanciful places. Places I had visited as I got older. Places I had visited in the course of a single month. With some sexy, horny, hot, fantastic ladies. Until, the fateful night. When my cock abandoned me. To ridicule and shame and weakness.
Was my cock guiding me somewhere else?
Was I curious enough to follow?
Was I dumb enough to follow?
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