After Poker

"Here, you can have the money," Mike said. "Just let me go." The "just let me go" was a bit half hearted, as Mike was thoroughly aroused at this rough treatment.

Tex laughed like he knew Mike was only struggling because he was innocent to this. "I don't want your money," he answered. "I want your mouth and your ass. And you want my dick."

He grabbed Mike's hand and shoved it between his legs. Mike whimpered at the massiveness of the bulge and at the realization that he could actually feel the line of the hard cock through the material. "This is for you. Nine inches of it," Tex said, proudly.

The Texan pushed Mike down on his knees, his heavy body still pressing Mike against the wall. His fly was open and his hard dick was out. Mike resisted but to no avail, as Tex got five inches of it stuffed into Mike's mouth. "You treat it right now, boy, and it will treat you right."

The shaft was huge in girth as well as length, and Mike's eyes watered and he gagged as Tex started to move it in and out of his mouth, penetrating ever deeper down his throat. The Texan held Mike's head between his hands, holding Mike prisoner in that position and guiding the pumping. They both settled down to a rhythm. Mike's moans of pleasure and the voluntary attention he gave the cock betrayed him.

Tex laughed. "I knew you wanted it." And, as embarrassed and disgusted as Mike was, he realized that he did want it—that he'd been fantasizing about it for years. What he had dreamed of in his imagination was here for him in the flesh. He settled down, palmed the Texan's buttocks, and took over the rhythm of the slide of his mouth on the cock. Laughing, the Texan released his head and let Mike do the work for a couple of minutes.

Content that the fresh piece had surrendered to him, Tex pulled him up by the hair, reversed him to where he was facing the cinderblock wall. Mike's arms were being raised above his head, Tex's fists grabbing his wrists. "Hold them there and jut your butt out to me," Tex commanded. Tears in his eyes, Mike responded as directed. He didn't want this. He did want this.

"God, don't be hard with me," Mike whimpered.

"I'll be very good to you," Tex answered, and laughed. "You're getting it all, baby. Daddy's gonna give it all to you."

Tex pulled Mike's jeans down, leaving him only in his sneakers, and went for the crevice in his buttocks with his lips and tongue and latched onto Mike's cock and balls with one hand, while holding Mike's pelvis away from the wall with the other hand palming his belly.

Mike shot his load. Tex laughed. "Pretty boy really wants it."

The young man's eyes were watering and he was panting and groaning hard, his cheek plastered against the cool cinderblocks, one of his arms—with no objection from Tex—lowering so that he could fist and beat his cock, as the Texan slowly worked his mammoth cock inside Mike's ass and pumped him hard and deep. Mike ejaculated again. A weaker production, but an explosion of emotion anyway.

Tex pulled out, turned him, back to the wall, muttered "Climb my hips," which Mike dutifully did with his knees, and Tex penetrated and began pounding his ass. Mike settled in completely with the fuck, with Tex chortling when Mike set his own pelvis into motion to receive the thrusts of Tex's cock and moaned a "Yes, yes, fuck me, daddy. Go deep. Yes, again and again." Memories of the porn movies again and what Mike assumed the Texan wanted to hear—both anxious that Tex continue stroking him and disgusted with himself for wanting it.

When Tex wanted to kiss, Mike opened to him. When Tex pushed Mike's face down onto his chest, Mike sucked his nipples. Tex pounded and pounded, until . . .

He too ejaculated, in an arcing stream up Mike's belly, having pulled his dick out at the last second. Tex didn't use condoms either. Having shot off, though, he pushed his dick back in, through the lube of his cum and slow fucked Mike until, with a sigh, Mike came again in just an afterglow.

With a laugh, Tex let Mike sink to the ground. He presented his cock for cleaning, and Mike dutifully sucked it dry.

"You wanted it. Yeah, you wanted it bad," Tex muttered. Then, reaching down for Mike's jeans, he fished around in the pockets and pulled out the roll of bills Mike had won at poker.

"Guess I will relieve you of this after all." He zipped up and sauntered off to the mouth of the alley and was gone.

Mike huddled there, still panting hard and checking in with all of his body parts for an assessment of damage done by the brutal fuck of the horse-hung cock. He was ashamed to admit it, but admit it he did. That's the way he wanted to be fucked—and with a huge cock like that. That's what he'd look for in a hookup.

It was worth losing his poker winnings. He'd won in another sense. He could go home now. Soccer coach, here I come, he thought.

* * * *

"Stop fussing. You have the night off. Just go."

Brad, Clinton's attendant was fluttering around the bed. "Sure you'll be all right? The urinal jar is just there on the nightstand."

"Yes, of course," Clinton answered through clinched teeth. It wasn't really Brad he was irritated with. It was good that the urinal jar was nearby. What irritated him were these legs of his that just didn't work. And what irritated him the most was that it had interrupted an active sex life. Brad was no help with that beyond full-body massages and the occasional blow job.

Brad was very much a bottom—and his effeminacy and androgynous looks turned Clinton off anyway. He wanted a man—a man like Larry at poker tonight. Imagine that he lived just five doors away. Clinton had had to buy men from a local gay dating service to come in and service him. Just once he'd like the excitement of someone showing up unexpectedly and fucking his lights out. Someone strong and good looking. Larry was older than he was, but he looked fit. Clinton hoped Larry had taken the broad hints he'd laid down at poker. He'd been thrilled when Larry had let that young, sweet-looking piece who had been hanging onto him know they wouldn't be going home together. If he only had taken the hint.

"So, I'll be off then. You want the lights off or on?"

"Off, please." They went off and Clinton listened to Brad flit around the living area for a few minutes and then leave. He turned his face toward the open French doors, open out onto the patio and then the beach and the Atlantic Ocean. He could hear the relentless surf lapping up on the beach, and it lulled him to sleep.

The next he knew he was being blindfolded and gagged with a ball gag and his arms were being pulled up above his head. Velvet-lined handcuffs were attaching his wrists to the slats at the corners of the headboard. He was on his belly. He had no idea where his legs were. They were useless to him. He couldn't feel them—hadn't felt them for years.

The man coming down on the bed on his knees beside him was turning Clinton's shoulders toward him. He knew it was a man, because the ball gag had come out, to be replaced by a hard cock filling his mouth and pushing toward the back of his throat. Clinton knew how to give head. He opened his mouth cavity to the cock, pulled back his teeth to give the cock depth, and made an O with his mouth. His lips closed tight over the cock. He didn't mind giving head at all. Larry had taken the hint. If only he could reach his own cock with a hand. He certainly had feeling in his body down to his cock and balls. His balls ached for attention.

And just as he was thinking this, his pelvis was turned on a hip, a hand closed over his cock and gave it a few pulls. Then it descended to his balls, laced fingers through them, and distended and squeezed them. Clinton moaned his pleasure and hummed on the man's cock, obviously, from the sound he heard, giving the man pleasure too.

The cock was so big. It was reaching for Clinton's tonsils. But Clinton didn't care. He knew, to the pleasure of his assailant, how to deep throat even a thick, long cock.

The fist returned to Clinton's cock, and just the thought of the sex he was having—and not having to pay for—keyed Clinton up to the point that he shot his load.

The man pulled his cock out of Clinton's mouth and put the ball gag back in. He pushed Clinton over on his stomach and then was below him, eating Clinton's ass out, while Clinton panted and moaned and groaned. The groaning increased as the mouth was replaced by a lubed finger, then greased fingers—two three, four—up to the knuckles. Fist fucking Clinton's ass up to the knuckles.

Would he go deeper? The whole fist? Clinton writhed from the waist up. Couldn't do it from the waist down, of course. He panted heavily, crying out for the stretching of his ass by knuckles to be replaced with a nice, big, juicy cock.

His wish was granted. He heard the snap of the condom being put in place and then he was covered close above by a heavy body. All muscle and vigor, pounding his ass with a cock almost as thick as the knuckle fuck had been—and much deeper inside him.

Clinton tried to talk, to scream, through the ball gag. He wanted something, something more.

As if understanding, the man pulled the ball gag out long enough for Clinton to mutter. "Yes, yes, fuck me. But I need to come again. My balls are aching. Can you—?"

The ball gag was replaced, but the man had understood. He pulled pillows over and stuffed them under Clinton's belly, pointing his ass toward the ceiling, but also pulling him up on his useless knees, lifting Clinton's pelvis off the bed so that his cock and balls could dangle. The man mounted Clinton again, covering him close, but now a hand went under his belly and milked Clinton's cock to another ejaculation.

Clinton was in heaven.

The snap of the condom again and then the man ejaculated, on Clinton's back. He left the bed and Clinton could hear him moving around the living areas. He returned after a half hour or so, though, and turned Clinton to his side, signaled another crowning with the snap of a condom, lifted up one of Clinton's numb legs, slid his cock inside Clinton again, and fucked him to another mutual ejaculation.

Exhausted, Clinton drifted off to sleep with the man still embracing him from behind and his cock going flaccid inside Clinton's channel. He was long and thick enough, though, that the cock didn't lose position inside Clinton.

When he was sure Clinton was asleep, the Hispanic waiter at the gay bar moved off the bed. He checked the pillow case full of loot he had pulled together from the living areas between fuckings. He was wearing skin-tight gloves that he wouldn't take off until he was well away from the house. He carefully removed the ball gag and blindfold from Clinton, waiting again for the man to settle down into deep sleep before slowly releasing him from the handcuffs. The waiter had brought all of these toys and probably would be needing them again—maybe even to come back here. The paralyzed man had seemed to enjoy the fucking so much that maybe he'd forget—or forgive—that he'd been robbed as well.

In any case, that wasn't Manuel's problem. He'd gotten what he'd come for multiple times. He hadn't done a crippled man before. It was kind of exhilarating. The man couldn't do anything but lie there and take it. His ass and cock and balls were just as sweet as if he could use his legs. It was fortuitous that the man had been so pointed at the poker table about where he lived, that doors would be open, and that he'd be alone and defenseless.

* * * *

Larry was standing, leaning back on his Lexus coup in Clinton's driveway, arms folded over his chest, when Brad came out of Clinton's house.

"Mr. Caldwell is in there, in bed, alone, if you—"

Larry interrupted Brad. "I didn't come for Clinton Caldwell. I came for you. Did you think I was signaling him back at the poker table? I guess, since you were standing just behind him, you might have thought that I was interested in him."

"You were signaling me?"

"Sure. You're cute and sweet and sexy."

If it hadn't been dark, Larry could have seen Brad blush. Brad wasn't exactly experienced. Most of his friends were girls and most of his activities were girlie. He might even have more girlfriends if he wasn't more beautiful than most of them were.

"You want to take a ride with me?"

Brad didn't know what to say. He'd planned to take in a late-night movie, alone, tonight and then work on the scrapbook of photos of his trip to Miami with some of the girls a few months ago. And then to bed with his Teddy bear.

"Have you had sex with a man before?" Larry asked, being persistent.

"Sex?" Brad asked, almost swallowing the words.

"You attend Clinton Caldwell, and he obviously has his needs and likes men. Do you jack him off when he wants it."

Brad looked away, but he did answer. "Sometimes."

"Do you give him blow jobs?"

Brad didn't answer, but he didn't say no. Larry didn't ask him if he rode Caldwell's cock, because it was obvious that they both were bottoms.

"Does he pay you extra for those services?"

"No." A pause and then and almost indignant, "But he pays me well."

"I'll give you $50 for a blow job if you'll come in my car with me."

Brad didn't answer; he was too busy examining the tops of his sandals.

"Get in the car, Brad," Larry said, opening the passenger door of the Lexus.

Brad hesitated, but only for a moment. He was accustomed to following orders. Larry drove only as far as the carport of his own house five doors up the beach. He held Brad's head between his hands as he sat in the driver's seat and Brad hunched over from the passenger seat and sucked his cock. Brad was good enough at it that it was clear he had done this for Clinton Caldwell often enough—and maybe for others, as well.

When he was done and had licked Larry's cock clean, he sat up and pressed his body against the passenger door. He undoubtedly knew what Larry was going to say next.

"You ever been fucked by a man? I want to fuck you. I'll give you another $50 to go with me now."

"Fucked. By a man?"

"Yes. Fucked in the ass. I bet you have a sweet little ass."

"No . . . no . . . never. Not that."

Larry whistled and smiled. Bonus day. Two virgins in one day. "But you've thought about it . . . wanted to do it. Right?"

Brad didn't answer. There suddenly was something on the glove-box door that he had to examine.

"I'll give you $150 more to be the first one to use your ass. I'm very good at it, I assure you. You'll be glad that I was first. You've just been shy and frightened about it. I'll handle you right."

Larry fucked Brad on a blanket on the beach below his house, just beyond the line where the lights of the house reached and far enough off the water and in between two beach dunes so that anyone strolling the water line this late wouldn't see them. Maybe hear them, but not see them.

Brad would have been a screamer at being spiked if Larry didn't keep a hand over his mouth most of the time. But Larry hadn't lied. He was good at taking a young man's virginity and was expert at making a complete job of it.

Brad was on his back, knees drawn up to his chest, butt turned up to the sky, with Larry covering him close, his cock inside Brad's ass channel, a hand over Brad's mouth, Brad's eyes wide with pleasure-pain, while Larry rocked their bodies, the bulb of his cock rubbing back and forth over Brad's prostate. Brad didn't hold out very long before he creamed Larry's belly.

Larry took his hand away from Brad's mouth and replaced it with his own mouth, Kissing Brad deeply through one, two, three ejaculations into Brad's channel. Larry didn't like using condoms on virgins and Brad hadn't mentioned the need for one.

Taking his mouth off Brad's and looking into Brad's still-wide and glazed eyes, Larry whispered, "Was that too painful for you?"

"Yes . . . no. I never imagined . . . fuck me again, daddy. Can you? . . . you're so big."

Larry knew he wasn't big at all and that, after him, Brad was likely to learn what big was. But Larry was experienced, and that was what Brad needed at this moment.

"Oh, yes, I certainly can fuck you again . . . and will." Brad had such a sweet ass. Men didn't just lose their virginity to another man and that was it. There were levels of initiation. A man's cherry could be popped in so many ways and on so many levels by another man. Taking Brad up the levels would be a distinct pleasure. Before the night was through, Larry would be on his back and Brad would be riding his cock and fucking himself. "Let's go into the house," he said, and then added, "What do you feel about being bound?"

And indeed he could take a malleable and willing Brad up several levels before the night was through . . . and did.

* * * *

The couple that had been plastered together at the table, hardly paying attention to the money they were losing to the ripe-looking strawberry blond youth clinging to Larry, parted not six feet from the poker table. Frank, the taller and more muscular of the almost-twin blonds moved to a seat just below the stage, where the former Nathan and current Natalie was displaying "her" wares in a sensuous winding around the pole to the increasingly insistent music of "Bolero." The thinner and shorter of the two, Rich, made a beeline for the bar, where there was barely enough space for him to fit between two big, black bulls, who watched him approach and licked their chops.

Natalie's eyes went straight to Frank as he came close and sat in front of the stage. If anything, Natalie's movement became more suggestive and just at this point she lost her bra, leaving her clothed only in the gold lamé of a G-string that, though she had melon breasts, made no effort to hide the line of a dick inside the pouch.

She slitted her eyes and blew Frank a kiss. He spread his legs, put a hand suggestively on his basket, and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. The question in his eyes was met with a smile and a nod. She hadn't contracted with another customer for after the dance. Frank rose and leaned into the stage. Natalie's dance moved her toward the edge of the platform, and Frank tucked the fifty-dollar bill in the waistband of her G-string and he kissed a star tattoo on her thigh. The deal was sealed.

In Natalie's small dressing room, large enough however, to include a studio bed, which was the most necessary item in the room, Frank lay, naked, on his back, his arms crossed behind his neck, his shoulders and head raised enough for his lips to reach the rouged nipples of Natalie's pride and joy melons, while the dancer danced on his cock, riding him hard in gyrations that were a memorable part of her act. Doing a pole dance on Frank's hard pole.

Watching Frank follow Natalie back through the beaded curtains to the warren of rooms behind the barroom, Rich reached down and took the hand of Big Black Bull 1 from his thigh, but he made sure to check out the surprise and pleasure registered in the big black's face when he moved the hand to his crotch. Big Black Bull 2 already was holding Rich in his lap as he leaned against a bar stool. The man's cock was pressing into the cleavage of Rich's buttocks, and even though Rich had not hooked up with these particular men before, he could tell that BBB2 was both horse hung and ready for action. BBB2 was possessively holding Rich by the shoulders, signaling that Rich was trapped. Rich had no intention of trying to escape, though.

BBB2 pressed his lips to Rich's ear and said in a voice above a whisper, necessitated by the noise level of the music and crowd in the bar, "Can we buy you a drink, blondie?"

"Does it seem like I need a drink to let you two DP me?" Rich answered, in a voice loud enough for even BBB1 to hear. As he said this, he pressed his crotch into BBB1's rubbing hand, showing the big black that he too was hard, and reached out to BBB1's basket, letting his fingers trace the barely imprisoned cock all the way from bulb to balls, which proved to be a satisfyingly long journey.