After Poker

Both BBBs smiled and snorted. "You think you can take us both?" BBB2 asked.

"We can certainly try. Are you, by any chance, into S&M too? You look the part." And indeed they did. Both were of the biker genre and hard into leather, wearing nothing on their muscular ebony torsos other than black leather harnesses with silver studs. And both were in tight black leather pants with drop crotches and black biker boots.

"What you see is what you get," BBB1 responded with a growl. "Scared?"

"Try me."

They did, hanging a naked Rich from the ceiling by his wrists in the behind the barroom room—the one with padded walls and a drain in the floor. They whipped him and flogged him, with him groaning deeply through a ball gag. They raised his legs straight out from his sides with ropes tied to the side walls, and then BBB1 came close into him in front and BBB2 came close into him in back. They rolled his pelvis back for BBB2 to penetrate him from behind and then forward for BBB1 to work his cock in on top of BBB2's, and then they counter pumped him mercilessly.

Later that night—really early the next morning—Frank and Rich met at home. They lay side by side on their bed, with a gay porn movie running on the TV at the foot of the bed. As Frank traced Rich's welts with his fingers, they shared the arousing experiences they each had had, each having enjoyed his own separate fetish. Then, after kissing and fondling each other through a sex scene on the TV, they lay close beside each other, each blond jacking himself off as they worked to ejaculate in synch with each other and with the stars in the next sex scene.

* * * *

Hobbling bowlegged out of Larry's house shortly before dawn the next morning, Brad pulled up in the driveway at the edge of the carport, trying to decide whether he had time to go back to his own small apartment to change clothes or if he should just walk down the street to Mr. Caldwell's house.

He did neither.

Strong hands pulled him into the carport and fumbled with his clothes. Using Brad's own T-shirt and belt, Tex gagged his mouth with the T-shirt and bound his wrists with the belt and hung his raised arms on a hook pounded into the brick above his head.

During the night Larry had informed Brad that he was lucky in his initiation, as later he'd meet men with bigger cocks and crueler fuck techniques. He had been right, but neither Larry nor Brad would have guessed that Brad would experience that as soon as he left Larry's house.

Hooking Brad's knees on his hips, Tex fucked him against the carport wall with a monster cock.

But Brad took it like a champ, and after taking him and pulling the gag out of his mouth, Tex muttered, "You wanted it, I could tell. I saw you eyeing me at the poker game." Brad couldn't claim this wasn't so. "Do you want me to let you go here or take you down to the beach and pound the shit out of you."

"The beach," Brad squeaked in a gaspy voice.

The sun was coming up when Tex had Brad on his knees, his cheek pushed into the sand, and his hands scrabbling at the sand above his head, while Tex crouched over his hips and pounded, pounded, pounded.

Brad was moving quickly up the levels, and that was so all right with him.

* * * *

Mike was nearly all the way back to his hotel room when he discovered he didn't have his room key. At first he thought he must have lost it in the alley where the Texan had accosted him, but then he distinctly remembered having put it on the poker table at the gay bar—and couldn't remember having picked it up again. There was nothing to do other than to go back to the bar. Maybe it would be closed, but he had to try. He couldn't count on the desk at the fleabag hotel to be manned this late—or for the desk clerk to believe that he was registered there even if the desk was open.

The bar was open, though, although the crowd had thinned out and the noise level had dropped a bunch of decibels. As Mike entered the barroom, he recognized one of the guys from the couple that had been all over each other during the poker game. He was standing at the beaded curtain to the back rooms and kissing a small black guy, who confused Mike at first. He had on a red robe, but it was slitted all the way down to show both melon breasts and a small cock. It struck Mike as funny that the guy from the game, Frank was his name, Mike thought, could be kissing a transvestite later in the night that he'd been Siamese twins with someone else.

But it had been one hell of a night. And the night wasn't over yet, at least for Mike. He walked over toward the table where they'd played poker, but the table was cleared off. He turned to leave, dejected, when he heard a "Did you lose something? You were in the poker game earlier, weren't you?"

Mike turned to see that it was the Hispanic waiter from earlier in the evening who was talking to him. He'd just entered the door into the bar from the street.

"Yes, I think I left a hotel key here, but it isn't here now," Mike said.

"Yes you did. My name's Manuel. You're a cute little trick, aren't you?"

Mike didn't quite know what to say to that. Manuel was leering at him. It barely registered that the waiter said he knew a key had been left.

"It's in the office in back—the room key," Manuel said, with a smile. "Come on back and I'll get it for you. I wondered who you left with—the older guy you were plastered on or the tall Texan who had the hots for you?"

Mike blushed.

"Or did you take them together? Well, come along into the back rooms with me."

He took Mike by the wrist and there was little Mike could do but follow him. They didn't make it to the beaded curtain covering the door to the back, though. As they passed the bar, one of two big black studs in leather who were standing at the bar, put a hand out that was stronger than Manuel's was and displaced Manuel's hand on Mike's wrist.

"Well, aren't you a sweetie?" BBB2 said. "Saw you earlier and wanted to stand you a drink, but you left before we could do that. Pull on up to the bar. You can go to the back to be fucked by Manuel later."

"Barkeep, a beer for our new friend," BBB1 said, as he pulled Mike close into him. BBB2 quickly filled the gap on Mike's other side. Manuel shrugged and continued on through the beaded curtain.

Later, Mike hobbled back to his hotel, without the key. But, luckily someone was at the desk, the same guy who had checked Mike in, and he gave Mike no trouble in providing a duplicate key. He even asked, with a voice tone of hopefulness, if Mike needed company in his room. But Mike was exhausted, bruised, walking bowlegged, and with stinging welts crisscrossing his back and chest under his T-shirt.

It was all he could do to shower in lukewarm water and to fall, naked, on top of the coverlet on the bed. He went to sleep instantaneously.

He woke, groggily and too slowly to prevent being blindfolded, having a ball gag put into place, and his wrists cuffed above his head at the corners of the brass-rod headboard.

He was on his belly. Manuel, having let himself in the room with the key Mike hadn't retrieved at the bar, stuffed pillows under his midsection, climbed onto the bed, and straddled his hips. Mike's body pulsed slightly under him in a weak, completely ineffectual struggle to resist. Manuel ran his fingers along the welts on Mike's back, before plunging his cock between Mike's butt cheeks, the cock sliding right in to the hilt. He laughed, admonishing himself for thinking the eighteen-year-old soccer player honey he'd lusted after in the club was a neophyte. He didn't latch into Mike's passage still being reamed wide open from the doubling the black bulls had given him.

Exhausted, Mike lay there and moaned as the Hispanic hunk covered his body close from behind, latched onto the skin at the base of Mike's neck with his teeth, and pounded away at Mike's ass. After a few minutes of pumping, Mike couldn't resist moving his pelvis with the rhythm of the fuck and sighing and grunting through the ball gag. He went hard and even managed a weak ejaculation.

The hard cock and cum dribble didn't escape Manuel's notice, but, rather than chalking it up to the uncontrollable virility of a health, well-toned eighteen-year-old athlete, he muttered, "I knew you wanted it."

He ran an arm down under Mike's chest, arched the young man's back up toward him, and then put them both into a forward and back rocking motion, pulling his cock out just enough so that his bulb rubbed across Mike's prostate in the rocking motion. Mike moaned deeply and began to pant. Manuel took that as a signal of affirmation and wondered how many more ejaculations he could coax out of the young cutie tonight. He bet he could evoke more than that older man this guy had been draped over at the poker table had managed.