Never Comes the Day

Again, I heard Conklin, close to my ear, "We call this Round Robin. It was one of Gary's favorites. We have others, Blind Man's Bluff and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Maybe we'll play one of those later."

I was going to ask him more about the games, but my mouth was too full of the Giggler's cock. Oh well, I couldn't guess what Blind Man's Bluff would involve, but Pin the Tail seemed obvious if I'm the donkey. The game we were playing, Round Robin, was easy enough to figure out, now that we were well into the game.

It began with the two smallest in their 'pecker' order, Giggler and Clyde. They would continually switch between mouth and ass. At first, the switch was called by Conklin, but after a while, both of them would switch on their own. I suspect they would change when either one felt like they were going to come. Then they would pull out, and stay out until they tamped down their arousal. The one in my ass would then shift to fucking my mouth and visa-versa. They kept switching for as many times as they could, trying to delay their climax. I'm not sure how many times Giggler and Clyde switched ends, but the intervals between switches, when they were actively fucking me, were getting shorter as time passed.

The others would watch and wait their turn, and their turn came when one or the other, active participants, had finally come—always in my mouth or across my face. Once that occurred, the next one in the 'pecker' order—Mr. Intense, probably—would take his spot. Then the switching pattern would resume. Of course, once the next man came, Conklin would be next, followed, eventually, by Pistol Pete.

Only God knows how many rubbers they used, but by the end of the game, a small trash they were using for discards was nearly overflowing with used ones.

Clyde was the first to succumb to come. He was ramming my ass at the time when I heard him say a garbled, "Holy shit, here it comes." Seconds later he's kneeling at the side of my face as I'm blowing Giggler.

I catch him out of the corner of my eye. He's holding his stiff cock at the base, waiting for me to notice, and says to me, "Catch it, bitch."

I barely had enough time to come off Giggler's cock and turn my head, before he shoots a thick jet of cum across my lips. He keeps stroking and coming, sending more thick ropes into my open mouth. As his orgasm begins to ebb, I clamped my lips around his shaft and give him a nice suck and bob, as he continued to jerk himself.

I was going to latch back onto Giggler's cock, but he stopped me with a hand to my head, saying, "Not yet, bitch, wait for Larry."

Seconds later, I felt Mr. Intense inching his cock into my ass. His cock was larger than both Giggler and Clyde's, so I wasn't used to his size as yet. There was some pain for me as he slid deeper, but it was brief and not nearly as intense as when I first took Conklin the other day.

Once I felt his pelvis tap my ass, he began a nice smooth pumping rhythm. Giggler finally allowed me to go back to blowing him, but he slowed down my tempo with a hand to my forehead, matching Mr. Intense's speed. Slow or fast, though, Giggler didn't last much longer.

He and Mr. Intense only switched one or two times before Giggler felt the need. Like Clyde, he was in my ass when it happened, and barely got to my head before he let go. I didn't even know he was next to me, it happened so fast, so I didn't turn and take him in the mouth. He didn't mind—the dick—as his dick exploded across the side of my face. Naturally, throughout the time he's plastering my cheek, ear, and hair with his goo, he's laughing uproariously.

Someone threw me a towel. Mr. Intense only gave me a few seconds to wipe the cum away before he was yanking my head down and onto his cock.

At my other end, Conklin applied more lube before sliding his cock in. He proceeded slowly, so there was only a little pain. I was getting used to their sizes, I guess.

One thing I wasn't getting used to was the on again-off again switching, which was putting me into an overly excited, sexual state. I had an almost continuous hard-on. Plus, they never fucked me long enough and hard enough for any length of time to even bring me close to climax. I tried to get myself off a few times, but someone always slapped my hand away. I even begged them like a little bitch to make me come, but they only laughed at my predicament.

Eventually, I gave up trying to get off myself, realizing my own release would only come after I had finished servicing the others. So instead, I set my sights at bringing them all off as quickly as possible. I did this by sucking cock as hard and fast as I could, using my hands in conjunction with my mouth, and at the other end, squeezing my butt cheeks as hard as I could while they pounded into me.

Conklin and Mr. Intense did their best in taking their time, teasing me, ginning me up even further, but I got the better of them in the end—or was it in my end that got the better of them? Pun intended.

Neither lasted as long as Clyde or the Giggler, only switching a few times before one of them came, and surprisingly, Conklin was the first of the two to lose control. I guess my mouth was too sweet for him to resist.

I had his cock about half in, sucking hard while shifting my head around, and pushing his cockhead hard against the roof of my mouth and my tongue. He arched his back and let go with a shudder, and continued to shudder as I slowly bobbed my head up and down while sliding a hand along with it, draining his balls of everything.

He looked at me long and hard while caressing my cheek with his hand. Finally, he breathed a quiet, "You bitch, you," before getting off the couch.

Best little cocksucker this side of the Mississip, fur sure.

I expected Pete to make his grand entrance now, and enter me. Instead, he stayed seated.

The game had changed for some reason. Even Mr. Intense didn't bother with my backdoor, taking Conklin's vacated spot in front of me on the couch. I guess he wanted me to finish him the old fashioned way.

Best little... Well, you know the rest.

I gave him a nice, slow blowjob, not sucking him too hard and using very little hand. Each time I went down, I tried to pull him in a little further. Eventually, I was able to get him about three-quarters of the way in without gaging, but that was about it. He seemed to enjoy it, though, and arch his back a little bit each time I went down on him.

The others, seeing the strain in his body, threw in comments and made jokes about what the little twink was doing to him. He didn't say much, just grunted a few times, and continued to stare down at me with that same intense look he gave me before—a furrowed brow coupled with that weird, glazed look in his eyes.

The whole time I serviced Mr. Intense, I continued to take peeks over at Peter, wondering if he was going to join in. He was staring back at me with just as much intensity as Mr. Intense was, so I gave him a good slut show.

I kept staring over at him with a wide-eyed, longing look. Pursing my lips in the extreme as I slid Mr. Intense in and out of my mouth, just like a slut who's really enjoying himself. Then, when I pulled him out for brief respites, I made sure to exaggerate and accentuate licking and tonguing his cockhead and shaft before slipping him back into my mouth.

I guess I was giving Pete too much of my attention because I felt a rough tug to my hair, as Mr. Intense said, "Eyes on me, bitch. Stare into my eyes with those big, baby blues while you smoke my pole."

Those were the first and last words he spoke to me that evening, and they made me smile to myself because of his jealous reaction. After that, I directed my overt slut show exclusively to him.

I kept my eyes trained on him as he settled further back into the couch, arching his back and pushing his hips forward. His eyes stayed fixed on me as well, turning glassy and vacant, more so then they were before, as I continued to pull him deeper into my mouth.

I took a quick peek around me, and saw the others watching me intently. I felt that sense of pride again. The same feeling I had in Conklin's office when he turned me.

All of this that surrounded my life, Conklin, the group situation with the others, my own changing nature, it wasn't just about sex. There was something far more important at play.

I was learning something about myself I hadn't known before. I had real power of control. It may not extend outside the confines of this room, but it was here. I could see the power I held reflected in their eyes. It took the form of longing and hunger. Moreover, the deeper I took Mr. Intense into my mouth, feeling his cockhead inching further into my throat, the stronger that look of hunger shown in their eyes.

I came to the realization that I wasn't the one being used, not really. For them, 'using' me as they were doing was just about garnering pleasure from sex; however, for me, I was using them to fulfill something far more important: control. From now on, I would always strive to feel that overwhelming sense of power and pride, because it was a potent brew, thoroughly intoxicating for me, and I used sex to gather it.

Mr. Intense's arms were stiff at his sides. His hands fisted into tight balls. His thighs vibrated from his slow growing climax. Sucking hard as I slowly pulled him out, I pulled my hand up along with my mouth, running it firmly along his shaft. When my fingers just touched the very base of his cockhead, his brows unfurrowed and his eyes went wide. Intensity melted into tranquility as he released.

I kept my mouth slightly opened and close to his cock, blocking the rapid jets of cum with my lips and teeth. It clung to me, momentarily, before flowing thickly, down across my massaging fingers and his shaft, pooling at the base of his cock. Only when I stopped feeling the jets of cum shooting out of him did I take him fully back into my mouth, sucking the rest out. I stayed with him, even after he went limp, cock and body both, and continued to suck, lick, and nibble at his heavy balls. Sort of my way of saying thanks.

I heard heavy sighs all around me from the others, but no one made a move or said a word, to spur me to more action. I think they just wanted to drink the moment in for a time, as I fully completed servicing their friend.

I didn't look at anyone when I finally backed away from Mr. Intense—now Mr. Tranquil—and instead, picked up the towel that was thrown at me earlier to wipe the heavy stands of cum off my chin and hands. Only when I felt I had thoroughly cleaned myself did I look over at the one person remaining.

Pete was already standing. He towered over me as I waited on my knees. He towered over the whole room, in fact, like a Greek god.

I continued my show of subservience, thus gathering up more looks of hunger and want from the others, as I crawled over to him.

I was still hard. I've been hard ever since the circle jerk blowjob session, but I no longer felt the need to come. That feeling of power and control I received from seeing their want, and the pride in my newfound abilities, were satisfying me enough for now.

I took my time undoing his pants, sliding them slowly to the floor, and then allowing him to step out of them.

I kissed his thighs, smooth and muscular, before kissing the great bulge in his draws. I could tell he was very hard, but the tight confines of his briefs kept his cock at a severe, downward bend.

Next, I slipped his boxer briefs off, making sure to keep my head back so I don't get hit in the face whenit springs up. I misjudged its length and took it under the chin anyway.

Oh well, best laid plans, and all that.

The sight and sound of Pete's cock slapping me hard brought a few, knowing chuckles from the others. The Giggler was particularly amused.

Once Pete stepped out of his underwear, he sat back on the couch, pushing his hips far forward so that he was sitting of the edge of the cushion. I nestled in between his legs, close and comfy, so I could admire it while playing with his balls.

He was fully erect, a thick, stiffened rod of muscle that must have extended twelve inches from his very large balls, if it extended an inch. I held it gingerly at the base, although I didn't need to. It stood up, straight and tall, on its own. I could feel the blood pulsating through it. The bulbous head was well-proportioned. It wasn't too big or small relative to the girth of the shaft, hemi-spherical in shape and about the size of a medium lemon. It hadn't grown purple in hue as the other cockheads had done when I was playing with them, but Pete's was shiny from a thick coating of pre-ejaculate fluid.

I didn't mouth it right away. I just played with it with my hands, stroking it slowly, or running teasing fingertips along its length, and always doing that while fondling his heavy balls.

More pre-cum emerged from his cockhead.

As I stroked it, thoughts came at me fast and furious. The most prominent being that I really wasn't sure how I could suck his cock in any conventional sense of the verb—maybe with a pair of pliers and a crowbar. Moreover, I was trying not to think about taking it up my other avenue of pleasure.

God, did they bring enough lube?

Pete chuckled, then said, "I usually see two kinds of reactions from you twinks when you first lay eyes on my cock, either abject fear or absolute lust. You're different."

"Not both?" I quipped, not taking my eyes off it. After another long silence, I asked, "The ones that lusted for it, how did they suck it?"

"With difficulty," he answered in all seriousness.

Arrogant jack-off, but I'm sure he's right.

As I continued to play with it, I kept thinking about his nickname. "Pistol Pete doesn't seem quite right. You ever consider changing your name? Bazooka Joe or Howitzer Harry would be more accurate."

He didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. He just looked at me blandly, and said, "Shut up twink, and suck."

Too ginned up for humor, I guess.

Not getting any hints from him, I dove into unexplored territory on my own, first by licking and kissing the cockhead. Tasting his pre-cum, I replaced the salty film with copious amounts of saliva. I bathed it with spit, spreading my fluids all around the head and down the upper part of the shaft.

Thinking I lubed him up enough, I slipped him into my mouth. Pulling him in until I felt that choking feeling, I eased back a bit and began a slow bob of my head.

Now, I've seen videos of chicks taking a tool this size, almost down to the nuts. So I know it can be done, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out how. I'd bob a bit along his shaft. Pull him all the way out. Apply more spit while stroking him. Then bob again. Each time, I tried to inch him in a little further, but had limited success. I gave it the old college try, though, which I think impressed them all. However, I still couldn't put even a third of it into my mouth.

I gave up after a while and looked up at him.

He was smiling back, and said as he raised an eyebrow, "Told you, with difficulty."

"Any tips?" I asked while kissing and licking at his shaft.

He took pity on me—or so I thought—and told me to lie on my back on the couch, with my head hanging over the edge.

"Gary was the only one who ever came close to taking all of me, and this is how we used to do it. Now try and relax, and open wide, bitch."

I kept my eyes closed. When I felt his cockhead pushing past my lips, I put my hands on his hips, ready to push him off if I started to panic.

He slid in past the point where I had him and stayed motionless for a moment before pulling all the way back out. He gave me time to swallow the saliva that was flooding into my mouth, before pushing back in again. This time he went well inside. I'm not sure how far his cock was in me, but I could feel it moving well down my throat.

He paused, again, staying within me for what seemed like minutes. I knew in my mind it was only seconds, though, but fear of suffocation took hold of me. My throat muscles tightened, adding to my feelings of slow suffocation. Panicked, I was about to push him off me when I felt him withdrawal.

I nearly choked on my saliva, trying to swallow the excess. I could tell he kept his cock close and above my head, as I felt my spit dripping off it and onto my chin and cheeks.

"Not bad, twink," I heard him say.

Taking a large gulp of air, I waited for his next onslaught.

He slid in, again. Further this time, or, at least, I think it was, and held himself there. Again, the seconds past, feeling like minutes, as he stood still. My throat tightened again. The fear of being choked to dead by his giant dick lodged in my esophagus came full force in my mind.

I could just hear the assholes at the morgue laughing over my corpse now, "He tried to swallow what?"

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, he pulled completely out of my mouth.

Then something happened. I realized with him pulling out of me without being prompted, that he wasn't trying to be adick about shoving his dick down my throat, and torturing me for laughs. As such, I began to feel calm about the whole process.

For the first time since he laid me on the couch, I opened my eyes and looked up. There it was, in all its massive hardness, sticking out straight and proud above my head. My saliva coated it, appearing as a slick sheen that glistened in the light. The excess dripped off it in thick, long stands that fell across my face.

Jesus, the whole scene was sensual; his cock, beautiful, and yes, dreadful to see, all at the same time. My fear was gone, as I finally, completely, relaxed.

In he went again, about to the same point as before. However, instead of holding himself in, he pumped his cock with short strokes before pulling out again. He did this over and over, and each time he reentered, he would advance a little further before pumping.

I heard clapping and hoots of laughter from the others from around the room. Hearing the others' revelry, Pete slid into me further.

"That's Gary's mark," I heard Clyde say.

"Just about," responded Giggler, who was laughing close to my ear with the camera.

Gary again. He'll always be a fucking metric they'll use to compare me. Time to make them forget about Gary.

I saw on his last advance into my throat, Pete's balls swaying about three inches in front of my face as he did his short, pumping strokes.

Three inches doesn't sound like much, but because of the way his cock tapered—the base of it was the thickest part—those last three inches would be difficult to accept. Added to that, the basal area wasn't as slick with my saliva...

Oh, fuck it!

Reaching around, I clamped my hands to his firm ass and pulled him toward me. Once, twice, three times I tried, but each time I had to give him a little push back as I fought off gagging. Before long, my jaws ached from being stretched to the max, and my mouth was going dry.

One last time bitch, or forever live in Gary's shadow.

When I felt his cock at my lips, I pulled him hard by his ass, and didn't stop pulling until I felt his heavy, smooth balls draped against my nose.

Loud cheers erupted.

"Holy fuck!" exclaimed Clyde.

"Cock slut, extraordinaire," Conklin said.

I held him in for as long as I could, then released him. Pete slid all the way out as I sucked in another draught of air.

I heard him say as his cock entered my mouth again, "Here it comes again, twink. Take it all."

I took it all with only a bit of difficulty.

We teased each other for a time. He'd slide all the way in and hold himself there with his balls pressed against my nose, before pulling all the way out in rapid fashion. Then he'd do this rapid, in-out pump, over and over, seemingly to deprive me of air and trying to get me to yell 'uncle.' Then at times, when he was all in, he'd shift his cock about and rub his balls against my face, while saying things like, "Gobble that cock like a good bitch," or "Chug it, twink."