3 comments/ 19868 views/ 15 favorites Never Comes the Day By: dresbach This little story has been kicking around in my demented skull for a while. I hope you enjoy. Other than the usual gay male practices, there's just a hint of non-consent. Oh, and my apologies to the Moody Blues; same title, certainly not the same theme...or maybe it is... ...and thank you once again, Miss B! ________________________________ Did you ever have one of those days where it doesn't pay to get out of bed? Well, that's how mine started. Waking up late and with a massive hangover, I rushed to take a shower, scalding myself for my trouble because of the shit-works plumbing. My landlord said he'd fixed it half a dozen times already, but, of course, hadn't. In fact, it's gotten worse. Now that comfort zone resting precariously between the extremes of lobster boil and glacial melt water was narrowing to a thin pencil line on the faucets. The stupid cocksucker was always right on time for the rent check, but MIA whenever anything needed to be done in this cracker box he calls an apartment. After shooting a half a tube of toothpaste into the sink—goddamn these fucking, tamper-proof containers—I scalded myself again, shaving. Worse, the steam fogged the mirror up so bad I couldn't shave for more than three seconds before wiping it off so I could see what I was doing. In between trying to shave while wiping off the mirror, I gave myself a nice horizontal laceration across the chin. Blood was dripping everywhere, and of course, most of it dribbled onto my new, plush, white cotton towel I had wrapped around my mid-section. The bleeding wouldn't stop—Christ, hemophiliacs have better clotting abilities—so I dug through one of the drawers for a styptic pencil. Of course, it was buried deep, and under about a ton of other useless shit that I never use. The one positive about my apartment was that the cabinets were built solidly out of heavy oak. I found that out when the drawer with its contents landed on my foot, because I pulled on it too hard. While hopping around on one foot I found the styptic pencil, or should I say, saw it, as it bounced away from me as if by design, coming to rest somewhere behind the toilet. Bending down to retrieve the pencil, I inadvertently slammed my nose into the side of the toilet tank. I don't think I need to tell you how much blood flowed out of my nose, covering what little white remained on the front of my towel. Fortunately—and I say that with great sarcasm—what blood hadn't dripped on my towel, ended up pooling on the carpet at my feet. Cleaning the carpets—this, at least, gives the landlord something else to ignore other than the plumbing. A bloody nose and a smashed foot later, I finally had the styptic pencil in hand, only to find the bleeding from my chin laceration had already stopped—I did have to stuff about a half a roll of toilet paper up my nose before it would stop bleeding, however. I finally got dressed without killing myself—big surprise—and had just enough time for a quick cup of coffee before catching my bus. Fortunately—and I say that without sarcasm this time—I had one of those timer coffeemakers and always set it up the night before to start brewing when my alarm went off; and it did, right on time. Unfortunately, given my drunken state the night before, I had forgotten to put the carafe under the maker. Now, eight cups of freshly brewed coffee puddled on the kitchen floor, while a nice, burned coffee stench wafted and sizzled off the warming plate. I spent what time I had left before the bus arrived cleaning up the mess. I was halfway to the bus stop when I saw my bus pass me. I started racing to catch it when the skies opened up into an early morning thunderstorm. Even though I was soaked, I was about twenty feet from my stop, and the bus was still loading passengers. Things are looking up, I thought, optimistically. I was going to make it. Tripping on the curb, I skidded about ten feet along the rain-soaked sidewalk on my stomach, knees, and palms of my hands, and coming to rest right at some kid's feet. The little bastard pointed at me while laughing uproariously—at least I made his day. I was about to kick the little fucker in the ass after picking myself—and what was left of my ego—up and off the sidewalk, when I saw my bus pulling away. I had to wait another ten minutes in the downpour for another bus. My only solace was that if I actually owned an umbrella, I probably would have forgotten it. So, at least I saved myself ten dollars for an umbrella I'd never use. It stopped raining just as the next bus pulled up to the curb—naturally. At least I remembered my pass. Things are looking up, I thought, sardonically. The bus was crammed with people because of the rain, and the only open space was in the aisle, way in the back. You'd think the assholes up front could move back to provide space for those just getting on, but that would have meant they weren't assholes to begin with, so no deal there. As I made my way to the back, pushing past and around the stupid jag-offs standing up front, I stepped on some old lady's clown feet. At least someone other than me was having a shitty day. I apologized to her, wondering how she found size seventeen shoes for women, and whether they came with their own zip code. She called me a 'stupid asshole' as a, 'you're welcome,' as I continued toward the back. I finally passed the logjam caused by the inconsiderate assholes and that woman's feet, and saw clear sailing to the back of the bus. As I moved quickly down the aisle, I slipped on what I hoped was a discarded burrito, landing hard on my ass and into a large puddle of rain water that had collected along the floor—at least, I hoped it was rain water, it seemed awfully warm for rain water—and invariably splashed whatever it was across everyone's shoes and pants. Above all the loud murmuring of those nearby questioning my parentage and masturbatory habits, I heard the clown-footed woman cackling at my misfortune. Jesus, that laugh was like nails against a chalkboard, and must drive all those within earshot, insane. I swear, even dogs and cats must throw themselves into traffic whenever she cracks a joke. I ignored her. I figured with my luck today she was probably some form of demonic witch, and any further confrontation would just result in her turning my crotch into something unnatural. Besides, I didn't want to attempt passage through the burrito minefield, again. The rest of the twenty-minute ride was spent being hacked on by some elderly Asian guy. I offered him my handkerchief to keep as much of his SARs-laden phlegm off my clothing, but he declined, saying he never uses them. I could see his point. Why waste a perfectly good hankie when a stranger's dress shirt was so convenient? He thanked me, at least, before yakking more mucus in my direction. I tried to move away from him, but a large, oafish goon who smelled of stale cigar smoke mixed with overly ripe cheese, boxed me in. The thing that bugged me the most was that I was enduring this crap for a job about which I really didn't give a shit. Oh, I was happy to have it—given this economy and the fact that it took me over six months to find it—but it was still a fucking bore. It was a lot of data manipulation and entry with absolutely no thought or imagination involved in the process. Still, it did provide a decent enough paycheck while I looked for something better, so I couldn't complain too hard. ******** I got to the office twenty-minutes late. I tried to make my way to my cubicle without being spotted by my boss, but no such luck. I caught him peering at me through the plate glass window of his enclosed office. He tapped his watch, highlighting my tardiness. What a tool. That was the other problem with this job, my boss, Scott Conklin. I've been working here for about six months, and as near as I could figure, he spent most of his time staring at everyone from his office window. Men and women alike, he didn't discriminate with his lecherous leering. You would almost feel his hard stare anytime you left your cubicle to get coffee, or confer with a colleague on something. Often, his leers were accompanied by an obscene habit he had of touching or tapping fingers to his pursed lips, or scratching his chin absentmindedly as he gave you his patented, moronic smile. His whole demeanor was one of inspecting you, intently, under a microscope. I didn't want to guess what he was thinking, as he stared at you long and hard with that insipid grin on his face. He gave everyone the creeps. It got so bad at times that very few of the women, and even some of the guys, wouldn't venture away from their desks unless it was lunch or quitting time. We all referred to him as 'Stop Gawking' whenever his name came up in conversation. He looked a little like Yul Brynner, with his closely cropped hair, heavy brow, and chiseled, hawk-like features—not the older and wiser, more thoughtful, Brynner from 'The Magnificent Seven,' but rather the younger, more petulant Brynner from 'The Ten Commandments' or the 'King and I.' In fact, whenever Conklin wasn't scratching his chin or tapping his lips as he leered out from his office enclosure, he would often stand with hands on hips, striking a pose as if he were lording over his subjects. All he needed was a pair of red-velvet pantaloons and a short open vest, and he would have struck the very image of Brynner's king. Etcetera...etcetera...etcetera. Once I got to my cubicle, I kept my head down and stayed busy with my duties for the rest of the morning. ******** Before I knew it, it was close to lunch time—thank god. I still had a splitting headache from my hangover, and hadn't eaten anything since the previous night. I was hoping I could sneak out a bit early and get a quick bite from the street vendor, then take a slow walk around the block to clear my head, when that sound that always made my stomach lurch, shattered my plans. So, what else is new? The phone intercom crackled to life, loud and inconvenient, as it always did seconds before I'd hear 'Stop Gawking's voice of doom.' He sounded harsh and raspy coming through the poorly designed speaker, "Madison, come into my office before going to lunch." Fuck me, I'd rather take the toilet in the face again. I looked at my watch. It read two minutes to twelve. I just knew this asshole's going to keep me through lunch break, probably as punishment for being late. This was another of Conklin's idiosyncrasies I've come to know and hate, about every two weeks or so, he'd get a bug up his ass about some major company 'brush fire' that needed quelling. Normally, the problem was just in his head, but he always got half of us to spend half the day working to fix his 'problem,' only to be told to forget about it a few hours later. All this shit did was put us behind our normal workload, which we had to make up working late or on weekends, naturally. Division productivity must sink through the floor every time 'Gawking' had one of these fictitious brush fires that needed to be put out. Upper management had to know this, yet they still kept the moron employed. I figured Conklin had pictures of the company President fucking a goat or something, making him bulletproof. When I entered his office, right away I knew this wasn't one of those 'brush fire' meetings, given I was the only one there. "Mr. Gawk...Conklin," I said, quickly catching myself before I shoved a whole foot into my mouth. Conklin didn't look up for the desk, but indicated for me to sit down in one of the chairs across from him. He was busy staring at a folder opened in front of him. I watch as his eyes darting back and forth across the pages. Occasionally, they narrowed and darkened, as if he just read a particularly troubling passage. This went on for some time, page after page. My stomach growled, sounding comically loud in the closed, quiet confines of his office. I looked at my watch again. Fuck, ten after. I might as well forget about lunch. "You have somewhere to go, Madison?" His voice startled me, coming as it did, unexpectedly loud. "No Sir," I blurted out, "It's just that I didn't have any break..." Cutting me off, Conklin finally looked over at me, and asked, "How long have you worked here?" I had to think for a few moments, "About six months." Conklin sat back in his chair. His creepy stare was back as he put a finger against his pursed lips—staring at me with that 'bug under the microscope' look. I could feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck. My feet began to sweat and itch. Finally, he asked, "Six months, and in all that time no one informed you about company policy dealing with internet usage?" Oh, fuck! I was so fucked! Part of the problem of having a boring job was often times I needed a diversion from the mind-numbing tedium. Usually, this consisted of playing on-line games for short spells during lunch or perusing—how should I say it—perusing web sites catering in more adult entertainment than games. I decided playing ignorant wouldn't work. Stupid might, but not ignorant, "Sir, I know this looks bad at face value, but..." He cut me off again with a malicious laugh, "You college pukes really crack me up. It's like all you dumb fucks think you're still in the frat house and can do whatever you want without consequence. This isn't the frat house, Madison, and I'm not your frat mom, here to cook your meals and wipe your ass." "Sir, I never belonged to a frat..." "Shut up!" Playing stupid wasn't working either; although, in my case, I wasn't playing. Conklin continued following my interruption, "I'm not paying you to get your rocks off looking at porn." "Sir, I know it was wrong, but most of the time I was doing it over my lunch break..." Maybe lying will work. Conklin laughed again,. Looking back at the folder in front of him, he said with mock surprise, "Lunch break? Really? Here you are logged into a triple-X site at ten-thirty one day. Here's another at around three. Still two more at eleven-fifteen and one-thirty on the same day. Oh and here's four more logons from a week ago. And for each logon, you're spending at least fifteen minutes..." So much for lying, and yeah, I know, some days I was bored a lot. "Sir, I know this looks bad, but..." Conklin continued to ignore my pleas, "You ever hear of Spaulding?" "The sports equipment company?" "No, you idiot, Spaulding was the dumb fuck who had your job before you. He was just another dumb fuck frat boy like you, who spent too much company time jagging off to porn. I had this same conversation with that numb-skull about six months ago; right before shit-canning his ass." I just glimpsed my career circling the drain. Shit, it took me six long, fucking months to land this job, sometimes with barely enough money to afford Ramen Noodles twice a week. Who the fuck knows how long it will take me to find another? And don't forget what kind of reference you'll get. "Madison's may be just mediocre at data entry, but he's a four star, fucking-off dream at porn surfing, so he's got that going for him." What happened this morning aside, I was just starting to like the new apartment, shitty plumbing and all, and getting used to having some cash at the end of the month that I could save. Now, it was all going up in smoke. I was finding it hard to breathe. Conklin just continued to stare silently at me with those dead eyes. I felt like I was drowning in them, and just like a drowning man, I starting to grasp at anything within reach in order to save my skin. Panicked, I heard myself utter, "Please, Sir, I'll do anything. Just give me a second chance to prove myself." What a total, dumb fuck move! I knew those words were a mistake the minute they left my mouth. A self-satisfying smirk crossed Conklin's face. When I said I'd do anything, I meant working overtime. I'd happily work 50, or even 60 hours a week without complaint or extra pay. Then, what little time I had left on the weekends, I'd go over to his house and cut his lawn if he had one. Shit, if he had any kids, I'd babysit the brats after cutting his lawn. I'd even take the little fucks to Chucky Cheese on my dime, fill them up with pizza and pop while telling them how great I thought their dad was. However, Conklin didn't have kids. He wasn't even married and he lived in an apartment across town. Conklin got off his chair and stood in front of me, leaning back against his desk. He made no attempt to hide the sizable bulge in his trousers. I shot out of my chair and moved away from him as if he had leprosy. Standing on the other side of the room, but still not at a safe enough distance as far as I was concerned, I said, "I don't swing that way. All I meant to say was that I'd work extra hours..." "It doesn't matter to me whether you swing my way or not. In fact, I get a kick out of turning you straight-acting twinks into cock sluts. And I don't give a shit how many hours you work, just as long as they end with you tonguing my balls." "Straight acting? Fuck you! Go tongue your own balls, you perv. Better yet, why don't you blow yourself while I go to HR. What do you think they'll say when I tell them you're some sicko perv who blackmails employees into sex. You ever hear of sexual harassment laws?" Conklin laughed, and asked, "You ever hear of Pete Miller?" Exasperated that my threat seemed to have little effect on him, I barked, "Who the fuck is Pete Miller?" "He's a very good friend of mine. He runs our Department of Human Resources. He's the one who would hear your case. He handled Spaulding's case when that dumb fuck had the balls to bring harassment charges against me. They should be getting to his case in a couple more years. Until then, why don't you say hello to Spaulding for me when you see him in the unemployment line." "So, I'll just bypass HR and get a lawyer, myself," I said, defiantly. "Fine, you can phone your crap-weasel lawyer from the unemployment line. I'm sure Spaulding will let you borrow his phone. If he can still afford one, that is." Conklin turned his back on me as a dismissal. He was such an arrogant fuck and didn't pretend to hide it, probably because he was right. I guess that's what pissed me off the most about this situation—he knew me and what I would do, all too well. Oh, I could have gotten a lawyer, brought charges, and waited for my case to be heard sometime in the far future. In the meantime, I'd still be looking for another job and eating Ramen Noodles three times a week, while any extra money went to my shit-bag lawyer. Then, when the money well finally runs dry, even my lawyer tells me to go fuck myself... Conklin had me by the balls and he knew it. "Okay, okay," I said, defeated. Sitting back down in the chair, I pleaded again, "Can't we just talk about this first? Isn't there something else, anything else, I can do to set things right?" Conklin stood close to me, so close that his bulge nearly brushed against my cheek. He ran his fingers through my hair, as he said, "This is going to end in only one of two ways, Jeff. You can either, unzip me and get to doing what I know you'll love doing, or you can start cleaning out your desk." Jeff? The fucking prick just called me Jeff. Since when did we get on a first-name basis? When you decided to suck his cock to keep your job. That's when, you dummy. For the longest time I stared at that lump in his pants. Reluctant to do what I knew I had to do. I could see the lump moving, growing. It shifted about, ever higher, along his zipper as the blood must be flowing fast and furious into his muscle, stiffening it against the fabric. Never Comes the Day I looked up and saw his chest heaving as he sucked in heavy drafts of air. So heavy that the sound of his breathing must be deafening in the closed confines of his office, but I couldn't hear a thing except for the blood pounding in my temples. I looked up higher, into his face. He was looking down, returning my gaze. His hawk-like features were eerily fixated, unmoving, looking almost unearthly in their steady permanence. Appearing as if they were chiseled in granite—like a great Egyptian statue of Horus, part man, part bird, and all predator. A face hard as stone, save for that insipid, Yul Brynner smirk, the one Ramses gives when he sends all his slaves to die in the mud pits, trying to make brick without straw. In my case, I was trying to muster the courage to unzip his fly while maintaining a sense of aloof calm. A battle I was sure to lose. Oh yeah, he was really getting off on this. It must be what he lives for, coercing the all too stupid and all too arrogant schmucks in his employ to suck his cock. I could see his excitement in the way he breathed and in the way he stood. Moreover, I could easily read it on his face, even through its stone cold façade. The hand that was stroking my hair gripped me firmly at the back of my head, and pressed my tightened lips into that bulge. It was a not too subtle hint that I needed to move faster. His Majesty's cock awaits, knave. Revel in its magnificence. He might have said something, but I don't know. The blood still pounded in my head, drowning out all sound. I slipped a hand up between my face and the lump, searching for the zipper. I felt the lump shift and grow even larger than it was against my palm, and it was sizable before. It was warm. I could feel it radiating heat even through the layers of fabric of his garments. I finally found the clasp, and with one clean motion unzipped his fly. Immediately, the bulge popped through the opening created, but it was still shielded from my eyes by the dark blue boxers he wore. Funny, but once the zipper was down, releasing the tension in his slacks, the 'tension' that was building within, and between the two of us, was also released. Conklin's body language seemed to change at that moment. Formally hard and rigid as stone, his stance softened into a more relaxed pose. I guess he got me passed the one hurdle that most worried him—whether I would discard the metaphorical fig leaf against servicing another man on my own, without any other prodding on his part. The zipper must be the point where some of his victims—like Spaulding, perhaps—decided they couldn't go through with it, and choose unemployment over sucking cock. As for yours truly, surprisingly, my feelings ran toward curious resignation. Now that I was in for a penny, I might as well invest the pound. You see, this situation wasn't altogether new for me. Ever since high school, I've had certain sexual fantasies involving homoerotica. Usually my gay fantasies were strongest when I had gone long stretches without having sex, and I was horny in the extreme. As such, I gave my mental flights into homoerotica little concern, thinking they were just an aberration brought on by unusually celibate circumstances. However, over subsequent years, these fantasies grew more frequent and far more vivid; so much so, that I considered they were revealing something else about my true nature. I acted on these 'gay impulses' a few times in my final year in college, but with great disappointment. My partners were all nice guys, and, as far as I could tell, all were willing and able. However, there was always that moment, usually at the point I'm at now, when zippers were down, pants were unbuckled, and the equipment I most fantasied about was just about to be revealed that something negative would happen to break the mood. I would catch a scent, or a look, or note a mannerism in my partner that was off-putting. At that point, my rock-hard cock would instantly shrivel and soften, and I would back away from the encounter. It was frustrating for me, and certainly frustrating for my would-be partners, some of who didn't take it well that I backed out at the last minute. Due to my frequent bouts of sexual back-peddling, I came to empathize with women caught in similar circumstances, realizing all too well how easy it was to go from lust to revulsion in a moment's notice. Moreover, once revulsion occurs, it's impossible to get the desire back. No, really means no, and it can be interjected at any time, much to the frustrated chagrin of some of those I rejected. After the last such encounter, I figured my gay fantasies were just that, fantasies and nothing more. Oh, I still have homoerotic thoughts, but I don't bother acting on them. I guess for most guys in my position, that last step into the wild is an easy one to make when the time finally arrives, or so I thought. As for me, I assumed that the day would never come. My fantasies would remain just a naughty indulgence for my mind, and nothing more. I accepted that fact. These thoughts whirled through my head as I continued to stare at that bulge in his blue boxers. I waited for that inevitable moment of revulsion to occur with Conklin, but it had yet to happen. Strange that he could so repulse me on a personal level, but not on a sexual one. I wondered what that could mean other than I'm a bit of a masochist. Oh well, at least the pounding in my head was gone and I could hear again. I must have been taking too long staring at his crotch. Conklin probably thought I was getting cold feet, because he quickly undid his belt. Letting go, his pants easily slid to the floor. I hesitated for only a moment more... In for a penny? How true. ...before sliding his boxers down past his knees. And there it was, semi-hard, but growing slowly, now that it was released from its confines. His shaft shot out straight just a bit, before curving and drooping toward the floor—weighed down by a large, bulbous head at its end. His balls hung heavy and low and appeared smooth. I didn't see a hint of hair anywhere around his groin. I guess he shaves himself. Although his cock hadn't come even close to full hardness, I could tell he was much bigger than me, thick at the base of his shaft, and becoming even thicker toward that large, bulbous head. Immediately, my cock sprang to life. My blood, no longer pounding in my head and ears, must have found another, more sensible organ into which to flow. I ran a teasing finger along the top of his shaft. It quivered slightly at my touch. I could almost see the blood rushing into it, causing it to jump and shift against my finger. It was so very sensitive and receptive to my touch. Hey Mikey...he likes it. His cock had that dry, smooth feel. A texture I've often felt in myself when I jerked off, allowing my fingers to glide effortlessly over the skin of my cockhead and shaft, and always leading to a very rapid, but intense, climax. No, by the look and feel of it, it wouldn't take long to get him off. Somehow, I felt disappointed by that fact. I stroked him gently, barely touching his shaft as I slid his cock through the ring made with my thumb and index finger. Even that small effort caused his cock to stiffen to near its full size. Running another, teasing finger down the underside of his shaft, I really made his cock jump, shift, and swell in the extreme. Jesus, he's big. It winked and twinkled at me, as small bead of pre-ejaculate emerged, catching and reflecting the overhead lights. Oh, yes, Mikey really does like it. I so wanted to swirl that little bead around that bulbous head with a finger, tease it until the gland swelled tight within its skin like an overfilled bladder swells to near bursting from fluid. I didn't, though, and it took all my will power not to tease. I didn't want the prick to think I was enjoying this—well, at least enjoying this too much. Besides, I didn't want his cock to lose that smooth, dry feeling, not just yet. Instead, I ran my fingertips back and forth, gently along the shaft, being careful not to get too close to his weepy cockhead. He didn't say anything, but I could tell from his forced breathing that this was maddening for Conklin. He put a hand on top of my head and pushed his hips further forward so that his cock was barely a hair from touching my lips. He was telling me it was time to suck his cock. Not yet, asshole. Instead, I just touched the tip of my tongue to that little bead of fluid. I figured I could get a little hint at what to expect when he came, and see how bad it would taste and prepare myself. You see, I had already decided I was going to swallow. In for a penny, in for a pound. As near as I could sense, however, it had no taste. I guess there wasn't enough. Oh well, I'll find out soon enough. He urged me further to start sucking him, by putting pressure on my head from his hand. I still resisted his urging. I didn't want his cock in my mouth, not yet, anyway. I wanted to make him squirm a little, first. As such, when I felt him nudge me further, I shifted my head down and forward, putting my lips into the nook where his cock meets his balls. I can't begin to describe the feeling of that first encounter, when my mouth first made contact with a cock. It was far more erotic and electric than I had ever fantasized. At first, I waited with my lips wedged snuggly against the base of his cock, waiting, again, for the 'inevitable' feeling of revulsion to take over, but all I felt was increased arousal. Moreover, as I waited, a new sensation took hold of me. I could feel his balls, still hanging low and heavy, pressing against my right cheek, and they felt...cool. Along with that sensation, I felt his cock pressing hard against my other cheek, and it felt...warm, almost hot in comparison to his balls. The contrast between the two against my face—fire and ice—was almost more than I could take without coming in my pants. I cupped both fire and ice in a hand and massaged them against each cheek while I nuzzled his sensitive nook with my tongue and lips. I must have been doing something right, because he moaned loudly and pushed his hips further forward, grinding his cock and balls harder against my face. He was beginning to lose his composure. As for me, with my face buried deep in his crotch, I could feel I was losing what little control I had left. How did he put it? He liked turning us straight-acting twinks into cock sluts. That was me alright—a genuine, bona fide, newborn cock slut. It was always within me, I guess. It was more than mere fantasy. Conklin just gave me a good reason to finally bring it out and accept it. I stroked that smooth, dry stick of his while pulling and squeezing those heavy balls. All the while, I alternated between the two with my mouth—a quick lick and a suck to the base of his cock here, a long swipe with my tongue to the top of his sack there, and in between I nibbled roughly at both with my lips. He groaned again. Roughly grabbing a tuft of my hair, he forced my mouth fully onto his balls and smeared them against my lips. I knew what he wanted, and against my own desires to give it to him, I kept my lips together. I wanted him to ask, first. When he did, his voice came raspy and with a trace of annoyance, "Suck on my balls, you little fuck." I smiled to myself, knowingly, that I made him beg in his own strange way. It was the last bit of control I had over myself. I didn't suck them in right away. Oh no, I was going to play with them a bit, tease each one slowly and deliberately, make them ache and fill to overflowing with cum, and make that smooth sack tighten against them. With slightly opened mouth, I held one of his balls gingerly between my lips. It was the size and shape of a small plum—a firm, smooth ovoid sphere. I loved the feeling of his smooth scrotum as I played with it against my lips. Thoroughly kneading it with my tongue while slathering copious amounts of spit onto it, I would then pull it completely into my mouth, sucking and tonguing it gently. I sucked on it as I would suck on a big, juicy jawbreaker candy as a kid, being careful to savor its flavor without ever chipping even a splinter from its surface. Then, spitting it out into my hand, I rolled it about in my fingers while licking any excess spit off him, before shifting my attentions over to its twin where I'd start the whole process over again. I never put both balls in my mouth at the same time, although I wanted too. They were far too big for me to do that, or so I thought at the time. I feared if I tried to roll both of them around in my mouth, it would cause him pain. Can't have that, pain would make him go soft. Conklin wasn't a passive passenger. He continually teased me with his cock. Hard and thick and so very hot, he would rub it against my face, or nuzzle it against my nose while I tongued each of his balls. He was playful with it and never rough, which surprised me. I thought he would be like one of those crude assholes that try to humiliate their partner by slapping his cock down on your nose, or onto your tongue after making you hold it out for him. Although he was teasing with his cock, he was also gentle, and just rubbed it against me, or held it firm and steady alongside my nose while he stroked the upper part of his shaft with a thumb. That feeling of fire and ice gripped me again as he held his cock against my face. The contrast of each of his cool balls rolling around in my mouth, made it seem as if his cock were hot enough to brand my face where it touched me. I almost came again, and got control of myself by taking my mind off the branding, and concentrating more on tonguing and sucking his smooth, ripening balls. As I shifted between his two balls, I felt them tighten a little bit higher against the shaft. Toward the end, they were so tight against him that I could no longer pull them away from the shaft with my lips alone. It was then that I knew he was ready. Pre-ejaculate dripped from his cock like a leaky faucet. I didn't bother to lick it or kiss it, maybe that would come later at another time when I had more time. Right now, I just pulled him in. He slid into me like a hand slips into a glove. That is, if the hand were Andre the Giant's and the glove belonged to Reese Witherspoon. Well, it wasn't as bad as all that. My enthusiasm got the better of me and I pulled him in too far too quickly, making me gag at first. Conklin chuckled, and said, sounding like a bigger douchebag than he already was, "That's okay little twink, everyone chokes on it the first time." What is this, the Matrix? No one makes the jump—or sucks the cock correctly—the first time. I pulled him in slower the second time, stopping its progress when I felt him nudging the back of my throat. My saliva flooded into my mouth, bathing his cock, and almost making me choke again. Once I knew how far I could pull his cock in without gagging on it, I set up a nice, easy rhythm, pulling him back and forth between tightly pursed lips, and emulating myself from my fantasy dreams. Just like I pictured my first time would be, I tried not to use any hand. I always thought that the perfect blowjob was done purposefully, thoughtfully and slowly, using only the mouth. Rushing him to completion using mostly a vigorous hand, while sucking on his cockhead, just wouldn't do for my first time. How could either party enjoy that? I applied a hard suction to his cock each time I pulled away, and ending my backward glide right at the point I felt his bulbous cockhead against my lips. At which point, I would release suction a bit while sliding him back into my mouth. Through all this slow back and forth with varying the suction, I always kept my tongue pressed firmly up against the sensitive underside of his shaft, and which, invariably, pressed his whole cock up, causing that fat cockhead to continually rake against the roof of my mouth. I must have been doing something right. Besides feeling his cockhead swelling larger against my lips and Conklin groaning loudly and incessantly, he slowly, yet inexorably, pushed his hips toward me until his back was arched well forward. I had to back away each time he tried to push his cock further into my mouth to keep from choking, but even so, I was able to maintain that nice, slow, bobbing rhythm with my head and mouth. When I clamped a hand around his tightened balls, gently pulling and squeezing them, his legs began to vibrate, comically. It was then that I knew he was close, and prepared myself for his inevitable hot load. I was as hard as I ever remembered, waiting for his thick, creamy treat. So much so, it was starting to get painful having my cock pressed hard and continuous against my pants. I rubbed my tightening lump, trying to get myself off as best as I could, but Conklin croaked out a loud moan that sounded different from the ones he'd uttered up until now. I assumed he was telling me, 'No,' and that I should concentrate on his member, only. When I stopped rubbing myself, he grabbed a large tuft of hair at the top of my head. I guessed what he wanted, and kept my head still, allowing him to pump himself in and out of my mouth. I was amazed how well he was at controlling himself. He never pushed his cock too far in where I would choke, but slid himself in to where his cockhead barely touched the back of my mouth. I wished at that moment that I could step outside myself and watch Conklin's fat cock disappearing, then reappearing lewdly from my mouth. Just the thought of what it must look like, me, the newly born cock slut gobbling hungrily on his stiff, responsive cock, sent my own cock pressing even harder against my pants. I inadvertently let out a low moan of pleasure at that visual in my head, and what with the feel and taste of him sliding and swelling between my lips, my head started to swim. Conklin answered my moan with a deep rumble of his own, before giving me a raspy compliment, "God, I love your warm, wet mouth. Let me feel that hot tongue of yours, twink." When I pressed my tongue even firmer into his sliding, sifting cock, he pushed in a little further into me, and felt him just easy into my throat—it was all he needed. I felt the first few jets of his heavy, salty wash plastering the back of my mouth. He continued to pump his cock back and forth, unloading himself into me the whole time, as I clamped my lips tighter around his shaft. I was surprised I was able to keep up as he emptied himself into my mouth; although I did find it a bit difficult trying to swallow with his cock still inside me. A bigger surprise was that I didn't find the taste of his cum altogether unpleasant. I mean, it wasn't something I'd add to my coffee or make a crème brulée out of, but it wasn't the vomit inducing substance some girls said it was. The texture of it was what really set me off. I could feel it sliding down my throat as thick and heavy strands each time I swallowed. I can't describe exactly how it made me feel, except to say that as his heavy cream filled my mouth and flowed down my throat, I was filled with a sense of power and control. I did this to him...me...the twink! I made him moan and weak-kneed, like a little boy who suddenly found himself without his mother. A little boy lost; lost in the pleasure and comfort of my mouth. I took his stiff cock, a symbol of his strength and self-confidence, and pleasured it until it lost all its steel, and I did it with nothing but my soft mouth and tongue. He was still stiff, but softening when he finally pulled out of my mouth. His bulbous cockhead, large and plumb-like in both size and color, was quickly deflating back to its normal size, but his shaft was still shiny slick from my saliva, and glistened slightly from the overhead, fluorescent lights. Never Comes the Day Taking himself by the base of his shaft, Conklin ran his cockhead across the corner of mouth, capturing a small strand of cum that had escaped the first pass. It dripped off his cock a bit as he offered it to me, and I licked it off before pulling him back inside, cleaning him thoroughly. I finally released him when his cock was totally flaccid. He didn't put it away immediately, but stood there with his pants still around his ankles, staring down at me. He brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across my forehead. It was a gesture of kindness, I suppose, but it made me feel as if he looked down on me. Looking at me as one look at a favored pet, rather than as a...lover? Funny, but of all the things he's done to me this day, I think I was insulted the most by that act. I didn't say anything about it as I watched him pull his pants back up. Sitting back down behind his desk, he says to me, "Usually, I like to watch you cock sluts jerk off when I'm through with you, but since you acted like a whiny, punk-ass bitch earlier, there isn't time. Lunch is over. You should get back to your desk." Now, I felt disappointed. I didn't want this to end, but I still held out hope. Maybe he'll call me back in later, when he recharges his batteries...what the fuck is happening to me? I was dizzy and a little disoriented as I stood up from the chair. The pounding in my head was back, and to top it all off, I had a massive hard-on that's going to be impossible to hide as I make my way back to my cubicle. Just as I opened the door to Conklin's office, tent-pants and all, he says to me as an afterthought, "Beer is too lame to borrow." What did he just say? I stood there staring at him, hoping he would clarify himself, but he never said another word, keeping his eyes down and focused on the file that was still sitting on his desk. That's what I thought, he's spouting gibberish. The cocksucker's just fucking with my head. I by-passed my desk, and made a beeline for the men's room. There was no way I was going to get through the rest of the day without relieving myself. Fortunately, the far stall was empty, not that it made any difference for privacy's sake. I wasn't alone in the bathroom. Someone else was in one of the other stalls. I didn't care, however. I didn't care if he heard me, or knew what I was doing. In fact, given my high state of arousal, I fantasized that whoever it was, did hear me. Heard me and joined me... God, my cock feels so good in my hand. Smooth and dry, just like Conklin's. Stroking myself slowly, my fingers glide across my shaft and head as if they were made of silk, and imparting the greatest amount of pleasure with minimal effort. I picture the guy in the next stall opening my door after hearing me, and offering me his rock hard cock as I jerk off in front... Ten seconds later I'm sitting back on the toilet, momentarily satisfied, my body drained of strength. Long strands of cum ooze down the stall door, and within moments, they'll begin to drip onto the floor, below. I don't care. I'm not sure how long I sat there, watching cum drip precariously on the tile, but eventually I hear the guy flush and then wash his hands. He takes his time in front of the mirror, blowing his nose then combing his hair, before I hear him leave. I guess he didn't hear me. Too bad, he just missed out having an exquisite blowjob, sucked off to completion by a most eager, newly born cock slut. ******** It's the next day, right at noon. I'm at my desk, waiting and thinking. I had to jerk off two more times at home in order to fall asleep last night. I'd try not to think about what I did that day as I laid in bed. In between trying not to think about sucking Conklin's cock, and getting so hard that I needed to spank again, I finally figured out what he said to me as I left his office, 'Be here the same time tomorrow.' After figuring that bit of info out, I finally fell asleep; still horny, of course, but supremely confident and exceedingly prideful. He wanted seconds from me. You may be asking yourself: Okay, so what are you waiting for? Go to his office. Like you said, he wants to give it to you, and you certainly want it from him. I have my pride, you see. I may be a cock slut and admit it to myself, but I'll be damned if I'd admit it to Conklin—at least not yet, anyway. Besides, I was still a little pissed about that hair smoothing maneuver of his, treating me more like a pet, rather than as a person. As a consequence, I was going to make him call me. So, I continued to wait at my desk. Most of my co-workers had gone to lunch, and it was pushing three minutes past twelve. Now I'm thinking Conklin really was speaking gibberish when I left his office yesterday. That his command to, 'Be here tomorrow,' was just a figment of my oversexed mind. I was about to head out myself when I hear the speaker on the intercom crackle to life, "Madison, I know you're at your desk. Quit stalling, and get into my office!" Fucker must have ESP. The shades to his office were drawn, so there was no way he could see into my cubicle. How the fuck did he know, or was he just guessing? An educated guess for sure. He already knows me; all too well. My little waiting game aside, he knew I'd be at my desk because he knows I liked having his cock in my mouth. Not only am I a cock whore, but I'm a goddamn predictable one. When I get to his office, I saw that Conklin wasn't alone. Seated in a one of the chairs on the other side of the room was a fairly good looking, coffee-and-cream-colored black man. I'd seen him around. He was in charge of building security. Nice enough guy, I guess. He always wore a smile and spent time chatting the rest of us up on our way to the elevators each morning. Unlike most rent-a-cops, I never got the impression he took his job or himself too seriously. Now, however, seated in Conklin's office in his dark blue uniform, he was all business as he looked me over, up and down, with hard, squinty eyes. Conklin put his arm around my shoulder. It was overtly friendly, real 'buddy-buddy-like.' Probably the same way a mob guy would greet you before slitting your throat. It sort of gave me the creeps. I suppressed a shudder, however, and kept quiet as he asked, "Jeff, you know Clyde?" I nodded my head while saying, "I've seen him around. Hi Clyde." Clyde didn't say anything back. He just kept staring at me with his hard, narrow eyes. Conklin spoke for the two of them, "Clyde and me are the founding members of our little group." "Group?" I asked with suspicion. "Yeah, there're five of us right now. We get together every couple of weeks to barbeque, watch a game if one's on, or play cards...drink some beer. You know, just guy stuff. Anyway, there were six in the group, but one moved away recently. We're looking for a replacement. How would you like to join?" Right, barbeques and ball games, my ass. It was my ass they wanted, all right, and even though the thought was giving me a hard-on, I wasn't sure I wanted to be his Group's cabana boy fuck toy. "I...I don't know," I answered with ambiguity. Conklin looked at me as he was insulted, "What do you mean you don't know?" Clyde finally broke his silence by insulting me, "This one seems pretty dumb." Conklin smiled, and said as a way of correcting Clyde, "Pretty, but dumb, you mean. He's just the way I like 'em. If he wasn't dumb, he wouldn't be standing in my office now, because he wouldn't have been surfing porn sites during work. Isn't that right, Jeff?" It was a not too subtle reminder that my job depended on me going along with the program. So, the next time Conklin asked... "Let's try this again, want to join our group, Jeff?" I answered, emphatically, "Barbeque while watching games? It sounds like fun. I'd be happy to." "See Clyde, he isn't so dumb," Conklin said, laughingly, while pulling me tighter against him. My creep factor was red-lining as Conklin finished his thought, "Certainly not as dumb as Spalding." "Maybe," Clyde answered back quickly, "We'll see, man. He sure is better looking and in better shape, I'll give him that much." "Now Jeff," Conklin began, "You should know that since you're the new guy, you're low man in the pecker order of the group. As such, there's something of an initiation you'll have to go through. Isn't that right, Clyde?" "'Pecker order,' that phrase always cracks me up," Clyde answered with chuckle. His eyes went hard again as he said to me, "Okay Jeff, take 'em off." I was pretty sure what the initiation was going to entail. My cock instantly went hard thinking of all the possibilities. "What?" I answered, hypocritically, as if I didn't hear or understand his command. "Your clothes, dummy...take them off. I want to see what we're letting into our group." I took my time disrobing, as if I was still reluctant for the fun and games they obviously had planned for me. Don't know why, both of them seemed to know me pretty well already, but I was still trying to shield knowledge of my 'inner cock slut' from their view. One thing I couldn't shield from their view as I stood naked in front of them was my massive hard-on. I vainly cupped my hands in front of my groin, just like a little boy about to have his first physical at the doctor's office, trying to hide it from their leering stares. Turn your head and cough...cock slut "Aw look, he's shy," Clyde chuckled. "Don't be shy little twink, let me see it." Standing as still as I could—quite a feat given my level of nerves, arousal, and wobbly knees—I clasped my hands behind my back, letting him drink all of me in with his dark eyes. "Turn sideways," he rasped, harshly. When I did, he got a good, sideways look at my seven inches, sticking out like a plank of oak in all its hardened glory. My blood was pumping, fast and furious, into my head—both of them—and causing my cock to pulsate slightly, yet perceptibly, to his rapacious, steely eyes. Yet, I wasn't the only one in a high state of arousal. It was obvious from his breathing and speech that Clyde was just as turned-on by what he saw. I was a little surprised that I had that kind of an effect on someone—anyone, for that matter. My ego swelled a little in pride at the thought, and my cock swelled even further, now forming a slight, upward bend to my pulsating shaft. Conklin stood at my side, and ran soothing, caressing hands up and down my front and back. "Quite a hard body," he said slyly, squeezing my buttocks with one hand while running a teasing finger along the underside of my shaft with the other, "Hard everywhere." Jesus, he was treating me like a little slave bitch on parade—and I loved it. Conklin turned me so that my back was facing Clyde, while putting me into a bear hug. Crushed against him, I could feel that beautifully hard cock of his through his trousers, pressing against my own. He continued to run teasing hands all along my shoulders and back, but spent most of his time massaging and fondling my ass. "Such a wonderfully hard body," he breathed into my ear. Clyde chuckled, "I can see, but let me see." It must be some cryptic code they used, because Conklin didn't release me, turn me around, or even remove his hands. Instead he cupped both of my cheeks and spread them apart as far as he could. It wasn't until I felt his fingertip gently circling my tight asshole in a teasing manner that I knew what Clyde wanted to see. After a short while, Clyde said, playfully, "My, my, my...look at that, virgin territory, or have you tapped that fine ass already?" "Not yet," Conklin said, laughingly, "I was saving that for a special occasion. Besides, he has a very sweet and greedy mouth that's hard to resist. I don't think I've enjoyed a more apt cocksucker." Clyde laughed again, and said, "That good? Well, that's for me to find out." I was still in Conklin's arms, facing away from Clyde, but I could hear the clicking and jangling of the heavy belt of his uniform as he unbuckled himself. Moments later, I heard his belt thud against the carpet as he dropped his pants to the floor. "Come here, twink," he said in that same raspy tenor, "Let's see how well you can chug black snake." I turned around, and was expecting to see...well, you know...black guy...rumors... u-tube vids...you know what I'm getting at. I was a bit disappointed. Don't get me wrong, Clyde had a very nice cock. It was thick with a fat head, but it really didn't look any bigger than mine. "Well, there goes the myth." Oh shit! Did I just say that out loud? Conklin let out an abrupt guffaw while Clyde's eyes got narrow and cold. Yes, I did. Fuck! Not losing the hard look, Clyde finally said, "You're a real funny bitch, aren't you? Let's see how funny you be choking on my dick. Now, get on your knees and crawl over here like a good bitch, and start sucking." Seeing how much I pissed him off, I hesitated making my way over to him. I wasn't sure whether his cock or his fist would be pushed into my face. Conklin made up my mind for me, however, hurrying me forward by repeatedly slapping my ass hard, while saying, laughingly, "You heard the man, bitch...crawl." When I got within his reach, Clyde grabbed a hunk of my hair and slammed my face deep into his groin. Buried deep between his legs, my nostrils were swamped by his rank, manly odor. It was a heady, erotic concoction of sweat and pre-cum, and one of those scents that, in the past, had caused me to quickly lose interest in having sex with guys. This time, however, it only made me more sexually excited than I was, which was hard to fathom. Not that I couldn't get anymore sexually excited, but that my former tastes could change so quickly. He still had a firm grip of my hair as I tongued and mouthed his cock and balls with abandon. I slathered ever part of him that even remotely came close to my mouth, and when his cock and balls were slick with my saliva, he began to shift his hips in a fucking motion, running that stiff cock of his across my face, lips and nose. By now, Clyde had hooked his legs up and over the arms of the chair he was sitting so that his legs remained widely spread. With good support and leverage to his legs against the arms of the chair, he took my head firmly between his powerful hands. Then while sliding his fat cock past my lips, commenced fucking my mouth with a slow, but firm, rhythm. I clamped my lips hard around his shaft and sucked as he continued to slow fuck my face. Pulling back just enough to where I could feel his cockhead against the inside of my lips, he would advance just a bit further until I could feel him tap the back of my throat. He continued this way, rocking back and forth into my mouth for a good while. Occasionally, and to change up the tempo, he would pull out completely and force my head down so that I could tongue and suck his heavy, hairless balls. Through all of this, I would take a moment to stare at his face, which, without variation, had a comically intense look of concentration—it was a look I would see often in the coming weeks, and see in others, as well. When he noticed me watching him, he said, "That's right, tongue that cock and balls. You love black snake, don't you bitch? Sure you do. Now, the next time I pull my dick out for you to suck on, the only thing I want to hear you say is, 'Daddy, do you want me to lick your balls, too?' That's right bitch, suck on those balls." At the end of one of the brief interludes into ball washing, he changed tempo again. Roughly pulling my head back by my hair, he pushed his slickened cock fully into my mouth, making me gag. I kept gagging as he firmly held my head down on his cock. I gagged so much that I was coughing up large amounts of saliva. So much so, it dripped profusely down his shaft and onto his balls, and darkening and, I suspect, staining the fabric of the chair. He took this moment to laugh at my predicament, saying, "How's the myth now bitch? Sounds like I'm big enough to make you choke on it. Huh...bitch? Choke on that cock like a good little bitch!" I should have gotten mad by his treatment, and in my former life I probably would have. But that was then. Instead, all I felt was a combination of intense sexual excitement coupled with determination due to his rough play. I fought back against my gagging reflex by relaxing my throat and telling myself I wasn't going to choke to death. It worked. With a little effort, I had him fully inside to where I could feel his curly bush tickling my nose. Clyde, still wanting to punish me for my errant words earlier, tried to get me to gag again by throwing my head down harder onto his cock, but it was all in vain. I was used to his size, now. To show him this, I would pull him in even further than before, so that my nose was pressed deep into his hard abdomen. I held his cock inside for the longest time as I shifted my tongue all across his shaft. It wasn't long before I felt his hands relax their grip and eventually slipped off my head altogether, as he started to really enjoy my technique. It was fun time for me, as I had a stiff cock, and now, a compliant subject to enjoy. I went back to the way I was blowing him before, tightening my lips around his shaft while applying strong suction to his cock. Even though I was sucking so hard my cheeks were sunken in to the point where they were tight against his cock, I still had enough room to tickle his shaft and cockhead with my tongue. Along with that, I would go into 'deep throat mode,' but adding my own personal twist; pulling him all the way in until I felt his tightened balls against my chin, and while holding him there, I would shift my head about, causing gums, tongue, cheeks and teeth to work their magic across his whole erection. When I finally pulled back, still applying strong suction, I followed my mouth up with my hand, adding a long, slow stroke to his slickened shaft and cockhead before pulling him back in again. During times I needed to relax my mouth, I would allow a good amount of pooled saliva to flow out, bathing his cock and balls, and then using the excess spit to great effect by stroking him with my hands and teasing fingers. The on again-off again suction, and the contrast between a soft mouth and firm hand, was driving him wild as he shifted about in his seat and moaned incessantly from the pleasure. I was repeatedly bringing him close to climax, but never pushing him over. Such a naughty, little cock slut. It was about this time I heard Conklin say, "I told you he can suck cock." Clyde grunted, "Shit man, he's better than Gary, and I thought no one could be beat that cock-lovin' twink at sucking cock." Conklin answered with a knowing laugh, while stating proudly, "I sure can pick them." So engrossed in Clyde's tasty cock, I had forgotten about Conklin. He must have been watching this whole time as I serviced his friend. I was hoping he would add his cock to Clyde's, so I could blow both of them at once, but Conklin had other plans. I suddenly felt a cold, viscous fluid oozing down the crack of my ass. This feeling was quickly followed by another, as he ran a finger between my cheeks and through the liquid, lubricating it, and my ass, fully. He briefly touched my asshole, a subtle circular tease with his fingertip that sent euphoric tingles throughout my groin, before sliding that teasing finger deep into my ass. The sudden, pleasurable shock of his finger entering me was exquisite. So much so I stopped sucking on Clyde and almost came. When he massaged all around my insides, pushing his knuckle hard against my inner walls, I almost came again. Never Comes the Day I had never felt anything like it, as a wonderful, deep-seated euphoria filled me from my waist to my knees. I had always though getting penetrated in the ass would hurt at first, but I was wrong, this was absolute bliss. When Conklin pushed a second finger in, I was in heaven. I finally understood why some guys—and girls, for that matter—love taking it up the ass. You couldn't beat it with a stick. During the time I was blowing Clyde, Conklin must have taken his pants off, because I felt his unadorned, hot cock pressed against me, branding my left buttock with it as he continued to work his fingers inside me. Feeling his rock hard cock against my ass sent my mind reeling from the numerous images and urges of what I wanted him to do with that thick tool. I was a full-blown cock slut, and just like the wanton slut I'd become, I pressed my ass back into him, forcing his cock hard against my ass, and his fingers deeper into me. Then I wiggled my ass as a signal for him to slide that fat cock in. He knew what I wanted, but he teased me first, "You think you can handle my rod between your tight buns?" Before I could shout out a 'Yes,' Clyde grabbed my hair again and pulled me back down onto his cock. "I didn't hear that. What did you say?" Conklin asked, laughingly. I mumbled a 'yes' around Clyde's cock. "What? You're going to have to make yourself plainer. Didn't they teach you anything at college?" Clyde gave me just enough of a breather so that I could belt out a, "Fuck my ass!" before he shoved his dick back into my mouth. "Fuck my ass, what?" You asshole! "Say it. Fuck my ass, what?" Conklin continued to chide. I yelled, "Fuck," in frustration around Clyde's cock, sounding like a garbled screech from a wounded Howler monkey. "Close enough," Conklin laughed, "I love it when you twinks beg me to butt fuck you." He didn't push in right away. I heard foil ripping and then the unrolling of elastic. Shit, glad he thought of rubbers. I sure didn't. I felt more cold fluid being squirted between my cheeks just before I felt the tip of his cock pressing into my asshole... Holy mother of fuck! That exquisitely warm, euphoric feeling from moments before shattered in my ass like a glass cannonball fired from pointblank range. The pain was excruciating, and as far as I could tell, he only had his cockhead in. Conklin pushed in a little further, sending a lightning jolt of pain throughout my ass, and sending me bolting forward like lightning, away from those jolts. I slammed my face into Clyde's chest in the process. Conklin stopped advancing long enough for me to yell, "Holy fuck, what are you using, your fist?!" "Thanks for the compliment, but it's just my cock. Now try and relax. You'll get used to it." Used to it? Get used to it, he says! I must be nuts. What the fuck was I thinking before? 'Bliss and heaven,' that's what I thought to myself, my burning, aching ass, bliss and heaven. It was more like misery and Dr. Mengele's crypto-fascist wet dream of hell. What sadomasochistic, sodomite 'douchefuckett' could ever get used to it? He squirted more lube and 'dived' back in, but slower this time—big fucking deal. Yeah, he went slower, but it was no less painful, and to put the cherry topping on the agony sundae, he would tell me how far he had advanced, "Head in, twinkie...eighth in, twinkles...doing good, almost a quarter of the way in...," you get the idea. I know he was trying to be soothing, maybe even courteous and nice, but his advancement announcements only highlighted how little progress he was making, and that there was a hell of a long way to go before my anal nightmare was over. Then I had another thought: if it's this bad now, what happens when he gets antsy, just says, 'Fuck it,' and begins pounding into my ass like a jackhammer? Now, besides the pain, I was close to freaking. Clyde took some pity on me. Seeing the distressed looks I gave him, he stopped pushing his cock in my mouth, giving me a chance to breathe freely. It was either that, or he stopped out of fear that I might bite his cock in half when the next jolt of lightning exploded in my ass. In any case, he sat quietly in the chair, slowly stroking himself and watching my facial expressions with a smug smile. Well, I did say it was only 'some pity.' "The boy's hurtin'," Clyde said, matter-of-factly to Conklin. "I said he was tight, tighter than Gary, in fact." Conklin responded with equal indifference, "But I'm almost there. God, it feels good." "Well squirt some more lube in there, anyway. The boy needs relief." I got temporary respite when Conklin did just that. This time, he took more time working the lube into my ass, squirting a good amount in, working his fingers around, then squirting more in. The pain was gone for the moment, and the pleasurable, euphoric feelings of Conklin's finger probes were back. I began to relax, again. Now that I was less anxious knowing Conklin would take his time, curiosity got the better of me, so I asked, "Who's this Gary you guys keep talking about?" They both chuckled before Conklin answered, "He's the guy who left." Clyde pipe in with his two-cents worth, "Yeah, the little cocksucker, he just up and left without telling me goodbye." "Just up and left, huh. Just like that. Hard to believe," I responded with dripping sarcasm, "Maybe he didn't like having a horse cock jammed up his ass. You guys ever think of that?" Conklin laughed at my small dig before saying, "Thanks again for the compliment, but he never complained about that, and in a few moments you won't either." I was going to retort, but I felt him enter me again. He slid into me slowly. There was no pain. In fact, it was kind of pleasurable until he got to that point that was giving us the most trouble. Then the pain started anew as he tried to push in a little further. I wasn't sure how I was going to take much more of this. My anxiety was back and I was at wit's end thinking how I was going to endure the ass fucking when Conklin really started to go to town. It was at this point that something happened. As Conklin pushed in a little bit further, I suddenly felt everything...relax. It was a weird feeling, and I can't describe it any better than that. One minute he can't advance his cock in my tight ass without it feeling like he's ripping me open, and in the next, he easily slides all the way in without any pain at all. Conklin stayed still for a moment with his hips firm against my ass, and his cock fully inside. I felt his hands gripping me hard just below my waist as he flexed and shifted his cock about. The wonderfully warm, melting euphoria was back, and many times more intense and pervasive. It was as if I could feel the deepening bliss bleeding down into my thighs, and forward into my stomach each time he flexed his cock—bliss indeed—but when he began his slow pumping, pulling nearly out then sliding all the way in again, bliss became... Oh my god, it is Heaven! A very soft, yet abrupt, "Oh my god," escaped from my lips, as Conklin settled into a nice, long and slow, lovingly ass-caressing, ecstasy-creating, butt fuckingly, blissful rhythm. Clyde ran his fingers through my hair as he chuckled at my facial expressions. Then he said to Conklin, "The boy finally found love." Then Conklin said to me, "I told you Jeff, Gary never complained. He was a true cock slut. He loved it up the ass, and when he couldn't get it up the ass, he took it merrily in the mouth." "Speaking of mouth," Clyde started to say to me with a glint in his eye, "You want me to fuck your pretty mouth like Scott's fucking your tight ass?" "Give it to me," I grunted in pleasure. "Come on bitch, you can ask me better than that." Remembering our conversation from before, I asked, loudly, "Fuck me in the mouth with that hot cock, daddy, and do you want me to lick your balls, too?" "That's better, bitch." Pushing his chair back, Clyde knelt down in front of me. Then grabbing either side of my head, he plunged his cock into my waiting mouth. He surprised me by pushing in too fast and too hard, making me gag at first, but I quickly got control of the reflex. Clyde set about fucking my mouth like one fucks a pussy, while I clamped my lips down around his shaft and sucked hard as I could. It must have been a sight, and I wished I could've step out of myself to watch. There the three of us were on the floor, with me in the middle getting fucked at both ends. Just above the loud moans and groans from the two guys, I could hear sharp slapping sounds every time Conklin slammed his pelvis against my ass, and louder, squishy, sloshing sounds caused when Clyde's cock slid through the pooling saliva in my mouth. The whole thing was making me lightheaded from want, desire, and ecstasy, and I was as hard as a lead pipe. It wasn't just the pleasure I felt as Conklin rammed his beautiful cock in my ass, or the pure pleasure of tasting Clyde's rock hard member sliding between my lips. The pure animalistic eroticism I felt stemmed from the fact that I was being used like a bitch by the two of them. There was even an added, erotic bonus for me: hearing and feeling their swinging balls strike me across my perineum at one end, and into my chin at the other. It was as if their tools were punishing me with soft slaps for enjoying it all too damn much. Naughty, naughty cock slut. Thanks for leaving Gary, and don't bother to write. I was their newfound fuck and suck toy, and I loved it. Already ginned up, it didn't take Clyde long to reach the tipping point. He grunted a brief, "Get ready bitch, here it comes," before letting go. He held my face tight against his stomach as I felt one powerful jet of cum after the other shoot down my throat. It felt like he came a lot, but I took it all without problems. I even tickled the underside of his shaft with my tongue the whole time, causing his cock to twitch widely in my mouth and his thighs to vibrate like tuning forks. A little bit of cum was still dribbling out of his cock when he pulled out of me. I grabbed his balls before he could sit back on his heels and lick off the remains as it oozed out of him. A bit of slutty panache on my part, and I think he appreciated the gesture by the soft, satisfied smile he imparted. Now that Clyde was satisfied, I laid my head on the carpet to enjoy Conklin working over my ass without distractions. The blissful euphoria was still there and intensifying, but the ramping up to my own climax was going slow. Even though Conklin had increased the pace and force of his pumping, I doubted I would come with just an ass fucking. I was going to stroke myself and help it along, but... "Not yet, twink," Conklin barked, "I don't want you touching yourself until I'm ready." After that, he really put the wood into me, fucking me as hard and fast as humanly possible. God, it felt so good, but it was also maddening being stalled at this perpetual state of euphoria without the means to fully get off. So much so, I found myself in a deepening sexual fog, where the only thing I was aware off were the sharp, slapping sounds against my ass and that euphoric ball centered deep inside me that never seemed to grow any larger. Then I felt it, something different and wonderful. Conklin was slamming into my ass so hard, it was making my hard-on swing about, wildly. At certain times, it would swing so hard it would strike down against my thighs or up against my stomach. Those small sensations to my cock, coupled with the slow glide of bliss Conklin was imparting to my ass, were enough to get me crawling closer to orgasm. I responded by throwing my ass back into Conklin each time he threw himself forward. The added movement made my cock strike against me harder and with greater frequency. My climb toward orgasm was quickening. I was so close. Through the fog I heard Conklin say to me, "That's it bitch, fuck my fat cock. Shake that skinny ass and fuck that cock like a good bitch. Man, you love it up the ass, don't you?" "Fuck yes! Fuck my bitch ass, daddy! Fuck me harder with that hot stick!" From somewhere, Conklin found another gear. He slammed into my ass with such energy, violence and rapidity that he repeatedly forced the air out of my lungs, causing me to utter small hiccups each time he rammed into me. I must have sounded like some weird, perverted frog, croaking hiccups at the same time I was telling Conklin to stick it to me harder and deeper. Then I felt it. I was almost there, almost at the point of no return when coming was inevitable, and I could tell it was going to be nut-busting sweet. Just a few more strikes of my cock to the thigh... "Turn 'round," Conklin barked, as he pulled out of me. What?! No! Put it back in, you asshole! I heard the snap of rubber, as Conklin barked again, "I said turn around. Time to give you a facial, bitch." I snapped around to face him in in a sitting position. I was furious and overly excited at the same time, and it showed. His cock, rock hard and purple, and shiny slick from sweat at being enclosed within the rubber, quivered inches from my face. He stroked it just enough to keep his arousal boiling below the surface, waiting for that perfect moment...and I gave it to him. Looking up into his eyes, I smiled, and said, "Shoot that thick load all over my face. I'm a horny bitch, cock slut, and I want to taste your cream. Give it to me!" Jets of cum shot out of him like bullets from an Uzi, hitting me all about my chin and lips. Several shot high and others wide, hitting the bridge of my nose or clipping me across the cheeks. I could feel the first shots beginning to drip off my chin as long, heavy strands, and still he continued to fire creamy, thick ropes across my flush, waiting face. When the force of his ejaculation finally began to ebb, with his cum just flowing out instead of shooting, he pushed his cock full into my mouth, letting me suck the rest out of him. When I felt him starting to go soft, I used his cock to clean my face. It was just like he did to me yesterday, scooping large gobs of cum from my chin and cheeks, then sucking and licking the remnants off. I looked up at him the whole time. He smiled back. I didn't get my face completely cleaned, when he said, "Remember when I said I like to watch you cock sluts jerk off when I'm through, but we didn't have enough time for that yesterday? Well, we have just enough time. Lie across my desk, but don't touch yourself yet." As I got up on his desk, I heard him say to Clyde, "It's time you try his tight ass, man." Clyde was way ahead of him, and was already wearing a rubber on his rock hard cock. I was about to 'assume the position' and flip over onto my stomach, but Conklin stopped me. "Nope, stay on your back. It's easier this way, and way more erotic." Clyde took a hold of my thighs and slid me toward him to where my ass was flush with the edge of the desk. He squirted some lube on his cock, but by this time I didn't think I needed it. My ass was still well greased and more than broken in by Conklin. Like Conklin before, Clyde started with a nice, slow, even pumping action. Positioning my legs so that they naturally wrapped around his waist, he kept a tight grip on my thighs while leaning a bit forward and into me. God, it was nice. I liked it that he wanted to look into my face while still maintaining dominance and control over me. However, even though the blissful euphoria was back, coursing through my lower torso, I could tell I wasn't going to come this way either, not without the little cock slap to my thighs and stomach. Just when Clyde picked up the pace as he began to get into it, Conklin came alongside the desk to watch, or so I thought. Picking up an excess dab of lube that was attached to Clyde's pubic hair, Conklin gently massaged my perineum right about my asshole. Immediately, my then semi-erect cock jumped back to life. I got up on my elbows to watch as best I could. Clyde continued to slow fuck my ass, while Conklin ran a teasing finger all around the underside of scrotum. My balls tightened up against my shaft, and what with the wrinkling of my scrotum, they looked like a couple of walnuts held tight against the branch of a tree. Conklin put more lube on his finger, and gently worked all around my sensitive balls, circling one, then the other with a fingertip. He paid particular attention to the wrinkled part of my scrotum, sending exquisite, tingling sensations throughout my groin. I moaned loudly, and added a little pelvic bump to match Clyde's. It was my own cryptic signal that they shouldn't stop. Clyde started fucking me a little faster as Conklin added a greased thumb to my ball massage, rubbing both, finger and thumb at the same time. Once in a while, he would massage my perineum again with his palm, broadening the euphoria I was garnering from Clyde's thoughtful fucking. It wasn't long before pre-ejaculate fluid issued from my cockhead. "That's what I've been waiting for," Conklin mused, as he picked a drop off with a fingertip, "Now for some real fun." The fun was him running that lubed finger slowly, up and down my shaft—oh my, yes—and the more he tickled my cock, the more pre-ejaculate flowed out. Swiping up more of the fluid, he added a second, and then a third finger to his teasing glide. Clyde was pounding my ass now. Gripping my legs hard, he would pull me toward him each time he pushed his cock into me. His hard thrusts into my ass sent electric jolts of ecstasy into my cock, and there, they mingled with the subtle tingles of joy Conklin imparted with his fingers. I didn't know what was better, the fucking or the soft stroking, and I didn't care for both were wonderfully combining throughout my whole body and bringing me quickly toward release. It got better, though, much, much better, as Conklin brought his fingers up to my cockhead. With just two fingers on either side of my member, he gently massaged that area where shaft and head meet, and at that moment I felt the surge. "I'm going to come! Please don't stop!" I belted out Conklin added a bit more firmness as he wrapped his fingers around the upper part of my shaft, and slowly raked them along and over my cockhead... Holy fuck! I thought Conklin came a lot, but I truly made a mess of myself. A shot even hit me across the lips, but most of it landed as numerous, thick ropes extending up from my stomach and ending close to my collarbone. I lay back on the table, exhausted, letting Clyde finish. It only took a couple of more minutes. I think he enjoyed himself even though I wasn't too engaged. After Clyde pulled out, Conklin slid a box of tissues over to me. I think I used half the box cleaning myself. Nothing was said during the aftermath, as we all dressed in silence. I wasn't sure what would happen next, that day or the next or any more subsequent, and decided to leave it up to Conklin what would transpire. When Clyde opened the door to leave I could hear people milling about in the outer offices and knew lunch time was over. I was about to leave myself when Conklin said, "Stay a minute, will you Jeff? Sit down." He scribbled something on a memo pad and slid it over to me, saying, "Just in case you don't know where I live, this is my address. The guys and me, the 'Group' I was telling you about, are having a little get together this Saturday. I would like you to be there given that you're one of us now." I didn't take the memo, and just looked at him sideways. Like I said before, although the thought of an all guy orgy with me as star attraction was starting to give me another raging woody, I wasn't sure I wanted to be any group's cabana boy fuck toy. Besides, no one likes to be used solely as a cum dump. Not even a cock slut. It was probably why this Gary character left all of a sudden. At least that's what I assumed happened to their arrangement. Never Comes the Day Conklin guessed my mind, and smiled affably while saying, "It's not going to be like that. Today was special, because it was an initiation. The group's get-togethers are usually a bit more...normal, if you know what I mean. Oh sure, we'll probably end the evening with a nice little jerk-off session, or a little blow here and there between the other guys. What's the fun of being a guy and single if you can't do that? That aside, however, mainly it's just barbeque and a ballgame. Red Sox are playing the Yankees. You a Bosox fan, Jeff?" I wasn't really a baseball fan at all, but told him the Yankees since it was the only team I was even remotely familiar with. "Yankees fan, huh. You and Pete will have a lot to talk about. What do you say? Is it a date?" Thinking better about it, I smiled at him and took the memo with his address. "Excellent! Come by around five. That will give us enough time to have a few drinks and eat before the game starts." ******** When I got to Conklin's apartment, I still held out hope that this would be a 'normal,' social function—beer, brats and a ballgame—just like he said. I don't know why. It was probably the same reason I got caught perusing inappropriate internet sites at work, and then blackmailed into this 'jackpot' in the first place—because I'm stupid. The idea that this would be a 'normal' get-together was quickly dispelled after I entered Conklin's apartment. The 'Group,' as Scott called them, was all about Conklin's age, maybe ten to fifteen years my senior. Scott kept his arm around me as he introduced me to the others. There was Clyde, of course, dressed in casuals this time, and not his uniform. Standing next to Clyde, and towering over him at six-five, was Pete Miller, who also went by the moniker, 'Pistol Pete.' With a wink, Conklin said I'd find out why, later. I remembered from my first conversation with Conklin that Miller was head of our HR department. Conklin's little cabal became more clear to me when he introduced Glen 'something or other,' and Larry 'another something or other.' Not good at remembering names, I took to calling them 'The Giggler,' and 'Mr. Intense,' respectively. You'll see why shortly. Anyway, both Glen and Larry work in IT. In fact, Larry ran the department. So there they were, chicken hawks all—or so I guessed—and all representatives of important company departments: security, human resources, and internet technology. Just the group someone like Conklin would need to snare stupid, little twinks like me into his web of homoerotic fun and games. As each of them was introduced, they would gather around, shake my hand or pat my back in welcome, all while ringing me into a tight semicircle with me in the middle. And as I stood there, grinning like an idiot, shaking their hands, my old man's words came to me: Jeff, someday you might find yourself in a high-stakes poker game. If that happens, make sure to look around the table and spot the chump. If you can't find him, then it's you. I looked around at the guys, trying to discern maybe even a faint glimmer in their faces that this wasn't going to be just a cabana boy gangbang. All I saw staring back at me was a pack of ravenous wolves...or should I say hyenas, given Glen the Giggler's penchant to laugh through any and all situations. Say hello to the chump, fellas, dinner is served. I didn't even have time to prepare myself to the 'coming' onslaught—pun intended. Without a word or sound on their part, rough hands latched onto my arms and legs. Lifting me up, they suspended me spread eagle above the floor. Only when they had me so indisposed did they began to laugh and hoot like a bunch of drunk cowboys. I swayed back and forth between them, as each pulled me to and fro, using me like human rope in their gay, tug-o-war games. I made like I wasn't having any fun, and resisted a bit. Telling them to stop and put me down while half-heartedly trying to pull out of their grip, but it was all for show. They seemed to like me putting up a fight—fake or not—it made them laugh and hoot even louder. I could feel the blood leaving my head as it rushed into my groin. Hands gripped the front of my shirt, right before I heard it rip... Hey, that was new, you assholes! ...and they continued to rend at it until it was in pieces on the floor. After my shirt, it didn't take much for them to split my lightweight, khaki pants down the zipper and in half... Those weren't new, but the ride home on the Metro will be interesting. Even before both halves of my pants joined what was left of my shirt on the floor, the Giggler stepped between my spread legs and ripped my boxers away. He did all this as he merrily laughed, of course. Now that I was suspended and naked, there was no use trying to fake resistance. It was plain for everyone to see that my cock was already three-quarters of the way to a full blown hard-on. Trying to act noncompliant when obvious facts stated otherwise would just make me into some kind of punk-ass, whiney cock tease. Best to be thought a slut, than known as a tease. It's more fun, too. So, I let my body go limp as my cock went hard. Letting them have unfettered access, I closed my eyes to the growing, sexual chaos. Actually, it was a liberating; letting my pride go, while letting them have their way with me. Better, I didn't have to think about what I should do, or how I should act, which always is tiresome when it's fake. Instead, I just drifted on the currents of their desires like drift wood moving alone the surface of a swift moving stream. I didn't know or care where I would end up, just making sure to stay afloat as I move with the ebb and flow. Their hands were all over me, playfully and sensuously caressing my chest, stomach, thighs, everything. Those that could reach, slid their hands around the base of my cock, caressing both of my cock and balls at the same time. Others took to gently and playfully slapping my cock between them as if they were playing a lewd game of ping pong. There were a few, breathless comments about my physique, about my face and hair, and, of course, comments about the size and firmness of my erection. Brief, quiet comments uttered along with their gentle, sensual fondling, and all stating they liked what they saw. The Giggler took a particular liking to my ass, as he kneaded it roughly, spreading my cheeks far apart while gently touching his fingers to my asshole. Each time he touched me there, I felt my cock twitch, and each time it twitched, it would send him into another fit of giggles. I felt Scott's warm breath at my ear, as he whispered, "Glen used to be low man in the 'pecker' order, just like you are now." That explains the giggles, I guess he's ecstatic about being a top. Scott continued to whisper into my ear, "Eventually, you'll move up in the 'pecker' order as well." I still had my eyes closed as I asked, "Is that why that Gary fellow you keep talking about left, too long as low man on the totem as he serviced everyone's pole?" He didn't answer me right away. Instead, I felt him trace his finger along the profile of my face, as if feeling for any imperfection. Finding none, he answered, "It wasn't like that at all. Gary's mother was having health problems, so he moved back home to be closer to her." I was going to ask him something else, when I heard the Giggle say, laughingly, "Hold him steady." Right after hearing his command, I felt him lower himself. I wasn't sure what would happen until... Oh, fuck yeah! ...I felt something warm and wet darting across my perineum. I never realized how sensitive that area was until I had someone tickling it with their tongue. The sensations Giggler imparted stiffened my cock further. When he slid a little higher, roughly licking and sucking on my balls using long, wet bites with his lips and tongue, I became rock hard. "That's right, get that little puppy ginned up," I heard one of the others say. With that, I felt Glen's hands firmly grip my buttocks, spreading them apart. He paused for a moment and giggled, before branding my asshole with his hot tongue. Oh, fucking fuck yeah! At first, he just flicked a quick tongue across my asshole while occasionally shifting higher to attend to my balls. During this time, the others continued teasing my cock by running a finger or two along the shaft, or gently batting my cock back and forth between them with soft slaps. So many erotic sensations flooded through me, some subtle, others more intense, and all born from the different techniques each of them used with either tongue or hand. Then they increased the roughness of their play, some slapping my cock harder, while others cupped my balls, squeezing them gently but with a firm grip, or totally enclosing the top of my scrotum with fingers and pulling them away from my body. Giggler had settled exclusively at my asshole, and was pushing and prodding his tongue and fingers in and all around my opening. My whole body tightened as I fidgeted once again against their hand holds. However, this time I wasn't fighting against them in some mock display of resistance, but because they were ever so slowly bringing me toward climax. The slow climb was maddening, and I couldn't keep still. Just as the blood left my head, I heard Conklin say, "Not too much ginning now. We don't want the little pup making a mess too soon. Put him down." With my head and body still reeling from all the teasing sex play, I found myself on my knees on the carpet. The others stood around me, ringing me in a tight circle as they stared down at me. Then, one by one, each undid their pants, letting them slide to the floor. All of them, that is, except for Pete, who took a seat on the couch to watch. The rest stepped out of their pants and closer to me, putting their hard cocks scant inches in front of my face. Of the three I hadn't seen before, Giggler was smaller than me, probably six inches but unusually thick for its length. Larry, Mr. Intense, was bigger than Clyde, but not as big as Conklin. I'd say he was eight inches to Conklin's nine, and well proportioned. His balls were large and smooth, and hung down obscenely low. So much so, it looked like the top of his scrotum strained at their weight. Looking at them on my knees, I had to fight off the sudden urge to put them in my mouth. He stared down at me with this weird intensity, a strange combination of having a furrowed brow combined with a glazed and vacant look. I couldn't tell if he was in deep thought or sleep walking. As for Pete, still sitting on the couch and fully clothed, I could only guess what was between his legs. Saving the best for last, I suppose. No one said anything as I continued to stare at the hard cocks pointing at me. The rank scent of supercharged testosterone, sweat and pre-cum, flooded my nostrils. I thought back on what I said before, about not wanting to be just a cum dump in their cabana gangbang. I was so wrong. Who the fuck were you kidding, chump? I grabbed Mr. Intense by his hanging balls because they made such an erotically appealing target, and juggled them in a hand. I loved how his scrotum would crinkle up and tighten when I traced a finger along each of his balls. I played with the Giggler's cock with my other hand, running teasing fingers up and down that chubby shaft. His cockhead grew purple, and a small drop of pre-cum emerged and twinkled at me from the overhead light. I smeared the drop all around his cockhead, making him moan and giggle at the same time. He stepped even closer to me, nearly touching that fat cock to my lips. He so much wanted me to draw him into my mouth, but before I could greedily comply, Conklin turned my head around with a hand and pushed his cock into my mouth. Still holding my head firmly, he slid his cock back and forth past my tightening lips using a fucking motion. Soon, I felt more hands gripping my head, as each pulled me toward them, and took their turn fucking my mouth. The loud revelry of before had returned, as they all laughed and hooted watching me suck on one cock, then the next. Whose cock I serviced depended entirely on which one wrested control of me from the others. I heard Conklin say as I chugged on Clyde's dick, "That's right, twink, it's our time to get ginned up. Suck on those poles good, like I know you can, my little cock slut." Their play was becoming rough and frenzied. So much so, I had to put a hand on the two guys flanking my sides, Giggler and Conklin, in order to maintain my balance as each thrust hard into my face, and almost knocking me backwards in the process. After a while, none of them needed to lay hands on me to direct me to their cocks. On my own, I took quick turns on each of them, clamping my lips around their shaft, pulling them in as far as I could and sucking hard, all while slowly bobbing my head. "Hungry little bitch, isn't he?" Mr. Intense said, as he held his cock steady while I sucked thoughtfully on his pole. "Look at those jaws work," Giggler said, laughingly, "Tighten those lips around his shaft, bitch. Yeah, that's it." "A real, natural born cock sucking cock slut if ever I saw one," Conklin intoned with a rasp as I clamped my lips around his cock. "Best damn cocksucker I've ever had," answered Clyde, "Here bitch, my turn." I was rock hard and filled with overwhelming desire at all their dirty talk and rough play. I had become their tool, and loved being one. The best little cocksucker this side of the Mississippi. Come on boys, let me have it. This bitch wants your cum! With my arousal redlining higher than I thought possible, I clamped my hands on Clyde's tight ass and pulled him hard, full into my mouth when I heard his demand. I choked on it at first... Easy there, cock slut. Don't spoil the rhythm. ...but quickly recovered. I started a nice, slow blowjob, moving my head just enough so that I could feel his cock sliding in and out of my throat, and ending each time with a little tap to his balls with my chin. "Holy shit!" was all he said, as his knees began to wobble. I neglected the others for a moment to concentrate on Clyde. I knew he was close already, and I wanted him to shoot his load down my throat, to quench the growing fire deep within me. Just when I thought I had him, he pushed me away, saying, "Damn, not yet bitch." I heard the Giggler laugh, while saying, "Ha, he almost had you. Clyde should have let it ride, but then he would be low man again. Ha, I think I want to have some of that, now." Grabbing me by the hair, he pulled me over to the couch while saying, "Come on, bitch, time to get the party started." Sitting on the other end of the couch from Pete, Giggler pulled my head into his lap. I didn't need any encouragement or direction as I took him into my mouth. Now that a break had occurred in the action, my over burgeoning arousal abated some. As such, I wasn't hot to trot to make him come too quickly, like I wanted to with Clyde. Now, I wanted to take my time and enjoy what was going to happen next. So, I set about sucking on his cock with slow thoughtfulness, taking long and easy licks and sucks to his perky chubby, getting him nice and slick with my saliva. As I serviced him, I got a chance to look over at Pete for the first time since they had me in their circle jerk. He sat nonchalantly, watching me with one arm over the back of the couch. He was sitting with one knee resting flat on a cushion and slightly turned in my direction so that I could almost see his whole front. Although he was still fully clothed, I had no trouble seeing the great bulge in his pants. It must be a massive tool, much bigger than Conklin's by the look of things. Oh yes, saving the best for last, indeed. Immediately, my arousal went back up to redlining just thinking about his cock, and what I wanted to do to it. I then felt cold fluid followed by a dual finger probe. I stopped sucking on the Giggler's cock for a moment to enjoy the blissful euphoria. I wasn't sure whose magic finger's they were, until Clyde spoke up, "Hey Glen, if you think the little twink's mouth is the bitchin' end, just wait until you slide into his tight ass." Giggler answered, laughingly, "Yeah man. Can't wait." Then he said to me, still giggling, "Come on bitch, throat my cock like you throated Clyde." I heard the ripping of foil and the unrolling of rubber. I sank all the way down on Giggler's chubby just as I felt Clyde pushing his cock into my ass. For whatever reason, maybe because I knew what to expect, there was no pain, just intense, blissful euphoria as Clyde slid all in. He started with a nice, easy rhythm, taking long slow strokes with his cock. I mimicked his rhythm with my own on Giggler's cock, slowly pulling him all the way in, then out, while sucking hard behind tightened lips. Giggler liked what I was doing, and arched his back, forcing his cock further into my mouth each time I drew him in. Looking back over at Pete, I stared at him, doe-eyed, as I bobbed up and down on the Giggler. He was staring back with intensity. The scene must be getting to him, because he lost the nonchalant body language, and took to rubbing that great bulge of his. It was much bigger now than when I first saw it. As he slowly rubbed a hand across it, I could see a very visible wet spot forming on the front of his pants. I smiled to myself. Oh yeah, the best little cock slut this side of the Mississippi, for sure. It was at this time that I heard Conklin say, "Okay, switch." I felt Clyde remove himself, as the Giggler pushed me off him, saying, "Back off, bitch," before getting off the couch. I didn't have to wait long to figure out what was happening, as Clyde sat on the couch where the Giggler had just been, sans rubber. His hard cock, slick and sweaty, pulsated in front of my face. I then heard the Giggler put on a rubber and felt more lube being applied just before he entered me. He let out a low groan as he tapped my ass with his pelvis. Giggler chuckled, "You're not kidding. He's got a very sweet ass." He accentuated the last part by slapping it, my sweet ass, hard, while saying, "Giddy up, bitch," before setting off on a quick pumping action. "Would I lie to you?" Clyde answered with a smile, and then said to me, "Okay bitch, start sucking that black mamba just like before." As I pulled Clyde all the way in, feeling his hard cock inching deeper into the back of my mouth, I saw Conklin out of the corner of my eye. He had moved up closer beside us. A camera was in his hands, and he was recording me as both Giggler and Clyde's dicks slid freely in and out of me. "Hope you don't mind," He said as he continued to shoot, "We always film our group get-togethers. Don't worry, this stays with me. It's only for us to view. We like to play it back at the end of the evening or before the next gathering." I should have been worried, or, at least, a little bit anxious, I might end up on the internet as a new star attraction on some gay amateur website, but I didn't care at this point. Quite the opposite, it turned me on in the extreme, being 'filmed' as I was getting fucked at both ends. Jesus, I am a slut, and a stupid one as well. It wasn't long before Clyde pushed me off him, saying, "Not yet, bitch," then getting off the couch like the Giggler had done, before. Seconds later I hear the unrolling of another condom, and felt more lube being applied to my ass. The Giggler was back on the couch, his cock without protection. Taking a firm hold of a lock of my hair, he held my head steady as he slammed his cock in and out of my waiting mouth. I then felt Clyde ram his cock into my rear. The pace and force of their thrusts were increasing.