Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

On the hottest, steamiest night of the summer in the big city, I almost met my Maker. I was an undercover cop working for the vice squad, about to observe and take part in a drug transaction outside the Frisky Bar, a gay strip joint in a seedy part of town.

Moving down the alley closer to the drug buy, I moved out of sight of my partner (a mistake), and passing behind a dumpster, I saw the perp and his customer. I walked out into the open–the perp knew me–but before I could say anything to the dude, I spotted who he was talking to–that was no customer, that was somebody I knew from a previous sting! They both looked up at me, and the perp growled, “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch, there he is now!”

Oh, shit. I’m busted!

Two more guys stepped out of the shadows behind the dumpster. And I guess one or more were behind me because something hit me in the back of the head, and I went down.

I came to on the ground, being kicked in the body and the head. I was in deep shit. Couldn’t see my way out.

Suddenly I heard the roar of a car engine and saw the bright blaze of oncoming headlights. The thugs took off running. I think I passed out.

I came to as somebody grabbed me and pulled me to my feet. Now what? Whoever it was dragged/pulled/supported me over to a large, black Mercedes-Benz. He pushed me into the passenger seat, then got behind the wheel, backed out of the alley, and took off.

I looked over at my rescuer. I was still so dizzy, it was hard to focus, but he was a big guy. Wide shoulders. Square face, pug nose, fat lips. Pock-marked cheeks and heavy brows. Short brown hair. Expensive suit. Nice material. Shiny.

He looked familiar, but I was so beat up, I was only barely conscious. I thought: Mafioso and said, “Thanks, man.” It was all I could manage. Just a moan.

“No problem. What were you doing back there?”

“Went–take a piss. They–wanted money. Jumped me.”

“What were you doing by the Frisky Bar?”

Something told me not to reveal too much to this guy. He could be the drug-trade competition. “Work there.”

“You work there? What do you do?”

Shit. Why did I say that? I couldn’t say I was a bartender because I could’ve used the bar’s pisser. I couldn’t be a bouncer for the same reason. “Exotic dancer. Just–off work–on way home.” Damn! Not good! If he was in the Frisky, he would not have seen me dancing!

“You’re a male stripper?”

Shit. “Yeah.” Damn, I hurt so bad, I wished I could just lean my head back and go to sleep. I ached all over. I didn’t think I had any broken bones, but I could feel lumps all over my head.

Couldn’t help it. Leaned my head back and passed out again. Last thing I heard was, “I’m John Barris Firtipton. And your name is…?”

I came to again as the car dropped down onto a ramp, pulling into the parking area beneath an apartment building. The man pulled me out of the car, and we walked (and stumbled) to the elevator. Nice elevator. It had leather wall paneling.

We stopped at the top floor–Damn, the penthouse–got out, walked (and stumbled) to the door. When he opened it, I gaped. Huge apartment. Huge! Must’ve occupied half the entire roof of the building.

Gigantic living room, a place Picasso could have designed. Huge paintings on the walls–weird stuff, really. Not my taste. We walked past modern furniture, couches and chairs making swirls of color and pattern–Am I seeing this right, or did I get a concussion?

The place had so many potted plants, it was like a jungle. Palm trees. Vines. Orchids! A parrot looked down at me from a Frangipani tree, and–Damn!–we walked by a huge boa constrictor slithering across the limbs of a banyan tree! What in hell do they want with such a huge snake–and how’d they get that giant tree in here? The main trunk of the spreading, multi-limbed tree rose up through a hole cut for it in the ceiling. This place is too fucking exotic! I must be delirious!

I wondered how I could get out of there, get a taxi, and get to a hospital ER, but I couldn’t just bolt for the door–for one thing, I still felt like I’d been run over by a truck. As Firtipton led us through the place, I looked up–and saw the moon and stars. God, a glass ceiling! And all around us was a jungle of plants, parrots, and snakes. God, what a place! Like an acid trip!

Firtipton walked to a bar at the side of the room, the biggest private collection of booze I ever saw–the Frisky Bar didn’t have that many bottles–and he poured something into a glass. He handed it to me. “Here, drink this. It’ll ease the pain.”

I sipped it. Sweet. Licorice flavor. Wine of some kind. I tossed it down. Damn! Hit me like a sledgehammer. “Whoa, that stuff has a kick.”

“It’s 138 proof. Absinthe, popular stuff in France in the early 1900s. You’re drinking the favorite liquor of Vincent van Gogh and Oscar Wilde, Mr.–what did you say Gaziantep Genç Escort your name was?”

Shit. Now what? I figured I might as well play out the “dancer” bit. I thought up a pun-name: “Peter Packing.”

“Ah! Of course! Peter–Packing! Very clever.”

I couldn’t figure the guy out. He looked like a thug, but he spoke like a professor, and I couldn’t get over that he looked vaguely familiar. A few minutes after I finished the drink, I did feel better, but–Jesus, more than 70% alcohol. I’m probably drunk.

My head cleared of the cobwebs of getting the shit beat out of me, but fuzzed again with the booze. But not before I finally recognized the guy. Holy shit! The man was no “John Barris Firtipton”! He was Conley “Wild Bill” Hickock, the goddamned Sheriff of Domorgiha County!

But hey, he’s one of the good guys! I can tell him I’m an undercover cop, one of his deputies!

But before I could say anything, he stood up. “I want to show you a room I had built for my father,” and he walked off. I got up to follow. He reached a portion of the wall overgrown with thick vines, grabbed a hidden latch, and click! A door swung open! The branches that snaked over the door were fakes! Fiberglass! The whole door was sculptured entwined vines that blended in with the real ones all around it. The door had been invisible.

He walked through into a large room. A room built for his father? What, Pa’s Trophy Room? I expected moose heads on the wall.

He clicked a switch, and the lights slowly came on. Damn! Small round tables and chairs clustered around a low stage–his own cabaret. And something else: it had a brass-colored 10-foot pole from center stage to the ceiling. Something told me I’d better keep my real identity quiet for a little longer.

Sexy music began to play. “Show me what you do, Mr. Packing.”

Oh, hell!

He turned the dimmer down, and the pace of the music picked up.

Fuck! I had no way out. I’ve gotta do it! I began to move with the music. Oh, man, if anybody down at the station could see this!

But it also occurred to me that I’d better look professional. Gradually I got with it, more fiery moves, blending dance moves I learned in waltzes with my wife and in earlier dirty-dancing dates in college, making them into hornier actions, lurching my hips and crotch at him from time to time. I moved under the track lighting in the ceiling, which put a sort of spotlight on me, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in a large hall mirror at the side of the room, I was astonished. Damn, I look good! Even with all my clothes still on.

And then I realized he was waiting for the other shoe to fall–the clothes. No way out of it. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt.

With a mighty yank, I pulled it through the belt loops and off. Dancing around swinging the thing took up a couple of minutes (frantically trying to think of a way out). Still he waited, so I yanked open my shirt, nearly popping off the buttons, but I got it open in one sexy jerk.

I danced sinuously while I got it off my shoulders. Staring at him, I wound it up tight, then wiped it over my shoulders, wiping off the sweat. Then on an impulse, I stuck the wound-up shirt between my legs, wiping it back and forth over my crotch.

After doing that a bit, I threw the shirt at him. Damn. He buried his face in it! Then he looked up again. He wanted more.

Fuck, no way around it. I pulled open my fly.

Once that was done, it wasn’t hard to pull down my pants–they almost fell down. I kicked them off my legs.

On duty I usually wore a jockstrap. Innocent enough, but suddenly I was more “professional” than I wanted to be. I hoped to God that would be enough. I tried to make the dance hotter, tried to remember all the nasty tricks I’d seen real strippers do. I moved over to a couch next to the “stage” and lay back on it, facing him.

As I did, my goddamned cock popped out over the top of my jockstrap. Damn, I’ve got a hardon! A real throbber. I was fully up and locked. How embarrassing!

To hide it, I arched my legs up in the air over my head, and it dawned on me that I was flaunting my ass at him. My asshole framed by the leg-straps of my jock. Without even trying, I was really turning up the heat, and it worked. But on me. I was getting horny.

He turned the lights down even more. Still moving to the music, I slithered back along the wall to the stage, where I stood facing away from him, wondering what the hell to do next.

Shuffling my feet back and forth, I decided to use the pole. I went slinking up to it like a panther, then climbed it, slung my leg around it, and slid back down.

I tried a few tricks I’d seen strippers do at the Frisky Bar, then I climbed it again, hooked a knee around it, and hung upside-down, undulating like a snake. Damn this circus! What if I fall and break my dumb-ass neck??

While I was upside-down, he got up and walked over. Hanging upside-down high up on the pole, my crotch was at the level of his face. He pushed my jockstrap aside and took my cock in his mouth!

Nobody ever did that to me before! Never, not growing up, not grown-up, never even from my wife! Incredible!

As he sucked me, I went nuts! Never felt anything so horny! My cock was instantly at full-on throb, and an orgasm was growing! Naturally my face was exactly at the height of his crotch, and in the frenzy I was in, I couldn’t help myself. I reached out, undid his pants, reached in, and took out his rod.

Fuck! Jesus Christ! Biggest cock I’d ever seen–and I had seen a few good ones in the station shower room. Incredible! What he drove from between his legs was one of those horse-cocks shaped like a Coke-bottle!

Not only it gigantic, it featured a real threat to the fuckee–his huge cockhead would spread wide the poor victim’s cunt (or asshole)–Asshole? What are you thinking of??–but once the cockhead was in, the victim had only a second’s relief. Right behind, the person’s poor, tortured hole would stretch out again over the fat “waist” of the big shaft.

Then, relaxed again, the person spreading her (or his) legs–No! Stop thinking that way!–for the sheriff got another screaming fuck-agony, forced to stretch over the wide base of his warfaring dong. Jesus Christ!

It was eerie, and I was stunned. What a plow. Once over the pain, that thing should be the craziest ride on earth! I was hypnotized, dumbstruck.

Couldn’t help myself. Seemed like the natural thing to do. And suddenly I realized I wanted to: I took that big thing in my mouth–or tried to.

Couldn’t get it all in, though. Too big. Cockhead the size of a small peach. God, the guy was huge!

He did such a fucking good job sucking me, though, I couldn’t hold back: Ohmigod, I’m almost there! If my mouth hadn’t been full, I would have raved like a lunatic. Still hanging upside-down from the pole, I looked up at his sucking at my dong, and I cummed.

Never had an orgasm like that. Never been so turned on. Felt like all my guts came spurting out of my cock. Jism by the gallon!

And maybe the taste of my sperm got him off. A few seconds later I took a blast of his semen, raising my sex-madness to a whole new level. I gulped down his stuff, slathering my tongue around his bull-cock, feeling drools of it running down over my face, into my eyes, into my hair.

My legs trembled, and I couldn’t hang on any longer. I slid off the pole, catching myself with my hands on the floor, and rolled into a gasping, sweating pile at his feet. A blowjob! I just got a blowjob!

And I just gave a blowjob. Damn, what have I done?

He sat back on the couch, and I got up. He looked at me expectantly–the dance wasn’t over.

Dizzy again, I began to undulate once more to the beat of the music, rubbing my chest and belly, bending over to run my hands over my legs. I still had on the jockstrap, but it was pulled aside, and I was hanging out.

So what the hell, I slow-stroked my eager cock, and it grew back into a hard, throbbing weapon. Turning and gyrating before him, I put on a coy expression, hiding my cock with my hands, turning my back to him–then I slid the jockstrap slowly down my legs and slipped it off, looking back at him with a sexy pout.

Then, really getting into it, I shimmied my way up to him, jiggling my cock back forth like a female stripper twirling her tassels. He stared at me, fascinated, and as I danced still closer, he reached out his hand, holding up his index finger.

I shuffled over and placed my cockhead on his finger, then danced slowly and sinuously, never taking my cockhead off his pointing finger. It was the hottest moment of my life. God, I loved that! It’s true: I love stripping for this guy! I love how he looks at me!

Wait a minute! You’re a married man, and he’s your fucking boss! Get a grip on yourself, idiot!

But it went on, a delicious torture–I danced from one side to the other, pivoting with my cock on his finger. And I was hot, my cock throbbing and tight-hard.

At one point when I was closer to him, he reached around me with his other hand and a finger insinuated itself into my ass-crack and found my asshole. It pressed in! “Oh, God!” My voice was a hoarse gasp.

“You’ve got a gorgeous ass, Packing,” and suddenly, like a tidal wave over me, I knew what was going to happen. I couldn’t believe my own brain, but I knew it: I was so fucking horny, so fucking hot, so incredibly turned on, I’m going to let him do whatever he wants with me.

Like a wrecking ball had swung through the air and crashed into me, blasting away all my defenses, I suddenly knew it: That meant fucking. I’m going to let him fuck me. And still more: I want him to.

As if he knew, he placed both hands on my hips, stopping my dancing gyrations, and he pushed me back to lie on the couch next to him. God, I can’t believe this! I’m looking up at my lover!

He looked into my eyes. Damn, my cock was so hard, the skin so tight, it hurt! Suddenly I couldn’t think of him as the sheriff anymore. I thought of him as a man. A handsome, powerful man.

The taste of his sperm in my mouth suddenly was the symbol of a terrible, powerful bond. NO! I’m the father of three children! Ohmigod, NO! This can’t be happening!

The musk of his cologne filled my nose. Wonderful! Still struggling inside, I forced myself to gasp, “No–not this!” But it didn’t make any difference. I don’t think he even heard it.

As I lay back on the couch, he had been pulling down his pants, and when he rose up over me, I saw it again. Magnificent! That titanic cock bobbed in the air as he mounted me.

He spread my legs, and I raised them up for him, showing him his target. When I felt that big thing swipe between my ass-cheeks, I shivered. Goose-bumps all over my body. I heard a voice deep inside me: This is important. This is what you have been waiting for all your life.

I’m going to get screwed. And I was glad. Lusting for it.

His big bull-cock found my asshole, and he pressed the big head against it and pushed. Intense, incredible pain! Never felt anything like it. He stretched my poor hole so wide I expected it to split open, but he didn’t stop, pushing ever deeper, possessing me, changing me, farming me.

The head popped in, and I gasped with relief, but immediately my asshole swelled out near to snapping again! Passing over the wide part of his cockshaft. I couldn’t help myself–I let out a scream, and he clapped his hand over my mouth.

Once the broad part slid inside me, I groaned again as my asshole spread wide open yet again! His wiry cockhair ground into my balls–he was full in, and I was at full dilation over the base of his huge penis, my poor, tortured asshole tight as a rubber band again.

He got my cherry. I’m his bitch. I was ashamed.

But I also knew he was a master fucker. He paused deep inside me, letting me get used to the terrible stretch of my asshole. Slowly, gradually the pain faded, never going completely away but strangely fusing into a powerful, hot pleasure. And from gritting my teeth in agony, I found myself wishing he would start moving, do more!

When he started shoveling his coal, working hard, lunging that big hardon in and out of me, a health male taking his rights with his bitch, at first I could think of nothing but the pain–three yipes with every stroke in and out. I gritted my teeth again, but even though it hurt to high heaven, I still couldn’t help but admire him; I loved watching the big, hot bastard’s sweating torso thrusting back and forth. God, he’s handsome!

I actually didn’t care about the pain, and it was beginning to fade out again. It was almost–almost an honor to take that guy’s big cock! When he paused from time to time to catch his breath, I reached up to pull open his shirt and tweak his nipples. To keep him hot. To keep him up for it. To keep his lust at a peak. So he would continue.

As I grew used to the pain, the longer that wonderful rod reamed me out, the more my thighs spread apart, the better to let his gigantic, triple-threat cock in deeper, screwing me into a new life, spreading the excitement all through me.

Incredibly, he built up the pace and rammed even rougher, and–I couldn’t believe it–I felt gratitude! I heard my own voice: “Ah, God, yeah! It’s got me now!!” And I went crazy.

I looked down at where he had fitted me with his triple bar-bell, and as my hands yanked back my knees to let him in deeper, I got there! My tight, sore, quivering asshole sent flashes of lightning through me with his last pullback, and like I’d been doused in gasoline and set afire, I burned white-hot, in a state of pure ecstasy, beyond the senses–I couldn’t hear, see, smell, or feel anything but the wonderful, terrible, overwhelming pleasure! The goddamned ecstasy of being fucked by that big man!

I had no control whatsoever over my body. At the peak of my bliss, my cock geysered a jet of spunk all the way up to splash me in the face! Big spurts, slathers of creamy slime all over me!

Incredible, mind-exploding orgasm! Never had one like it, never! Even stronger than the blowjob-climax he’d given me.

Something clicked inside me. Something finally made a connection. He had made me a man, a full man. Complete. Pleasured in all possible ways.

And the orgasm went on and on! As he kept humping me, the triple-blasts of pleasure with each stroke stretched out the bliss until I thought I would go insane. But at the point my asshole was so sensitive I could feel each and every vein in his cock, I passed out. Couldn’t take it any more. More heavenly, joyous rhapsody than I could handle.

Last words I heard were, “Yeah, like it now, don’t you, Brannigan!”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32