A gay story: Lifestyles of the Rich and Depraved Something short and hopefully sweet.
Any errors that remain are mine. Thanks to LarryInSeattle for his editing efforts.
All the participants are over eighteen.
Enjoy.
*****
Being rich takes a lot of work. Being obscenely rich, not so much, especially if you’re lucky. Luck is a relative concept. I was unlucky that my parents died when I was but a wee lad. On the other hand, I was lucky to be an only grandchild of a couple who would have been respectably rich even if they had not invested a sizable chunk of their capital in their earnest young neighbor’s new company. He was destined to become one of the richest men on the planet and the company the fifth or sixth largest public company in the world. The fact that he did so, seemingly without graft, skullduggery or plain old fuckery is remarkable.
I was their sole heir. I’m not stupid. I’m not even lazy. Money let me do what I wanted to do. I work hard in my own way. I specialize in finding companies that are struggling to get past the mom and pop stage and help them with the transition. They make a lot of money and I make some too. I am a fan of win-win. I’m not a hedge fund that buys distressed companies, wrings the last pennies out of them, shuts them down and then turns their back on the people who end up on the street. I help them succeed and for the most part, I’m very good at it.
I’ve added to my grandparents stash, not simply lived off it. Granted, I couldn’t do what I do without all those zeros floating behind my back but I try to live off what I earn. My tastes are simple. I avoid the limelight and stay below the radar.
Doing so, and being rich, allows me to indulge myself in other, private ways.
You know you’re really rich when you need a fixer. I need two. One, deals with business and PR and makes sure I’m on enough charity boards and give enough speeches and interviews so that I’m not labeled a recluse. I have no desire to fortify the top floor of a building and die with foot long fingernails.
My second fixer deals with my more personal peccadilloes. Fixer number one doesn’t even know fixer number two exists. I pay fixer number two twice as much as fixer number one, which shows my need for his utmost discretion.
I have two legal teams as well. One for business and one for pleasure. Everything, absolutely everything is legal, other than the paying for sex of course.
It is time not money that limits my fun. It takes time to set my little circuses up. The most I’ve ever managed is four in one year. In between, I enjoy more typical pleasures of the flesh and my private video collection of the events.
Fixer two, lets call him Mr. P shall we, is primarily a scout and recruiter. He knows my taste, knows I like variety. I don’t want to suck off a rugby team, been there, done that, not the whole team but close enough. I want these event of mine to feature an olio of flesh, – straight dudes, nerds, jocks, naïve farm boys, narcissistic pretty boys, Goths and skaters, cut and uncut, tops and bottoms, hedonists and the guilt-ridden.
I want guys over twenty-one. Most are end up being a little older, out of college and working. I don’t want to feel like I’m taking complete advantage of them. None are destitute although most can use the money. Okay, the straight dudes that agree are usually pretty hard up. Some guys do it for the fun.
Mr. P finds them. They have to commit to four weeks. They each get ten grand, if they finish, and first class air fare. A limo with opaque glass drives them for hours before dropping them at my secluded ranch. They know what city they flew into. There is no way to hide the fact that they are still in the Southwest but beyond that they haven’t a clue.
They know up front that they are expected to have sex and that it will be with other guys. They know they will be on camera the entire four weeks and the contract lays out that the videos or recordings will never be released. (If they were smart they’d realize I want it kept private more than they do.) They may leave at any time. All they have to do is pick up a phone and ask for a car. The nondisclosure is air tight, not that they can’t blab but everything goes through so many layers it would take even the FBI time to trace it back to me. It would be nearly impossible for a private investigator or tabloid to do so.
Oh, there are stories from time to time. “I Was A Gay Sex Slave” type of stuff but it never goes anywhere.
Their clothes and cell phones are taken on arrival. They must remain naked the entire time. Porn shows in every room. Every kind of porn as long as it is legal, gay, bi, lesbian, group, male bakakke, female bakakke, anything that will get young dicks hard.
They are encouraged to stay as aroused as possible, by themselves, in pairs or in groups. The tough part, the really tough part is they may not cum. Every part of the house is monitored. They bust a nut and they’re out. They get a conciliation prize of five grand and a thank you. I don’t want them leaving too pissed. Pissed off people cause trouble. Keep everyone satisfied and your life is far simpler. Their spunk won’t have softened yet before a staff member escorts them out.
I’ve never lost fewer than two that way. Often it is five or six. I start with twenty, so ending with as few as fourteen is not so bad. We lost six this time.
They are tested for STDs on arrival and right before the event. The second screen is in case any of them arrived with a new infection. Six weeks would be better but I’ve tried to find a reasonable compromise between prudence and desire. Since they’ve all been screwing around inside the house or by the pool, if anyone has a positive test before the play date, they are all discharged. They get their five grand and free treatment, including a month of post-exposure prophylaxis if the positive test was for HIV.
Mr. P is meticulous in his recruiting efforts. We’ve never had a positive test for anything.
After four weeks of porn and messing around, they are walking bags of jizz, which is exactly the way I want them.
On the big day, they all gather by the pool if the weather is nice, or in the game room if it is not. By now even the straight boys are so torqued up they are playing around. I want them all hard before I join them.
I wear a mask, a very comfortable mask, sort of a Zorro meets Batman type of mask. I want my mouth free, of course, but my face is hidden. The mask has dark glasses. If you’ve every gotten cum in your eye you’ll understand that; it fucking burns.
The mask and a steel cock ring are all I wear.
Mr. P is the lead videographer. There are two others. Like John Hammond, I spare no expense. The videographers are naked as well. It keeps the playing field looking level even if it isn’t. If they are hard and look interested I blow them as well. Mr. P is not interested. It keeps life simpler that way.
The four week run in and testing is so I can fuck them bareback. I hate condoms. They smell bad and taste worse. Each recruit knows he’ll be fucked at least once. Being rich doesn’t buy you a super cock. I can’t fuck and cum fourteen times in a few hours. I usually only cum once but I’ll have my cock up each of their asses.
The event unrolls unscripted. There are a few constants. I have been watching the video feeds all month. I know who I want to fuck me at the end. He’s the one I’ll suck off first. I want him to have time to recover.
There are a variety of chairs, and benches and swings and toys. Some I fuck on their backs, some bent over a bench, some suspended in the swing.
This time I start with the quiet one. I’ve found myself captivated by him all month. He has been content to let someone stroke him, suck him (BTW, fucking is not allowed, too hard to tell if the fucker has cum or not) and on occasion, he reciprocates. His cock seems like it is always hard. It is a magnificent piece of dick meat. The other guys can’t stay away from him. Yet, he remains aloof somehow, apart. I love a mystery.
Today we are in the game room. It’s over a hundred degrees by the pool. I don’t need seventeen, counting Mr. P and the video guys, sunburn victims showing up at the local hospital.
I point at Mr. Aloof and beckon. He approaches without hesitation. I find myself hypnotized by the sway of his cock as he walks. I mentally shake my head, telling myself to get a grip, stay in control.
I ask him if he has enjoyed his time. He replies yes sir and leaves it at that. I walk to the wall, the others follow us. I turn his back to the wall and attach the cuffs to his wrists and ankles.
They know about this as well. How can they not, with all the toys lying about? But it is spelled out in the contract as well. Some have even been playing with the toys already. Not Mr. Aloof. I remind him there is no need for safe words other than “stop.” He nods.
I grope his cock as I pull at his nipples with my lips. When they are nice and hard I apply the first clamp. It’s adjustable and open as far as it will go. He doesn’t wince. I put the other on. I give him a moment to adjust to them by dropping to my knees and sucking his cock.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Mr. P stop filming and speak to one of the recruits. The “no cumming” rule still applies. I’m paying good money for their jizz. It’s mine, at least for the rest of the day.
I stand and tighten the clamps. Kiss him. Tighten some more. Kiss. Tighten. After the third round he whispers that that is enough.
I uncuff him and lead him to a long bench. I re-cuff his ankles. His legs are spread wide. His arms are stretched across the table. The muscles in his shoulders bunch as he strains against the restraints. I spread his ass with my hands and feast on his asshole.
Mr. P comes closer, getting a close up of my tongue dancing over his young, and by its pink hues, virginal, asshole. I loosen him with my tongue. Fingers follow, with plenty of lube. I have no interest in hurting him, or anyone else. I wish we had more time, we could go slower. But time is not an endless commodity, even for the absurdly rich.
I enter him with my cock, slowly, as gently as I can. When I see those gorgeous fucking shoulders bunch up, I stop and wait for them to relax before pushing again. When I’m inside him at last, I don’t want to leave. He’s tight and hot and his sphincter tries to draw me back in when I pull out. Fuck. I have to stop or the day will end before it starts.
I slide my cock out of his ass. Mr. P materializes with a warm towel. I wipe myself off. Mr. P works the towel between Mr. Aloof’s ass cheeks while I unshackle his wrist. I take a moment and do something I’ve never done before but can’t stop myself from doing. I massage the knots out of his shoulders. I lean in close and whisper that he has done very well.
He rests his ass on the bench and I drop to my knees on one of the dozens of pillows scattered about. I suck his cock as two of the videographers record the action. Mr. P gets a wider shot of the other thirteen recruits jerking off or sucking each other around us.
I want this quiet dude’s load and I want it quickly. No games now, just plain old cock sucking, with plenty of spit, plenty of tongue and plenty of hand work.
As he has for the entire month, Mr. Aloof follows the rules. He pulls his cock from my mouth and begins to stroke it when he gets close. I intend to eat every drop of his jizz but I want the camera to see rope after rope of cum erupt from his cock and jet into my open mouth.
After a month of near continual excitement without release, the recruits are capable of producing some prodigious loads. Aloof is no exception. I count eight distinct eruptions of white gold. It is surprisingly hard to direct your ejaculation. Some, but not all laces my tongue and lips but a great deal ends up on my face. No matter. I use his cock to wipe my face clean and eat what I missed the first time around.
I realize I don’t want to delay getting back to Aloof. I have lost all interest in the remaining cocks and hard bodies bumping against me. I decide to forgo fucking.
I turn my head and engulf another cock. I keep Aloof cornered on the bench with my body, as I quickly dispatch the next cock. Another big shooter. I take most of it but I can feel some of it dripping off my chin and onto my chest. I turn the other way, still trapping Aloof.
I’m disappointed to see Aloof is not stroking his cock. His cock has not gotten soft, not completely soft. I resist the urge to suck it a little.
The next guy has the biggest cock of the group. I let him fuck my face. He holds my head in place and rams away. I’m gagging nearly the entire time. I know from experience the video will show a shiny beard of drool swinging below my chin. He cums quickly.
I suck two more before swinging around again. I keep my body pressed against Aloof. This time I do stop and suck him until his cock is hard again. He still isn’t stroking it.
I take two this time, letting them alternately poke their cock heads past my lips. I can see their mouths are glued to each other. I make a mental note to ask Mr. P if any of the couples that form here stay together afterward. I don’t think any of them are from the same city.
They both shoot together. One of them shows initiative and wipes the cum off my face and chin with a finger he repeatedly shoves in my mouth.
I’m more than half done.
I turn and suck Aloof, making sure he stays hard. I lean against him with my back. Six is still too many for all of them to get close. Three, crowd around me and I play musical cock, feeling like a damn seal in a circus blowing a tune on a line of bike horns. These guys have been stroking all this time. They spew loads across my face and in my mouth in no time.
I lean my head back and rub Aloof’s cock with my hair. He still seems hard.
Two more cocks fill my mouth and then there is only one more. It’s an uncut monster. Not as big as the other dudes but thicker, as big around as a beer can. He wants to fuck my face like the other big cocked dude but not this time. I’m keeping control of this one. He could dislocate my jaw. I confine my mouth to the head, doing the rest with my hands.
Soon, my mouth fills with another load of man juice. Fourteen cocks have unloaded on my face and in my mouth but the one I really wanted is pressed against the back of my head.
I climb to my feet. I take Aloof by the elbow and lead him back to the wall. I see a miniscule twitch of Mr. P’s eyebrow. I look at him and I think he understands.
Aloof stands there. I haven’t heard his voice, not a grunt or moan.
I tell him to tie me up, however he wants. He cuffs me in the same position I had restrained him earlier. I can’t tell if he lacks imagination, desire or both.
“Your turn,” I tell him. He doesn’t respond. I ask him if there is anything he’d like to do to me. One shoulder lifts in a shrug.
A voice behind him asks if he can play with my nipples. I tell him of course. He goes to work biting and sucking. He puts the clamps on without opening them. My nipples sing and then throb.
The next guy applies a row of clothespins down the midline of my scrotum while he sucks my dick.
The third licks the cum off my chest while pulling on the nipple clamps. One pops off and I groan as my nipple screams back to life.
The fourth puts it back on.
The fifth takes a small whip from the rack and whisks my balls. A few of the clothespins drop off.
The sixth wants to fuck me. A few of them pull the rack I’m standing on away from the wall and turn it, exposing my ass. I watch him lube his cock and then he’s fucking me. Earlier, I imagined I had drained most of the cum from his balls with my mouth but he has enough of a load left for me to feel it dribble down the back of my left leg.
Seven thru ten add their cream to the mess running down my legs.
Eleven surprises me. He kneels behind me, and takes a long lick up my leg. He stands, walks around and raises up on his tiptoes to let what he has collected drop from his mouth to mine.
Twelve buries his tongue in my mouth and then jerks the nipple clamps off and I cry out. I see Mr. P step forward but wave him off with a shake of my head.
Thirteen picks up the small whip and thrashes my agonized nipples. He’s the only one I tell to stop.
Aloof, number fourteen, looks on, seemingly bored.
I tell him it is his turn. He needs to do something. He stares at me blankly.
I ask him if he thinks all this is wrong. He nods. I tell him he should punish me then. Use the whip. Use it on my ass, my legs, my chest, my balls. Fucking use it. I can read him now, at least a little. He’s ashamed. Fine, take it out on me. He’ll be whipping himself, even if it’s my body receiving the blows.
He picks up the small whip that ends in dozen strips of thin leather. It cracks across my belly. Hard. Red strips bloom. He moves up and down my body. When he steps behind me, I turn my head to watch. His cock is hard. This he seems to like. He goes to work on my ass. Normally, I would have yelled stop long before now but not today. Mr. P’s face grows worried.
I feel something run down my legs. I don’t know if the whip is drawing blood or if it is more cum leaking out my ass.
I tell him to stop and he does. I tell him to fuck me now. Fuck me hard but don’t cum. He is to stop before he cums. He slams into my ass. I thought he’d be ready to shoot quickly but no, he fucks me for long minutes before pulling out.
He walks in front of me. His cock is covered in white froth. The churned cream of the five loads of jizz that were pumped into my ass.
I instruct him to free my hands. He does.
I drop to my knees and open my mouth.
He needs no instruction. He is Mr. Aloof no longer. I’ve finally lit his fires.
He holds his cock out to me and I lick it clean. I’m transfixed by the smears of blood on his legs. That’s my blood. I let him beat my ass bloody and still all I want is for him to fuck my mouth again. I tell him that.
He grabs my head and goes to work. This time he cums deep in my mouth. The video shows my cheeks bulging and cum leaking from my mouth.
My eyes look hungry.