A gay story: Per Anum Ch. 11: Branch Bingo I ran my tongue up the length of his cock, moving slowly so I could enjoy the groan it dragged out of him. Upon reaching the head, I toyed with the ridge of his glans a bit, sliding my tongue around the edge and wrenching another moan from his throat, before I wrapped my lips around it and started swallowing him down. One slow, smooth glide took him down my throat to the root–the minor downward curve of his shaft made it easy–and I held it for a moment, watching his body arch against the wall, his eyes rolling up, before pulling back until just the head was left resting on my tongue.
“Holy shit,” he panted, “Fuck, Dante, that was amazing.”
Was? Oh, you dear sweet boy, I thought, I’m just getting started.
And boy he was, or at least seemed to me. He had to be 21 to get in to my club (at least without a pretty good fake ID), but he was as babyfaced as they came, all big blue eyes and smooth cheeks I doubted needed to see a razor more than once a week. His body was pure man, though, six feet of dense muscle that stretched his olive green US Army shirt. Dog tags jingled in the valley between his pecs every time he squirmed.
I intended to make him squirm a lot.
My tongue was already right there, so I got to work on that one little spot just below the head of his cock. He made an undignified noise and sagged his shoulders back against the wall of the alcove, though he was careful not to pull his cock out of my mouth. With my lips, I teased the ridge of his cockhead, still working the frenulum with my tongue, and brought my hands up into the mix just to see how googly his eyes could get. His balls hung low, heavy and hairy, and I started rolling and playing with them with one hand while the other held the base of his cock, keeping it steady for my mouth.
His groans ratcheted up as I began really sucking him again, bobbing my head rapidly and keeping steady suction as I slid his cock down my throat again and again. While above average in length, his cock was not especially thick, so given the downward curve it was almost effortless to deepthroat him over and over so fast he didn’t have time to finish one moan before starting in on the next. He was making a near-constant low keening noise that abruptly cut off when a voice spoke from behind me.
“Hey, is someone–oh, shit!”
In hindsight, perhaps I should have taken my young companion around the corner of the L-shaped alcove (I’d designed the place specifically with numerous secluded nooks like this all over the building, for just these sorts of occasions) rather than getting things started before we were out of public view, but in my defense he was hot and I was horny, so petty details didn’t really factor in at the time. Plus, if we hadn’t been visible, no one would have come to investigate, and in this case that worked out pretty well.
Slowing but not stopping my oral assault, I half turned to get a look at the guy who’d stumbled upon us. He was mostly a silhouette in the dimness, a large dark shape occasionally outlined by the whirling lights of the dance floor beyond him. I caught glimpses of broad shoulders and close-cropped hair, of muscled arms and a chiseled jaw, but it was all piecemeal, random bits in the wrong order.
“Kinda busy here, man,” grunted my companion.
The newcomer held up his hands. “Right, sorry. I’ll just…be on my way. As you were.” It was hard to see his expression, but were his eyes lingering on where my mouth continued to slurp and swallow at the young soldier’s cock? He started turning to leave, and a passing beam glinted off the telltale metal of dog tags hanging around his neck, then illuminated a tattoo on his shoulder, exposed by the tank top he wore: the eagle and anchor of the Marine Corps.
Inwardly, I grinned.
Pulling my mouth off my companion’s cock with a pop, I reached over and snagged the newcomer by the belt buckle. “Nonsense,” I said, letting my inward grin become external. “The more the merrier.” Ignoring their paired exclamations of surprise, I drew both men around the corner into the better concealed end of the L-shaped alcove, pulling one by the belt and the other by the dick. The space was fairly narrow, containing only a bench along one side. There was just enough space for me to sit on it with the two brawny men shoulder to shoulder before me.
It was even darker here, with the corner blocking the direct light from the club proper, so I had to pull open the marine’s pants largely by feel. He didn’t seem to mind my hands wandering all over his midsection, so I wasn’t about to raise the issue either. Soon enough I had a second cock in my hands, already at half-mast and swiftly growing as I greeted it with a few introductory strokes.
“Are we seriously going to…fffuuuuuck….” The young soldier’s words trailed off in a groan as I took him back into my mouth, swallowing him down once again. Motion above me drew my attention, and I glanced up. Through the shadows I could just make out the way the soldier’s hand had–perhaps involuntarily–grabbed the marine’s shoulder for balance as he sagged in bliss. The marine slid an arm around the soldier’s waist to help support him, pulling them even closer until they were pressed together from knee to shoulder.
That worked out great for me, since I was able to start alternating between them. Holding a cock in either hand, I’d first suck on the soldier, then switch to the marine, back and forth until both cocks were coated with my saliva and both men were groaning their pleasure. The marine’s cock was thicker and straighter than my original companion’s, without the downward curve that made deepthroating him so easy in this position. I had to work a bit harder to get it down, but I pushed as far as I could while holding the base.
Not that he had any complaints.
Noting the way the young soldier’s legs were shaking, I decided to bring things home with a bang (as it were). Pulling my mouth off his cock for a moment, I drew both cocks together, rubbing their spit- and precum-slick heads against each other in a slippery little dance that had both men gasping and hanging onto each other to keep their knees from buckling. Then, just for good measure, I opened wide and just managed to get my lips around both cockheads at once, slithering my tongue all over them even as I continued to slide them against one another.
With a guttural cry of “F-fucking shit!” the young soldier came at once. Given how everything was positioned, his load shot simultaneously into my mouth and all over the marine’s cock. My original companion was now all but hanging off the burly marine, apparently struggling to remain upright while he shuddered through his orgasm. The marine, one hand on my head and the other still wrapped around the soldier’s waist, held him up without visible effort while gently thrusting his hips, grinding his cock against its twitching, pulsing counterpart.
By the time I finished cleaning up his load with my tongue, the soldier was on the verge of collapse, but the marine (who of course hadn’t been involved as long) was still going strong. With the soldier’s cock softening away from the mutual clench, I gently pulled him down onto the bench beside me. Drawing the marine forward by the cock, I guided it to a position between us, and the soldier got the message right away. We set to it together like we’d practiced for years, four lips and two tongues working over the marine’s cock in unrelenting tandem.
His heavy breathing rapidly devolved into ragged gasps under our combined assault, his hands braced against the wall behind us and his neck apparently unable to decide whether it should sag forward or loll back. When the full-body quivering started, I knew he was close. I moved to lick at his balls, rolled up tight to his body, and my young partner took the marine’s thick cock fully into his mouth, just in time. Biting his lip to muffle the deep groan that rumbled up from his chest, our unexpected playmate went rigid, his body locked except for the shuddering twitches of his cock as it unloaded into the young soldier’s mouth.
I don’t think either of them noticed when I slid out from between them and made my way for the mouth of the alcove (after a discreet readjustment to my trousers). It was a bit disappointing to hold my own load back, but I had big plans for the evening and didn’t want to burn out too fast.
I paused at the entrance to the alcove, the pounding music of the dance floor already overpowering my erstwhile playmates’ heaving breath. “Enjoy your night at Club Inferno, gentlemen, and thank you for your service,” I called over my shoulder into the shadows of the alcove. As I walked away, I was just able to hear the young soldier’s reply.
“Uh, yeah, thanks, Dante, that was incredible!”
The marine’s deep voice came after. “Did you say Dante? As in, the owner of the club?”
“Wait…he owns the club?”
Chuckling, I left the mezzanine where that particular Canoodle Corner (which is what I call them in my head) was located and moved up onto the third floor. Club Inferno was arranged in a series of concentric circles, naturally, though there were only four (there simply wasn’t space for nine, try as I might). At the bottom was the Pit, the dance floor where even now several dozen people gyrated to the pounding music. Encircling that was the main floor, containing the two primary bars and a smattering of tables. Above that was the mezzanine where a soldier and a marine were probably trying to put their clothes back on (or maybe not, more power to them), complete with galleries overlooking the dance floor. At the top was the VIP floor, which had a private bar and luxurious lounge space, as well as the admin offices tucked away in the back corner.
Stepping inside the office, I found my manager, Glen, precisely where he usually was: at his desk, diligently taking care of all the mundane minutiae involved in running a business I can’t be bothered to handle. Glen is a slim, precise little man, thirty-five going on eighty. He glanced up as I strolled in, raising an eyebrow.
“I take it you were successful, then?” he asked in his signature deadpan.
I grinned. “Two for the price of one, in fact. How’d you know?”
He tapped his cheek, then looked back to his work. “You missed a spot.”
I checked, and whoops, I may have just walked through half the club with leftover semen on my face…but really, this place has seen worse from me. Glen handed me a tissue without looking up–he’s efficient like that–and I cleaned up as I walked over to the big whiteboard on one wall of the office. Glen keeps a neat schedule for the staff there, as well as various managerial bits and bobs, but I’d erased a swath across the center for tonight’s event. Written in large letters were the five branches of the Armed Forces, also known as my targets for tonight:
ARMY – NAVY – MARINES – AIR FORCE – COAST GUARD
With relish, I drew a line each through Army and Marines. “Two down, and it’s not even nine yet,” I said. “That might be a personal best.”
“Congratulations,” Glen said, his voice as flat and dry as ever. “We’re all rooting for you.”
“Your support means the world, Glen,” I laughed. “So, how are we doing for the fourth annual Veteran’s Day Dog Tag Dance?”
“Numbers are up from last year,” he reported. “We’re filled to capacity, and more than a third of current occupancy came in with military IDs, either active duty or veteran status. Mostly Army, to be expected with the base right outside town, but decent numbers of Navy and Coast Guard up from the port as well.”
I pumped a fist. “I knew the social media campaign would do it. Free cover and half off drinks to anyone in dog tags for Veteran’s Day. Word of mouth works wonders.” I’d tried to add in that drinks would be free for anyone wearing *only* dog tags, but Glen wouldn’t let me. I suppose that could have gotten out of hand. “Any update on the evening’s objective?”
“As a matter of fact, while you were…otherwise engaged…the doorman called up to tell me we have an Air Force veteran in the building who might fit your…criteria.”
I rubbed my hands together. “Score! We almost never get any. Show me show me show me!”
He gave an almost imperceptible sigh, then rose and moved to the security monitor on the wall across from the whiteboard. He pulled up a feed from the dance floor. “As it happens, I anticipated your request and had security note him.” Glen indicated a solitary figure whirling and gyrating in the center of the Pit. He seemed to be dancing alone, or possibly with several people at once, it was hard to tell.
“Well, then I suppose I should go greet him personally,” I said casually, my eyes fixed on the man on the screen. “Make sure he feels welcome at Club Inferno.”
“I rather suspected you might.” Glen was already behind his desk again as I strode for the door.
The Pit lived up to its name, sunken several feet below the level of the rest of the club. Currently it was a seething mass of bodies, all flailing limbs and thrusting hips, rife with the smells of booze and sweat and less innocuous things. Multicolored lights whirled and strobed above it all, painting the madness in otherworldly hues.
Naturally, I dove right in.
I only got groped twice and elbowed once on my way into the center, which might be a new record. I actually missed my target the first time I found him in all the chaos, glimpsing him over the muscular shoulder of a distractingly shirtless dancer I’d swung around, literally, in my search. I gave him an apologetic smile–any other night, I’d have been all over that, but I had a mission–slid beneath one of his brawny arms, patted his taut ass a friendly farewell and circled back toward where I’d last seen my objective, but he’d vanished in the press.
Then lean, strong arms slid around my waist, followed shortly by an equally firm body pressed to my back, still moving in time to the music pounding around us, loud enough to vibrate inside my chest. A voice purred in my ear, barely discernable over the music.
“Looking for someone?”
I turned and found myself nose to nose with the man I’d been searching for.
I grinned. “Not anymore.” I twined my arms around his neck, locked my hips to his, and matched the rhythm of the dance he’d never stopped. He smiled back–it was a nice smile–and off we went, whirling into the crowd like no one else was there but us. Now able to see him up close for the first time, he was more striking than traditionally handsome, his face all sharp angles and hard lines–except when he smiled. His smile was pure sultry seduction, though it was as much in his eyes as his mouth. Getting that close also let me discover that his shirt, which looked solid from afar, was a semitransparent mesh. Every move he made gave me tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin and lean muscle, which went well with the way he was moving against me.
Shit, but he could dance.
I mean, I can dance, but this guy could DANCE. Every motion was sinuous grace from start to finish, flowing from one to the next and all but dripping sex with every step. I was hard as a rock after about ten seconds, and I made sure he was too before long. It was sweaty, breathless, and probably the hottest dance I’ve had in years. Ten years ago I might have come right there in the Pit just from dancing with him. Eventually, I stepped in close, mirroring the position he’d used to introduce himself. Sliding my arms around his waist, my erection pressed firmly to his ass so there would be no mistaking my intentions, I murmured in his ear just as he had.
“Want to go somewhere more private? There are some moves I’d like to show you, but we probably shouldn’t in this crowd.”
I felt his smile more than saw it. I definitely felt him grind his ass back against my groin in obvious invitation.
“Fuck yes!” he said, “Your place or mine?”
“We’re already in my place,” I replied with a chuckle, “how about upstairs?”
His confusion only lasted until the bouncers opened the way to the VIP level for us without a word, just nodding to me as I pulled him along. I’d considered just heading for a Canoodle Corner like I had earlier, but I had a feeling this particular pairing would get…rambunctious. No, my private VIP booth, enclosed and largely soundproof, was the superior choice here.
My companion was looking at our luxurious surroundings with slightly wide eyes, some of his smooth confidence cracking. “So, when you said we were already in your place…”
“I was being literal,” I said, drawing him into the booth. “I’m Dante, I own the club.”
The Master’s Suite, as I refer to it (mostly just for the look on Glen’s face when I do), is tucked away on one end of the VIP level, near Glen’s office. It’s mostly just an especially well-appointed booth, but it has misted glass walls and a sliding door with a latch to ensure privacy when I want it. Technically it’s for making important business deals or whatever, but mostly it’s just a fantastic place to, say, bring a guy you met on the dance floor for a good time.
Especially since I keep the good lube in there.
It’s always a bit surreal to step into the booth after the noise and chaos of the main floor. It’s soundproofed, technically, but the kind of music that plays in my club vibrates through the walls and floor, so you can still feel the beat even if you can’t quite hear it. The fogged glass provides privacy, but the whirling multicolored lights outside dance across the walls continually, which turns the place into something of a psychedelic fishbowl that throbs continually with unheard music.
He was on me almost as soon as I latched the door, sinuous body sliding up against mine even more aggressively than on the dance floor. His lips found my neck, his hands working their way up my torso before latching onto the buttons of my shirt. He kissed his way down as each button opened, exploring my chest and abs with lips and tongue until he was crouched before me, face level with the tent in my pants.
He had them open before I managed to toss my shirt aside, and shoved them down (no underwear, naturally) to my ankles with gusto. My erection leapt free, almost hitting him in the face, not that he seemed to mind. He all but dove onto it, grabbing the base with one hand and eagerly wrapping his lips around the head. A sigh escaped my lips as he started sucking hungrily. My cock is not a small one, but he got most of it down in short order, bobbing his head as he swallowed much of my length again and again.
Leaving my pants in a pool on the floor, I stepped out of them and drew my eager airman back so I could sit on the plush, semicircular bench of the Master’s Suite, legs spread to give him access. He paused only long enough to pull his own shirt off, at last exposing the lean muscle and flawless skin I’d been catching glimpses of. In the better light of the booth, I could tell he had the olive complexion and wavy dark hair of the Mediterranean, all bottomless dark eyes and smirking full lips.
The lips in question were drawing ever closer to the root of my dock, each bob of his head pushing farther down the shaft. Damn, I’d needed this. Getting those two off earlier without finishing myself had me all kinds of worked up. I didn’t want to blow in his mouth, though; all that time on the dance floor with his beautiful, toned ass grinding against me had left a different goal in my mind.
I slid my hands through his silken hair, gently pulling his mouth off me. “Your turn,” I said, “take those off and lay back.” He stood up at once, fingers scrambling at his belt buckle. It took him a second–the downside of pants that tight is removing them in a timely fashion–but soon they were piled around his ankles, his dripping erection standing free and proud. A little shorter than mine but thick and uncut, it filled my hand pleasantly as I used it as a lever to guide him down to the seat beside me.
He gave a guttural groan when I licked the pearlescent droplet from the tip, rolling back his foreskin with my tongue so I could get to the sweet spot just beneath the head. A low table stood in the curve of the bench seat, for drinks or what have you, but it was under the table I reached, withdrawing a slim bottle. Even as I started sucking in earnest, swallowing him down in one long glide that had him arching on the bench, I squeezed a dollop of lube out of the bottle onto my forefinger and slipped it down between his legs.
With his pants still around his ankles, he could only spread his knees so far, but it was enough for my hand to get behind his heavy balls to seek out his hole. I knew I’d found it when his whole body bucked, pushing his cock into my mouth and his hole against my finger.
“Oh, fuck, do it,” he groaned. “Put it in.”
I cheerfully obliged, rubbing my finger around the rim of his sphincter before pushing the remaining lube inside him. His hole flexed and squeezed, probably involuntarily, but it seemed to grasp my finger and pull it farther in. He was squeezing so hard it was actually a bit of a struggle to pull it back out for more lube, but it opened readily when I pushed my fingertip back in. A bit deeper, a bit of a curl, and I was stroking my fingertip across the gentle bump of his prostate, causing salty-sweet precum to abruptly flood my mouth.
“Shit!” he yelped. “God, right there!” His hands were sort of flailing around, grabbing at the bench, my hair, his own body. Every stroke of my finger made his whole body shudder, especially when I timed it to coincide with the motions of my mouth on his cock. I worked him over for a bit, inside and out, experimentally trying to see how many different noises I could wring out of him while he gasped and squirmed.
Things started to get out of hand when I added a second finger. He arched completely off the bench until only his shoulders and head were pressed to the seat, his hips entirely airborne. He sort of locked up in that position, his body tense as a drawn bow, until I stroked his prostate again and made him go all gooey once more, sprawling back across the bench. I added more lube and started really stretching him open, scissoring my fingers apart and spreading lube as far as I could inside him.
He was begging by the time I put in the third finger. “Please,” he gasped, quivering as I pushed my fingers deeper into him. “Oh God, yes. Give it to me, please.” I’d stopped sucking him, concerned about driving him over the edge, and his cock was all but pouring precum, a gleaming string connecting his spit-slick cock to the growing puddle on his stomach.
I didn’t relent until he’d lost the power of speech completely. He was a shuddering, sweating, gasping wreck of a man when I finally lubed my cock and rolled him onto his stomach on the bench, his knees on the floor and me crouching over him. When I breached his gaping, slick hole with the head of my cock, his spine arched, hips rolling back to take me inside him faster.
Holding his hips steady, I slowly thrust forward, pushing about half my length into him before drawing back. He groaned as I withdrew, hips bucking and hole clenching to try and keep me in him. Chuckling, I thrust forward again, deeper this time, still not quite to the root but more than enough to make us both gasp. He squeezed me even tighter when I tried to pull back, dragging a groan from my own throat, so I gave in and just buried my cock to the hilt in his ass. The combination of his tight heat, the slick clench of his body around me, the desperate noises coming from his mouth–even half muffled from having his face pressed to the seat–almost drove me over the edge right there.
Clamping down on myself, I started thrusting for real, gradually picking up speed even as he kept squeezing and clenching on me erratically. The sticky slap of my hips against his ass filled the small space, reverberating oddly with the bass from the main club vibrating through the floor. I pounded into him, faster and faster, no longer capable of holding back now that I’d finally cut loose. He squirmed and writhed and gasped out incoherent half-formed words, his hands clutching spastically at the seat.
Tired of my awkward half-crouch, I seized him around the waist and lifted him bodily up onto the seat, so he was kneeling on the bench itself instead of the floor. That made it much easier to thrust into him deeply, making sure to grind my cock over his prostate with every stroke. If anything, he started to buck and shudder even more than he had been before, his body hardly able to stay upright. Just to see how much he could take, I reached down and wrapped a hand around his slick, dripping cock, giving it a squeeze and starting to stroke it as I thrust.
That, it transpired, was a bridge too far. With a gasping cry he came into my hand, his load splattering across my fingers and onto the bench. His hole clamped down on my cock like a vise, and it was all I could do not to follow him over the edge. On the other hand, why shouldn’t I? What was I waiting for? I kept thrusting as much as I could with him squeezing so tightly, feeling the roiling pressure building in my balls.
My companion, of course, was all but lost to the world, his head sagging down between his arms as his body shuddered through the last aftershocks of his orgasm. As his tight grip on me eased, I started thrusting faster again, slamming into him with reckless haste until I couldn’t take any more. Shoving my cock in to the hilt, I felt the dam break and pumped my load into his ass. Bliss rolled up from my balls and overwhelmed my brain. Groaning deep in my throat, I hung onto him for dear life and tried to ride it out without toppling over. I just held myself there for a long moment, my body shuddering and twitching.
Once I could see in the normal spectrum again, I pulled out of his ass and let him collapse to the bench in a sticky sprawl. Reaching back under the table, I replaced the lube and pulled out the pack of wet wipes I keep down there too, quickly cleaning myself up before offering one to my companion…who, it became apparent, had passed clean out and was fast asleep.
I debated for a moment, shrugged, and got dressed. He’d be safe enough in here, no one uses the Master’s Suite but me when I’m on the premises. I cleaned up what I could for him–he didn’t so much as twitch–left the wet wipes in plain view and closed the door behind me as I left.
Flagging down a passing waiter, I jerked my thumb at the private booth. “Hey, if a hot, confused-looking guy comes out of there in the next few minutes, get him a drink on the house. If he doesn’t come out in the next half hour, go in and check on him, then get him that drink.” I smirked. “He earned it.”
The waiter laughed. “Sure thing, Dante.” I watched him go for a moment–the VIP wait staff uniform consists of tiny shorts and not much else–then headed for Glen’s office.
I barely had time to smugly cross the Air Force off my list on his whiteboard before a bartender called up to report a shortage…then maintenance had an issue, then one of the bouncers, then another thing and another after that. For over an hour I had to actually do club owner work (shudder). Glen, inevitably, took care of twice as many issues as I did in the same time, but even he couldn’t be everywhere at once, so I needed to step in and help out.
Tired and irritated after solving yet another problem that shouldn’t have happened in the first place, much less needed me to solve, I was about to head back upstairs when a commotion on the main floor drew my eye. Two men were glaring at each other, body language clearly confrontational. Where were the bouncers? Oh right, they were handling the dozen other things that had cropped up in the last ten minutes. Sighing mentally, I made my way over.
One man, clearly the aggressor, was tall and broad-shouldered, with close-cropped dark hair, a square jaw and hard eyes. The anchor tattoo peeking out from one sleeve confirmed what I’d already suspected: this was a military man, obvious from his bearing alone, and he was pissed. His opponent was smaller and darker, probably Latino from the bronze skin tone. Though a good head shorter than the first guy, he was a compact block of muscle that stretched the fabric of his shirt…upon which dangled a pair of dog tags. Oh, good, intra-military conflict. No way this could get super complicated or anything.
“…I’m just saying, you coasties need to learn your place,” the tall guy was saying. Was there a bit of sway in his stance? A drunken, belligerent sailor starting a brawl was not what I needed right now.
“Our place?” the shorter guy shot back, fists clenched. “My crew has stopped four smuggler vessels and rescued over a dozen people this year. When’s the last time your ship even left port?” So, this was a Coast Guard vs. Navy pissing match. That explained the “coasties” thing. I’d heard there was some rivalry there, but this was so not okay in my club.
I stepped up beside but not quite between them, feet planted and hands behind my back. “Gentlemen,” I barked. “Explain yourselves.” Fun fact: if you speak authoritatively enough from a commanding posture, most military types will reflexively obey you thanks to all that training. Both men jerked up straight and turned to face me, only to look confused when they saw me instead of some admiral or something.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded the tall guy.
“He owns the club, you idiot,” said the other.
“Correct,” I said. “And I’d love to hear a reason not to throw you both out right now.”
“What?” the Navy guy all but yelled. “We didn’t do shit!” People around us were starting to notice, which only seemed to embolden him. Perhaps giving him an audience was exactly the wrong tactic.
“Follow me,” I commanded. “Or get out.” Turning briskly, I headed for the stairs. An idea had started to percolate through my brain. Navy. Coast Guard. There was no way…was there? Could I really pull that off?
I didn’t look back, just striding purposefully through the crowd that instinctively cleared a path for me. A glance in one of the many mirrors around the walls, though, showed the two troublemakers dutifully trudging along after me. I led them up to the VIP level, then into the manager’s office. Glen was elsewhere, probably still dealing with the endless cavalcade of issues, so I was able to strike a convincingly authoritative pose at his desk as if it were mine.
…Then I realized that my mission objectives were still written across the whiteboard in large, obvious letters, and scrambled to keep their attention on me so they wouldn’t notice it. With the pair standing dutifully–if a trifle sullenly–before the desk, I started casually pacing to the other side, forcing them to look at me and away from the whiteboard.
“So, if I’m understanding correctly, you’re Navy,” I nodded to the tall angry guy, “and you’re Coast Guard?” I looked to the shorter one. They nodded. “Let me be clear: I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my establishment. I don’t care whose boat is bigger, you’re all guests here, and you’ll behave as such. Am I understood?” They nodded again. I eyed them for a moment. “Was there even an actual issue between you, specifically, or was this all just some kind of dick-measuring contest?” We actually held dick-measuring contests at Club Inferno twice a year, but that wasn’t the point.
“The latter, sir,” said Coast Guard guy. “Ensign Meyers here just had one too many and lost comms between his brain and mouth.”
The tall sailor, Meyers apparently, scowled. “And Petty Officer Gonzalez would know all about mouth control issues.” He seemed noticeably less intoxicated now; maybe the adrenaline of getting called out had sobered him up some? Or he’d been playing up the drunkenness so he could get away with things sober men couldn’t.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Dick-measuring contest it is, then. Well, we might as well cut out the middleman,” I said briskly. “Drop your pants, let’s solve this once and for all.”
They stared at me. “I’m sorry, what?” Gonzalez spluttered.
“You can’t be serious,” Meyers blurted.
“You heard me,” I said.
“Wait, you actually want us to…” Meyers trailed off as I stepped up to him, nose to nose.
“Drop. Your. Pants. Sailor,” I commanded, biting off each word. Something told me this guy liked taking orders in more than one way. It’s often the bossy types who enjoy it the most when someone else takes control.
Sure enough, his eyes dropped, unable to hold my gaze, and he started undoing his pants. I glanced at Gonzalez, raised one imperious eyebrow, and waited. Gonzalez looked at me, looked at Meyers as he obediently pushed his pants to his ankles, and realization dawned in his eyes. With a small smile twitching on his lips, he gave a little shrug too small to draw Meyers’ attention and followed his example.
With two strapping specimens now bare from the waist down, I started feeling some twinges in that vicinity myself, but I had to play it cool. “Hard to measure when they’re soft,” I said. “Stiffen those up, we don’t have all night.” Meyers’ cock was already twitching and growing visibly, just from the situation, but he started to jerk it with one hand, and Gonzalez followed suit. My own pants were definitely feeling rather constrictive by the time both were fully erect, so I had to struggle not to adjust myself and ruin the game.
“All right, let’s settle this. Come on, it’s too late to be shy now.” I stepped forward and took each man by the dick, pulling them together so I could compare. Gonzalez’s breath hitched as I took him in hand, and Meyers groaned in his throat when I slid their cocks up against one another. I rubbed them together a bit more than was necessary for a size comparison, and both men were breathing rather unevenly by the time I eventually lined them up for the verdict.
“Well, that seems clear enough,” I said, maintaining my businesslike attitude. “Meyers is longer–” the taller man grinned in triumph, but I held up a finger, “–but Gonzalez is thicker. Seems it’s a draw.” Both looked stumped by that conclusion, unsure how to proceed, but I kept going before they could get a word out. I unzipped my fly, allowing my own erection to pop out and fall neatly atop the two I still held up against one another. “Or, it would be, but it turns out I’m bigger than you both. Guess I win.”
Before either man could do more than look surprised–well, Gonzalez looked more amused than anything, he’d figured the game out already–I wrapped my hands around all three cocks at once and started sliding them against each other, rubbing them together between my hands in a delicious tangle. “And for my prize…” I moved one hand to each of their shoulders and gently pushed down. “To your knees, gentlemen.”
They complied readily enough, and neither needed further instruction once they got down there. Meyers took the head of my cock into his mouth at once, sucking and licking hungrily. Gonzalez went in at an angle, licking up the shaft until he too reached the head, and slid his tongue into Meyers’ mouth. All antagonism apparently forgotten, Meyers responded eagerly, their tongues dueling over my cockhead, an exquisite slithering slickness that had me gasping. I put one hand on each of their heads, drawing them together until they were all but making out across my cock.
Motion further down drew my eye, and I saw Gonzalez reach over and grab Meyers’ erection, stroking and jerking it. Meyers moaned, half muffled between Gonzalez’s mouth and my cock, and returned the favor, reaching over to stroke Gonzalez as well. More clothing started coming off, me unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it aside as the pair pulled my pants the rest of the way down and off. First Gonzalez pulled back a bit, just enough to yank his snug T-shirt over his head and drop it, then dove back in so Meyers could do the same without them leaving my cock unattended.
In the moments Meyers was away, Gonzalez started sucking me in earnest, taking my erection fully into his mouth and swallowing most of it down his throat. Finding his previous position unavailable upon his return, Meyers ducked lower instead, his tongue finding my balls. I groaned as he started in on them, my hands reflexively tightening on both their heads.
Gonzalez was bobbing fast now, swallowing me down again and again. It was kind of awkward with both their heads there, so I reluctantly tugged Meyers off me and pushed him down. “Suck him while he sucks me,” I ordered, and he set to with a will. With me standing over them and Gonzalez kneeling before me, Meyers got on all fours so he could reach Gonzalez’ cock with his mouth and gobbled it down at once. I felt more than heard Gonzalez moan around my shaft as Meyers took his entire length in one go, the muscles of Gonzalez’s torso quivering as he shuddered in pleasure.
Meyers’ new position left the taut globes of his well-muscled ass all but waving at me as he went to town on Gonzalez, a tantalizing view just out of my reach. That, of course, could not stand. Holding Gonzalez’s head to keep his mouth on me, I eased us both to the floor, turning our three-tier arrangement into a flat triangle as Meyers sucked Gonzalez, Gonzalez sucked me, and I buried my face in Meyers’ ass. He squirmed and groaned around Gonzalez’s cock as my tongue found his hole, toying with the tight rim and pushing saliva inside.
I worked his hole until it loosened up a bit, using my tongue to coat every surface I could reach with spit and relishing every half-muffled gasp and moan I wrenched out of Meyers. Gonzalez had changed his pattern from fast, deep swallows to more thoroughly working the head of my cock, his tongue focusing on that one little spot below the head that sent ripples of pleasure up my spine with every touch. I added a finger to Meyers’ hole, gently tugging the rim open and launching joint expeditions with my tongue into his heated depths.
This would go so much faster with lube, I thought. Had I stashed any in here? It was Glen’s office, not mine, and I usually brought “guests” to my private booth like I had earlier…would Glen have any in here? Did Glen even have sex? If he did–which was sort of hard to imagine–I doubted he’d do it here. I pushed a second finger into Meyers, watching his back arch as he pushed his ass back against my hand. A teasing stroke of his prostate made Meyers’ whole body shudder and buck. I grinned and decided that just having his ass wouldn’t be enough.
I looked over at Gonzalez, still sucking away like a champ. “Start rimming me,” I told him. “You’re going to fuck me while I fuck him.”
His mouth came off me with a wet pop. “Yes, sir,” he said with mocking deference, then lifted my legs apart so he could get to my hole.
“That’ll go much faster with actual lube,” came a dry voice from the doorway. “Bottom drawer on the left.”
The three of us froze and looked up to find my manager standing silhouetted in the door, all tweed and mild disapproval from head to toe. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and looked us over dispassionately.
“No, don’t worry, I’ll get it for you,” he said, and stepped over Gonzalez’s legs to walk around his desk. A moment’s rummaging in a drawer, and he came out with a slim bottle of top-end lube, twin to the one I kept in my VIP booth. I’d wondered where that went, I’d been sure I’d ordered two. He handed it to me, expressionless as ever, and glanced from Gonzalez to Meyers and back. “Let me guess,” he said, “Navy and Coast Guard?”
I grinned. “Yep! All five branches in one night, I finally pulled it off. Best Dog Tag Dance ever.” As I spoke, I squeezed a bead of lube onto a finger and slid it back inside Meyers, making him jump and clench up in surprise. A moment’s work and he was melting into a puddle of blissful ooze, though, as I spread the silky lube around inside him and gave extra attention to his sweet spot.
“Congratulations,” Glen deadpanned. “Too bad you’ve been ignoring something in front of your face all along.” I raised an eyebrow, which was swiftly joined by the other as Glen began, of all things, unbuttoning his shirt. I absently drove a second finger into Meyers, reaching deep and stretching him open, as I watched Glen reveal a surprisingly ripped set of abs–and a pair of gleaming dog tags around his neck.
“You served?” I asked, flabbergasted. I think my fingers twitched involuntarily from surprise, because Meyers groaned and bucked, but nobody paid attention.
Glen nodded. “Two tours in Iraq with the National Guard, and the last decade in the Guard Reserve,” he said. “Not that you noticed me leaving for Guard training all the time. One weekend a month, two weeks a year, and you never asked where I was.”
I blinked. “Hey, your personal time is personal. I don’t pry.”
He rolled his eyes and turned a picture on his desk around so I could see it. It displayed a younger Glen with a bunch of other guys all dressed in military fatigues, several holding weapons. How did I never notice that?
“Anyway,” Glen went on, then dropped his pants. His erection, flushed red and already dripping, popped free and bobbed in the air like a flag waving challenge. “Consider this your branch bingo bonus round on behalf of the Guard.”
Things moved fast after that. I dragged Meyers up from the floor and bent him over Glen’s desk, sliding my cock into his well-opened hole. Slick heat closed around my length, making me sigh as I slowly sank deeper. Even as I did, lubed fingers were stretching me open as well, Gonzalez crouched behind me as he worked. Glen, still on the other side of his desk, made use of Meyers’ new position to push his cock down Meyers’ throat, turning his groan into a choked gurgle.
Once I was fully seated in Meyers’ ass, I held position, rolling my hips a bit to churn my cock inside him but not moving too much as Gonzalez finished preparing me so he could follow suit. I bent forward, covering Meyers’ back and twining my arms around him, and groaned my approval as Gonzalez started pushing that thick cock of his into my hole. Glen was fucking Meyers’ face with a vengeance, the sailor’s throat visibly distending as the usually mild manager worked out his frustrations. Meyers’ face was growing breathlessly red, saliva drooling out in slick strands from the corners of his mouth as Glen pistoned into it over and over.
Gonzalez hit bottom and started to slowly thrust, gradually picking up speed. I responded in kind, moving my hips to match him in counterpoint. As he withdrew, I thrust into Meyers, burying deep; and as Gonzalez pushed forward, I pushed back, slamming my ass against his hips and multiplying the impact–and the pleasure–for us both. Faster and faster we went, the wet slap of skin against skin rising to compete with the sounds of our ragged breathing and occasional groans.
Getting sandwiched like this has always been one of my favorite arrangements, and I relished every second. The tight, slick heat of Meyers’ ass wrapped around me, the thick rigidity of Gonzalez filling me up and sending waves of ecstasy crashing over me as he nailed my prostate with every stroke. Glen still hadn’t slowed down, and I was a little concerned about Meyers being able to breathe, but he wasn’t objecting, so I figured it was fine. Meyers had his hands clamped on the edge of Glen’s desk, his long, lean body sliding back and forth between my cock and Glen’s like a shake-weight people would actually enjoy using.
Glen abruptly pulled out of Meyers’ mouth, leaving him gasping as Glen came around the desk. “I’d like some of that too, if you don’t mind me cutting in,” he said to Gonzalez.
“Not at all,” the Coast Guardsman replied, and pulled out of my ass. Glen pulled me off of Meyers then pushed me down on the desk as well, his saliva-coated cock having no issues sliding into my now-vacant hole. A moment later Glen was fucking me with all the relentless vigor he’d been giving Meyers before, and Gonzalez took my place in Meyers’ ass with relish.
“You know, all you’re doing is adding more responsibilities to your plate,” I groaned out as Glen pounded away at my ass. Reaching down with one hand, I began to stroke my slick cock in time with his thrusts. “We could have been doing this all along. Now I’m going to need you to provide this service at least a few times a week.”
“Nope,” said Glen, without slowing down. Oh well, can’t blame a guy for trying. Maybe I could seduce him somehow without him realizing until it was too late, like I’d managed with these two.
A guttural bellow interrupted my thoughts. Meyers was shuddering on Gonzalez’ cock, his body bucking as his untouched cock spewed its load onto Glen’s floor. Prostate-only orgasm? Nice, I thought. I hardly ever saw that.
“Oh, fuck yeah, Navy boy,” Gonzalez crowed, pounding into Meyers even harder. “You love my cock, don’t you? Say it!”
“Yes…sir…” Meyers gasped out, his body still shaking with orgasm. “I…unngh…love it…” One last glob of semen welled from his cock, dripping off in a long, gleaming string that only snapped just before it hit the floor.
His words seemed to drive Gonzalez into a frenzy. His thrusting accelerated to a ludicrous pace, his hands clutching desperately at Meyers’ hips. It was hard for me to tell from my angle–I was facedown on the desk beside Meyers, with Glen fucking me as relentlessly as ever–but Gonzalez was putting his whole body into every thrust, slamming into Meyers again and again until he suddenly went rigid. Every muscle standing out in relief, Gonzalez shuddered from head to toe with a deep groan in his chest, his hips quivering and twitching as he unloaded inside Meyers. Gonzalez slid his arms around Meyers’ shoulders and curled into him, hips still bucking erratically, his breath ragged and chest heaving.
Watching the pair get off was more than I could stand. The pressure had been building in my balls for a while, even before Glen started in on me, but his endless, steady pummeling of my prostate, my continued stroking, and the sight of Meyers and Gonzalez finishing each other in such spectacular fashion pushed me over the edge at last. My balls boiled over, fireworks going off in my brain as my load joined Meyers’ in splattering across the floor and the front panel of Glen’s desk. I clamped down reflexively on Glen’s cock, squeezing him fiercely with my internal muscles, and I heard him groan in response but didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything about it. All I could do was ride the wave, shivering in pleasure and gasping for breath as my second orgasm of the night washed over me.
When I regained awareness of my surroundings, I was somehow seated on the floor, leaning against Glen’s desk beside Meyers and Gonzalez, the three of us sweating, panting, and thoroughly pleased with ourselves. Glen stood over us, furiously stroking his cock, hand and shaft gleaming wetly. As his body started to tremble, toes curling and eyes rolling up, I exchanged quick looks with the other two, and we moved as one.
The three of us got up on our knees, crowding in close around Glen, our faces cheek to cheek and mouths agape. Glen’s load sprayed out a moment later across all three of us, sticky white strings striking tongues and cheeks and foreheads before the last few drops fell more than flew, landing on the floor between Glen’s feet. He gasped and shuddered as he pumped out his load, eyes screwed shut and muscles quivering, his breath going uneven for the first time I’d ever seen.
A moment later, Glen recovered his senses and looked down at us, seeming faintly horrified by what he’d done. “And now there’s another mess to clean up,” he muttered. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Nonsense,” I said, “you obviously needed that. And we’ll help with the cleanup, right boys?” Meyers and Gonzalez nodded obediently. As clothes were found and semen smears removed, I looked thoughtfully over at Glen.
“So I finally managed it,” I said, “all five branches–plus the National Guard,” I added quickly, “in one night.”
“You have indeed,” Glen said, his unflappable aplomb now restored. “Did you want a medal?”
“I mean, if you have one lying around…” I said.
He refused to dignify that with a response. “So, what will you aim for next year?” he asked. “Now that you have achieved your grand mission, I mean.”
I glanced around at the men in the room and smiled. “All of them at once, of course.”