A gay story: The Other Side of the Tracks Ch. 03 Author’s Note: Continuing the story. Again, if you don’t like gay sex, some serious BDSM, or interracial sex, then please, save yourself the anguish of reading something that upsets you. For you kinky folks that are NOT turned away by any of those, then I hope you enjoy! Still more to cum!
Is There a Morning After Pill for Love?
Why did he have to do that? Or more specifically, why did he have to say that?
I woke up alone in the hotel bed the next morning, face down, a pool of cold, sticky cum sticking my genitals to the sheets. Housekeeping was NOT going to like us. Poor ladies, having to clean up after degenerates like us.
Those questions were going through my head before my eyes even opened, but they weren’t the first question. I think the first question was how much I could charge to park buses in my ass, and whether I should give fleet discount rates. OWW!
As I gently reached back to survey the damage, that’s when the other questions came to me. After Clarence’s third of four deposits (when he left before the sun, he woke me up to give him a sleepy blowjob/handjob; I didn’t even lift my head, just turned and serviced him as he stood by the bed. My breath must be pretty foul by now!), he had professed his love to me. What the hell, right?
Okay, so just to be 100% straight (too late!) on this, when I was a young buck, I probably said those words a few times after a session of clumsy, mostly drunken or high sex with a young lady. And a few that were NOT ladies by any stretch. And I confess, I may have hinted at them to GET a few of those women INTO bed with me. I don’t know if they believed me or not; I only believed it at the moments of insertion into one of their orifices and the moment of climax.
As I struggle to pull myself up to sit – well, a modified sitting position, anyway – on the side of the bed, I took heart in that thought. Maybe that’s all it was; just a heat of the moment, “I haven’t cum in anybody in a while and you feel SOOO good!” kind of thing. Yeah, that’s probably it. Carefully, I stand up, wincing at the pain in my…everywhere. I mean, the worst is the throbbing pain centered around my ravaged hole, but my legs, my arms, my back, my neck; I’m feeling like the roadkill that I probably look like. As I come before the mirror outside the bathroom…Damn. That guy looks rough!
My lips are swollen and raw. I see a shadow on my neck, right where it goes to the shoulder, and I’m horrified as I lean in to see that, at some point, Clarence left me with an unmistakable bite mark. I’ll be wearing a collared shirt for the next week, and showering while the wife is out of the house.
I turn and look over my shoulder and see that my butt cheeks are a solid mass of thin red stripes from the caning Daddy and Master C administered why I held the icy enema in. While the IcyHot set my hole on fire. Fortunately, there are only a couple of spots where the skin was broken, and they should heal in the next couple of days.
Pulling my cheeks apart very gingerly, I survey the damage to my poor little boi pussy. (Even with nobody else there, dominating me, I’ve come to think of my asshole in that way.) It looks as if somebody sewed a small donut under the skin, then colored the ring with red lipstick. Holy hell, no wonder I’m throbbing! Fortunately, the hole itself is completely closed; I was wondering if I’d need to start hiding some Depends in the trunk of the car.
I turn back towards the mirror and look at my face. Eyes are puffy and red; for some reason, I didn’t SLEEP much last night, and I’d shed more tears than if I’d watched Old Yeller 10 times in a row. A little Visine would help that. I’d felt the cum stuck to my face, so that wasn’t a surprise. When Clarence left his parting gift, he’d been sure to mark his territory again, pulling out for the first couple of spurts, which were enough to coat an apple, before having me suck the rest out and clean his cock. A hot shower would take care of that, and I’d be at least presentable. As long as I didn’t have to sit on any hard benches, that is.
As I stood there naked, bent over brushing the flavor of two men out of my mouth, my mind went back to Clarence. The mind is a wonderfully, terribly powerful thing, and right now, it was trying to rationalize away this matter of Clarence’s declaration. “He’d just cum inside me. He doesn’t even know me. It’s just infatuation seated in the head of his cock. (His MASSIVE cock, my libido corrects me.) He probably doesn’t even remember saying it.” And of course, “He can’t love me: I’m STRAIGHT!”
I just ignore that laughter from Libido. Shut up; you’re the one that got us INTO this situation, jerk!
I go to the nightstand to turn on my phone. Remembering that first time, I check the pictures and all outgoing emails and texts to make sure Daddy didn’t collect any mementos of the occasion; whew, at least none on MY phone! Text from one of my daughters, can she go out Saturday with some boy whose name I do not recognize. I don’t answer; let the wife answer that one. My judgment right now is…suspect.
As I put the phone down, I see an envelope with my name on it in the drawer. Curious, I decide to go ahead and open it before I take a shower. Inside, I find a note, a business card and cash. Ten one hundred dollar bills, actually. Holding the cash and card in one hand, I hold the note in the other and read:
John,
I truly enjoyed last night. I cannot recall the last time I felt such pleasure, or felt so in tune with a partner, man or woman. Please accept this as a GIFT; I want you to do something nice for yourself. It is NOT payment; you are not a whore, and if you were, even I could not afford to pay what you are worth! Last night…amazing.
I have included my business card, and written my cell # on the back. I would really like to see you again; I guarantee, the accommodations will be the complete opposite of this dump.
Clarence
P.S. Yes, I know what I said. Yes, I meant it. No, I am not a rash man.
I drop the letter, my mind numbed by what I’ve just read. The cash…I don’t drop that. I don’t live in the realm of Charles and Clarence; money is always an issue in my life. Curious, I look at Clarence’s business card. “C&C Financial, Clarence Brownlow, CEO” it reads. I wonder if he and Charles are partners, or if their initials are just coincidentally the same.
Then something else occurs to me: I learned “Charles’s” first name, and second, I realize I’ve thought of him twice now by that first name; not “Daddy.” Shaking my head, I tuck the crisp bills into my wallet, check my phone again, and head towards the shower to wash last night off of me.
I take the shower as hot as I can stand it, hoping it will not only get me clean, but steam out some of the wrinkles in my mind. I soap, I shampoo, I soap again…I swear I’ll never get all the dried cum from all three of us off of me! I smile a bit as I think, “Well, thank goodness you shaved all the hair off down there!” I’m careful cleaning my boi pussy; why do I keep calling it that?! It’s sore and swollen, but it already feels better than it did when I woke up. Sure going to make the drive home interesting, though. Clarence put a LOT of cum up there; maybe I should think about those Depends…
Satisfied the outer body is clean, I just stand in the spray. What the hell have I gotten myself into? And what am I going to do? I’m a grown, married, straight father, and last night I experienced more pleasure and thrill and connection with a man – correction, with TWO men – than I have with my wife or any other woman in…years? Decades? Ever…? In my head, I hear the robot from Lost in Space: “Danger! Danger! Does not compute!” I mean, seriously, what am I supposed to DO with this…this cosmic collision of realities that is my life right now?
Reality #1: I am a straight, married man with two daughters still at home. There’s been no passion in my marriage in over 15 years. Before you ask, both girls were adopted, pulling them out of a bad situation in my wife’s family. I absolutely love both of them as if they were my own, but they were not the result of any physical relationship with my wife. But I do not see myself destroying the home life that has been the bedrock of their upbringing; they have been through enough.
Reality #2: The relationship I entered into with “Daddy” was based on nothing more than a mutual interest in pursuing fantasies that satisfied, albeit in different ways, desires that both of us had brought out in each other. It was fantasy play that evolved into physical play, but that’s all it was.
Reality #3: Clarence. And all that that meant.
I had to admit, but was loath to do so, that Clarence had affected me in a way that Charles had not done, nor did Charles intend to affect me that way. It was different; wonderfully different. Under Charles, both literally and figuratively, even though he was most certainly dominant, I was still pursuing my desires. Desires to submit, desires to be humbled, even desires to suffer. He had effectively checked off every box I had, and done an amazing job of it!
But with Clarence… Whether on my knees, on my back, or on my belly, Clarence wasn’t just inside me, he was in me. It sounds the same, but it’s not: Any man with an erection could fill my orifices, beat my ass with a cane, spray my face with their seed. Clarence hurt me physically; no mistake about that, I thought. But even as he broke me…he unleashed me. I don’t know if that makes any sense. Hell, none of this makes any sense. As I’m drying off, carefully patting my rear end dry, pleased that no spots of bright red stain the worn white-ish towel, I shake my head.
Gathering the paraphernalia and any tell-tale garbage (as if the housekeeping staff of THIS place hasn’t seen it all) brings back a lot of memories. The bottle of lifesaving lube is almost empty; the red panties are trying to hide under one of the beds. The handcuffs are on top of the TV, but it takes me a while to find the key, which is, of all things, in the ice bucket, which is now all water. I would never have found it if I wasn’t emptying out the bucket into the sink; OCD to the rescue! I put those in my back pocket, then found one of the canes that one of my two Masters had used on my behind. I have no clue who brought them, but I grab it. I vacillate between keeping it and throwing it away; finally decide I’ll just hide it in the trunk of my car. Why? I don’t know, and that is the least of the concerns inside my head.
Finally, my OCD placated, I walk out the door. I turn and take one last look at the sordid setting of last night’s events. Only now do I notice…damn, this room stinks of old cum and sweat! I close the door behind me, drop the incriminating trash in the can, and get in my car.
As I let the air conditioner catch up a bit, I feel a buzz, and pull my phone out. Probably the wife, wondering what time I’ll get home. I have an absurd thought for a moment: What if she’s checking up on ME because SHE has strange men in OUR bed, and needs to know how long she has? No, can’t be that, I think, with no small amount of surprising disappointment.
My pulse jumps a little when I see that the message is from Daddy. Of course, in my phone, he’s saved as “Mister Vater,” in case anybody happens to see any notifications. After a moment’s hesitation, I open the message.
“You did good last night. I trust you and Clarence must have had a good time. He has already asked me about you today. Make yourself available next weekend. Friday to Sunday. Details later.”
Oh, good. I needed one million more unanswered questions. Why did Clarence ask about me? WHAT did he ask about me? What did Daddy say? Is Daddy upset? Jealous? A full weekend? Are both of them going to be there? Am I going to be spending 48 hours on my knees, back, and belly in a hotel room? Will there be any new surprises? What does one pack for a weekend of being someone’s bitch? What’s the plural of someone’s?
Finally, I come to one solid, incontrovertible, undeniable conclusion: I need breakfast. Man can not live on cum alone, I guess, although with as much as I’ve ingested in the last 14 hours… As I head towards the Waffle House I passed yesterday, another worry enters my mind.
How am I going to explain THIS to the wife?
**********
The answer to what to do about the wife was already in my hand; or rather, my wallet. Clarence had paved over the pothole without even knowing it.
“Five hundred dollars? You won $500 on a quarter slot machine??” she was overjoyed, practically jumping up and down. “I mean, you never win at ANYthing!”
No, that didn’t hurt, honey. Not at all. Fortunately, my male pride had gotten much more flexible each time I got fucked, so as far as my face displayed, it was as if the jab never landed.
“Yes, and since I have to go out of town next weekend, I think you and Trina should go do something fun for the weekend, so I’m just giving it to you. And, just because your husband ROCKS, I’m pitching in an extra $200 on top of that. Y’all go and have fun!”
Trina is my wife’s best friend, and I actually like her. Well, in reality, I like her better than I like my own wife, and she is attractive, but there’s nothing out of bounds between us. In fact, I think wistfully, I’m not currently actually having sex with either one of them.
“This is great! I’m gonna call her right now,” she says, as she walks away, phone in hand. “Girl, guess what?…” is the last thing I can – or care to – make out as she heads down the hall to our bedroom and shuts the door.
Yes, honey. You’re welcome. No, no, don’t worry about me. What? You want to give me a little something special tonight as a thank you? Well, if you insist… I shake my head at my own imaginary conversation. This…this is just one more reason that cheating is NOT high on the list of things that are bothering me right now. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if I find out next week that she and Trina slept with an entire basketball team this weekend. And I don’t think I’d even care.
After all, I’ll probably be walking a little bow-legged by Sunday night myself.
*****
It’s Friday afternoon, Daddy. I’m ready when the limousine pulls up to the house, a small bag in my hand. I’m wearing casual shorts, a T-shirt and sandals, so I probably seem a little out of place getting into the limo, but nobody sees me get in. Janet had been outside washing her little VW Beetle for about 2 hours, it seemed. I couldn’t help but think she was waiting for a chance to see me and see if she could get that petunia watered again. I had to laugh to myself; if she had any idea what her neighbor-lover was going off to do this weekend, she would probably freak out.
Then again, maybe not. Janet might be pretty handy with a cane herself. She sure liked it when I spanked her.
I quickly step into the back seat of the limousine, and I’m welcomed by the cool air inside. Nobody else is in it, and the privacy window is up. I’m naturally tempted to hit the button and start asking questions, but your instructions were very clear, weren’t they, Daddy? Sit back, be quiet, and get ready for…
How can you get ready for something when you really don’t know what it is? Well, at any rate, I just try to relax.
Beside me lay one more mystery, or mysteries, perhaps. When I arrived home at noon today, having taken half a day off as you ordered, two bags were already on my doorstep. I’d been given instructions in an envelope taped to a handle of one.
Slave:
Bring nothing with you except the pink bag, your ID, your house key. NOTHING else. Everything you need will be provided.
Everything from belt down is to be absolutely hairless. You are to wear nothing except what is in the white bag.
Master
P.S. Leave boundaries at home.
So here I sit, isolated in the back of a black limo, in a pair of loose-fitting, tie-at-the-waist white pants and a nice gray T-shirt, with sandals on my feet.
Oh, and a black thong.
And yeah, a butt plug inside me. Can’t forget that. Literally, couldn’t forget, not even for a moment, because I am sitting on it. It wasn’t large at all; well, considering what has been there lately, I could probably smuggle cucumbers in that way, but…
So here I am, riding off to…where?
To do…what? I mean, I had a guess, but no specific details. None.
To be joined by…who? Daddy, you sent the instructions, but after the surprise of bringing Clarence into our…relationship, I realized any presumptions of mine were useless.
As the questions bounce around in my head like kangaroos with ADHD and a meth addiction, I finally look out the windows and notice we are nearing the coast. It is early May, so the tourists have not descended on the area yet, and traffic is light.
Ah, maybe I’m in for a couple of days and nights in a beachfront hotel! I grew up living near the beach, and I still love the salt air. A couple of days in the sand, nights between the sheets with you, Daddy…this could-
The limo pulls off the causeway before we reach the beach road, and I realize we are entering a rather ritzy marina. No fishing charters, dolphin cruises or pirate ships here. I know a bit about boats, and these are nice: Hatteras, Bertram, Silverton…
The limo pulls up to the farthest set of slips and stop; I feel the driver put it in park, then a voice comes over the intercom.
“I have been instructed to tell you to take your bag, go to slip 12, and board the 7 Seas, go inside the cabin, and have a seat.” I start to ask a question, but the driver cuts me off. “I have no further instructions and can answer no questions. Good day.” And with that, I am apparently dismissed and sent on my way.
I open the door, and immediately my nostrils fill with the salt air. Oh, I miss that! Bag in hand, I head down the pier. This won’t be hard to find; there’s only one boat out on this pier. It looks to be about a 50′ Hatteras, probably 20 years old but very well-kept. I reach it and start to call out and see if anyone was there before I board, but then I remember the limo driver’s instructions. I step on board, and cautiously enter the cabin.
The cabin still holds the elements of class and elegance with which it was born, although it also shows signs that it has been used for more than just weekend outings. Some clutter here and there, a fishing rod in a corner. On the bar is an envelope addressed to me. Well, unless someone else on board frequently answers to “SLAVE,” that is. As I’ve come to expect, it includes instructions for me.
Slave, go down the steps forward to the forward stateroom. In the head are what sluts need first. I trust you’ve taken care of other details, because the shower is too tight of quarters for shaving. After you are done in there, reinsert your plug and open your sissy pink bag. Take out the baby blue bag, put on what is in there, but not the blindfold yet. All you should have on is the contents of the bag! DO NOT OPEN the yellow bag! Head back up to the cabin. Wait in position in the middle of the cabin.
I of course begin by removing my plug (eliciting no small groan in the process!) and then administering two enemas, then a third when I am not satisfied with the cleanliness after the second.
As I am holding the third one in, I hear footsteps on the deck, then voices, muffled by the walls.. A couple of minutes later, I feel the vibration through the floor where I am laying; the engines have started! From down here, I can’t see out the little portal window, but I do not sense motion yet. The big diesel engines are just warming up. I have no idea how many other people are on board, or if they were here when I got here. I guess I can expect that at the very least I will probably be exposed to even more people this weekend.
A quick rinse off in the shower, and then I pad naked into the stateroom and retrieve the small, powder blue bag. Let’s see what THIS tells us about tonight’s activities!
Okay, that’s…what the hell is this? It takes me a minute to figure out what it is, and then, I, honest to God, Daddy, I BLUSH. Don’t get me wrong; it’s pretty, what there is of it. Like, feminine pretty. I guess technically that’s a thong; black stretchy string stuff around the waist, with lace on it, then a black string from the center of the back (only way that could work, I think) down to just under the crotch, where it V’s back up to the waistband, with a triangle about the size of a folded cocktail napkin covering my twig & berries. The material is a very pretty print of pink flowers on a pearly white background.
Wearing the red panties last weekend had been a stretch for me. But those had at least provided coverage. Less than a pair of tighty-whities, but still. This…yeah, not so much. The string in my ass (which I have to route around the base of the plug), the complete bareness of my cheeks…and then the flowers. This; whew! Stretching already. The door to the bathroom had a full length mirror on it, and honestly, sir, I blush when I see myself. Then I turn and check out my rear end. I’m a little shocked to see that my smooth, hairless ass looks good, then I’m shocked to realize that I’m THINKING that my ass looks good, then I’m blushing again.
But if the very feminine thongs made me blush, the high heels made me shake a bit, even before I put them on. I struggled to get them on; I probably looked pretty funny struggling to get them on and strapped. And then I stand up, and demonstrate all the grace of a pig on ice skates. It takes me a minute before I can even stand, much less take a couple of steps towards the mirror and back. Checking out the scene in the mirror over my shoulder, I realize why women put up with this crap: My ass now looks fantastic! And then the whole shock and blush cycle starts again…
Looking into the bag, I pull out the blindfold and set it aside, then retrieve the last item. As I pull it out and look at it, its significance hits home. This is decision time. Am I really willing to go this far? I mean, this won’t work…not in my “real” world, although honestly, that line just gets more and more blurry every day. This really comes down to trust. Do I, can I trust you, Daddy?
I turn and hobble carefully to the mirror, carrying the last item. I look myself in the eye. I see terror. I see panic. I see humiliation. I see confusion. What.in.the.hell.am.I.doing?? Who AM I even, anymore? I ask, eyeing myself up and down. I shift my eyes up to have a confrontation with this madman, eye to eye.
Desire. Passion. Lust. Fulfillment. And peace. I hadn’t noticed these before, but there they are. All of the elements of life that have been missing from my life for so long; there they are. In the last month, I have completely upended every steadfast concept about myself that I ever had. And if I tell myself the truth, standing in high heels with a pretty, feminine thong on, standing eye to eye with this new reality…
I’m having the time of my life.
I stand back, looking at the overall “me,” take a deep breath, let it out. I give myself a wink. “You got this, gurl.”
Still holding my own gaze, I put the pink leather collar on, fit it to where I can still fit a couple of fingers between it and my neck, and put the little black padlock on it. There are two sturdy D rings at the front, one on each side, and then one in the back. Heaven only knows how those will be utilized. Then I begin my walk towards the cabin.
There was no key to the lock in the bag.
*****
Climbing the few steps up to the cabin, I am relieved to find there is still nobody else in the room. However, my instructions are to don the blindfold, and wait “in position” (on my knees, legs apart, hands clasping elbows behind my back) in the middle of the room. What if a member of the crew (for some reason, I’m assuming there is a crew, although the boat is not so large as to require one) has to come into the cabin for something? How are they going to react to a naked man in a thong and blindfold kneeling there?
Well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I estimate the middle of the room, kneel, almost killing myself in the process (damn heels!), and don my blindfold. And now I wait.
Just 5 or 50 minutes later, I can’t really be sure, I hear the door leading to the back deck open, then shut. I hear two footsteps, but then the thick carpet makes it impossible to tell anything after that. I swallow nervously, and feel the collar fill with my neck when I do so. A minute passes, then two, then three, then-
Fingers close on my left nipple, pinch, then twist. I cry out, and fight hard NOT to pull away. As a reward, the nipple gets twisted again, and suddenly a spot of fire erupts on my left ass cheek, dead center. Ow!
Just as suddenly, the hand releases my tortured nipple. I wait for the hand to deal the same torture, but it doesn’t come. Oh, this is going to kill my OCD!
Yeah, I know, Daddy; totally random thought. Or did you know that about me? I can’t remember if I-
Shit! Another fire patch, this one right on top of the right nipple. See? That’s unbalanced! It’s not right to-
FUUUUCCCKKKKK! I can not help but groan in misery as the next strike lands on the bottom of the panties, smacking my little dicklet and balls in one cruel blow. At this, I hunker down a bit, trying to ride out the pain. A vise-like hand grasps my right nipple and brings me back upright; another firebomb from what I suspect is a riding crop lands on my lower back, making me arch upwards into the hand pulling my nipple off. My breathing is labored, but I regain my resolve a bit. I’m not going to break THAT easy, Daddy! I holler at you in my head.
Blows to both of my ass cheeks burn into me, but still I hold my tongue. I have no idea why, but I want to make you work for it, Daddy. To compel you to earn my tears. And at the same time…I want to make you proud of me. So onward, Daddy! Have at me!
And onward you go, landing spots of fire on top of other spots before those flames even die out. Only my face is spared. Back, nipples, belly, you’re relentless in your peppering of my body. I feel as if all of my skin is on fire. Sweat is running down me, front and back, making each sore spot itch, increasing the torture.
“Damn, you’re like a fucking artist!”
Daddy…who are you calling an artist? That thought penetrates through the hot fog of pain. If you’re over there, asking that question, then…who has been doing this to me? Clarence?
You’re reading my mind, aren’t you, Daddy? I feel the blindfold pulled from my face.
Standing before me, in leather boots, a short leather dress, black gloves bearing the instrument of my torture, a black riding crop, stands…
A redheaded goddess I have never seen before. She has a wild look in her gorgeous blue eyes. She’s breathing a little hard, and it’s not just the exertion from swinging the crop at every sensitive square inch of my body. She looks…excited by her duties.
“Slut, meet…well,you will just refer to her as…Mistress. Mistress Red.” I can tell you just came up with that, Daddy, but I am not here to question such things. Besides, her eyes are so captivating I could just stare-
“What the fuck are you staring at me for, slut?” the Goddess of Fire snarls. “Do you think I’m some slut like you, here for you to perv on?”
“No, Mistress, Mistress Red. I apologize, it’s, just, um, you’re just, I mean, you’re-you’re…beautiful.”
This is the point where the red-headed goddess, touched by my adoration, softens her heart, and smiles at-
“No shit? Really? You think I don’t know I’m hot? You think I need some sissy to reveal this to me? Hell, yes I know I’m hot! I’ve been told that by a hell of a lot more manly men than you!”
If I weren’t staring at the ground, trying to avoid looking at her, I might have seen the evil grin tug at the corners of her mouth. I might have perceived the brisk swing of the crop up into my crotch, crashing into the only apparent evidence of my masculinity. Probably couldn’t do anything about it, but I’d have known.
Maybe I could go ahead and start sobbing then. Then I would have a head start on crying when a second, then third strike, in rapid succession, repeated the same blow, sending me to the floor, writhing in agony.
I lay there, crying, as you and this Demoness chuckle. The vibration of the motors and the light jarring of small waves are rocking me, as if to soothe me. After a minute, her patience runs out, and she bends down next to me and speaks in a very mild tone.
“Does that hurt, slave?” I can only nod. “Good, because it’s supposed to. That’s what I do, slut. I hurt people. I use them for my pleasure, and I hurt them. Do you know why I hurt people, boi cunt?” I shake my head. The Demoness leans closer, half whispers to me: “I do it because I love to do it.”
“Mistress Red is a friend of mine. We have some…shared interests, although she is more skilled than I could hope to be. She will be joining us for some fun.” Your explanation and introduction do not in any way settle my fears, Daddy.
I watch you speak, but I’m still in a bit of shock. Thus far, our “play” has all been man on man, or should I say Man on top of man? The introduction of a woman into this has me spinning. I think of the robot on Lost in Space again: Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! Before, part of the dynamic was me submitting to a stronger male, especially with Clarence, who actually IS stronger than I ever was. But now, the agony I just suffered is coupled with a deep humiliation that it is a woman – and a GORGEOUS one at that – who is in utter control of my senses and emotions. I guess there was some vestige of masculinity left in me, because I feel it brutally ripped from me at this realization. Even a girl holds more power than you do, sissy! I tell myself. How humiliating!
And how utterly, inexplicably fucking HOT.
“Well, it may be fun for US,” says Mistress Red, “but for you…maybe not so much.” She laughs looking over at you.
You smile, but then you defend me. “Don’t be so sure of that. My slut is a very…durable little sissy. He doesn’t break easy.”
“Is that so,” asks Red, and she reaches down and pulls me back up to onto my knees…by my ear. Then she cups her hand under my chin and tilts my head up, though I submissively keep my eyes lowered. “Are you a tough little slut?” she asks. I am lost; at the moment, I sure don’t feel all that strong. She pulls up hard on my chin. “Look at me, bitch! Look at me!” I obey, fearfully looking up at her face, into those deadly hypnotic eyes. “Your Master over there says you’re tough. I say you’re tough because you haven’t been broken by me yet. If I break you, and I can break you, slut, you’ll never be the same again. You’d never think of yourself as a man again. Believe that, sissy.”
“Y-y-yes, Mistress Red,” I reply. “I believe you.”
She smiles again at me. “Well, I’m glad we got that straight. Lucky for you, your Master just invited me along to have some fun with you. And I intend to have a LOT of fun with you. Stand up!”
I struggle to stand up, causing Red to laugh hysterically at me as I stumble on the high heels. Between the heels and the rocking of the boat, it’s a wonder I can stand at all.
“Oh, shit, Charlie,” she says to you, “That’s funny as hell! Sissy boys are always fun to watch the first time they try to handle what women do every day. I could run down a purse snatcher in 4″ heels; he can’t even stand up! Take that shit off, sissy,” she instructs me. “You’re not fucking up my fun just because you sprain an ankle.”
Without comment, I bend over and unleash my feet from these hellish implements of torture, relishing the feel of the soft carpet under my feet. While I wiggle my ankles a bit, Mistress Red goes to the bar where she has laid a small black suitcase. Coming to me, she hands me two ankle cuffs.
“Put these on, slave,” she snaps. “Hurry up!” I quickly wrap them around my ankles, and draw them snug but not tight, then stand up. “Hands!” I offer up my wrists, palms up, and Mistress Red cuffs them more tightly than I did my ankles. “Can’t have you wiggling around, can we, slut?” Somehow, I sense she doesn’t really want an answer from me.
“Rosita!” Red yells, scaring me. What the hell is a Rosita?
The back door of the cabin quickly opens, and I see a diminutive Latina woman, nude save a black collar, come quickly into the room, then kneel at Mistress Red’s feet, and kiss her booted toes. “Yes, Mistress?” she says towards the floor.
“Help me with this slut’s hand. You should know this process well,” she sneers at the smaller woman. So evidently, I’m not the first person to suffer under Red’s hands on this boat. Interesting…
Rosita stands up. She is simply perfection in size extra small. Her breasts are full, with dark areola and prominent nipples, a trimmed but not shaved bush, and as I will see momentarily, an extremely sexy ass. She crosses to the port side, and detaches a cable I hadn’t even noticed from a ring on the wall. The end of the cable features a D ring that she then connects to the ring on the back of my right hand. She leaves that, and goes to the other side, although on that side, as she stretches up to unhook the cable, I can’t help but see that you slide a hand up her thigh and stroke between her thighs, Daddy. Rosita simply stays in place, and even smiles at you, until you stop, at which point she thanks you: “Thank you, Master Charlie!” before coming back to me and connecting that cable to my left hand. At no point does Rosita make any eye contact with me, as if I am just a mannequin she is dressing for a store window.
I’m standing there, my arms can’t come down, but nor are they stretched uncomfortably far. That, however, is about to change.
“Okay, Rosita, bring him up,” Red instructs her slave. Rosita smiles at noone in particular as she goes to a switch on the starboard side, between your chair and the next, and flips it. A mechanical whirring sound begins, and the cables begin to each retract towards the ceiling on each side, drawing my arms up and out.
“That should be sufficient, pet,” Mistress Red says. “Now, secure his ankles. Spread your legs, slut!” she snarls at me. I spread them as wide as I can; Mistress kicks them out further. The process for my ankles is a little different: Lengths of dog chain are extended and measured to keep me secure, then D rings are applied to keep me as wide as possible.
I am now an “X” in the middle of the room. I am literally vulnerable over every inch of my body save the soles of my feet, though I feel confident Mistress Red could get to me there, too.
“Nice work, Rosita,” she says to her slave, who comes to her and looks adoringly up to her. “What do you think of my playtoy for the evening, pet?”
Rosita looks me over. “El no es una hombre masculino, señora,” she says, smiling at me.
Mistress Red notices my blush. “Tu hablas español, puta?” she asks me.
“Si, Señora Rojo,” I respond. “Pero solo un poco. Hablo mas alemán.”
“Very interesting,” Red says. “A multilingual slut. Which means you’re still just a slut. And certainly NOT, as Rosita observed, a masculine man. It would be interesting to hear you beg in…how many languages?”
“Four, Mistress Red. I speak some Romanian, too. And bits of a few other languages.”
“Well, enough of that; I wanna have some fun. Rosita, the clips!” Rosita squeals in excitement, and goes and retrieves a bag from the infamous black box, handing them to her Mistress. “Good girl. Now, you go have a seat on Senor Charlie’s lap. You take good care of him, you hear? He has my permission to discipline you however he sees fit!”
“Si, Senora! I will take good care of heem!” Rosita seems quite happy to go and take MY place with you, Daddy. Looks like she’s been there before, I think jealously.
My face is pulled away forcefully from that scene by Mistress Red. “You don’t need to be looking over there, bitch! Your Master can do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants. He claims YOU, not the other way around!” My own words come back to me: ‘Possessions don’t limit owners, Daddy.’ “Besides, I’m going to be getting your full attention on ME.”
Mistress opens the bag, and continues as she reaches in. “You know, lots of people love nipple clamps. They’re adjustable, you can make them as tight as you want, attach weight to them…” My eyes open at THAT unpleasant thought! “and they don’t fall off easily. But me, I’m an old fashioned girl,” she explains, as her hand comes out holding several wooden clothespins, the kinds with metal springs in them.
“See, the painful part of a nipple clamp isn’t just when it is put ON the nipple,” she continues, as she pulls my left nipple out from my body a couple of inches, twists, then releases it. She holds a clothespin fully open over the nipple, then, looking into my eyes and smiling, she releases it suddenly, snapping it down on my little bud. I wince at the pain. “The best part is the burn after you remove it after a while, and the blood flow returns to the nerves and the tissue,” she explains, as she repeats the process on the right. Once both of them are on, she grips both and gives them an extra squeeze, as if making sure they get plenty of bite. At this, I groan out loud. “Feels grand, doesn’t it?” she asks, mocking me. She moves behind me.
“Damn, your slut does have a pretty nice ass, doesn’t he, Charlie?” she says to you, smacking me on first the left cheek, then the right with her open palm. “Have you boys popped that yet?”
I glance over at you, Daddy, and I see that Rosita is now straddling you, and you’re taking your pleasure with those titties. Bitch! I think. Silently.
“What do YOU think?” you reply, chuckling.
Behind me, Mistress laughs. “I bet Clarence had fun with this!” She leans in up to my ear and whispers, “If you’re really, really lucky, they’ll let ME have a turn with your little pussy. I will change your life.” Red licks at my ear, then bites it. She backs away.
“The other great thing about these old clothespins is that they’re like you. They’re cheap. Which means you can get a whole lot of them for what you’d pay for one of the expensive ones.” With that, I feel her reach around me from behind, and I steel myself as I feel her cup my balls. She strokes them gently for a moment, and it is an incredibly sexy feeling.
All the way up to the point where she snaps a clothes pin on the sack, right in front, right between the boys. As I struggle to accommodate the pain, she snaps another, then another, until my scrotum literally has a beard of clothes pins hanging from it. She grabs my little clitty-dick, which momentarily thought about getting hard watching you and Rosita, then retreated as it felt its neighbors being assaulted. She pulls it out from my body by the head.
“Damn, ain’t much to work with here, is there, slut? No wonder you’ve taken to cock so well! This thing is pretty much useless, isn’t it? Well, I guess not completely: I’m having fun with it!” Red laughs at me, drowning me in humiliation in front of you, Daddy, and Rosita. Both of you laugh at her comments. As they laugh, Red snaps a pin onto my frenulum, then another. She pinches the head of my cock, getting one onto the ridge behind the head, but it almost immediately begins to slide off, delivering a very painful pinch as it did so.
“Oh, did I hurt your little clitty?” Red asks mockingly from behind me. “I so sorry! Here, I make it better!” And with that, she does the same thing again, but pinching the head harder, pushing more of it into the grip of the clip…and achieving the same result. I yelp again.
“Hmmm, we may have to come back to that with something a little more…secure.” Coming back to my front, she works her way around my body, locating any place where she can get enough skin – just barely enough – to attach another clothespin. Finally, she runs out of space.
“Not bad. What do you guys think?” she asks.
“Nice! How many is that?” you ask her.
“Thirty. That’s really not that many; hell, I’ve managed sixty on Rosita before. Isn’t that right, my little slut?”
“Yth, Mthtrth,” Rosita’s affirmative reply is throttled by your cock, onto which she is impaling her throat, over and over, her hands behind her. On her knees before you, that amazing ass pointed at us…and yet my attention is locked on your cock, disappearing and reappearing into her face.
“So, are you going to yank a bunch of them off at once, or just remove them slowly, and drag it out,” you ask Mistress Red as she sits down and takes a break, leaving me as a spreadeagled display of her cruelty.
“Neither,” she says, grinning evilly. “I’m going to quirt them off.”
Daddy, I can tell you don’t know what a quirt is…but I do! My eyes go wide with fear.
“What the hell does that mean? How do you quirt? Is that like squirting?” he laughs.
“No, quirt isn’t anything like that. It’s actually a what. A quirt is, well, hold on, let me show you.” She rises and goes to the box. She pulls it out, and a shiver runs through me. She goes back and sits next to you.
“So, this,” she says, holding it up, “is a quirt. It’s a type of whip used for livestock. As you can see, it’s as much handle as anything.” Hers is about 18″ of braided handle, then about 12″ of flat leather, split after the first 4 inches. The result is a wicked forked tongue devil. A devil that will soon speak evil on my flesh.
“Here, let me show you how it works. Pull your cock out of my whore’s mouth,” she says wryly. “I don’t want you getting bitten. Rosita, brace!” Rosita freezes in position, fear filling her eyes. “I think she hates this more than anything else,” Red muses.
Mistress Red raises her right hand with the whip, then brings it down hard, using the flex of the handle to snap the tongues down on poor Rosita’s ass. Almost immediately, two long red stripes appear, stretching from the top of her ass around to where I can’t see them. Rosita hisses, and her head snaps up slightly. I see her lips tremble, and a tear rolls down her cheek. This from one lick of the devil’s tongue.
I have thirty clothespins on me. That thought sinks in. That could be sixty tongues of fire kissing me. Not counting any “accidental” misses, of course. My blood turns to ice water.
“So, how do you do it? Whip him until they all fall off?” you ask her. I’m hoping that’s asked out of concern for my well-being, not eager anticipation of my suffering.
“Oh, heavens now! I’m cruel, but that might kill him, or at least turn him into a vegetable. No, I’ve gotten pretty accurate with this, haven’t I, Rosita?”
“Si, senora,” the little Latina replies.
“I can flick poor Rosita’s nipples and barely hit anything beyond the areola,” brags Mistress Red, an evil smile on her face. “Of course, she had to endure a lot of inaccuracy as I honed my skills.” Rosita grimaces slightly at the memory. And, of course, the current fire trail on her ass. She returns to sucking MY Master’s cock, probably hoping to stave off any repeats of that experience.
“So…you’re literally going to whip them off of him?” you ask, clarifying. “But what about the ones…you know…on his balls?”
Red stands, and moves towards me, obviously measuring the distance very closely, extending her whip hand, adjusting again…
“Well, let’s hope he’s able to stand very, very still. For his sake…”
*****
Yes, indeed, I thought. Let’s hope I CAN stand very still. While tied spreadeagled to 4 corners of a room…aboard a moving boat…as a woman with a whip and an evil grin prepares to do pinpoint drills on my naked, tormented body.
Yeah, let’s hope for that.
Mistress Red has an absolutely sickening smile on her face; well, sickening if you’re the subject of her sadistic anticipation. An immediate crisis develops within me: Is it better to keep my eyes open, and see the lash coming, or is it better to close my eyes, to keep myself from flinching.
She helps me make up my mind when she brings her hand up, and then feigns a lash, causing me to flinch. She laughs sadistically at me – and then lashes again, striking two or three of the clips on my left nipple. Of course, there is some of the lash which also strikes me on the flesh around the nipple as well.
To my horror, one clothespin flies off, but another just shifts, pinching just the thinnest bit of nipple, causing intense localized pain and refusing to drop off. I’m whimpering as I try futilely to dislodge it by shaking.
“Oh, fuck no! Don’t you try that shit with me, bitch! If you shake one off, I’ll put three back in it’s place and give you 5 straight out lashes! You stand there and take it, you little sissy!,” Red screams at me. Undoubtedly, she’d love nothing more than to see me do exactly that, just to justify dishing out more pain.
My eyes are closed, coping with the pain, when lightning strikes again, this time on the right nipple. At this, two clips fly off, but even more of the whip bites into my right breast, and I immediately see twin welts appear leading up from the nipple. Even as the pain starts to register in my brain, another lands beside it. No clip gets dislodged, and one is left just barely hanging from my nipple. My upper breast is starting to look like I just got a flame-job tattoo. In prison.
“AHHHHHH!!! NO! NO! Oh, please, stop! For God’s sake, stop, please!” my head snaps back, my cry going towards the ceiling above. Later, if my brain survives, I may wonder if there is a captain or crew up there, listening in on my torment. I’d bet there are, and that I am not the first man or woman they have heard screaming for mercy.
Red responds by lashing out again, ripping the dangling clothespin and another from my left nipple, sending them scattering. One lands by you on your chair, and you pick it up. Pinching the back, opening the clamping part, you test the tension.
“That’s got a pretty good pinch to it,” he observes to Mistress Red. “Where do you get these?”
“I special order them,” Red responds, as she shifts about, trying to figure out her next line of attack on my body and mind. “The cheap ones from Walmart just don’t have the bite I like. They just fall off too easy. Try one,” she says, nodding towards Rosita.
I watch you pull the poor Latina’s head up and off your cock, and the fear mixes with the lust in her eyes. “Give me your titty, Rosita,” you tell her, and she does not hesitate, cupping one of those gorgeous globes and lifting it toward you. You pinch her nipple, hard, causing her to gasp and-
FUCK! Mistress Red takes advantage of my distraction to lash out at the clips on my scrotum. FUCKFIRE FUCKFIRE FUCKFIRE THAT FUCKING HURTS! I have no idea of how many if any clips come off; all I know is that napalm has rained down on me.
“Keep your eyes off of my slave, slut. That’s MY property. Only man in this room that needs to be looking at her is your Master. And trust me, she’s doing a hell of a lot better job of keeping him happy than you could, you little sissy. And besides, what do you think you could do for her with THIS-” the lash lands again on my balls, and this time I see two clips go flying across the room “-little tiny excuse for a cock,” she finishes.
I’m wailing as the searing pain of this latest atrocity rips through my soul. I struggle for breaths through sobs. What the fuck kind of sadistic fucking person-
She lashes again, coming up between my legs, hitting square up into my balls then up into my taint. A single clothespin comes up, flying up right between us, which she catches expertly, which gives her cause to grin. She throws it to you. “Give her some more motivation!” she says, but your reach to catch it is very slow. I guess Rosita’s talent has you distracted.
Red resumes her work with the quirt, and some of the strokes are nowhere near any clothespins; they are just meant to hurt. And they do. This pain is like nothing I’ve ever endured. Over and over and over she whips me. I see you over there, Master, watching, eyes wide, maybe even a bit horrified, but with your cock buried in Rosita’s throat; well, you certainly weren’t going to stop THAT for me, were you?
Between crying, screaming and trying to breath, I’m beginning to gag. All through this, Mistress Red’s smile just gets wider with each stroke. After another crushing lash up into my burning balls, one which dislodges another pin and sends it soaring, she pauses. I’ve gone beyond my subby space; I’m on the border of insanity and fading fast. She steps closer, her cruel, cold blue eyes locking my tortured gaze, and she reaches down. She cups my balls, looking into my soul, and holds them gently.
And then she squeezes them, hard, holding them in her grip as she leans over by my right ear, away from your side, and whispers very softly to me. “I bet they hurt, don’t they? That makes me happy. Do you know why that makes me happy, slave? Don’t worry; I’ll save you guessing. It’s not that I’m a sadist; well, I mean, I AM a sadist; you can ask Rosita about that. But it’s more than that. You see, slut: I.HATE.Men. So when I get a chance to rain down pain on one, to make one suffer, to make one pay for what men have done to me… It gets me off, slave. It makes THIS the sweetest sight I have ever seen.”
She releases my tortured balls, and brings her hand up before my face. To my horror, I see blood there. MY blood. She has flayed me open, apparently.
“NOO! Please, God, please, somebody stop her! Please! She’s killing me!” Tears are flooding from my eyes; there is zero sexual anything in this for me. I’m in the hands of a lunatic, and it has nothing to do with any kind of sexual gratification. This is just hateful violence. I look at you, and see you’re…asleep? What the fuck? Did Rosita suck your brain out?
Mistress Red laughs at me. “Oh, sissy. We can’t stop now; we’re just about to get the fun-”
“WHAT IN THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!”
That can only be the voice of God, I think. Deep bass, thundering volume, as if lightning instead of words would follow next.
I manage to lift my head, and through flooded eyes, I see a massive dark humanoid form fill the cabin door. I can’t see the facial features because of the tears and the backlighting from the sun setting, but I don’t have to. Somehow I know who this is.
Clarence.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, BITCH?!” he snarls at Red. “You’re fucking killing him, you stupid, fucked up bitch!” With one hand, Clarence grabs red by the throat and lifts her off of the ground. Her feet are kicking, and she tries to lash out at him with the quirt.
Big mistake. HUGE mistake.
Clarence catches her wrist, and as easily as I might turn a twist tie, he quickly spins it. A sickening crack sound and then a scream are the next sounds.
“You fuck! You broke my fucking wrist, you stupid ni-” and that’s as far as she gets before the back of Clarence’s hand obliterates the next few syllables. Back and forth, twice, three times, he smacks her.
“Shut up, Tanya. You’re nothing but a bitter, fucked up little bitch. I told you you could have some fun with him; not because I like you, but because I thought HE would like it. You went WAY over the fucking line. You hurt MY boy. Charlie might like you, but I can’t fucking STAND you. Now you’ve fucking outstayed your welcome. You got to GO!” With that, Clarence, still holding her aloft by her throat, starts to carry her out to the back deck.
“Go where?” she squeaks from Clarence’s hand. “We’re out in the fucking ocean! You can’t just throw-” the door slams shut on her protest. I have no idea what Clarence will do with her, but I’d have to work hard to protest her being shark food right now.
“Senor,” Rosita says, coming to me. “Please, sir, it is okay. You are not really bleeding,” she tells me, touching me lightly between my legs. Even the faintest touch burns, but all I can do is moan. She pulls up her finger, which is coated in bright red fluid. “It is not real blood, senor. It is fake blood, like they use at Dia de las Muertes. Halloween. She hides it in her glove, then pulls it out when she reaches down. She fuck with the head. She puta loco! You not bleeding, senor. I promise. She do this to me before, and other mens.” Rosita strokes my face, then turns to Clarence, who is entering the back door.
“Senor Master Clarence, can I set him free?” Evidently, he must have nodded, because I feel her freeing my ankles first. “Can you stand?” she asks me. Still in a fog of agony, I shake my head.
“Here, I’ll lift him, you unhook his hands, Rosita.” she does, and Clarence carefully picks me up and lays me on the couch.
“Si, Senor Clarence. I am sorry about this, Senor. She tell me she going to kill me if I tell anything. I know she drug Senor Charlie; that’s why he fall asleep while I suck him. Lo siento, I did not know she would do this. She gone crazy; I scared of her.”
“It’s okay, Rosita. You take care of Charlie, I will take care of him.” Clarence goes to a small upper cabinet, opens it, takes something out, then grabs a bottle of water from a small refrigerator. Then he returns to me.
“Hey, my friend. SIt up just a little. Take these,” he tells me, handing me two little pills, then twisting the top off of the bottle. I don’t ask, I just put them in my mouth, then took a sip, then a gulp of the water. Clarence pulled a pillow from on the back of the couch, and puts it under my head. “Those will kick in in a little bit. I’ve got some stuff I’m going to put on these marks.” He goes back to the same cabinet, and retrieves a small white tub.
“Rosita, go upstairs and tell Carl I’ll be down here a while. Tell him to just keep us on the same heading.”
“We use this for sunburns and scrapes. Good stuff, helps the healing and has a pain killer in it,” he explains, as he begins to gently smooth it over each place where that devil licked me. I wince even at his gentle touch on the first few, but then the pain eases; I’m guessing the pills are kicking in, too. Yep, they are, I realize, as I begin to feel a gentle buzz.
It is a bit surreal, watching this giant of a man gently tending to my pains. His hands dwarf mine, and mine are not small. His palm covers each side of my chest as he works the cream gently around and over my tortured red nipples, which are still distended. I watch his hands, mesmerized by the contrast of color, the juxtaposition of power and gentle comfort.
I guess I’m smiling, too, because he looks at my face and smiles at me. “Pills kicking in?” he asks.
“Yeah, giving me a nice buzz. Haven’t felt like this since college,” I grin. I still feel the sting, but it is not overwhelming me any more. “So…what did you do with her?” I ask, nodding to the cabin door. “Nothing you’ll get in trouble for, I hope.”
“Shit, they should give me a medal if I got rid of that sick bitch. No, I didn’t. But she will be…occupied for the rest of the weekend. And trust me, she’ll never touch you again. I am so sorry for-” I reach a finger up and put it across his mouth to silence him.
“No. You don’t need to apologize. You were right: I do enjoy pain, and I even enjoy the humiliation. I don’t for a second think you or Charlie knew what she would do. And the fact that she thought to drug him means she knew what she was doing wasn’t kosher. This is on HER, not you. By the way, how did you figure out…”
At this, Clarence looks a little sheepish. “Well, I was up top, chatting with Carl. We could hear some of what was going on because of the intercom. Carl has been with me for several years. I can drive this thing fine, but with Carl aboard, I don’t have to, so I can enjoy my time with my guests. So, anyway, as we cleared the channel and accelerated, it got hard to hear, so that’s when I activated the app on my phone that connects to the cameras I have set up in here,” he explains, indicating cameras up in each corner of the room.
“When I saw Charlie passed out, and I saw the marks on you, that’s when I came down. I just wish I had gotten down here sooner. Still have half a mind to feed that bitch to the sharks,” he says angrily.
“You can’t do that,” I tell him flatly.
“No, trust me, I could make her disappear, tell them she must have gotten drunk and fallen over during the night and-”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean sharks would never eat her.”
A quizzical look comes across Clarence’s big face.
“Even sharks have standards,” I tell him, smiling.
This gentle giant kissing me is the last thing I recall before the pills take me into blissful rest.
*****
I have no idea what time I fell asleep, but the clock says 11:40 when I wake up. A very light blanket is draped over me. Beside me, on the floor, lies a sleeping bear, on his back, a pillow under his head. He is wearing a loose pair of gym shorts and a muscle shirt. I smile at the image of my hero.
Across the room, Rosita is curled up at your feet, Daddy. You’re still asleep, but she is not. She looks over at me and smiles silently. She gives me a thumbs up, asking if I’m okay, and I give her the sign that I am good.
Am I good, I wonder? I gently feel my body, touching gently on the areas where I know the devil’s tongue did its worst. They are sore if I push on them, but the burn is largely gone. I have no idea what is in that tub, but something tells me it’s more than aloe vera and lidocaine. But hey, I’m not complaining.
My muscles are a little sore, especially in my legs and arms, but a little stretching helps get the blood flowing. I turn and look down at Clarence, still sleeping. I can’t help but smile as I look at his chest, a barrel of muscles. Arms and legs like tree trunks. It is hard to ascertain his age. At first I think he’s no older than thirty, but common sense tells me he’s probably closer to fifty than thirty.
I almost instinctively reach out to touch him; he’s like a sculpture. “Real Man,” as sculpted by God, I think, and almost giggle at the image of him standing in a museum as women swoon and fan themselves as they “consider” the artwork. I pull my hand back, though, as a mischievous plot enters my mind.
Easing off of the couch, I get down on my knees between his legs, looking up the legs of his loose shorts. I lift the hem of the left leg, then the right, and there it is: that magnificent chocolate log! Gently, I work the right leg of his shorts up, exposing the object of my attention. Carefully, I lift it up, and lick from the base to the bottom of the tip. I look over at Rosita, and she is grinning and gives me another thumbs up.
I smile back, then go back to my labor of love. I lick from bottom to top again, then down, then back up, and around the head. I wrap my hand softly around the shaft, stroking slowly as I lick all over the top. I feel the shaft stiffening and thickening in my hand, and I can visibly see the head of this big brute grow as I shower it with affection.
I look over and see Rosita stirring gently, so as not to awaken you, and she crawls over to lay next to us for a front-row seat. She grins at me and softly whispers, “Tu eres hermosa, puta!”
I don’t break from pleasuring my sleeping giant but for a moment to stick my tongue out at her, smile, then resume. I begin to work my mouth open wider, taking some of Clarence’s plum-sized cockhead into my mouth, covering it in spit.
Eyes still closed, Clarence mumbles, “Rosita…” Before she can answer, I indicate for her to be silent. “Si, Senor Clarence. I am here,” I answer in my best imitation of the tiny Latina. I go right back to pleasing him as Rosita struggles not to laugh. Clarence calls to her again…
“Rosita…” Again I respond.
“Si, Senor Clarence. I am here, sucking your cock. El esta muy gigante!” At this, Rosita has to put her hand over her mouth.
“Rosita…” Clarence says again, only this time, he reaches over and puts his hand around her head. “Rosita, go and get me some lube. I gotta fuck this puta hermosa!” he says, opening his eyes and smiling. Busted! I just smile at him and go back to sucking his big black cock. Rosita laughs aloud as she goes to retrieve something to make the going a little easier.
With all concern about waking him now gone, I get serious about worshiping the cock of this big man. I know I’ll never fit all of this beast inside my mouth and throat, but I’m going to give whatever I CAN in the time of its life. I want to thank him for rescuing me, and I also want him to remember this blowjob for a long, long time. I pump, suck, lick, stroke, kiss every inch of him, even those big egg-sized balls. They have a bit of a sweaty taste, but it is intoxicating.
As I continue my ministrations to him, I feel Rosita behind me. She gently removes the plug, causing me to gasp. Immediately, she introducing a cool, creamy finger to my ass. She lathers it on thickly, and is soon pumping two of her little fingers into me, then three. At three, she’s roughly the size of the plug, only in motion. As she works a fourth one in, my head comes up, my eyes wide. I feel myself stretching around her hand at the base of her knuckles…but oddly, I’m not feeling the burn I anticipate. I kneel upright, still stroking Clarence
Clarence sees the look of astonishment on my face, and seems curious.
“Rosita, what are you using on him for lube?” he asks.
“Senor, I am just using this cream you have here, what you used on his sore spots. It is very creamy, no?” she asks, pausing with all but her thumb in my stretched-out boi pussy.
Clarence chuckles. “Well, that explains why you’re not feeling any pain. There are some…powerful ingredients, let’s just say, in that cream. I suspect you won’t be feeling any pain at all back there for a while,” he laughs. “Still, we better limit how much of that we use. Rosita, go to my stateroom. To the right of the bed, in the drawer…get me the lube from there.”
“Si, senor,” she replies happily, and hurries down the steps, coming back in just moments with a bottle of KY.
“Is this stuff…safe? I mean, I’m not going to overdose or anything…?” I ask. Behind me, Rosita pushes the top of the bottle up against my hole and squeezes, flooding me with the cool fluid. “Gracias, senorita,” I say, turning to smile at her. She kisses me sweetly.
“No, you should be fine. It’s a very small percentage of what’s in there. Most of it is just natural herbs. But you shouldn’t be feeling any pain back there for a while,” Clarence reassures me.
“Well, in that case, let’s take FULL advantage of that, shall we?” I say, as I begin to scoot up his body. At his waist, I have to raise up off of my knees to straddle him. I try to hold his now fully-hard cock up, line myself up, and hold him in place, but my balance still isn’t great, and I miss the first couple of times.
Rosita comes to my rescue. “Here, hold on, let me lube up that big cock first.” I hear the cap of the KY open again, then a couple of seconds later, slick sounds as she oils up that big black intruder for its invasion. “Ok, baby, lower your culo onto heem,” she tells me, holding him just under the ridge at the back of his cock and aligning it with my hole, which has started closing up. “Now, relax and let heem in,” she instructs me. I feel him there, and I can sense the alignment is right. I take a deep breath and then let it out, relaxing myself as I bend my knees further.
Clarence looks at me, a little worried. “Are you sure you want to do this right now? We can wait, let you-” His concern fades as I drop my hole onto him, taking the first three inches or so inside me.
Even medicated and partially anesthetized, his entry takes my breath away. I continue to gaze down at my dark lover, letting him see the strained joy on my face. I don’t know why something so overwhelming and humbling is also SO fucking hot…but it is. I’ve seen my wife’s face in the mirror when I took her ass, early in our marriage, before she shut me off, and I know how hot that look is as a woman gets taken that way, so I make sure I let Clarence see the reaction his big cock elicits from me. I pause for a moment to let the pain fade, then continue when I realize there IS no pain, just a sense of stretching and fullness. I continue to sink until I feel his balls hit my bottom cheeks.
Leaning over him, I lower my face to him and kiss him deeply, with all the passion I have. A few months ago, kissing a man was completely outside of my realm of “Stuff that I’m okay with.” But here I am, kissing a man while I begin to slowly milk his big cock with my ass. Life is either a daring, bold adventure, or it is nothing at all. I think Helen Keller said that, but I’m not sure.
Breaking the kiss, I raise myself up, placing my hands on his powerful chest, and begin to work my ass on his cock. Without the pain, I’m determined to give him the ride of his life. I thumb his dark nipples as I ride, even tweaking them as I smile at him. I hear something behind me, and I see Rosita tonguing his balls as I ride him. She smiles up at me. A man (or woman) could easily fall in love looking into those eyes, I think. Especially if she’s using that tongue on them!
Clarence begins to buck up into me. I begin to time my downward bounces to coincide with his thrusts, and we both grunt a little as we impact each time. I feel shifting behind me, and Rosita’s little hand, still covered in oil, comes around to stroke my little dick as it bounces about. I wasn’t even aware that it was hard, but within a few seconds, I realize that I’m not only hard, but not far from orgasm.
“Oh, fuck! Oh, Rosita, that feels so fucking good, but you’re gonna make me cum too fast, chica!” I exclaim. All I get in response is her giggle, and then her tongue in my ear as she continues to pleasure me, her breasts pressed into my back. Her other hand comes up and tweaks and twists at my left nipple.
“Oh, fuck! I can’t hold out much longer! Please, Clarence, please, cum in me! Cum in me while I cum for you, baby! Breed me!”
Clarence sees her hand milking me, and grabs my hips, thrusting hard as he nears his own finish line.
“That’s right, my little bitch! Work that pussy on Big Boy! Show him your love! I’m gonna plant my babymakers DEEP in that little pussy! Get it!”
And getting it is exactly what I want to do, I think. I become deliberate, not only pistoning up and down on his towering rod, but squeezing him each time at the bottom, then flexing in intervals on the way up. Rosita had backed off a little on her strokes, wanting to make sure that Clarence and I crossed the finish line together. As soon as he starts grunting, and hammering his hardest up into me, though, she quick-strokes me, and just as I start to feel his warm seed begin to flood my depths, I bottom out on him and stay there, squeezing his pulsing rod with each of my contractions, my come jetting out onto his big brown torso. Rosita strokes me straight through, but fans the streams out so they cover most of his chest. Silly girl.
Slowly, we begin to come down, but every time he pulses, I pulse again, which milks another quiver out of him, which makes him pulse, which sets me off… This delicious cycle of pleasure runs through three or four times, until neither of us has anything left to give. I collapse onto my massive lover, smearing us both with my warm seed. As I trade kisses with him, we are joined by Rosita, who kisses both of us. Between the three of us, well, we make an excellent triangle of contrasts. Then a voice interrupts our post-coital bliss.
“Uhhh, I was gonna ask what I missed, but I can see at least part of it. Where’s Tanya?”
Oh, there you are, Daddy.
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