Message-ID: <34003asstr$1008252605@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: "Matt Carpenter" X-Original-Message-ID: X-Sent-Mail: off Reply-To: paragon38@lycos.com X-Expiredinmiddle: true X-Priority: 3 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-ASSTR-Arrival-Date: Thu, 13 Dec 2001 06:05:44 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} BFE - Chapter 1 (MMF, bi-, bdsm) Date: Thu, 13 Dec 2001 09:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: kelly, RuiJorge BFE - Chapter 1 (MMF, bi-, bdsm) This story is intended solely for the entertainment of adults. Anyone wishing to correspond may e-mail me at paragon38@lycos.com or paragon74@hotmail.com . I would welcome any comments or reviews. BFE 1 "Yes ..?" The man's voice squawked over the tiny speaker on the apartment's intercom switchboard. "It's Randall," I tried to steady the quiver in my voice. No matter how many times I've done this, I always feel nauseous. Part stage-fright, part revulsion - you'd think I would have gotten used to it by now. Sliding a tin of Altoids out of my jacket pocket, I popped the lid and tossed two in my mouth. The sharp, cold rush soothed my stomach momentarily, but my knees were still quaking. I steadied myself against the intercom console and took a deep breath. `120 minutes ...' I told myself, shaking off another wave of queasies. `7200 seconds ...' "Hold on a sec, okay ..?" The man half-asked after a short, uncomfortable pause. Waiting through another even longer pause, I could hear mumbles and pensive whispers coming through the small speaker. Dominique's email had described the appointment as a `middle-aged couple, 50s, Dom-Bi male, sub female, fetish, total 3-way interaction, first-timers.' I hadn't been on a couples call in over a month now, and I was a little nervous. Most of the clients I'd been seeing since I started in the business were gay older men, and I had gotten accustomed to dealing with them. My last couples call hadn't gone very well either. The man had freaked out the moment I touched his wife, and then threatened me with a screwdriver. Luckily I hadn't removed my pants or shoes on, and the fee was already in my pocket. Talk about your quick getaways ... Needless to say, I'd been a tad apprehensive about taking tonight's appointment when Dominique contacted me. I told myself after Screwdriver Man that I wasn't going to do any more couples calls. There were just too many variables at play, too many chances for someone or something to go awry. But, as S.E. Hinton once said, `that was then, and this is now.' The incident with Screwdriver Man had happened months ago, the terror dissolving into a kind of wry bemusement. Besides, I needed the money. No matter what my reservations might have been getting into this business, as time slouched forward I was finding it harder and harder to pass up the money. Three bills would go a long way towards staving off my most recent financial shortfall. With two more appointments booked for the following evening, I'd have enough to make the mortgage payment and pay my overdue cell-phone bill. So, while the two muffled voices inside the intercom speaker engaged in their terse exchange, I took the opportunity to recalibrate my current fiscal situation and further scout out my surroundings. I'd been to this apartment complex before. I was almost sure of it. Then again, maybe it just resembled one of the dozens of upscale high-rises I'd been visiting for the last few months. After awhile, all these places - just like all the clients -- start to look alike. Still, this particular foyer seemed to strike a more familiar chord than just your common d**e9**j**e0** vu experience. Trying to jog my memory, I continued studying my surroundings carefully. Immediately, I noticed the blinking red eye of a closed-circuit camera perched above the door. Yes, I had been here before! An afternooner -- the old queen with the colostomy bag, the walker, and the bald cat. When had that been? October ..? No, it was in November, right before Thanksgiving. We had talked about Thanksgiving, family ... Poor guy ... "Sorry, can you hold on another sec?" the man's voice from the speaker interrupted my disturbing reminiscence. "Sure," I replied, drumming my fingers against the intercom console. `They're looking at me,' I suddenly realized as I looked back into the lens of the closed-circuit camera. `If they keep me waiting another minute, the clock starts running.' I glanced down at my Bulova and started watching the sweep of the second hand. `5 ... 10 ...' I silently counted the seconds. "Come on up," the man's voice suddenly crackled over the speaker, giving me a slight start. "Tenth Floor, Number 1005." I nodded up at the camera, just to let them know I knew they were watching me. A moment later, the lobby entrance buzzed. I grasped the handle, opened the metal-framed door and strode into the empty atrium towards the elevators. Glass and metal sparkled all about me. In my peripheral vision, I spied even more closed-circuit cameras lining the walls, interspersed with faux sconces and mirrored tiles. Yes, I had definitely been here before, and it was definitely to see Colostomy Man with the walker and the bald cat. Even when you're jaded, those kinds of memories stick with you. When I reached the bank of elevators, I pressed the Up button and checked out my reflection in the brass paneling - striped sports shirt, Hagar slacks, black trench coat and Italian loafers. `Shit!' I grimaced, noticing a slight sag in my belly. `Time to start hitting the gym again,' I sighed, sucking in my gut and doing a few quick ab flexes. As you might guess, male escorts don't get a lot of mileage when they're carrying around a spare tire. No one really expects you to look like Fabio, but it wouldn't hurt. Still, I was in decent shape, and half the battle is knowing how to carry yourself. You have to project confidence, like you know deep in your soul that you are worth every penny the client is shelling out to see you. The successful `professional man' also must be able to pull off a variety of `looks.' Some clients want jeans and a flannel shirt. Others want Versace, while others want the total `bad boy' ensemble -- leather pants, Doc Martens, white t-shirt. Tonight, I looked like I'd just stepped off a "business casual" ad for the Men's Wearhouse. Dominique had told me tonight's appointment wanted me `conservative but relaxed.' So, last night I'd checked out some men's fashion websites, approximating as best I could with my wardrobe. In the last few months, I'd learned a lot about not only how to dress, but also how to maximize the clothes in my closet. Before I got into the business, I knew very little about men's fashion and cared even less. Once I started `working,' though, I was forced to take a crash course on `dressing for success.' To be honest, I did seem to have a flair for fashion. The problem is, once you get on the clotheshorse, it becomes hard to dismount. Lately, I'd been spending more and more money and time supplementing my wardrobe, time and money that would have been better spent on other, less frivolous things ... bills, food, my son. . Suddenly, Danny's face flashed like a snapshot behind my closed eyes. `120 minutes,' I repeated silently to myself before I heard a bell ring. I opened my eyes, and one of the elevator doors opened. In another second, I was inside the well-lit car, ascending to the tenth floor. If my memory served me correctly, Colostomy Man's apartment was on the 8th Floor with his living room window overlooking the Kershaw Valley Parkway. Even though that appointment had only been five months ago, it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. Everything had changed since I first got into the business; everything except the nausea. I glanced down at my Bulova again. 7:45PM. I made a mental note of the time and set the small alarm mechanism for 9:56PM. Dominique had booked the appointment for two hours. As always with first-timers, I'd allow them ten minutes to get situated and comfortable before the clock started ticking. 120 minutes later, though, I'd be out of there ... on the dot. Not that I thought this would last the full two-hours. First-timers are usually "rush jobs" and rarely ever go the distance. Once they get their rocks off, the adrenaline rush crashes, embarrassment sets in, and most of them can't wait to get you out of there. Which is fine with me. I learned from day one to collect the money upfront -- the WHOLE fee. It doesn't matter how long the session lasts after that -- 15 minutes or the whole allotted time. I don't give refunds to short-timers. When someone books Randall for two hours, the price is fixed and paid in full BEFORE anything happens. 10 or 120 minutes, it's all the same to me. To be truthful, I hoped tonight's appointment would fall on the short side. I was still tired from work and wanted desperately to unwind before I had to pick up Danny at 11:00PM. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a "talker," or worse yet a couple of "lifestylers." The only thing more aggravating than clients who want you to socialize afterwards are clients who insist on getting ALL their money's worth. I swear, some of these guys pop four or five Viagras before you show up. And they're so proud of it, too. They all want to prove to you and especially to themselves what big studs they are. You see, for most people who pay for sex, fucking is a big occasion, kind of like the Super Bowl, Christmas and winning the lottery all rolled up into one. Which is why I never deny clients their full time if they so desire. On the other hand, I certainly don't encourage them to go for extra innings. I lived by the 3 `Gets,' just like Dominique taught me -- `Get the cash; get `em off; and get the hell outta there,' I had a feeling I'd be working on the third Get a little harder than usual tonight. If I could manage to extricate myself a few minutes early, I might even be able to catch the last inning of the Cubs game at Hennesey's before I had to pick up Danny at 11:00. But I knew better than to plan ahead. I still had the next two hours ahead of me, and I had to get through next 7,200-odd seconds before I could think of doing anything else. The elevator doors slid open at the tenth floor, and I stepped into the corridor. More mirrors, metal and mauve carpeting. An artificial flowery scent hung in the air, too, making me even queasier. I followed the signs along the wall to Suite 1005 and rapped on the door. `120 minutes, 7200 seconds ...' Time froze. My stomach turned inside out, and my knees wobbled slightly. I sucked hard on what remained of my Altoids. I heard muffled voices behind the tiny twinkle of light in the door's peephole, then shuffling, then the scraping sound of a chain being drawn back. An instant later the door opened. A man in his fifties faced me and looked me in the eye. He was shorter than me but much broader. His thick pale body was both pudgy and wrinkled, which made the dragon tattooed on his left bicep look patently absurd. Squinty brown eyes studied me from behind a pair of bifocals. He wore a blue velvet bathrobe and smelled like a toxic cloud of Old Spice cologne, body odor and El Productos. `Another winner,' I sighed to myself. `Three inches hard, at the most,' I surmised silently. This was a game I'd started playing with myself in the last few months. Guess the john's cock size. If I was within **bd** inch, I rewarded myself with a little prize - a new tie, a jazz CD from Borders. If I was wrong, I forced myself to abstain from meat and fried foods for three days. Needless to say, I'd quickly become pretty good at judging a guy's package. `120 minutes,' I repeated to myself. `7200 seconds ...' "Come on in," the john ushered me inside with a quick sweep of his hand, stepping aside to let me through the doorway. "I hope you found us all right." "No problem," I answered as I entered. "I've been to this building before." "Really ..?" he sounded genuinely surprised, maybe even a little disturbed. Suddenly I wondered if this guy knew Colostomy Man two floors below him. For some reason, the thought amused me, and I cracked a secret smile. "This building ..?" the man suddenly seemed obsessed with the thought that someone else in his building was also a sex-starved pervert who had to `pay for it.'. "Are you sure?" "Yes," I sucked the remainder of the mint and extended my hand. "I'm Randall," I wanted to change the subject and get the appointment moving. Like I said, I'm not much fond of"talkers." "Ted," the man croaked in reply, hesitating a moment before he took my hand and shook it. I could tell right away that he was uncomfortable relating to me as both a man AND a human being. I made a mental note of this, not wanting any difficulties to arise. I didn't need another screwdriver pulled on me, thank you very much. "Like I said," Ted continued, "Come on in." He was still recovering from the handshake, backing away from me at a noticeable distance. I detected a bit of a southern accent about him. Not the long drawl of the Deep South, but the lazy loll of a displaced West Virginian or Kentuckian. "Can I get you anything?" he offered with studied civility. "No, I'm good," I replied, venturing deeper into the candlelit apartment. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I suddenly became aware of a third party in the room - the second half of my `middle-aged couple.' "I'm Mary," she gasped with a throaty, raspy voice. Stretched across a brown leather sofa, she wore a fluffy white dressing gown and appeared to be sipping champagne. "Hello," I nodded her way, and she rustled a bit. With each passing second, my eyes grew more accustomed to the light, and I could make out Mary's features more clearly. She was in her fifties, just like Ted, with wrinkles, dyed red hair, an over abundance of rouge, and a nicotine-stained smile. Between sips of her champagne, she took long, deliberate draws on a long thin cigarette. When she saw that I was studying her, she smiled at me, spread her legs, and revealed a neon green dildo inserted in the gray, brillowy nest of her pubes. "Would you like some Asti Spumante?" She pointed her cigarette to a marble coffee table in front of the sofa. An iced champagne bucket and an empty glass flickered in the candlelight. "No thanks," I shook my head and turned back to Ted. We exchanged stares for a moment, and I could tell he was still sizing me up, trying to determine whether or not I was worth the money he was about to fork over. They all do this. Gay, straight, singles, couples - it doesn't matter. Clients always have second thoughts before the transaction is completed. When I started out, this part always bothered me. By now, though, I've gotten used it, and I've learned to just stay quiet and let them wrestle with their demons. Eventually, they all come around, even the ones who look terrified enough to scamper away and hide. In all these months and all these appointments, I've yet to have a john or joan meet me at their doorstep, get cold feet, and then turn me away ante delictum. Whereas cancellations are commonplace in this business, it's rare to get blown off face-to-face. Even Screwdriver Man sampled some of Randall's charms before going all Othello. The real secret to avoiding The Stiff is consummating the first Get quickly and efficiently - get the cash. Once a client has forked over the fee, they won't turn you away. I don't care how terrified or ashamed they might be. And even if they do chicken out after the transaction has been completed, it still doesn't matter. In the end, this business is all about closing the deal and getting that first Get. The rest is all just incidental. "Give him the money, dear," Mary rasped at Ted, breaking the fragile silence. "He's waiting." "How old are you?" Ted asked, ignoring Mary for the moment. "36," I answered stoically. Dominique had already told them all my vitals in the confirmation email she'd sent - age, race, height, weight, cock size. She never exaggerated her descriptions either. You can get a bad reputation pretty fast in this business when you try to pull the old bait and switch. "Take out your dick," Ted suddenly challenged me. "I'm not handing you one red cent until I see your dick." "Ted ..." Mary started, her voice a combination of shock and embarrassment. "The agency says he has a ten-inch dick, and I want to see it," Ted ignored her as he locked eyes with me. "That is all right with you, isn't it, Randall ..?" He pronounced `Randall' with a high-pitched, teasing lilt, like the taunt of a schoolyard bully. Obviously he wanted to establish right away who was `boss' here. He wanted me to know what he thought of me, what he thought of a man who would rent himself out to be another man's sissy. Ten-inch cock or not, he was going to show me who the real man was around here. In fact, that was the whole reason I was here. For two hours, I was going to be Ted's bitch-boy while his wife Mary watched. This was what made Ted feel like a real man, to sexually dominate another man - a bigger, stronger, younger, well-hung man - while his wife watched and cheered him on. Being watched validated Ted's precarious masculinity. For the next two hours, he could bask in his supremacy, forgetting all about the insecurities and inadequacies he'd no doubt been plagued with for his whole `real life.' Welcome to the game, my friends. Whatever the clients want they receive - for fair market value, of course. Ted had called my hand, and now it was officially "go time." If I wanted to see my money, I needed to start following his lead, obeying his commands. I wouldn't surrender completely to him, though. At least not yet, not until I had his fee safely in my hands. For the next few tense seconds, I plotted my moves carefully. Ted wanted to see what he was purchasing, and as the client that was his right. What I needed to do was show him the goods and seal the deal without giving away too much for free. I placed my fingers on the fly of my Hagar slacks, slowly unbuttoning them and grasping the zipper with my thumb and index finger. "Come on, Randall," Ted jeered at me. "Whip out that ten-inch dick of yours. What are you afraid of, boy ..? Don't think you'll measure up? I'll tell you right now, faggot," Ted spat. "If that thing is even one quarter inch less than 10 inches, I'm going to bend you over this chair and cane your ass until it's black and blue. Then I'm going to rape your sissy shit hole until you're shitting blood. Do you understand me, boy ..? Now whip out that meat, and present it for inspection!" Trying my best to look scared, I unzipped my trousers and pulled the crotch of my Hagars down past the bulge in my boxers. Then I stopped and looked back up at him. He was glaring angrily at the thick pipe of flesh pressed along my upper thigh and outlined against my cotton briefs. If he had any doubts that I was stuffing my shorts, they disappeared when my bloated red cock-head peeked out from the bottom hem of my right boxer leg. I saw him start slightly, and I knew I had the upper hand again momentarily. I extended my hand silently and opened my fingers. Without looking at me, he withdrew his wallet from the pocket of his robe and riffled through the billfold. In a second, he withdrew six bills and handed them to me. I accepted them and quickly made sure all of them were fifties before I slid them into my breast pocket. Three hundred dollars to be another man's bitch-boy for two hours. A female working in this end of the business -- if you could find her -- would be pocketing at least three times the amount if she were standing here. Such is the marketplace. Ladies who book as fetish-subs are one in a million; sissy bitch-boys - even ones with ten-inch dicks -- are a dime a dozen. By this time, Mary had risen from her perch on the couch and was standing behind me. I could feel her eyes focused directly on the bulge in my boxers. Her breath crawled along the back of my neck. By now, she had finished her cigarette, and with her free hand she began stroking and kneading my ass through my cotton shorts. Slowly, as she worked over my bottom, she peeled back the elastic waistband and dipped her hand inside the cotton confines. Grabbing a handful of my left butt cheek, she pinched her long sharp fingernails into the soft fleshy moons. I spread my legs slightly to allow her greater access. She snaked her wrist between my legs. The tops of her fingers grazed the underside of my balls. She wanted a reaction. I smiled to myself and let loose with my best pensive gasp.. "Did I say you could touch the sissy, cunt!" Ted barked at his wife. Suddenly, before I could even react, he reached down between my legs, pulled down my shorts to my knees, grabbed her wrist and twisted it so hard she crumpled to the floor below me. "AND YOU!" he grabbed my face between his pudgy fingers. "Did I say you could let this cunt touch you?" "No, sir," I whispered. `113 minutes,' I told myself, catching a glimpse of my Bulova. "Fucking faggot!" he spit in my eye. "You are in MY HOUSE now, and you will learn to show me the respect due to me in MY HOUSE. Do you understand, you mealy-mouthed, cock-sucking turdburglar?" "Yes, sir," I whispered, looking down to the floor. `110 minutes ...' "Hold his cock, cunt!" Ted spat. "Yes, sir," Mary mewled. From below, she reached up and encircled the stalk of my prick with her wrinkled palm. I noticed for the first time the liver spots along the back of her hand and the slight arthritic bend to her fingers. Her grip felt rough and scaly, like a bird's claw. I tried not to shiver. "You like that big horse dick, don't you, cunt ..?" Ted kept at her. She nodded silently through her heavy breathing. She continued squeezing my shaft for another few seconds before she suddenly flinched. From out of nowhere, a riding crop suddenly materialized in Ted's right hand and sizzled through the candlelit ambience. "Answer me when I speak to you, cunt!" Ted's voice and the riding crop snapped against Mary's hand and my bloated cock. "Uff ..." This time, my reaction was real. THAT HURT! Before I could prepare myself for another blow, the riding crop cut through the air again, slicing into my genital flesh a second time. I tried to squirm away, but Mary's talon-like grip was too strong. She had my dick by its roots, her gnarled fingers intertwined in my pubic curls, her Lee Press-On nails digging into my ball sack. She wasn't going to let me go. "What do you think of your big horse dick now, huh, sissy?" Ted returned his attentions to me. The riding crop bit into my cock again, and I winced. "Please ..." a very real cry escaped my lips. "Did I say you could speak, FAGGOT!?" Ted lashed out again - Whack, WHACK, WHACK! -- issuing three quick blows that sent my knees buckling. "Did I?" he spat in my face, steadying me with his hand so I could take more blows. "Let's see his balls now, cunt," he snarled at Mary. "Show me your boyfriend's big horse balls!" Mary dutifully obeyed Ted's orders. She lifted my cock and pressed it upwards against my lower stomach, exposing my pendulous scrotal sack to Ted's bitter gaze. He jabbed at my balls with the riding crop, teasing the stiff black whip back and forth between my legs, drawing it along the crack of my ass. "You like that, don't you, FAGGOT ..?" he spit in my eyes again, his saliva mixing with the mist of tears clouding my vision. "Some stud, you turned out to be, sissy," he cackled. "Some big man ..." He stroked my face with his left hand, opening my lips with his finger. "All that cock, and you're still nothing more than a cock-sucking queer, aren't you ..?" WHACK! The riding crop slashed my balls, and I felt my knees buckle again. "Plwwease ... Mwwaster ..." I blubbered through the stubby fingers stuffed in my mouth. By this time, I had acclimated myself to the sting of the whip, and I was beginning to settle back into the session. I had to be close to 100 minutes by now. I bit my lip, collected myself and started playing my part. "Plwease," my lips were barely able to form the words around Ted's prying, probing fingers. "I bwegg ywou Master, plwease ..." "Listen to your big stud, cunt," Ted threw back his head. "He's got such a sweet little sissy mouth, doesn't he ..?" The old man laughed while he continued worming his fat fingers between my slack jaws. "I bet you give good head, don't you, sissy ..?" WHACK! The riding crop bit into my balls again. "Don't you ..?!" "Wes, Mwaster .." I burbled through my spit and his fingers. I knew what was coming. I only hoped it was sooner rather than later. There was no getting out of it this evening. No matter what else transpired, Ted was going to demand some head. Faced with this prospect, I'd rather suck cock at the beginning of a session than at the end. Usually, I can get a client off quickly with my mouth if it's his first cum. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, that's all he's got, and I'm out the door five minutes later. Ted struck me as the kind of guy who'd be working with a hair trigger on his first cum. If I could get him to bust his nut early, the rest of the session might turn anti-climactic and break down inside of an hour. Still, I ran the risk of getting him off too soon, especially if he'd just popped some Viagra or if he was the kind of guy who could just keep going after an orgasm. I myself barely lose my erection after my first cum, and my second hard-on can last forever. When we first got married, Camille called me her "everlasting gob-stopper." After a few years of being subjected to my libido, though, she just called me "freak." I hoped Ted wasn't a "freak," too, or this was going to be a long session ... Whack! WHACK! WHACK!! WHACK!!! The rhythm of the riding crop burst into a frenzy. He trembled with bloodthirsty rage and spit on my cock ... A very long session ... "You need to learn the PROPER respect, faggot!" Ted foamed at the mouth. "How dare you insult me with that sissy cock of yours!" WHACK! "You think you're better than me, don't you, FAGGOT ..? You think because you have a big dick that you're more man than me, don't you ..?" WHACK!! "Don't you, cock-sucker ..?" "No .." I moaned, laying it on thick. "No, Master, please ..." The riding crop still hurt, but I was getting used to it by now. With every blow, my balls and cock grew more and more desensitized. "You will show me the PROPER respect in MY HOUSE, FAGGOT!" He ranted onward. "You will PAY for mocking me ... insulting me. I will BREAK you, sissy. I will make you bow to me, and worship me, and curse your faggot cock to hell. You need to learn who your Master is, bitch. You need to learn your place." WHACK! WHACK!! WHACK!!! While he beat me about the cock and balls with a renewed sense of rage, he kicked Mary away from her position below me. Obediently, she assumed a groveling position at his feet and began kiss and lick his leather slippers. "Get the rope, cunt!" Ted ordered. "Bring them to me on your knees. I'm going to show you how much of man your little sissy boyfriend really is. GO!" he snapped. The riding crop sizzled across Mary's face and left a welt. I watched her crawl like animal across the floor to a large cedar chest next to one of the closets. She opened the latch on the lid and began rummaging through a heap of shadowy implements. "You're proud of this, aren't you, FAGGOT!" Ted hissed in my ear. He drew close to me now and licked my ear. He cupped my swollen, bruised balls in his hand and squeezed them roughly. "Aren't you ..?" he repeated, digging his fingernails into my ball sack. "N..no, Master," I affected a servile stammer. If I wanted to, I could knock the old geezer out with one punch. But this was his show, his dollar, and as long as things stayed under control I'd allow him his fun. I had a feeling Ted was about to pop his prick, and I had another hunch he was not a repeat performer. Most likely, this session presented his one opportunity to feel like a man. And, like all johns, he was going to make the most of it. No secrets remained between us now. I could see it in his eyes -- the desperation, the anxious self-awareness. We both knew that the moment he came would spell the end for him that night. His supremacy over me was fleeting, transitory, nothing more than an illusion he paid for. I almost smiled at him, almost smirked. But I checked the desire. He knew the truth about himself. There was no need to rub it in. After all, he was the client here. He was the one paying me to make him feel like a man. Once he shot his load, he'd go back to being Loser Ted. I, on the other hand, would walk out of his house with $300 of his hard-earned money. That's the essence of this Business. Those are the rules of The Game. "I'm going to break that cock, stud," he licked my cheek as he whispered in my ear. "Do you hear me?" "Yes, Master," I laid on my most pitiful grovel. As I lowered my eyes, I caught a glimpse of my watch. "89 minutes ..." "I'm going to shrivel that cock up and show the slut what a limp-dick little queer you are," he rambled on. "Then she's going to watch you suck my cock and take my load down your throat like a little sissy faggot whore. Do you understand me, bitch ..?" "Yes, Master," I repeated, trying my best to sound thoroughly cowed. "I will break you, faggot," he hissed. "I guarantee it." As we watched Mary crawl back to us with the rope, Ted slid his index finger into the dry crack of my ass. I winced when he found the tight ring of my sphincter. "You fucking queer," he gloated, probing inside my ass pipe past his knuckle. Mary had now returned, and she offered Ted the rope. He dangled it before my eyes, allowing me to look at it momentarily. With a gleam in his eyes, he then set to work, tying up my cock and balls with a flurry of coils and knots. Mary stared at my dick as he worked. With his back to her, she could now afford to lick her lips and smile at me. I locked eyes with her, gave her my best amorous gaze. "I want you," she mouthed to me silently. Then she pantomimed sucking my cock, cupping her right hand in the air and moving it back and forth towards her mouth while her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. With her left hand, she massaged her wet, gray-haired snatch. Seconds later, I could smell her womanly effervescence wafting up into the candlelit room. "What do you think of your boyfriend now, huh, cunt ..?" Ted snarled, breaking the moment. I tried not to pay attention to the old bastard as he trussed up my genitalia. "80 minutes ..." I caught a glimpse of my watch. If I played the Game right, I'd be out of there in less than an hour. I could sense that Ted was almost ready to pop. I just needed to get him to the cliff and push him over. When he was done hog-tying my cock and balls, Ted took the end of the rope and tugged. As the rope sank into my flesh, the noose around my balls tightened. I bit my lip. Ted's knot was sloppy, and a few of the loops popped loose, easing the pressure. I didn't let him know this, though. I pretended to moan and wail like he was castrating me with the rope. He cackled with glee as I carried on. "On your knees, faggot!" he insisted, tugging the rope down. I knew what he wanted next. I sank to my knees and lowered my chin towards his waist. He casually flipped aside his robe to reveal a sagging belly that completely obscured his lower extremities. Only when Mary hoisted up his gut did his laughable two-inch cock become visible. He was even smaller than my original estimate. His dick resembled an elongated pencil eraser, and it wobbled like a broken pinky finger. I almost laughed, but I bit my tongue ,,, HARD. Ignoring me for the moment, he snapped his fingers. On cue, Mary produced a condom from the folds of her fluffy robe. She bit open the shiny, metallic wrapping and extracted the crumpled rubber sheath. "Now you'll see what a real man your boyfriend is, cunt," he gasped to his wife as she slid the condom over his tiny prick-helmet. He was so small that she had to tie the slack latex into a knot, like the bottom of a balloon, so it wouldn't slip off his oily skin. Ted was so lost in the moment that he had no idea how ridiculous he looked. He stood with his hands on his hips like some Bizarro John Holmes, enamored with his own imagined glory. Sweat poured down his flabby tattooed body. His sunken chest wheezed. Mary pulled back his belly even further, and he placed the heel of his hand against the back of my head. "Suck it, faggot!" he hissed, drawing my head up to his doughy body. "Show the cunt what a real man you are ..." Stifling my nausea, I opened my mouth and allowed him to jab his tiny prick between my lips. It felt like soggy beef jerky against my tongue. I closed my lips around his glans and swiped my tongue at his piss hole. One lick ... two licks ... His whole body tensed, and a second later his pathetic penis burped out a thimbleful of rancid sperm. His didn't even last five seconds in my mouth. After one pitiful spasm, he slumped over against me, sighed, and then jerked back. The condom was so loose that it drooped off his prick and dropped to the floor. In a second, he was halfway across the room, heading to the wet bar. It was over ... I started to rise when I felt Mary's bird claws scratching at trussed up cock. "Now it's my turn," she whispered, nuzzling my chest. With skillful fingers, she undid the knots around my still-hard cock. She tossed her dyed red hair back and bent her lips down to meet my swollen head. "You're beautiful," she gushed, loud enough for Ted to hear her. "God, what a cock." She smothered my dick and balls with kisses. She rolled my balls in her fingers and pumped my shaft into her mouth. Her exaggerated lip-smacking resounded through the silent candlelight, and she actually began to purr. Somewhere amid her cock worship, she managed to secure another condom, unwrap it and slide it down my cock. Her lipstick smears adorned the latex sheath like bloody wounds. "My God, it is SO BIG!" she giggled. "The rubber looks like it's going to split!" she squealed, obviously for Ted's benefit. If he heard her, Ted wasn't showing it. He stood at the bar drinking. He was perfectly still, not turning around to watch, just staring ahead and sipping at his glass. "I've got to feel that big, hard beautiful dick inside me," Mary moaned between meaty mouthfuls. "Fuck me, baby. Fuck my cunt good. Please ..." I pulled out of her mouth and slapped her ass gently. "Doggie-style," I told her, sensing she wanted me to take charge. Obediently, she crouched on all fours for me. "Now spread that pussy for me, baby," I coaxed, pressing the tip of my ten-inch cock against the wet petals of her slick pussy. Every time I eased a half-inch into her, I pulled back, teasing her until she was wiggling her ass around and scooting backwards. "Oh, baby, fuck me .." she groaned anxiously. "Park that big cock in my pussy ... please ..." she begged. "Come get it, baby," I cajoled her. "Back up on it. Show me how much you want it." I had her pussy irritated into a frothing frenzy. Like a bitch in heat, she chased my cock with her backside. Desperately, she worked to impale herself on my shaft, to feel its length, width and heft stab deep inside her belly. I played with her for almost five minutes like this, taunting her until she was begging me. "Please .. God .. stick it in ... fuck me ... God, please ... fuck me ..." Finally, tired of the game, I thrust forward, sinking my cock into the puddle of her cunt. Burying all ten inches with one stab, I slapped my balls against the cellulite of her ass with a resounding THWACK! Ted started at the sound, and then returned to sipping his drink in cold silence. With every successive cock-blow, his back stiffened then slumped, like he was receiving lashes from a bullwhip. Gradually, his head began bobbing to the squishy rhythmic pulses that shattered the candlelit stillness. Beneath the steady, metronome of fuck sounds, I thought I could make out a faint sobbing. "Oh. God .. Oh, God .. " Mary kept repeating, totally oblivious to Ted's obvious pain. Her voice grew weaker as my thrusts grew stronger and more decisive. "65 minutes ..." I counted down to myself, timing each down-stroke with the tick of my Bulova. I was tired of this Game already. It was time for me to score the second `Get' - get her off - so I could move onto the third `Get' -- get the hell out of there. I shut my eyes, closed off everything surrounding me, and just concentrated on the fuck. I gave her everything I had, everything in Randall's playbook - every shimmy, wiggle, thrust and glide. Four minutes later, measuring one thrust - up and down -- per every two seconds, I finished her off. DONE! The old joan collapsed against the floor with a gurgling squeak. I continued sawing in and out of her, riding her aftershocks, making her feel like a woman. Now that my obligation towards the old joan had been completed, I eased up on my concentration. I relaxed, opened my eyes, and permitted the world back into my brain. "60 minutes ..." My own orgasm began to surface on cue. Seconds later, I pushed forward and gave Mary every inch of my cock. She moaned again, and I grunted a load of hot cum into the reservoir of my condom. After a few hard pumps, I let my cock slither out of her pussy and plop against her flabby bottom. "That was really good," I whispered to her, kissing her flabby back. "I mean ... wow." One of the tricks I'd learned over the last few months was "afterplay." If you compliment them and say the right things, you can convince any client that the fucking is finished, and that you are both totally spent and satiated. When you can catch clients right after orgasm, their sense of time is off-kilter, and they're usually very suggestible. Lots of times you can be out the door and miles away before they realize they've been hustled. "Jesus," she gasped. "Those reviews on the website aren't a lie. You fuck like a fucking god. Jesus ... what a man you are! What a fucking cock ...!" "You totally drained me," I whispered to her. "I haven't been ridden like that in years. I can barely move." "Oh, poor baby," she giggled. "I guess momma broke you after all, didn't she ..?" "You'd better believe it," I sighed. "You broke me good. I mean .. wow ..." "Can you find your way out?" she asked, crawling up on the couch and lighting another cigarette. "No problem," I smiled, blowing her a kiss. "56 minutes ..." I mused silently, gathering up my shorts and Hagars. "Now where are those Altoids ..?" <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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