Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com
FROM OUT OF NOWHERE
Roll the Dice
The landscape of the United States changed dramatically when gambling became legal in many cities and no longer was restricted to Las Vegas, Reno or Atlantic City. For me, it meant new opportunities to find horny men close to my home.
It had become my habit to book a weekend room at one of the new casinos on the outskirts of town. This particular establishment attracted me for two reasons. Number one, there was a truck stop nearby and many of the drivers would spend down time by gambling or eating at the casino restaurants; number two, the Pacific Diner served some of the best food for miles around at very reasonable prices. Designed like an eatery from a railroad depot in the 1940's, the place was always abuzz with hungry people, but spacious enough so that nobody ever had to wait for service. Better yet, the tables and booths were arranged so that everybody could see everybody no matter where they sat.
Normally, I would never pay much attention to groups of people, only solitary men, but on a particular Friday evening three male subjects were ushered to a table in the smoking section, and despite my best efforts I could not take my eyes off of them. They were seated about 15 feet from my booth and the one who most fit my profile just happened to notice my gaze. His eyes brightened just a bit and I could sense he made mention of me to his two companions, as the three of them engaged in conversation out of my hearing range.
My meal of pot roast had just been served, so I ate slowly and watched the waitress take their orders. Every time I’d glance up from my plate, at least one of them would be looking my direction. We played this game of me catching their stare and them catching mine until I nodded my head with a closed-mouth smile, soliciting a mimicked response from my favorite as though he recognized me, which of course he did not. Now all that remained for me to do was to casually work on my meal as they received theirs, and then drink my coffee and smoke a cigarette as they worked on their meal. This gave me plenty of time to decide on my opening line. When their plates were removed and they awaited their ticket, I left my money for the servers and strolled towards the exit by way of their table.
“Hey, you fellas drive for CFI Freight?”
“No, we came in from Larson.”
They weren’t truck drivers like I’d thought, but that didn’t matter. The important thing is that the prize catch of this trio was the speaker and also seemed to be their ringleader, so I used a true story to further engage him.
“No kidding? Me and a buddy of mine follow the Silver Springs football team. We drove to Larson High School once to watch them play.”
“You mean you watched them kick Larson’s ass.”
“Yeah, they do that to everybody they play. The Bulldogs have one hell of a team for small schools. It’s why we leave the city to see them.”
“Pull up a seat.”
“So, do you guys go to the games?”
“Oh, sure. Harold here has a boy that plays.” He pointed to the tallest of the group.“Me and Kurt’s got daughters on the cheerleading squad. In fact, that’s where our wives went this weekend... takin’ a bunch of the girls to a mini-camp up in Stockton.”
“Oh, I see. So that’s why you animals are on the loose.”
They liked that. I could almost see their table rise when I said it.
“Yeah,” answered the leader. “We’re outta the cage for a coupla days. I’m John. You wanna cup?”
I thought to myself, Sure, John, I’ll have a cup of your semen, but instead I introduced myself. “Sure, John, I’ll have a cup of your coffee. Hi, fellas, I’m Martin.”
John motioned for their server to bring an empty cup for me and another full pot for the group. In succession, three cigarettes were lit by Harold, John and myself. Kurt didn’t smoke. Kurt didn’t care. All three of my hosts were about the same age and had a comfortable, easy-going demeanor, but I focused most of my attention on John, since he was the one who’d struck my fancy and also opened the door for our friendly chat. Do you want to know what we talked about? Football and farming, the latter of which I knew little, but I can be a good listener when the speakers make me horny.
All three were born on their families’ farms, grew up and worked on those farms, and then took over the operations when their fathers decided they were old enough to do so. They had come to the city from their little town of Larson looking for excitement, so by the time our pot of coffee was emptied I had made it known to these men that I had a room upstairs and anytime they were ready, so was I.
Now, I don’t want you to worry about me, so I’ll let you in on a little secret. It is my custom to pack an extendable-bladed knife in my overnight bag for these types of adventures, and before going on the prowl I strategically hide this blade somewhere in the room where it is easily obtainable if such a need should arise. I have never used it, and on this night I had no qualms that these men were anything but ready to exploit their freedom. They were ready, with no hang-ups, no apprehensions, and frankly I suspected that they had diddled one another back in the days when they first discovered that their young dicks could play new tricks. So forget about drama. Let’s put our minds at ease and have some fun. That’s what I did.
Open entering my room, the top priority was to unload that coffee from my bladder, and one by one, Kurt, Harold and John did the same. In the middle of the room was a king size bed. While Kurt pissed, we three peeled the covers down to the floor. I made sure ashtrays were on the bedside tables and left one lamp lit. That’s all the artificial illumination we would require.
Since Kurt was my first guest to get himself freshened up, I strolled over to him and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “Whatcha got under there?”
He immediately pulled the shirt tail out from his jeans and unfastened all buttons. It was Harold’s turn in the bathroom and John, who stood nearby, proceeded to lift his pocket t-shirt over head while giving his buddy some encouragement. “Might as well strip down, Kurt. We’re gonna be here awhile.”
Within seconds, Kurt had pulled off both western boots, dropped his jeans and removed his white socks. For a second or two he stood upright and winked at me, then unashamedly yanked down his briefs, stepped out of them and flung himself onto the bed flat. Kurt laid on his back with arms and legs sprawled, his flaccid penis resting comfortably on his gonads. With John playing spectator from the corner foot of the bed, I crawled onto the mattress, knelt between Kurt’s thighs and delicately lifted his cock using one thumb and one finger. Into my mouth he went.
Kurt was an average looking guy when dressed. Much better naked. Aren’t they all? On his chest was a thin patch of dark brown hair, a narrow line extending onto his stomach before exploding with thickness below his belly button. Here, his fur widened into a wiry mesh with his curly pubic hair, which rarely if ever had been trimmed. No matter, my wet lips and warm, scraping tongue brought his cock out of the bushes. Its emergence dramatically filled my mouth to confirm that his dick was the perfect length and width for sucking on. Easily serviced without breaking one’s jaw.
Whereas the man on the mattress had nothing to say, the other two bantered behind me.
“Man,” John made his way for the toilet. “Thought you’d never get outta there.”
“You better hurry up,” Harold came out relieved. “Looks like we’re off and running.”
Sounds made earlier by Kurt were repeated by Harold. There were boots hitting the floor, belt unbuckling, snap unsnapping, zipper unzipping and fabric peeling from skin. One minute later, Harold joined us and positioned himself behind me. My jeans were poked, and I don’t mean with a finger.
I suppose it was selfish of me, but by this time I was getting my jollies with the cock in my mouth and figured I’d just let Harold fend for himself. Testing the boundaries, I laid the palms of my hands onto Kurt’s belly and felt its hard surface. There was no protest. His eyes were closed. He smiled with satisfaction, so I hand-rubbed his chest and belly while continuing to mouth-stroke his meat. Ruggedly solid. This was Kurt. Not bulked up but naturally strong, a body built from hard work. Feeling him while sucking on him created a problem for me, as my own peter tried its best to find an escape route, a problem which Harold now addressed.
He unbuckled my belt, and then opened my jeans from snap to zipper. With John’s emergence from the bathroom, I decided that perhaps I should try to be a more welcoming host. I kindly left Kurt’s erection laying on his belly and set about to making my guests more comfortable. “Looking for a poke, are you, Harold?”
“Thought I might.”
“Hold on a second and I’ll get you set up.”
I headed for the bathroom, took another piss and cleaned myself up, then grabbed a bunch of towels and a bottle of my baby oil. After dumping everything onto the bed, I proceeded to strip down while John stood nearby watching the festivities.
Gazing upon his shirtless body, I saw everything I’d hoped for. Thick and sturdy, short and stout, the first thing to strike me was the fact that his laterals were flared to such a degree that his arms were forced to angle outwards, even when hanging unused. He was strong as an ox and the upper torso was more than impressive, but I noticed he wasn’t removing any more of his wardrobe, so I asked him. “Well, John, ready to jump in here?”
He grinned and scraped his chest with the tips of his fingers. “Nah, I think I’ll watch you fellas for awhile. Gets me hard just seeing my buddies bust a nut.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about the best-looking man hovering in the background while I serviced those buddies of his, but figured he’d come around when the time was right for him. He’d better. If it wasn’t for John I’d probably never have gone after the other two in the first place, but they were ready and waiting and certainly pleasing enough for my eye, so I got busy.
My dick was free to wag and dribble, so I got back between Kurt’s thighs, taking a gander at Harold before restarting Kurt’s patient pecker. Harold was a stark contrast to the other two men. Tall and lanky, Harold’s body was thin but handsomely chiseled, again the result of hard labor. His fingers, hands, feet and toes were long and slender in conjunction with his penis, which he proudly stroked in his baby-oiled palm while kneeling erect on the mattress next to Kurt’s right shin.
I knew that soon he’d be impaling me deep and hard, but my focus remained directed to the surrendered man below. Positioning myself on all fours with hands on either side of Kurt’s hips, I left my buttocks at a convenient height for Harold to do his thing while I turned up the intensity on the meat in my mouth. Kurt responded, lost in his fantasy. Comfortable exhales mumbled words and sounds of satisfaction, such as “Mmm” or “Oh yeah” or others that typographical symbols can’t define, especially when I’d crush the head of his tool in the back of my throat. Since I liked his sounds, I made this a habit every time he was caught on my down stroke.
Harold made good use of my baby oil. The gentle soul lubricated the rim of my ass with his oily fingers before pressing his rod against me. With my knees outside of Kurt’s, I spread mine a bit further and nudged Kurt’s with my hands so he would open up, too. Harold was given a wide berth, both on the mattress and between my butt cheeks. Gaining entry with an easy and steady thrust, he lingered a few seconds in waiting for me to loosen up a bit, and then probed his way into me deeper and deeper until I felt his pelvic bone pressing against my butt cheeks.
Harold was mine. Or I guess I was his, depending on how you feel about it. I felt like he was mine, because my ass-muscled clamp onto him was equal to my throat-muscled clamp onto Kurt, but whereas Kurt surrendered to me trance-like, Harold dominated me man-like. One oily hand and one dry clutched my hips. Harold slowly speared and retracted, swiveling his pelvis to attack from another angle. He poked from left, right, above and below, gradually increasing his pace, markedly intensifying his force. His deepest penetration received the warm vise of my strong scrotum clinch. I dared him to retract, fighting him to stimulate him, while matching his pace into me with my pace onto Kurt. The three of us focused one hundred percent on our task and little by little increased the pleasure of our ecstatic exercises.
The sounds of three men morphed into grunts of animal lust, interrupted by the sparking flint of a lighter. Smoke filled the air, courtesy of a John-fired cigarette. His form came into my left view. He was stalking us, still with jeans but shirtless, as he took a seated position near Kurt’s chest. “God damn, Kurt. You’re gettin’ quite a workout.”
Eyes opened and Kurt turned his head. “Yeah, Johnnie, this fella knows what he’s doin’, that’s for sure.”
With cigarette in one hand, John rubbed his own chest with the other before transferring that hand to Kurt’s chest. He massaged with his palm, scraped a nipple with his thumb while grinning at Harold. “Hey, you still with us back there? You’re working up a sweat, big man.”
Harold was busy thrusting and grunting. I was busy clamping and stroking. Kurt was busy moaning and writhing, and as John moved off the bed and out of sight we all three forgot about him. At least I did, until I felt a rough hand encircle my penis. I was manually stroked by a man who could not be forgotten, the man who instigated this fiasco to begin with.
And such a thoughtful man, too, I thought to myself. Those scratchy fingers of John’s focused on the head of my dick were just what I needed to finish the other two. Manly grunts came from the man behind me, as helpless moans wafted up from the man beneath. Kurt tensed his body and jettisoned a foamy cream into my mouth, while Harold poked and prodded at an increasingly frantic pace. Just then, John’s fingers transformed from scratchy to slick, a result of baby oil squirted to lubricate his pump.
“C’mon, Martin. Shoot that baby,” he encouraged.
This move by John benefitted Harold as much as it did me, because my scrotum clenched with power to crush the cock in my ass. Poor guy. Harold groaned as though some burly wrestler was crushing him in a bear hug. His dick couldn’t help but fire its load. It was the only way out of my grip. With Kurt on the come-down, his semen drained and swallowed, Harold slammed himself against my butt cheeks time and again, scraping and shooting rapid fire. His groaning, grunting and near collapse onto my spine confirmed his explosion, which left only me and John with nuts still bulging. Mine were on the verge of losing their bounty, but until they did Harold and Kurt were going nowhere. I crushed Harold in my rectum; I squeezed Kurt in the back of my throat, sending post-orgasmic ripples of pain and pleasure from their heads to their toes.
Now, it was up to John. As I kept my prisoners contorting, his hard-surfaced but tempered-with-oil fingers frantically squeezed and stroked the head of my cock. His rough hand on my dick was joined by four more at other places, as Harold collapsed onto my back with his arms wrapped around my belly and Kurt uselessly tried to control me by clutching his fingers into my trapezius muscles.
Masculine fingers, working-man hands, the best of which belonged to John, the man who drove me nuts, all combined to drain my nuts. Unholy spurts of my sticky jizz splattered to the mattress sheet below me. Correction: it saturated the hand towel John had smartly placed atop the sheet beneath my chest and belly. What seemed an impromptu decision to take care of my problem was actually a pre-planned expression of mutual gratification. This man, this farmer named John, liked what he’d seen and made sure I knew about it. My admiration for him suddenly bordered on dangerous.
* * *
Seems I had rustled up a very talented group of men. Harold’s softening dick gently slipped past the rim of my asshole, Kurt’s comfortably flopped onto his belly when released from my lips, while mine continued basking in John’s finishing squeezes. The final move was his, and once satisfied that all my semen had oozed and dropped, John lifted the towel and dabbed my slit. “That was quite a show,” John congratulated all of us. “Three rockets firing at the same time... helluva thing.”
We untangled. Harold and I reached for some towels to remove the baby oil from our peckers; John found a chair and plopped; Kurt did nothing. He laid sprawled and motionless with eyes closed, nearly dozing until John started to razz him.
“Hello, Kurt... are you still with us? Come in, Kurt.”
“Heck of a deal, Martin,” Kurt ignored John in order to praise me. “You’re a top-notch pro... great BJ.” He rolled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
With Harold and I sitting on the mattress, we all three lit up our smokes while I queried John. “Well, everybody’s been satisfied except you. What’s your pleasure?”
“I’ll just wait for you guys to go at it again. Kinda liked seeing that.”
I looked at Harold and he rolled his eyes, which caused my heart to frustratingly sag. The idea that John’s only interest was to watch us certainly put a damper on the exhilaration of five minutes earlier. I refused to accept it, but for now would have to be content with what I’d accomplished so far. Besides, none of them were giving indications that they were in a hurry to be anywhere other than with me, so I was far from defeated.
“Ok, John, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait awhile for your eye-witnessing. Don’t know about your two buddies, but I need a little rest period.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
Kurt’s return put three naked men on the bed and one semi-clothed man, John, in his distant chair by curtain-drawn windows, jeans and stocking feet keeping half of him a mystery. We cycled through several cigarettes and trips to the toilet, plus in between took short swigs from the bottle of bourbon I had brought with me. Everybody was warm and happy and totally comfortable, but when John finally took his turn in the bathroom I dug for information.
“What does he like to do?”
“Like he said,” Harold answered. “He’s a watcher.”
“Doesn’t he like to get his dick sucked?”
“Nope. Says it’s just a bunch of slobberin’. Doesn’t want anything to do with the anus, neither. Just likes pussy, I guess.”
Kurt joined in. “All we’ve ever done is given him dry hand jobs way back when. He liked that, but it was a long time ago.”
“Hand job?” I laughed at this. “Hell, he can do that himself. Bet I could change his way of thinking. What do you say, Kurt? Think I could?”
Harold interrupted. “Sorry, Martin. You can’t make a dog eat cat food.”
Bullshit, I said to myself. “Sure you can,” I said to them. “Just put it out there and the dog will eat.” Kurt chuckled and Harold shook his head, while I probed for anything that might persuade our voyeur that better things were waiting. “Well, maybe at least we can get him down here on the bed with us. I’d kinda like to touch some body parts. Think he’d mind that?”
“Might work. We’ll see.”
This scenario was frustrating me pretty good. After all, who ever heard of a man not wanting to get his dick sucked? I figured probably some woman (perhaps his wife) had done a sloppy job on him at one time or another, which would explain his negative attitude. Maybe that wasn’t at all the reason for John’s peculiar reluctance, but it was motivation for me. The night was young. His presence drove me crazy. If I could just get an opportunity to put my touch to him, if he could know that Kurt’s praise of me was genuine, then he’d alter his opinion real quick. We’d just wait and see who did what to whom.
Unbeknownst to me, my stressing over this situation was no longer necessary. Plotting was afoot, not by me, but by Harold and Kurt. Both stared downward, lost in thought, as my obvious disappointment and recently-exhibited skills set their minds to thinking of ways to trick John. They’d felt what I could do and they fully intended for John to take advantage of his opportunity whether he wanted to or not. With John’s opening of the bathroom door, Harold and Kurt began to reminisce.
“Hey, Kurt, you remember the summers we used to make extra money putting up hay?”
“Sure. Marcum’s, Johnson’s and uh... the Bickelmeyer place.”
“And don’t forget Hoover’s. One right after the other. Had to do ‘em all in four weeks.”
“Yep. We’d work like dogs all day long, hot as hell out there in the fields.”
“Yeah, but we were youngsters then. Didn’t faze us one bit. Best part I recall was the naked cool downs in ol’ man Hoover’s pond.”
John stood at the foot of the bed with hands on hips, as though he knew these two were up to no good.
“Oh, yeah,” Kurt continued. “Every day when the sun’d go down, we’d strip for a dip.”
“Which would always lead to a wrestling match in the shallows.” Harold reached up and poked John in the stomach. “Remember those days, Johnnie-boy?”
Do you want to know how you can tell you’re in the presence of a real man? When Harold’s finger was thrust into John’s gut, John didn’t even flinch. So confident was he in his naturally powerful defenses, John felt no need to tighten his already solid muscles. Instead, he just grunted and disgustedly added his part to the flashback. “Yeah, you sons-a-bitches would gang up on me. Not that it did you any good. I’d whip both of you. Remember?”
“That’s true, except for the times when you’d let us win.” Evil defined the facial expressions of Harold and Kurt; red-faced embarrassment defined John’s.
“Shit. I only let you win ‘cause I knew you two’d drag me up on the bank and jack me off.”
Harold jumped up and stood behind John. “That’s right. Hey, Kurt, does this look familiar?” He put a full-nelson onto the shirtless man and pulled back his arms. “I’d bring him outta the water and get him on top of me, then you’d jack that fat pecker of his.”
“Well, get him outta the water and let me at him.” Kurt jumped off the bed and so did I, taking a seat in the chair well out of their way. Joining his partner, Kurt guided Harold to turn around, still holding the unresisting John in his full-nelson. He flopped, landing with back on the mattress and John on top of him. Their four legs dangled off the foot of the bed, Harold’s bare feet nearly touching the floor, John’s stocking feet several inches above and in between Harold’s.
My heavenly side-view instantly brought me an erection. John’s wide, muscular chest rose high into the air, as Harold stretched John’s arms down towards him. John offered no resistance, instead pretending to protest by turning his head side to side. His exaggerated inhales and exhales further dramatized his powerful chest and thick-meated, hard-walled belly, as it dropped like a cliff from the end of his rib cage. His legs never moved when Kurt removed his socks, but as his belt was unbuckled, jeans unsnapped and zipper lowered, he raised his head with lower jaw extended, groaning a feigned request for pity. “Oh, no... what are you doing to me?”
He helplessly watched Kurt tug his jeans away from him. First from one leg and then the other, little by little the denim was removed until completely past his ankles and heaped on the floor. John was left with nothing but his white briefs for protection. “Oh, my god... no.” John dropped his head into the crook of Harold’s shoulders, awaiting his fate.
I also awaited his fate, patiently and excitedly. Three grown men had stepped into a time warp, returning to days of their youth at Hoover’s pond. Hearing John say those words, plus seeing him stretched in that torturous position brought me into the fantasy with them. There’s something about a man stripped to basic white briefs that is mysteriously tantalizing. Every inch of him is exposed except for the organ that defines him, and even though you can visualize what it might look like, you can only see the outline. What’s hidden and unknown can be almost as exciting as having the damned thing in full view. With great effort, I kept my hands away from my own dick to critique their play.
Kurt reached inside John’s underwear, grabbed his hidden pecker and pumped it with his fist. John groaned, then sighed painfully pleasured, as Harold issued a softly-spoken threat. “You ready to give up? Or do we gotta beat you some more?”
“I’ll never give up.”
“Then we’ll have to work you over ‘til you do.”
And with that, Kurt yanked John's briefs all the way to the floor, forcing me to rise from my chair and assume the role previously performed by John – content to hover, content to watch, thrilled to inspect.
Short and stocky, John was built solid as a fireplug. Strong-ass son of a bitch had a big, barreled chest with wide pectorals and the aforementioned expanding laterals; hard belly with plenty of lines and curves, plus a deep ridge running from the pit of his stomach to his navel to his pubic hair. A long line of fur between his pelvic bone and his rounded, slightly inset navel begged to be licked, as did the thick muscle underneath. His exaggerated exhales and flexing of that belly challenged me to do just that, but I couldn’t, so I looked away, waiting for Harold and Kurt to do their thing. Oh, and speaking of fur, his upper torso was painted with dark brown hair on his chest, belly and arms – not the long and heavy kind, but the short and soft kind – the type and amount of body hair that enhance the beauty underneath without dominating the overall effect.
And here he was totally surrendered with his wrists parallel to his ears and arms pulled down towards the mattress. Harold’s torso lay underneath, which forced John’s powerful chest high into the air and caused his belly to flatten with every muscle highlighted for me to enjoy.
John’s cock disappeared into the clutches of Kurt’s right hand. Standing between Harold’s and John’s spread apart legs, Kurt gently pumped John’s meat a few times, and then stroked the middle while rubbing his thumb on that sensitive triangle where corona meets shaft.
With a slight lifting of his legs John responded to Kurt’s touch. He raised his head, peered over his chest and juxtaposed a verbal “you rotten bastard” with a satisfied grin that said continue. His leg lift nearly did me in. The muscles in his belly exploded to life, three heavy lines on each flank pointing to his deep-ridged center, the knot of his belly button rising to peer out of its dark hole, and it took every ounce of will power for me to resist burying my face into that thing right then and there.
Fortunately, Kurt moved things along. “Looks like we will have to beat you down.” His left hand formed a fist and plowed into John’s stretched belly with medium force, hard enough to cause a deep-thudded smack.
“Uh, you pussy. Is that all you got?” No, it wasn’t. Kurt landed another punch, same spot, directly over the navel. Did John defend himself? Not really. His legs dangled, never moving. His hard abdominal wall efficiently absorbed the blow and he remained defiant. “Go ahead. I can’t even feel it.”
“Some fellas never learn.” Kurt let go of John’s dick. “Come on, Harold. Time to teach him a lesson.”
Harold rolled to his left and released John’s arms. He laid on his chest motionless as though sleeping, his knees at the foot edge of the mattress with calves and feet in midair angling towards the floor. As Harold left the bed, taking the pillows with him and tossing them onto the floor, Kurt grabbed John’s ankles and flipped him onto his back, once again centered on the bed. He moved to the side of the bed to John’s right and took his wrist. Harold, on the other side of the bed grabbed John’s left wrist and together they dragged him towards the headboard. John was perfectly centered, spread eagled, his legs angled to corresponding foot posts and arms towards the head. They climbed onto the mattress and knelt beside his chest, Harold to John’s left and Kurt to his right.
John did nothing. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed, except for the throbbing peter bouncing on his belly.
Harold took his turn driving a few punches to the pit of John’s stomach. He still did nothing. His legs never moved. Kurt dropped two forearm smashes across John’s expanded chest. All he got was a manly “Ugh” from his victim.
“What do you think we oughtta do with him?” Harold wanted to know.
“You got me.” Kurt threw some of his own medium-strength punches into John’s hard belly. “There’s gotta be some way to break him down.”
“He’s hard as a rock. We’ll never break him down this way.” Harold pointed to the chest beneath them, “But I think I know of a soft spot. Let’s see if he remembers this.”
“Gonna rack him?”
From my corner foot view I could see it all. Horny boys hard at work and hard at play. Old fantasies came to life, as Harold and Kurt maneuvered to lay on their sides and rest on one elbow. Each man slid one hand under John’s back. In unison, they placed the tips of their tongues onto his nipples. His entire body tensed as though shocked with a jolt of electricity.
“Oh my god, you guys... Not that... anything but that.” John raised his head and looked first to his right nipple, then his left. “You sick mother fuckers.” With a mighty groan of surrender, John collapsed into this forgotten fantasy. His body writhed, as the simultaneous attack of his tormentors included licking with wet tongues and squeezing with dry lips. In between, Harold interjected phrases from their youthful past.
“Give up, tough guy... it’s all over for you now.”
“Uhh... never.” He raised his head with lower jaw extended and challenged them. “Go ahead. Do your worst.” His glazed eyes rolled upwards before he closed them and lowered his head to the mattress, surrendering to the fantasy.
With his free left hand, Harold punched John’s gut. With his free right hand, Kurt pounded his chest. John never moved, not his legs, not his arms. They were in bondage or so it seemed, maybe chains, maybe ropes, but whatever he imagined his restraints to be, John defended himself solely with muscle, his penis being the only appendage reacting to their attack. “Oh, god damn... why are you doing this to me? I will whip both your asses... first chance I get.”
He probably could have if he’d wanted to. John was stronger than all three of us put together, but that’s what made this wild fantasy all the more tantalizing. For his defiance, Kurt and Harold rewarded him by raising his chest with their hands from underneath, further stretching his tits. They buried them into their mouths, sucking away on John’s nipples like they were baby bottles. He moaned. His toes curled, and I could swear his fat cock grew another quarter inch. Uncontrollable contractions bounced his weapon on his hard belly, a sticky syrup spitting from its mouth to dot his skin and hair with shiny splotches.
As they worked him over, I paced from one side of the bed to the other like a caged animal, stopping at advantaged angles to take in the view. John’s body and the things they were doing to it was a sight to behold, and as their assault upon his tits intensified, John’s surrendered and relaxed response progressed to a state of elevated ecstasy. His chest expanded and he sucked in his belly as though trying to break free of his imaginary chains. His head lifted on occasion, his lower jaw thrust forward. He’d look to the left and right, watch them torture his nipples, snarl, grunt and drop back to the mattress, allowing them to continue. From the foot of the bed his tits could be seen underneath those merciless tongues and lips, their tips rising as their surface skin contracted to tiny brown dots.
As I listened to his exhaling groans, watched his flexing muscles and bouncing cock, a softly scraping sound came from below. His toes were curling back and forth. Were they waving at me? Demanding attention in their restraining irons of torture? I knelt on the floor at the end of the bed, frantically waving my hands to get someone’s attention, and it was Kurt who interrupted his tit sucking with a smile and a nod to my pointing finger.
Using both hands, I formed a ring around each of John’s ankles and gently pulled him towards me, further stretching his body. He groaned. I wrapped my fingers over the top of each foot and placed my thumbs onto his thick arches. Starting with a light touch, I rubbed up and down the entire surface from John’s heels to the balls of his feet, where I applied a bit more pressure. Next, I used my forefingers and thumbs, grabbed hold of the skin between his big and second toes and gave that skin on both feet a gentle pinch. He raised his head with eyes glazed. John smiled at me, glanced at both mouths sucking on him, and then collapsed back to the mattress. “Uhhh, god damn, you guys are driving me nuts.”
None of us answered, but instead continued our assault. I repeated my pinching technique between every one of his toes, then stood up and rubbed the soles of both feet. One at a time, I grabbed the tiny hairs on the tops of his toes and gave a gentle tug. John didn’t look, but whispered an airy sigh. “Jesus H. Christ.”
I crawled onto the foot of the mattress to begin my slow progression. Starting with his shins and massively muscular sides of his calves, I warmed his skin with rapidly paced hand rubs, occasionally squeezing the calves, occasionally tugging the bristled hair of his legs. His left, and then right leg were thoroughly explored, as I made my way towards the ultimate target.
After rubbing and squeezing his knees and thighs, my hands drifted towards his crotch. With a quick move, I took his throbbing, neglected peter into one hand and brought it straight down between his thighs, and then held it there while lowering my body on top of it. All my apprehensions vanished. John no longer was with us. His eyes were closed, his only head movement side to side, his only sounds ecstatic moans. We, or more to the point, I was free to do as I pleased.
With his dick secured under my chest, I rested both elbows onto the bed at either side of John’s hips and put my lips to his middle section. Gingerly, I planted dry kisses from the pit of his stomach to his navel to his pubic hairs, where I reversed direction and retraced my path.
Initially, he sucked in and tensed his abdomen, then relaxed and breathed normally – heavily, but normally. With each dry lip contact, I pressed down a bit more, soon incorporating my nose and chin into my abdominal assault. John’s skin was smooth and the hairs of his belly tickled my nose, but just below the surface I could feel the incredible power of this man. No matter how hard I buried my face into him, his abdominal wall did not budge.
While the two men above kept him occupied with their tantalizing tit torment, which now included free-hand massages to his elevated chest, I lavished further praise on his belly by bringing my wet tongue into play. Alternating between lips and tongue, I soon had his manly hairs moistened with tiny beads of spit and I could feel his helpless cock surging underneath me. All that pre-orgasmic syrup on his belly was removed. My appetizer tasted like a man.
For the first time in a long time somebody said something. It was John. His voice was deep, airy, anguished. “Uhhhh, you’re torturing me.”
He was primed, surrendered. I probably could have stuck my finger up his ass and he wouldn’t have care, but with Kurt’s mouthing of the words “Finish him,” I did what every good cock sucker should do – introduced him to the world of the world-class.
Raising up, I took his cock into my hand and held it vertical, then wrapped my lips around the rim of his corona. My hand let go. There would be no hand-jobs for this man’s dick tonight, or ever again if I had my say. With my palms planted firmly to the mattress on either side of John’s hips, I swallowed every ounce of my spit before proceeding with mouth opened wide. My upper lip kept his cock standing vertical, as I lowered my head until the head of his cock touched the back of my throat. With one mighty chomp, I shut my jaw and clamped the entire length of his fat organ between my tongue and roof of mouth.
He jolted. The shock brought a pained “Uhh” of sudden ecstasy, as another charge of electricity raged through him. His back arched. He forcefully stretched his limbs in four directions as I slowly ascended his pole, my tongue wrapping his shaft as though a sausage in a bun.
As I scraped my way back towards his crown, I took care to swallow frequently and keep my mouth as dry as possible. Once my lips reached the rim of his mushroom, I brought it towards his feet, keeping it firmly held in my oral vise. Then, I reached back to clasp both hands around his ankles and pushed them towards the end of the bed, further stretching him on his rack. The fat meat of his dick pressed onto the tops of his balls, compressing them, causing their bull-like roundness to flare on either side of his bent shaft. I released his ankles and lightly scraped his sensitive-skinned nuts with my nails. John widened his legs, further exposing his semen-compressed testicles for me to scratch. Every exhale of his breath brought deep-throated and airy moans, as I kept his hard cock horizontally pressing his nuts to unleash my baby-bottle suck.
From midway on his shaft to his mushroom head is where my mouth stayed. With five or six short strokes, I sucked on the head of his tortured unit like I was extracting frozen and malted milk from a straw – a thick, powerful and pulsating straw, until I felt contractions and the room went silent. We had him so primed that he was instantly ready to shoot. Every muscle tensed to capacity and he arched his back with an incredible explosion of manly seed. My mouth was flooded, as I continued to hold his dick straight down over the tops of his frantically-finger-scratched nuts and suck his pulsating mushroom like a man possessed. While he shot his load, I continued to ruthlessly scrape with tongue and roof of mouth while gradually moving my head towards his belly, until his still-pumping organ was once again vertical and free to release its bounty in an unrestricted flow.
Such a beautiful tool this was, so perfectly suited for oral service that I longed to worship it for hours, longed to keep on attacking him until he gave me a back-to-back firing, but I feared that tormenting him with post-orgasmic pain and pleasure might be pressing our luck. He had been thoroughly drained by my talented mouth, so the point was made. As his writhing contortions ended, as Harold and Kurt removed their mouths from his nipples, I brought John’s still-hard but non-contracting penis towards his belly, opened my lips and gently let him drop.
Nobody said a word. Kurt and Harold hand-rubbed his chest and belly, while I climbed off the bed, trying to pretend like what had just happened was no big deal. But it was a big deal. As John laid in his racked position, breathing heavily with eyes closed, we three perpetrators looked at one another with expressions of triumph, fully convinced we’d brought John something he had long forgotten. Together, we had taken him back to the days of his youth and I do believe, based on the volume of come I had just swallowed, that this was possibly the most satisfying orgasm he had experienced since those early days of discovery. And if there was any doubt remaining as to how John felt about it, he suddenly broke out of his afterglow to erase those doubts.
“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” John raised up to a seated position, casting his buddies aside.
“Dunno, John.” I stood near the chair preparing to light a cigarette. “I guess the better the cock the better the cock sucker.” I grabbed a smoke from his pack and lit two at once, handing his to him.
“What time is it?” Harold wanted to know.
“About midnight,” I told him, as John laid down to recuperate.
Kurt piped in. “Well, I’ve got cattle to feed in the morning. Maybe we ought to wrap this up and head on home.”
“Me, too. Better piss first, though.” Harold made his way to the bathroom while Kurt got dressed, and then they reversed activities, failing to notice that John wasn’t moving. With a curling finger, he had silently motioned for me to join him on the bed, and as I rested on one elbow positioned between his thighs to finger-rub his nuts, John made an announcement to his friends.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You two can take care of my shit, can’t ya?”
They looked at one another a bit stunned, but quickly accommodating. “Sure, John, we can do that. When do you want us to come and get you?”
“Guess Sunday afternoon oughtta be good enough. The women ain’t comin’ back ‘til about six, or so they said. Check my recorder while you’re there, too. You got this room number?”
“No. What is it?”
Since I had no inclination to interfere. I told them room 406 and John continued his instructions.
“Call and let me know if she’s left any messages or anything else I oughtta know. We ain’t goin’ nowhere. Ain’t that right, Martin?”
Feeling pretty good about these developments, I’d put out my cigarette and maneuvered myself onto my chest, laying between his legs with my lips snacking on those bull-sized nuts of his. “Uh... yeah,” I answered between tasty ball munching. “Umm... mumm... sure, John... umm... god damn... ummum... fuckin’ monsters... umm... whatever you say, John.”
“Key ring’s in my left pocket. Don’t wreck my god damn truck, neither.”
And that’s how they left us. You think I didn’t lick on his balls until they were ready to explode? For that matter, I licked every part of him I could get to. He let me, you know. Never moved. Didn’t even bother getting a pillow, just sprawled himself out like before and let me go at him. I asked him if his tits were sore. He said it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Tough-ass son of a bitch took everything I could give him, and I took that fat cock of his right up my ass while he laid there letting me do all the work. Mother fucker was an animal. Fired his load into my mouth or my ass every time I came calling. For two solid days I worked him over, slept with him for a couple of hours at a time before starting in again. I gave him my cigarettes when he ran out of his own, let him help me drink my whiskey, let him go to the bathroom whenever he needed, rode down the elevator with him to the diner when we were hungry, but the rest of the time we stayed naked while my tongue, hands, lips and ass were all over him. John took it like some sort of super-charged, teenaged stud, but believe you me, farmer John is all man.
I never prowl the Pacific Diner any more. I sit there waiting for John to join me for dinner. He calls to set up our weekend date about once a month. He comes alone, and our marathons keep me satisfied until he’s ready to go at it again.
What I thought were three horny truck drivers turned out to be three good ol’ boys from the middle of nowhere, and the one I wanted most – farmer John – ended up being the man who wanted me. I don’t miss Kurt or Harold, but I do have fond memories of them. After all, without those two I never would have got to John in the first place. Because his buddies stirred up the past, and because my natural-born talents are elevated when he’s on my bed, John performs for me like a testosterone-raging he-man. That’s exactly what he is.
End of FROM OUT OF NOWHERE by Jardonn Smith
Copyright 2007 and 2011 to Jardonn Smith