Chicago—May, 2015
(Saturday night.)
It’s been a few hours since I left the piss party. I read the text again—telling me where to
meet. It’s on a high floor of the host
hotel—near a service elevator that is off a main corridor. The director wants to shoot a scene in a more
public place. This hotel is a maze. I follow the signs towards the room number he
gave us as a sign post. Thank goodness
he did or I’d never find it. The hotel
is an old residence hotel. It has charm—but
three separate towers of rooms all with different numbering. And the hallways are hidden behind fire doors—sometimes
labeled with the room numbers beyond—sometimes not.
I am the first one
there. There is the soda machine and an
ice machine mentioned in the text. I
open the windowed door to the service elevator landing area. There are two tall windows that lead to fire
escapes. Around the corner, out of view
from the windows are, the ancient elevators (still used?) for the staff. The floor is thick with dust and grime. A soda bottle, half drunk, lies abandoned on
the floor by pipes going down the wall from the floor above. There is little light coming in. I check my phone as I go back to the soda
machine. I’m ten minutes early—of course.
Beer Can Cock arrives telling me he has finally managed to
get off in ExtremeCumHole this evening.
I nod, but wonder about the timing.
His mammoth cock is barely hidden by his black Lycra shorts. He reaches up one of the leg holes and pulls
it out, stroking it. It’s still hard
thanks to the Trimix.
We wait. We chat
about who else we’ve done.
The director arrives with the Cub. It will be the three of us again. He tells us he had one more top—but he backed
out when he found out he couldn’t use condoms.
I look the other way as the Cub gets some Trimix injected into his dick as
well. I grope myself under the fly of
the ripped blue denim 501’s. I have my
chaps over them and am wearing my harness and a leather jacket.
We wait.
No bottom. He’s still
cleaning out.
I have to piss—I’m still on an every half hour schedule even
after all these hours from the party.
The director takes me to his room.
I meet the bottom just coming out of the bathroom. He’s maybe 40, tall, quite well built and
covered with tattoos. We shake hands and
he goes on to dry off and get into a jock while I piss.
We are all assembled.
We worry about light, but the director tells us we are good. The set-up is simple—Beer Can will see the
bottom idly waiting in corridor by the ice machine and drag him through the
door to the dusty landing area. He’s to
bend him over and plow him. The Cub and
I arrive and do the same. He wants it
brutal—with no frills or foreplay.
The scene starts. The
bottom leans against the wall, one foot up by his other knee—the classic “you
want this?” rent boy pose. BC grabs him
with some improvised dialogue. He pulls
him by the neck through the door. The camera
follows as do the Cub and myself.
“Grab your ankles.”
The bottom does as he’s told. BC spits on his hole. That massive cock hits a hole that is nervous
and clamped shut. The bottom lets out a
squeal that’s loud enough to carry out into the main corridor. BC thrusts again. And again.
With no success. A finger is barely inserted.
“Get him open for me,” BC commands, turning to me.
I enter the scene. The
bottom is now hanging on to the pipes. I
drop to my knees and spit on his hole—I push it in with my tongue. Barely.
I know the director doesn’t want this kind of play. I Undo my pants and stroke my semi hard cock. I touch the floor by mistake and come up with
a handful of grit sticking to my lubed fingers.
I wipe it on my chaps and gingerly stroke my penis. Almost to full erection.
As I stand, outside the door, the ice machine clatters a
delivery of cubes and two queenie boys laugh.
My cock wilts as I press against the unforgiving hole.
I spit again. And simulate
some fucking. Beer Can walks towards
us. The door to our alcove opens. I walk off camera and try to gesture what is
going on to a young man who’s groping himself and watching the show. He eventually pulls out a miniature dick and
strokes. He finally stops and starts
texting.
On screen BC is trying to get into the bottom again. No success as far as I can see.
A Latino couple arrive as if they owned the place. Both handsome and tatted. I try to shush them. They lean against the wall, out of camera
range and watch BC enter the bottom.
Briefly. It’s just starting to look
hot, when the bottom squeals and pulls off him.
The taller of the two Latinos pulls out his cock. The first man goes down on him, oblivious to
the camera and what we are doing.
The Cub is trying to take over the scene. He’s as nervous and incredibly uncomfortable
as we all are. Even with the ED
chemicals swirling through his system, his cock stays soft. He eats the bottoms butt for a moment and
then gives up.
The other Latino drags out his cell phone and starts filming
this cluster fuck.
BC is back, telling the bottom to grab his ankles again. This time he gets the dick into him. A few strokes and another squeal of agony.
This convinces our three intruders to get the fuck out of
the alcove.
I stand away from the window in the door and concentrate on
getting fully hard. I am successful and
take over from BC. I am able to enter
his now slightly looser hole. The bottom
grabs at the window ledge and we have a few moments of good sex. Then he tightens so hard around my cock, I
want to squeal as loudly as he has been doing.
But I don’t. As my dick goes
soft, I simply fake an orgasm. The men
watching are convinced. I pull out,
slapping his butt as if he gave me the best fuck of my life and go stand guard
at the door.
The outside corridor is now louder than ever as countless
men return to their rooms. They chat
loudly, laugh and some try to look through the window. I stand so they can’t see a thing. I glance out and I am sure that I see a
security guard coming our way. The hotel
has been shutting down sex parties with open door policies on the previous
nights. I look again. It’s just an IML participant dressed in his
finest cop uniform.
BC is lying on the filthy floor. The bottom is lowering himself onto the
dick. It works for a few strokes. Then it grinds to halt. We try again.
A few strokes. Nothing. We stop.
“I think I can make it work,” the director tells us. “I’ll just change the order so the cum shot
is last.”
Really?
BC and I go up a couple of flights and realize we are going to the same sex
party. I tell him I wish we could have
dragged our unwilling bottom to a room—so we all could have relaxed behind a
closed door.
We find the room we want.
The door is propped open. Inside
the darkened room, with the only light coming from a bathroom doorway, a number
of men are watching two guys getting fucked.
It’s my pal Bryant (Red Trunks) and his roommate on all fours.
BC wants Bryant. Who
can blame him? Bryant isn’t a big man,
but he eventually can take that massive cock—with enough poppers. I fuck the roommate—reveling in the young
flesh and creamy hole. I have taken no
Viagra—funny how a little privacy has me hard as a rock. My boy is in a massive leather harness and a
blue jock. He’s cute, Italian and young.
BC lies down on this floor too and has Bryant ride his dick
. We all watch until Bryant calls it
off. BC takes his leave—looking for
bigger hole. I make way for another top
up the Italian. I fuck Bryant, but he’s
feeling the busy day and we don’t fuck for long.
Soon the room clears.
And I am left alone with the two bottoms.
“Side by side,” I tell them.
I start in Bryant. My
tongue goes into his tortured hole as I rub my right hand along the outside of
the cummy Italian butt. Then I move over
and rim/felch the Italian and use the side of my left hand on Bryant. The guys are moaning from my tongue.
I move back and enter Bryant with my dick. I fuck a few strokes and switch. This totally surprises the Italian, but he
grunts out his appreciation.
Back to Bryant. Three
Strokes. Four.
Into the Italian.
“Please breed him.”
It’s Bryant wanting his pal to get my cum.
I can’t refuse him.
I let go of all the evening’s frustrations with a terrific,
stop-the-world-for-a-split-second orgasm.
My knees give way and I let myself slide to the floor, my face in line
with the deep filled hole.
“Oh, yeah,” murmurs Bryant, knowing me too well, “Felch your
load out of him.” He goes in for a kiss
with his friend.
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