Jazz Baby

by Roland Graeme

  He muttered something and reached down under himself to jerk on his cock while I rimmed him. I pushed my tongue deep inside his ass and sucked it hungrily, my nose rubbing against the bristles of his butt hair.

  He rose up on his knees and shoved his ass back into my face as though he wanted to suck my head all the way inside his anus. Maybe, in his horniness, he thought he could do just that! I did my best to satisfy him with my mouth and tongue. I licked the salty skin around the opening of his asshole, and I bit the dimpled flesh of his muscular buttocks.

  “Fuck me, Keith,” he gasped in mid-rim. “Fuck the shit out of me!”

  He reached over without changing his position, and handed me a jar of Vaseline.

  I opened the jar and gouged out four fingers’ worth of the petroleum jelly and slathered it around his asshole. I worked some of it into his pucker. He pushed his ass toward me and I stuck a finger inside him. His wide-open asshole stretched and relaxed around my knuckle. I pushed another finger through his greasy sphincter. The interior of his body felt hot and steamy to my touch.

  “Go on, baby. All of it,” Mario groaned, as his big body rocked back and forth on the bed. He was fucking himself on my hand as I greased up his asshole. “Oh, give me all of it. Let me feel your fingers going in and out of my cop ass.”

  I inserted all four fingers into his anus. He pushed back and drove my fingers in up to the knuckles. He groaned with ecstatic pleasure again as my hand filled him. I caressed the inside lining of his asshole, smoothing the Vaseline around inside it. His anus was a wide-open cavern of flesh, round-walled and slick. Slowly, I shoved inside him with my fist, forced my thumb into him alongside my fingers … until my whole hand, up to the wrist, disappeared into his hotly suctioning asshole. Jesus! I was actually fist-fucking the guy!

  “Careful,” Mario hissed. But I already knew, despite my total lack of experience with such rough sex, that I had to be careful.

  He was on his elbows and knees on the bed, snorting the poppers again, flexing his ass muscles around the bulk of my greasy fist.

  “Fuck me,” he moaned, his voice barely audible. “Oh, God—fuck me!”

  At first I hesitated, afraid I might do some damage to his insides with so much fist up his ass. He moved back and forth, though, taking the initiative, and he forced my entire fist up his butch cop ass, until I could feel a vein, deep inside his anus, pulsing hotly, strongly, against my hand.

  My cock was screaming for relief. I desperately wanted to shoot. I pressed Mario’s back down with my free hand. His legs spread out beside me, and I worked another blob of the Vaseline over my dick. I put the head of my prick into his ass crack beside my hand, which was now buried all the way up to the wrist in his hole.

  “Can you take both, big man?” I panted, feverishly. “Can you take my cock, too?”

  “Anything, kid! Shove it in!” He was grasping the metal bedframe with his hands, his muscles tensed, his skin wet with sweat, his face twisted with pleasure and pain. “Come on, fuck me!” he cried.

  I slid my full eight inches of prickshaft alongside my hand into his asshole. It felt weird, my cock and hand simultaneously up another guy’s ass. I rotated my hand slowly around inside him, took hold of my dick in my greased palm, and I started fucking him—with my prick cradled in my hand, so to speak, while my fist was cradled in his ass. It was a tight fit.

  I could barely move my hand back and forth inside him, but Mario did most of the work, flexing his anal muscles wildly around my raping bulk.

  He groped backward and offered me the popper bottle. I took the vial with my free left hand, inhaled deeply, and handed it back. He snorted, too. We were both off again, spinning away toward the stars together, with my cock in my fist and my fist in his ass.

  When his ass relaxed its grip slightly, I turned my hand first to the left and then to the right, squeezed my cock, and rubbed my knuckles over the curved wall of his bowel. He was as smooth as satin inside. I shoved my fist deeper into his guts. I saw his sphincter stretched taut around my forearm, and I felt my cockhead, clasped by my fingertips, touch bottom inside him.

  “Go on, don’t be afraid,” he grunted. “Fuck me as hard as you can. Go on, put your other fist I there, too!” His body was twisting and turning under me like a snake’s, in spasmodic, whiplash motions.

  I was skeptical about his asshole’s ability to stretch any wider open. I took another hit from the popper bottle, and then I put the fingertips of my left hand against his ass crack, on the left side of my cockshaft.

  Gradually, my whole body tingling with its need to blast its cum deep into his butt and ease my frustration, I inserted my left hand inside his asshole alongside my right fist and my cock!

  Mario yelled out with the agonized thrill of a true masochist. With both hands now clutching my cock, wallowing in the silken clasp of his bowel, I began to fuck him—slowly at first as I felt the most extraordinary chills of raw sexual sensation running up my legs and back, and down my arms. I picked up speed gradually, though, and with each thrust my fists made into him, he let out a low moan, his hands clenched on the bedframe, his ass riding up and down.

  I could feel his anus squirming against my fingers, warm and moist, like so much raw meat wrapped around my hands and my cock.

  “Oh, baby, don’t stop. Fuck that ass, fuck that ass,” Mario kept moaning, in his erotic delirium.

  I spread my legs back over his legs and I forced my cock and hands still deeper into his ass. I plunged as hard as I could—down, inside, and around. It felt as though my whole body was being sucked inside his ass, and was slithering around inside his guts!

  I clutched my cock tightly as it plunged back and forth between my fingers and rubbed over his anal lining. I could even hear my dick fucking him—the steady, squishy, pumping sound of Vaseline and sweat against flesh.

  I started to come! At last! I shouted out my pleasure at the eruption, at the sight and feel of his tortured stud body struggling under me. With each thrust I yelled out again. My head was lying on his back and the saliva ran from my open, panting mouth in a spidery thread. My tears of pure lustful satisfaction rained down upon his glistening muscles like drops of liquid fire.

  The sperm shot down the tunnel inside my cockshaft and blasted free into his anal depths, mixed with our sweat and the melted Vaseline. The flow backed up and sloshed against my quivering wrists at the opening of his ass, and it spilled out onto the sheets on the bed.

  For a long moment, nothing existed for either of us except for that gush of cum burning its hot path down through the inside of my prick and searing in a hot, sluggish ooze against my hands and the interior of his ass. I seemed to be swallowed up by his asshole. My heart stopped beating for an instant, only to pound more violently as I fell forward onto him.

  My hands and cock still remained there, buried and pulsing, in the dark cave of his hot ass. I lay very still on top of his sweating body, truly fucked out. Vaseline, sweat, and cum seeped wetly between my fingers, and down my softening dick, and soaked into the mattress.

  We didn’t dare to move for a long time. I lay on top of him, feeling the pounding of our heartbeats. The salty sweat from his neck trickled between my slack lips. Slowly, his anus constricted, and I felt my limp hands and cock emerge from his ass—very slowly, until they lay between his legs.

  The room gradually came back into focus. Dark as it was, I could make out the little wooden table beside the bed, the small open bottle of peppers emitting its sharp odor, the white towel lying on the floor. We weren’t the only ones who had abandoned ourselves to our lust. Sounds of eager lovemaking came from the next room the steady creaking of bedsprings, the gasps of a guy coming. Feet shuffled away outside the door of our cubicle. Evidently, our yells had attracted an eavesdropping audience.

  My head ached from the overdose of poppers. My eyes were stinging from sweat.

  “That was some fuck, man,” I whispered, hoarsely, after a few minutes.

  Mario replied with
a grunt of bestial satisfaction.

  I lifted my thighs and took my hands from between his legs. They were covered with a film of jism and Vaseline, so that my hands resembled the webbed fingers of a slimy frog. I knelt up over him on the bed, reached over, and retrieved my towel from the end of the bed. Mario turned over onto his back and looked up at me as I wiped my hands on the towel.

  “Don’t look so disgusted, kid. I know what I’m doing,” he assured me, with a breathless laugh.

  “If you say so.” I crawled off the bed and inspected my cock. I almost expected it to be damaged, after the abuse I’d put it through. Mario laughed again as he swung his legs off the bed and watched me wipe my dick off with the towel.

  “I’m glad you could get into such a heavy scene,” he remarked. “Most guys your age won’t. But the poppers usually help to get you in the mood.”

  “Yeah.” I wrapped the soiled towel around my waist. I felt slightly wobbly on my feet after that ferocious fuck.

  Mario stood next to the door naked, rubbing the sweat from his pecs. “Take it easy, kid. Damn—you really tore up my ass.” He made that sound like a good thing. “Oh, you’re a goddamn natural. You can fuck me any time you want. With your cock. With your fist. With anything you want to shove up in there!”

  He opened the door a crack, and a blood-red pool of light poured in across the floor of the darkened cubicle from the Fire Exit sign at the end of the corridor. I gave Mario’s shoulder a squeeze, and I went out into the hallway.

  Chapter Eleven: Toilet Fuck

  I wanted to be fairly choosey about my next partner, because I sensed that even my stamina was going to give out eventually, and my next contact there in the tubs could very well be my last trick of the day. I wanted the encounter to be a memorable one, a fitting climax to my first visit to the baths.

  Refreshed by another long, hot shower, I went back upstairs, planning to lie down on the as-yet-unused bed in my cubicle for a few minutes of much-needed rest.

  But I decided to take a leak first, and this sent me off on another search—looking for the nearest john, since a sign on the stairwell wall indicated that there was a “washroom” on my floor. I wandered down a couple of the dimly lit corridors, passing a number of horny men, most of whom glanced at my practically naked, damp body with considerable interest. But, pretending to be much harder to get than I really was, I didn’t do anything to encourage any of these admirers. Instead, I went quickly down another hallway to where the somewhat more brightly-lit toilets were located.

  The john, I noticed with relief, was clean and well kept, the fluorescent light tubes set in the ceiling fixtures casting a rather stark, chilly illumination over the space.

  Here, there were mirrors, set in the wall over a row of sinks, with the urinals and the two toilet stalls—which lacked doors—facing them against the opposite wall. There was a long, painted wooden bench in the middle of the room, apparently intended for anybody who needed to sit down and rest for a moment. The whole setup reminded me of a high school or college locker room.

  The john was deserted at the moment, so I examined myself in one of the mirrors. All things considered, I didn’t look too fucked out, much to my surprise. I looked bright-eyed and relaxed, with my wet hair tangled around my head and neck, and my pecs heaving as I took deep, calming breaths.

  Relieved, I stripped the wet, clammy towel from around my waist and flung it onto the bench, then I stepped up to one of the urinals, took my soft cock in my hand, and aimed it at the porcelain receptacle.

  I was standing there, buck naked, and pissing away merrily, when another guy came in, nude except for the towel wrapped snugly around his waist—so snugly, in fact, that the tell-tale bulge of his genitals against the front of the terrycloth was the first thing I noticed about him.

  When I got around to glancing up as far as his face, after checking out his nice body, and I returned his warm, knowing smile, I recognized him. Damn! The bathhouse was quite the place for reunions, it seemed. This guy also attended Julliard, where he was in my composition class!

  “Well, hello! Small world,” he remarked.

  “Yeah,” I replied, softly and insinuatingly, giving my dick a quick shake to force out its last few drops of urine.

  “Keith, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. I’m embarrassed. I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “David.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “It’s my first time,” I admitted.

  “No kidding? Have you been having fun?”

  I shrugged, my eyes hot as they swept up and down my fellow music student’s hard-muscled body and once again focused on the bulge in the front of his towel.

  “I’ve been making a day of it,” I told David. “Trying to make up for lost time. Now that I’ve gotten my second wind … I could use some more really fast, down and dirty, man to man action. Right about now, as a matter of fact.”

  “Me, too,” he admitted, lewdly, taking a step toward me and reaching down to squeeze his hard-on through the rough cloth of his damp towel.

  I was about to invite him to go to my room with me, when he pulled the towel off and threw it onto the bench, next to mine. I turned to face him, and there we were, both nude, our dicks protruding enticingly from our groins, as though they were instinctively reaching out toward each other across the short distance which separated them.

  “Speaking of making up for lost time, Keith. Don’t you think it’s about time we started getting better acquainted?” David grinned at me as he took his erection in his hand and fondled it quite openly, the flesh of his cock gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.

  “Yeah, maybe we should.”

  “Do you like to fuck?”

  “Sure.” That was a bit of an understatement, on my part. I’d acquired a definite taste for playing the role of the aggressor in anal intercourse, lately.

  “I like to take it up the ass,” David informed me, playing with himself more vigorously, his meat pulsating in his fist. “And the bigger the other guy’s cock is, the more I like it! Yours looks like it could be a number on a guy’s ass. Why don’t you let me try it on for size?”

  I heard myself groan in response to his dirty talk. He was offering himself to me, blatantly, whorishly, and my cock reacted to the come-on by twitching about in front of me, as though it wanted to detach itself from my body and literally fling itself at the other man’s naked body and his grossly flaunted and fondled erection.

  “Come on,” David whispered, an edge in his voice betraying his excitement, as he moved toward the two toilet stalls. “Let’s fuck, Keith!”

  “Right here?” I blurted out, as I followed him.

  “Sure, why not? Haven’t you ever screwed a guy in a toilet before? In the backroom of a bar, or in a subway station john? It’s a real turn-on,” David insisted, as he walked into one of the doorless cubicles, pressed himself against the partition, and gestured to me to join him in the narrow space.

  I wedged myself into the open stall with him, my body brushing against his naked, aroused flesh. Getting into the spirit of the thing, I stood over the toilet bowl with my legs spread and my knees slightly bent, taking my hard-swollen prick in my hand and pumping it energetically back and forth, rubbing the slimy tip over David’s belly and nudging it against the underside of his scrotum.

  His own cockshaft bounced wantonly up and down as a result of the repeated light impact of my dickhead against his balls.

  Suppressing a moan of lust, I reached down between our bodies, took his dick in my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then I slid my hand up and down the shaft several times, masturbating him. God, I was hot for this dude! I could feel my heart trip hammering inside me chest, my pulse racing, and my blood pounding through my temples and ringing in my ears.

  Now David’s hand was on my cock, too, caressing it with an expertise obviously born of long experience. I groped him more urgently. I
cupped his balls in my fingers. He leaned forward and tickled the curve of my earlobe with his tongue. He breathed warmly against my neck, making my skin crawl with sexual desire.

  He kept fondling my prick and pinching the flap of skin just below its head with his fingertips, a trick I’d never experienced before, but which excited me. Each nip made my dick leap and twitch and jerk about quite frantically between our bodies.

  David ran his free hand over the ripples of my stomach muscles, pressing his warm palm firmly into my gut, and then he let his fingers trace the fine line of hair that ran down from my navel to my crotch. His mouth touched mine, lightly and teasingly, before it clamped itself quite aggressively over my lips and we kissed hotly. David sucked my tongue out of my mouth and into his as though he was extracting a cherry from a mixed drink.

  Gasping, he pulled away from me. But he still held on to my meat. He stared into my eyes with raw lust written all over his flushed, handsome face.

  “I want us to fuck, Keith,” he whispered.

  “I want us to, too.”

  For a moment, though, I thought he had changed his mind about who was going to shove what up whom. He slipped around behind me in the narrow stall, embraced me from the rear, and, as his cock rubbed erotically over the double swell of my buttocks, he reached around in front of me to take my cock in both of his hands.

  He pointed it toward the row of sinks and jerked me off, while dry-humping me with his own erection, jamming it into the warm, hairy groove between my ass cheeks. I assumed that he was getting ready to screw me. I didn’t care. I was so revved up that I was ready to do anything.

  “Shit,” I choked out, doubling up and pushing my ass back into his crotch. My whole body shuddered with intense pleasure. “You’re really getting me hot!”

  “Don’t come yet,” he begged me.

  His warning came not a moment too soon. I could feel a drop of thick jism escaping from my piss slit as he frigged me with his hot, sweaty hands.