However, now that I was free, once again doggy style in a tub with Dong’s thick rubber-gloved finger probing my anus, I was as happy as I could be under the circumstances. The chill drained away with the hot, cascading water as he turned the hose on me.
Once I was dry, Dong finally dressed me…in a white jockstrap! How humane! Asking him what was going to happen to me next was a waste of breath. I wasn’t even sure if this guy spoke English. I knew he could at least understand it since he constantly followed Peterson’s orders. He beckoned me to follow him. With no other hair on my body, I had become increasingly aware of the thick bush that had been left in my ass crack and on my perineum as it cushioned my crevasse with every movement.
I was led rather civilly into a small bedroom with wall-to-wall shag carpeting, not much more than a king-sized bed in the center of one wall, and another door off to the right. The normalcy didn’t ease my fears. I was well aware that there hadn’t been one window or door to the outside world visible as I was led through the maze of this mansion. I was deep in its bowels, which meant, well…no one could hear me scream. Damn me for having watched the movie Hostel—mostly because the director Eli Roth is so hot. Which really is ridiculous logic, since he’s not even in front of the camera.
The walls and ceiling of this particular bedroom were strictly comprised of long mirrors in between which were lines of bright white lights.
Before I could ask one of my numerous mirror images “What the fuck?” I was back on my back on the incredibly comfortable bed, with my wrists once again secured, this time, to the headboard.
Dong simply moved into a corner, arms crossed, and stood there quietly.
I was forced to look up at my reflection. I barely recognized my shaved body. I was fairly impressed with how well-defined each muscle appeared when not hidden behind my usual coat. My stomach clenched in its search for something to digest. I was shaking from hunger—not to mention fear of the unknown.
“My, my, isn’t she a beauty.” Peterson leered from the doorway to the right, apparently a bathroom. He was still dressed in his hunting layers, a pipe bouncing up and down between his lips. “She was a swift one, but I got her. Now it’s time to claim my prize. Here. Take this and use it when I tell you to.”
Peterson handed Dong a humungous hunting knife, which the monster stuck in his back pocket. Peterson then moved menacingly into the room, peeling off his vest and throwing it to the floor. He began to unbutton his flannel.
“What are you going to do to me?” I wondered aloud.
“Why, sweetie, I’m going to do to you what any man would do to a woman on her honeymoon. You’ve dreamed of becoming a bride since you were a little girl, haven’t you?”
His flannel was off, and underneath was a white tee. The pits were still soaked with big dark sweat circles. He yanked it up over his head, revealing a body that had probably once been in fine, muscular shape, but was now beginning to show a bit of sag around the edges. His white hair was a wiry forest all over his weathered hide. Two big, swollen pink nipples protruded from underneath on his large chest.
“You can’t do this!” I insisted, pulling futilely at my bonds.
He stepped around the side of the bed and menacingly undid the top button beneath his minor gut. He finally removed the pipe from his mouth and handed it over to Dong, who did I don’t know what with it. He blew the stanky smoke into the air, then got down on his knees next to the bed.
He stroked my thick head of hair gently. I could smell the liquor and stale pipe stench on his breath as he whispered, “We’re going to make this a night we both remember, darling.”
I began kicking my legs in fury.
“Uh-uh-uh!” He wagged a finger at me. “Don’t get feisty with me. This can be very pleasurable…or it can get incredibly painful.”
My legs relaxed.
Which might have been a bad thing. It was so much easier for Peterson to bend them until my knees were pinned to my collarbones. Dong stepped over and—this was getting ridiculous—strapped me securely in place by my ankles. There I was, now hog-tied to the bed, feeling every vertebra being stretched to the limit, my thighs practically squeezing the air out of my lungs, and my crack up and open, my hole rounded into a shocked “O” in the mirror above.
Now I understood what the careful grooming of my ass had been about. With my genitals hidden beneath the white jockstrap, there at the starting point of the two straps was my perineum bush, carefully formed into a sort of triangle, which led down into tufts of hair that outlined my bright pink pucker.
“Beautiful hairy pussy!” Peterson’s smug, sweaty face was aglow as he climbed up onto the bed and gazed down at my hole.
This was just gross.
Damn my asshole for quivering as the coarse tip of Peterson’s finger ran right up my slit.
“You like that, sweetheart?” He smiled at me as if he’d already broken me.
“Fuck you!” I spat the words out in a whoosh of air.
“No…fuck you,” he snarled lightly as he thrust the first digit of his coarse finger into me.
“Aaahhh!” I cried.
He chuckled like the prick he is and withdrew it. “Remember. Pleasure or pain.” He stuck the index finger of his other hand into his mouth, coating it in a gob of spit, then held it next to the dry finger. “Which one is it going to be?”
I looked over my pussy—I mean, crotch—to the two index fingers, one sandpaper-dry, the other drizzled with moisture, and his arrogant face waiting patiently in between them.
“Pleasure,” I croaked in misery, unable to look him in the eyes, yet looking at him no matter where I turned because of his reflection in every damn mirror in the room.
“Good girl.” He smiled and smeared the spit in my crack. “In that case, let’s get this hairy pussy all wet.”
His big pasty tongue ran between the fluffy hair on the insides of my cheeks. His thick, smoky white mustache mingled with my freshly cleaned crack hairs and his bristly whiskers stabbed at my tender asshole, which was simultaneously being frantically lapped by the moisture on his tongue.
He barely came up for a breath to say, “Girl, this hairy pussy smells gooooooooooood.”
Nasty! But, I have to admit, the lotion Dong had bathed me with smelled fruity. Right about now, I didn’t appreciate the implications.
Abrasion and soft wetness. Repeatedly. Slipping and sliding, probing. This motherfucking Republican shit was giving me one of the most amazing rim jobs I’d ever had. My legs began to quiver and shake. My throat clung to a swallow. I refused to groan in appreciation of his masterful work.
“Uuuuhhh!”
Betrayed! My throat choked on the swallow as he open mouth kissed my perineum, burrowing into my bush with his tongue, an incredibly sensitive area for me.
“Thaaat’s right.” Peterson’s deep blue eyes peered down at me over the front of my jockstrap. “Hubby’s going to make you happy.”
He nuzzled my area with his chin, then moved back down into my hole. I watched in the mirror as his fingers dug into the sides of my butt cheeks, treating them like lips, parting me to reveal my pink insides. He wiggled his tongue into my depths.
I couldn’t bear to watch. I shut my eyes tight.
My lids snapped back up as if a spring had uncoiled in a window shade.
“Tight pussy!” Peterson growled chauvinistically, watching in wonder as his index finger and middle finger weaseled into me until they couldn’t go any deeper. He jiggled them around. My walls clutched them as thrills shot into my tunnel.
As those two fingers withdrew slowly, readying for a second inward plunge, I was attacked by the index finger and middle finger of his other hand, which pressed firmly against the hard swelling spot on my perineum and danced spastically. This sicko was under the delusion that I had a clit. And I wasn’t making that hard to buy, considering my entire body began to shudder and I squealed like a chick.
“Listen to this bitch hooooowl, Dong!” Peterson howle
d himself as he worked me over. My face, already flush, gushed with red as I recalled that I was being happily molested in front of the help, whose silence had made me forget he was even in the room.
I looked over my head to see…could it be? What to my upside-down eyes looked like a frown, when turned upside down (actually, right side up), was a small smile on those tense Dong lips. A sleazy smile, yes, but still proof of some sort of emotion.
“She’s in heat!” Peterson announced, then vacated me.
I confess, I sort of missed him. But I couldn’t miss the vision in the mirror.
Peterson had climbed off the bed and quickly dropped his pants and underwear, exposing thick, white hairy legs, and one of the most upward curved cocks I’d ever seen (was this why all his high-profile peers called him “Hook”?). And the balls? It was like two fuzzy white peaches—that dangled halfway down his thighs. Together, it was one of the oddest packages I’d ever seen.
He looked almost clownish walking over to me, still in black socks, balls whacking from one thigh to the other, a hint of jelly throughout his form, a result of gravity’s impact on once-firm muscles. Incredibly spry for his fifty-somewhat years, he leapt up onto the king-sized mattress and climbed over my bindings so he was hovering above me.
This couldn’t be good.
Thump! Thump! Those two huge peaches. Right down on my eyes. Blinding me. Warm, pungent scrotum. This guy probably hadn’t showered since this morning—and his afternoon activities had included running through the woods and sweating like a pig in his hunt for me.
His cock tasted like his balls smelled. RANK. He “hooked” it into my orifice (consequently, draping the scrotum over my nostrils). Perfect shape for a sixty-nine, I must admit, because the shaft virtually wrapped around my tongue and down my throat.
I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to vomit. Not just from the spicy scent and taste, but due to the fact that he was closing off my windpipe as he awkwardly thrust his cock down into it. Sure wasn’t much of a blowjob (not to say I didn’t tense up my lips expertly and attempt it). It was basically him fucking my face. He was holding his body up with his strong arms, which were draped over the back of my thighs, and he had his face in my ass crack, but he wasn’t all that interested in pleasuring me right now.
“Sweeeeet mouth!” he groaned as he plugged away.
My gag reflex kept trying to push him out and tears were streaming from my eyes. This had to stop. I needed to cry out for him to stop. My hands instinctively tried to reach to throw him off me, but the most I was free to do was sort of brush against his calves. I was about to die. Death by dick.
“UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!” I gasped for air as he lifted off and out of me. I proceeded to cough viciously.
“What’s the matter, pretty one? Your hubby got too big a chubby for you?” He grinned down at me. I couldn’t answer him. He clambered off the bed. “Well, that’s all right. You just need practice. All that matters is that you polished the pole, so now it should be smooth sailing.”
I was just getting control of my choking attack as he worked his way around my body and to the foot of the mattress. There was no preparing myself for it. The hook. It got me. Right in. Totally against the flow of my canal’s tide. Painfully intense pressure against my prostate.
“TIIIIIIIIGGGHHHHHT!” he moaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!” I responded, my eyes doing quite the opposite of his.
“You got it, princess,” he said, looking down at me, his fingers clawing into the back of my knees.
Jab! Jab! Jab! Jab! Right hook! Left hook! Curve ball!
I suddenly despised sports twice as much as before. I cried out repeatedly in agony with each inward thrust. That eventually tapered to whimpering. That became heavy breathing. That turned into little grunts. Which became oohs, ohs, and ahs of pleasure. Fucking right wing fuck of a lifetime.
“Cut her loose!” Peterson growled in between his own grunts.
Was he telling me to cum? Hell, no! I wanted this to keep going.
I suddenly felt my arms and legs set free. Dong had cut my straps with the hunting knife.
First thing I did? Wrapped my arms around Peterson and placed my hands on the thick lard of his ass. It was coated in a sweaty film, as I could see when I looked over his broad shoulder in the mirror above us. Ironically, just like me at the moment, he only had tufts of hair in his crack, uniformly white like on his shoulders and upper back, which was also covered in brown freckles.
I squeezed that fat quivering ass and pulled it in deeper. I wiggled my hips underneath to participate in the fucking. He reeked of martini, pipe smoke, and man scum, and that stench was spilling all over me, because he sweated like the pig that he was. I watched his big pecs and belly bounce madly between us as he thrust repeatedly into me.
Before I knew what was happening, he’d somehow dropped to his side, twisted his hook excruciatingly inside me, rolled onto his back, and brought me up on top of him. Wow. My colon was so much more accommodating to his hook coming from the other angle.
“Ride it, bitch!” he commanded.
And so I bounced, using every muscle in my legs to squat forcefully up and down on his hook. Such a perfect fit from this direction. I grinded savagely on the hook, getting him to grunt and groan. I had him right where I wanted him.
He got my tits.
“OOOOHHHHH!!” I cried. His arms had worked quickly around me and began pinching and plucking from behind. I wriggled in ecstasy.
“Please…don’t…too…much!” I begged as my eyeballs retreated to the back of my head somewhere.
“Nice jugs!” He humiliated me with his words as he made me feel incredible with his fingers.
I was falling forward. I threw my arms out to catch myself. Perfect. On all fours, ass in the air, Peterson now upright behind me, his rough hands on my hips, his hook clawing savagely at my insides. His knees kicked against the outsides of my legs, forcing them together and squishing my balls between my thighs in the process.
“That’s right! Tighten that pussy!” he ordered as his legs forced me into a sealed position.
I arched my back like the bitch in heat he had reminded me I was earlier, smashed my face into the firm mattress (actually, over the edge of the bed), and reached my hands back to part my cheeks, allowing for even deeper access.
“Good, bitch!” Peterson pounded away. “Show me that beautiful pussy!”
I was practically immobile with pleasure. I just had to lie there and take it, revel in the internal tickle. This was too fucking good. All the tension in my sphincter muscles was gone as he wore them down to loose lips. He grunted like a barbaric savage…you know…a conservative.
I had no idea I was into spanking until Peterson openhanded each cheek alternately, heat rising quickly to the skin of my buttocks, his thick hands perfectly imprinted in red on the shaven surface. He was slapping me so hard it hurt.
I needed to jerk off. I groped under myself, planning to release my throbbing cock (have I mentioned that it had been that way since about the first touch of his finger on my slit?) from the jockstrap.
Peterson’s octopus arms located both of my wrists swiftly and yanked them behind my back, over my ass, and held them there.
“My cunt doesn’t have a cock!” he stated angrily, taking his fury out on my ass as he yanked my arms back so he could drive me like a sleigh.
“AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” I shrieked as one internal orgasm after another exploded inside my body.
“DONG! Tantragasm! Now! Let’s make this a white wedding!” Peterson ordered without letting up on me.
And there was Dong—and his dong—which explained the name. At least ten fucking inches, thick as a cucumber. Conveniently surprising me so my mouth would mimic the “O” my asshole had formed earlier. And in it went.
“NOW!” Peterson barked.
This Asian spiritual sex stuff is some seriously weird voodoo. On cue, I was filled. Both ends. Pet
erson howled, Dong barely grunted. Deep in his psyche, Peterson was surely jealous of his help, who had the bigger cock and thicker load. What the hell? I wasn’t a fucking cum bucket! Of course, actions speak louder than words, so maybe I was, because I didn’t spit…
Before I could even blink, Dong was packed away and gone. Did he even enjoy it, for Christ’s sake, or did I just suffer from Dong brain freeze for nothing?
Peterson popped out of me and pushed me over with one hand. I crash-landed on the mattress as he climbed off the bed and grabbed his clothes from the floor. I looked up at him with hurt in my eyes. We weren’t even going to cuddle?
“You happy?” he asked as he dressed.
“About what?” I responded forcefully, trying to hide my hurt.
“You landed yourself a rich and powerful husband. And you got the one you really wanted. Welcome to life as a housewife.” He left the room and closed the door.
I heard the lock click into place.
“Fuck you. I never wanted you, fuck face,” I muttered as I lay back and jammed two fingers up my ass, using Peterson’s cum as lubricant to masturbate while fantasizing about being completely dominated by him…as usual.
The Drinks Are on Me
“Oooohhhh! This feels gooooooooood!” Nando serenaded the scalding bubbles lapping at his plump dark brown nipples. He was relaxing his meaty body in a large hot tub (the ideal setting for a porn story) with his buddies, Ted, Lou, and Jimbo Shrimp (actually Jim, but he’d earned the nickname because he stood only five foot three inches and had a fantastic forty-nine-year-old muscular body.
The naked friends were celebrating thirty years since first meeting in their college dorm.
“How about some booze so we can relax?” Ted asked, mostly to cure his own uptightness. He was all-American, tall and lanky with broad shoulders. Twenty years ago, he could have been cast as a young Superman. Now, he’d make a perfect super daddy.
“I’ll mix up something,” Lou said, standing. His naturally bearish physique had filled out with maturity. His fuzzy gut swelled proudly, and to keep him from tipping over, his pale butt swelled severely out his other side, balancing things out.
Funny Bone Page 7
