Highway Hustle
Page 10
No kidding! His unlubricated dick slammed into my ass, and he began screwing me, like a sex fiend!
“Bastard,” I groaned. “I do have lube, you know. Right there on the floor. You could at least grease up that big dick of yours!”
“Nothing you can’t take,” Brant taunted me. “Open up, whore boy. Open up and get off on having a nice big cock shoved up your ass!”
I was fucked. Not only by Brant. Alonzo and Jake had sucked off Donny and Beau, respectively, and swallowed their loads. But the two horny married men hadn’t come yet. They ended up venting their lust on me. No sooner was Brant done screwing me, and coming in my ass, than Alonzo took over. Then Jake. I had one hot, horny cock after another shoved up my ass, reaming me out, and finally spouting, spewing its load of semen deep into my rectum. I was fucked! Well and truly fucked!
“Ah, shit!” Jake yelled, while he was humping me. “This is better—much better—than my wife’s pussy!”
“You bet it is,” I assured him. “Fuck me! Fuck me, stud!”
“You’re a real man cunt,” he vowed. I took that as a compliment.
“Jason is the male whore of Babylon,” Eli declared—and he didn’t sound as though he was being facetious.
I’m afraid that, despite my arousal, I responded to Eli’s assessment of me by laughing.
Anyway, the Amish stud wasn’t in a position to cast stones. He fucking Alonzo up the ass, as industriously as Jake was screwing me.
The male whore of Babylon set out to earn his title.
“Fuck me!” I kept repeating, in a frenzy, berserk with lust. My hot hole seemed insatiable, incapable of being fucked often enough, hard enough. I was all ass! Nothing existed for me any longer except my anus, and the obscene pleasure it could give me, when I surrendered it to the other men’s hard cocks. When I got fucked, and fucked, and fucked!
Then Donny and Beau got their second wind, and they wanted more. That big-dicked stud, Donny, donkey-donged me. Donny positioned me on my hand and knees, and he fucked me from behind, doggy style, raping my ass with his awesome endowment, while Beau knelt at my other end and he fucked my face and throat, force-feeding me his own by no means insignificant dick. Shit! With friends like these, who needed rapists? My mouth and ass were exploited—used as cum dumps. And—to my shame—I loved it! I loved every minute of it! God help me, but that night, I was a real whore! The kind who’ll do anything, with no money exchanging hands. The kind who’ll gleefully accept any degradation, out of pure lust!
Eli made it official, while he, too, was pounding my ass, later on.
“You really are the man whore of Babylon,” he told me. “Jezebel’s gay brother!”
I’d ashamed to say that, with him lying on top of me, screwing me, I lost it. My reaction was once again rather rude levity, and irreverence. I laughed in my fucker’s face.
“And proud of it, dude,” I told him. My bravado only seemed to spike his lust. Eli ravaged my already well-fucked ass, really punishing that whore hole of mine!
Six men used me that night, in one way or another, and most of them came back for seconds—and thirds! I’d planned an orgy, a gangbang, and that’s what I got. With me not only the host, but the guest of dishonor! That bedroom reeked of sweat and semen by the time we were done, by the time every cock was limp and past any hope of immediate resurrection, by the time every load of cum had been expelled, and every desire satiated.
One by one, some of my guests got dressed and left. The married men, of course, had to go home to their unsuspecting wives. The single, gay men had more flexible options. Beau, Brant, and Donny all accepted my invitation to crash at the farmhouse, bedding down on the mattresses in the orgy room, which were damp with sweat and semen. These guys were used to roughing it. And I enticed them with the promise of cooking breakfast for them, in the morning.
Eli was one of the three married men who had to leave.
“I feel so dirty,” he confessed to me.
“Go take a shower before you head home,” I invited him, no doubt coming across as shockingly blasé. “You’ll feel better. And remember, buddy. Whatever happens in Sodom, stays in Sodom.”
He showered and got dressed.
I escorted Eli downstairs. He’d arrived at my place in a horse and buddy, no less, and the placid animal was ready to take him home. I fed the horse a couple of carrots. Then, quietly, Eli drove off under horsepower, into the night.
As for Jezebel’s gay brother—he staggered back inside the house, stumbled upstairs, and tumbled into his bed, where he soon passed out, enjoying a much-needed, restorative sleep.
Chapter Seven: More Than Just Drinking Buddies
Joey was my kid brother, two years younger than I. Like me, he’d helped out at the motel from an early age, and now he was old enough also to have been given the status of a real employee, on the books.
Joey had a nice, muscular physique, almost as good as mine. His facial features were more delicate than mine. Still, there was a strong, undeniable family resemblance between the two of us, which people often remarked upon.
But my baby bro was just about the last thing I had on my mind, one afternoon at the farmhouse, when I was entertaining—actually, screwing—Beau, my old high school buddy. I’d recovered from the sex party I’d hosted. Feeling in a frisky mood again, I invited Beau to come over and hang out with me. He knew that this was code for “let’s have sex.”
In our small rural community, there wasn’t much for guys our age to do to amuse themselves in our spare time. Drinking and pot smoking were always surefire, pleasant ways to pass the time. I should explain that, unofficially, marijuana was one of the local cash crops. It was grown surreptitiously, of course, in out-of-the way fields on or near farms, and even indoors, under artificial lights, in barns and sheds. An outsider might be surprised by how many seemingly respectable, straitlaced members of our community made a little extra money by selling weed.
As a result, there was never any problem scoring pot, usually at a reasonable price.
There at the farmhouse that afternoon, Beau and I got pretty drunk and stoned. At the risk of sounding as though I’m bragging, I could hold my liquor better than he.
We were relaxing in my living room. Sex was definitely on the agenda, and bit by bit we’d both shed most of our clothes. I wearing only an old, worn-out pair of gym shorts, which were too raggedy even to wear at the gym. Beau was down to his undershorts and socks, and he was more or less wasted.
He became kind of amorous, embracing me and pawing at me in a clumsy fashion, giving me open-mouthed, wet, sloppy kisses.
“Okay, stud,” I told him, at last. “Hang on for just a minute. Think you can make it upstairs? This furniture may not be much, but I don’t want to get cum stains on it.”
The mere mention of cum made my buddy giggle, inanely. “Yeah, let’s go upstairs and fuck!” he exclaimed.
“If you can get it up.”
“Shit! I can always get it up—and keep it up. I remember giving your hole a good plowing on the night of your party. Had you begging me for more, didn’t I? And I gave it to you. When have you ever known me to have trouble springing a boner?”
This was true enough. Alcohol and pot never seemed to impair Beau, sexually. And, as a matter of fact, he was springing a boner at the moment, his stiffened penis distending the crotch of his jockey shorts, pushing the thin white cotton fabric outward—still covering his genitals, but without concealing much.
He managed to stumble upstairs, with me at his heels, ready to grab him and hold him up should he take a tumble.
Following Beau into his bedroom, I shed my gym shorts. He wriggled out of his jockeys, but he left on his socks. He laughed, in that silly, giddy way which intoxicated men have.
“Damn, buddy, am I ever wrecked.” he muttered. “I may have to crash here and sleep it off—after we’re done.”
“That’s okay,” I assured him. “As long as we do it.” I was feeling randy, impatient for sex.
“I bet you’d like your cock sucked,” I suggested, as I pushed his big body down on my bed.
“Hell, yeah!” he agreed, drunkenly. “Go on. Help yourself. Get down on it.”
“I intend to.”
Grunting, he lay back and he allowed me to have my way with him. His intoxication may have fucked up his coordination, and he probably wasn’t thinking too clearly. But the alcohol had done nothing to prevent him from developing and maintaining a hefty-looking erection! His dick stood up straight and proud from his groin, fully engorged with blood, the veins which ran along the thick shaft protruding and pulsing. All that man meat, right there in my bedroom with me, and I hadn’t tasted it yet! What was the matter with me? I must be slipping! I was determined to rectify that omission. I was now desperate to have him!
It was as though Beau, even in his impaired state, could read my dirty mind. He was also, I noticed, gazing rather intently at my nude body.
“You can get started, any minute now, you know,” Beau mumbled, not without some sarcasm in his voice.
“I wouldn’t want to take unfair advantage of you,” I retorted, just as mockingly. “Maybe you’re not in any condition to consent. God forbid I should be accused of molesting you! And are you sure can get it up—and keep it up—as smashed as you are?”
“I never have any trouble down there,” he bragged. “No matter how drunk I am! Or how much weed I’ve smoked.”
“Lucky you.”
“Go ahead,” he invited me, making it sound like a dare. “Find out for yourself. Do it!” he insisted, all impatience and recklessness, now, himself. “Suck me!”
He was drunk and horny, and I was in much the same condition, and so, inevitably, one thing led to another. Before too many more seconds had passed, I had joined Beau on the bed, and I got busy sucking his cock. He liked it, that was for sure! He liked it a lot! I could tell from his helpless reactions that it was a better blow job than any other guy had ever given him. Maybe that wasn’t such a major accomplishment on my part, given the small size of our circle of mutual gay friends, but nonetheless I took great pride in my oral skill.
After all, men paid me for sex, My buddy was getting it for free. But I didn’t shortchange him. I gave him the full treatment.
With my mouth on his meat, Beau sobered up a bit, and soon he had my head clasped between his big hands, with their calloused finger pads, the result of all the hard manual labor which he, like me, routinely did. He pushed my mouth back and forth on his throbbing shaft, and he kept telling me to “Suck it, dude—that’s right, suck it, you hot-mouthed cocksucker! Suck that dick! Oh, hell—it feels so fucking good to have your mouth working on my cock like that!”
I blew him.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, Jason,” he gasped, his voice barely escaping from his throat, from his lips. “Oh, blow me, dude! Suck me! Suck me off! Jesus, stud! I can’t stand this. Your hot mouth working on me—!”
I was tempted to take the act to its logical conclusion, to suck him off and swallow his load, to treat myself to a mouthful of his semen.
But I decided not to swallow Beau’s cum this time, because it would be even wilder, more satisfying for me, to let him screw me, while he was still in such a cooperative mood—and while his penis was still full functional. He’d reminded me of how he’d balled me during my recent party. I wouldn’t mind a repeat of the experience, that was for sure! I released his prick and I slid open the top drawer of my nightstand. Picking up the tube of sex lubricant which I always kept in there, I slicked up his dick and my asshole with the slippery gel. I positioned myself on the bed next to Beau on my hands and knees, spreading my butt cheeks with both hands to show him my hole, which was ready for him to plug.
“Fuck me,” I invited him. “Fuck me, man!”
Then Beau really surprised me. He spread my pucker with his thumbs and he sank his tongue into it as far as it would go, and he began to lick it. He’d never rimmed me before, and I wondered what had put the idea into his befuddled head now. Maybe the ass sucking exhibition Eli and I had put on at my party had inspired Beau to imitate our example. Not that I had any intention of complaining! I was more than happy to have my ass sucked. I couldn’t help wondering what the lube on my ass tasted like, but if it was unpleasant, then Beau was either too drunk, or too aroused, to care.
For a novice, Beau was surprisingly good at it. I nearly went out of my mind with lust in response to the rimming. Finally, Beau pulled his reddened, perspiring face away from my butt and, groaning, he grabbed the tube of lube from where I’d left it lying on the mattress, and he re-greased both his fuck pole and my butthole until they gleamed. Then he pressed the knob of his cock against my pucker and he gave a tentative shove.
“Open up, buddy,” he grunted.
Nothing happened, probably because his aim was a bit off, so he grasped my hips, and with a muttered curse of frustration, he made a short, vicious jab—and he buried the full, pulsating length of his ramrod up into my burning, eager anus!
“That’s more like it. Come on, you man whore, you, you cunt,” he gasped. “Take my cock! Bitch, you know you want it!”
I panted for breath like an animal as the pain eased and the pleasure of being fucked by a big, hard prick began. Beau was horny, all right! Starved for sex! He used me so roughly that I feared I was going to be bruised and sore the next day—but I didn’t care, because, dear God, was it worth it! My body thrilled to every deep, ruthless, plunging stroke which his piston-like prickshaft made in and out my cringing butt. I began to hump back toward him, trying to match him lunge for lunge. Sweat was running from both our bodies as they banged together, drops of perspiration flying from us as we fucked.
“Shit,” I squealed, like a girl who was losing her cherry and experiencing a vaginal orgasm for the very first time. “Shit, oh, shit! Fuck me! Fuck my hole!”
“You slut!” my fucker roared.
With his left hand still holding my hip, Beau reached between my thighs and he squeezed and stroked my cock and balls in his right fist, manipulating me until whimpers of pure ecstasy escaped from my throat. My tight hot asshole soon wreaked its usual havoc on my fucker’s tool. There was no way he could hold back or delay his ejaculation, once I decided to milk his cock in earnest. Beau’s nuts boiled over and he took one long, last plunge deep into my molten anal canal, before he began a series of shudders. He erupted up my ass. He came. So wet! So hot! So much! I felt deluged with his sperm! I came, too, spraying my cum all over the bed as my buddy jerked me off. For a guy who was the worse for booze and cannabis, he wasn’t doing too badly!
“Jesus fucking Christ,” my friend blasphemed. “Doing this queer shit is always good. But I never knew it could feel like this! I never knew a guy’s ass could feel this hot! Damn it to hell! What a hole you’ve got there, dude!”
“Thanks,” I managed to gasp, as I fought to recover my breath and my composure.
I let Beau take a brief nap, which seemed to do him good. After he roused himself, he took a shower, and then he came downstairs, where I’d preceded him, to retrieve the rest of his clothes and put them on.
Now that we’d enjoyed our sex, and he was reasonably sober again, Beau was in the mood to make small talk. And, inadvertently, my loose-lipped fuck buddy once again made a revelation which turned out to have far-reaching consequences.
“Hey,” Beau said, in all innocence. “Did Joey ever get his car fixed?”
“Huh?” I responded. “What about his car?” Joey owned and drove an old heap, but, to my knowledge, there was nothing wrong with it, mechanically, no matter how bad its body looked.
“I was driving outside of town the other day,” Beau told me. “You know, on the main highway? I was on my way to the mall, the one a few miles north of here. I was going there to shop for clothes, I needed a couple of new pairs of pants, and maybe a shirt—�
��
“Okay, so you ended up buying pants,” I interrupted Beau, impatiently. “So what? What’s that got to do with Joey and his car?”
“I’m getting to that, if you’ll listen. I was driving along, minding my business. And there he was. Standing on the side of the road, with his thumb out. Hitchhiking. Which is illegal on the interstate, technically—”
“Lots of things are illegal, including things which you and I have been known to do,” I pointed out, once again interrupting Beau. “But why the fuck would Joey be hitchhiking?”
“He told me his car wasn’t working. So I gave him a lift to the mall.”
“Huh. That’s funny. He hasn’t said anything to me about his car not working.”
“And he had a backpack strapped on his back,” Beau volunteered. “I thought that was kind of strange. I was tempted to ask him what the hell he had in his backpack, but then I thought better of it. None of my business, after all.”
Why would Joey be wearing a backpack? I wondered. What the fuck is the kid up to?
“So,” I asked, aloud. “What happened, at the mall?”
“Well, nothing, really. I asked Joey if he wanted to stick around with me, so I could give him a lift back into town. But he said no. He said he wanted to hang out at the mall for a while, and meet some friends there. He said he didn’t want to hold me up, and that his friends would give him a ride home. So we went our separate ways.”
“Interesting,” I muttered. Why didn’t his friends just pick him up, so they could all ride to the mall together, in the first place? I asked myself. Something about all this was off.
I lost no time before I confronted Joey, and interrogated him.
“What’s this shit about your car not working?” I demanded.
“Uh—the engine was running a bit rough. That’s all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it? Ask me to help you with it?”