HOT SHORTS

By Jeff Kincaid

Chapter 2

391 B.C.

I don’t know why the fuck I have to do this goddam fuckin’ book report for English, anyway, man; Coach Bradford said I was gonna breeze through this term — nobody was gonna make me do shit that was gonna get in the way’a my basketball. But if you say you’ll write it up for me after I talk into your cassette what the fuck, I guess I can put my feet up and give it a shot for an hour or so. Won’t kill me. Though maybe the “book” I’m gonna report on’s gonna give ol’ Professor Jennings a fuckin’ heart attack. I mean, it’s hot, man. Real fuckin’ hot. I got it at one’a them raunchy book stores on 42nd Street.

Thing is called Wedding Night of a Greek; it’s all about this fuckin’ Greek god, Mars, the god’a war. He’s one fuckin’ body buildin’ hunk, man — tall, with big bulgin’ arms that’ve gotta be 16-inchers at least, curly hair on his head’n in his crotch’n armpits; the dude who wrote the story’s real mindful to make sure you can really imagine the kind’a chest he’s got, too. One’a them wide, slab-like numbers with a lotta the same curly black hair growin’ up in the cut between his squared-off pecs, spreadin’ out under his fuckin’ collarbone. Big tits on either side’a the ridge, an’ what makes ‘em real sexy to everybody who sees ‘em is the leather’n brass harness he’s got strapped on, not to mention the brass gauntlets he’s got on his hairy wrists and over his shins. This fucker is somethin’ else, I mean it, specially when he’s whippin’ that big fuckin’ sword’a his around an’ makin everybody cream in their fuckin’ togas, boys as well as girls. A real stud, you know?

Anyway, as you can imagine, when he wants to fuck somebody, shit, he don’t have to ask twice. Them assholes just drop right where the fuck they are’n spread their fuckin’ legs — cuz they want that big old Greek god pecker’a his real bad the minute they fuckin’ get a load’a it. Talk about hung, man, this Mars dude, he’s gotta be a whole fuckin’ foot long, wrist-thick around, with high-hanging nuts as big as a couple’a baseballs. You can fuckin’ imagine what that hairy ol’ crotch’a his’s gotta smell like: them Greek gods didn’t do much showerin’ down, lemme tell you. He hadda have a ton’a fuckin’ smegma under his puckerin’ foreskin fermentin’ like crazy.

Anyway, a guy like this, he ain’t used to gettin no for an answer. He sure ain’t used to getting a laugh back in his fuckin’ face. So when he came on to this young study by the name’a — what the fuck was it — oh yeah: Telemacus — he just expected the kid to go, “oh, yeah, man, right,” an’ strip down for action. Shit, it was a fuckin’ honor to get your fuckin’ asshole reamed out by that fuckin’ god’s 12-inch dork!

Instead’a doin’ that, though, the kid laughed. I mean, man, he wasn’t even nice’n polite about it, makin’ up some cool story about how he was sorry but he was indisposed or something. Or that makin’ it with guys, even when they happened to be fuckin’ gods, wasn’t his scene. Not fuckin’ dumb Telemacus, that prick. Maybe he figured, hey, I’m good ol’ Ulysses’s son; I can say whatever I like to anybody and I’m fuckin’ gonna get away with it. Maybe he was just too smart-assed for his own fuckin’ good.

Whatever. Here’s Mars, man, an he’s sayin’, hey, muscles, I dig your style; why don’t you’n me go someplace private and do a little hot fuckin’ and suckin’. An’ here’s Telemacus, breakin’ out into that laugh, like, you know, he was puttin’ the guy from Olympus down for being some kind of pantywaist faggot or somethin’. “Sorry, Mary,” he snarfs, “you got the wrong boy. I’m as straight as they fuckin’ come. Gettin’ married tomorrow, matter’a fact — to a chick.”

Then, cuz this Telemacus cat was really a shithead, he doesn’t leave it go there, he turns to every­body in earshot’n he says, “hey, would you believe it, guys? This here dude with all them muscles, he just came on to me. Wants to suck my fuckin’ dick. Gettin’ so you can’t tell the fairies from the real people no more.”

Well, nacherally, Mars gets real uptight about treatment like that; he don’t dig it one fuckin’ iota. That asshole Telemacus fuckin’ humiliated him in public, man, made him look like two fuckin’ cents, like he was nothin’ but shit. An’ you know what made it worse? Mars, he really dug the kid’s bod; would’a been real good with him — you know, gentle’n tender; it would’a been a goddam treat, one’a them nights you fuckin’ remember for the rest’a your whole fuckin’ life. Somethin’ fuckin’ special. I mean, who wouldn’t want to fuck around with a smooth-skinned, curly haired, square-jaw like Telemacus? The guy looked like he stepped off a the centerfold of fuckin’ Playgirl man, his muscles carved like a fuckin’ statue including his fuckin’ big-headed dork, the fuckin’ hair on his chest real light blond, like fuckin’ down, you know? What he had sproutin’ up in his armpits’n around his pecker was soft’n fuzzy’n just as blond; that was it. The rest of him was bare skin, the kind that’s like velvet when you run your fuckin’ finger­tips over it. Fuckin’ Mars, man, he was fuckin’ dyin’ to swab them big fuckin’ tits with his spitty wet tongue, pucker ‘em up good and make ‘em shine, crimpin’ them fuckin’ nubs like little hard ons. But how the fuck was he gonna be able to do that for the creep after the fucker put him down like he did in front’a the whole fuckin’ world?

I gotta tell you, man, that god’a war made the, whole fuckin’ top’a Mt. Olympus rock, the way he was stompin’ around, kickin’ stuff and yellin’ curses and shit. “Nobody makes a fuckin’ monkey outta Mars,” he fuckin’ shouts, steam comin’ outta his mouth like he was a fuckin’ dragon or somethin’. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s fuckin’ son he is! He ain’t gettin’ away with it, no fuckin’ way! Mars don’t take crap like that lyin’ down!”

He gets especially mad when he looks down an’ sees fuckin’ Telemacus down there on the fuckin’ earth gettin’ his fuckin’ ass married to some chick named Andromache, one’a them outdoor weddings with flowers all over the fuckin’ place an little cherubs playin’ the flute. Here the fucker insults the shit outta a god, no less, an’ what happens? He gets rewarded with a weddin’ instead’a bein’ punished for bein’ fuckin’ pre­sumptuous and rude.

“That shithead’s gonna go off’n get fuckin’ laid tonight like it was a happy fuckin’ endin’ an’ he don’t deserve nothin’ near as good as that,” the god roars — and then all of a sudden his fuckin’ face lights up cuz he’s gettin’ himself this fuckin’ great idea. Oh, yeah, right, fuckin’ Mars knows how to take care of that arrogant kid, all right. Make him be real sorry he said them dumb things about a guy like Mars in front’a everybody, yeah. Next thing you know, Mars goes back down to earth — to Sparta, man: that’s where the tough Army guys hang out in the bars when they ain’t workin’ out in their fuckin’ barracks. Mars knows all’a them soldier types, shit, how else d’you get to be the fuckin’ god’a war, huh?

Well, he picks himself the biggest, raunchiest, meanest bruisers he can find, four of ‘em. Six-foot two-hundred pounders who really stank; I mean, these guys had these hairy unwashed armpits an’ assholes an’ one fuckin’ whiffd knock you over an’ out, believe me. All they knew was fightin’ an’ fuckin’, killers who were especially good usin’ all kinds’a clubs; I’m talkin’ about what they had stickin’ out from under their fuckin’ pubes as well as the other shit, big raunchy hard ons with knobs like fuckin’ melons which used’ta come poppin’ outta their fuckin’ foreskins with them pee-holes gapin’ at the drop’a a toga. The dude who wrote this story, man, he went on for pages about it, how fuckin’ long they were, an’ I’m tellin’ you, he didn’t spare no horses when it came to describin’ all’a the veins which kind’a wandered around the outside’s their hot hard shafts, how they’d start in pulsatin’ all over the fuckin’ place the minute there was a handy pussy around.

Bein’ Greeks, of course, these boys didn’t limit themselves just to cunts, though: they had nothin’ against screwin’ some kid’s smelly ol’ asshole if that’s all that was available. Most’a the time when they was out on them campaigns in Persia or wherever that’s all there was — assholes. It was nice tight sex, man, an’ these dudes weren’t gonna look no gift horse in the mouth, you know what I mean.

So when this god Mars shows up an’ offers ‘em both snatch an’ ass-cunt, hey, these dumb shit military guys, they weren’t about to say no to the likes’a that. We ain’t talkin’ about lovers, y’know: these four sweaty hunks got more of a kick outta rape an’ gang-bangs than every other kind’a fuckin’ there was. It’s one’a the main fuckin’ reasons they were soldiers, man, goin’ in there an’ pillagin’ people. Just give ‘em somethin’ that wasn’t exactly lookin’ forward to gettin’ a bunch’a big fat drippy ol’ dongs shoved up their gut or down their cocksuckin’ throats and shit, they fuckin’ creamed just standin’ there thinkin’ about it.

Doin’ it to a fuckin’ cherry bride on her fuckin’ weddin’ night while her fuckin’ bridegroom was forced to fuckin’ watch, man, them fuckern practically came all over themselves just thinkin’ about it, how they was gonna be all over that chick gruntin’ an’ humpin’ an’ listenin’ to Telemacus gaspin’ an’ groanin’ cuz he was fuckin’ tied up tight as a pig on a spit an’ there wasn’t a fuckin’ thing he could do to stop it from goin’ down, wow. Talk about hot, huh? The chick with cock plowin’ her snatch an’ her asshole at the same fuckin’ time, with more fuckin’ dick chokin’ her mouth up? Yeah.

Them soldiers moved out fast, lemme tell you — like Mars said to ‘em, they wanted to get up to that fuckin’ bridal villa before fuckin’ Telemacus got it up to get it inside the chick’s juicy slit. Seem’ how horny the whole thing was makin’ them, Mars, he hadda laugh with a lotta fuckin’ glee. Fuckin’ Telemacus was gonna learn not to make fun’a no fuckin’ god by the time this fuckin’ weddin’ night was over, no shit.

Well, it was a good thing that gang got up to that house on the double — the bridegroom, man, he was so hot to trot with his lady he was ready to rip her weddin’ gown to shreds just to get underway. Fuckin’ Andromache, though, she was fuckin’ nervous — cherry chicks like that’re always fuckin’ nervous, needin’ a lotta smoochin’ and encouragin’ before they get around to puttin’out. Fuckin’ waste’a fuckin’ time, especially when you’re as fuckin’ hard-cocked as this here fuckin’ bride­groom was. Shit, man, if Telemacus was any homier he’d’ve lost his whole fuckin’ load down the insides of his fuckin’thighs! It took a lotta will power’n self control for him to go through all the fuckin’ make-out shit she hadda have in order to get to the real down’n dirty an’ in’n out.

Felt like it took forever, but finally the fuckin’ chick is finally beginning to spread her fuckin’ legs, bendin’ ‘em at the fuckin’ knee an’ lettin’ her fuckin’ husband slither up in between, his goddam pecker lookin’ like it was gonna fuckin’ explode. “Be gentle,” she whispers, lettin’ him swab her fuckin’ tit with his fuckin’ tongue while he cups the cheeks of her fuckin’ ass with his hands and spreads ‘em. Her fuckin’ hairy mound spreads with it, of course, the slit gapin’ an’ juicy, the clit stickin’ up like the little prick it is, kind’a.

Telemacus hips forward, screwin’ the helmet-shaped head’a his goddam rod between the lips’a her cunt, torquing his fuckin’ pelvis so he can slide up that snatch nice an’ smooth. The place is goddam hot, and he’s sweatin’ with fuckin’ lust, man, startin’ to smell as raunchy as them soldiers who’re just now breakin’ into the place, takin’ out a coupl’a servants and a guard without no trouble at all. Shit, when you got a goddam god with you, you ain’t gonna have no goddam trouble gettin’ past no fuckin’ guards. All the guy does is point at them shitheads and their fuckin’ eyes roll up in their fuckin’ heads and they slump over, out cold for as long as you fuckin’ want.

You just sashay into that fuckin’ bridal chamber, man, an’ you take over before them fuckin’ newlyweds know what the fuck is comin’ off. I mean, shit, the last thing Telemacus’s expectin’ is to be yanked up offa his fuckin’ naked bride by eight strong hands an’ thrown splat face-first into the fuckin’ wall. “What the fuck?” he says while Andromache screeches, tryin’ to pull the fuckin’ sheet up over her tits.

“This’ll fuckin’ teach you to laugh at me,” Mars tells him, yanking him by the fuckin’ shoulder to turn him so’s he can punch him good in the fuckin’ belly.

“Oh, shit,” the fuckin’ bridegroom grunts, hurt, too dazed to stop Mars from throwin’ him halfway across the fuckin’ room to where them grinnin’ soldiers’re waiting to beat the fuckin’ shit outta him before goin’ to work on his fuckin’ bride with their fuckin’ dorks.

Now, don’t get me wrong, man, accordin’ to what’s written, young Telemacus wasn’t no piker when it came to defendin’ himself or his lady. He put up a whale of a fuckin’ defense an’ the only reason he wasn’t gonna come out on top was that he was outnumbered five to fuckin’ one. That don’t mean he didn’t get in a coupl’a good shots — but of course that made them bastards real made at him, so when they got their licks back they did it maybe even harder than they would’ve if he’d just rolled over and played fuckin’ dead. Fist after fuckin’ fist smashed into his fuckin’ face and back, doublin’ him over an’ fuckin’ straightenin’ him up again. Their knees came crashin’ up into his fuckin’ nuts, makin’ him howl. The whole thing was like when Anthony Pro’s boys worked over that loan shark that alley offa Fox Street last year: real methodical, makin’ him hurt bad but not really doin’ him any permanent damage. An’ all the while it’s goin’ on the chick is yellin’ ‘n screamin’ an’ tryin’ to get them offa him. “He’s had enough,” she’s sayin’. “Don’t hurt ‘im anymore!”

After a bit they start noticin’ her — rememberin’ how after they knocked Telemacus out they was gonna get their jollies all over every fuckin’ hole she had in her fuckin’ young body. By this time holdin’ her hubby still wasn’t hard: the dude woulda collapsed all over the fuckin’ floor if a coupla them boys weren’t holdin’ him up by the arms. As it was, they had him with that curly head’a his lollin’ forward on his fuckin’ neck, his chin touchin’ his chest and his legs real wobbly, bent at the fuckin’ knees. Telemacus wasn’t in no position to stop them from doin’ nothin’ any more, no way.

Mars grabs himself a fistful of the kid’s hair an’ pulls his fuckin’ head up so’s he can spit right into his fuckin’ handsome young face. And then, while the wad’a spit is rollin’ down Telemacus’s fuckin’ cheek an’ drippin’ offa his fuckin’ jaw, he gloats at him. “Me an’ the boys, here,” he grins in this real mean way, “we’re gonna fuck your fuckin’ bride now. We’re gonna fuck her twat, man: my fuckin’ shaft’s gonna be the one who cracks her fuckin’ cherry instead’a yours, an Bruno over there, shit, he’s gonna make her suck his stinkin’ hairy dick an’ swallow his goddam cum; I don’t give a fat flying fuck if she chokes on it. An’ this boy next to him, he’s gonna stick his whole goddam ten inches right up into her ass; how the fuck d’you like that, hugh, Telemacus? Gonna be some weddin’ night, ain’t it.”

The kid struggles even though he knows they beat all the fuckin’ strength outta him good an’ he don’t have a fuckin’ chance of gettin’ outta their fuckin’ grips. “No, don’t, man,” he fuckin’ begs, “Anythin’ you want, it’s yours, no shit, just don’t do anythin’ like that to her.”

“Why the fuck should we listen to you, fuck face?” Bruno wants to know. “We’re gonna tie you the fuck up an’ let you watch us gang bang her all fuckin’ night long, that’s what we’re gonna do.” He looks at Mars. “Ain’t that right?”

“Maybe,” Mars says, surprising the dumb head a little. “Maybe not.” He holds Telemacus’s face up in his fuckin’ hand. “Whatcha mean, buddy boy, ‘anythin”? Whatcha mean by that, huh?”

“Money, jewels, I dunno,” the youngster says weakly. “Anythin’, man.”

“Fuck money an’ jewels,” says the fuckin’ god. “‘Cept maybe for these jewels here.” His hands closes down around fuckin’ Telemacus’s pimply ball bag, hard enough to make the fuckin’ kid wince. “You wanna take this fuckin’ chick’s place, asshole? Huh?”

“Oh, hey,” the fuckin’ bridegroom says in, you know, one of them real disbelievin’ voices. “Come on, man, I ain’t like that. I told you that.”

“I don’t give a shit if you ain’t ‘like that,’” Mars says, flashing him this real nasty smile, lettin’ his fuckin’ fingers get even tighter around Tele­macus’s nuts. “We’re gonna make you ‘like that’or we’re gonna fuck your goddam bride for the rest’a the fuckin’ night’n maybe all day tomorrow. You don’t want that, man, you say the word an’ she’s just tied up an’ nothin’ else while we hump all over your goddam stud bod.”

“Anything else,” Telemacus whispers in horror. “Anything else ‘ceptin’ that, man, come on, I’m good for it.”

“You ain’t good for nothin’ except takin’ dick.” Mars’n his soldiers shrug at the dumb-faced kid and turn to his brand new bride, who’s tryin’ to crawl away right through the fuckin’ wall. “Okay, baby, get a loada this hot fuckstick I got here waitin’ for you; ever seen anythin’ so hard, huh? Real beauty, ain’t it; wait’ll you feel it all’a way up your fuckin’ cunt — it’s gonna blow your fuckin’ head off.”

“Aaaaahhhheeeeiii,” she yelps as Mars flops her down an’ gets ready to spear her snatch with one swift stroke. “Telemacus!”

Telemacus shouts, “Okay, wait, okay, I’ll do it, okay? Stop!” An’ Mars, grinnin’ like a fuckin’ cat, looks at him over one’a his big squared-off shoulder caps an’ sneers.

“Yeah, I thought you might come to see it my way.” He snaps his fingers and a coupla the soldiers take out the rope they was gonna use to tie the bridegroom up with an’ use it on the chick he just got himself married to not two hours before. An’, man, when I say they tied her up, shit, I mean they fuckin’ tied her up, criss-crossin’ her fuckin’ hands behind her fuckin’ back and windin’ that thick coarse hemp around to the front, where they let it figure-eight a coupla times around her fuckin’ tits, really makin’ ‘em stand up an’ out, turnin’ them luscious young nipples’a hers real red-purple. After that her fuckin’ ankles were brought up on either side of her fuckin’ body an’ attached real tight to the ropes around her wrists, keepin’ her fuckin’ wet snatch wide an’ in full view.

“You have to do that to her?” Telemacus babbles, havin’ a real bad time assimilatin’ everythin’ that was goin’ down. “You ain’t gonna leave her in here, are you? Come on, hey!”

“Damn fuckin’ right we’re gonna leave her right where she fuckin’ is, baby,” Mars tells him, smirk­ing like crazy at how good his fuckin’ vengeance’s comin’ off. “I want this fuckin’ chick’a yours to have a fuckin’ ringside seat so she can see every­thing we fuckin’ do to you real close up.”

“Nooo!” Andromache starts to wail, which makes Mars hackles go up the wrong fuckin’ way. So he takes a smelly ol’ loincloth from one of them fuckin’ filthy Army guys, wads it up into a fuckin’ ball an’ shoves it past her fuckin’ teeth, tyin’ it in place behind her fuckin’ head with another cheesy ol’ piece. “Mfff,” he splutters, muffled. Gagged good. “Mmfff!”’

“That oughta hold the fuckin’ cunt,” the sweaty, hairy-chested god says as he has the guys dump her in a fuckin’ corner, winkin’ at Telemacus like he was part of this whole thing instead of the fuckin’ victim about to get gang raped. “Looks good like that, don’t she? Who knows, huh? Maybe by the time we get through with you you’ll wanna teach the cunt what we taught you.”

Raspy laughter at that: them Army guys weren’t gonna wait much longer an’ they didn’t give a shit who their cocks were gonna go in. Fuckin’ Telemacus was just as fuckin’ pretty in his own fuckin’ way as his fuckin’ wife was. All five of them formed a fuckin’ circle around him, backin’ him up against the fuckin’ wall. His eyes were goin’ like crazy from one to another; the kid was fuckin’ scared. I don’t blame him, man. In a spot like that, shit, better to be one’a the fuckin’ soldiers than fuckin’ sweaty Telemacus!

“Just take it easy, okay?” he asks, liftin’ his hand a little in the dumb fuckin’ hope it’d slow these fuckers down. “Okay?”

One’a the roughest-lookin’ of the guys steps up to him, sneerin’n rubbing his chest right against the kid’s. “Whatsa matter, kid,” he wants to know as he starts pinchin’ Telemacus’s big oval tit a little, makin’ it crimp, “ain’t you never sucked cock before?”

Shakin’ his head from side to fuckin’ side, the youngster says no, that’s why he wants them to take it slow with him. A big “ahhh” escapes him cuz he ain’t never had his dugs worked on an’ he ain’t used to what it feels like. He ain’t sure, see, whether it hurts or whether it hurts good.

“We are takin’ it easy, man,” the soldier jeers, twisting them nips now, makin’ Telemacus gasp. “We’re gonna build you up nice to all the good hard stuff.”

“Yeah,” Bruno says, liftin’ his fuckin’ heavy arm to expose the glistenin’ hollow underneath with its frizzy bush’a wet, black hairs all curliri’ coarsely around each other an’ smellin’ acrid. “Why don’t you start by stickin’ your fuckin’ face in this fuckin’ nest an’ cleanin’ it up for me with your fuckin’ tongue.”

“Jesus Fuckin’ Christ,” Telemacus splutters, jumpin’ back. Actually, he didn’t say “Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, cuz this was almost four hundred years before Christ showed up, but it was somethin’ like it so I ain’t exactly tellin’ no lie. Anyway, the point is, them soldiers weren’t about to let that fuckin’ bridegroom get away without takin’ a good long drink’a that rancid-smellin’ army sweat; they grabbed him real hard an’ tight an’ shoved his fuckin’ face forward right into them hairs, wipin’ his muzzle all over the fuckin’ pit so fuckin’ hard all Telemacus could get out was a coupla “mmmphs,”

“Hubby licks armpit real good once he knows how, don’t he?” says Mars to the tied up’n gagged Andromache. “Wait’ll you see how much he digs rimmin’ a buncha Spartan assholes.” Two seconds later Mars was squatting down on that kid’s good-lookin’ face, lettin’ a coupla hot farts loose straight up his nose before makin’ him slip his fuckin’ tongue right up his stinkin’ shit-smeared shitter. The bride’s eyes look like they’re gonna pop right outta her fuckin’ skull, man, like the only fuckin’ thing holdin’ ‘em in place was a couple’a metal springs or somethin’. An’ they stay like that for the next course, which is when Mars’n his hoods made her fuckin’ groom slurp up all’a the jam they had growin’ between their fuckin’ toes.

All of this shit was the preliminaries, of course — Mars wantin’ to make fuckin’ Telemacus crawl before treatin’ him like the fuckin’ cunt he was plannin’ to make him become. The signal for the main fuckin’ event was when the fuckin’ god told the kid to fuckin’ squirm across the floor to him on his fuckin’ belly, keepin’ his mouth open an’ his fuckin’ tongue stickin’ all’a way out. Fuckin’ Mars, he sits there on the edge of a chair, playin’ with his fuckin’ foot-long dong like it was some kinda toy or somethin’, grinnin’ down at Telemacus’n askin’ him if he wasn’t as fuckin’ hungry for that piece’a sweaty man-meat as he looked.

Telemacus, he’s not streetwise like Mars’n them soldier boys. He doesn’t know what the big fella is gettin’ at. Shit, how plain’d he have to make it? He was straight, man! The only reason he was about to suck that fuckin’ pecker into his fuckin’ mouth was to save his lady from sufferin’ the same fuckin’ fate.

Which ain’t what them dudes with the muscles’n the upper hand’re waitin’ to hear. Fuck, man, they know what the fuckin’ kid is doin’ it for, but what they got goin’ here is a trip. They’re gang-rapin’ a goddam faggot bridegroom, right, an’ they’re showin’ him what he really gets the hots for. Dick. Prick. Cock. Balls. Nuts. Gettin’his lousy asshole plugged. Talk to us, fool. Tell us how fuckin’ hungry you are!

A coupla punches, a coupla kicks, a coupla handfuls’a hair and a squeeze on his sac — Telemacus finally gets the fuckin’ message. “Yeah, okay,” he gasps. “I want it, yeah, I’m hungry for your fuckin’ hard-on in my fuckin’ mouth, okay? Okay?”

“That’s fuckin’ pitiful, man,” Mars tells him. “I oughta make you work for it a lot more’n this. Lucky for you I’m in a real generous mood. Chow down, buddy. Eat that meat — an’ lemme hear it good.”

He don’t wait for the kid to get over any shyness he might have when it comes to gettin’ up close to his first taste’a honest-to-goodness man meat, grabbin’ him by the fuckin’ ears and rammin’ his fuckin’ face forward. That big ol’ cock’a his goes into his fuckin’ mouth like a fuckin’ nail through plasterboard, man. Before Telemacus knows what’s happened he’s got a mouthful’a big-headed god dick an’ his fuckin’ lips are stretched’n shaped like they ain’t never been before. “Awwww-ggkkk,” he gags, feelin’ that enormous thing pokin’ right down his throat all’a way up to his fuckin’ adam’s apple, chokin’ him, cuttin’ off his breath. “Awwwwggkkk!”

“Take it, asshole,” Mars says, holdin’ his head so he can’t yank back off a that fat flarin’ dick head. “Ain’t that the best tastin’ tubesteak you ever get your face into, huh? Huh?”

A huge wad of fuckin’ gross saliva foams out around Mars’s gigantic tool, along with a coupla chunks’a upchuck. Telemacus’s face is goin’ fuckin’ purple for sure.

“The little asshole’s outta practice,” Bruno says, stickin’ one’a his fuckin’ fingers into the crack’a Telemacus’s smooth-cheeked ass, probin’ for the button at the bottom, two’a the other young toughs holdin’ the kid’s legs still by the thighs so’s he ain’t got no fuckin’ problems doin’ it.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Mars says, withdrawin’ the mushroom’a his dick back to rest a minute on the bridegroom’s lower lip. “We don’t want the fuckin’ cocksucker to forget how to suck cock, do we, now?” With which, man, he rams the entire twelve inches of his wrist-thick dong all’a way back down into the inside’a Telemacus’s neck, startin’ a rhythm up. Takin’ advantage, Bruno jabs that finger’a his up into the kid’s vul­nerable shitter, an’ then snakes a second in along­side the first, widening the fuckin’ asshole until it’s fuckin’ wide enough to make room for a third finger an’ even a fourth.

“You mind if I plow his ass, boss?” he asks Mars, who’s sittin’ there with his fuckin’ tongue hangin’ out a little, beginnin’ to enjoy the way fuckin’ Telemacus is startin’ to swab the flat’a his tongue around the underside of that god cock, makin’ it feel real fine.

“Be my fuckin’ guest,” Mars says, puttin’ his hands up behind his head so’s the bridegroom’n everybody else can get a good look at how nice his biceps bunch up, not to mention the nice set of pits underneath ‘em. “0le’ Telemacus here, he’s gonna love it, that prong’a yours doin’ the ol’ in’n out up his man-cunt.”

Needin’ no more encouragement, Bruno lined his big veiny hard-on up with the kid’s virgin pucker an’ kissed it with the head, one’a them wedge-shaped bulbs leakin’ from the pee-hole even before the fuckin’ contact was made. One thing about fuckin’ Bruno, man: that soldier never went in dry!

So he shoves, hard, that shaft’a his solid like steel, you know? Ain’t no way Telemacus’s anus’s gona keep that thing out. An’ even though the dude is goin’ in slow and steady, applyin’ pressure real easy, it’s fuckin’ hard for a cherry asshole like that goddam bridegroom. “MWAAAUUUGGG-HHHHK,” he cries out, his fuckin’ voice muffled by the pummelin’ pound’a hot cockmeat slammin’ repeatedly down his fuckin’ throat, real pain contortin’ his good looks.

Hey, that only makes the fuckin’ rapists that much more horny. “Oh, yeah, faggot bitch,” Bruno yells as he gets himself a good hard grip around the youngster’s torso, pinchin’ both’a his tits between his fuckin’ thumbs’n forefingers. “How’s it fuckin’ feel, huh, eight inches’a hard dork plowin’ up your shitter? Huh?”

“He fuckin’ loves it,” one’a the other Army boys shouts, makin’ damn sure that Andromache also sees what he’s so eager to show his fuckin’ rapist friends — which was Telemacus’s own thick piledriver rail solid, the fuckin’ foreskin rolled back under the coronal ridge. A strand of webby pre-cum was hangin’ from it, man, an’ more was beginnin’ to leak out of the pee-hole. “What d’you fuckin’ know!”

A blush of hot red shame came all over fuckin’ Telemacus’s face. “No,” he groaned, “no, it can’t be.” But there was no fuckin’ denyin’ it, man: facts were facts. Ain’t nothin’ more obvious than havin’ a flag pole stickin’ up from your fuckin’ pubes, believe me.

“You want me to jerk ‘im off?”

“Great idea,” Mars said, so the dude start’s workin’ Telemacus’s shaft like it was one’a the fuckin’ teats on a cow or somethin’, milkin’ him with a steady up’n down palm. An’ pretty soon the groom’s whole body starts shiverin’, the skin pimplin’ like he was walkin’ nude out into a fuckin’ snowstorm. His goddam balls get real tight up in his bag on either side of his rod — an’ don’t forget, man, while this’s goin’ on Mars’n Bruno are double-fuckin’ the shithead an’ they’re gettin’ real ready to drop their loads down his fuckin’ throat’n up his goddam chute.

“Lesse’f we can all cum at the same time,” Bruno suggests, an’ they go to work, huffin’ and pumpin’ an’ what d’you know. The minute Mars’s face screws up and he yells that he’s gonna fuckin’ shoot the same thing goes for Bruno — an’ then for the poor schmuck they’re screwin’, Telemacus. Gallons of hot ball cream go travellin’ outta six giant balls, man, spurt after fuckin’ spurt. The bridegroom finally learns what gism tastes like cuz Mars takes his goddam head in his fuckin’ hands again an’ holds him in place so that the only thing he can do with that shootin’ sperm is fuckin’ swallow it, every last goddam glob. An’ as for Bruno, shit, that soldier cums like he pees, in endless salvos. Telemacus was goddam lucky he wasn’t a cunt, I’m telling you: he’d be havin’ a fuckin’ litter’a brats comin’ outta him in nine more fuckin’ months!

Maybe thinkin’ about that was what triggered the kid, maybe it was just the sensation of feelin’ all that fuckin’ joy-juice coating the insides of his gut, who knows? The important thing is Telemacus rolls over the fuckin’ edge seconds later, his own big balls blastin’ jet after fuckin’ jet while his whole fuckin’ body scrunched up an’ loosened up an’ them scrunched up some more.

“Oo-ee, lady,” the blue-eyed solder whoops at Andromache, “looks like we just cheated you outta a whole mugful’a that oil.”

“Maybe not,” Mars tells him — ‘n her, winkin’ at Bruno as he gets up, his detumescin’ pecker poppin’ not so limply outta the groom’s goddam mouth. See, man, Bruno an’ the dude jerkin’ Tele­macus off, they had plans in case the fucker came: they caught most’a that load in the palms’a their hands, puddlin’ it there like Ivory Liquid or somethin’. “Take a look. Yummy lookin’, ain’t it. You want me to take that gag outta your mouth a minute so you can wet your fuckin’ whistle, huh?”

The chick cringes up against the wall, of course, looking goddam nauseated. Mars presses in on her, just outta spite’n simple meanness.

“Whatsa matter, darlin’? It’s stuff right outta your hubby’s nuts, fresh’n hot. Don’t tell me you don’t wanna stick that pretty little ol’ tongue’a yours outta them pretty little lips and suck it up?”

“Leave her alone!” Telemacus cried. “You said you’d leave her alone. We had a deal, man!”

“Ain’t you the noble Joe,” says the god, turning to present the quiverin’ grey syrup to Andro­mache’s new husband. “Gonna drink it up outta my fuckin’ palm instead’a her?”

Boy, did that make Andromache’s fuckin’ bride­groom look sick! Fuckin’ Mars wasn’t givin’ him no goddam choice, man: either Telemacus snarfed that gunk right up outta them palms like a cat lappin’ cream or these fuckin’ perverts were gonna force the load right down the lady’s fuckin’ throat. “Yeah,” he finally says, gaggin’ like crazy just at the fuckin’ thought of havin’ to eat the cum he just shot outta his fuckin’ gonads. “Yeah, I’ll take it, man.”

“Damn right you will,” giggled Mars, liftin’ his palm so’s fuckin’ Telemacus can use it like a fuckin’ dish. “Get that goddam tongue outta your fuckin’ mouth an’ slurp on it, prick. Real slow.”

Real slow it is, fuckin’ Telemacus stickin’ the tip’a his fuckin’ tongue out from between them ripe lips’a his an’ dippin’ it down into that puddle’a grey shit, givin’ his fuckin’ tastebuds one hell of a fuckin’ workout, drop by fuckin’ drop, y’know what I mean. His whole fuckin’ body, all them big bulgin’ muscles’n all, man, they dry heave all over the place, but he fuckin’ does it, man, he cleans off that palm til there ain’t nothin’ left. All that goddam cum’s gone down over his fuckin’ tongue right past his throat into his fuckin’ belly.

“Did a damn good job on that,” Bruno snarfs, directin’ his compliment more at the tied up’n gagged bride than at Telemacus himself. “Didn’t he, bitch, huh? You know somethin’? I think he could use another shot of it, right here.” Fuckin’ Telemacus, man, he’d forgotten that his fuckin’ load’a joy-juice’d been caught not by one but by two fuckin’ hands while he was shootin’ it. Well, he groans, but Bruno don’t pay no fuckin’ attention to that, he just holds his hand up an’ lets the fucker start suckin’ it up outta the fuckin’ palm.

“I’m a good guy,” says Mars with a mean grin twistin’ his face. “An’ shit, I’m kinda gettin’ to like this kid despite himself.” He ran his fingers through the bridegroom’s hair in a gesture which wasn’t anything other than the biggest put-down there could be. “Just can’t bring myself to deny you that reward, man. So you’re gonna get to get laid on your fuckin’ weddin’ night, after all, how about that, huh?”

Shit, if goddam Telemacus looked pie-eyed before, man, that was nothin’ to what the shithead looked like now. See, what Mars was tellin’ him was that they wanted him to put on a fuckin’ show for them now, him an’ fuckin’ Andromache, all tied up with her fuckin’ mouth stuffed with ancient Greek jockstrap. “Are you fuckin’ outta your fuckin’ heads, man?” he shrieks. “I just fuckin’ came! I couldn’t get it up again this fuckin’ soon, even if I was fuckin’ alone with her!”

“Oo,” says Mars in a low, “watch-out” voice. “I better not be hearin’ you right, fucker. I’m givin’ you a gift an’ the one thing that really makes me crazy is havin’ my fuckin’ generosity thrown back in my fuckin’ face.”

“Yeah, prick,” Bruno tells him. “You better figure out some fuckin’ way to get that goddam dick’a yours hard real quick or maybe you ain’t gonna have no fuckin’ dick at all.”

“I know how to get this asshole hard again, no sweat at all,” says one of the soldiers whose own sword is stickin’ up like a fuckin’ bull’s. Mars tells him to go to it, then, an’ the big tough hairy-chested guy says “sure” an’ moves behind fuckin’ Telemacus an’ rams him good with that prong. One squishy stroke, man, that whole eight-inch number goes slidin’ like a knife into that buttery man-quim.

“Goddam, not again, AHH.” the growl yowls, his fuckin’ asshole reopened wider’n ever.

“Whatcha howlin’ for,” the fucker on his fuckin’ back rasps, “you fuckin’love it, cunt, an’you know how I know? Cuz your fuckin’ pecker’s gettin’ fuckin’ stiff, man, ain’t it? Just like it was you never shot a fuckin’ load at all.”

An’ it was. Everybody fell all over the fuckin’ place, watchin’ it get longer an’ harder, seein’ the peckerhead come poppin’ outta that hood, leakin’ sticky drool. “No, no,” the kid moaned, goin’ kind’a saggy as the Army dude pummeled his backside with long nigger strokes, each one thuddin’ his bush hard into the crack an’ each one makin’ Telemacus’s fuck stick stand  up even more.

“Well,” says Mars, lookin’ real satisfied, “I guess this here handsome young bridegroom is just about ready to take that present we got for him.” A snap of his fuckin’ fingers an’ he an’ his pal Bruno grab the young bride by the arms’n legs, spreadin’ her out while the soldier fuckin’ Tele­macus’s ass maneuvers him up over her, his hot joy-pole jabbed so far up his shitter it could probably act like a fuckin’ puppeteer’s hand in one’a them fuckin’ Muppet creatures. “Pop her cherry, hubby.”

“Oh, God,” Telemacus whimpers, but his fuckin’ dork stays up — shit, it gets even harder, seein’ Mars’n Bruno use their fuckin’ fingers to spread Andromache’s glistenin’ pink cunny, Mars reachin’ out with his fuckin’ free hand to grip the kid’s stalk at the fuckin’ root so’s he can do the aimin’ for him.

“Here we go, man,” he sniggers, “right up this bitch’s virgin cunt!”

“Noooo!” the chick screams, but it’s too fuckin’ late, the dude on top’a Telemacus thrustin’ forwards with the hardest, most savage jab yet, the force of it rammin’ the bridegroom’s distended dork all the way into Andromache’s snatch.

“Fuckin’ fan-tastic!” Mars whoops it up, dancing around, his vengeance is goin’ so damn good “You see the way he just punched that prick right through her goddammed cherry, Lookit her fuckin’ bleed, yeah!”

Telemacus’s dick was red with it, an’ya shoulda heard his bride screamin’. “Keep fuckin’, man,” says the fuckin’ guy on the kid’s back, his own movements inside that asshole forcin’ Telemacus to plow back ‘n forth inside that cunt. “You know you wanna blow this load in that bitch til she fuckin’ overflows with fuckin’ cum.”

It was a fuckin’ triple-deck sandwich, man, fuckin’ Telemacus in the middle, fuckin’ an’ gettin’ fucked at the same fuckin’ time. The other dudes in the room had brand new hard-ons that wouldn’t quit, an’ they didn’t have to do no jerkin’ off to keep ‘em that way. Besides, like Mars told ‘em, at least one more’a them could get into the fuckin’ picture, slicin’ his dong through the bride­groom’s mouth an’ down his fuckin’ throat — which Bruno was more’n willing to do.

You gotta picture it. Now it’s fuckin’ Telemacus fuckin’s his fuckin’ wife while his ass’s gettin’ reamed out good by a fat oversized cock’n his fuckin’ mouth is stuffed full of another. Which left two guys outta the action. But not for fuckin’ long. I mean, shit, man, that chick didn’t have any cock in her mouth an’ her fuckin’ asshole was available, too, right?

“Wait a minute,” says the last’a the soldiers to the god’a war. “Wasn’t the deal that we wasn’t gonna fuck her cuz we was gonna fuck him?”

“Gods don’t make no fuckin’ deals with no mortals,” Mars explains, leering down at the shocked look bloomin’ all over fuckin’ Telemacus’s face — that part of it which wasn’t fulla man meat, that is.

“Mwuffhh,” the kid tries to say, Bruno puttin’ a quick stop to that by diddling the head’a his monster dork past Telemacus’s glottal stop while Mars gets behind the fuckin’ naked bride an’ worms his rod like a roto-rooter snake all the way up her anus.

“He’s splitting me up the middle!” she yells — until the last’a the fuckin’ soldiers pulls her head up into his fuckin’ crotch and feeds her his smelly purple-headed prick right up to the fuckin’ hilt, rubbin’ her face in his bushy pubes, makin’ her smell the animal smells all over that sex-flesh. After that all she fuckin’ says is “mmmffffhh” like her goddam husband.

Like I said, it’s one fuckin’ hot book, man, an’ it don’t stop there, either. I mean, you oughta read the description of how all these fuckin’ guys start cummin’ pretty much at the same fuckin’ time, fuckin’ hot ball juice spurtin’ out all over the fuckin’ place, overflowing all over them, outta their mouths’n their gapin’ assholes, bathin’ them in the fishy-smellin’ shit. Everybody’s growlin’ and howlin’ an’ humpin’ while they’re shootin’ their loads, the bridal chamber reekin’a shit an’ cum an’ sweat. A real good time was had by all — ‘cept maybe the bride, the only one who didn’t cum.

“Shit, we can’t have that, man,” Mars tells everybody when they get up — an’ then he looks cross eyed at Telemacus, who’s lyin’ there limp, puddles’a crap all over him, his belly’n chest heavin’ up an’ down, his hairless physique just slippery with sweat balls. “Go on, bitch. Get your lady off like a good fuckin’ hubby, come on.” Get this, man, what Mars does is to push that fuckin’ kid’s fuckin’ face right into the gash between his wife’s fuckin’ thighs. “Give her a fuckin’ mouth job.”

“Yeah,” Bruno adds. “Clean all that fuckin’ cum’a yours outta that pussy.”

But it’s too much for the guy. He falls unconscious face forward into that snatch, unable to handle it any more. That don’t faze the god’a war, though, not one damn bit. “Don’t worry, cunt,” he tells the chick. “We’re gonna help him get you off good.”

On which he pushes Telemacus’s whole face right through that broad’s cunt-lips, smearing him around inside that smelly gash, operatin’ his head by the hair’n the ears, up’n down, around’n around. After a coupl’a minutes, guess what: the cunt starts to go bananas at the fuckin’ sensation of gettin’ fucked by her fuckin’ husband’s fuckin’ face —which ain’t all that’s goin’ on, cuz Bruno an’ one’a his muscular young pals’re workin’ her boobies over good, too, spittin’ ‘em up with long smooth strokes’a their lappin’ tongues, givin’ ‘em little love-bites’n hickies with their fuckin’ teeth. Wasn’t gonna be no way this fuckin’ chick wasn’t gonna blow a wad — an’ sure enough, man, it hits’n it hits hard, makin’ her buck and bounce like a real mutha, gushin’ that creamy cunt-juice all over her bridegroom’s fuckin’ face, the smell an’ feel of that shit wakin’ him up, makin’ him fuckin’ splutter like a drownin’ man.

“Don’t look so down, bitch,” Mars tells him as he kicks him off his bride’s slit an’ looks smugly at his fuckin’ drippy face. “We just made you into a real fuckin’ husband instead’a just another pretty boy.” An’ except for makin’ the kid chugalug a couple’a gallons of their fuckin’ smelly piss straight from them fuckin’ faucets, that’s where the goddam story ends, man, an’ where’d’ya think you’re goin’?

To type it up for Jennings, huh? But first you’re gonna crawl up here between my hairy fuckin’ thighs, prick, an’ you’re gonna this horny basketball player’s dick til I drain my fuckin’ nuts dry. An’ when I say dry, cunt, I mean dry. Stories like Wedding Night of a Greek make me good for at least three fuckin’ loads!