By Ken Leigh

(International Leatherman.January-February.1997)

I called Serge soon after discovering I was to be in the The City for the weekend. We had not seen each other in some time, and he suggested we meet for dinner. Afterward, he would have some en­tertainment for his “slaveboy.” His voice became deeper over the phone: “I will send you instructions as to what to bring so that you can change at my place. Also, there will be reading for you to dis­cuss with me to put you in the right frame of mind.” As I hung up the phone, I wondered just what I had gotten myself into this time.

I carefully packed what Serge had required: a pair of tight, torn jeans; a chain and leather harness I had purchased from Mr. S; leather biker jacket; boots. I had asked about a T-shirt, and was told I would not need it. I cringed when he said, “It would just be torn off anyway.” My readings dealt with different phases of servitude, sto­ries of being taken by a Master and trained, and many passages from Preston’s Mr. Benson which I think I had memorized. All I could think about on the flight out was that it was going to be an intense evening.

Dinner was wonderful, as we ate in one of The City’s celebrated restaurants. On the drive back to his place, Serge started to ask questions about what I had read, how I felt about being someone’s slaveboy, and being on display. He also asked if I had brought everything I was told. I quietly replied, “Yes, Sir. I know better than to disappoint.” He smiled and brushed his hand up my leg to the crotch.

“Good boy,” he said, squeezing my dick and balls. “You have at least remembered one of your lessons.” I rose up as far as I could in the seat and winced at the sudden pain. “A little sensitive tonight aren’t we? I’ll have to take care of that later.” As we approached the front door, I was reminded of our safe-words and signs. “Once we enter the house, you are my boy and will do as I command.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, and bowed my head in respect. Serge took my chin and lifted it to his eyes. “Behave yourself, and you will have a fantasy filled tonight; disobey, and it will be an experience you will not soon forget.” We went up the stairs to his living room where I was told to fix drinks and sit at his feet. The questioning continued about my reading, especially about passages from Mr. Benson, and if I had any health problems. After a while, I was told to get my bag of things for Serge’s inspection. He was pleased and told me to change in a corner of the room while he changed into his leathers.

Because of the tears, I brought a jock to wear under my jeans, and the black material showed through the faded, shredded denim. The chain on the harness was cold as I wrapped and snapped it around my chest. I hissed as the metal touched my back and heard Serge chuckle in the other room. Once on, I looked in the mirror. The leather and metal fit snugly and framed my hairy chest well. I was thankful for all that time in the gym. The jeans could not be any tighter and allow me to move and breathe, but they did frame my legs and butt well, in all immodesty. I was lost in my narcissism when I noticed Serge’s reflection in the mirror. I turned and fell to my knees.

He looked like a Tom of Finland icon. His leather jeans looked like molds as they outlined his thighs and butt — his dick made an impressive mound at his crotch. He was wearing a black T-shirt which somehow stretched over his chest and seemed to outline every muscle. He was wearing a jacket which was loosely zipped at the bottom. A whip hung at his side as did a pair of shiny handcuffs. On his lapel was a pair of evil-looking tit clamps. I dared to look up into his eyes as I touched his leg. “You look wonderful, Sir. Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?” He smiled, looked at his feet and turned them.

“My boots are dusty. Take this cloth, clean them and give them a good bath with your slave-tongue.” I hurriedly crawled over to get the flannel cloth then gently started to clean the Dehners. I folded the cloth over and started to shine them after licking them with my tongue. A sheen appeared, and I crawled back, the sign I was fin­ished. “Good boy, you remember how to please your Master.” After a pause, Serge said, “Stand up, let me see you.” I stood straight, looked Serge in the eyes, and bowed my head. As I did this, Serge was sitting and motioned me to turn around. “You’ve been keeping in shape. Come here.” I walked over to his chair. “What’s this fab­ric?” He noticed the jock and fingered it through the ripped material. “Modesty never became you, but I guess this will be all right for now. Come, kneel beside me. I have something special for you to wear tonight. Close your eyes.” As I knelt and closed my eyes, I heard a clasp and then something cold and heavy on my neck. I heard the clasp again and a lock being put in place and sensed the weight. I was told to open my eyes, and I saw a thick leather collar with spikes in the mirror. The lock was in the back and a ring was in the front. “There is no doubt as to your position tonight, is there?”

“No, Sir, I am your boy, Sir.” I reached up with my hands to touch the points of the collar and was shocked to find out how sharp they were.

“Remember how sharp those points are. If you misbehave to­night, you’ll be wearing those points on the inside along with a couple of other surprises I might have.” The thought of that shocked me. “Yes, Sir, I’ll be good, Sir, I’ll make you proud.”

“Good. Put your hands behind your back.” After doing so, I felt cold metal on my wrists and the setting of the handcuffs. A leash was attached to the collar, and I felt it tug me closer to the chair. “Now that I have your attention, I’ll tell you what is planned for the evening. You are going to be taken to my club and introduced as my slave from out of town. You will do what I say when I say it. Chances are, I will have friends there too. So, you had better not embarrass me.” A tug of the leash almost caused me to lose my balance as I nodded my head. “Afterward, if you do well, we will go for a drink. It could be quite a festive evening for you and something about which you could tell your friends. Just remember your readings and place yourself in what you have read.” As he talked, I looked into the bottomless ice-blue pools of his eyes which were framed by his closely cut black beard and hair which seemed to have the begin­nings of some gray. A look of fiendish mischief flashed on his face before a serious scowl took over which scared me. I wondered if I had not gone too far this time. My apprehension must have been evident as Serge patted my head. “Remember your safeword and sign, but fall into the environment. I will always be within easy distance if you are indisposed.” We left for the club after he un­locked the handcuffs.

On Folsom Street after parking the car, I was led through a dark doorway and was met by a heavily muscled attendant. “Serge,” he said, “you have a new toy with you tonight. How do you keep finding the good ones? He will need to fill out some forms.”

After completing them, I was led to a check room and told to remove my jacket. I might as well have been told to strip; I felt that exposed. I tried to fold my arms over my chest as we walked into the next room, but Serge thrust both tongue and pelvis in me. I could already feel the precum, and he must have also as he felt my jock. “You are excited about all of this, aren’t you? Let me give you a little something to occupy your thoughts.” As he said this, he took the tit clamps from his lapel and somehow set both of them at the same time. I hit my head against the wall and hissed loudly as I tried to shake my torso, the wrong thing to do as the heavy chain pulled each nipple and the teeth seemed to dig in deeper. I regained my balance and slowly opened my eyes.

“Sir, please, please, take them off or lighten them.”

“You know what to say, boy,” was his reply. I bit my lip; I was not giving in this early in the evening and winced as he played with the chain. “You need training. It looks as if you have been screwing off.” He dropped the chain which pulled my nipples downward. The force of the drop caused me to shut my eyes hard, but they were opened by a tug of the leash as we walked into another room.

I could not believe my eyes and ears. Guys in various stages of undress were huddled around others in what could only be called an out-of-control orgy. A tall, slender guy beside me was having his dick and balls serviced by two other men who were on their knees and playing with themselves. Another pair of guys was worshipping his nipples and somehow, a fifth guy was Frenching him as he ran his hands through his blond hair. All were moaning with increased intensity. As Serge started to lead me away, there was a short, sharp cry from a guy being serviced, and it appeared several were cumming at the same time. I was fixated by the scene as Serge pulled hard on my leash.

“Get over here,” he said with notice­able displeasure, “You’ll get yours soon enough.” My dick was leaking precum again into the soggy jock. I was motioned to get on my knees in front of Serge. After doing so, I looked up. “Show your Master how happy you are.” As he said this, my face was dragged to his crotch. Since my hands were cuffed, I had to use my nose to feel his lengthening cock and balls. Once I found the tip, I took my tongue and outlined it back up to his crotch. “Take the zipper with your teeth and open it.” I straightened up so that my teeth could find the clasp. After several tries, I was able to start the zipper’s descent. Once open, I thrust my nose into the musky crotch and tenderly bounced his balls on my tongue. An audible sigh, even in this room, was my sign I was doing well. Serge widened his stance and released his cock and balls from his jeans. They were an artist’s perfection.

Someone immediately knelt down beside me and started toward Serge. However, he was brushed aside as I quickly took my prize. My tongue made its way under the foreskin and started a circular motion around the head. My head’s grip tightened briefly, but Serge’s hands then fell on my shoulders. I looked up briefly and saw his face. I must have pleased him by the look of contentment. I released the cock and began to tongue both balls at one time. As I inched closer, I managed to get both orbs into my mouth and gently pulled on the ballsac. Serge got on the tips of his toes as I played with them in my mouth.

“Where did you learn that boy?” he asked. While in my mouth, I gently rolled one over the other with my tongue, and my nose teased the base of his cock. I popped one and then the other out of my mouth and stepped back for air. Serge took my head and brushed back the hair from my eyes. “You are surprising your Mas­ter tonight. We might have to have a special talk later to find out who has been teaching you!” He must have needed a moment to regain his composure as he pulled me close and massaged my shoulders. He fondled his dick and balls briefly and pulled them; a gentle jerk of the leash told me ‘to get up from the floor. The movement brought my attention back to my tits which swung with the move­ment of the heavy metal chain connecting the clamps. My quick hissing sound did nothing to create any sympathy from Serge. He just led me out of the room and down an even more dimly lit hall.

At the end of the hall, we stopped, and Serge had me face the wall to release the handcuffs. I did not realize how stretched my arms and chest were, but the relief was short-lived as I was turned around and my arms pulled above my head and attached to some­thing. The movement created new waves of pain in my tits as the chain moved. Serge stood closely and motioned with his feet for me to spread my legs. As I did this, the clamps were removed. The rush of blood caused me to try to bring my arms down and draw my legs to my chest as I hissed loudly. Instead, my legs were caught by Serge’s, and I tried to wrap them around his body. At the same time, he thrust his tongue into my mouth as he started to punch his crotch into mine, and my legs tried to crawl farther up toward his waist. I heard his zipper and then felt his cock enter into the ripped crotch of my jeans. His hands were push­ing me even farther against the wall, and his breath was growing shorter and shorter as he pulled one swollen nipple then the other with his teeth. My precum-soaked jock must have felt good — once his cock found the area, he started to thrust viciously be­tween my legs. I continued to suck his tongue further inside me. He suddenly with­drew the tongue and started to bite a line down my neck and shoulder as the piston-like thrusts started again and grew faster and harder. I was hanging by my arms while my legs were fully spread around his waist and feet crossed for support.

I heard a sharp gasp for air and felt teeth where my shoulder and arm joined. I felt wetness on the hairs between my legs and on my jock as Serge came. Serge’s arms enveloped me for support as I started to convulse and shoot my load. The intensity of the release was heightened by Serge’s fon­dling of my poor swollen tits. Breathless, I finally came back to reality, and my legs slid back to the floor as my lifeless body hung by its arms, and I tried to stand. Serge stuffed his still-bloated, stiff cock into his jeans and zipped them. He then took my head into one hand and brushed away the damp hair from my eyes.

“We can be such animals. This place brings out the raw animal in most everyone.” He gently kissed my forehead, nose and lips as I came back to life.

“I am going away for a minute. Behave yourself and don’t at­tract any attention.” A cocky smile came over his lips as he slapped the side of my ass.

“Please, Sir, don’t leave me alone; you said you would not leave me.” I began to shake and uselessly tried to pull my arms from their prison.

“Relax,” he responded. “Nothing will happen to you here. Just behave yourself.” He rubbed the sides of my ass, turned and walked away.

As soon as he left, someone come toward me. The man was a giant, at least from my viewpoint. He was a 6-foot-6 bodybuilder. The dim light caught the oiled curves of his upper arms and wash­board features of his stomach. He was wearing just a shiny leather thong which left nothing to the imagination as it obscenely outlined his oversized cock and balls. He stopped in front of me, and his finger outlined my face. I tried to bow my head and turn away, but his paws grabbed my head and held it. “Please, Sir, my Master placed me here to be alone. I don’t want to get into trouble, Sir, please don’t touch me.” As I was saying this, the man gently massaged my nipple; his other hand gently outlined my lips which started to reach for the fingers to suck them.

“That’s right, little boy, suck them gently — show Daddy how you miss him.” Another finger was placed in my mouth as I closed my eyes and started to pick up the sucking action as his other hand massaged my chest. I knew it was wrong, but I continued.

I opened my eyes to see another man walking toward me. He was wearing just a body harness and a chain jock which was shin­ing even in the dim hall. Both items seemed to be stretched as much as possible to cover his hairy, developed body. “What do we have here? A public toy?” I came to my senses and tried to spit out the fingers to talk.

“Please, please leave. My Master will be back soon. He … he told me to behave myself and be quiet. I … I’m supposed to be alone.” As I was trying to talk, I was also trying to turn away from them, but it was useless. The hairy leather-strapped man reached down to spread my legs and attached them to something on the floor. I could feel cool air rush between my damp crotch, and the scent of cum seemed to fill the air.

The muscleman noticed the odor: “You haven’t been too good a slave, have you? You’ve cum. I bet your Master didn’t even permit you, did he?” Before I could answer, a piece of duct tape came from nowhere and was wrapped across my mouth. I moaned and tried to swing away, but had little movement. The muscleman grabbed me by the hair and said, “Your Master said to be quiet; we’re just trying to help.” The both laughed while their hands kneaded my torso as if it were bread dough. I then started to shake my head and shout through the tape.

“No, no, please don’t, please, please …” My words turned into low moans as both men began to suck and nibble my tits and massage my ass, cock and balls. What movement I had, began to change as I tried to meet their actions, and my dick hardened and tried to get out of its cloth jail. The hairy guy came up to my face.

“This public piece likes attention; let’s give him plenty.” With those words, he fell to his knees, undid my jeans and pulled them and the jock as far down as they could go. My dick popped out of its soaked cage and into his mouth as he began to deep throat me roughly. As he did this, he used his fingers to find my ass and began to massage the moist opening. Gently he inserted one, two and then three fingers. I tried to escape but only ended up flailing around wildly.

“Please, please don’t fist me, Sir. I’ll be good, please,” I begged. As this was going on, the muscleman was straddling the man on his knees and pulling my chest toward him. He slowly licked up from my belly button to my right nipple. At that point he bit the nipple and twisted it gently while his hand worked the other. I was getting into the program and was theirs. I hung by my arms as these two did what they wanted. My breathing started to grow in short spurts, and I felt fingers rubbing my prostate and a mouth trying to suck my foreskin. I opened my eyes to see Serge with his arms crossed and whip in hand. I was too wasted to say anything as the hairy guy withdrew his mouth and started to jack me off with both hands, and the muscleman attacked my chest with his mouth and hands. My body arched as much as it could, and my seed flew across the hall.

I began to swing as much as possible from the wall as rope after rope of cum poured from what felt like my feet. After the sixth or seventh spurt, I collapsed against the wall.I felt like I had run a marathon, I was so out of breath. Serge shouted, “You slut slave, you’ll do it anytime, anywhere, for any­one!” Before I knew what was happening, the two men disappeared. The tape was ripped from my face as I babbled and started to cry. “Please Sir, I … I tried to stop them, honest. It … it wasn’t my fault.” I hung my head and quietly sobbed since I knew what was going to happen. One thing I dared never do was to disobey Serge. He released my ankles, and I quickly brought my sticky, cum-streaked legs together to try to hide my hard cock. He then released my arms, and I fell into a heap on the floor and cowered in the corner. My collar was yanked up, and I scrambled to stand, even with my jeans and jock hobbling any movement. I was told to take them off and face the wall. My body was tightly spread-eagled against the wall, and my collar attached to something so that I could not move my head. Serge pressed himself against me as I could feel his warm leather-clad body against my exposed back. His bearded face brushed against mine as he spoke: “You have disappointed me, boy. I was where I could see you.”

“But Sir, I tried, tried to stop them, but they went on. I was gagged to keep from speaking, Sirrr … please believe me.”

“I believe what I saw. You enjoyed it too much. Now you have to be punished and remember once more whose you are. I’m getting tired of this, you worthless piece of trash. When will it ever end?”

A defeated “Yes, Sir” was all I could mumble.

I felt Serge leave me, and a cold chill ran through me. Then I heard a snap. The next sound was a “swoosh,” and Serge’s sharpest whip landed across my back. I froze in pain as the flogger left my body, only to return with greater force. My body splayed against the wall in a vain attempt to dull the flogger’s force. I bit my lower lip until it was numb and finally cried out: “Sir, please Sir, I tried to be good … I tried to obey you, Sir!” The whip moved to my ass and upper legs, and I tried to widen my stance even and swing in one direction or the other to miss the flogger. However, it was use­less. I finally tilted my head back as far as I could and cried, “Sir, I am yours, only yours, Sir. Your are my Master.” My arms went limp as I collapsed in the chains and sobbed.

Serge released the leg restraints and held me carefully as the arm restraints were removed. I fell onto the floor. He gathered me up and held me close. Soon, he gently nibbled my ear and whispered, “My boy, what am I ever going to do with you?” He took ice from a cup and brushed it against my red, welt-covered back. The cool block felt good. He then took a towel, wiped off my back, and handed it to me to finish. “Get dressed, boy. You’ve had a long night.” As he said this, he held me tight and kissed me gently. He truly was my Master, tonight and always.

We made our way through the maze of hallways and picked up our things. At the door, we stopped to make sure of the direction. I turned to see the two men who used me in the club. They came to Serge, shook hands and laughed. Serge turned to me. “These are two good friends of mine who were in on my plans for you this evening.” They shook hands with me and introduced themselves. “Do you feel like a drink? You’ve earned it, boy.” With that, the four of us turned to go to the bar across the street. Serge was right; the night was a fantasy I would not soon forget.

By Lawrence Mills

(Honcho June 1982)

“The room was prepared for you yesterday, sir, so you should find everything satisfactory. Shall I draw your bath, sir?”

“Oh, no, no, thank you,” I re­sponded, used to ‘drawing’ my own bath. “Everything is fine, thank you.”

“Good night, Sir.”

“Good night.” I threw my ex­hausted body on the bed. Enrico, my best friend, had really rolled out the red carpet for me. First the chauf­feur, then the dinner, then hours of wonderful man-to-man conversation. But 3 a.m. was well past my bedtime, and my body and mind were drained.

The room was gigantic, yet humbly furnished. The wooden floor and overhead beams made the room very dark and heavy. The brass bed lay in a corner near a large antique chest of drawers. Across the room near the door to the bathroom was a brand new leather chair. The odors of old wood and new leather per­vaded the entire room with a hardy scent reminding me of scenes from television westerns and movies about the Wild West.

Finally, I persuaded myself to get up, strip and wash before bed. I was hardly between covers when I felt the long awaited sleep overtaking me.

“Jimmy, what do you say we rest for a spell,” Jake called out above the sound of the horses’ hooves. “It’s just too hot in this sun.”

“Alright,” I said and turned up to the Golden Eagle Tavern. We climbed down and hitched our horses in front of the Eagle. It was already high noon and that sun was a killer. Jake and I went in and had a couple of beers. All the usual boys were there: Crazy Sam, Grandpa Esposito, Mohawk Billy, and a cou­ple other guys. We were a town of only a hundred or so men, but the Eagle kept a booming business. Ac­tually, it was the only watering hole in town.

Jake my sidekick had had only seven beers when he finally felt a lit­tle loose. He started talking about the women back home and how he wished that somehow, someway, they’d all just hop in a carriage and join us. We guys knew that was im­possible. We’d only been out here in the Oklahoma prairie lands ten months. There was a lot of building to be done before the women folk and kids could come join us. And the guys had been hurtin’ badly, if you know what I mean. I was no exception.

Jake and I left the Eagle and hopped back on the horses. The manly scent of harness and horseshit had become so familiar to me, and such a part of my daily life. Riding in the saddle, the constant bobbing up and down and its heavy friction on my ass and thighs, and the front of the saddle constantly rubbing my crotch kept me hornier than hell. I hadn’t felt or even seen a woman in ten long, agonizing months, and I was ready to fuck a tree. We all were like that. There were so many times I’d jack off and think about how great it would be to fuck in the saddle, surrounded by the smell of leather and animal and of virgin wood out in the forest.

It was just about sunset when Jake and I went back to the ranch. Today, the one-day we did no work, was the day we came home the tiredest. We were riding up to the house when I caught a glimpse of Jake against the backdrop of the orange, gold and blue of the distant horizon. His profile looked slick and handsome, his slim but muscular body riding high on his horse Chariot. He had long, lean and strong legs and a crop of hair that fell forward over his forehead. Since he never wore a hat, he always looked so domestic and so young. I felt myself getting a hard-on from just looking at him.

We got to the barn and I rounded up the animals while Jake made us some dinner. By the time we’d fin­ished eating, the clock in the parlor was chiming eight o’clock. I just sat in the leather couch and looked at Jake, who looked at me, neither of us saying a word.

Finally, Jake got up and walked over to me. “Jimmy,” he began while he stood over me.

“Yeah, Jake,” I responded grasp­ing his hips with my hands.

“It’s been a long time. .. A long time … ” he said, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling in the soft candlelight.

“I know, buddy. We got to do something about it-soon.”

“I know,” he said. Then he walked into the bedroom and shut the door.

It was about a minute before I realized that perhaps I should follow him. So I walked up to the bedroom door and walked in. And there stood Jake, by the light of the window, one hand on his ass, the other on his cock. He just stood there lightly massaging both of them. He didn’t seem to have heard me come in.

I walked ever so slowly up to him. I could hear his slightly louder than normal breathing over the dead quiet of the prairie night. He had me horn­ier than ever, with his young, healthy, muscular body gleaming by the soft rays of the moon. Quickly I walked over to him and with both hands grasped his ass. He gasped, “Ahhhhh,” as if my hands had been ice cold. And they were, against his hot skin.

He turned around to face me. I moved right in on him and gave him the hottest, longest, most yearning kiss I could muster up. He loved every moment of it. I pulled and tugged on his lips with mine while I explored his hard, lean, tanned body with my palms and fingers. Jake put his hands on my shoulders, mas­saging my neck. I stopped kissing him and looked down to see his long, thick cock throbbing with ex­citement. I bent down and looked at it once more before I instantly took a wide gulp and swallowed his enor­mous tool down my throat. It was a brand new experience for me but I fell right into the swing of it. And so did Jake.

He began to sway his hips front and back, pushing and pulling his fat, long prick in and out of my watery, savoring orifice. While grasp­ing his sides and his behind I began a slippery, fast-glide over his penis, tasting the pre-cum he had begun to collect. I stood up and laid him face down on the bed.

“Jake, I gotta have you, man. I just gotta do it,” I said, stroking myself, mad with passion. Jake didn’t say a word. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a couple fingers full of lard and ran the lard over my red-hot cock. I ran back into the bedroom and saw Jake lying just as I had left him, his round, firm, hairy buns kiss­ing the moonlight, his hole summon­ing me to its call.

Wild with uncontrollable appetite I knelt over Jake, and with no time to let him prepare I rammed my long, thin pole into Jake’s bowels. Sud­denly, with no warning, he let out one single earth-quaking yell. His burst of pain only made me want to fuck him even more.

“Ohhhh, GOOOODDDDD-DAMN!!” he yelled as I began to pump away on him furiously, ramming my stub­born Frankfurt between his buns, banging away with raging abandon.

“I want you, man. I want to fuck you like you’ve never known possi­ble,” I yelled back to him, deter­mined to make him feel what I wanted to give.

“Ohhhhh, Jiiiiimmmmy, OHHHH,” he kept yelling, so loudly that the room shook. “It hurts but I want it. Ohhh, give it to me.”

“I will, man. All eight inches of it,” I managed to say, just before I felt the pressure in my balls release as I rapid-fired my sidekick’s virgin asshole with my pumping prick. Out came all the cum I’d saved up for weeks in the hopes of having a luscious cunt to fuck. Instead I ended up with an asshole, but it was every bit as good-if not better.

Jake turned over onto his left side, with my steadily shrinking prick still in him. “Keep humping me, Jimmy,” he said, while choking his garden hose, stroking it fast. Within a minute he too had shot his ocean all over the bed and himself. I put my hand down on Jake’s drenched thigh and started smoothing the semen all over on his thigh and leg, getting him all sticky and wet.

When I woke up I felt the stickiness of my hands against my prick, my fingers nearly sticking together with half-dried semen. I’d had a most delicious wet dream. My heart was still pounding-partly because of the excitement of the dream, and partly because I sensed that familiar scent of leather and wood.

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!

“As I came home at five in the morn­ing, I saw an in­credible hunk emerging from a manhole in the empty street; a lit­tle while later he was back in a manhole: mine!

By Mario Mangiacazzo

(Honcho.April.1984.)

It was nearly five in the morning, and the dawn was beginning to crack through the blackness of the waning night as I strode through damp and deserted streets. I had spent Friday night dancing at my favorite after hours club, and my head still rang from the loud music and the drugs. Random half thoughts, fragments of conversa­tions, and refrains from records the DJ had played crackled through my head like static on a radio. As soon as I got back to my loft I’d drink some herb tea, smoke just a little reefer and then tumble into bed — alone.

I was just entering the section of downtown Manhattan known as TriBeCa — “the triangle below Canal Street” — when I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks. About halfway down the block I saw a large, bulky figure slowly ascending from a hole in the street. In my semi crazed state this vague but imposing form looked to me like a devil rising from a Stygian pit. I’d seen some startling sights during my many years of predawn prowling in New York City, but none so arresting as this.

At first I felt a twinge of fear, but as I was able to distinguish the nature of this particular sight, the fear turned to curiosity. My devil was ac­tually a sewer worker — a “sandhog,” I think you would call him — and the pit he clambered out of was a manhole ringed by a semicircular iron frame. The man held a lantern in one hand; when he was fully outside the manhole, he hung the light on the frame. I slowed my pace as I ap­proached him. He was wearing a heavy poplin jacket that came down to the tops of his thighs. Whatever color it might once have been was totally obscured by dirt and grease. His dark work pants were similarly filthy, and his heavy, laced up boots were darken­ed with whatever nasty fluids he’d been stomping around in down in that pit. Not the most appetizing sight, but when he suddenly turned around and faced me, my distaste turned to sur­prise, and excitement.

The man wore a grimy hardhat and underneath it was a big, leonine head. Thick black hair streaked with gray hung over the tops of his ears. He had unfashionably long sideburns that reached below his earlobes. The ends of his bushy black moustache curled around the corners of his wide, thin lipped mouth like commas. His fleshy face was unshaven. Now, this guy was clearly no fey little fashion plate. He was a fucking animal — a brutish, swea­ty, fearsome motherfucker who looked like he could do a lot of damage to anyone who crossed him. God, was he hot!

I was only a few yards away when I noticed that either he bought his pants a size too small or he had massive thighs. The latter was of course, the case; the grimy workpants molded his mighty legs, outlining his bulging thighs and thick, rounded calves. The dirty pants also hugged his meaty ass, each fat cheek defined by the fabric. As he moved about, gathering up his tools and replacing the manhole cover, I could see muscle and sinew grinding inside the trousers. My groggy head was clearing rapidly as I stared. My only regret was that his coat blocked my view of his crotch. That, I was sure, had to be just as bulky and for­midable as the rest of him. Wrapped up in my rising lust, I was unprepared when he abruptly turned in my direc­tion. Our eyes locked. Mingled terror and exhilaration coursed through me. Say something! my brain screamed.

“Mornin’” I chirped, nodding in his direction.

“Mornin’” he grunted, eyeing me warily.

I stood there with my hands in my pocket, grinning like a Grade A asshole. He continued to stare as he kicked the manhole cover into place and lifted his tool bag.

“Got any smokes?” he rumbled.

“Uh — yeah, sure.” I reached inside my jacket and pulled out a crumpled pack of Benson and Hedges. I walked over to hand it to him, using our prox­imity to each other to study him further. He smelled as strong as I’d ex­pected, and the thick black hair was matted with sweat. His small, brown eyes glittered with a feral intensity. He took the cigarette in a huge, hairy paw, regarded it disdainfully and then tore the filter off and flung it in the street . ‘Fuckin’ pussy smoke,’ I imagined him thinking to himself

“Light?” he demanded.

I fumbled my lighter out of my pants pocket. He reached for it but I lit him up myself. As he cupped his hands around the flame and bent his big face towards it I found myself staring into the deep cleft in his hairy chin. He took in a deep blast of smoke and then exhaled.

“Thanks,” he said. There was ac­tually a hint of amiability in his rumbling voice. He puffed on his cigarette, savoring the sensation of smoking. He looked up at the lightening sky. “What a crazy fuckin’ hour to be workin’, huh?” he said, shaking his massive head. Then he reached down and tugged on his crotch.

“Yeah. Sure is.”

“Sometimes.” he continued, “I wish I had normal hours, ya know? The usual nine to five shit ’ He removed his hand from his crotch and scratched the back of his head. “But there’s somethin’ I like about this shift.”

“The solitude?” I put in.

He considered it for a moment before nodding his agreement. “Yeah. Ya don’t have ta deal with a lotta assholes. No rush hour bullshit. It’s peaceful. That’s what I like about it.” He stared at the sky again, and damn, that furry paw made it back to his crotch. He gave his basket a sharp tug. Was his underwear too tight around his huge — I imagined — dick? Was he horny after spending the past eight hours or so down in the sewers? Did he need someone to relieve his swollen, aching balls of their pent up cum?

“So whaddya doin?” he abruptly asked. “Where ya work?”

I almost told him that I’d been party­ing, not working, but I stopped myself. He’d gotten the idea that we belonged to the same fraternity of working class guys who labor overnight, while the rest of the world slumbers — a different breed of man, alone but comfortable in our solitude. Something was building between us, and I didn’t want to tear it down by telling him the truth: I was a well paid editor at a major midtown publishing house, who partied away too many of his nights. Nor if he knew that I was urbane, successful and gay — attributes of which I was proud — he’d probably sneer, spit and stalk off.

“I work at a warehouse over near the river. Same shift as you, man.”

“How ‘bout that,” he chuckled. I was startled by the boyishness of his smile. It softened his heavy, almost exag­geratedly masculine countenance.

“Say,” he spoke up, “I’m gonna stop off at this little joint for some breakfast before I go home. Wanna go?”

I looked into his expectant eyes. Oh Lord, I thought, what am I getting myself into? It could be a disaster. Or it could be the hottest, wildest escapade I’d had in years. Or, it might be a big, fat zero. We could end up eating our greasy fried eggs in silence, me with a painful, relentless hard on. But there was no way I could back out — not now.

“Sounds good, man.” I said, trying to affect his offhand, butch manner.

He said, “All right!” and shot me a quizzical, but unthreatening look. An “I’m trying to be sure I’m right about you” look. He pointed in the direction of the restaurant and shambled off, weighed down by his tool bag. I follow­ed. We walked two blocks before com­ing to the joint — a typical Greek diner located across the street from the Manhattan entrance to the Holland Tunnel. I’d passed it countless times but had never gone in, satisfying myself with amused looks at their dessert carousel — a multi-tiered, revolv­ing display full of sumptuous looking cakes, pies and pastries. As we entered, the place was nearly full, and the clientele seemed to consist entirely of worn out guys who’d just come off the graveyard shift or others who, hav­ing just risen for work, were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

A stout woman with disarrayed auburn hair and several large moles on her face hovered over the cash register. When we entered, she called out to my companion in a loud, ac­cented voice. “Hallo, hoe-nee! How you doin’ thees mornin?”

“Not bad, Maria,” he replied.

“That’s nice, Nicky.” She was count­ing a handful of paper money as she greeted us, and she continued this procedure while she talked to — Nick.

“Nicky, when you gonna find a nice wife to take care ‘a you — twenty, thirty, forty, feefty — so you no have to work such hours, eh?”

“Someday, Maria, someday,” he answered, his tone wavering between annoyance and weariness.

“Ahhh,” she wailed. “Someday. Someday. That’s all I — seexty, seexty five, seventy — ever hear from you!”

Nick shrugged and headed for a table near the back of the long, rec­tangular room. He yanked off his coat and hung it on the back of an empty chair. He was wearing a thick sweater of indeterminate color. He pulled it off, and dumped it on top of his coat. He was wearing a black t-shirt, and its sleeves had risen up almost to the tops of his shoulders. Tufts of black hair filled his deep armpits. Hair also curled up over the front of his collar. It swirled on his upper arms and be­came a dense crop on his oversized, sinewy forearms. Nick literally reeked of virility: a thick, musky odor com­pounded of sweat and a superabundance of hormones. My cock sprung up in my pants, fully hard.

We ordered eggs, toast and coffee. I picked at my food, focusing most of my attention on Nick. Or at least I tried to. He was going on about the vagaries of being a sewer man — dodging rats, getting used to the fetid air, pleasant stuff like that—and I would nod sympathetically and laugh at his little jokes. But the entire time I was imagining him naked, his hairy bulk enveloping me. I saw myself tonguing his big butt and slavering over his enormous, turgid tool. Fearful that he’d realize that I wasn’t paying full attention to his chatter, I’d chase these fantasies out of my mind only to have them return seconds later. In my febrile imaginings I was about to welcome his monster meat into my asshole when he blurted. “Hey! I been sittin’ here goin’ on and on and I just realized — you know my name and I don’t know yours!”

I laughed nervously. “Mitchell,” I said.

“Hey, fuckin’ Mitch!” he laughed heartily, extending his hand to me. “Nickolas O. Georgeulakos, ‘atcha ser­vice.” His affected courtliness got me laughing.

“Just Mitch?” he inquired.

“Mitch Brady.”

“Irish, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, half. My mother’s side is French.”

“Uh huh.”

The small talk ran out and we were arriving at an awkward lull when he exclaimed, “Hey look at this! We musta been in here a long time — the fuckin’ place is empty!”

I looked around the diner and saw that he was right. Except for Maria, who was paging through a Greek language newspaper, her two waitresses and an old guy sitting at the counter dawdling over his coffee, the place had emptied out.

“Yeah,” I said flatly. I found myself looking into Nick’s eyes, and what I saw both excited and discomfited me. He silently stared at me while his crowbar fingers crumpled an egg stained napkin. Oh Nick, baby, I thought, do something. Please.

He looked at his fingers and then looked at me. “Ya wanna?” he whispered. I stared at him as intently as he’d been eyeballing me, or so I thought. My hard on throbbed, struggl­ing against the confines of my pants like a trapped creature fighting for air.

“Well, do ya?” he whispered more urgently. I reached for my coffee cup, and my hand shook. I brought the cup to my lips, took a quick sip and set it back down in its saucer.

“Sure.” I said blandly. He smirked.

“I gotta go to the John,” he said, ris­ing from his chair. He stood over me for a second, and then reached into a small dish and picked out several pats of butter.

“Here,” he said, handing them to me. My fingers pressed lightly onto the paper covering the butter, which was soft and squishy.

“Bring ‘em with ya. Wait a coupla seconds, and then come on in.”

He turned and headed across the room, disappearing behind a wooden partition. I sat there, the pats of butter tying in the palm of my hand. I could get the fuck out of here, I told myself. I could simply get up, pay the check and leave. That would be the prudent, sensible thing to do. Anything else would be crazy. And crazy was what this big bruiser was. Did he really think I was going to get it on with him in the men’s room of this place, with old Maria sitting up front and people coming in and out? I mean, really!

Awww, why the fuck not!

I rose from my seat on wobbly legs, the butter in my sweaty hand, and headed to the men’s room. When I entered Nick was standing at a urinal, his back to me. He turned at the sound of the door. Seeing that it was me. he smirked. I walked over to the next urinal and stood before it with my legs spread wide. I pulled down my zipper and extricated my cramped cock. Bone hard, it was drooling pale juice onto my fingers. I turned to look at Nick. His attention was focused on my cock. I stepped back from the urinal to give him a better look. He shook his head appreciatively, his thick eyebrows leaping way up on his forehead. I had a big, proud joystick, and I loved seeing other guys go wild over it. I set the butter down on top of the urinal and began jerking my cock with both hands.

Nick’s expression turned hard and mean, but from lust, not anger. He moved away from the urinal to show me what he had. I gasped when I saw it, dark, veined and a good eight or nine inches long. Its upward swing reminded me of a diving board; I wanted to climb on it and do all kinds of tricks.

“Touch it, man,” Nick ordered.

I reached out for it and cradled the fat, brown head in my hand. Then I coiled my fingers around the shaft and began to jack it. After only a few strokes, the pre-cum issued forth in a steady stream.

“Suck it.”

I sank to my knees and wrapped my lips around his piece. The funk from his hot crotch mingled with the smell of his dirty pants. I’d never been especially attracted to “pig sex,” but I was quickly learning to love it. My ran­dy sewer rat began thrusting his hips, forcing more of his meat down my throat. I sucked avidly, savoring its heat and pungency. Just as I was working up a good, steady suck rhythm, he pulled it way from me. His big ham hands slipped under my armpits and pulled me to my feet. He nodded in the direction of the stalls set against the far wall of the men’s room, away from the door.

“The butter,” he grunted to me. I snatched the melting pats from the top of the urinal and followed him into one of the stalls. Once inside, he tore at my flannel shirt, popping off a couple of buttons. He pulled the shirt off my shoulders and hung it over the hook on the stall door. He spread his palms over my naked chest, ruffling the hair and squeezing my nipples between his fingers. His big hands next tore at my jeans; in a flash they fell to my ankles. He yanked at my underwear as if it angered him: his sex-rage was begin­ning to scare me. I knew he planned to sink that huge pole into my ass, and I tried to ready myself for the assault.

With one hand groping my ass, he us­ed the other to tear off his t-shirt. He carelessly tossed it on the toilet tank. The chest rippled and undulated as he moved. I could see the movements of the muscles because he wasn’t quite as hairy as I’d expected; there was more fur at his neck and thorax than on his pecs. The nipples were large and olive colored; the tips were stiff and pointy. I mouthed one nipple, slashing my tongue over it, sucking and chewing. He allowed me this pleasure for only a moment. Then he impatiently pulled down his pants, free­ing his dick and pendulous balls.

“The butter,” he ordered.

I handed the pats to him. He peeled off the paper coverings and smeared three pats of the mushy yellow stuff onto his cock, saving just a smidgen to coat my asshole. Then he sat down on the toilet, and, his arms wrapped around my waist, pulled me down on him. His cock stabbed right into my asshole, and I gasped from the painful in­trusion. He gave me a few seconds to get used to it; he stroked my chest and reached down into my lap to fon­dle the head of my dick. The pain ebbed, replaced by a warm sensation of fullness. I slowly began to raise and lower myself on his dick, and he mov­ed his hips in time to my exertions.

“Fuck me, Nick,” I whispered. “Fill me up and fuck me hard!”

Nick accelerated his thrusts, and as he fucked, he bit me on the back and shoulders. I gritted my teeth to hold back my cries. Shutting my eyes, I listened to the sounds of our fucking: Nick’s heavy breathing, my sharp gasps, the squish squish of conjoined, greasy dick and asshole. And then the door swung open. We both froze in midstroke. I carefully leaned back, shivering as my sweaty skin made contact with Nick’s chest. I heard the sounds of pissing, a urinal flushing and water running. The hot air dryer went on, and the anonymous pisser took an eternity blow drying his mitts. Get out — get out — get the fuck out! I heard the feet approach our stall. I looked down and saw them: white run­ning shoes. They paused, and turned. The door opened and then slammed shut. As soon as the intruder left, Nick began pile driving my ass. His cock had remained rigid the entire time. Danger queen!

I could tell that Nick was in a hurry to shoot his load, so I beat my dick in time to his thrusts. I wanted us to come together, I wanted my asshole contractions to milk a big, thick flood of jism from him. I reached down and gripped the rim of the toilet bowl to steady myself as the fuck tempo quickened.

“Gonna cum!”

Nick hissed, “Do it!”

The pace slowed and Nick delivered a series of fierce jabs into my ass that nearly threw me off the bowl and into the stall door. My own climax was nearly as violent; my erupting cock shot bolts of cum onto my shirt hang­ing from the door hook. When our orgasms subsided, I sank back down onto his stilled — but nonetheless rigid — cock. I wrapped my bared arms around him — leaving shoulders and pressed my face into his stubbly neck. I could’ve sat there for hours like that, impaled on his pork sword, waiting for him to fuck me again. But he instead pushed me off. His tool left my regretful asshole with a pop. Nick grabbed some toilet paper and wiped off his meat before standing and pulling up his pants. We hurriedly put our shirts back on.

I left the stall first. I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. Face a little flushed, hair a mess. I threw some cold water on my face and whipped out my comb. Nick came out of the stall.

“You go out first,” he whispered. “I’ll join ya in a minute.”

I smiled at him. “That was great,” I said, as I gave his crotch a firm squeeze. He shrugged diffidently. I turned and headed out the door. When I got to our table, I saw that the dishes had been cleared away The check had been placed under a water glass. I picked it up and headed to the register Maria was still reading her paper, but there were more customers in the place now, and they kept inter­rupting her to pay their checks. As Maria made my change, I pulled on my coat. My ass felt raw but when I walked I could feel the butter slathered between my buns. I went back to our table with the change and left it as a tip. Nick hadn’t yet emerged from the bathroom.

As I was about to leave, Maria snagged my arm. “Listen, hoe-nee,” she pleaded. “You Nicky’s friend, right? Can you feex him up with a nice girl? He stay out all night, working. All’a time working. What kinda life is that, eh? He needs a good wife, no?”

The black stud got up for a moment and looked through a drawer, and came up with a dildo. He came back to me and straddled me with his back turned, his ass pointed at my face. ‘Fuck me with this,” he said. I’d been wanting to eat his ass for so long now that I was a bit disappointed but did as he asked. The dildo was a pretty large one, about ten inches by three, and I wondered if he’d be able to take it.

Well, he was no stranger to dildos as it turned out, for I was soon able to insert it all the way up his ass — slowly at first, teasing his pucker with the head which made him moan a bit. He pressed back with his haunches and I was able to work in the head up his asshole, until it glided in to about halfway. He sighed again, a low deep sigh and said, “Stick it all the way in.”

Fiction by Bearmuffin

(Honcho.Sept.2007.)

I’m as patriotic as the next man so I believe in doing anything to help out our boys in uniform. One night I had the opportunity. I was working in a bar in down­town El Paso, a small wine and beer joint. Being a bar­tender may have not been the greatest of career moves but it sure beat working a boring 9 to 5 job. Besides, the pay was okay. I could pay the rent and still have plenty of free time to fuck around.

It was a slow night, with just a couple of locals who had come in for a few drinks and the usual bar gossip. For some strange reason I was exceptionally horny that night and needed some action. Well — the gods must have heard my prayer, for it was about ten minutes to last call when this hot looking black stud walked in. He was prob­ably one of the most handsome black guys I’d seen in a quite a while. He had a winning smile that could have charmed the pants off anyone. I immediately noticed his bulging basket tenting the crotch of his gray sweats. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer.

It was my usual policy not to make it with a customer but this stud was so appealing that I couldn’t help it. Whenever I was horny, it was my custom to drive to the local adult bookstore after my shift to go suck some cocks. There were plenty of horny guys in town that dug that scene and I always found some guys eager to get their cocks sucked. But tonight I was looking for some­thing different. So I started to engage the stud in a bit of small talk and it turned out he was just as horny as me, because right away he said. “How about coming over to my place? We can have a drink.” He looked at me with his dark, deep soulful eyes and flashed his smile. I felt myself being pulled in by the sexual current sparking between us.

I just grinned and said, “Yeah. Sure.” Well, I cleaned up and closed up the place as fast as I could. Then we hopped into his red sports car. My heart was pounding, and my pulse racing. I was especially excited to be making it with this hot stud.

When you’re a bartender you learn to size up people pretty quick and I got pretty good vibes from this guy.

Like I said, he was exceptionally handsome with a rugged face, broad nose and angular features. He had beautiful brown eyes and his lips were full and sensuous. He was wearing a denim jacket over a tight tee-shirt, so I could tell he was in superb shape by the size of his pecs. His long, thick cock snaked along his thigh underneath a pair of gray sweat pants. His thighs were meaty and muscu­lar. He was wearing a blue baseball cap.

Sometimes I’m a bit apprehensive when I meet a new trick but this guy seemed to so easygoing and laid back that I began to relax. We didn’t say much as he drove to his apartment, which was in a private gated community about a half hour from the bar. It was about 2:30 a.m. and so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

We got out of the car and walked to his apartment. I walked a bit behind him so I got a chance to check out his ass. I could tell, even under the sweats, that it was gor­geous. All of a sudden I had taste for some butt. I won­dered what it would be like to rim him and if he’d let me.

Once inside his apart­ment, he didn’t waste any time. We didn’t even get around to having that drink he promised me but walked directly to the bedroom Well, I got the biggest surprise of my life, for hanging on the bathroom door was a Marine uniform: a clean, crisply pressed set of Blue Deltas with the blood red stripes running down the trousers.

Not only was I pleasantly surprised but a touch anx­ious, too. I’d hoped he wasn’t one of those military types who picked up a trick, had their way with him, and then beat him up. But there was something gentle about this stud in spite of his muscularity.

“You’re a Marine?” I said.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Just got back from Panama.”

Now what the Marines were doing in Panama I didn’t know and never found out because this particular Marine got right to the point. “Let’s strip,” he said.

Well, he certainly didn’t believe in wasting time as I’d noted before, so we took off our clothes and got on the bed. He turned out to be a man of few words but what he lacked in diction he made up in dick.

He was a great kisser and the whole time were kissing he had his hand on my cock and I had mine on his. I’m not a size queen but I was pleased to find that my horny Marine was hung like the proverbial horse with a huge, pendulous cock curving downwards over a pair of unusually large, heavy balls. I massaged it into a full, ripe hard on, and his hands felt great on my cock. I don’t think there’s a feeling in the world like the hands of a mascu­line man on your body.

Soon I felt his warm mouth on my cock, sucking on the knob at first and then slowly gliding down the full length of my shaft, taking my meat all the way down his throat. This Marine really knew how to suck cock! My hands were on his head guiding him up and down over my cock, up and down, until I was crying out for release. “Oh fuck,” I sighed. “I wanna cum, I wanna cum.”

He took his mouth off my cock and angled it back a bit and jacked me off. All it took was a few smooth strokes and I began to cum, heavy, long spurts of jizz flying out, splashing all over my stom­ach as I rocked back in forth in a long orgasm, the hot spurts cascading on my abs. I looked up at him and he was smiling. He got on top of me and began rubbing his hard cock all over my cum soaked stomach, all the while kissing me again, driving his lusty tongue deep into my mouth. He rubbed his body against mine in a circular motion, his cock slipping and sliding between our bodies. I heard him groan, his eyes were closed, his mouth open and panting, ‘Unngh, unngh.” I heard him moan a long, deep throated groan and then felt his cock stiffen more as it suddenly exploded, hot spurts of cum drenching my already wet with cum abs. My hands were cupping his taut, muscular buttocks. I held each hard ass cheek, squeezing them and running my hands over the smooth, taut flesh.

Afterwards he just lay there on top of me, the cum dripping off our bodies. And I wondered again whether he’d let me eat his butt? For a moment he laid there, his face nuzzling my neck. His heady masculine fragrance rushed up my nose, making my cock hard again.

The black stud got up for a moment and looked through a drawer, and came up with a dildo. He came back to me and straddled me with his back turned, his ass pointed at my face. ‘Fuck me with this,” he said. I’d been wanting to eat his ass for so long now that I was a bit disappointed but did as he asked. The dildo was a pretty large one, about ten inches by three, and I wondered if he’d be able to take it.

Well, he was no stranger to dildos as it turned out, for I was soon able to insert it all the way up his ass — slowly at first, teasing his pucker with the head which made him moan a bit. He pressed back with his haunches and I was able to work in the head up his asshole, until it glided in to about halfway. He sighed again, a low deep sigh and said, “Stick it all the way in.”

Again I did as he asked and slowly inserted the rest of the dildo up his ass. He leaned back a bit and emitted a low deep groan of sat­isfaction. I took that as my cue to start pumping his ass with it, grabbing the base of the dildo and shoving it in and out, in and out, with long, smooth steady strokes. He began pushing his ass back to meet the rhythmic pumping of the thrusts. It was truly a sight to behold, the dildo going m and out of his muscular black ass. I must have fucked his ass with the dildo for a good ten minutes and when he was satis­fied he said, “Take it out.” I slowly removed the dildo and tossed it on the floor. I just lie there wondering what he would do next.

Then he moved down a bit so that his ass was just an inch away from my face. My heart began to pound again with anticipation. Finally, what I’d been hoping for all night was going to happen! I was going to eat his beau­tiful black ass!

He mounted me, easing himself down on my eager face. He also played with my cock again while I rimmed him. His butt tasted squeaky clean, a combination of soap and just the tiniest hint of musk that got me incredi­bly excited. I just love the taste of black butt.

I grabbed each of his thighs for support as he squat­ted down on my face and let me suck his butt, my tongue wiggling hard and fast up his hot asshole. I had wanted to eat his butt so bad that night and by then I was ready to get my tongue all the way up his ass. I must have rimmed him for at least a quarter of an hour. The raw, sensual taste of butt seared my senses and seconds became hours as I soon found myself lost in a dizzying universe of ass eating. I was jacking off as I continued to suck on his beautiful black ass.

I was ready to shoot another wad and felt like telling him so, but suddenly he lifted himself off my face and turned around again, only this time to sit upon my hard, pulsing cock. As it turned out, he was no stranger to ass fucking either, for he grabbed my long stiff meat and eased himself down over it as the shaft smoothly glided up his asshole.

The whole evening he had proven himself a real pro, not one of those butt-virgins like some mili­tary studs often turn out to be. My cock easily slid all the way up his ass tunnel. He eased back a bit and then my meat sunk in to the hilt. He began fingering my nipples as I grabbed his beautiful black cock, which was pulsing and throbbing in front of me. The harder he tugged on my tits, the faster I jacked him off.

I pumped him with smooth, steady strokes and he rode me hard, his eyes closed again,  his mouth half open as a long steady stream of groans and moans escaped past his lips. I fucked him for a full, steady ten minutes until he sighed, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming.”

“Me, too, buddy,” I said. “I’m cumming, too!” He rose up and then down again as my cock made one final thrust up his hole before it exploded like Fourth of July fire­works, cum spurting deep and far up his asshole.

“Fuck,” he cried, fisting his cock and aiming it right at my face. I watched as his fist flew over his meat, sud­denly grabbing the root and his cock exploding, the hot creamy Marine cum shooting all over my face. I thrust my tongue out and caught a few well aimed spurts right inside my mouth. His cum tasted so salty and tangy, I loved it.

Afterwards, we cuddled for a while and then we put on our clothes. He drove me back to the bar. As before, he didn’t say much but just smiled and said his thanks and he drove away.

That was a couple of months ago. I’m still tending bar and normally I still don’t have sex with the customers, sat­isfying my lust at the adult bookstore glory holes. But I sure miss that beautiful black Marine. I keep hoping he’ll turn up again some night.