Message-ID: <024403Z18121995@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an179397@anon.penet.fi
Date: Mon, 18 Dec 1995 02:33:30 UTC
Subject: Room Serviced 1/3 (M/F, M/M)
Lines: 274
Warning! The following is a sexually explicit story involving sex between
men and women, and men and men. If you are under 18 or not interested
in this kind of story, do not read it.
ROOM SERVICED
By Stroker Al
Jake and Marty had been looking forward to the Independent
Contractor's Convention for a whole year now. Since they'd each scored
so big with the women they'd picked up in a certain hotel lounge last
year, they were positively salivating over the anticipation of having
similar success this year. But one night, when the convention was only
a mere week away, their wives tossed a major wrench into their plans.
"Jean and I decided we're going with you boys this year," Paula
announced to Marty over a Friday night dinner at home. "We're sick of
staying home while you two have all the fun. I called the travel agent
yesterday and had her change everything to accomodate the four of us."
Marty's blue eyes widened and he nearly spat his mouthful of pot
roast out on to his plate.
"Fun?" he sputtered. "Aw, baby, what fun are you talkin' about?
Jake and I will be, uh . . . networking the whole weekend."
"Networking?" Paula repeated the word, raising her eyebrows
incredulously.
"Yeah, you know, talkin' over new ideas with thousands of other
contractors about how to stay afloat in this business. It's not much fun
at all," he said.
Paula smirked at her handsome, burly husband with his twinkly
blue eyes, thick dark hair and bristly mustache, and was amused, yet
grateful for what a bad liar he was.
"Oh we KNOW you have fun, Marty," she replied. "Too much fun,
I'll wager, judging from how you guys always behave after coming home.
Last year I think it took a whole week before you were able to wipe that
silly smile off your face. You didn't get that from exchanging mortar
recipes with the guys!"
She left it at that and then just sat back and enjoyed listening
to his clumsy, embarassed denials as she sipped her coffee. But she
could have really laid into him if she'd wanted to. And it wasn't only
the stories that she always heard from the other wives for weeks after
these conventions that clued her in about what the boys were really up
to. It was mainly Marty's oversexed condition when he returned that made
her certain he'd been dipping his dick elsewhere. And he always wanted
her to do something disgusting and out of the ordinary in bed. Last year
some convention slut must have given him the blowjob of the century,
because he was pestering her to suck his dick night after night
afterwards. She had refused, of course. It was a filthy idea, and
besides, who knew how many disease-ridden whores had soiled it?
Jean had reported similar, though even kinkier behavior in Jake.
After last year's convention, Jean had told Paula, Jake had been begging
her to let him fuck her up the ass. Imagine! Did all men in
construction have such animalistic ideas, the girls wondered? Well, this
year the two women had taken note of their husbands' growing anticipation
of the convention throughout the past couple weeks--lots of whistling
songs out in the garage, stupid grins and dreamy starings off into
space--and had decided not to lie back and take it this year.
THEY were going to spend the weekend in Chicago too, they
decided. That way they could have some fun theirselves AND keep an eye
on their husbands as well.
That weekend, after getting the bad news from their wives, Marty
and Jake had met on one of Jake's noisy construction sites to grumble
about the change of plans. It was humiliating to both men, who usually
wore the pants in their families, but had in these special circumstances
somehow gotten caught with those pants down, and now felt their balls
nestling in their wives' colorfully-nailed grips.
"How the hell'd they find out?" Jake whined, kicking dried ridges
of mud aside from the buldozer tracks he and Marty walked along. He
looked then more like a big, spoiled kid than the solid 230 lbs of
red-haired, Irish manhood that he was.
"Some guys probably confessed to their wives. And wives talk,"
Marty said, his breath fogging in the wintery air. "Anyway who cares
now? The problem is what are we gonna do about it? We'll have a fuckin'
lousy time if we have to stick around them all our free time."
"I dunno, Marty. Jean's gonna be watching me like a hawk. I
think we're screwed for this year," Jake sighed.
They walked in silence for a while before Marty spoke again.
"Ya know, Jake, maybe we aren't," he said. "There's two nights at
the hotel during the convention. If we're smart, and careful, maybe we
can cover for each other and each get away for one night."
"One night!" moaned Jake, stopping in his tracks. "What if we
don't get lucky?"
"Oh, we'll get lucky," replied Marty. "We'll have to. We'll have
more incentive! "
Jake thought it over for a few seconds, then smiled at his buddy
and took a quarter out of his leather coat pocket.
"Let's toss to see who gets friday night," he said. "'Cause If
Paula and Jean get wise to us, there may not BE a Saturday."
II
Despite having been the "winner" of the toss, Marty didn't feel
much like one. He was in the lounge of the Plymouth Hotel (across the
street from the Imperial, where the two couples were staying in adjoining
rooms) which was right where he'd dreamed of being for weeks, but now
that it was really happening, nothing was going right.
What was wrong? He'd struck up promising conversations with half
a dozen women so far, but none had yielded any fruit. Why?
It was convention time again, and this lounge was Marty's citadel
of unfaithfulness, where for 16 consecutive years he had routinely picked
up women for the one extramarital affair he allowed himself per year. He
was a big man with big needs--not all of which his wife was willing or
able to take care of--but he believed in moderation. He also believed in
structure and habit, and was afraid that he if he stepped outside his
self-imposed guidelines for fucking around he might lose control and
chase women all year around. That's why it was so important that he hook
up with some babe tonight, because if he failed he'd have to wait an
entire extra year for his next ilicit encounter. What a frightening
prospect!
What he didn't realize was that the biggest problem he was having
hooking initially interested women that night was this very apparent
desperation and nervousness. His strongest appeal to women, after all
(besides his devilish good looks), was his customary smoothness. His
relaxed, confident manner normally put even the most ambivalently
attracted woman at ease long enough for him to convince her to join him
back at his room for a nitecap. But tonight he was scaring them all off
with his furtive glances towards the bar clock and towards every woman
walking in the door--each one of which he feared would be Paula. This
behavior proved unflattering to the women he was with, and each one
quickly found excuses to abandon his table.
As last call approached and Marty's chances ticked away he
despaired and ordered a couple of doubles to drown his sorrows. If
something didn't happen soon he was going to be reduced to paying for a
whore like his wife was always accusing him of doing, when in truth he
never had, if only out of pride. Damn, he'd been looking forward to a
good blow job! I DESERVE it, he thought to himself, pounding on the
table impotently and drunkenly.
III
Across the street in the Imperial, surprisingly enough, Marty's
wife Paula was finally coming around to her husband's way of thinking.
Marty DID deserve such pleasure, she decided, even as she remained angry
at him for trying to get his satisfaction on the side. But now Paula
suspected that her own fresh guilt would overtake that anger soon enough
to drive her to her knees in front of her unzipped, erect husband for an
oral reconciliation before the weekend was through.
She realized this the moment she looked up from between the
bellboy's parted thighs and saw on his face how happy getting his cock
sucked seemed to make a man, even when the cocksucker was an inept novice
like her. Why on earth shouldn't her husband enjoy some of the same
happiness? And why should it have to come from some overly made up slut
with hoop earings or something?
The sandwich Paula had ordered from room service had long ago
gotten cold, but Eric,the young man who'd delivered it was still awfully
hot. How angelic he looked lying back against the pillows and headboard
of her and Marty's hotel bed, his soft brown curls framing his fresh
face. He'd seemed so guiless at first that she, in her loneliness and
frustration at being ditched by Marty ("I dunno, Paula, he had a late
committee meeting tonight," Jake had lied to her transparently), had felt
perfectly safe in asking him, the only available man (now that Jake and
Jean had gone to bed in the next room) a blunt question about sexuality.
As things turned out, she found she had underestimated everything
but her sexual desire. She had not wanted or intended to seduce this
young man, after all, but was nevertheless shocked to discover the
intensity of her initial lust for revenge upon her cheating husband.
Neither had she counted on such an enthusiastic response from such an
innocent looking young man as the bell boy. He had reminded her of the
young actor in the old TV show Growing Pains, that is until in answering
her question he had given her such lengthy, graphically detailed
assurances that fellatio was indeed a normal and desireable activity for
a married couple--or an unmarried couple.
That's when Paula's capacity to give pleasure--and the stranger's
readiness to serve as a guinea pig for her oral education-- were abruptly
and nakedly exposed. That the twenty four-year old's velvet-skinned
erection was somewhat more trim and compact than Marty's blemished, stout
fortyish pecker probably made Paula's fellatio lesson easier. But by the
time she found herself swallowing every thick, warm drop of the groaning
hotel employee's spurting ejaculate without a twinge of nausea, she knew
that a condition so minor as cock size wouldn't be sufficient to hinder
her from repeating the act on her husband.
"Thank you, you've helped me tremendously," she later told Eric,
matter-of-factly, as she ushered him out the door. "You understand that
I won't be needing your services for the rest of our stay?"
"I understand completely, ma'am' " he winked, then dissapeared
down the hall.
Paula watched him go until the click of the doorknob of her
friends' room next door caused her to instinctively withdraw.
"Omigod! What if that was Jake!" she said suddenly to herself and
stuck her head back out into the hall. She was relieved to see Jean
leaning out of her door, grinning slyly.
"We'll talk tomorrow!" Jean whispered, waving. "Don't want to
wake up the sleeping giant!" she added, pointing back inside her room.
IV
Breakfast in the Imperial's morning room was unpleasant, with
Marty in a fowl mood and obviously hung over, and the wives just picking
at their food, nervous and impatient to get away for some shopping and
heavy girl talk. Only Jake seemed rested and on top of the world,
devouring his steak and eggs and cheerfully prodding Marty to snap out of
it.
"Hey buddy, you didn't miss a thing last night!" he said. "The
girls and I just took a little walk to see the city lights and spent the
night playing cards in our room till Jean and I pooped out.
"You can have fun tonight, Marty, when I'm at MY committee
meeting. Why doncha take the girls to one of those shows, huh? You
know, 'Batman of the Opera' or whatever."
Marty just glared at Jake, and the girls quickly tried to change
the subject. But Jake kept at Marty, to everyone's annoyance and
discomfort.
"You gotta eat something, Mart," Jake prodded. "We got meetings
all morning, and you're gonna croak if you don't. Hey waiter!"
"What are you, his mother?" snapped Paula. "Leave him alone!"
"He's gonna eat breakfast, I'm telling ya," Jake replied. "HEY WAITER!"
A young man in a red uniform crossing the restaurant with a
telegram for another table stopped dead in his tracks. The loud call had
clearly been directed at him, so he turned and stared blankly in the
direction of the two couples.
Paula gripped the table cloth and Jean instantly reached out to
cover her friend's clenched hand.
"That's not a waiter, you dumb ox!" Jean hissed at her husband
without missing a beat. "That's a bell boy!"
"So?" shrugged Jake, "He works here, don't he? Hey you, would
you bring this man here a couple of eggs over easy, some bacon and hash
browns and toast?"
"I'll puke if I eat that, you son of a bitch," growled Marty.
"You're right. Make the eggs scrambled, then." called Jake to the
bell boy.
"Right away, sir. I'll inform the cook." Eric said with the
same polite professionalism that he had displayed to Paula last night
before displaying his dick. A second later he was gone and the girls
were able to relax again.
"Cute kid," said Jake, with his mouth full again. "I used to be
a cute kid like that, remember, honey?"
Jean made a face at him. "You still ACT like a kid, buster, but I
never would have called you CUTE."
She grabbed her purse and got up. "C'mon, Paula let's hit the
stores. See you boys this evening."
Paula kissed her husband's cheek and got up to follow her friend
out of the restaurant. Marty started to get up but Jake reached over and
shoved him back down.
"Oh no, you ain't goin anywere yet pal, we got plenty of time.
Here's your breakfast coming now, so you eat and we can talk."
"I'm tellin' ya, you shithead, I didn't get any! There's nothing
to talk about!" Marty said, miserably.
The appologetic waiter set Marty's breakfast in front of him.
"Oh I think we got PLENTY to talk about, Mart" Jake said, his
sunny disposition darkening for the first time that morning.
END part 1 of 3
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Message-ID: <024356Z18121995@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an179397@anon.penet.fi
Date: Mon, 18 Dec 1995 02:33:21 UTC
Subject: Room Serviced 2/3 (M/F, M/M)
Lines: 286
Warning! The following is a sexually explicit story involving sex between
men and women, and men and men. If you are under 18 or not interested
in this kind of story, do not read it.
ROOM SERVICED
By Stroker Al
(part 2 of 3)
V
Jean sneaked another look into the large wall mirror and was once
again pleased with her most interesting purchase of the day. It was the
scarlet chemise she'd picked up at Victoria's Secret. The color looked
good against her skin and hair and the cut flattered her breasts,
particularly in their present, dangling position.
Of course once having turned to the mirror again, she couldn't
resist looking farther along it to take in the image of the youthful
Eric's kneeling athletic form as he thrust his erection rhythmically into
her vagina from behind. It was a pity there wasn't a mirror on the far
wall to capture the image of Eric's adorable little tan-delineated butt.
The friendly bell boy was indeed everything Paula had said he was,
although Jean had already been largely convinced of THAT just from what
she had heard last night in bed through the paper-thin walls.
Not considering herself to be a particularly original or creative
person, Jean borrowed the same set-up that Paula had stumbled upon to get
Eric into her room and subsequently into her bed. The only
difference--aside from the fact that her actions were premeditated and
completely devoid of remorse--was her choices of food and the question
she'd been burning to ask him.
Perversely, Jean had ordered lobster with melted butter, and a
bottle of expensive champagne. And as the two of them drank and feasted
on the crustacean tail, she segued into her question about her own tail.
Would it be decent of her, she asked the bellboy, to give into her
husband's recent demands that she let him penetrate her posterior? Would
it hurt? Or would it feel good?
Eric had nothing but positive answers for her. He assured her
that the ocassional ass fuck between a married or unmarried couple was
not only decent but well advised to keep things happy and harmonious
through sexual variety. It wouldn't hurt, at least not very much, and,
if done properly, could feel terrific. Finally Eric had selflessly
offered to demonstrate his technique on her, and she had graciously accepted.
Eric's method was to start with a doggy-style pussy fuck and work
Jean slowly into wetness and horny receptivity. That's where Jean was
now, and Eric was moving to bring her to the next stage. He dipped a
finger in the left over hot butter, still being warmed by a tiny candle
flame, and inserted the finger into Jean's virgin hole. He massaged the
inner walls slowly and gently to relax her and open her up until two, and
then gradually three of his fingers fit comfortably inside. Eventually,
when the moment was right, he withdrew his fingers from her and very
carefully and slowly replaced them with the warm butter-slicked head of
his hard dick.
Minutes later, after patient persistance, Eric was robustly
fucking Jean up the ass, and she was loving it. She played with her
pussy as he thrust into her, leaving his hands to steady himself and
support his careful but forceful thrusts.
Jean climaxed three or four times--as quietly as she
could--before Eric finally cried out and pumped his fresh spermy semen
deep into her heaving ass. Momentarily afraid they might have been
overheard by her sleeping friends, Jean listened for sounds from the next
room, but hearing nothing, relaxed again.
"You're insatiable," gasped Eric when he could finally speak again.
Jean laughed. "As insatiable as my friend next door who sucked
your cock last night?"
Now Eric laughed, too, and blushed, but he didn't answer. Then,
as he'd agreed earlier, he rose and prepared to leave imediately. He
wiped his cock and fingers off with the fine cloth napkins from the tray
and then started gathering and putting back on his clothes as Jean watched.
VI
In the next room, 'the woman who had sucked his cock last night'
was lying awake in bed next to her sleeping husband. Her breathing was
slowing now after her masturbatory climax, and
the memories of her misery and guilt were flooding back.
Marty had been in an even worse mood coming back from today's
sessions than he had that morning. Obviously things hadn't gone well for
him this trip, and it became increasingly clear as the evening progressed
that blamed her. He sulked all the way through dinner, and left her and
Jean sitting alone halfway through the show and just sat around in the
lobby and smoked. But the worst came at bedtime when she attempted to
cheer him up.
.
"You?" Marty had sneered at her, not looking nearly as surprised
at her offer as he should have. "Suck my cock?"
Then he'd laughed bitterly, thought about it a minute, and
finally replied, "Not tonight, Paula. I have a headache!"
Then he rolled over and fell asleep, leaving her alone and
horny. She felt so lonely now. And still so horny. She listened again
to the sounds from next door, of Eric putting on his clothes, getting
ready to go, and she thought that if she could catch him in the hall on
the way out, they could ... oh, it was impossible! Then the commotion began.
VII
"Nice ass!" Jake said.
Jean gasped, sat up in bed and pulled the sheets up over her body
instinctively, as if the man who'd surprised her were a stranger.
"Not YOUR old droopy rear, sweetheart!" Jake laughed. "I mean HIS!"
Eric had been pulling up his red trousers when Jake's voice had
startled him into whirling around to face Jean's cuckolded husband as he
was now
"I've gotten sort of fond of your little tush this past hour or
so, since it was about all I could SEE through the KEY HOLE in the
BATHROOM DOOR!" Jake continued, the affected sweetness in his voice
erupting intermittently into fury. "I'm afraid I MISSED all the details
of your DELICATE technique for dicking my wife's BUNG HOLE! Isn't that a
shame, Jean? How'm I gonna be able to follow his performance then?"
Jean groaned and covered her head with her hands, slumping
forward.
"H-h-how did you know?" stammered Eric. "I never even LOOKED at
your wife until I brought her room service tonight!"
Jake grinned, put his arm around Eric's trembling shoulder and
walked him, still fumbling with his undone pants, over to the wall that
divided their room from Paula and Marty's.
"You wanna know how I knew? Just put your ear against this wall
and TELL ME WHAT YOU HEAR!"
Nervously, Eric obeyed Jake and leaned over to listen. At first
could hear nothing, but soon he could distinguish the voice of a woman,
whom he quickly recognized as Paula, crying out in little nervous yelps.
Just as he realized the cause of her sounds--that she could hear
everything going on in the next room--there was a sudden rustle of
sheets, and a much louder, male voice suddenly drowned hers out.
"YOU SUCKED HIS COCK LAST NIGHT?"
Eric's knees nearly buckled beneath him. It was not so much the
words of the other cuckholded husband that terrified him that it was the
tone: loud,theatrical, and on unnatural cue, and uttered with one clear
purpose in mind--that they be heard clearly by the unlucky stiff whose
cock the wife had sucked!
"Well," Jake asked him. "What did you hear?"
Eric stood up, shaking with fear. "N-n-n-nothing," he said
finally, pathetically.
"Nothing?" Jake affected surprise. "Try listening closer," he
said, taking Eric firmly by the collar with one hand, and the belt loop
with his other and with a mighty heave, thrusting him forward, head down,
into the wall.
Jean screamed, leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom, locking
herself inside.
In the next room Paula screamed when she saw Eric's head crash
through the thin plaster of the wall next to the bed. He was
recognizable from his fine features, which, though exaggerated by shock
and dusted in chalky white, had survived the impact unscathed. That much
could not have been said for his little bell boy cap which now, crushed
flat, fell to the floor in a cloud of plaster chips.
Eric, as yet unhurt, batted his longish eyelashes to clear his
vison of the plastery powering that was blurring things for him. When he
could finally see in front of him, He beheld a burly, dark haired and
dark-complected man, standing undressed for bed in only a pair of plaid
flannel boxer shorts, but clearly wide awake--on all levels! To his
right, his wife cowered on the bed, watching in shame and terror.
"Oh Marty, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! " she wailed. "Please don't
hurt him, it was all my fault!"
"Hurt him?" Marty looked at his wife as he calmly approached
Eric. "I'm not gonna hurt him, honey. We just have some settling up to
do, that's all "
As Marty approached, Eric tried to pull his head back out through
the hole it had punched in the wall, but found that the plaster debris,
which was flaring outward into the next room, prevented his head from
passing back through without causing serious injury. His arms couldn't
manoever tightly enough against the wall in the other room to clear the
debris himself, so the only safe thing to do was stay put until someone
else freed him.
"Well sir," began Marty, now so close that his hairy barrel chest
and belly were nearly brushing up against Eric's forehead, "as a
representative of this hotel I think you should know that my wife, my
friends next door and I are all dissatisfied with the quality of the
rooms we've rented. As you've discovered the walls are like paper.
Besides the unacceptability of the high rate we've been charged for such
innadequate rooms, the resulting invasion of all our privacies has lead
to some personal strife in our relationships which just may just be
irreconcilable. "
Marty waited and let Eric sweat for a moment. Then he said:
"Now how do you propose to remedy this situation?"
Eric didn't have to think long. "I'll cancel your bills! I'll
pay them to the management myself! Everything! The room service, the
phone bills, the parking, the meal tabs. Forget it all! We'll be even!"
he said, and then regretted his unfortunate choice of phrasing.
"Even?" Marty said. "What you've offered is on the right track,
but young man, I wouldn't exactly say we were EVEN."
"W-what else do you want?" he cried. "I'll pay for your rooms
next year! You'll be welcome for free! I'll reserve them for you tomorrow!"
"Well, that's very generous of you Eric, and we'll accept those
accomodations from you as well, " Marty said. " But there's something you
took from me that I want back.
"W-what?" Eric asked, fearfully.
"For about 16 years I've been trying to get my wife to give me a
blow job,and she has consistantly refused. Now I find out that she's
given you what I've been trying to get her to give me all this time."
Marty reached down and began to rub his dick through his boxers,
and Erick watched horrified as its flannel covered form thickened and
grew.
"Now It seems to me that you owe me a blowjob," he said, pausing
for effect before adding, "...from my wife."
As Marty expected, Eric sighed with relief, unaware that he was
far from out of the woods.
"Oh please, Paula! " Eric pleaded, turning his wedged head as far
toward her as he could. "Please do for your husband what you did for me!
You were so good! You were terrific! Please," he paused, " for all our
sakes!"
Paula looked wearily back and forth between Eric and her
husband. She slowy nodded and began to rise from the bed until Marty
suddenly told her to stop.
"Now wait a minute," said Marty. "SHE doesn't owe me her blow
job, YOU DO!"
"Marty!" Paula cried, shocked at what she was hearing.
"But...but! How?" Eric spluttered in renewed dread. "How can
I...pay the, er , debt, if it has to come from ...her?"
The pair of them, equally confused, looked at Marty.
But Marty just smiled and stroked his hardening rod through his
boxers and Eric watched the fat head of his dick start to emerge through
the open fly. "You're a college man, aren't ya?" He taunted. You can
figure out a way. I have confidence in you! "
Eric tried to think as Marty's thick cock waved in front of his
face, completely unsheathed now and bobbing under the ocassional tweaks
that Marty gave it with his thick, calloused fingers.
"I can coach her through it," cried Eric, "in fact, I already did
that. When she blows you, she'll have learned it from me."
"But that doesn't pay your debt, mister. You can't pay for a
crime with the crime itself. You still OWE me a cocksucking." Marty
said. He watched the perplexity in Eric's dusty face and decided to take
pity on him.
"Shall I give you one clue?" Marty asked him. "It's a BIG one,"
he teased, wagging his hard-on in Eric's face.
Helpless, Eric finally said yes, weakly but audibly .
"Okay then, " replied Marty, upon which he peeled down and
stepped out of his boxers. Then he pressed right up against Eric's face
with his naked groin and positioned the head of his cock at the bell
boy's lips.
"The clue," he said, "is that YOU are going to have to do the
actual cock sucking. So get used to that idea. The only thing left for
you to figure out is how to make it come from my wife."
(end part 2 of 3)
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Message-ID: <084316Z23121995@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an179397@anon.penet.fi
Date: Sat, 23 Dec 1995 08:35:04 UTC
Subject: Room Serviced 3/3 (M/F, M/M)
Lines: 304
Warning! The following is a sexually explicit story involving sex between
men and women, and men and men. If you are under 18 or not interested
in this kind of story, do not read it.
ROOM SERVICED
By Stroker Al
part 3 of 3
While Eric clenched his teeth to keep Marty's oozing dickhead out
of his mouth, he knew he was defeated. Marty had all the power, and Eric
knew he couldn't keep up that kind of resistance forever. It would be
better to get it over with now.
"Okay," he said finally, over Marty's dickhead as it made a
teasing poke inside his mouth and then was quickly withdrawn to allow him
to speak "I give up. How can I make sucking your cock come from your wife?"
Marty smiled. "I'll tell you. You can complete your
half-finished lesson to her in a way that she'll never forget, and that
will allow her to give me excellent blow jobs in the future.
"But we DID complete the lesson," Eric said.
"No." replied Marty. "You showed her the pleasure a man gets
from GETTING a blow job. But what she really needs to learn is the
pleasure that she can have while GIVING one. That's what you're going
to have to DEMONSTRATE for her now."
Eric went absolutely white. Not only was he going to have to
suck a man's dick, he was also going to have to ENJOY it!
"Marty, damn it, what kind of a pervert are you?" Paula cried. "
Let ME suck it! Leave him alone! I don't NEED any more lessons."
"Sorry baby," Marty said. "You'll get your turn soon enough.
Now watch a man suck my dick who knows what he's doing!"
Paula groaned and sat back on the bed.
As humiliating as his own circumstances were, Eric couldn't help
but feel a little sorry for her even now as her husband prepared to fuck
his face. She'd never wanted any of this to happen, and certainly not
the way it was turning out. He managed to speak one more time before
Marty filled his mouth with his meat.
"It can't really come from her, mister," he said, "Unless she
asks me to do it."
Paula's mouth dropped open in surprise. She gaped at the two men
looking at her: the young, curly headed one whose eyes were pleading with
her to give his humiliation some kind--any kind--of meaning; the other,
older and more familiar face whose eyes pleaded for something bizarrely
similar, yet so different-- a face she doubted she could look upon again
with any pleasure unless she were somehow reconciled to it. The
handsome, brown eyes and curling, mustachioed upper lip of her sometimes
cruel husband were asking her for a way to exact his revenge and recover
his debt that would cause her to pay the smallest possible price--a price
whose smallness he wouldn't have thought possible under the circumstances
until the rather generous young man (just how DEEPLY generous Marty would
soon know) spoke up from his tormentor's crotch.
It struck Paula as strange that both men would benefit most from
the same answer, should she be brave enough to give it, while the other
answer would be of small comfort to one and almost certain ongoing misery
to the other, as well as herself.
"Eric," she said finally, with both sorrow and gratitude in her
eyes. "Would you please suck my husbands cock....for me?"
Eric actually smiled at her. "As you wish, Ma'am. With
pleasure."
And then he opened his mouth to let Marty push his fat cock
inside.
Marty's triumph was only slightly tarnished by a twinge of
jealousy that he felt about what had just passed between his wife and the
bell boy, and he caused him to start out a little more roughtly with
Eric than he otherwise intended to. But Eric took his dick admirably no
matter how Marty thrust it at him. It all seemed part of the amazing
professionalism and inflappability that he had demonstrated in the
breakfast room that morning.
Paula was shocked at how quickly her attitude changed about the
whole situation as she watched Eric gradually assert oral control over
her husband's penis. The brute stopped thrusting after a while to allow
Eric's deft tongue to work its magic up and down his erect shaft and over
his sensitive glans. Eric kept his eyes on Paula whenever he could spot
her from behind the course equipment of her husband. Paula looked back
to show him she was indeed paying attention, and learning learning, much
more than she'd anticipated.
She looked up, too, and saw the pleasure spreading over her
husband's face. The pleasure that moments ago she had given up hope of
ever being able to look upon again without disgust. There were flashes
of embarassement there too, when he noticed her watching--watching him
enjoy being serviced by another man--but being a man, of course, his
minor qualms were soon submerged under waves of sexual desire. He was
getting his blowjob, after all, that he'd waited for and deserved.
Minutes raced by as Eric danced his mouth around Marty's dick and
Paula let every move burn into her brain for later reference. Then Marty
began his ascent to climax, and for a moment Paula saw that in
anticipation of the coming event, Eric was losing his nerve.
The man whose breakfast he'd ordered was about to serve Eric a
potent cocktail of come, as a kind of victory celebration, that the young
man would have no choice but to drain to the dregs and visably savor no
matter how nasty the taste, lest his pupil get the wrong idea--and her
husband get violent. The number of sperm cells in the bell boy's body was
about to double, thanks to Marty's impending, unsolicited donation. One
slippery, wet, snakey male thing probing his oral oriface had been hard
enough for Eric to take, yet it was only a spasm or two away from being
joined by a couple million more!
Paula didn't want Marty to see Eric's agitation, so she moved to
the edge of the bed and reached out and stroked Eric's curls and he
watched her for strength as Marty cried out and whipped his hips back and
forth, plunging his cock in and out of Eric's mouth. When his
great,jealous, angry load of wronged husband semen spurted inside Eric's
mouth , Paula bent and kissed Eric's forehead. And when Marty, finally
spent, pulled his softening prick out of the bell boy's mouth, Paula
rushed to soothe the young man's sore lips with her own, and in a gesture
of her own generosity drank out from his mouth a good half of her
husband's come which she swallowed in solidarity with him.
"How touching," smirked Marty, who was now squatting a few feet
away on the carpeted floor. "Hope you lovebirds liked the taste of my jizz."
Neither Eric nor Paula said anything, but she stroked his forhead
for a while as Marty headed for the bathroom.
"You really made it look fun," she whispered to Eric finally,
when Marty and gone to the bathroom for a moment. "You were WONDERFUL."
"YOU'LL enjoy it, " he said. "It wasn't even all as bad for me,
as a guy as, I thought it would be. I'm sure there are worse things in
the world."
"Like what?" she said innocently, as she was distracted by the
bitter aftertaste of her husbands semen.
"Oh, I don't know," he said, as absently. "Like....like..."
That was when he felt them drop. His pants, that is. Having
never gotten them completely zipped up or snapped, they had apparently
been creeping slowly down his hips throughout the harrowing twenty
minutes or so he'd spent sucking Marty's cock and and just now dropped
down around his ankles.
"Oh!" he said when he realized that they'd fallen. "Oh!" he said
again, when he found he couldn't reach far enough to pull them back up.
"What's the matter?" Paula asked him.
"Can you help me out of here now? I need to pull up my, er, get
my things together in the next room and take care of the bills and things
for tomorrow. "
"Sure," said Paula. "Marty, come help me get Eric out of the wall."
Marty stood naked in the bathroom doorway, his arms folded.
"Now wait a minute honey, aren't we rushing things a bit here?"
"RUSHING?" she frowned at him. "What are you talking about? The
poor guy has been stickin' out of the wall for..."
"Hey!" cried Eric, suddenly, when he felt two large hands cup the
bare globes of his ass. He remembered then, to his chagrin, that he'd
neglected to put on his skimpy bikini underwear while redressing. He
would always wonder, later, if even such a slight barrier as his skivvies
might have been enough to discourage the invading hun.
"Yes, rushing." Marty replied. "Jake still has something to
settle with our friend here now."
"NO!" Paula screamed, but Marty grabbed her and pulled her
towards the bathroom with him. "COME ON, HONEY" he cried out once again
in that same theatrical voice that was so effective in broadcasting his
intentions to someone in the next room.
"LET'S TAKE A BATH TOGETHER--LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANTED US TO DO."
"I'll scream," said Eric calmly, even as he felt big fingers
applying the still warm lobster butter to his asshole. "I'll scream," he
said louder, and then louder, until Marty emerged from the bathroom to
pluck his boxers from the floor and stuff them into Eric's mouth.
"Jake likes to settle his deals in private." he told the now
silent bell boy. "So it wouldn't be wise to draw a crowd."
Eric watched how Marty strutted back to bathroom (and to his
ambivalent wife, who was still protesting even as she ran the bathwater)
and thought that maybe, just maybe the man was intentionally flaunting
his own, firm, muscular and--most pertainent of all--INTACT ass, as a
fitting last sight for a rival whose complete deflowering was about to
commence in an undoubtedly more vigorous second half.
Sadly for our bell boy, Jake's moderate aversion to sex with men,
like Marty's, had been overcome by intense horniness and the desire for
revenge. He left his wife out of it only because of his MUCH stronger
aversion to sloppy seconds. Even so, it took him all of the twenty
minute delay that Marty's revenge had taken, for Jake to decide if he
really wanted to claim his due from the helpless young fucker or not.
Then those little red pants of his fell down, and damned if that cute
little ass didn't make Jake's dick go up, and cause the big guy to
finally say to himself, "go for it.".
That was when poor Eric made the rough yet intimate acquaintence
of a naturally blunt, yet massive appendage on the even more massive body
of his willfully blunt would-be-pupil in the next room, who for the next
half hour at least demonstrated most convincingly and aggressively that
he really HAD learned nothing from Eric's finesse with his wife.
Eric, on the other hand, DID learn something from the unspared
rod of his ass' first master. He discovered his prostate gland, and how
that crazy, unpredictable male trigger, when struck properly, can
respond independently of even the most brutal surrounding sensations.
That explained, in any case, why in the middle of his excrutiating
assault Eric got hard himself and splattered the wall in front of him
with nearly as many copius lobbs of come as those that that Jake
delivered, with his bazooka-like cock, deep inside Eric's worn-out ass.
Speaking of asses, that was all Jean found SHE could see
when she finally got up enough courage to look through the bathroom
keyhole. But this butt was not "nice" or "cute" like the one her husband
had described. This one was big, hairy and mean and all too familiar
looking as it ground and bumped in frantic motion as its owner pumped away
brutally, late into the night. Jean fell asleep there on the bathroom
rug shortly before the big ass stopped blocking the view and the little
ass was sent on his way.
Hobbling back downstairs, Eric appeared to his coworkers in the late
kitchen as if peculiarlly weighed down, though
the food tray and champagne bottle he carried were empty. They couldn't
see, of course, the heavy loads of two other men's sperm-packed spooge
that he was also lugging, so close now to his center of gravity, yet so
awkwardly in his inexperience. These burdens would take Eric some
time to get a handle on.
VIII
The following year, at convention time, Paula and Jean expressed
no desire to come along with their husbands for the weekend. Neither
could imagine anything the boys could get mixed up in that would upset
them more than they had last year, so they let them go without argument.
Without their wives around, both Marty and Jake easily scored
pussy their first night out. But the excitement of past years was
somehow gone. Perhaps it was because the difference between what they
did in bed with the women they picked up and what they did at home now
with their wives was no longer very significant.
The realization that the thrill was gone for good hit them both,
individually, hard enough that, out of sheer resignation, neither man
even bothered to go out the second night. They sat around in Marty's
room and talked and got drunk, until at about 3 am Jake said he was
hungry and asked Marty if he should order them something from room
service.
'I dunno, " said Marty. "Do you wanna?"
Jake shrugged. "I dunno."
They looked at each other a while and didn't say anything.
Finally Marty said, "Yeah, I'm hungry. Why don't you order us a
couple of club sandwiches"
"Okay," Jake said, picking up the phone.
Marty watched him order the food and a couple of beers.
"Oh," he said, while Jake was still on the phone, "and why don't
you ask them to send ERIC up with it."
Jake smirked at him, thanked whoever he was talking to and hung
up. Marty burst into raucous, odd-sounding laughter.
"He don't even work here anymore," Jake said.
Marty stopped laughing. "How do you know?"
Jake shrugged and looked down at the carpet.
"That's a damned shame," Marty said, scratching his crotch
absently. "I wanted to thank him for reserving us nicer rooms this year.
And I had a question I wanted to ask him."
Jake looked up at Marty and tried to read the look on his face,
but wasn't sure what he was seeing.
Then Marty said, "I suppose I could ask whoever they send up the
same question." He stopped scratching but didn't move his hand away.
"'Course I might not get the same answer from someone else. But I don't
suppose It would hurt to ask."
Jake dropped down into the chair by the tv and just kind of
looked straight ahead for a while. "No, It probably wouldn't hurt," he
finally agreed. He looked down at last at the bulge that his own hard-on
was making in his crotch.
"At least not for very long," Jake added, casually moving one of
his big hands down into his lap, as Marty chuckled--ostensibly at his
friend's unexpected witicism.
By the time the food arrived, both men had enormous appetites.
The End
Look for more stories by Stroker Al
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