Date: Tue, 10 Jan 2006 09:51:49 -0800 (PST)
From: kevin Donovan <letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: closets, chapter four, gay, adult friends section
CLOSETS Chapter Four
THE CLUB
This is a work of gay erotic fiction. It is not based on any real person,
place, or event. It does contain graphic depictions of sexual acts between
males, which is why you are looking at this disclaimer. However, if you
are underage, or if reading or possession such material is illegal where
you are, or offensive to you, then stop now.
Copyright 2006, all rights reserved.
I do appreciate your encouraging comments.
Lonnie pulled the Caddy into a rental parking lot across the street
from Grand- daddy's block, and eased into space number 122.
"This is your space now, Ace. We'll be using it a lot coming to
the Club together, I hope. That is, if you'll come with me any more, after
I whup your ass at eight-ball tonight."
"What makes you think I'll ever come down here again?"
He winked at me. "We're going to see to it that you don't ever
want to leave."
The three of us slid out of the wide front seat and crossed the
street, reversing the route J. P. was taking when he got creamed by the
beer truck only yesterday. I couldn't help but shudder at the thought. We
hustled across, and under a covered porch that ran the length of the block
here, providing a sheltered walk for pedestrians on this side of the
street. I noticed the florist on the corner, and the travel agency next to
that. Down toward the other end were Rita's and Rick's establishments, and
a small C. P. A office. The upper floors had windows with brightly planted
window boxes, but the panes appeared to be blacked out, as no light was
visible there. Lonnie and Calvin steered me toward the center of the
building, where there was a glass door with no sign on it, but the small
lobby within was lit. I could see a set of mailboxes inside, and a couple
of interior doorways. Calvin was punching a number into a keypad.
"O627. The date of the beginning of the Stonewall Rebellion."
"Not a date I have ready in my memory. What's wrong with 1492?"
"It's gotta be something only gay people know."
"Or can learn," added Lonnie.
Inside, we passed the mailboxes for the building tenants and the
door to the building rental office. Next we came to an elevator, and
Calvin pushed the "up" button. It opened immediately, and we rose to the
top floor. The two intermediate floors seemed to require a key.
We exited into another lobby, but this one was carpeted and
attractively decorated in a style that screamed "gay." The love-seat and
chair were upholstered in black leather, and there were leopard print
cushions and throw arranged on them. There were several men's magazines,
including GQ and Men's Fitness on the coffee table. There was even a
pedestal with a Greek statue of The Charioteer, a magnificent specimen of
young manhood. At least it wasn't David. At the far side a solid wooden
door had another number-code lock, and beside it was mounted a small bronze
plaque with stated simply, "Elysium: A Club for Men: Private-Members Only."
There was also a doorbell below that.
Calvin keyed in numbers again. "0203. February, 1903 was the
first recorded police raid on a gay bath-house."
"Oh, I knew that!" I cracked, sarcastically. "Jeez, I'll never
learn how to get in this place."
"Then either come with us, or ring the bell. Or learn your gay
history."
The door swung open, and we were in another vestibule, this one
darkened and paneled. There was a coat-room to one side, and next to it a
small counter. Upon hearing the door open, or perhaps summoned by a signal
from within, a receptionist emerged from a door next to the counter and
greeted us. He was a short, wiry little fellow in khakis, sneakers, and
red gold shirt with Elysium embroidered on it. He seemed glad to meet me,
but rather unctuously solicitous. Calvin and Lonnie walked up and signed a
register on the counter. I tagged along and peered over their shoulders.
They each also had a member number.
"What's mine?"
"This one, you'll remember. OOO1," explained Lonnie. "And old
Peter DuPree is OOO2. They were the instigators of this whole thing, like
thirty years ago. The twelve founders can pass their number to an heir if
they want, but no one else can.
"Hey, maybe that's what J. P. left me! His Club membership and
number! After all, he didn't know you were gay, did he? And in only three
and a half years, I have to start paying half-rate, with no sign of any
money to do it with."
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow. Listen, let's make a pact among
us three. None of us knows what is in the will, right?" They nodded.
"O. K., let's agree that whatever is in the will is J. P.'s doing, and not
any of ours. We won't let it come between us, whatever he has planned."
Calvin nodded readily.
"And one more thing," Lonnie added. "About tonight. It's all in
fun, Jamie. We know you're going into a situation that is completely
unfamiliar, and we promise we won't take undue advantage. Well, at least
we won't let anything really bad happen to you, O. K.?"
"No pain, no debasement, no piss, scat or filth, no blood, and no
anal sex without a raincoat," I recited.
"Well, that does kind of cramp our style," laughed Calvin. "But
O. K. Agreed."
That settled, we turned down a corridor past the little reception
cubicle, opening into the locker room. It was a far cry from any
bath-house or YMCA locker room I'd ever seen. No wonder there were even
some straight guys who came here. This place was top drawer. Lonnie and
Calvin opened their lockers, which were more like closets, and stashed
wallets and rings and such there.
"Where's mine?"
"Oh, dude, you're not a locker person. You're a room person. We'll
show you."
They led me through the locker area, past a large gang shower, a
room for urinals, one for lavatories, another for toilets, and into another
corridor, to room 0001. It also had a keypad lock.
"It's O816," Lonnie said. "I don't know what happened then."
I paused. "I do. My dad's birthday." It was kind of touching that
J. P. used that code on his room. The door opened, and we went in.
The room was about twelve feet by eighteen. It had a small seating
area near the entrance, and a comfortable-looking queen-size bed at the
other. There was a small wet- bar, with a rack of wine bottles and some
glasses, and a small refrigerator. It even had a private bathroom, and a
walk-in closet for storage. At the far end, there was a bank of
uncurtained windows, which looked out, not on the outside world, but into
an atrium hidden in the center of the building. Below, at the ground
level, I could see the tiled pool shimmering in azure, with several naked
forms swimming in it or standing around it.
"How does a little town like this support such a place?" I wanted to
know.
"Members live all over the place, as far as Charlotte and
Charleston. By having a room here, they can use the club as a weekend
retreat. We have state legislators and officials, business leaders,
professionals, and executives, and then we have hot-looking young military
men and students as well. We're maxed out at a thousand-to get in now,
somebody has to resign or die."
Impressed, I left my wallet and watch on the end table, and we moved
on through a maze of hallways, with a number of private rooms and other
activity areas until, circling around toward the front of the building
again, we came upon a stairway down to the next level. We descended into a
large bar and game room. At one end, four pool tables were arranged under
hanging lights, which provided most of the illumination for the room. All
four tables were in play, with a dozen extra men standing around watching.
Most of the players were missing at least some clothing, and two were
jay-bird naked. At the other end, there was a dark alcove for video and
pinball games. In between, there were tables and chairs, many of them
occupied as well. A bank of four TV's hung from the far wall. Lonnie led
us toward the bar, which was tended by an enormous muscle- bound hunk
wearing lace-up boots and a black, stretch vee-thong, which cupped his
ample genitals in front, rode the crack of his muscled ass in back, and
crossed over his bulging shoulders. Aside from this strap-like apparatus
and an ample covering of body hair, he was nude.
"Jack, my man," greeted the loquacious Lonnie. "You're all dressed
up tonight!"
"He's usually buck naked," whispered Calvin.
"Yeah, special occasion." Answered Jack gruffly. "In the spirit
of the strip pool game, you know. Don't want to spoil the suspense too
early."
"What suspense? Every guy here knows every freckle on every other
guy's ass!"
"There is something pretty sexy about getting naked while others
are dressed, though," observed Calvin.
"Well, we haven't seen this one's ass yet, and there seems to be a
lot of interest in it, too," Jack turned his strong but friendly gaze on
me. "What'll it be, Mr. Carter. Sorry about your loss. J. P. was a great
friend of all of us here."
I thanked him, but paused. There were no liquor bottles to be seen
behind the bar, only a set of cabinets with small doors. "Uh, what've you
got?"
"Oh, yeah, well you probably don't know the system here. You see,
we're not a licensed bar. You bring your own stuff, and I serve you out of
your own cabinet. Since you're using your grand-dad's cabinet tonight, I
can tell you he has some real nice single- malt, and a bottle of Bombay
Sapphire." He consulted a list in a notebook. "Also some Heineken's and
Guinness, and a couple of bottles of nice red wine."
"I'll work on the Heineken's. And I go by Jamie."
Jack crushed my fingers in his great paw, and then turned to the
cooler for my Heineken's, while Lonnie called out, "Get Coors for us, too,
then." This Jack guy had one hell of a muscular ass. Even the hair down
his brawny back looked sexy on him.
Jack checked our beers off of our inventory list, while the three
of us sipped our brew and swiveled to survey the room.
The room was surveying us, too. A few faces looked vaguely
familiar to me, but I couldn't really place anyone. The age spread looked
to be from late teens to sixtyish, most sitting or standing with guys their
own age. Lots of smiles and nods were directed at me.
Down the room, the pool games were progressing. Amid much laughter
and teasing, more textile had hit the carpet, and there were now five naked
players over there. Suddenly a loud roar erupted from one corner, and a
man in jockey briefs, about thirty with a hairy stomach and a bit of a
paunch, did a little dance with his cue stick, and then advanced on his
adversary, a naked, dark-skinned, skinny, very hairy white man around
thirty-five with a resigned look on his stubbly face. The victor in
underpants took his victim by the hand and led him out of the room amid
catcalls and laughter from the onlookers.
"Time to pay up, now, Larry. See you sometime tomorrow!"
"Hey, Lar, should we tell the boss you'll be late in the morning?"
These were immediately replaced by another pair of guys, in their
forties, who racked the balls and began to play.
And so it went. I figured out the house rules as I watched. Each
pair had tallied their garments before the game, and adjusted by agreement.
Most of the time, one took off something if necessary to give him the same
number of garments as his opponent. Whenever a player sank a shot, his
opponent had to take something off. Generally, that meant that one was
naked well before the game was finished, and sometimes, both men played the
last several rounds in the buff. A few times, a real pool shark might have
to allow his opponent one or two extra items of clothing just to even the
match. Each pair had their own wager. Most had to do with some private
service which was to be performed elsewhere. A few were about public
entertainment or embarrassment. For example, one loser, a well-built and
nicely hung black fellow in his late twenties, had to get up on the bar and
do a solo jerk show for the room. I got the feeling that everyone had seen
this guy jerk off before, some at very close range, but they all
good-naturedly gathered around to watch, and he obligingly worked the crowd
using his seven-inch tool to good advantage. After ten minutes, he spewed
semen into his palm, then held it aloft for all to see, dismounting the bar
to cheers and applause. He and his pool partner, now also naked, left the
room arm-in-arm and grinning.
This show had distracted me from watching a pair of fresh-faced
lads in their late teens, just old enough to join this club, but not old
enough to drink in it, playing at an adjacent table. They looked military
with their close-cropped hair and well-exercised physiques. Both were
slender, broad-shouldered, smooth-skinned youngsters, very sleek young
animals. They had both gotten down to boxers when the JO show got
underway. Afterward, I turned and noticed that the darker-haired one had
lost. Now he was on his hands and knees, ass in the air, on the pool table
top sucking off his buddy, a lanky, fair- haired specimen with a six-inch
dick that repeatedly disappeared to the root within his fellator's mouth.
The audience quickly gathered round the table to watch this new attraction.
So the pool games had become a four-ring circus. The players,
intent upon their game and mostly oblivious to their audience, twisted and
bent to make their shots, displaying their naked or nearly naked bodies in
interesting angles. From time to time there was a particularly interesting
pay-off to a bet.
"There's some big dick in this town," I commented to Calvin.
"Yeah, I don't know who determined what average is. They sure
didn't measure nobody around here."
"But wait till they see yours!" added Lonnie. "You've definitely
got the Carter cock!"
For a moment, I had the thought that I had never actually seen any
Carter cocks other than my own, not hard at least. But suddenly, a memory
did come to me, though, one that I had not thought of for years. I was
about seven years old. My dad had brought me down to visit the
grandparents for much of the summer, and he had stayed several days, too.
He and Grand-daddy and I had gone to a cabin way out in the woods, by a
good-sized lake. It was all very private, and I had the idea it belonged
to Grand-daddy, but I wasn't sure. But Dr. DuPree, his son Dalton, and
Dalton's son Bryce had been out there for a couple of days with us. And we
had all gone naked together the whole time! We swam, fished, played
badminton, hiked, and even just sat around totally in the all- together. I
remembered how Grand-daddy's and the doctor's dicks had hung so long, and
my dad's was even thicker than theirs, and sometimes it did kind of swell
up and grow. Even Bryce's little pecker seemed big compared to mine. It
was a wonderful time, and it was never repeated. I wondered where that
place was and what had happened to it.
"O. K., we're up." Lonnie broke my reverie.
A table was now vacant, and someone over in the corner was looking
at his list and waving to Lonnie.
"You're going to put on quite a show, Ace. We each only have on
four pieces of clothing, and that counts shoes!"
"Maybe we'll both put on a show, then."
He laughed. "Maybe we will."
"You seem to have this all planned out. What's the penalty to be?"
Lonnie gave me a self-satisfied smirk. "Loser is slave to winner
for twelve hours."
"Well, that will suit you either way, won't it, Mr. Versatility.
O. K., I agree, under the restrictions we laid out earlier."
We shook hands and began to select a cue from the rack.
During this conversation, the table next to ours had also cleared,
with two nude young men, one loud and effeminate, the other quiet and
manly-looking, making their way out hand in hand. Suddenly, a sort of hush
came over the crowd for just a moment, and heads turned toward the door. I
looked also, and what I saw froze me in my tracks for maybe ten seconds,
which seemed like ten minutes.
A stunningly gorgeous man had entered the room. He was about my
height, and of a similar build, though maybe with slightly broader
shoulders. His carriage was elegant and poised. His hair was medium
length and very black, but his skin was smooth and almost fair, though
lightly tanned. He wore khaki cargo shorts, a blue golf shirt, and
heel-less, closed-toe, suede sandals. He had on fashionable, gold-rimmed
glasses, which made him look at the same time smart, sexy, confident, and
shy. The expression on his handsome face was friendly and pleasant, but
reserved, and that was what made me realize after an agonizing moment who
this guy had to be-Bryce DuPree! He exchanged greetings with several men,
seemingly looking about for someone. His eye fell on me and lingered for a
moment, his smile widening a bit. Then he became aware of Calvin
approaching him, and he moved forward to meet the younger man, grabbing him
and hugging him, making eye contact. The crowd parted to let Calvin lead
his friend over to the vacant pool table next to ours. The two put their
heads together, laughed, jabbed at one another playfully, shook hands, and
reached for pool cues.
"Your tongue is hanging out."
That sour remark from Lonnie brought me back to my senses, and I
realized I had been staring for far too long.
"I'm sorry. Did I drool?"
"Just a little. Don't worry, you'll get a taste of him soon
enough. He's particular who he hooks up with, but you're the only one here
as good-looking as he is. He won't pass you by."
"So what are you, chopped livah?"
"Nine point eight, remember. That guy is the only damn eleven on
record. Yet."
I'm sorry, Lonnie. I didn't mean too be rude. I just haven't seen
him since he filled out. I had no idea he turned out so gorgeous. I guess
I better get my mind on you and the game, or I'll wind up a naked slave!"
"You're going to, anyway."
I turned to move toward the end of the table to shoot the break
shot, and almost ran right into Bryce, who had come up behind me to say
hello. It was an awkward greeting from my side, but Bryce handled it
gracefully, cool and self-possessed. He shook my hand firmly, then gripped
my bicep with his left hand and drew me closer in a hug as he told me how
much he'd miss my Grand-daddy, and what a great guy he was. I suspected
that Bryce actually knew J. P. better than I did, because his parents had
divorced a few years earlier than mine, and he had largely been raised by
his dad, who lived in Columbia, not far away. The two of them had seemed
to spend a lot of time here in Hebron as we were growing up.
My brief conversation with him was a stammering nonsense. "I just
learned about this place today...I had no idea...well, I've had a lot of
surprises today, as you can imagine...it really blows my mind to find out
that you, and Grand-daddy, and Dr. DuPree...that you...well, I'm really
glad to see you...you've...you've really changed a lot... I like the
glasses...I'm really sorry about this afternoon by the pool, I guess I
looked like an alley cat out there...I'm not usually so..."
"I'm really glad to see you, too," he finally interrupted, putting
me out of my misery. "Don't worry about this afternoon. Don't worry about
anything. Welcome to Hebron."
As he let me go to return to his game with Calvin, I fired off one
more volley. "So what are your stakes with Calvin?" I stammered.
"Same as yours with Lonnie, I hear." He gave me a grin that almost
caused my bladder to give way. As he leaned on the end of his pool table
to watch Calvin break, his curving butt stretched the seat of his shorts,
and I was mesmerized anew.
"You going to play or watch?" Lonnie jibed.
It looked like I would forever be the idiotic little twerp next to
Bryce's cool competency. Chagrinned at being so incapable of maintaining
my focus, I tried to get back some concentration, but I flubbed the break
almost totally. Lonnie was chuckling at me as he leaned into his first
shot.
"Like fish in a barrel," he commented.
He completed the break with his shot, and sank the one ball. So I
was stripes. I sighed, and ceremoniously removed one sandal. Several guys
standing about clapped. I looked around and observed that they were
staring, no leering, at me optimistically. All that for one shoe!
I heard a whoop from the next table, and turned to see Calvin raise
his arms.
"I'm stripes!" he exulted. He looked meaningfully at Bryce, who,
still smiling, also removed one Birk and tossed it under the table. He
glanced sympathetically at me. There was more applause.
Both games proceeded apace. I sank the ten and took a flip-flop
from Lonnie. We both missed on two rounds. Then he sank the five, putting
me in bare feet. Two shots later, I followed with the a stripe.
At the next table, Calvin was playing bare-chested! Bryce seemed
to be on a tear, having lost only the one shoe.
I concentrated on my follow-up shot, which required a careful bank.
Miraculously, it worked perfectly, and I watched another striped ball roll
gracefully into the side pocket. Lonnie doffed his tee shirt to the
applause of the growing crowd. I looked out to notice that every member in
the place had gravitated down to our end of the room. The other two pool
tables were idle, as all present focused on these two contests. Bets were
being made and odds discussed.
I narrowly missed my next shot, and left Lonnie in good position to
take my shirt. There was kind of a low moan followed by a murmuring of
conversation from the crowd as I pulled it over my head.
Then a second moan alerted me to the other table. Bryce was
pulling his shirt over his head, too, revealing a sleek, smooth abdomen
with muscular ripples, and firm, well-delineated pectorals. The only hair
visible was a tiny trail beginning at the navel and descending
tantalizingly into the shorts.
The excitement increased among the onlookers. I knew that three of
us were down to one item of clothing, and there was no sign of an underwear
elastic showing at Bryce's waist, either.
It was Bryce who struck first, causing Calvin to drop his shorts.
There was applause for his incredible physique, but after all, everyone had
seen it before. Calvin answered Bryce with authority, however, and my old
childhood playmate slipped out of his shorts, too. Even this, he managed
with bemused dignity. The applause was a bit more sustained this time, as
he was not quite so much a fixture of the place as Calvin. I stopped
watching Lonnie's turn at the table to take a good look.
I find that before I see a man naked, I'm tantalized with
curiosity, picturing various sizes and shapes of dick, pubic bush, scrotum,
and ass cheeks with or without tan lines, and wondering which vision is
closest to the real thing. Once I see the guy, though, I always wonder how
I could have imagined him any different than he is. It seems so
inevitable, as if I should have known all along. Bryce was like that, too.
His naked form was perfect in its symmetry, balance, and proportion. His
cut cock was meaty and substantial, even totally flaccid, which it was.
His balls were large and heavy-hanging. His pubic bush was full and
triangular-in fact, I saw no sign of any trimming whatsoever, nor any real
need for it. In his totally natural state, the man was a perfect specimen
of masculine beauty, European division. Looking at him made me feel over-
groomed.
In the back of my mind, I heard the balls striking and rolling on
my own table. Then Lonnie's voice broke in.
"Well, well. The spotlight now moves to the Center Ring,
Stud-cakes. Drop 'em!"
He had sunk his ball, and now my shorts must sink as well.
The whole crowd of men turned as one to watch. I'm not the least
bit modest, but when I saw Bryce standing there naked, looking at me and
smiling, and everyone else but Calvin dressed, I actually blushed. I
unhitched my belt and opened the button and zipper in one smooth motion,
trying to be as cool and nonchalant as they had been, but to me it felt
bashful and awkward. My shorts dropped to the floor like a shot bird. I
kicked out of them and pushed them under the table near my shirt and shoes,
and stood there like an idiot, stark naked among thirty or forty clothed
men.
For just a couple of seconds, there was a strange silence. Then a
lone whistle, and after that the applause began. It seemed to go on
forever, and I blushed even deeper under my tan.
Lonnie had a resigned set to his jaw. I wondered if he might be
feeling a little worried about losing some of the distinction of being the
club Adonis. He muffed his next shot.
The only way to regain my composure was to focus on the business at
hand. I bent over my pool cue with a vengeance, and sank two striped
balls. Off came Lonnie's shorts, to an appropriate level of audience
appreciation. Lonnie's aw-shucks grin returned, but not his concentration
on the game. He was now part of a show in which the four sexiest men in
the room were performing naked for the pleasure of the rest, and he seemed
more interested in posturing and posing than in playing.
I'm going to take this guy, I exulted to myself.
I was down to the eight-ball, while Lonnie had two left on the
table. I had an easy shot, a sucker-shot. I lined it up perfectly, and
gave just the right tap on the cue ball. The eight rolled smoothly toward
the called corner pocket. It dropped in with a clunk.
And so did the cue ball, right behind it. I had scratched on the
eight-ball, losing the game.
The crowd groaned loudly. Lonnie whooped. I know he had had
visions of himself as my slave (not that he would have minded all that
much), but I figured that, in proposing this wager, he must have plans for
my ass that night. Now, he could have his way with me.
At the next table, Calvin was close to defeating Bryce as well. He
was pointing to a side pocket and preparing to end the game; Bryce still
had one ball left on the table. Calvin tapped expertly on the cue ball,
and it glanced precisely off the eight, knocking the eight into the side
pocket while bouncing safely against the side, inches from the hole. Their
game was ended, too, and Bryce was to be a slave to Calvin. Several men
slapped Calvin on the shoulder, and there were congratulations and
condolences all around. Money was changing hands, too, as side bets were
paid.
Lonnie came up to me and wrapped his arms around me. He planted
his mouth on mine and gave me a big, deep kiss, to the delight of the
onlookers.
"Your ass is mine, Baby!"
I didn't mind that concept at all, but I did wonder what Lonnie
might have in mind for me.
"O. K., first, we have to reward these fine gentlemen for their
support and encouragement. Hop up on the table, and lie down on your
back."
On my back? I wondered. It looked like some kind of public
display was coming, but what?
I did as I was told, perhaps a bit sheepishly, and noticed as I was
lying down that Bryce was doing the same thing on his table. Hmmm. There
seemed to be some kind of coordination going on between Lonnie and Calvin.
Those two had some kind of plan together. I lay back nervously.
Calvin then hopped up onto the table with me, and straddled me at
the waist. My hands spontaneously fell onto his strong thighs. His dick
approached my chin as he scooted up a bit on my torso. As he leered at me
from above, his cock was growing larger and firmer. In short order, it was
tapping gently on my chin.
"O. K., slave, it's time to service your master. Let's see some
submission, boy." He took my wrists and pulled them up over my head,
leaning forward so that his cock lay across my lips.
Ah, so I was going to get throat-fucked. Kind of embarrassing in
front of all these strangers, but oh so sexy as well. I felt my own cock
rising toward Lonnie's anus, and I heard the murmur of commentary from the
men around the table. I could no longer see what was going on, because I
had Lonnie hanging over me. I opened my mouth to receive his long dick.
Suddenly, I felt firm hands, several of them gripping my ankles and
calves, and extra ones on my forearms, too. Straps were fastened quickly
around my wrists and ankles. The hands were removed, but I remained
immobilized. I had been bound to the table.
"What the..." I mumbled around Lonnie's dick.
"Shit, what is this!" I heard Bryce call out from the next table.
Something similar was happening to him also.
There were obviously a number of conspirators in this prank.
"You fucker. What would you have done if had beaten you?"
"Then I'd be lying there like you are, Stud-muffin. I almost wish
I was." He swung his leg over me and hopped down off the table.
"What are you going to do to us?"
"Well, the strip pool tournament is over now, and we're ready for
another contest. This one is between you and Bryce, only the winnings go
to me and Calvin, since we're the owners."
"What contest?"
"It's milkin' time, hon. We got us two purebred Holsteins here,
and we're gonna find out which one gets the blue ribbon for production.
The one with the most cums before six in the morning is the winner."
"You guys are going to stay up all night and jack us off?"
"Oh, there's lots of us, we'll get some sleep. You can too, if you
can manage it. You'll get some breaks, say half an hour or so between
cums."
I groaned. This was going to be a long night. My dick would no
doubt be raw by six o'clock. I turned my head to look over toward Bryce.
His dick was already hard and pointing straight up into the air, being
pistoned by a shirtless, strapping man about thirty years old. My own dick
responded by reaching for my navel across my abdomen. Bryce had an easy
eight inches of beautiful, straight cock, and seeing him restrained and
manhandled there was an enormous turn-on.
"This is no fair, I've already cum twice this afternoon!" I wailed
childishly, as if it mattered.
"So did Bryce," chortled Calvin. "Lonnie went over and sucked him
off at his grand-parents' house this afternoon, while I was getting started
with you. And then my buddy, Duke, the bakery delivery driver, did him
when he got to the club. That's why he was almost late to the pool game!"
Bryce groaned good-naturedly. "We've been had, Jamie. Might as
well lie back and enjoy it."
"Oh, you ain't been had yet. But you're about to be!" Lonnie
triumphed.